Oregon Twilight

Three days, 14 appointments and 425 miles of driving later, I am not feeling particularly tired. Oregon is definitely in my list of ten best states in the U.S. -- can you guess the other nine? Before a dinner of halibut and a couple of glasses of Chardonnay, I nabbed these shots that remind me how much I miss autumn or nearly autumn leaves in northern California.

Oregon Redeems Itself -- and Junk Thief!

After a bumpy start on Monday, I've been having a great time in Oregon, and today's weather was what I define as perfection -- crisp 50s to low 60s, morning fog, autumn colors and slight humidity. My time in Eugene and Portland was so busy I didn't have a chance to catch many photos, but here are a few on the road to and in Salem and back up to Portland where I am now through Thursday afternoon.

Another Monday, Another Meltdown

In my mind's eye, at least, Portland is "just up the road", a place that when the stars align I can fly to faster than I can drive to Santa Rosa. But not this Monday when my door-to-door travels took twice as long as last week's return from the Atlantic Coast.

It was clear that it was Monday when after reading about the latest Wall Street meltdown and checking the status of one of my own modest investments, that I arrived at the United counter, swiped my card to be told that my flight was canceled and that the next available direct flight would get me there at 10 a.m....on Tuesday! After seeing options routing me through LA, Las Vegas and St. Louis (seriously) in order to arrive the same day, I finally sighed and accepted the option of routing through Eugene. After five hours of recharging various portable devices while sitting on the floor of the chaotic SFO United terminal, having two additional hours at Eugene's spotless little airport had a calming, Zen-like impact. They were even playing Native American chants on the sound system.

Sadly, my meet up with Rich Bachelor and Aunty Christ won't happen this trip, which we're all bummed about since our packed schedules won't match up. But I did have a nice phone conversation with Rich this evening.

Wish me luck for the remaining three days of the trip.

In About 16 Hours...

...I'll be here for four days. My dogdad anxiety is still high, but the new sitter has pulled out all the stops to try to make it work this time. Friendatella came over this afternoon, and Guru took a little nap on his feet, proving that he can be a love muffin with someone other than me. Thanks for all the support I've received from about five time zones, even a former coworker living on the southern shores of Lake Victoria, not that far from where his ancestors sought game thousands of years ago.

First We Take Manhattan

In barely 48 hours, I'll be arriving in Manhattan for a jam packed weekend highlighted by the great blogger meet up. If you didn't already get the news, plan to be at the SOHO Grand Lounge this Saturday, September 27, 6:30 - 8:30 p.m. Other mischief and adventures will precede and follow.

And if you've not seen the video promoting this convergence, it is here.

Special thanks to the lovely Salty Miss Jill for making this happen.
ATTENTION LA AND PORTLAND BLOGGERS: I'll be in Oregon October 6-9 and LA October 27-31 +/- . I'd love to meet some of you on those trips if anyone has suggestions. I promise to host something here in SF soon.

Unbearably Light

I've never bought into the "everything happens for a reason" mantra, but I was starting to believe it yesterday. Finishing up my Portland work appointments yesterday, I made my regular pilgramage to Powell's. I've been known to come back with an entire extra checked bag and mid-triple figure debit card charges there after even a 30 minute visit. I spent a good 90 minutes there, and the above is my meager and not that relished loot. Heading to the garage, I threw the bag in trunk of the rental car. Knowing that I am anal at triple, quadruple checking my flights, I checked just to see that I had my departure time of 8:45 in my head. To my horror, 8:45 is the time of my Salt Lake flight later this month, and I was booked to leave Portland at 5:04 p.m. It was 3:57 p.m. Cursing my stupidity, I was resolved to be spending a LONG time at PDX again. Adding to my frustration was the realization that it seems all the filling stations seem to be expertly hidden in the most obscure little cranniues around the aiport, and that took another 15 minutes to resolve. I just wanted to get to the United counter and see if I would be taking some 3 a.m. flight home. Frequent flyer though I may be, I am still overly, overly prepared for most trips arriving at least 20 minutes earlier than required to be prepared for any possible snafu or having to spend my evening meal at Chili's TOO at an airport. I arrived at the counter at 4:37, feeling that I'd commited some horrid travel crime. Okay, this is perhaps the first time in 30 years that I was the one messing up on a flight, not the airlines, but I felt as low as scum wearing white shoes after Labor Day. (Though I don't wear them before Labor Day, for that matter.) The woman at the counter was one of those spunky Oregonian types who smirked and said, "Where were you," and I was ready to be told that I would be put on stand by for some flight the next day. "Actually," she said, "if you don't have checked bags, you technically still have two minutes before they start boarding. I guess I'd also forgotten that security at PDX on Wednesday afternoon is not like a Tuesday morning at SFO. I reached the gate as they were boarding two sections before mine. Deep breath, I had an empty middle seat between me and the aisle mate and arrived home 14 minutes ahead of schedule in time for a pleasant dinner at Manivanh down the street.

On the Waterfront -- I Coulda Been a Contendah!

Like it or not, the new urbanism is here, as spotlighted recently in the San Francisco Chronicle. We have Santana Row, Belmar and other Disneyesque instant inner city feeling developments. Criticized for not being organic and just window dressing for the evolution of strip malls, they are none the less a current reality. Variations on San Francisco and Manhattan lofts are popping up in places like Houston, Omaha and Fargo, new buildings pretending to be old warehouses converted into new uses.

It’s been a year since I was in Portland (unless you count those five hours at PDX airport during the Christmas transit a visit). Quicker than you can say Jiffy Pop, there’s now a new city south of downtown called the South Waterfront District, complete with high rises, an “old-fashioned” trolley, a sky tram and edgy urban non-picket fence residences. Dropping by this afternoon during a break from my short work trip here, the only residents I encountered were a few hired geese who seemed to be enjoying the freshly planted lawns. It sort of felt like I was Brasilia on the Willamette, minus the humidity and decimated rain forest.