the triumph

so today, I was goofing around downtown, getting my passport (are you reading, lynn?) and I quickstepped over to macy's (just to check on things) and bada-bing, bada-boom, someone asked me where something was and I knew the answer! (imagine cymbals crashing)

I was very blase about it all but couldn't stop grinning at the guy, who smiled back in obvious recognition of my all-knowingness.

could I be more of a geek?

update

verse for verse, an email I sent today to my beloved friends back east:

Dusk comes softly to Portland. Lilacs lay heavily on crisp, clean sidewalks. Flowering blooms make gray concrete a thick pink shag carpet and I skip and kick, laughing at this crazy, flowering zoo. My hand trips over pink blossoms that make ugly old broken down fences beautiful. Smile and nod at the man with the dog, he is a different man and a different dog than I have seen over the last few days, but still, I bend to rub the pet’s adoring face.

And I climb the tall stairs for the tenth day in a row. Today, I barely feel the burn. Not until I reach the very top, more than 70 steps in the sky, where I laugh and wave at the passing tram overhead. I turn, and see the neighborhood spread out before me. I am here.

Greetings, dear friends. If we haven’t talked, don’t feel slighted. No, it’s not just because I am busy. But many trips (3 hours each way) to my parents’ place, unpacking and organizing and the rest of it, yes, have meant a busy three weeks.

Actually, the biggest reason I haven’t called has to do with the three-hour time change. By the time I feel like talking, it’s 10, 11 or 12 your time. So for now, an email.

But things are good here. I am dodging pedestrians who step off of sidewalks whenever the mood strikes them, knowing that they always have the right of way. I am also terrified of the day I cut off a streetcar, though I know it’s inevitable. I am, without a doubt, completely enamored of Portland. I feel like the changing season is changing within me, too, and I have shed my sweaters too early, since the nights are cool, even after a day that reached 70 degrees.

I am busy with writing and optimization work and more work is on the way. Oddly, new business opportunities continue to enter my life and at this point I just embrace them. The worst I can do is fail… No. The worst thing would be not taking a risk. Not trying something new.

And I have to laugh at all the pretentious pups carrying messenger bags in Portland. Am dumbfounded at the endless march of bicyclists on every street, alley and sidewalk. Still in a slight culture shock over the dearth of a really good G&T (or a really smooth Kentucky bourbon), OTB instead of racetracks and the total lack of sophistication in every prime rib and steak joint here. Vegans and almost-vegans, like my neighbor, rule the day, and they are rapidly becoming influential to my diet, too. Today I ate sushi off of a moving train. My niece, slightly awed, asked me in an undertone if I’d ever eaten at a moving sushi restaurant before. I laughed it off but felt slightly in awe myself, of something I’ve only seen in movies.

So far, so good.


Love,

Lisa

Getting Around Portland: Smart Trips

Just after getting settled in, I found a postcard in my mailbox from the Portland Office of Transportation. The card directed me to a website, where I was able to order a ton, I mean a ton of free stuff pertaining to getting around my neighborhood and Portland in general. The packet also included a lot of information about wellness and conservation.

The Portland Office of Transportation is providing the kits free of charge to encourage people to rideshare, walk, bike or take the bus instead of driving everywhere in our big honking SUVs. There are different versions of the kit depending upon which Portland neighborhood you live in, but my kit includes:

Tote bag
Umbrella (this would have come in handy the other day when it rained and hailed at the same time!)
Calendar of 2008 SmartTrips Events, which include a series of walks, bike rides, classes and clinics related to bicycling
SW Portland Walking Map with Bike Map and transit routes
Portland Bikeway Maps, more detailed information on bicycle classes for women and bike clinics
TriMet bus schedules that I selected online
Lots more info on TriMet and the MAX streetcar, too
zipcar rental information
Tips to save on gas and decrease global warming
Free wellness classes
Local businesses in the SW area worth walking to
Information about swimming pools and parks in Portland
The Portland By Cycle kit
Two free water conservation kits, with adapters for the hose and the bathroom + more
Information about laws pertaining to bicycling and pedestrians, who rule the roads here

And so, so much more. The tote bag was to be delivered by a volunteer on bicycle and I was hoping to get a pic, but unfortunately I wasn’t home when he/she dropped by. There are limits on the numbers they have to give away, so order your free kit from the Portland Office of Transportation very soon.

updates

Dear blog readers,

I am going to post soon and tell you all about the move. Right now I am still stumbling over boxes, swearing under my breath and talking to myself to try to remember everything I still have to do this month to get settled.

