Grimm Reality

I like to take walks at lunchtime with one of my co-workers. A week or so ago, we were walking not a block from our office building and suddenly came upon this old-timey shop.



It looked like it had been there forever, and yet, somehow, we'd never noticed it before and we walk up and down that street all the time. Then again, sometimes we're so absorbed in conversation that we are oblivious to our surroundings. Still, this place is like a block from where we work. We peered at it a little closer, noting the liberal use of the word "exotic" to describe the teas, herbs, soaps, and oils the shop sold. Was it kind of a sketchy front for something or just a regular place? That's the thing about the downtown neighborhood we work in. It's a weird mix of schmanciness and sketchiness. Like, one of my co-workers got flashed one evening and another time she was out walking and noticed a human tooth on the sidewalk--eek!

Anyway, the tea shop wasn't open, but we resolved that we would check it out sometime soon.

A few days later, I was out at lunchtime by myself, wandering around trying to decide where to get some lunch when I came upon the Mountain View Diner, more or less next door to the tea shop.



Again, it looked like it had been there since at least 1963 but I'd never seen it before. It looked a teensy bit skeezy, but somehow appealing. I liked that it sold "Hamburgs" and "Cheeseburgs" instead of hamburgers and cheeseburgers. I also liked that the front window advertised their salads in a less than gung-ho way: "Salads--If you like that sort of thing." Hilarious! I've got to check this place out. Also, they have chili con carne. Who calls it that anymore? How come I never noticed this place? It wasn't open for some reason, but I would keep it on my radar. I definitely wanted to try their cheeseburgs. I was looking forward to it.

Then a few days ago while I was eating lunch in the office lunchroom with some co-workers, my former boss came bustling in to tell us that the Grimm people are slapping together right this very minute a fake mailbox shop set, right next to the fake tea shop. Wait a minute. Fake tea shop? Hold on.

Sure enough, both the diner and the tea shop are fake!!!!!! They're sets for that new TV show Grimm that is set in Portland. I am so easily gulled! I felt very sheepish but admitted that I had actually been planning to patronize both places. I found out I wasn't the only one who was hoodwinked. Another one of my co-workers had been eagerly looking forward to an eventual meal at the Mountain View diner. I'm telling you, these Grimm set builders are extremely good at what they do. Both of those places look real and authentically old--the lettering on the windows is partially worn away, and the interiors are dusty and tired looking.






So now I don't know what to think. I'm starting to feel like I work in the Twilight Zone. For example, is this new business, Mom Jeans (M&M Jeans?), real or fake?



It's right next to the Mountain View Diner. I suspect it's real, because the PDC (Portland Development Commission) sign in the window strongly suggests that it is actual, but maybe not. One of those big Hollywood movie trailers was parked right in front of it. And what about the new business right next to Mom Jeans, an antique shop called Tarnish and Varnish--that wasn't open? I really just don't know anymore. It's a bit mind blowing. But fun!

In Praise of Electrified Cat's Tail, Pimpled Kidney, and Others of Their Ilk

At this time of year (nearly) all of Portland has, at the very least, a patina of moss--if not a shaggy suit of moss armor. It's glorious, and I love everything there is to love about these tough, tiny, tenacious spore-bearing plants. I've been taking a closer look at them lately. Worth it!



I've been doing some superficial research, too. That is, I've been skimming my copy of Plants of the Pacific Northwest Coast to see if I might be able to identify some of the many different types of moss I've been scrutinizing. The common names I've run across are wonderfully vivid and imaginative. "Electrified cat's tail moss," "hairy lantern moss," "goblin's gold," and "lanky moss" are a few of my faves.



Once a person gets down on her hands and knees to inspect moss, she can't help but notice that this town is also lousy with lichen (but in a good way!).

Lichens are odd and fascinating organisms. There is some debate about how to classify them, but my book hails them as the "banners of the fungal kingdom," although I'm not sure why. They are fungi, I guess, but they "farm" algae inside their own structures. The algae carries out photosynthesis on behalf of a lichen and supplies it with nutrients. Wacky!

