Maine is not a pile of books by Stephen King.

Cranky Sue's Crabby Cakes, now defunct.

I have a very distinct memory of sitting on the Mouse House porch-couch a few summers ago, clutching an "Eyewitness Vietnam" guide and explaining how most of the fun of travel - for me - is the relaxing armchair travel. The imagining was the thing.

I meant it, but I also realized that it sounded sad. Obviously, all the books on the history of the Eiffel Tower cannot measure ten minutes of standing in the crowds and summer heat, with its arches like a steel halo over your head. I can't deny this. But I also know that in travel, something always surprises you. One of my strongest memories of Paris in July is the stench of dog poop. Caught off guard (that wasn't in the guidebooks) I wasn't prepared to shrug it off. It was also an earned memory, not borrowed from a book.
My love of arm chair travel means I have several piles of travel writing and guidebook editions to places I've never been. Fifteen dollars, in my mind, is a cheap placebo when you can't finance a summer in Sweden.

In two weeks I'll be in Maine for the first time. My only literary GPS markers for Maine are Bill Bryson and Stephen King, which is unsettling. I've lived in New England and know that the trees grow thick and right up to the edge of the lake. I know Anne of Green Gables lived a few hundred miles northeast. I'm pleased with the holistic route that comes from traveling from Portland to Portland, on opposite coasts. I'll continue to dig into the books and blogs and I am excited about what I'll find.

But I'm sure nothing will match that moment when I see a lobster struggling in a cage in the water, or hear that elusive Maine accent for the first time, or, or, or...that's the part that I have to discover for myself by going, by getting off my proverbial porch-couch, that my books can't experience for me. And if I run into Stephen King when I'm out berry picking, well, I'll be prepared for that too.

When summer isn't sunshine.

Maybe it was the 3,000 straight days of rain and cold and gray. Even though the weather has edged toward and hinted at summer, this fifth day of July, and weathermen are promising it'll completely flip the switch over to 90 tomorrow (from 65 today)...still. Something broke, or at least became undeniable to me. Everything is too tight. Job, little apartment, neighborhood haunts, the city -- and probably if I could afford to escape it, the state and the region. Mama needs a change of pace before it's fall and the gray sets in again, for real.

How to fix this? I'm not sure.

I ironed a giant pile of shirts, for distraction.

I mopped the kitchen floor, for clarification.

I joined my sister on a hike on the coast, for a new perspective (but it was gray there, too).

When mass exodus from your life isn't an option, Oprah-types suggest you hug your tired life in a new way, try to see new details in the old. So. At the beach I examined shells, coves and tidal pools. At home, I rearranged and purged. Still, I feel stuck. I'm thinking maybe I should start doing things backward, for a new perspective. That's how stuck I am. I'll report back, hopefully from a more sunny place.

I Love Portland In the Summer.

Mt. Tabor in the summer

I haven't been so complimentary about Portland lately. And it might seem a bit late in the season for a "things to do this summer list" but in my defense, we're still holding our breath for any sign of it here. It's been cold and obscenely, unrelentingly rainy. But the weatherman promises that's all changing this weekend, when we'll hit 80 for the first time this year, mid-June. So, here it is; My summer wish list, to make sure I appreciate every non-work gorgeous summer minute I'm offered, if the season does manage to present itself.

PLACES TO GO:
Portland, Maine / Newport, OR / Chicago, IL / Vancouver, BC / Seattle, WA

FOODS TO MAKE:
basil, lavender, rosemary gelatos / weekend brunches / whole trout / artichokes

HAPPY HOURS TO HIT:
Nobel Rot / Bakery Bar / Pok Pok / Navarre

THINGS TO WRITE:
a short story with a thunderstorm / a dream / a food cart interview / a little creative nonfiction

THINGS TO SHOOT:
my ladies in maine / the ocean / summer meals / walla walla vineyards / bike trips

PLACES TO HIKE:
Laurelhurst Park or Mt. Tabor (every day) / Pacific Crest Trail (at Skamania) / Vancouver Island, BC / Cape Perpetua Scenic Area (Newport) / Mt. Hood

BOOKS TO READ:
Too Much Happiness (Alice Munro) / Little Children (Tom Perrotta) / We Tell Ourselves Stories In Order To Live: Collected Nonfiction (Joan Didion) / The Last Summer (of You and Me) (Ann Brashares) / A Gate At the Stairs (Lorrie Moore)

April Showers Bring May Monsoons?

In the last few days, Portlanders have turned against the rain. Normally rainy weather's biggest champion (Portlanders gush about it and wax nostalgic about evenings forced to stay inside the way others recall perfect summer days of sunshine and heat) we've reached the limit. My boss stands at the office window and makes sarcastic comments about the beautiful day. Another friend -- generally agreeable and laid back -- threatened to fly back to his home town in Illinois and rip the arms off the next person who commented on how much rain they've been having. What do you know of rain!? he cried. I personally think of it as a semiofficial agreement between us and the sky. After all, we bear eight months of chill, dampness, and gray for four perfect months of Portland summer and fall. The deadline has come and gone, sky. The charm of falling asleep to the sound of rain on the rooftop has long past. Sun: reveal yourself!

Take what you can get and leave the rest.

Today I might be staring down yet another grant application inside and a wild wall of weather outside, but I'm secretly drawing on the inspiration of film makers and food writers. Bright spots in an otherwise gray little day.

Yes, indeed. Itty-Bitty.

When I get stressed I nest.

I cook and clean and search for pretty things. And I adore decor blogs - they're my happy place. The queens of this category are, in my mind, Sfgirlbybay and Design*Sponge. I'm changed quite a lot from my college days, of believing that focusing on domestic things and your home kept you politically cut-off and neutered. These days -- especially in Portland but undoubtedly elsewhere -- I see how locally, domestically-focused social and environmental movements are what's making a true difference in our community. People with their urban farms and gardens, buying local art directly from the artist, celebrating the bounty of locally-produced meats, vegetables and cheeses. Freecycle. It makes me feel thrilled at the possibility of something big starting, and that it starts in my home. That's very empowering.
That said, while my studio apartment is big in ambition, it's itty-bitty in size. I'm constantly holding item X in my hand and asking myself, "Is it worth pushing this around the apartment twenty times a year if I'll only maybe use it one or twice?" Almost always, the answer is no. Having a shoebox-sized apartment is serious exfoliation for the materialist. Today I entered my apartment in the Apartment Therapy blog's Small, Cool contest (teeny-tiny category). I probably won't make the cut, but it was fun taking pictures of my living space (my apartment, in carefully edited picture form, not its regular pile-of-laundry-and-unwashed-dishes form, makes me feel a bit glamourous.) So, using the freedom of self-publishing and self-indulgence, here are a few of my apartment shots. Find more on my flickr page.

Truth in Advertising

“The old cathedrals are good,
but the great blue dome that hangs over everything is better.”
-- Thomas Carlyle