eight free hours in portland

Fuller's Coffee Shop, P:ear, Museum of Contemporary Craft, Pearl Bakery, Blue Sky Gallery, Charles A. Hartmann Fine Art, Powell's, Alder & Company, Canoe, Frances May, Ace Hotel, Kenny & Zukes and Broadway Books.

Photo: Corey Arnold, Sunset Hall, 2009 on view at Charles A. Hartman Fine Art

in portland

And the stories we tell ourselves are not the only stories. Uses for Boys

Are you in Portland? I'm going to be at Wordstock on October 13-14. Come if you can. I'd love to meet you. 

Illustration by Yelena Bryksenkova for Sad Girls

carson hot springs

From Either the Drapes Go or I Do:

You walk in here and tell them you're here and they tell you there are ghosts and if there's a wait you take a walk through the woods where there are mushrooms and violets and fallen trees. To get here you drive along the Columbia river and pass the waterfalls and go over the Bridge of Gods and stop at an antique store where you buy a gold ring for $1 and pick up old pens and glasses. When they say they have tubs available you walk into the water room and get naked in the sulphuric steam and choose a tub length and if you're small like me you choose a short tub. Before you step in they tell you to test the water as it's only hot water and you tentatively ease yourself into the porcelain basin and when you are finally all in you start to cook exquisite with your hair spreading on top like an anemone and you try to sleep but you can't because you are too warm so you look over at Elanor whose body is like an English stem and it feels like being in a salon bath house in the Wild West during Manifest Destiny and every few minutes you take cold swigs of water and pour them over your face. When you stand up on unsure feet they take you to a cot and wrap you tightly in sheets and wool blankets and the only exposed part is your nose and mouth so the only thing to do is breath while cocooned, sweating and sweating, a wet and dark chrysalis. There really isn't anything to think about. There really isn't anything to do but sweat and sleep. When you emerge it is like a peony, unraveling slowly and utterly pink and you need to drink water, a lot of water, and you need to eat fruit, a lot of fruit, but we ate macaroons and drank espresso instead.

couple's skate

If my beau asked me to couple skate today, what would be the perfect song?

Photo of my beloved Oaks Park from Pfeiffer Photos.

ballets russes

the ugly earring suggests that there are boutiques as wonderful as Le Train Bleu in SF. There are are, but I'm mad for Le Train Bleu and mad for all things Ballet Russes. Honestly, I've never even been to their store. Or to Stand Up Comedy. But I am from Portland, Oregon. And I did buy this lovely blush-colored blouse from Le Train Bleu's Web site...

approaching storm

"Twila protects herself from a coming storm," by Amanda Blake of This is All I Know. Funny how everything wonderful comes from Portland.

collector's item

I just read on Grey, that Nau is going out of business. I had a long mental wish list of Nau clothes, including this Urbane jacket. Everything is 50% off on their Web site, but that's a small consolation.

imaginary friends

"And then my 3-year-old daughter managed to do what I never could -- she made an imaginary friend.

At first I was jealous. I mean my daughter is awesome and everything, but what's so special about her that she lands the imaginary friend I always wanted? And we're not talking just a tall rabbit, either. Her imaginary friend has purple hair and a private jet and goes by the groovy handle, "Mr. Girl."

When I was 3, I couldn't even have imagined anyone that cool.

I started asking my daughter questions about her.

"How old is Mr. Girl?" I asked.

"Twenty-four," my daughter said without hesitation.

"Where does she live?" I asked.

"In a purple house."

"What do you guys like to do together?" I asked.

"We fly around on her airplane," my daughter said with a shrug. "And we eat chocolate."

I want to be friends with Mr. Girl.

My daughter lords her over me. She talks to Mr. Girl on her plastic cell phone right in front of me, which is so rude. If I tell her she can't have cheddar bunnies for breakfast, she tells me she and Mr. Girl eat cheddar bunnies for breakfast all the time. If I tell her it's time for a nap, she tells me that she and Mr. Girl never take naps."

Jennifer found this essay by Chelsea Cain in the Oregonian. Print by This is All I Know on Etsy.