But not nearly as wacky as the common names that have been given to various species of lichen. As great as a name like "electrified cat's tail moss" is, how can it possibly compete with lichen names like "punctured rocktripe," "lettuce lung," "freckle pelt," "pimpled kidney," "questionable rock-frog," "ragbag," "devil's matchstick," "false pixie cup," or "blood-spattered beard"?

And lest you think that I've just cherry-picked the weirdest names I could find and that these bizarro lichens are known only to a select group of mycologists, let me assure you that any Portlander willing to inspect a retaining wall in his or her neighborhood or take a short stroll in any of our urban forests will see some of these crazy-ass lichens.

Right here, taken a few blocks from my house, is some false pixie cup, growing on a mossy rock in someone's front garden. It's very common. And cute.



And here's a two-fer: A hemlock cone nestled among blood-spattered beard and ragbag. Nice. Taken in Forest Park. Not hard to find at all.

Fall Color

The Most Beautiful Red Maples in All of Portland (Up Close)
Originally uploaded by Rozanne.

Maybe I'll write an actual blog entry one of these days. For the nonce, please enjoy this photo of the Most Beautiful Red Maples in All of Portland™.

High Energy

Possibly the best spontaneous dancing video to date. Only one person dancing while wearing a backpack, but that is balanced by the fact that there is a guy doing a pirouette (of sorts). The grand finale features maniacal cackling.

More Spontaneous Dancing--Plus a Flashback!

What is it with Portland and spontaneous dancing? Especially dancing spontaneously with a fully loaded backpack. It happens all the time.* That's good, though. That's the way we do it in Portland, Oregon.

I loved listening to this all-female drum group led by a women in her 60s who made good use of her green gym teacher's whistle.

Flashback to 5th grade and me sitting at the kitchen table with a slip of paper from school asking me if I wanted to sign up to play a musical instrument and, if so, which one? Well, my dad was the high school band director so it was a foregone conclusion that I'd be answering the first question with a "yes," but how to answer the second question was up to me. I couldn't decide between the flute and percussion, but finally I wrote in "Percussion." Then, I'm not sure what happened but at some point later that evening I erased "Percussion" and wrote in "Flute."

I have often regretted that.

*I hope you clicked on the link and watched the video. It makes me happy every time I watch it.

Schizophrenia

This is what it looked like when I took a walk at lunchtime in Icky Suburb on Tuesday.




This is what it looked like when I took a walk after dinner in Portland on Tuesday. The weather had improved a bit, and the freakiness factor had increased significantly.

Lunchtime Walk

How glorious to take a lunchtime walk in the City of Portland instead of Icky Suburb. Yay for VPN and telecommuting and blue skies and pothole hotlines.

Portland on a Saturday Afternoon

Spontaneous dancing to a marching band featuring a baritone sax solo--just one of the reasons I love living in Portland.

On the Plus Side

Getting used to working in an office again--after being self-employed and working from home for 12 years--is a huge adjustment. I really can't say how well it's going. I just don't have enough perspective to make any judgments yet. One plus, though, was that I was up early enough to see this glorious sunrise on Friday.

I decided to start Project 365* again. It reminds me to be cognizant of my surroundings and helps prevent me from thinking about work all the time. It also is a great way to make sure I get out for a walk every day, so I can get some exercise and appreciate all the weird and wonderful things Portland has to offer. I've even found some weird (though not wonderful) things in the icky suburb where I now work. Who knew?

*Project 365 is a photo-a-day project on Flickr.

On Top of Tabor

Day 59/366: The View of Mount Hood from Mount Tabor
Originally uploaded by Rozanne.

Work has been erratic and/or slow. Such is the life of a freelancer. I don't mind one bit because today was a gloriously warm and clear day. I took myself off to the Hawthorne neighborhood and headed straight for Mount Tabor, one of Portland's extinct volcanoes/city parks.

There's nothing like great Portland weather to make me really, really, really appreciate the choices I've made in life, e.g., moving to Portland in the first place (brava!) and being my own boss.

