...of course the trees

Tomorrow marks 2 weeks since leaving Chicago.  So much has happened in the past two weeks, but it feels like forever ago and 2 seconds ago all at the same time.  

So what's new?  Furniture arrived on Friday, and I am currently at a state of 90% unpacked.  I'll be honest- I'll probably stay at 90% unpacked for awhile- until I muster up enough motivation to figure out what I want to do with the boxes of books I have nowhere to put, and the tool box I hopefully won't need in the near future.  My apartment is a glorified studio, but it feels good.  I'll be the first to let you know there is nothing wrong with small things.  

I live across from an amazing park that I hope to visit every single day that I'm here.  Why?  Because there is something new and/or weird going on everyday for me to watch- tai chi, softball, frisbee, soccer, families shooting rockets, group training classes, people and dogs, strange cheerleading(?) practice that involved bikes, grill outs, and of course the trees.  Perhaps the coolest thing in Portland are the trees.  Not only are they everywhere, but they are beautiful, amazing, and awe-inducing.  There are plenty that make me want to get back into tree-climbing, and I'm sure I will when I'm feeling adventurous.  There are ones that just make you stare up and up and up- and your neck hurts from craning back so far.  Trunks so fat you'd have to hold hands with 2 friends to go around, branches so plentiful you feel like you're lost in a maze.  Holly trees, pine trees, sycamore trees, maple trees, and so many more...and don't even get me started on the shrubbery.  

The neighborhood I am is a stone's throw from an historic district- with gorgeous half million dollar houses that don't look like they should cost so much.  But they are bigger on the inside than they look.  A lot of people take great pride in their front yards here, with stepped retaining walls packed to the gills will all kinds of greenery and flowers.  Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful and pretty damn fragrant too.  

I've had the pleasure to do a lot of walking lately.  Like I said, I am a stone's throw from a fancy hood, with my side of the park being a little less fancy.  I've spent some time exploring the neighborhood and surrounding areas.  One of the interesting things is that you can feel like you're just strolling about the 'burbs one minute, and then turn the corner into a bustling area reminiscent of Andersonville.  

There's so much more to write about- like the prevalence of senior citizens as neighbors, the way being a pedestrian actually feels lonely in this biking town, the food carts, the dude I met named "Wood Poet," and the brew-pubs.  But that'll have to wait until next time (which might be tomorrow).       

puzzles, perfection, and chaos

Packing is kind of funny.  No matter how much you plan, it never works out right.  I am fairly certain I inherited a gene from my father that allows me excellent spatial sense, a miracle in packing.  Things fit inside other things, stacked well, solid.  At least that's how it works out in the beginning.  A proud smile lingers after every expertly packed box.  But now, not so much.  Pure chaos in boxes.  Moisturizer and umbrella in the same box?  Blasphemy!  But there's no way to avoid it- nothing fits together perfectly all the time.  Even the best laid plans have snags.  Even the best packed boxes have socks stuffed in a corner.

I suppose this is just another way to procrastinate- I don't want to pack imperfect boxes, or have to take my tv down.  Or limit my next few weeks of clothes to a few bags.  But in each of these things, there are lessons.  I'd tell them to you, but I have to see what fits in with a welcome mat, a few cans of beets, and a tent.

Nothing hid up my sleeves

Last night I had the great pleasure of seeing one of my best friends and favorite musicians perform for the last time (at least in a while).  It felt like coming full circle, sad and sweet.  I first saw and fell in love with Katie Todd when she played after The Locals at their CD release party at Subterranean.  The Locals put on a good show, but I was blown away by Katie and her band.  It was a jaw-dropping, stfu and just watch kind of experience- which is really rare when you're seeing and hearing a musician for the first time.  I was dead set on seeing her perform as many times as possible after that.  And boy did that happen.  I can honestly say that  knowing and being a part of Katie's life shaped a lot of my life in Chicago.  I have seen her play at so many venues here (I could list 'em but I'm sure you don't really care), I've gone on crazy impromptu road-trips, I've danced my ass off, been hoarse many times the next day, all thanks to her.  I've had the pleasure of playing roadie, selling merch, being backstage at countless bars and shows, and even hanging out in the studio.  I never would have expected it, that one night at Subterranean would have changed my life so much, and I guarantee I  wouldn't change a damn thing about it.

I think I've seen Katie perform over 100 times (I stopped counting a few years ago), and it still never gets old.  I can't say that anyone else's entire music catalog will ever remind me more of the past 10 years in my life more than Katie- that every song will remind me of Chicago and the beautiful people here in my life.

Last night was amazing- like I said, both sweet and sad.  One last night in the green room.  One last night listening intently with awe and love.  One last night to think I'm the only person in the room noticing when she forgot the lyrics, teared up, or did a silly little dance.  One last night quietly comparing the old arrangements to the new ones.  One last night watching my best friend captivate an entire room with her voice and words.  One last night, for now.    

I'll make tiny changes to earth

Working on a leaving mix.  You know, because thats what I do.  Overly romanticized mix tapes trying to capture snapshots of feelings- of life in this city here.

Nothing to look at, letting go.

My walls are bare, the rooms in my apartment feel larger. Those roommates, my babies, I've been living with for all these years have moved on to other homes, other owners. So this is what an empty nest feels like.

Ok, that was kind of dramatic.  But I've recently parted with paintings I've had for almost 7 years.  I've still got some left to keep me company,  but my living room does feel much larger, much more boring.  Same goes for the bedroom and of course the bathroom.  

I've started packing today.  Movers say I've got somewhere between 2000lbs and 2500lbs of stuff.  How did I get a TON, a literal ton of things?  And now I have to put those things in boxes.  Makes you realize how little you actually interact with these things.  I'm going to pack a box of books- most of which I haven't touched in years, gathering dust over the past 2 years (from the last time I moved).  I can't seem to part with most of them.  Is this the human condition?  Always holding on to things we don't want, don't need, can't use.  But we grip tight, just in case.  Always just in case.

One of the things that motivated me to make this move is a reflection on the above ideas.  In January of this year I was offered an opportunity to create a giant mural only to have it painted over, back to a stark white wall days later.  My first instinct was to say, "oh hell no."  I am easily attached to the things I love, the things I create, and the people around me.  I have a hard time letting go, and am fully aware of this.  I decided to take a chance- so I reconsidered and decided to participate.  I had to make something, and then give it up.  Hours and hours and hours I spent on this mural.  I loved every minute of it, getting lost in such a big space.  Weeks later when it was done, I stood proudly by it.  I called it "A World Map of Learning How to Let Go."  And that is exactly what it was, a study of myself and the ability to let go of something that had become near and dear to me.  It wasn't easy, those few days later, standing there with a roller and a tray of white wall paint, erasing everything that I had done.  Of course it was never really gone- I had pictures, I had memories, and I had witnesses to that work.  Still, it was a challenge to let go.  

And that's one of the motivations to my leaving Chicago (outside of the whole moving to be closer to my family thing).  It has my heart, and it has broken it many, many times.  And for now, even though this place is home, I'm letting it go.