Sunday, July 26, 2009

Hot Weekend

Portland is having a ridiculously hot summer. We seem to be in the midst of a crazy heat wave--potentially the first of its kind in forty years (or since the forties) from what I've overheard. It was in the high 90's today, and it will be the same tomorrow, and then for the next three days or so, it will be around 100 degrees.
On the bright side, it won't be 100 degrees with 85% humidity. (Looking at you, NJ!)
Still, it is HOT. It is tank top hot. It is deodorant-doesn't-work hot. It is stick-your-head-in-the-freezer hot.
This weekend was crazily eventful. I have a lot of stories to write here--I'm keeping a list--but I'm going to skip ahead chronologically and write about this weekend.
On Friday, I went to Mt. Hood for work. It was fantastic and beautiful and worth describing. It was full of things that are why I moved to Portland--shade and forest and the smell of pine trees* and unfamiliar, beautiful wildflowers and mushrooms, intricate lichen hanging delicately from low-hanging branches, snow-covered pointy mountains, and a beach by an ice-cold mountain river. (Probably Hood River?)
Then I came home and was exhausted and loafed around, doing productive things around the house but mostly loafing.
Saturday morning, I made the mistake of looking at old files on my computer, watched some videos of a party from my old old apartment in New Brunswick, and started to feel homesick--for people, not the place. I rode on the bus to the farmers market feeling lonely--admiring my sunny, beautiful city with its charming neighborhoods and cute families on bikes--but feeling a little sad, wishing I knew more people here, wishing I could magically bring my friends from NJ here to share this all with them.
Then I went to the farmers market. Then I went back home, and then to a work function--a potluck picnic. I noticed on the way back, driving over the Ross Island Bridge, that it was so hazy I could not see Mt. Hood. I always look for Mt. Hood when I'm driving home. I can't see it from my bedroom or anything, but I can see it from my bus stop and the Ross Island Bridge and the whole route home from work. I look at it, rising up pointily on the horizon, the way I used to look for the coppery red and green-roofed church steeple that loomed above my old New Brunswick home. It was so hazy...and the heat--still in the 90s-- was all around. The car and the windows and the steering wheel and the Ross Island Bridge and the Willamette and the hazy sunset and my hair all burned.
After this, my weekend continued to be eventful. I met up with a friend from NJ who is in town. I went to PDX Pop Now. I got flashed by a creepy guy. I went to a event and saw Harold and Maude. I cried in public--just teary at the end of the movie--but I had to really hold back bawling, ugly cry. The combination of the movie and the actor's face and Cat Stevens and how so many of my favorite people are thousands of miles away and my future is uncertain...well, it was a bit much. Floodgates were sustained, however. I had coffee with some nice ladies. Then I got lost, as usual, in Portland, and a really friendly, helpful stranger coordinated with a bus driver to make sure I got to my destination. I went shopping in the Hawthorne neighborhood. I ate dinner alone at a burrito place. I finally bought a map and navigated myself back to Division Street through a neighborhood of colorful houses with vibrant gardens--most containing shrub-sized lavender and purple sage. I saw an attractive guy teaching two adorable children how to juggle while we all waited in the boiling sun--a bank tower in front of us informing us that it was, at 8pm, 97 degrees--for the #4. And then finally, I came home.
Now I'm doing laundry--the excitement just doesn't end.

* I know a lot of them are fir and spruce. Read this as "in the order Pinales," botanists.


PP said...,_Oregon

this is supposed to be a nice place to go and cool off, in fact my good friends family just returned from there to escape the heat

Sarah said...

Thanks! I will check it out! I really want to go to the coast.