We appear to have lost the instructions
It’s been awhile.
I was driving past the mall earlier this week, a day or two after a blizzard dropped a foot of snow on Portland. It’s been bitterly cold, so the snow is light and fluffy, drifting in the wind. I drove past a wasteland site with a singularly ugly building at the center. It’s a car dealership, almost complete, small signs saying “we’re hiring” and “coming this spring” dotting the entrance, mostly buried in the drifts.
“Folks, you’re probably noticing a bit of turbulence. I’m going to put the seat belt sign on for the next, oh, fifteen minutes or so. Flight attendants, please take your seats.”
It’s getting a little bumpy over the Wind River Range in northern Wyoming as we cruise at 36,000 feet, on our way towards an early arrival in Seattle. I’m heading back for a four day weekend with my son, and I’m pretty excited about it. We’re going to go suit shopping; I’ve lost the weight equivalent of one and a half sons in the last few years and I now have only a single business suit that fits, which is a handicap. I have fond memories when I was little of accompanying my father to The Men’s Shop in Westbrook, Maine, when he needed a new suit, and I’m looking forward to taking my son to Nordstrom’s for a couple of hours of suit selection and fittings. Despite a rainy weekend we have a packed schedule, and on Sunday it’s my birthday, which I imagine will involve John Howie Steakhouse; my son heard a radio ad for John Howie Steakhouse when he was three and now he asks to go to John Howie Steakhouse for my birthday at least seven times a day when we’re together, regardless of the time of year.
I lived in London for three and a half years, but looking back on it now, I’m aware of the fact that I never really made it my own. Indeed, having now spent the last week in east London – at a couple of grim Airbnb flats in Whitechapel – and while bouncing around between meetings and dinners and events in Shoreditch and Hackney and the City of London, it’s become apparent that I did not, in fact, really live in that London which people think of and attracts foreigners and British outlanders alike in their millions. I lived in Greenwich, and spent lovely days and evenings and weekends traipsing through the parks and suburbs of the southeast – but there was a sort of endless suburban feel to it. I think the fact that I often rented a Zipcar and did errands by car sort of sums it up: London, proper, is a city of the tube and black taxis and walking shoes. My time in there allowed me to have a quick commute to Canary Wharf, and while Greenwich had an amazing sort of village feel to it which definitely made it an English experience, it wasn’t really London.
The drive across the country took six days. I left Seattle on a Monday night after picking my son up from school and spending the afternoon with him, the dog and I making good time to Spokane. I was pulled over, speeding through eastern Washington, but the state trooper seemed to take pity on us driving to Maine and let me off with a warning. We didn’t see much once we got past the mountains, driving in the dark across the plateau. We stayed at a soulless roadside hotel; they allowed dogs, which was enough.
I’m traveling this week, so I don’t have time to do a normal post – but I wanted to post something because I spent a bunch of time trying to reformat the home page and postings page of the website. Thanks to all of you for your comments on the site; it’s helped inspire me to learn a bit more about how to make it work, although not nearly enough to make it spiffy. Bear with me – I’ll do my best to make it functional and easy to use.
I’m on my way to London. I’ll be there for just a few days.