The Magic Number

I'm intimidated by math, but I have a secret fondness for numbers and patterns.

In 1992, when I moved back to Seattle, I fell in love with my phone number. It took me a full month to realize why, that it was a palindrome: 860-6068

When I moved to a different neighborhood 7 years later, I tried to take my phone number with me. At the time, phone companies didn't provide this type of service. The woman working with me was really understanding of my desire to keep a palindrome number, and did her best to find me a new one. There wasn't one available, but she did find one with a nice rhythm, 721-3121. I wrote her supervisor a letter about the excellent customer service she provided.

Last August, when I was trying desperately to find an apartment in Portland and first saw my building, I took it as a good omen that the number of the building was 1111. A. drove Ray and I down to Portland a coupe of weeks later to get us settled in, and was really excited I was living in apartment #3. She told me it was her favorite number.

I can't believe that next week is my one year anniversary in Portland. It seems both longer and shorter, and I feel like I still have so far to go in terms of acclimating and restructuring my life, and even fully claiming the space in my own apartment. I still need to paint two more rooms.

Before my parents left for Italy last month, they asked me if I wanted them to pick up anything special for me while they were there. I asked for something for my apartment, hoping whatever they picked up would motivate me to put a little more thought and energy into my place.

My mother called the other night to let me know she and my father were back in Seattle, and that they had picked up a hand painted tile with the number four on it in Assisi. When I asked them why the number four, she told me it was for the door to my apartment. Since she is coming down to visit in a few days and will deliver the tile in person, there was no way I could shield her from the fact I live in apartment number three. She felt badly.

I have have no idea what I will do with the number four tile. If liked my neighbor who lives in number four better, maybe I'd give it to her. But I don't, and besides, it was chosen specifically with me in mind. Maybe I should just hang it up in a prominent place in my living room so that people will notice it and wonder about its significance. It will make a good story.

Gone

My stretch of good luck with Portland came to an abrupt halt on Sunday when I discovered my wallet had been stolen from work. The timing of this theft couldn't have been worse, because I'm leaving for Vietnam in a few days and now won't have access to my debit card while I'm over there.

I've been in a pretty crappy mood because of this and all the hours I spent on the phone cancelling every card that was in my wallet. Today I decided to cheer myself up, and look on the bright side of things. What a great excuse to buy a new wallet. I decided to get a purse to go along with it.

I'm now if a much better mood than I was earlier, but the whole experience has made me even more ready to get out of town. I want to warm up, I am in need of relaxation and pampering, but mostly, I just really want to see my mom.

Letting Go

This morning I decided it was finally time to cut the umbilical cord and stop listening to Seattle NPR. I think it was kind of the last thing I was holding on to; it felt really comforting to have continuity in my life.

But enough is enough. I've been here two months now, and listening to Seattle traffic reports isn't benefitting my life.

Two Tales Of A City

I am relieved to report that my homesickness was only a 24 hour bug. I have been too busy since then to do much reflecting, and I am behind in reporting my continuing adventures in Portland.

In an effort to correct this, I'll share two stories tonight.

Out Of The Dust

When I first looked at my apartment, I noticed a troubling smell. It was apparent that one of the previous tenants of my apartment had been a cat who had fallen out of the habit of using his litter box. I mentioned this concern to the owner of the building, and she told me she thought the smell was coming from the rug in the bedroom. She told me she would replace it, and even asked me what kind of rug I wanted in its place. I really like the new rug in the bedroom, but it didn't correct the odor, which was clearly coming from the wood floors in the rest of the apartment. I was a little devastated, because I was otherwise in love my apartment. It seemed like a cruel joke to have a beautiful apartment that smelled so toxic it made my eyes water.

I shared my concern with the owner of my building, and she hired an older southern couple from Olympia to perform a natural deodorizing ritual on my apartment. They started by spraying some kind of magic potion on the floors that bubbled to indicate areas of concentrated bacteria. They then sprinkled deodorizing crystals all over my entire apartment, including my own furniture and rugs. The only piece of furniture they left untouched was my bed. The final step was to fog my apartment. I was told to leave my apartment during this process. When I returned, all the windows were open and both of my fans blasting. I was instructed to leave the windows open and fans going, and keep the deodorizing crystals on the floor and furniture for five days.

I knew right away this would be a problem. Walking around barefoot hurt. The only place to relax was on my bed. By the second day, I decided it was time to clean up. I used the vacuum cleaner that belongs to my building. I guess the bag was pretty full...the stuff just wasn't vacuuming well. I had to go over and over the same areas, and I still wasn't making the kind of progress that I'd hoped. All of a sudden, the vacuum bag exploded. Since the fans were on, the contents of the vacuum distributed themselves over ever inch of my living and dining rooms, turning my apartment into my own personal dust bowl.Further inspection of the vacuum revealed not only had the bag exploded, but the force of it had broken the vacuum.

