Good-Bye to Portland....Until We Meet Again.

I wrote this in May:

Doreen picked me up around 11:30....I was the one in the Harry Potter hat and she was the one in the black SUV. 

She was about a year and a half older than a grade school friend. We were always hanging around their house and saw lots of each other in the neighborhood. We reconnected on Facebook a few years ago. So much, well....almost a lifetime had passed since we last talked but our common memories made the get together very special. 

After a delightful chat and some very good coffee Doreen drove me to the train station. Two minutes after she dropped me off I realized I left my favorite hat in her car. It will give us another reason to get together when Wanda and I return to Portland.

I see now I didn't mention Doreen was the older sister of a grade school friend.

I often wonder how my mind is wired. 

I can't change it and not sure I would if I could. I'm not complaining but things would be much easier if I didn't constantly worry about what other people may be thinking about something I said. 

Or I could somehow establish a filter between my brain and mouth. In my old age I've become slightly more discerning and now usually just put one foot in my mouth rather than two.

I just made the mistake of doing a Google. 

That sounds truly awful, like talking to the dog. "Snuffy, I'm only going to ask you once. Was it you or your sister that made the Google on the floor?"

It's so easy to spoil a fantasy and recognize you don't have anything special, just do a Google. If not found elsewhere it will be for sale on Amazon.

I'm very proud of my favorite hat and until this morning I've never laid my eyes on another like it. Then I did a Google. 

The hat was part of the 2003 Scholastic book release. I did not get mine with the book. I rescued mine from a Goodwill store. Now I see I can buy them by the box full for $18 each. Well, I've had mine over ten years and I'm happy to see it hanging in the hall closet, back where it belongs.

Last May after my most excellent cruise and visit to Portland Doreen dropped me off at the Amtrak station. As soon as she reached the first intersection I realized I had left my hat in the car. 

Unaware of Oregon cell phone use while driving laws I threw caution to the wind and called her.

"Doreen, I left my hat in the car. Don't stop and don't turn around, it's OK." She asked me if I wanted her to send it to me and I said, "No, keep an eye on it please. It will give me an excuse to come up again soon."

I'd like to point out in May with the exchange fresh in my mind I wrote; it will give us another reason to get together when Wanda and I return to Portland.

I don't know which version is true and I suppose it truly doesn't matter. But when Rebecca and I were talking the other day I told her the hat story. That night as I lay in my motel room about to fall asleep I bolted upright with a distressing thought. 

Now I'm consumed with guilt agonizing over my choice of words. I was about to hit myself over the head with the bottom of my shoe when I reminded myself of the Amtrak floor germs.

I actually said. "The HAT will give me an excuse to come up again soon."

Her father said he needed a hat for a reason, nay an excuse, to see her and her family again. I knew we had to discuss this the next day.

I told her my visits will always be to spend time with her and Tim and Grace. I told her that Wanda and I would come up as often as possible. I asked her to forgive my insensitivity and said. "That was a stupid thing to say, it was not about The Hat."

I often improvised when Rebecca was a child. She would ask me a question and if I didn't know the answer I made something up. I never told outright lies but used my imagination to concoct stories that could, or should have been true in a parallel universe. 

Based on my lifetime of fiction the answer as to why would I think my daughter would think I attach more importance to a hat would take years of serious therapy to unravel.

I was glad to hear her say she never thought the visit was about hat.

Having mastered the AC, including the cooled seats I turned my attention to music. Rather than spend $6 a day for Sirius radio I went with the free funny and trivial one in the car.

I found an FM station playing classic rock the media display informed me it was a David Bowie song. I adjusted the settings to optimum listening pleasure for single-occupant-left-front-seat, cranked up the volume and headed down the highway. 

A reference to 1969's popular "Born to be Wild' by Steppenwolf.

Soon I was transported back to the Summer of Love and Berkeley of the early 70's. Then I heard an anthem of the era, from 1971, the Rolling Stones, "Can't You Hear Me Knocking." I was listening to and knew every word of music forty-three years old. I was in my early twenties, even younger, when I first rocked out to music like this. I was having a moment of pure joy and exhilaration.

I had the radio on so loud I didn't hear Celeste telling me she was recalculating every few seconds. I wasn't sure how long I'd been driving and when I stopped at a red light nothing looked familiar. I quickly realized I was lost. Wow, just like the 60's but without the pot. Budget is very strict about its no smoking policy.

Surreal it was I tell you. I was listening to music popular before Younger Daughter Rebecca was born and was on the way to see her and her baby. I pulled over, got my bearings, called and said I was running a little late. Then to put everything in perspective I heard a commercial.

"Coming to Portland in September, From A to Z. Aerosmith and ZZ Top in concert, bought to you by Mercedes Benz."

I see Mercedes-Benz is the sponsor of the 2014 Evolution Tour starring Young the Giant, Alabama Shakes and Mayer Hawthorne. 

Things certainly have changed over the years. Back in the day Areosmith and ZZ top were promoted by the likes of Bud, Coors, Granola and high-end potpourri manufactures. 

Today the sponsors build $30 to $100,000 plus cars.

Will people be listing to Young the Giant in forty-plus years and if so what manner of business will the sponsors be?

A frightening aspect of new grandparent hood is the uncertainly and quality of future life. I have lived through more than sixty years of planetary evolution, a mere drop in time but I've seen changes. It actually rained the night before last. It wasn't enough to help our drought by any means but it did sprinkle. It was enough to wet the ground and release that fresh earthy scent. 

I don't remember rain in July, ever.

Doreen and I were sitting outside a Starbucks in Portland last Sunday morning when it started to storm. We were treated to light rain, thunder and lightning. She said electrical storms were rather rare for the area and voiced concern about sitting at a metal cafe table. I was more concerned with the chairs so we moved inside a market to ogle beautiful fresh flowers and $2.95 organic avocados.

I'm worried about what life will be like when Grace is a young adult. Is the earth, our home, really turning to a cesspool of chemicals and waste or as Karyn, a friend with two young grandchildren said, "They'll make mistakes along the way but they will figure out how to fix things."

I hope they do.

The Taurus model was a Limited. I can't begin to imagine what else anyone would need, or want, in a vehicle. I had to fill the gas tank prior to drop off. Having said my good-byes my next stop was the corner gas station. With all the bells and whistles on the Ford I assumed there was a secret gas cover release. After all, our '08 RAVA2E has a hidden lever under the driver's seat.

I spent several minutes looking on the dash, on the doors, under the seats and in the many hidden consoles. I checked the glove box for an owners manual and double checked the laminated tag on the key fob thinking I missed the "How to put Gas in the Car" instructions. Then I remembered Wanda told me you can't pump your own gas in Oregon so surely the pump kid would know how to open it.

Off to the station I drove thinking worse case Budget could fill it and bill me. I mean really, what's $7 a gallon for fuel. So I pulled up to the pump told the attendant I didn't know how to open the gas cover and asked if he could help. All the fancy extras on this car and he reached over and opened the lid, just like that. No buttons, no levers, no switches, no fob tones. He did it just like it was 1960.

Curious I asked him why people could not pump their own gas in Oregon. I thought it may be an environmental thing. He said he didn't know and was happy to add, "It used to be like that all over the country."

Yes, I remember.....

Only than it wasn't about the environment and it wasn't about people not being allowed to pump their own gas.

It was about a business spending a few extra dollars to provide something called service.

Wanda and I are going up to Portland in March. The visit is not about a hat.