But I wanted to let you know, my domain name is going to change. This seems to be the easiest way for you to still find me. However, if you subscribe, you may have to re-up after the change in order to stay updated. Just an FYI because last time I made some blogger changes I unwittingly bumped off several subscribers, oops. However if you have NKY News saved as a favorite, or if you just like to type it in, you should be automatically directly to the new domain. It's easy, or so they tell me.

Stay tuned... I'll have lots to tell you very soon.

the good stuff

At my parents’ anniversary party last year, one of my brothers gave a toast that made me cry. Made everyone cry. He talked about my parents’ love and how that love spread its wings ‘round all of us, making us a tight knit family. And he’s right. For the most part, I’m close with everyone in my family. There are a few that I don’t know as well as the others, but that has more to do with age difference (I’m the youngest of eight, the youngest by a mile) and proximity, since some of them moved away when I was little.

But that’s the thing about family. In some ways, we don’t know anything about each other. In other ways, we know more about each other than anyone else.

I was thinking today about some of the other gifts my parents have given me and my family. Many, many have people pitched in to help with my move. My niece clinched the deal on my rental, my brother (her dad) is helping me move my stuff and my sister and mom have just offered a lot of emotional support in what has been an increasingly stressful (and fast!) move to Portland.

We’re “yes” people. We don’t sit around lamenting the ins and the outs of what might happen if we make a wrong choice. We just do it. And anyway, as you may have picked up from reading the blog, there’s plenty of time for self-reflection after the wrong decision was made.

We’re a family of doers. Spontaneous creatures who love to get the most out of life. A while back I had a kind of surreal experience when I got waxed by an ex-member of popular heavy metal band from the late 80’s/early 90’s. And no, I don’t mean that metaphorically. I mean literally waxed. He works in a hair salon now. That’s where heavy metal drummers end up, I guess. Which I suppose makes sense in an odd sort of way.

He’s a good guy, and we had a nice talk during my appointment. He talked about how he lost some friends after he got married… Because they sort of drifted away. He also talked about a family member who refused to do “anything” anymore, because he has kids. “You can’t just jump in the car and go off somewhere when you have children,” he told me.

A fact that would probably surprise my sister a great deal, since she does this all the time.

I truly believe that throughout your whole life it’s rare to meet anyone who says what they mean, follows through on what they say they’re going to do, and just generally can be counted on 100% not to let you down. We have a whole family of people just like that. Our word is all we got, man. And it’s important to all of us.

I don’t feel hurt or angry by the people I come across who let me down. I really don’t. As I’ve mentioned on the blog before, I think just about everyone lets you down. People rarely say what they mean or do what they say they will do. And that’s ok. That’s their life choice.

And if that sounds pessimistic and un-Lisa like, consider this: I’d rather be pleasantly surprised by a few than disappointed by many. It’s just easier to expect less of most people. Easier on me and, I suspect, easier on them.

I’m grateful for my family. Gratefully Deadicated, as a favorite t-shirt from college proclaims.

My family is the bane of my existence. The root of endless stress. And made up of my favorite people on this planet.

I guess I’m just lucky.

crystal clear

Never buy someone a crystal bowl, candlesticks or anything in this vein. Because one day they will have to buy several sheets of bubble wrap, a special kind of tape and a box just to move the one.stupid.bowl.

And then they will drop the box and hear it shatter a week before the truck arrives.

bookish

Over the years, I’ve learned not to pack a box full of books. No. You spread them around, so that a seemingly lightweight box doesn’t become an unbearable burden to the one who picks it up. And I had to laugh today, at the mix of books spread out in the cartons. The philosophy of Kant, the rantings of Rousseau… Harriet the Spy. Toni Morrison, Sandra Cisneros… Sidney Sheldon.

