“Who Knows Where the Time Goes,” do you know this song? My favorite version is sung by Nina Simone. It is live, and she waxes philosophical about time at the beginning. My goodness, is it ever a marvelous bit of sweetness, the variety that makes a person heavy and light at the same time, realizing how little time we really have, but so happy for every moment. It also features prominently in one of my favorite fil-ums The Dancer Upstairs, a great political thriller with the uber-handsome and talented Javier Bardem, directed by John Malkovich.
Who really does know where the time goes? I sure don’t. Hence this hodge podge of a post, dear reader. How are you, anyway? Well, I hope, settling into 2013. I am chilly, even with a blanket on my lap, but that is just the way of it at this time of year.
And to the photos, this first section is Sellwood, a walk we took a couple weeks back. That top one is a Portland Bubbler, drinking fountains placed here and there around the city, not to be confused with the original Benson Bubblers located downtown. It’s hard to pass one by without taking a sip.
I can’t tell you how many times we’ve driven past the Maple Leaf Restaurant, hundreds, at least, over the course of fourteen years, yet the week after Christmas was the first time we’d ever actually eaten there. Corrupted by the less than stellar opinion of our former mail man, Karl (Hello!), we were kind of afraid of it, despite the cool neon sign, and the fact that it is a diner.
I love diners and diner food. To be honest, I just love food, though I do have standards (I scraped the fake whipped cream right off my red jello). Thankfully, my on a whim decision to eat there, as a means to delay cleaning the carpet upstairs (fun!), did not leave me disappointed. The hubster enjoyed a chicken fried steak, and my fried chicken was like a delicious slice of my childhood, eating at the Wishbone with my Grandma Frances. She’s been gone ten years now, but I am certain I could hear her hmm-ing and smell the faint perfume of Aqua Net and spearmint gum.
And to this weekend. Friday, the hubster and I had a little date night. He took the bus and met me at one of our favorite places, Evoe. It was just as we like it, a long stretch with us being the only diners and thoroughly chatting up Kevin and Garrett, some of the nicest men you could meet, anywhere. I suppose we are on a little bit of a meat bender because the hubster devoured the Little Bo Peep and I did not go for my usual Gallego, but the Croque Madame because it is warm and gooey.
We followed our fine meal with a fil-um at the Laurelhurst, one that is on the top lists of just about every critic, but left me and the hubster bored. He nearly fell asleep, and the fact that I actually went through the effort of taking my camera out in the middle definitely speaks to my lack of engagement, but what a great shot! We were not alone in our assessment, either. Two other people actually left the theater. I considered it, but thought that the end might be when it all came together, and I’d regret my decision. Oh well.
Then a visit from a fine feathered friend. The yard was sooo quiet, everyone hiding from that sharp beak and talons!