... And a circus. And a carnival. And a dance party. And quite often any kind of well-meaning ruckus caused by a number of people.
Portland has been showering me with just these kinds of gifts lately, and I'm very grateful. Last night was my FIRST EVER PedalPalooza ride - Madonna vs. Lady Gaga. I went farther from home in one go than I've ever gone before, and proved a number of things to myself. Great company was enjoyed, fabulous costumes were ogled, Jazzercize happened at a playground in the middle of the night. We sang along to bike-mounted boom-boxes, and sometimes started our own songs. (A cappella "Like a Prayer" in near-total darkness at Laurelhurst Park = excellent moment!) As a newbie, I was heartened by the strong sense of community: the easygoing conversation with strangers coasting through neighborhoods, free and generous sharing of snacks (thank you to the man with the vinegar potato chips), bike maintenance advice, costume assistance, compliments. It was very pleasant. My knees are very tired.
But the fun isn't done yet! Today I went to the Rose Festival Fun Center, where I haven't been in years - so long that they don't even call it the Fun Center anymore. But y'all know what I'm talking about. It was a drizzly Sunday afternoon, the last day the Fun Center was open, so it wasn't crowded, and all the vendors in the booths had an air of really, really wanting to go home. But oh, the lights. The wobbly reflections off the fun house mirror maze. The scratching of blue sparks off the bumper car ceiling. The sound of two dozen safety bars scraped against chain and safely latched. Fried smells. Things dipped in chocolate. Siblings beating the crap out of each other with inflatable purple hammers.
I went on two rides: El Nino, which is like the Tilt-a-Whirl except with more tilting (and apparently if you photograph it with a slow shutter speed, it looks like the end of the world - see below). Which was fun, and I screamed a bit, and got a rush, and laughed and my hair flew in my face. Always fun to ride a new ride - at the fair, as in life.
But then I saw it. The Big Swing. A perennial favorite of mine since childhood. You know, it's the one that's like a merry-go-round, but instead of riding horses, you sit in a tiny wicker seat and they lift you high up and spin you around so that your eight year old self is flying flying flying. This year, though, they had a Big Swing for a new generation: two-person seats, an extra measure of buckling in, and much, much taller than in the past. Instead of being set up all the way at the end of the Waterfront, as it always had been in the past, this one was right next to the Morrison bridge, so it felt like you were swinging right over traffic, then trees, the river, the fairway, and traffic again. I felt the same giddiness and swooping in my stomach that my babynerd self always imagined was the closest I could get to being a real astronaut.
I know it was brain chemicals, vestibular trickery and dizziness, but it felt so familiar and goodhearted - echoes from a sweeter time, like hearing a recording of your kid-self laughing. I was thirteen again. I was eight. I was ageless. My mom was there, waving with her neck craned back to see me; my sister walking, gossiping with her friend, their hair in side ponytails. Was I ever this carefree and happy? Yes, always. No, of course not. Life has always been a series of ups and downs - the lows unimaginable from the highs, the highs insurmountable from the lows. But if I can remember my past with joy, probably I'll be living the rest of it the same way. Ready or not.
Portland has been showering me with just these kinds of gifts lately, and I'm very grateful. Last night was my FIRST EVER PedalPalooza ride - Madonna vs. Lady Gaga. I went farther from home in one go than I've ever gone before, and proved a number of things to myself. Great company was enjoyed, fabulous costumes were ogled, Jazzercize happened at a playground in the middle of the night. We sang along to bike-mounted boom-boxes, and sometimes started our own songs. (A cappella "Like a Prayer" in near-total darkness at Laurelhurst Park = excellent moment!) As a newbie, I was heartened by the strong sense of community: the easygoing conversation with strangers coasting through neighborhoods, free and generous sharing of snacks (thank you to the man with the vinegar potato chips), bike maintenance advice, costume assistance, compliments. It was very pleasant. My knees are very tired.
But the fun isn't done yet! Today I went to the Rose Festival Fun Center, where I haven't been in years - so long that they don't even call it the Fun Center anymore. But y'all know what I'm talking about. It was a drizzly Sunday afternoon, the last day the Fun Center was open, so it wasn't crowded, and all the vendors in the booths had an air of really, really wanting to go home. But oh, the lights. The wobbly reflections off the fun house mirror maze. The scratching of blue sparks off the bumper car ceiling. The sound of two dozen safety bars scraped against chain and safely latched. Fried smells. Things dipped in chocolate. Siblings beating the crap out of each other with inflatable purple hammers.
I went on two rides: El Nino, which is like the Tilt-a-Whirl except with more tilting (and apparently if you photograph it with a slow shutter speed, it looks like the end of the world - see below). Which was fun, and I screamed a bit, and got a rush, and laughed and my hair flew in my face. Always fun to ride a new ride - at the fair, as in life.
But then I saw it. The Big Swing. A perennial favorite of mine since childhood. You know, it's the one that's like a merry-go-round, but instead of riding horses, you sit in a tiny wicker seat and they lift you high up and spin you around so that your eight year old self is flying flying flying. This year, though, they had a Big Swing for a new generation: two-person seats, an extra measure of buckling in, and much, much taller than in the past. Instead of being set up all the way at the end of the Waterfront, as it always had been in the past, this one was right next to the Morrison bridge, so it felt like you were swinging right over traffic, then trees, the river, the fairway, and traffic again. I felt the same giddiness and swooping in my stomach that my babynerd self always imagined was the closest I could get to being a real astronaut.
I know it was brain chemicals, vestibular trickery and dizziness, but it felt so familiar and goodhearted - echoes from a sweeter time, like hearing a recording of your kid-self laughing. I was thirteen again. I was eight. I was ageless. My mom was there, waving with her neck craned back to see me; my sister walking, gossiping with her friend, their hair in side ponytails. Was I ever this carefree and happy? Yes, always. No, of course not. Life has always been a series of ups and downs - the lows unimaginable from the highs, the highs insurmountable from the lows. But if I can remember my past with joy, probably I'll be living the rest of it the same way. Ready or not.