Packed tightly into boxes are also books that I borrowed over the years and forgot to give back to their rightful owners. I have so many books that I can’t remember who owned what. I can hear my sister already: “Great Scott! I’ve been looking for that anthology for more than five years!” Looking at my mom’s taped and worn-out copy of Atlas Shrugged, I know she’ll pick it up and ask “Well? Did you ever finish it?” (I didn’t.)

And inevitably, some of the books in my collection belonged to ex-loves. Their choice in books says as much about them as their cars, their clothes and their careers. Maybe more.

There was the quiet, soft-spoken guitar teacher who loved gothic horror novels. The sports-obsessed rugby coach who favored Camus. An artist who enjoyed biographies of American Presidents. They’re all there. I can’t remember their phone numbers, and I have to pause and think about their last names, but their love of literature is branded on my brain. A unique part of them and, for better or worse, often more memorable than anything else about the relationship.

Regular blog readers know that I’m a voracious reader. So it might seem odd that most of the men I’ve fallen for aren’t terribly… bookish. I’m the bookish one, head often buried in a tome, oblivious to anything else including ringing phones, blaring TVs and the pile of empty boxes waiting to be filled. But I think it’s good to have a balance. One bookish person + one non-reader isn’t such a bad thing. In fact, it probably gives us all more to talk about. More to contribute to the conversation.

An ex-boyfriend (and a non-reader) who is helping me get ready for the move already offered up the inevitable question: “Why don’t you get rid of some of these books?” I don’t know how to explain that my books are like friends. That they remind me of other times… In the same way that Houses of the Holy will forever transport me back to high school, seeing those dog-eared pages and loose bindings instantly brings me back to who I was, and who I was with when I first read the book… Especially if it belongs to someone else.

Or was written by someone that I used to know.

It’s funny. I know I’ve written about closure on the blog. About putting photos, letters and books away on a high shelf, along with my memories, so that I don’t have to think about them anymore.

But when you start packing up to start a new life, sometimes, you’re confronted once again with your past.

hippies at heart

Kel went to the Oregon Country Fair last week outside Eugene. It was emotional for her because it was her first time back since we were in high school.

The country fair remains uncommercialized. Still held on private land. Still has plenty of available drugs. Beautiful hippie girls going topless with painted breasts. Music that makes you want to gig. They camped overnight and found what they needed behind the canopy of an old tree.

I’m a hippie at heart, said Kel, and my heart swelled at the thought. Because I feel it too, every time I’m in Eugene. Righteous anger at everything that’s inside the norm. A town without political diffidence. Deadheads ejected from motels not from partying but from tie-dyeing t-shirts in the bathtubs. I still reject the thought of buying a tie-dyed t-shirt. Turn my nose up at the too-perfect dye matches available in the mall.

The last time I went to the country fair I had an experience that will stay with me always. Next year, she said to me. Next year, we’ll go together. I can’t wait.

I wrote this last summer, after I returned home from my usual bi-annual pilgrimage to Oregon. Over the last few days, I’ve signed my new lease and scheduled my move to Portland. I leave in a little less than two weeks’ time. It’s been a long road to get me to this place. With a lot of friends that I’ll always cherish. Memories that I’ll never forget.

The blog will continue. There might be a hiccup or two while I am getting settled, and the name will change to reflect my new digs, but it will still be the same old Lisa… living in a new town and having all new adventures. With, I’m sure, plenty to write about. Many local bloggers had much good advice about how to handle the transition. As with all of the blog format changes I have put you through, it will take a little time to get organized. But I can promise you, it will be worth the wait.

When it came time to get really ready to move, I had a lot of anxious moments. It costs so much more to live in Portland. What if I get a place and find out the local crack den is next door? What if I move and my huge family engulfs me? What if, what if, what if… But somehow, it’s all working out. Like it was meant to be. Finally. Everything is falling into place.

I’m going home.

the rules

I couldn’t believe I’d just heard what I thought I heard, so I asked her to repeat the phrase. Which she did. Firmly.

“No overnight guests.” Yup, she really said it. And it’s just one of the many rules for living in a vintage apartment building I was scoping in downtown Portland, Oregon.

As I’ve searched the apartments section of Portland craigslist, I’ve seen all kinds of crazy rental ads with really bizarre rules. Either the people who rent out properties in Portland are incredibly obsessive or they’ve had a lot of problems in the past with renters. Either way, finding a place where I can just do my own thing in peace seems like it might be a tall order.

