Portland

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Have I ever written of my love of Wes Anderson? I don’t remember, but it really seems like I should have, for the man can do no wrong in my eyes, at least in all things cinematic and concerning the wearing of suits. I know not a whit about his personal life, which suits me fine. However, should he ever invite me to tea or whiskey to find out, you can bet your bottom dollar that I’ll be there, with bells ON. The king of corduroy has a new movie out, and I’ve been eagerly awaiting its arrival since I saw the trailer months ago, which seemed more like ages. I don’t know that I’ve ever anticipated a film’s arrival more than this. Proof, perhaps, that this gal needs to get out more often, or that, as previously stated, I am a rather big fan of his fil-ums. Moonrise Kingdom finally came to Portland two weeks ago, but we were ever so busy doing a whole weekend’s worth of yard work that made me far too tired to go, which made me a bit sad, too, but I recovered. I am an adult and can survive disappointments.

This past weekend, however, there were no projects on the books and stellar weather, so we headed out for a long and leisurely day. We started at Pacific Pie CO for lunch, our first and definitely not our last time there. It has swell decor, very good service, and the aforementioned pie. I love pie, sweet or savory. They have both, but we only partook of the savory because our bellies were full up. Tooting my own horn here, they have the best pie crust I’ve ever had next to my own, which is damn good. It is light and buttery and super tender. I had the beef and mushroom with a side of broccoli (did you get that Mom? I ordered broccoli. What is happening to me?!) and the hubster had the lamb with spicy coleslaw. Both were happily devoured in short order and promises made to come back for the cherry and the creamy chicken. In that order, I think. Why the hell not?

Oh, I am sassy today! After the pie, we crossed the river and loafed around before show time, taking in the Oregon History Museum on free day, because everything is better when it is free. It is an interesting assortment of curiosities, as you can see, though I was certainly most jazzed by the architectural models on display, this one being Pietro Belluschi’s house (he also designed the Portland Art Museum and the Commonwealth Building, in which I once worked) and the letter from Ansel Adams. Shazam, that is pretty awesome letterhead, which made the hubster and I decide that we need our own. One day, when we have more time, we’ll head up to the fourth floor and see if our house has any interesting history of its own, present occupants excluded, of course.

The fil-um did not disappoint, though I never had a doubt. It was Wes Anderson, through and through, with a nod or two to Francis Ford Coppola (his son Roman was co-writer), with wounded oddballs and misfit characters occupying idyllic homes (ah, the Bishop house!) in picturesque landscapes. They stumble through life, encountering both the vicious and the tender kind, searching for people with whom to share their pain and great capacity for love. They are impeccably dressed and coiffed, a bit wild, and make this viewer cry, though not nearly half as much as they make me laugh out loud.

We’re at the Central Library now. Isn’t it beautiful? We roamed the stacks a bit and checked out a couple of neat-o architecture books with great pictures. I don’t suppose we ever outgrow a good picture book, do we? I sure haven’t.

More downtown gorgeousness before we get back to the car. I love the clouds in this one.

When we got home, we hung out on the patio, talked about the movie, perused our books, and the hubster and cats took a nap while I watched and occupied my mind with random thoughts.

It got cool, and the mosquitoes started buzzing, so we came inside and cuddled on the sofa before doing some more reading. We’ve started The Game of Thrones, taking turns reading aloud to each other, which is fun, and we are both enjoying, for the most part. I am definitely not the primary audience for this series, as I am neither a fan of explicit sex or graphic violence. This has both, but not too much, for now, at least.

A perfect day in our own little Moonrise Kingdom.

 

 

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Squee!

Happy Monday, one and all! We’re in Reed Canyon, enjoying one of Laura O. Foster’s Portland Hill Walks on the sunniest of Earth Days. Gosh it was lovely yesterday, eighty-two degrees, I think, and part of three days of warm temperatures in a row, with sun!

We walked to the walk, which was ever so fine. Short-sleeves and sunglasses and sunscreen required.

As per usual, we learned a lot, despite the location being a frequent destination for us, though we’d never actually ventured into the canyon before, usually taking the bridge over the water.

It was cool to see it from this perspective, to be, quite literally, in the thick of it. Our feet squished in a bottom land full of all manner of plants and flying creatures. There was a cacophony of birds and bees and who knows what else zooming to important destinations.

The air was rich with moss and oxygen, flowers and decay.

On our way home now. People decorate with everything in these parts.

And drive very personalized vehicles. Have I told you about the black van with the “Halen” license plate? Eighties music fans rejoice! Too bad I didn’t have my camera that day.

