March 1999 Archives

Have you missed me? I certainly have missed you.

Though I have to admit that a week away from my computer was refreshing. A week away from everything was refreshing.

On the 21st, Amy and I visited Cannon Beach, Oregon (my favorite Oregon Coast town) for the day. It rained, but it was still beautiful.

At one point, the tide came in so far we had to scramble up an abandoned staircase. The stairs were half buried in sand. When we reached the top, we realized we were in someone's backyard, and though we tried, we couldn't find a way back to the street without bringing considerable attention to ourselves.

So we slipped and slid back down the sand-case, and back to the constantly higher tide.

One wave broke, and we ran through the ankle-deep water to dry sand.

Okay, so I'm back from a week of climbing at Smith Rock State Park, where the spires are inspiring and the climbs range from fun to harrowing.

I have a lot to tell, but not now.

Now I'm going home.

Last night in the cool and clear dusk we crossed paths with a man and his bag of groceries.

We were standing on an outdoor basketball court, with two hoops back to back.

He never slowed. He looked up at the basket, reached out his left hand, and made a perfect hook shot.

The imaginary ball swished, I think.

The sun has found its way back through the clouds.

A war is raging (perhaps "dancing" is a better word) between the sun and Portland's clouds. Three hours of sunshine are often replaced by three more hours of rain, and vice versa.

I was supposed to have lunch with my father today, but I was holding an incorrect set of directions. Between 12 noon and 1pm, I must have walked three jagged miles in an area less than one square mile.

I finally met him at 1pm, when I knew he would return, frustrated, to his office. We chatted for a few minutes about the actual location of the restaurant, and I headed to the local Kung Pao specialty shop for a $3.50 bowl of Kung Pao chicken.

But, bless the powers that be, the sun remained clearly and proudly above me until the moment I returned to my office.

Then the rain came.

And now, at 5pm, the sun is back for an encore appearance.

Behind me, Frank Sinatra is working his way through a jazz favorite.

Out in the light, the shadows are long.

The sun is beaming, throwing long shadows across the intersection outside of my window.

No amount of rain or grey can kill my spirit. I am an Oregonian. My feet are rooted in soggy soil. My hair is mossy.

But the sun cuts through the clouds with sharp precision, and I've turned my face into the light.

And I'm not complaining.

The first day of March was a mixed up thing of rain and sun that most Oregonians would simply call "scattered showers with occasional sunbreaks."

It has been a beautiful day in every sense, though parts of it have been more difficult than usual.

I have reached inside myself and I've got a firm hold on something important. I'm hanging on for dear life.

And slowly it is slipping outward.