Seeing a laundry list of do’s and don’ts in a rental ad is enough to tell me, this is probably not a person I want to rent from. In fact, the ads imply that nosy people will be looking over your shoulder all the time. Portland property management is fleshing out to be the Big Brother of the apartment world. A frightening prospect.

Add to that my general rules for what I want (in one of several specific city districts, accessible for a visitor who can’t do stairs, safe, has a very high walking score) and finding an apartment in Portland is becoming a real challenge. I’ll get there eventually. And maybe I’ll take my brother’s advice and just move to any old place until I find where I really want to live. That’s sounding more and more like a very realistic plan.

Some other Portland apartment rules that might pose a problem for me:

“Mature residents only.” Maybe I could pretend not to have a blog and wear a skirt when I visit the property managers. And try not to open my mouth.

“No cats.” That wasn’t the problem. It was the next sentence: “We already have several.”

Or how about “some dogs ok upon landlord review.” So I’m to do what with a dog if they don’t approve of him? After his “review?” What does a dog review consist of, anyway? Does he have to talk about his accomplishments over the last year? Sweet-talk her into a raise of one extra milk bone each week?

No overnight guests.

I explained that my parents live on the coast and will want to visit once in a while. “That’s fine. We’ll recognize them.”

I had a fleeting thought that I should tell her, it might just be my “daddy” visiting for one night at a time, and he usually looks like he’s around 30 or 40 years old, and between 5’8 and 6’ tall depending upon his shoes, but instead I just shut up. And hung up.

And went back to looking at the ads.

decisions, decisions

I always forget how rural Northern Kentucky really is. When asked if I know the way to Edgewood or other outlying towns, I have a tendency to give answers like, “I only know Covington.” That’s not really true. I’m very familiar with all of the riverside towns. I’ve even made it out to Florence on occasion. But until I’m sitting in a local pub, and a farmer walks in wearing his Carhartt jacket, I just plain forget that we’re surrounded by farmland dotted with small towns.

So now, thinking about moving to Oregon, I’ve been pretty focused on Portland. It’s the hub of everything, really. All of the shops, restaurants and culture you could want. I thought it was just what I wanted. But I also have to wonder… what would small-town life be like for this wide-eyed observer?

There are a number of pre-war bungalows for sale along the coast in Oregon for really reasonable prices. If you aren’t set on having an ocean view (though many of them do), you could pick one up for next to nothing.

I even asked my brother, who thinks living on the coast would be the coolest, what he’d think about trading houses with me on the weekends (he’s in Portland). Then I could see my friends, worship at Macy’s, and check out what’s new at the art museum whenever I felt like it. His (sweet) response: "you could come in whenever you felt like it no matter what I'm doing."

One problem, if I’m moving back primarily to be close to family, living on the north coast (that’s the area I like) might be too far removed to get much quality time with everyone. Though moving to Portland already puts a buffer of an hour or more between me and most of my family, this would tack on even more time to the drive.

Then again. My parents live on the coast and they have people dropping in every weekend. And their little town isn’t convenient to anything, really.

I’ve always harbored a fantasy about living in a resort area. Being a townie, and laughing at all of the tourists. And I can pretty much live wherever I want. That’s sort of the whole point of being self employed. And Portland isn’t so far away that I couldn’t buzz in for a meeting, if necessary.

What I’m wondering today… If you live in a small town, what do you like about it? How far away from a big city do you live? Do you feel like anything is lacking? Is it idyllic, or annoying? Do you get tired of seeing the same people all of the time?

I grew up in Eugene, Oregon, which is about 150,000 plus college students. That’s a small town, from my perspective. I felt stifled when I lived there. But maybe that’s because I felt like I knew everyone, or everyone knew me. Six degrees of separation drops to one degree, when you have seven well-known brothers and sisters. It made me crazy sometimes.

But now that I’ve lived in and around a major metro for years and years, maybe a change is in order.

Have I lost it completely? Or does this sound like a pretty good idea? Oh, and this isn’t a new idea, BTW. My original plan was always to set up in Portland for a year or two and then move to Astoria or Seaside to settle down. My brother did mention my other worry (he knows me well); I tend to be somewhat solitary, especially with working from home. I almost have to force myself to get out as it is. So living in Portland would potentially allow me to meet a lot more people than if I lived in a small town. Decisions, decisions.

