Wondering about the meaning of life, I did what any sensible person would do, and I Googled it.
As problems go, an hour or two of being wide awake in the middle of the night isn't horrible, but...
A place where we're reminded that once upon a time no humans walked, where human strife didn't exist, where none of this, none of us, mattered.
I like Portland weather partly because I have no choice. I repeatedly re-embrace it in a cognitively dissonant way, forcing myself to think: It's exciting! It's variety! It's opportunity! instead of: Oh this sucks!
An old railroad is given new life, and a reminder to mix life's sweetness with the challenges.
It was hard to know what disaster to pay attention to yesterday. And yet we keep on with our small lives, surviving, loving, laughing, singing. I'm privileged to be able to turn away.
Retirement isn't about stopping living; for me it was about choosing how I wanted to live my life, and where I wanted to live it.
Hiking the Columbia Gorge is always a thrill, and finding a big rock to climb lets me to take the long view.
The Columbia River spills into the Pacific in Astoria, a confluence of legendary currents, tides, waves and winds, plus frequent fog and rain. I mean, who wouldn't want to visit the place known as The Graveyard of the Pacific?
Four years in Portland, and I'm no longer feeling quite Californian, and almost but not quite an Oregonian. I celebrated quietly and took note of how it feels now.