as in, yurtsgiving (2013 edition)

yurtsgiving, as in thanksgiving that happens in and/or around and/or near a yurt.

three years ago, when we were still living out in portland, the madison family said, hey! let's camp! let's camp for thanksgiving! and we said hey! let's camp! let's do it! though we feel we should tell you something. we've never camped before.

which is maybe the first time we'd admitted it out loud, while living in the pacific northwest. because, and maybe this will come as a surprise to some of you, this is not something you openly admit when you live in the great pacific northwest. you do not openly admit to not liking coffee. and you absolutely do not openly admit to never having camped. you just don't. believe me.

and it's not that we didn't want to camp. we just didn't know how. neither of us had ever gone as kids, neither of us had grown up camping. we didn't have any of the stuff. and you need the stuff. you can't just show up and camp, you need the stuff. furthermore, you need to know how to do the stuff. and we certainly did not know how to do any of the stuff. and so this is how we went almost seven years living out in the great pacific northwest (the unofficial camping capitol of the free world) without ever having camped.

clearly, yurtsgiving changed all that. for the record, I do realize yurt camping is maybe not the same as, ahem, real camping. though I'm here to tell you it sure as hell is when you've never been camping before. as the people say, you've got to start somewhere and that little yurt nestled in a forest along the oregon coast was our gateway drug. that little yurt in nehalem bay is where we fell in love with bacon cooked over an open fire and crazy camp raccoon shenanigans and midnight stargazing and campsite turntables and picnic table thanksgiving dinners and, well, camping.

twas our last thanksgiving while living in portland, twas a heckuva way to go out.

photobooth friday

in a photobooth (or not in a photobooth, depending on how you look at it), ace hotel, portland, oregon, one month ago. I'll tell you, it was nice to be in a city with real photobooths again. atlanta, where are your photobooths? your old-school dip-and-dunk style chemical photobooths? where? and don't tell me west egg cafe because that thing never works. also, I don't think those people there even care.

anyway.

in other news, it's friday. 

you guys. 

IT'S FRIDAY.

portland on film, part one

portland on film, part one, starring all my old favorites. powell's books and annie's donuts and cargo and bollywood theatre and a few old friends and a few old downtown buildings plus the lobby at the ace and my old hood and pretty much every bike in the city. which (and this goes without saying) I have missed, more than I could ever, ever adequately put into words. I mean, I knew I would miss portland when we moved, I just didn't know how much, I had no earthly idea how much. not until the moment I scraped together a few fairly valid excuses to return, found a bargain basement airfare and then was so giddy about it, I could not, would not let myself even think about it. I would not permit myself even a sliver of a daydream about it until the actual day I boarded the plane and flew out there.

and then, as if I'd never even left, there I was-- walking the streets of our old hood, past our beautiful old house, along the ridge with the view of mount hood, past the kids' sweet old elementary and middle school, past my favorite turquoise house, down the stretch of sidewalk with all the dahlias, past our beloved annie's. and then, downtown-- down all my favorite old streets, past all my favorite old buildings, in and out of all of my favorite spots. and powell's, up and down the aisles of powell's, holy crap, powell's. where my reaction was as emotionally visceral as the one I had when I stood in front of our old house. powell's, where the scent of old books and burnt coffee nearly brought me to my knees.

the way I feel about this city, the missing of it, the mourning of the loss of it-- is complicated. riddled with contradiction, teeming with sharp and soft, sweet and sour, a thread I'm careful not to pull at for fear of the swiftest unraveling. four weeks ago, I found myself staring down the barrel of it and the minute I stepped off the plane, I gave in. I let the city unravel me. I let myself fall back into it, into the deep grief of the thing. I savored every painful, joyful minute of it, held onto it as long as I possibly could, til I couldn't any longer, til the view of my former city grew smaller and smaller through the tiny oval airplane window, til I was forced to put myself back together, piece by piece, to loosen my grip and let go.

file this under

file this under: photographs I wish could climb back inside, just for a little while. this time, this age, this street, this portland. this quiet, these colors. like butterscotch in my mouth, honey in my hand.

list forty-eight: some things I miss about portland

or, the beginnings of a love letter.