My apartment felt toxic. I decided to turn of my fans and go have a beer while I waited for the dust to settle. I went down the street, had a beer, and read for a while. I got up to go to the bathroom, and when I returned, there was a note on my table that said I love you. This piqued my curiosity, and I asked the couple sitting at a nearby table if that had seen anyone at my table. The told me a young woman with a long blonde ponytail sat down at the table briefly, then jumped up and left.

Of course the couple wanted to know why I wanted this information. I showed them the note, and we all decided to have another beer. It didn't take long before we realized we had moved to Portland the same week. M. and K. are most recently from Cannes. It turns out they're my neighbors, and now they are friends.

The Call Heard Round The World
I had a rushed morning the other week. I got up a little early, and this may have been the problem. I always run late when I do this. I made the mistake of trying to bring to much stuff with me to work on a rainy day. While I was struggling to juggle multiple bags and an umbrella, somehow my cell phone fell out of my pocket, and I didn't even notice until an hour or so later. Since I don't have a landline, this is a crisis situation for me.

I called my cell phone provider and found out someone had made outgoing calls using my phone. I suspended the line, ordered a new phone, and sent frantic emails to my friends requesting their numbers.

At about 11 that night, I received an email from my father, informing me someone had found my phone and called the number labeled mom and dad. Since my parents are currently living in Cambodia, the woman staying in their house spoke with the guy who found the phone, emailed the information to my parents, and they forwarded it to me. I gave the guy a call the next day and found out he lives three houses down the street from me. I stopped by that evening to pick up my phone and meet him and his dog.

What are you doing to me, Portland? I may turn into an optimist.

Overdue

For as far back as I can remember, I have cried with great frequency, often prompted by things and feelings that would not generate the same response from others.

I went the past six weeks without crying, which I am fairly sure is a record for me until I broke down this morning. I knew it was coming, that it was only a matter of time before the magnitude of relocating hit me. I am surprised it didn't happen earlier, but I've been really busy.

Today's meltdown was prompted by a trip that may have been a mistake. I spent the weekend with Seattle friends, and while I had a great time, I am now really homesick. I fought off the urge to cry with good success on two separate occasions yesterday, but I knew a tidal wave was coming.When it finally hit, it wasn't triggered by a bad thing at all. I actually cried because someone was nice. I would give today's cry an 8.5 out of 10. I was stunned by the sounds I made, and I shook for a good half an hour. Then I went out and got a hair cut.

I hope I am all cried out for at least awhile, and that the homesickness that I wasn't feeling until the weekend will dissipate soon.

Saved

I'm now officially tracking and recording nice things that strangers in Portland do for me.

Yesterday I went to a different light rail stop than the one I usually go to. It wasn't a fancy stop and I couldn't use my debit card to buy a ticket. I started frantatically taking everything out of my bag, hoping to find some cash in it somewhere, but I didn't have any. I could see the train coming and I really didn't want to be late my first week at a new job.

A nice man seemed to appear out of nowhere and gave me two dollars.

Nice Things_,

Updates

THE MOVE:

Ray the cat and I are settling into our new home in Portland. We are drowning in a sea of boxes, but will hopefully be fully unpacked in the next day or two so that we can move on to the painting phase. I still don't really know my way around the area I'm living in, but I'm trying to do a little exploring every day. When I walk down the street, people actually say hello and are friendly, and I think it's genuine.

THE MOOD:

My mood has stabilized. Good things are happening. I found a great couch on Craig's List today, and the former owner is even delivering it to me. I hope to always retain my wonderment for how friendly people here are. Maybe it will even rub off on me.

THE CHAIN:

To date, the only recipe I received was the one I already wrote about. I may have brought this bad luck upon myself when I decided to send the chain out to an additional ten people. I guess that's what I get for cheating. I'm still looking for additional favorite recipes, please send them my way.

The Rockstar and the Fairy Godmother

I've been pretty overwhelmed ever since I was offered a job I applied for over a year ago. It means relocating to Portland, and I hadn't realized until now just how complicated moving to another city is. Looking for an apartment was making me crazy. Apartments on Craig's List were rented 45 minutes after they were posted. Apparently it is not an easy time to get a place in Portland, which is why I am so happy to report I have found an apartment that will make even home owners jealous.

Finding it wasn't easy. I looked at crappy places that were too expensive, and beautiful places that would have required taking three busses to work. By the time I saw my building, I had already cried twice in one afternoon. I don't know what I would have done without N., who drove me around for 8 hours to look at places and served as my therapist the whole time. She is a rockstar who had a gut feeling we should turn down a particular street. I saw my building and told N. how cute I thought it was without even noticing the For Rent sign in the yard. I'm glad N. was paying more attention than me! I called the owner, she told me she had just put the sign up an hour ago.

I now consider my new landlord my Fairy Godmother. She has an impulsiveness I really appreciate; she bought the building without even seeing the inside of it in 1978. She rented me an 1100 square foot apartment with a fireplace, den and dining room for not a ton more than I'm paying for my place in Seattle. The deposit was $1000 less than some of the other places I looked at. She didn't check my credit, which frankly could be a lot better than it is. She didn't call my previous landlords. She said I seemed like a nice person, and that was enough for her.

Adventures_