Air Knives
Tuesday. OK, it's warm here in Lake Oswego, they're saying the temperature will reach one hundred and five, but no need to obsess. We are, after all, on the road. We're looking for new experiences, are we not? Novelty without too much excitement (at our age)? I've just returned from the Startbucks down the way with a cup of coffee and a New York Times. The coffee, black, their largest (I avoid using their too precious “venti” when I order, some standards must be maintained), the coffee cool enough now so it doesn't raise your body temperature but still delivers the kick you need to clear your head.
I managed more sleep last night, getting up after eight, Starbucks at this hour filled with a long line of people ordering whatever (in venti sizes), the patio out back empty, but humid and too warm. And the car, just sitting there with its air conditioning in working order, subconsciously screaming: get your ass back here inside!
Your car did that, did it?
Too over the top? Looked after by one's car? I did sit out at a table and read the front page, but drove home and finished it out here on the deck overlooking the back yard (in the shade). The day has started here as my days start in Oakland. Breakfast (in this case coffee), the papers, the head clear(er), the meds kicking in. Now for the day ahead. Portland lies some ten or so miles up Highway 5, there are no doubt opportunities for photographs. Portland itself, when it's not steaming or raining, is one beautiful city that's managed its architecture and grown over the years with its residents in mind. Strange kind of government managing anything with its residents in mind. Maybe why real estate prices haven't tanked as much as they have in California, although I'm seeing a lot of unsold houses here with “for sale” signs waiting on a buyer who doesn't laugh when they hear the asking price.
Your sister suggested a trip to the coast.
I hadn't taken her suggestion seriously for some reason, but I suspect “a trip to the coast” isn't all that much effort as long as when you get there you can find a nice air conditioned bar. Or restaurant. We don't want to introduce family to our bad habits too quickly when we've just arrived.
Indeed.
Later. A walk around an upscale restaurant-boutique area of Portland for an hour shooting a picture or two in the heat while my sister took care of a doctor's appointment, the temperature they're saying a hundred and four, twenty minutes of that hour sitting in another Starbucks drinking an iced coffee, black. I had to admit the store designs were nice, I liked the signs, puts Union Street in San Francisco or College Avenue in Oakland to some shame. I wouldn't want to live in the area, not funky enough, but you give credit when credit is due. Painful to do.
Later still. They say another day of this stuff. Mr. E called asking if I was planning to go to Mr. S's gig tonight, wondered if I'd ever gotten off to Portland. Yes, I'd gotten off to Portland. How was the temperature in Orinda? Low nineties, which means it was in the low eighties in the late afternoon in Oakland. No, I wasn't planning on going to the gig, I'd seen the heads up email, being back in the area by Saturday was the plan.
So we've become a bunch of warm wet rags, here in Lake Oswego south of Portland, you could cut the air like bread with an air knife. We may need an air knife if this is a harbinger of the global warming our sage and southern Congress persons tell us isn't coming. Perhaps best, though, Portland is sitting on a river and not on the ocean or we'd be talking air knives, hip waders and boats.
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