Some sights from today's walk:



The first flush of daffodils is here. That arresting sunny yellow color is hard to beat.



One of the Mount Tabor Reservoirs.



Reservoir cop on a Segway. I guess he's preventing criminals from poisoning Portland's water supply.



Gorgeous cirrus clouds today. This is what I saw when I looked up from the top of Tabor. One of my favorite things about this park is that anyone you see on top of Tabor got there under his or her own power. Cars are not allowed to drive to the top! There's a gate maybe a quarter of a mile before the top. Walkers, joggers, cyclists, skateboarders, dogs, and parents with strollers can all get through the gate but cars are banned, outlawed, and forbidden. I love that. That means that you can enjoy the grand view at the top without having to hear, see, or smell cars. That means that people can sit up there on a beautiful day--such as today--with a little picnic basket and a couple of glasses (real glasses) of white wine. I saw some people doing just that. Lovely.

It would not be lovely at all if cars were allowed. I know I already said that.



Mount Tabor isn't wilderness, but it is very woodsy with many trees of more-than-respectable girth.

Slacking and Basking

To me, this photo perfectly depicts what living in Portland is all about—slacking and basking like an iguana on a sunny Friday afternoon instead of working. B and I passed this dude and the disembodied feet of his companion as we trekked 1,500 feet up to Angel’s Rest, which overlooks the mighty Columbia River.



It was gorgeous up there, but so windy! I could barely hold the camera steady long enough snap a few photos. Frankly, I was lucky that the wind didn’t snatch the camera from my hands and fling it into an early and watery grave. My hat was not so lucky. Soon after I reached the top, it was whisked off my head and into some brambles growing out of an outcropping about 40 vertical feet below me.

There was no way I could retrieve it. Unintentional littering. At least the hat was 100% cotton and will biodegrade in one to five months,* rather than the 30 to 40 years it would take if it had been made of nylon or the 800 years it would take if the wind had somehow managed to extract a sanitary napkin from my person and loft it over the cliff.**

The basking dude was still there as we made our way back down to sea level. He hadn’t moved a micron and neither had the disembodied feet. A bit creepy, but a bit glorious, too. Slacking I can do, but basking is not my forte. I think the guy may have been a professional.

I actually had a great weekend—it didn’t hurt that it started at noon on Friday. Nor was it marred by the fact that I spent all of Saturday morning inhaling overpowering Yankee Candle Company-like fumes and battling the smoke alarm as I attempted to remove the contents of about half a bottle of Palmolive dish detergent from every possible surface inside the oven, including the broiler pan (a saga I’d rather not go into right now, but it was a right kerfuffle).

Saturday afternoon my friend P came over. We had planned to go for a walk, but as soon as a few raindrops started to fall (about a half block after we left my house) P suggested we detour and take refuge in a nearby brewpub. In fact, we settled for Cha, Cha, Cha, which was about 20 steps closer. It should be called Cheap, Cheap, Cheap. The food is really fresh and tasty, too. Score! I don’t know how they can charge so little for it, especially given the neighborhood. The rent has to be fairly spendy.

By the time we finished eating, the rain had stopped, so we ended up taking a walk of respectable length.

I went on yet another hike on Sunday morning. This time in Forest Park with three friends, a Rottweiler, and a Corgi. The Corgi insisted on being in the lead at all times and set a fairly brisk pace for the entire 5 miles, despite the fact that his legs are only 3 inches long. Go figure.



Forest Park is such a treasure, and I’m so glad Portlanders appreciate it and use it. We started at what I had thought was a little-used trailhead, but there were swarms of hikers, trail runners, and cyclists there, happily worshiping nature. The great thing is, though, that there are so many trails and hiking options that soon we had the ferny, trillium-lined trail to ourselves. The bigleaf maples are in flower and impart the forest with this otherworldly glow-in-the-dark light. They’re lovely, but I have to admit that I find the their drooping flower clusters somewhat ghastly. What do they remind me of?

*This seems optimistic.
**My source here is Wikipedia, so if you were planning to cite any of this in your doctoral dissertation, don't do it.