Farewell portraits of Portland, silly, fun, beautiful Portland. I do not miss the City of Roses. There is no ache in my bones for what lies behind, for what once was my house, my verdant patch of earth. The timing was right, and my body, in eager anticipation, pitches forward, smiling, arms outstretched for what will be home again.

Hello Pittsburgh, a small sweet slice of what lies ahead. Rivers and bridges and remnants of the steel industry that was. People as kindly as Portland’s, good food, and beauty everywhere. I shall be happy to call you home!

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Momentum

What am I in the eyes of most people — a nonentity, an eccentric, or an unpleasant person — somebody who has no position in society and will never have; in short, the lowest of the low. All right, then — even if that were absolutely true, then I should one day like to show by my work what such an eccentric, such a nobody, has in his heart. That is my ambition, based less on resentment than on love in spite of everything, based more on a feeling of serenity than on passion. Though I am often in the depths of misery, there is still calmness, pure harmony, and music inside me. I see paintings or drawings in the poorest cottages, in the dirtiest corners, and my mind is driven towards these things with an irresistible momentum.

Vincent van Gogh

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The road is home, our truth for the time being. Bound only to each other (tightly, joyously!), our kite aloft, we are no longer tethered to land. A suitcase each in our possession, one bag of shoes, a computer (finally and temporarily connected, huzzah!), and music, always grateful for that (Jonsi and Alex at the moment). Liberating and disconcerting at once. Limbo.

Milo is often confused and more often frightened. He misses the house and Paris (we ALL miss her, though she has visited our dreams). He cries and hides and snuggles close. He would, were there not the lion roar of diesel engines and wild whoops and screams of children happy not to be confined to cramped automobiles, be rather content to explore rest stops on his cute orange leash. But, alas, that is not the way of it, so he remains huddled and car bound while we stretch. All things considered, he is a most excellent traveler.

We have an offer in on a house in Pittsburgh, a gem of red brick construction on a quiet street in a quiet neighborhood. It is a short walk to the supermarket, library, hardware store, and bank. There is Thai food and pizza nearby, a bakery, too. We’ve had inspections and all looks pretty great for a house more than both of our ages combined. If all continues on this fine path, we will be official Pittsburghers, hearth and home, on December first! Hedging our bets by buying Penguins paraphernalia!

And you? I hope you are well and enjoying fall. Happy Monday!

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There

What you fear will not go away; it will take you into yourself and bless you and keep you.

That’s the world, and we all live there.

William Stafford

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Perhaps

Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one’s life with pomp and blare, like a gay knight riding down; perhaps it crept to one’s side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps it revealed itself in seeming prose, until some sudden shaft of illumination flung athwart its pages betrayed the rhythm and the music, perhaps . . . perhaps . . . love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath.

L.M. Montgomery

 

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