Your thoughts, dear readers?

There’s No Place Like Home(s): Living in Northern Kentucky. And Oregon.

I’ve just returned from a two week trip home to Oregon. My other home. Where six of my brothers and sisters (the other brother is in Northern California), my parents, and untold nieces and nephews reside. I even have a few good friends out there. Really good friends.

For a number of different reasons, I’ve made the decision to move back west. It’s going to take some time, and I’ll still be around for a while. In fact, my psychic (yup, I went to psychic recently- but that’s a tale for another blog) told me it won’t happen before year’s end. We’ll see.

I used to wonder, did I do the right thing by staying in greater Cincinnati, when my folks packed up and moved back to Oregon? Should I have gone with them (“Not and stayed with us,” I can hear my dad saying), and was I wrong to stay? I don’t wonder about this anymore. I understand now, that things happen for a reason. I was meant to be here for a time, and now I am meant to move back.

Since I just got back, family and home, my other home in Oregon, is uppermost in my mind. Typical. But I’ve never been one to complain about living in the Midwest. If I didn’t like it here, I would have moved a long time ago. That’s a big reason why I started this blog: I saw a dearth of positive online information about Northern Kentucky. I hope I’ve made a positive contribution with this blog.

This is my 108th post, by the by. I meant to mark the occasion of the 100th, but me being me, it blew right by unnoticed and uncelebrated. So happy 108th, and I hope you’ve enjoyed reading the blog so far.

So… what do I like about living here? Not like? And how does it stack up to Oregon? I wrote an essay on this very subject in 2002. To my surprise, some of my attitudes have changed over the years. Let’s find out how:


Enjoying the Arts in Northern Kentucky, Greater Cincinnati and Points Beyond

Recently, I was ruminating with a fellow former left-coaster about the lack of creative activities in Cincinnati. “Since I moved here, I’ve been looking everywhere for...” “Art?” he interrupted, laughing. The Pacific Northwest has long been known as a haven for artists and offers much in the way of museums, galleries and concerts. The tri-state area isn’t exactly... known for its contributions to the art arena. Nascar, and college basketball, take precedence over all other known forms of recreation in the Midwest. Hey, I’m not complaining. I like a four-car pile-up as much as the next gal, and I love b-ball. But sometimes I yearn for a little of what William Hurt called “Culture, culture, culture!”

Now I’ll amend this today since it seems a little harsh; we have a kick-ass symphony in Cincinnati- and in Northern Kentucky. And places like York Street Café and Covington’s Duveneck art festival work hard to get art out to the public. But there aren’t enough of these venues, and the ones that exist don’t do enough PR, so we often hear about regional shows and festivals after the fact. I know I’m a “pushy PR lady,” but that still needs to change.

Bountiful Oregon Food Offerings vs. Frisch’s No Dishes in Greater Cincinnati

While you can purchase any type of fried food you could ever want in greater Cincinnati, there’s a distinct lack of “real” bakeries (think scones, croissant and popovers), “take and bake” pizza places (yes, this consists of purchasing uncooked pizza that you take home to bake, a popular Oregon pastime), and drive-through latte booths. Of course, I’ve yet to find any decent German restaurants on the west coast (a food I didn’t even know I liked til I moved here).

Five years later, I’m impressed by Jean-Robert’s Greenup Café in Covington but still looking for a drive-up coffee stand. Still wish I could have brought that idea to Cincinnati, because I think it would kill.

Getting Festive at Festivals in Greater Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky

Oregon has a couple of really good festivals. The hippie-dippie Country Fair in Eugene and the Riverside Blues Festival in Portland are two time-honored favorites. But until I moved to the Midwest, I never thought of a festival as a more than a once or twice-annual event. In Cincinnati, we start attending festivals at the beginning of summer, and they don’t stop for months! The weather, while sometimes unbearable during the day, is typically beautiful all night long in the summer months. During the beautiful Oregon summers, the temperature begins dropping at about 6 p.m. - at an astonishingly rapid pace. In addition to the festivals in greater Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky (some have attendance in the hundreds of thousands, and city streets are closed to accommodate the crowds), free riverside concerts abound throughout July and August.

