In late August, we bundled up our woolly jackets and flew to Portland, Oregon, where I was reunited with my cousin, Denton Todhunter, who I fondly refer to as "The Tattoo King of Portland, Oregon. Denton has two tattoo parlors (Beaverton and Salem) and has found a remarkable canvas for his art--the human being. Aside from his impressive skill in the art of tattoo, he is a kind and gentle man, a bit younger than me and a whole lot taller! He and his remarkably funny wife, Lanna, are settled into a lovely neighborhood with a larger-than-life Great Dane, named "Harley" because he is such a knucklehead! I was really glad I made the effort. Denton replaced me for a time as the black sheep of the family. He has settled into a big life full of interesting ideas and many thoughtful endeavors. My parents were proud of him for finding a way to make a living with art--in some ways, similar to the way I have made a living as a poet by writing poetic materials for corporate clients and employers. We are both living proof that all humans can adapt--even when they know art is their calling.
It was especially important for me to see Denton after losing my father. It made me happy to hear stories of my parents from someone who found their eccentricities as dear as I do. And it made me feel that I am not alone.
From Portland, we drove a rental car to Astoria to visit a place I've always called "Wee Willie Winky Town"--the gorgeous and vivid town that nestles on the cusp of the mouth of the Columbia River. In Astoria, we stayed at The Hotel Elliot, a faithful and comfy restoration of a grand old hotel. We loved staying there! Reasonably priced for such a nice accommodation--their motto is "Wonderful Beds!"--This is not an idle boast. We had room 502, with views of the Columbia and its indolent, yet busy sea traffic and the Astoria bridge, which spans the Columbia to the Washington state side.
For two days, we enjoyed Astoria and my pal Gordo's world. He took us to his community radio station where he runs a Saturday night shift, and to numerous seafood and pancake establishments where we ate like hungry dogs. One of the most wonderful mini-excursions was to the Astoria Column which Peter climbed and took photos of the Columbia and the farmlands below.
We laid around in that marvelous bed, drank great red wine and completely relaxed. A true vacation!
Finally, we wandered down the coast to Yachats, a small and funky town (verging on village size) where we stayed at the Shamrock Lodgettes just off Highway 101. This was wonderful--our room faced the ocean, included a kitchenette and fireplace and access to the beach. Despite my gamey leg, we managed to get down on the beach for a terrific walk in the morning among sea birds and ravens. We recommend that little spot in the road if you want to feel you've flown to another world.
From there, we reluctantly made our way to Jacksonville, knowing that it would be our last stop before returning home. We stayed at TouVelle House, where we stay when we are in Ashland for plays. Our hosts, Gary and Tim are always wonderful and funny and the food and rooms are the best!
It's kind of funny how hard it is to realize you need a vacation until you are in the middle of it! One must put enough miles (mental or physical) between themselves and the mean modern world that has grown up around us--to understand the meaning of re-creation. To linger under a particularly beautiful bridge--even if dump trucks are rolling and dumping gravel for the next rainy season--to stop at roadside attractions that remind us of being little kids whose parents needed a break from driving--to suspend disbelief and order something entirely foreign from a greasy spoon menu--all these things contribute to the sense of being reborn, even if it's a transitory (and hopefully endlessly repetitive) emotion.
