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As the days grow shorter here (there, too?), we now awaken in the dimness of early morning.  Then roll over and go back to sleep.  (Sorry, I just like to rub it in for those of you who still have to get up and go to work.)

 

Anyway, this morning, shortly after we got up, the power went off for basically all of Tualatin.  In our apartment complex, the fire alarm system has a little emergency battery-operated power supply for just such a circumstance, and it immediately went into action, flashing a tiny light and beeping assertively to let us know it was in distress.

 

Thing is, every cluster of eight apartments has its own system, and there are twenty-nine other such clusters in the complex.  It sounded like Easter at the feed store.

 

The manageress went around and cancelled each alarm, and pretty soon the power was restored.  A tiny thrill from the NorthWest.

 

 

From the very start, when we visited Portland even before Morgan moved up here, we noticed that people here are really friendly.  Many people have told us that people in Colorado Springs are much friendlier than, say, folks in New York City, or say, Baghdad.  But strangers here are even nicer ... well, chattier.  (Although, there was a news report last night about a couple in a big BMW who got into a road-rage confrontation with some bikers on the highway and proved conclusively that in a shoving match, a motorcycle will always lose to a luxury sedan.  But still.)

 

Actual human attendants pump your gas at the filling stations here.  It's a $2,500 fine for the station if you pump it yourself!  When we first got into town in early August, the attendant at the station we stopped at was complaining about the heat out on the pavement at the pumps.  She said she wished she had brought another bottle of water from home.  We still had our cooler in the truck, so while the gas was filling, we gave her an ice-cold bottle straight from Colorado (bottled from tap water in Minneapolis, I think.)  We had a nice chat about her day, upcoming weather, Colorado vs. Oregon, etc.  I've rarely had such a good conversation with the attendant when I pump my own gas.  Not that I don't talk to myself, though.

 

When we were checking out at the Safeway last week, we encountered what may be the first trans-gendered individual I've ever talked to.  (I say may be, because, well, I'm not sure about this one, and who knows who I might have met before?)  She was striking looking, with exotic makeup (i.e. a lot of it), lots of tattoos (not as strong a gender identifier as it used to be, I admit), a very deep voice, and zebra-striped hair ... alternating black and white stripes, not along the length of the hair, but but cross-wise to it.  As she was checking out our puchase, we had a very nice chat about the prawns we were buying, and how they were her favorite food.

 

Not that folks in Colorado Springs don't talk to you, but it seems to happen a lot more here.  Maybe it's our state of mind?

 

 

Portland is a very arty city.  The OBT (Oragon Ballet Theater) has put up a tent in a city park downtown (right across the street from where Morgan and Aaron got married), and have their ballet classes and rehearsals there, open to the public.  Karen and I went down there this afternoon and watched for an hour or so.  Many fond memories of hours watching Morgan at ballet school and in performance.

 

That's all from here for the time being -

 

Love you all,

 

Mike & Karen