Portland, OR 2015 - Day 1

It's like the lobby of The Overlook Hotel

We took the kids to Portland for a night so we could enjoy some quality family time, take a breather from our busy schedules, and escape life’s demands for a couple days. But none of that matters to a teenage girl who wants to meet a celebrity. Tomorrow, Tom DeLonge, the ex-lead singer and guitar player for Blink-182, will be at Powell’s Books promoting his new dystopian thriller called Poet Anderson...Of Nightmares. I know what a big deal stuff like this is for kids. When I was twelve, Michael Damian was signing autographs at some mall in Washington. I was so in love with "Rock On" that I begged my parents to take me. They did, and then I chickened out and wouldn't get in line to meet him. Instead, I photographed him from a distance with my Le Clic camera. I hope Ali has a better experience than I did. 

Chad is my Lincoln Hawk

This afternoon, we arrived at the Embassy Suites, dropped off our car with valet and checked in. We spent time in our room where the boys arm wrestled each other Over-The-Top style, and Ali explored the hotel taking pictures and getting lost. She sent me the following text three minutes after she left the room: “I’m already lost. What room are we in?”

Two minutes later: “HELP!”

Ali inherited my sense of direction and that will not bode well for her in the future. I’m thinking we won’t let the kids roam free downtown tonight. Before we left Olympia this morning, my mom called to remind me not to lose any of my children. At first I thought she was being ridiculous, now I think she may be on to something.

Once Ali found her way back to our room, we left the hotel and walked eight blocks to Powell’s so Ali could buy her book for tomorrow’s signing. Our walk through downtown was hilarious because of the kids’ observations:

“Everyone here is either a hipster or homeless.”  - Jackson

“It smells like pistachios and crayon.” – Ali

“It smells like dandelion milk.” – Ashley

Oddly enough, all their observations were accurate.

She was as happy as a book nerd in a book shop

We arrived at Powell’s around 4:00, and there was a crowd coming and going. We squeezed passed the mob at the entrance and spent two hours wandering the floors, making it through just two of the four stories. And I can say for certain I haven’t seen that many flannels since 1994. Because Jackson was also wearing a flannel, I nearly rubbed the back, showed a book to, and linked arms with about eight strangers. We perused literary masterpieces and purchased a couple. We planned our strategy for tomorrow’s book signing and left the “City of Books.”

Some of the refined literature we discovered

You are looking at taxidermy at its finest.

There is sweet, sweet irony in this picture

Across the street from Powell’s is Sizzle Pie, a trendy pizza place where Ali and Ashley stopped for a slice. We sat next to the floor-to-ceiling windows and people-watched while the girls ate. The route we took back to the hotel revealed an excess of homeless people setting up camp on the sidewalks. One bum held a sign that read: “Will Eat For Food,” and I judged him for his lack of manners and humility. Instead of giving him food, which is all he wanted, I rolled my eyes that his sign didn’t ask nicely. Now I’m regretting my choice to snub the needy, but I’m too scared to go back out on the street and try to find him. I don’t belong in a city.

Chad, Jackson, and I decided to eat dinner at Portland Prime, the restaurant in our hotel. The girls went up to the room and the three of us choose a booth in a dark corner of the restaurant. We ordered from the Happy Hour menu and soon, our waiter Larame covered our table with plates of sesame seared ahi, wedge salads, steak and mushroom bites, quesadillas and drinks. While we ate, a jazz band began to play and Chad and Jackson perked up, tilting their heads so they could hear the music coming from the bar. In the middle of the third song, Jackson shook his head and said, “Gross. The accent on the off-beat. Too long.”

Chad agreed.

I tried to decipher their musical code and, of course, I couldn’t.

“Can you explain what that means?” I asked.

“It was the 16^th note in between the on and off beat,” Jackson said as if he were telling me for the hundredth time. I just stared at my plate and polished off my raw tuna.

We talked with our boy about girls, about friends, and about video games. We discussed his plan to get a roommate and move out of our house as soon as he turns eighteen. I tried to take his picture because he’s so cute and he refused to let me, so I snuck one and he got mad. I actually snuck six. It was worth it.

It was getting late, so we went to the room and picked up the girls. The five of us made our way across the street to Voodoo Doughnut. Ranking high on every “Things to do in Portland” list, this wacky doughnut shop has a perpetual line out the door. Tonight we waited for twenty-five minutes. If you’ve never heard of these funky diabetes-inducing treats, and want to see what the fuss is all about, check out the menu: Voodoo Menu

We sat at a purple picnic table in the alley between the donut shop, Caffé Vita, and a topless bar called the Kit Kat Club. A musician set his sleeping bag and back pack down long enough to open his guitar case/tip jar and frantically strum his guitar while singing a song that sounded like the fast talker in the 80s Micro-Machine commercial. The only lyrics I could make out were, “...beat up Shaquille O’Neal...” So, if you’re wondering where music goes to die, it’s in front of Voodoo Doughnuts.

By now, more homeless people were lining the streets, propped up along store windows, preparing for a long night. I announced to my family, “Every single one of these guys used to be a sweet little baby.”

“Laughing, playing, and loving their parents,” Chad said. And I was completely depressed. Just like that. Still not depressed enough to approach them, though. Because ew. 

So we walked back to our beautiful room, where Chad, Jackson and Ashley went into the bedroom and promptly fell asleep. Ali and I are sitting in the living room watching The Walking Dead. Every time Rick appears on screen, Ali gasps and says, “Mom, look at him. He’s a farmer!” or “Mom, did you see him? He’s curious,” or “Carol hurt his feelings!” If Ali is this star struck by someone on TV, I wonder what tomorrow will be like for her.

Say it ain't so,

I will not go,

Turn the lights off,

Carry me home.

                   -Blink-182

- Rachel