Slept well. Woke up intermittently during the night. Opted for breakfast in the lobby because Mom wanted me to. Boise is about 40 miles from Mountain Home. Once we got there parents realized neither of them picked up Mom's cell phone from the hotel room. Now we're turning back. Dad's a bit ticked. Don't blame him.
There's a change in the atmosphere. It began when Mom made the comment yesterday. Perhaps she sensed that I closed up. She told me three times, "I love you." I love her, too. Always will.
The countryside is now a blur. Dad is driving much faster. The leisurely pace has been shelved. Lost time, lost miles. We're passing other vehicles now. From Boise Oregon is 60 miles away, Dad said. The sky is overcast again, and my hair is flat. I don't know what to do with it. My bangs hang limp to the side. I don't feel pretty, but I don't care.
Obama announced his nomination of Elena Keegan for Supreme Court Justice despite the fact she's inexperienced. Like him.
Severe weather warning for Oklahoma, Missouri and Kansas. Cold and hot air will collide creating turbulence. Tornadoes.
Breakfast was blah. Coffee was awful. Tasteless. Dad offered to stop at Starbucks in Boise; I've no appetite.
Words are windows into a person's soul. They can either be shut or allow only but a peep hole. Nevertheless what words you decide to speak will somehow be ingrained into another person's memory. Choose your words wisely and don't be so quick to speak your mind or heart. Even simple words can tear down or build up. Don't say too many words either, because it conveys you'd rather get your point across than hear someone else out.
One of the best things you can do with your words is stimulate someone to think. Teach them to think for themselves. That's an art. We'd rather be told what to do and adhere to a list of rules and regulations. Stand fast in the liberty which Christ has made you free. It requires that you know ho to think and reason. For the adversary will attempt to screw your plans. Know the Truth for yourself. Study to show yourself approved.
Alas we arrived back at the hotel. Dad went inside to inquire after the phone. Mom rummaged the trunk and left for the restroom. It's blissfully quiet and still. The birds are softly chirping. There's probably just one or two. Not like the symphony at my place. The phone is retrieved. We're going back to Boise. Dad apologized for the wasted two hours. He took the blame.
We're now in Oregon! It looks like Ireland. Rugged rolling hills and mist. But not as green. I wasn't aware Oregon had so many rolling mountains. It is gorgeous. It is raining. The mood is more festive in the Prius. Alas we have arrived. It's not what I imagined. Although there are no towns--yet--the land doesn't feel desolate. We're swallowed by gigantic gentle hills. We stopped at Bakers City to use the restroom at McDonald's. Dad ordered a chicken sandwich, Mom a hamburger and me a 6-piece chicken McNugget.
Oregon
Gas station
The clouds have descended upon the mountains, encircling their snow capped peaks in one massive wreath. The mountains are blue and the clouds are a glowing silver white. The land is rich with moisture and peak-a-boo streams. In some parts the hills are craggy. Spring has not fully blossomed here yet.
We just passed the 45th parallel.
I heard a story about a young talented jazz musician. He was a progeny who grew up in Brooklyn...
There's a dusting of snow along the mountain side. Fresh snow cling to the limbs of pine trees. A forest of pine flank us on both sides. We're in the no cellular zone. It's so beautiful. Spring snow intermingle with new grass. Hot tea would be lovely about now.
We've driven down from the mountain tops. The land is flatter, a patchwork quilt of emerald, wheat, chocolate and clay. The sky is as broad as ever. The rain and mist have stopped. The road has unraveled and lays stretched straight ahead.
How can we explain what seems unexplainable? To some they rejoiced at the news. To others they turned their backs and they wished you would too. Each successive step we take towards happiness is an investment. Evaluate, count the cost. A thing that is worth having is worth fighting for. If the good Lord has placed eternity in our hearts, I think it safe to surmise that it's one filled with good and joy. Who would want an eternity filled with misery? Then what about this life? If He provided for our joy and happiness, can we trust Him to turn our ashes into beauty? He makes all things new.
Don't apologize for your decisions unless you truly are sorry for them. They are decisions for you to make, not anybody else. It is your life for you to live. You answer to God.
Passed a tree farm. Expansive. Lots of trees in perfectly aligned rows. I'm guessing they're used for manufacturing paper.
Tree farm
Ah...rain again. Port of Morrow.
Stopped at Shell to get gasoline. Not self-serve. Two guys descended with smiles to fill our tank and wash our windshield. Mom went inside and bought me a bag of Lays potato chips.
What makes love such a beautiful thing? Love is a decision, a pledge to care about a person and his/her life. It's a willingness to look out for someone, to meet his/her needs to the extent that one is able. It's esteeming another's life more than yours.
At this part of Oregon, alongside the Columbia River, the terrain is what I imagine Wales to look resemble.
Columbia River
Portland is beautiful. Imagine living side by side with tall, slender trees...with mountains and hills in the backdrop that's no far removed from the backyard. Flowers and greenery profusely abound. Nature is more rampant than concrete sidewalks. Houses are shoulder to shoulder with rosebushes spilling from the in between.
Neighborhood in Portland
I tried to picture myself in this setting. Bohemian. The yoga-chic, environmentally bourgeoisie. It's a no-frills neighborhood. People tote backpacks, knapsacks, messenger bags. They hoof it or bike it. Hair is tousled due to wind and altering rain and sunshine. Heels are replaced by sensible flats or sleek sneakers. No bling. Simple silver jewelry with colored accent stones. People are slim and they seem to love fresh food. There's a plethora of independent Asian restaurants. I haven't spotted a fast food joint yet. Could I live here? The scenery is liquid serenity. You drink it in with your eyes and are immediately refreshed. I think I could live anywhere as long as you're with me. Then I could picture myself here.
We at dinner at Pok Pok, a Thai restaurant Mom saw on the Food Network. The owners bought a house and converted it into an eatery, reminiscent of the Thai outdoor restaurants. They used the garage space for their indoor dining. The food is authentic Thai. Spicy and flavorful. Small portions but plenty.
Inside dinning area of Pok Pok's Thai restaurant
Portland, OR
My order:
A noodle salad of fried catfish with herbs...
and a good spritz of lime juice
Thai iced tea
sweetened with condensed milk
Dad's order:
Diced catfish in a spicy ginger sauce
served with sticky rice
Mom's order:
A curry soup with egg noddles
and chicken
(a favorite of hers during high school)
We're crossing the I-250 bridge into Washington. What little bit we did see I like...more so than Oregon. There are more towering pines in Washington. The concept of living in the midst of a park-like setting is 'new' for me. I've grown used to the flat lands
Checked in to our hotel in Portland. Hampton Inn again. The one in Idaho was much nicer though; it was newer. The bathroom is not as spacious here. I'm waiting for the shower. Dad just took his and now Mom is using it. Need to wash my hair.
Mom wants to see Inglorious Bastards. The hotel has it for $11.99. Ridiculous.
Evening. Finally finished my shower and blow dried my hair. It's a bit warm in this hotel room. Still I'm not sleepy. Dad is on his laptop planning tomorrow's route. Mom is bored so she has already resigned to sleep.
In the twinkle periwinkle of night's
soft kiss
In the bask of the velvet black moon-drop
sea
Out on the balcony I wait for thee
Stars like pearls effervescent
opalescent shimmer
atop canopies of orange blossoms
Time evades I count days until your
breath I taste again
Not in phantoms of dreams
but in flesh warm and moist
I wait atop the trees until you call
out for me
And then to you I run
*All photography were taken with my iPhone.
© 2010 Sriprae P. McDonald
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