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diaryland
the noise of my life becoming the life of this garden
20 November 2007 - 22:07
In my dreams we search for a new place to live. One night we look at a place in downtown Portland called the Viceroy, pastel colored condos where a seedy old apartment building once stood.
Although I've always wanted to live downtown, would the noise be too much? And how can this place ever accomodate the cats?
Kale tells me in the morning that my dream was clairvoyant: there used to be an apartment building here called the Viceroy, and it was demolished.
He reiterates his claim: "Everything I love goes away. It is torn down, or destroyed."
We watch Portland turn into another city as traffic begins to clog the streets, the silhouettes of cranes dominate the skyline, streets are renamed, whole sections of the city are revived.
If you had asked me eight years ago where I would someday live, I would have told you,
A place with a name like Incline Village, clapboard shacks huddled together on steep hills, the kind of place where the windchimes seem to cost more than the houses, and everything exists on an edge.
Just when I realized Portland was heaven to me--the evergreen trees, all the shining shades of silver on the sidewalk in the rain, the bridges, the moss, the most complicated stories clouds could ever tell--just when I realized that I'd stumbled onto heaven, totally by accident, the very nature of Portland began to change.
Kale reiterates his claim: "Everything I love goes away. It is torn down, or destroyed."
We recount the list as we are driving through downtown:
The trees in Dream, cut down
The pool at the Thunderbird Motel in Redding, destroyed by car accident
The "acid tunnel" in Portland -- a tunnel covered with layers of grafitti where kids used to go to trip, now painted white
The Past and Present Shop, demolished
The Lovejoy Columns, disappeared
The "Carruthers Hilton" -- a magical apartment building on the secret west side Carruthers, now condemned
"Wait!" Kale slams on the brakes and points to our right. "Are those the Lovejoy Columns?"
It turns out they weren't destroyed, only moved.
My dreams of relocating have now ceased. As I wander the soaking streets of Portland, I make room in my heart for promise. The promise of a new city, of a new life, of a new home. A home always crumbling to make room for greater glory. Even when I no longer recognize where I am, I call it home.
