Postcards from Corvallis: And he ran, he ran so far away

Ten years ago, I couldn't wait to drive out of Corvallis, Oregon for good. I left with a wad of cash The Ex and I combined from our closed bank accounts, driving a UHaul, pulling a 1981 green Volvo station wagon. I was delirious and in a tradition my college roommate and I started when we screeched out of the small Missouri town for breaks, I flipped off the whole city as I drove away.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck you, Corvallis!" I screamed. Rebellious, I know.

I thought of that last week when I drove over the bridge where I once flailed expletives. This time, I was driving into town. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and let the happiness to be back fill me up.

I never imagined I'd return to Corvallis this way, with a boy in the backseat clinging to a light saber, visiting friends I haven't seen since I was married, relieved to reclaim this part of my past.

I went to grad school in Corvallis, laughed often at being a Women Studies major at a school that chanted "I'm a Beaver Believer." While I lived there, I was an adjunct professor, a nanny, a waitress. I lusted after a surfer, put up with a bartender, fell in love with an engineer, and found the person I thought was the one. I returned over the years to visit friends, eat my favorite dishes at the bistro where I worked, defend my thesis and claim my degree, and hope I'd run into the baby girl who I once helped raise during her first year.

Now we were back to see one friend, the fabulous Paula, who runs a blueberry farm with her husband on the outskirts of town. We came to Corvallis to wander around and just enjoy the town for what it is -- pretty, smallish, very Oregon. 

I also wanted to show Lil E the places where I lived, where his father and I met and shared a home, where that history was forged. It felt important for him to see if he will ever understand the whole story of our family, so that neither of us gets stuck in the transition or or pain drama or last couple of years.

We took refuge on the blueberry farm. We only ventured out to tour all those old apartments and a bit of Oregon State University. We stopped in for pizza and salad at an old favorite, American Dream, and find another bartender friend at a new restaurant, Aqua. Most of our time was spent walking in between aisles and aisles of blueberry bushes, cuddling up to our friends' many pets, and relaxing under twinkly lights in the hot tub Lil E kept calling the "warm pool."

The most precious postcard from this part of our trip took place in our first few hours there. After driving out to the edge of the farm and collecting buckets of blackberries and blueberries, our hands stained with the evidence of all we ate while we were out there, we climbed in the golf cart to head back to the house. Lil E asked politely if he could run along side with the dogs rather than run. It was a long way back to the house, but we agreed, cheering him on as he ran and ran and ran and ran all the way home.

We laughed when he did double-takes when the road forked through different rows of bushes and as he pumped his little arms hard to keep up with the dogs and outrace our cart.

He was so determined. And still, a sense of peace and freedom emanated from him.

I loved watching him, loved that I captured a bit of it. If it is possible, I loved him even more in those minutes.

We're back, I kept thinking. I am here with my boy and we're back.

Yes, we rode the Beaver. Shush it.

 

 

 

Casey, the not-always-friendly horse, loved Lil E.

 

Cooling off in the shed with an ice-cream sandwich and dogs Porter and Rex.

 

On the river walk just outside the restaurant where his dad and I met. I rode my bike on this path and pushed another mother's child in a stroller along the river on many summer days. So lovely to share it with my son.

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Postcards from Portland: The first bit

It was time for me to go back to Oregon. I missed it terribly, needed to see two of my best grrrlfriends who live there, wanted to use the time Lil E and I had to travel in some simple and sweet way. So I booked our tickets and we headed to the Pacific Northwest for my first time in almost three years.

I went to graduate school in Oregon, and it was there that I met The Ex. When I was ready to move, he chose to join me, and we U-Hauled toward my hometown. That was ten years ago. Before our divorce, we returned to Portland several times a year, spending most of our time with his family and trying to make room in the schedule for friends, side trips, reminiscing little dinners at favorite restaurants. That seems like was a lifetime ago.

This trip, I decided, I would see Oregon on my terms, in my own way. Lil E didn't argue. He was just happy to have a backpack full of tiny toys and puzzle books for the airplane ride.

The ride is long and boring but when the plane dips down toward the mountains, the hours of unfiltered air and (someone else's) screaming babies are worth it. Once in our rental car, driving and up- and downhill into Portland, my heart opened up in my chest and tears welled in my eyes.

I felt like part of me -- a part that has been quietly tucked away for too long -- was home.

 

Ladies, black shirts, boobs. It's how it's always been with us. You can't mess with a 14-year formula like that.

We began our week with my friend, Lulu (no introduction needed; I'm sure you already love her from this and this). Lulu's has a thriving pet business, taking dogs on adventure hikes and jaunts to the park, and hosting animals at her house most days. Lulu and Lil E immediately hit it off, not only enamored with each other but with each dog she introduced us to. Lil E became her apprentice, racing off to get treats for the pups from her doggie cookie jar, petting them, whispering to them, and coaxing them into chasing a ball or Frisbee or him through the yard.

 

Boy, dog, both smiling.

[Click on through to continue reading, lovelies. Or at least make it through these pics. And not just because it took me four years to upload them. Because I am pleading because they took four years to upload.]

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Postcards from Portland: Not so fast. First, there is (some) unpacking

I promised not to wait until I was unpacked before I finally spilled the stories and photos from the first big trip alone-together Lil E and I have taken. I am just barely keeping that promise.

Finally, after being home for five days, I woke up this morning and loaded and re-loaded the washer and dryer, trying to make my way to the bottom of a very full suitcase. I'm almost there but the suitcase is still sitting wide open in my hallway with belts, shoes, a self-help book I take on nearly every trip I've ever taken and have never read, a few receipts and a hat waiting patiently to be put away.

This is not the first time I've procrastinated unpacking. This week, though, has been particularly tough, and so I've given myself a break from worrying about details like laundry and groceries and doing any kind of cleaning. Some painful stuff landed in the middle of my week, only days after our vacation ended and I passed Lil E off for a week with his dad and then came home to a very empty home.  I chose to take care of myself instead, and so the suitcase sat.

This morning, tending to the piles of laundry and carry-on bag full of souvenirs and magazines and empty water bottles seemed therapeutic. I'd like to believe it is symbolic of moving out of this painful place and back into the normality and rhythm of my everyday life. But that is asking a lot of rolling t-shirts and tucking my toiletries into the cabinet under the sink.

Instead, it just felt good to get it all out of the way. To press pause on important but ambiguous ways I'm working on myself and do something productive and tangible. Every time I filled a basket with clothes warm and light from the dryer, I wasn't feeling more whole or happy. But I did feel like I was doing something. And that was enough.

Just a few minutes after my own laundry was folded, rolled, and tucked away, I got the text that Lil E and his dad had landed and my boy was on his way home. I knew he'd be coming down the street, wheeling his own little Cars suitcase that was packed full of clothes that needed to be cleaned. And after I smothered him with kisses, forced him to tell me stories about his week by plying him with salt water taffy, and made us dinner from restaurant leftovers in the fridge, I tended to his laundry as well.

Now that everyone here is where they should be -- home, safe, sleepy, together -- it's time to get to the second part of my promise. The stories and photos will be up soon.

Then we will be back to our normal, everyday things and back to the tougher, more ambiguous work as well.

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