A letter to my brother

2.18.2007

Hey Griff-

Went to sleep and then woke up jonesing for some cornbread. Luckily, I am well prepared. I spent the day hiking in Forest Park. The sun was shining and everybody was out. I had planned to go to a women's pick up rugby game, but no one showed and I headed for the park.

Portlanders, like those in most big cities, seem to have mastered the art of making ever smaller dogs. Some are shrunk in proportion, others look like Cotton from "King of the Hill"--like their legs have been blown off at the knees. The tiniest dogs seem to have an air of being being constantly pissed off. A tea cup doberman pinscher actually told me to fuck off yesterday. Well, it didn't actually say it. It was more of a stare that said, "Hey, what you looking at, buddy? I may be small but I can still kick your ass!" I crossed the street.

While these tiny dogs look odd in downtown, they look bizarre on the trail. Walking in Forrest Park today, a golden retriever ran haphazardly towards me, sniffing the air as he ran by. Behind him, a toy Yorkshire terrier struggled to keep pace, by which I mean struggled to keep pace with its owners who were leisurely walking. They would call the bigger dog back occasionally and he would come galumphing back, circle the smaller dog gaily and charge forward again. The toy dog would try to go faster, while cursing under its breath. It was the only time I thought Paris Hilton could be humane for caring her dog in a purse.



Ray Bradbury writes the story "All Summer in a Day" about a colonized Venus, where the people enjoy the light of the sun just one hour every seven years. I am reminded of this story often here in Portland. On those days when the sun shines, everyone comes crawling out of their houses and apartments as if the sun will not be coming again for seven years. Downtown was packed with people of all ages, mothers saying to their small children, "Look at the light!" Well, maybe not that bad. The light filtered through the mossy trees of Forest Park and the water jumped up to dance in it.

You may have noticed by now that I imagine a lot of things talking that don't actually talk. As far as we know. Its a habit I've picked up--sometimes my lips move when I see it and I imagine people must think that my mind has long since gone on vacation. Or try singing while you're walking down the road. People may give you odd looks or an occasional smile as they pass you, but to people driving in cars I look as if I'm waiting for my purple pony and magic chicken suit. Which is fine, if you're into that sort of thing.

All of this is late night rambling. Enjoying the words that come out before I even know what they'll say. Are you writing much? I hope so. It seems to crisp and clarify life for me.

Love you
Adelaide