1. the light on yamhill and 10th around magic hour
2. the smell of franz bread baking near NE 11th
3. the used car lot balloons that line 82nd
4. the long, tall aisles of powell's books
5. annie's happy, happy windows
6. and those sunshine yellow booths
7. lippman's bins full of bouncy balls
8. smut's bins full of instant relatives
9. grilled cheese sandwiches eaten on double decker buses
10. cherry snow cones eaten in rose gardens
11. the sound of passing streetcars
12. the smell of coffee everywhere
13. the big, beautiful downtown library
14. the view from my favorite parking deck
15. the occasional awkwardly awkward tall bike
16. the green, green moss that covers everything
17. bipartisan's sour cherry pie
18. little big burger's truffle fries
19. old cameras stacked ramshackle in citizen's windows
20. jumbles of color hung on rerun's racks
21. those five words in neon orange
22. that big loser in the sky
23. the light in the lobby of the ace
24. the secret drawers filled with secret papers
25. the cardboard city on the ceiling of tender loving empire
26. the organ music at the old oaks park roller rink
27. the red and yellow spiral slide at glenhaven park
28. the rainbow of flags that hang above SE third
29. the hidden gem that is the cameo
30. the hidden treasure that is ed's house of gems
31. a thousand different food carts
32. a window full of light bulbs
33. cargo's big red wooden doors
34. lloyd center's tiny spinning ice skaters
35. dance class up on the fourth floor
36. bus number twelve down sandy boulevard
37. chin's perfect neon
38. le happy's perfect yellow
39. saturday morning at the hollywood farmer's market
40. saturday night at the hollywood theatre
41. pambiche's empanadas and sugar cane lemonade
42. mcmenamin's magic saltwater soaking pools
43. my favorite building (the color block building)
44. my favorite thrift store (the secret one)
45. the feel of the downtown train station
46. the daily view from the sacramento ridge
47. every portland bridge, every single one
48. every portland thing, every last one

photobooth friday

behold: the last photobooth strips taken in that late, great city of ours. on our last day, our very last hour in portland, oregon. when I saw that the booth at the ace was working that day, I almost fell to my knees with gratitude.

but here's the thing. I've lost them. somewhere along the way, they vanished. in the midst of all the traveling, the packing and unpacking, the getting in and out of the car (and in and out and then in and out again), and then in and out of motel room after motel room and then all the unpacking of the suitcases once we arrived here in atlanta, and the unpacking of all the boxes, and the shifting around of a hundred million things, is it really any wonder?

still, I'm heartbroken. I never lose things like this. I've turned the house upside down but, nothing. nothing but this measly little iphone image. I can't help but wonder, will someone eventually find them? somewhere down the road? and wonder who we are? wonder what our story is? will we turn up at the fleamarket fifty years from now? will we be someone's fleamarket find? one can only hope. you know, a girl can dream.

cities, states, colors

red // portland, oregon


red // portland, oregon


yellow // crescent city, california


pink // shady cove, oregon


green // somewhere in texas


green // somewhere in new mexico


purple // palm springs, california


purple // atlanta, georgia


orange // palm springs, california


orange // palm springs, california


blue // tucumcari, new mexico

this time, color//colour lovers stretched itself out over perhaps the seven craziest weeks of my life-- beginning with our last two weeks in portland and ending with our first few weeks in atlanta. sandwiched in between: a magnificent two-week road trip across the country. seven different colors from nine different cities and five different states, all collected with the iphone because that's just about all I could handle. actually, I wasn't sure I'd even be able to handle that much but I had to try. I absolutely had to try.

(more over at color//colour lovers, specifically from my partner in color crime, ms. xanthe b)