Blog of a Newly Minted Housewife

Livin' a Life Less Ordinary

The new blog title is from a song by Carbon Leaf. Since I plan on being in the same place for the next month or year, I decided "Travelblogue" was no longer apt.

And I hope the new title exemplifies the life I make for myself in Portland – a life different from others, a life different from the one I've led up to this point. I suppose someday I might live an ordinary life – a house, a husband, a job, a child. But for now I'd like to do something a little extraordinary.

Up to this point, though, life in Portland has been extremely ordinary, or at least not appreciatively different from the one I left behind. I still spend too much time on line, begin every day with coffee and the crossword, and end every day by taking the dog around the block.

We've developed a routine, Addie and I. I put on my Ugg boots and my parka, grab a plastic bag, a flashlight, my keys and her leash. After locking the door, we step off the porch, turn right, and head uphill. It's two houses to the corner, where we go downhill, facing the lights of downtown. Two houses to the next corner, a level block, another corner, another two houses and finally round the last corner, round our house to our door, at the back. I live on the corner of a volcano, you see.

It's a little misty. I couldn't be sure what it was. And of course, he wouldn't tell me.

Tonight there was fog. As we stepped to the sidewalk – mossy, still, from where my landlord just took out a gigantic shrub that used to overhand both the sidewalk and my stoop – as we stepped to the sidewalk, everything was diffuse. The light, the sound, the edges of everything we passed. A soft mist came down, almost imperceptible. I couldn't make out any of the lights from downtown, not tonight. Just a far off glow and the shape of trees and houses that lay in between.

Addie paused, and I did too, and I noticed a drop, amber from the glow of the streetlamp, hanging from a bare branch above my head. I moved around that drop, keeping it in the center of my vision, and watched the light change, the color of the drop shifting with my arcs. It was quiet and soft, and even my own footsteps seemed far away as we went down the hill. Around the corner, trash cans were lined up, ready for the morning's trucks, and cars with frosted windows slept in the street. Around and around, and into the warmth of the house again, into the brightness and harshness of a kitchen left lit.

And this was my night. And this is my life. A little ordinary, a little safe. A little mine.

And a little fine. For now.

New Adventure, New Digs

A trip around the country just wasn't enough of an adventure for me. Or maybe it just made me see the possibilities. No matter the reason, the end result is the same.

In October, I moved from Cupertino to Portland, Oregon.

I might have moved sooner if it weren't for the writer's conference I helped organize this summer, or my sister's wedding, in which I was a bridesmaid. I had to fulfill my obligations to others before I could take care of myself. But, having done that, I feel free to do what I want, completely what I want. Which so far has been a lot of time playing Super Jigsaw and watching network TV, but which must soon morph into a meaningful job of some sort and time in front of my manuscripts.

I am living in a funky apartment in this converted farmhouse near Mt. Tabor, the only volcano in a major American city. The views from there are incredible, and those from my street not much worse. It is a little like living in a small mountain town, but with a short walk and a quick bus ride, I can be amid the hustle and bustle of downtown Portland, with it's tax-free shopping, dreadlocked street kids, and not-so-discrete strip clubs.

I really do love this town.

I moved just in time to take advantage of the free writer-meet-up service known as National Novel Writing Month. This was the personal challenge that led me to the fantastic people who have been meeting every Thursday night for the past two years at the Coffee Society in Cupertino. I am hoping I meet a similarly enthusiastic and nurturing group of writers here in Stumptown, plus the added bonus of writing another novel.

Don't ask what it's about; I'm not really sure yet.

I have also been going to a weekly open mike night and testing the restaurants and shops in walking distance from my new digs. And I joined the gym, just to counteract all the restaurant testing and hours at the computer.

I am hoping to get this blog going again. I've been tempted many times to write, but haven't felt like I had the time to write what I wanted to write. Then it occurred to me that the need for perfection was only in my head, and perhaps my loyal readers – if there are any left – are more interested in just finding out what I've been up to or what I've been thinking than they are in reading perfect prose. So, I've thrown out the quest for perfection, as can be seen from the entire preceeding entry!

Karen

P.S. I did bring my dog along with me. I can hardly believe she's 12 years old now, but she is. I wish the move had been as nice for her as is was for me. Unfortunately, she injured her (arthritic) knee within days, and the next weekend was involved in a tussle with Spencer, the black lab who lives next door. That tussle resulted in a torn ear and a Saturday night surgery, and this pathetic photo. She is really much better now, thanks, although she doesn't really understand why I don't take her for long walks or play with her the way she'd like. I try to tell her it is doctor's orders, that she risks an expensive surgery if she doesn't baby that gimp leg, but she doesn't understand.