No matter how well you plan, how much you organize and how many lists you make, something always goes wrong. I had expected that my stuff would be here in Lake Oswego by today, but it won't arrive until Monday. Meanwhile, Ollie and I are bunking with my brother, his wife, two cats and a dog.
The flight from Maine on Tuesday was long, but uneventful. Ollie the cat was zonked out until an hour before we arrived at PDX. It's three days later and he is still not out from under the bed covers and he scoots away when I try to pet him – standard operating procedure for cats when they are pissed off at their humans.
But look at it from his point of view: some strange people removed every bit of furniture from his home of four years. Then we moved into a small hotel room for five days. Just when he was getting accustomed to that, I shoved a pill down his throat and he was stuck in his carrier for 12 hours with a roaring noise around him the whole time. Then he woke up in yet another new room with smells of other animals.
In those circumstances, I'd be pissed off too. But how come, in some circumstances, cats can be uncanny in appearing to understand English and in others, when you try to explain something, they know only feline. It's probably deliberate on their part.
Lake Oswego is lovely. I've rented a car and have learned my way around the main part of town while taking care of some essential errands. We had dinner a couple of nights ago in a sensationally good sushi place in Northwest Portland.
The apartment is – well, empty. Today Comcast will install the cable and broadband modem. I was running out of clean clothes so I tried the washer and dryer yesterday. They work fine. I investigated the local Safeway, a much more lavish supermarket than I was accustomed to in Maine. My brother tells me there are even better ones to choose from nearby.
In protest against the big banks, I opened a checking account in a local bank. It's an odd and elegant little place on the second floor of a building on the main street of Lake Oswego. No tellers in the usual sense, just people scattered at pretty wooden desks where you sit to transact even such simple tasks as a deposit. Quite civilized.
A couple of days ago, my brother published a Time Goes By story in Oregon's Jewish Review, of which he is editor. You may have read it here, but if not, you can find it at his paper's website.
With the delay of the delivery of my household goods, this is a quiet down time. I'm extraordinarily tired, but also eager to get on with my new life next week.
At The Elder Storytelling Place today, Ernest Leichter: Italy – Where Have You Gone?