Portland Birthday

Yesterday was my birthday, and the festivities began early.

 

 

A day trip to anywhere of my choice had been offered by my research department, and after much consideration of what is possible in the middle of February, I chose a trip to Portland, to enjoy the Japanese Garden, and what might appeal at the Portland Art Museum. Not long after seven o’clock in the morning came a pounding on the door, and as I resumed brushing my teeth, as assortment of additional surprises were assembled on the living room bookcase! Before we left I was urged to open them, to find that they were all splendid.

My 2026 calendar is a collection of woodblock prints from the 1920s and 30s, by a man called Kawase Hasui. I am enjoying them very much, and I knew that the Portland Art Museum had quite a number of his works in their permanent collection. I thought seeing one in real life would be wonderful, but it was not to be. So I found these online so you can see what I mean. I chose winter scenes to fit the season, because I don’t think these are in the calendar.

To continue with the theme, I chose a Japanese restaurant downtown, and a winter visit to a place I had fond memories of visiting alone one New Year’s Day when I lived in Portland years ago. We found that the Japanese Garden is one of the few places there that has not been sadly degraded in these recent years of unprecedented, feral barbarism.

I am not particularly knowledgeable about Japan or its culture, but it is easy to see that harmony and appreciation of the beauty of each season is foundational to their self expression. Even though there were only a couple of huge and exotic pink camellias blooming in the whole garden, the brilliant green of the moss carpets, the grace of the long, dark pine needles and drooping fir and cedar branches, and the sinuous or layered bare branches of expertly pruned maples and other shrubs are best appreciated in the dead of winter.

 

 

 

Annoying sounds like windchimes and bamboo thwacking on boulders are an integral experience, to the great delight of my research department.

We laughed a lot throughout the day. It is good to make the most of the remnants of what has been good in my life, and my twelve years in Portland were not all bad, by any means. I once wanted to live there more than anywhere else, and I did, and I left. And now, dear readers, I’m looking to leave the United States.

Yes, this most likely means parting with Janet, the star of this excellent adventure up to now. I was surprised to find that after the initial despair at the idea, it took root in my mind rather quickly. She can do with a new home, and so can I. We can spend our last, best season in a new adventure.

I am preparing to apply for a twelve-month visa for France at the beginning of March. If approved, my departure would not be until the first of June, as I have that long on my lease to my apartment here. I will continue to report on my sojourns in here, and you’ve no doubt noticed that I have expanded a bit on the kind of writing I’m offering. I had a very brief but valuable fling with Substack as a literary outlet, and though I simply confirmed how much I loathe the tactics of social media, I also discovered a couple of things about myself when I attempt fiction and poetry. These can be considered excellent adventures as well, right?

A winter feature I had not seen before was these hand-twisted ropes of straw that are put in place to support the limbs of trees, in case of snow or ice. Every man-made addition to the garden was made of natural materials. I have never been able to understand why other cultures do not see the importance of this when creating something to please the senses. It seems obvious, and though I’m sure plastic abounds in Japan (we never find glass fishing floats on our beaches anymore), at least they acknowledge this as an ideal.

The Japanese restaurant I chose was not the best sushi we’d ever had, but since that was experienced two years ago on my birthday trip to Vancouver, B.C., I felt happy simply because the waitress was very pleasant and helpful. The art museum did not disappoint simply because our expectations were very low; just now in writing that I laughed aloud. The art world is packed full of nonsense, and Oregon is very much bush league, and that’s all I’m going to say. No Hasui, not even in the gift shop, but the surprise of the day was how much one’s research department fell in love with the style of the Hudson River School of painting–the discovery of the day, I’d say.

 

Consider this painting by Albert Bierstadt a commemoration of the best of northwest Oregon, with Mt. Hood and Multnomah Falls artificially placed in frame at the same spot along the Columbia River. There were a number of visions of this famous peak, including some modern Japanese ones, all in the same small salon. Respectable local boosterism that hasn’t yet been splashed with buckets of paint or vandalized and relegated to a damp storage room.

Because of the ascetic nature of our sushi flight, we fortified ourselves for the drive home at a Vietnamese restaurant on 2nd Ave., and it was great. I will have the best memories of my Pacific home, even as I seek a transatlantic one. And if there hadn’t already been enough celebrating, I was gifted with a beautiful silk scarf that I admired in the gift shop of the Japanese garden. It will be proudly shown off in France, where they know to properly appreciate a good scarf.