In 2007, Oregon has more festivals that celebrate their plethora of excellent wines and local beers. Yay. Still, no one can beat the Midwest for festivals, and no one can beat greater Cincinnati for its Oktoberfests!

The Cincinnati Flea Market vs. the Oregon Saturday Market or It’s Market-edly Different

The sights, sounds and smells of the Portland and Eugene Saturday Markets will transport you. The items sold at these shopping havens include original art, hand-crafted pottery and clothing, and every type of food imaginable, from sushi to Thai to French cuisine. All items for sale must be approved by the Saturday Market Board as having met their exacting standards. The sights, sounds and smells of the Midwestern flea market are very different. From Bingo to Two-stepping, Onion Rings to Moccasins, and Wooden Ducks to “Designer” Purses, you can find a lot of, uh, treasures within. I haven’t ventured to a flea market in recent years, but suspect that the shop owners are still wending their way through thousands of pairs of ill-fitting blue jeans and camouflage jackets. It seems impossible that they would have sold all of them yet.

This one makes me laugh- there’s still nothing comparable to the Saturday Market in greater Cincinnati or Northern Kentucky. This is yet another idea that I wanted to bring to the Midwest. Though I will amend my original statement to say that I love the little (unadvertised) flea markets around Cincinnati- they’re hot spots for the vintage clothing, jewelry and art pottery that I collect and sell.

Location, Location, Location: Exploring the Region in Greater Cincinnati

Oregon has the coast, rivers and mountain ranges. Ohio has mysterious “mounds” and the mighty Ohio River, in which I’m scared to swim. But, the tri-state area can proudly boast of its beautiful historic homes (I live in one!). In Eugene, Oregon, where I grew up, the architecture dated back to, perhaps, the 40’s, so a “historic” home usually meant a depression-era Cape Cod. No, there’s no ocean where I live, and the only “mountain” locally rests in Indiana and consists of pre-fab snow.

But, there’s something about driving through Indiana in good weather, with classic cars toodling by, and acres of farmland, that strikes me as breathtaking. A red barn against a blue sky may not be the same as sand under your toes, but it has its merits. On a crisp fall day in Ohio, you’ll find us going on hayrides and jumping in leaf-piles, enjoying insanely high temperatures in November. In Oregon’s fall months, we snap open our umbrellas and huddle under awnings with our coffee.

And today, little has changed. Fall is still my favorite Midwestern season and it’s for all the reasons listed above- and more. But there’s not a lot of geographic appeal to me once outside of greater Cincinnati.

Friends and Family

One of my sisters does live in the area. I visit her, and her family, every few weeks or so and chat with them on the phone and through e-mail often. The rest of my family I only see on vacation. But I have another family in Ohio now. My beloved friends can tell you of my ups, my downs, my good news and bad, all of which we share daily. Whatever would I do without this highly prized giggling gang? And as much as I love my family, there are benefits to a little, uh... distance. In Oregon, I am always Jeff’s little sister (or Joe’s, or Don’s, or Lynn’s, etc., etc.). In the Midwest, I am just me, with virtually no interference on my not-always-smart decisions. Aren’t you envious?

Yes, in 2007, I am more independent than ever. And weary of throwing myself back under the watchful eye of my enormous family and their far-reaching tentacles. However, once my “one sister” that lived in the area moved back to Oregon a year and a half ago, I knew I wouldn’t be far behind. And, the people here who love me have already promised to visit. Making new friends has always come easily and I hope that’s still the case when I move to the West Coast.


I don’t know if any of us will ever know what the road less traveled could look like.

I do know that I’m excited about moving, and dedicated to trying to find a place in Portland by year’s end.

Should I have done this, should I do that, these are questions that arise when you least expect them to, and there are no easy answers, for any of us. As my mother always says, “We shall see what we shall see”- the bend around the road beckons, and somehow or another, we’ll follow.

Like I said before, I truly believe now that everything happens for a reason. I’ll never regret my years living in Northern Kentucky and greater Cincinnati. But always up for an adventure, I’m excited about beginning the next chapter of my life. At home. My real home.