Upon our return home, the hubster was ever so tired and napped on the patio with Paris. Though he doesn’t really need to be tired for such activity. He is that kind of sleeper. Sometimes I envy him for it, but mostly I watch and smile and sometimes laugh.

This is from today – look at the sunshine streaming in the window! It was perfect for hanging out with one my littlest friends. We’re spending more time together while his Mommy takes care of her cancer. Today, he watched me hang clothes on the line, hunted cats and gnomes in the backyard, made full use of the laundry chute, threw paper airplanes, ate ravioli, and made a cake.

He was very pleased with the way it turned out. It is almost Brobee from Yo Gabba Gabba!

My name is Colleen, and I like to dance…

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I spent Saturday with two of my favorite people: gazing, driving, eating, and enjoying every single second. We went to the Portland Art Museum to see the Mark Rothko show, which, as a pretty big fan, I thought was amazing. It was cool to see work from his career arc, not just his iconic pieces. Though I need to be better about remembering the names. Save for Nude, which I hope is obvious, I cannot recall any. A little help? Anyhoo, I got all giddy looking at brush strokes and drips (the last one is a detail of a larger piece for this very reason), those bits that make this observer really appreciate the fact that there was a live-person on the other end, with thoughts and ideas about execution and final products. Is this what he pictured in his mind’s eye? Did he look at it with the same sense of awe and excitement? I sure hope so.

After the Rothko, we went upstairs to the John Frame exhibit, one I could not initially give a whit about since I didn’t know any better. Then I saw the first photo of a bespectacled monkey, and knew something magical was in store. Indeed, it was one of the finest artistic endeavors I’ve witnessed. EVER. They asked that no photos be taken, and it nearly broke my heart. His work is so detailed and beautiful and evocative that I remained in a state of wonder and probably would have cried were I alone or with the hubster. Strangers leave me alone when I blubber in public, afraid it is contagious, I suppose. But friends not yet accustomed to my weeping ways I spared, saving my tears for home and the viewing of this fil-um with the hubster. He liked it, too.

John Frame makes everything. Sewing, carving, growing, composing, filming. Beautiful music. Sweet figures. Ever-so-tiny articulated hands. Everything. It is magic and madness and reverence done with an unfathomable love for the craft.

One of my companions, enjoying the Milton Avery on display. They are among my favorites at the museum.

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Sunny!

Hello peeps! It’s Easter and you may likely be full of Peeps at the moment, all their pastels-on-acid goodness. This is Friday night. Sunny Friday night, hoot and holler! Did I tell you that we had record rainfall in March? The wettest, with just shy of eight inches. I could talk like a lady or a sailor and still have it be impressive. The hubster and I celebrated a well deserved day of sunshine at Branch (we’re actually enjoying number three with no rain, huzzah!) and the hope of quelling that major pain in my neck with whiskey. Sometimes it is the right thing to do.

Old Fashioneds and Rickeys with water chasers.

They were playing heavy metal on the hi-fi, so the hand gesture was called for. My neighbor and I were contemplating a “Rock You Like a Hurricane” duet before the yummy-licious food arrived. It would have been epic.

That was cocktail numero dos. For those who know me up-close-and-personal, this is quite something. I am a one hit wonder kind of gal. A cheap date. A party favor. Sometimes you gotta break the rules.

I love murals, well, good ones, anyway.

 

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I met the hubster downtown after work the other day. A date night, if you will.

We ate steak, and I had a Sazerac, one of the finest cocktails known to woman (oh yes I did!) because it contains not only whiskey but absinthe (I like mine with a little extra). The cocktail gods were thinking of yours truly when this one was dreamed up. Sho-nuff.

We walked around a bit before returning to the car, an ever so small window without need for an umbrella. I was pleased as punch to actually have my camera while the Portland Outdoor Store neon was in its full glory. How awesome is that light? It’s like having a Sazerac without actually having one. Warm giddiness spreading through the veins, one brilliant blink at a time.

I love this place. Though we haven’t been in a while. They have beer (surprise!) and really good live jazz. I like jazz. Give me a little Ella, Miles, Thelonius, or Chet, and I am good to go.

The hubster works in the tall building and can see the whole city, storms and traffic and birds soaring.

We’re driving home, and that’s his building again.

Five speeds and my knees. I do not like an automatic transmission. Not one bit.

I almost didn’t include this photo because the water droplets on the lens obscuring his handsome face, but his smile shines through it all. The best.

That’s Burnside, just in case you didn’t know.

 

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