Lovin’ LilyToad
So if it does snow tomorrow and you’re in St. John’s, you’re more than welcome to drop by my place and watch my awe at snow turn to abject panic because I’ve never, ever lived in snow before, and despite my going to New Seasons and buying every single canned good I could find plus a gas lantern from Fred Meyers, I’m fairly certain I’ll need to gnaw my own arm off if the power goes out for more than ten minutes.
Or you can swing by LilyToad on N Lombard where you’ll find all the things the budget green baby needs. They have recycled baby clothes, maternity clothes and the most delightful wooden toys handmade here in North Portland.
Plus a little playroom and a sweet nursing chair.
And they’re open later for the holidays.
St. John’s — why would you ever leave?
Please, please, please don’t light that gas lantern inside your house. It’s a great way to get sleepy and die due to carbon monoxide poisoning. Sorry to be a downer but I enjoy your entries and would like to see them continue.
PLM, It’s a liquid wax lantern and it says it’s okay for indoor use. Is this okay? I like posting and I don’t want to die in my sleep. Seriously, any help here is really appreciated. Did you see I moved here from Malibu? My survival skills are a little rusty. But my celebrity spotting skills are sharps as tacks.
speaking of “survival skills,” here is a blog that I monitor its rss feed as I find the topics fascinating.
http://www.survivaltopics.com/
St. Johns is pretty sweet. The McAngryPants clan is just a wee bit S. St. Johns and I too love this area!
Melissa, when you posted “gas lantern” I visualized a Coleman gas lantern not a liquid wax lantern. I should have made that clearer in my comment.
Extra food? Water? Lanterns? What?
I bought the little lantern in the candle section and it’s called “The Farmer’s Lantern” so you know I had to be extra dramatic and call it a gas lantern — it’s the wanna be J. Crew model in me. I imagine the storm hitting and I’m standing in the wind with my lantern and my oatmeal heather Shetland sweater and my moss corduroy stovepipe pants and my toe-headed child at my knee and I’m at a lighthouse in New England. I’m looking pensive and rustic and urban all at the same time. But really, it’s just me in St. John’s in jeans and a hoodie. And a wax lantern that’s gas in my mind.
Wacky Mommy — you know if the power goes out and I eat all my food and use my lantern all up, I’m heading your way. We’d have a good cackle, no?
Ummmmmmm. Aren’t you new to the Pacific Northwest? I mean everything you write is so nice and pretty. But where is the grunge element? Uhhhh, I guess I’m asking, Why don’t you do your part? By being reeeeeeal.
I totally dig the nice and pretty Melissa brings. That’s reeeeeal too.
Thank you for responding, Keith. I’m sure someone will ask you a question too, but mine was for Ms. Lion. No disrespect, but the blogs about grafitti, and drain cleaners, and shrooms, all were so funny and cool and gave me joy. Lately the blogs seem more like advertisements for spending money.
Jennifer, I’m glad you responded, though I don’t think Keith deserved your little bit of sass.
I’d been thinking about your first post today all day and was wondering if it was ironic or as real as you were requesting. If it was ironic, I was planning to say, well, plaid flannel is not a flattering fashion choice for me.
But because you are sincere in your request, and have been more real (minus the sass) in the next comment, I will answer without humor or sarcasm and be as real as I can.
I first came to Portland about eight years ago. I was a married woman and living in San Diego. I didn’t like Southern California and, though I’d spent ten years in San Francisco, I didn’t fancy that either. I’d never felt any sense of home. I visited Portland, and felt, more than thought, this is home. That visit haunted me. I’ve had really sweet opportunities to live other places, but I’ve always turned them down because Portland was calling to me. I had this sense that if I moved here, I would finally find a real sense of belonging somewhere. I had to go through some things– divorce, books published, having a kid, a major car accident and therapy to undo the damage of a woman nearly killing me and my son– before I realized that I was in control of my life. That I was in charge of my happiness, of finding beauty and humor and pleasure. And so, in the least plausible moment of my life, in the least financially, professionally and personally secure point in my life, I called a bank, asked for a loan, packed boxes and moved to Portland.
I had left my friends and California, where I was born and raised, but I knew that there was beauty waiting here for me. I knew that my dreams of being a writer would be fulfilled. That I would make more friends and have a home to welcome my old friends and to raise my son. And so I moved here and it is exactly as I dreamed it. Every day I step out of my house and find something new to be delighted by. I understand there is the grunge element — I live in North Portland and just last night, I was kept awake by a couple of guys brawling and the police coming to break it up. But I still find beauty every single day. Today it was two crows preening themselves in the rain on my fence.
My job here at MB Portland is to document my version of Portland and maybe if I had gotten my camera in time, I would have blogged those crows, but I didn’t. I document Portland when I can. Yesterday my son and I spent the better part of an hour outside while I was trying, unsuccessfully, to take a picture of the snow.
I think it’s odd that you find two posts about shops and suddenly, I’m all about money, when in each I’ve addressed budgets and my desire for people to avoid spending money unnecessarily. Between those posts is a post about neighborhood community centers. I can only say that the rain has come to Portland and so I’m spending more time indoors and less time standing at Peninsula Park’s fountain. If you have suggestions for free indoor activities, then please make them, and I promise, I will follow your advice and do them and blog about it. And I don’t really know if the readers here are that interested in my neighborhood crows. Maybe they are, I can certainly try it.
If you’re interested in my being real beyond this, I blog on my own website where I am more honest and open than I should be. I take pictures of myself with a migraine, procrastinating while I should be writing, and recently, weeping over the loss of a friend who often commanded me to be reeeeal just as you’ve done. I write about what its like to be a writer and to be a mother and to feel so alone in both occupations and what the yellow leaves look like outside Roosevelt High. There’s little humor on my personal blog, but it is me, as real as I get. You’ll get there by clicking on my name.
Now, Jennifer, it’s up to you. How much real do you want?
Whooa! Real overload! System malfunctioning.
Well, I guess I don’t have to worry about you.
For now.
I think it’s just hard to let go of Portland for me,
I’m stuck here in Guamania, and often my thoughts ramble over to a friend I had in Portland. So the commercial aspect doesn’t really move me, it’s the personal.
Kind of hard to say goodbye sometimes. But your blogs give me the strength.
Thanks for keeping it real. It’s appreciated here in the Southeast or South Pacific or wherever the hell I am.
Love, peace, truth and beauty all the way through the end.
To all of us, including champion Keith.
Melissa,
You are always welcome here at Chez Wacky. Also, don’t you like how crows’ feet look? No, not the ones on my face — the ones that belong to birds. They look SPOOKY.
Keep it unreal, mamas.
Grunge is so ten minutes ago. I mean, seriously, it was over when Nordstrom started selling distressed flannel shirts in 1991.