PORTLAND VIEW, THE OTHER PORTLAND

The Portland view we’ve all seen is akin to a metro trash transfer station.

You know the place, where you pull up with a load, pay the fee, and get directed to a one in a series of huge bins.

Front loaders drive around pushing trash back so you have room.

Then you back in, unloads on a concrete floor, and leave while the bulldozer pushed it all toward the back of the structure.

That’s not the Portland view anyone writes home about.

Sports fans come to town for Your Portland Trail Blazers and put on a brave face.

Social activists come to town to highlight what’s wrong and how it’s being ignored.

Then you and I come to town.

For what?

 

Portland Baby Boomer Town

I came to town broke, jobless, and someone waiting for me level up.

After the leveling up didn’t happen, I was still broke, looking for work, and had no one waiting for anything.

I was a free man. Free-wheeling, time stealing, and moving slowly forward.

I jumped from job to job, checking in with a brokerage based on my Wall Street experience, working in a hospital based on my Army medic experience, and driving a courier van.

Was Portland a pile of  crap in the early 80’s?

Yes it was. But like any urban center there’s two views.

One is, ‘What Can Portland Do For Me?’

The other is, ‘What Can I Do For Portland?’

I’d lived in all the big town by the time I got here, from North Bend, to Ashland, Philadelphia, Eugene, and the New York City borough of Brooklyn.

In one way or another they were all shit towns.

Also in one way or another they were just right and I could have lived in any of them my entire life.

How does that work?  I’m not picky.

I don’t expect my neighbors to brighten my day. “Tell me if my place is on fire,” is my big ask.

I don’t expect any city to roll out the red carpet for anyone, though I’ve seen celebrity shows with red carpets.

If you’re a celebrity, know a celebrity, and walked the rug, did it make you feel special?

Seems like it would be a lifelong memory.

Do that a few times and you’ll see a city in a different light. Like Los Angeles.

That red carpet glow is enough for the people in SoCal to stick around, that and the weather, the beaches, and the beautiful people.

Is it enough if all you have to look forward to is sweeping out a warehouse in West LA and two more bottles of wine?

How you show up in a city is the cloud, or sunshine, you’ll remember.

A lot of people show up under a cloud in already cloudy Portland.

I had things to do and people to meet and not a lot of time for clouds.

 

Leveling Up For A Portland View

Because of the work I’ve done, I’ve met mayors and governors and senators.

Portland means something different to each of them.

It’s either a work in progress, a doomed hell-hole, or just some city they used to know.

But it’s more than elected officials trying to paint a pretty picture.

It’s the right people, the wrong people, and everyone in between.

I told my wife we ought to live in Portland. We were in NW at the time, then moved to inner-SE.

She said no, that it reminded her too much of LA where she grew up.

To hear it from her she walked past pimps and whores and dealers and stoners every day on the way to school.

She wanted better for our kids before we even had kids.

That’s the ride I’ve been on ever since.

We both want better for our kids, and by extension, any kids who need more than they’re getting.

I want better for her, but she married me. Now I have to try, then try harder, and top it off with trying my hardest.

Do you know any other blogger who make their biggest effort for their wife?

It goes like this:

 

Wife: Do you know where the ____ is?

Me: It’s in the other room. I’ll get it.

Wife: You don’t have to jump up and get it. I said I’ll get it.

Me: Already got it.

Wife: I don’t need it yet.

Me: Now you know where it is.

 

Which leads to:

 

Wife: Why do you think you always have to be the one?

Me: Because I’m your husband.

Wife: I could have done it myself.

Me: You asked a question and I answered. That’s how it works.

Wife: You don’t have to always answer.

Me: You don’t have to always say something before you find stuff on your own.

Wife: What’s that supposed to mean? Are you telling me to shut-up?

Me: No. It means I love you.

When is the last time you thought to show Portland, Oregon a little love?