13
Dec 09And It Stoned Me (part 1)
Chicago, IL: It’s 9:49pm. I’m home and in between watching documentaries on my laptop. I’m wearing many layers of clothes and sitting underneath 2 blankets. It’s cold in here. I didn’t turn my air conditioner on all summer, and I’ve gotten it into my head that I’m not going to turn my heater on all winter. For some reason this makes me feel good. I like seeing what I can get by without, then making a habit of it. Self-refinement leads to self-worth, and I’m a sucker for both. Whatever the temperature is in here, it’s a great one to be active or asleep in. If I’m not doing one of these things, then I should probably go somewhere else.
One week ago I was in Portland. I’ve been meaning to write about it for more than a few days now. I wanted to do it sooner, but I was still picking up and sorting the pieces. As much as I try to set goals and make plans to reach them, I’m constantly reminded that a big part of the plan is ditching it. Words to me are like floods. They’re nothing until they begin to overflow.
I landed in Portland with a sense of familiarity. I have mixed feelings about things that become familiar, but this one felt mostly good. I really took a liking to the city when I was there last. It was good to see it again. I’d certainly been thinking about it. I walked off the plane and remembered the airport. I barely remember walking off the plane the last time, but I very much remember walking the other way. I remember sitting and writing while waiting for my plane, and not wanting to leave. Every detail of the place felt like it was being burned into me. That all came rushing back this time around, but it felt colder and more used up. Of course, I was moving in the opposite direction.
I remembered the train. It made 2 stops before it dawned on me what I didn’t remember: my stop. I sent a text to Liam, one half of my hosts, who reminded me that it was Galleria/SW 10th. I sat back and enjoyed the ride. There were moments when the sun and mountains moved together through the windows. It was so powerful. I found myself wondering how the glass didn’t break.
I saw a man with what I thought was a monkey balanced on his shoulder and hand. The man had on one of those heavy gloves you might see a bird or animal trainer wearing. The monkey was spotted and wearing a Santa suit. It turned and looked at me. The monkey was a cat.
I walked off the train and toward Powell’s. Powell’s is an amazing bookstore, and one of the greatest places I’ve ever been fortunate enough to spend time in. It’s like a museum, but you can touch and handle everything. You can take it with you, in more ways than one. I could spend an entire day there and fall asleep with a smile on my face, if I slept at all, dreaming of doing it again. I can’t say that about too many places.
Powell’s is also where Liam and I planned to meet. We spotted each other out front and began walking toward his place. The conversation we started in May continued almost immediately. JoAnne, the other half of my hosts, joined in as soon as we walked into their apartment. It was good to catch up with them. They told me they were getting married. I was happy to hear it and very happy for them. It doesn’t seem like the bad idea I’ve seen so many times before. It’s not something for me, but it feels good to see other people getting it right.
I remember my dad used to keep a list of people he’d met while traveling. It was mostly sports figures and “celebrities” that I’d never heard of. I don’t have a list like that, but if I did Liam and JoAnne would be on it, underlined, circled and highlighted. They are made of something very fine and pure. We all are. It’s a shame how many have turned it into something black and cancerous, but we all have it.
After grabbing a bite to eat with Liam and leaving my unimportant bag behind, I headed out on my own with the important one. It’s a walk I feel I’ve taken a million times before, but still not one I’ve taken enough. I try to keep on the move as much as possible. I try to keep learning and improving. I walk through scattered locations and at times stumble into good people. We have our time together. It’s time I value very much, but then I have to keep moving. I’ll always end up walking down the streets of cities not my own, on my own.
I was walking back to Powell’s when I spotted a big hill in the distance. Before I knew it I was walking toward the big hill. As I got to the base I realized it might take a long time to make my way up it. It seemed like a great way to spend a morning, so I decided to save it for the next one.
I stopped for a cup of coffee at Stumptown before sinking into the abyss that is Powell’s. Stumptown is an independent roaster that does great things. Their Direct Trade approach to coffee purchasing is admirable. They go to great lengths to produce great coffee. And in doing so, they do great things for coffee growers around the world. The entire cycle is beautiful. There’s an art and a humanity to it, an integrity, and a great cup of coffee. Mine was fantastic.
I walked out of Stumptown and into Powell’s. I spent a good deal of time wandering through all the rooms, but most of my time was spent checking out the travel, history and photography books. They had a James Nachtwey book that I wanted to see, but it was in a locked case. I knew I wasn’t going to buy it that day, so that’s where it stayed. I’ll get my hands on it one day though. Nachtwey is a war photographer and the subject of the aptly titled documentary, War Photographer. He’s an enormous inspiration to me on many levels. His dedication and devotion to his craft flattens me. It’s the kind of passion I obsess over.
I sat for awhile in the café inside Powell’s, writing in my notebook and drinking tea. I also read from my copy of Ryszard Kapuściński’s Imperium. I just discovered Kapuściński recently, and he’s quickly becoming one of my favorite writers. He was a Polish journalist and photographer who did a lot of travel reporting. Imperium is a personal report of his travels to the Soviet Union. He wrote with such clarity and a chilling beauty. I can’t get enough. I purchased another Kapuściński book before leaving Powell’s for the night.
The evening ended at Deschutes Brewery. I met Liam and JoAnne there for dinner. The food was good and so was the conversation. It was a good night. I drank the same gluten-free ESB as I did the last time I was there. That was also a good night. I remember sitting outside reading Broken Summers by Henry Rollins, and listening to Scout Niblett’s cover of Van Morrison’s “Comfort You.” I can still hear that song the way I heard it that night. I can still remember exactly what I read from Broken Summers, and the way it cut through me like a knife. I can still see that night’s sky as though it was still right in front of me. Damn, that was a great night. I wasn’t trying to recreate it. I just wanted to taste it again.
December 14th, 2009 at 10:10 am
You, my friend, gather no moss. I await part 2.