I was all set to sit down and write about what an awful year this has been when I encountered quite a pair in this coffeehouse. They aren't really an odd couple but he is quite a bit younger than she. I'd say about 50 years.
A grandmother and grandson...most likely. But just his reactions to her voice changed my mood. He has dark blonde curly hair but is obviously of mixed racial parents. She could be most anyone's grandma, but an older middle-class white woman will suffice. They upset my apple cart of gloom and doom. Lots of babbling, smiles and that kind of innocent curiosity that can hold anyone's attention. I admired how she kept talking to him all through their time together. In the end, I got a modest good-bye wave and a last glimpse of that smile. Mood elevating to be sure.
How easy it is to stop thinking about a President that lies more often than not and the recent wild firestorms that have decimated much of the Northwest I love when you have this little breath of fresh air nearby.
In my refrigerator is a small bottle of champagne that was left over from my birthday. I'm hoping to down it on New Year's Eve to mark the end of a most pitiful year where the perfect storm of natural disasters aligned with a flawed election, numerous hacking scandals that created havoc for online consumers, my beloved baseball Giants in last place 39 games behind, and the untimely death of half a dozen people I know. This year was the worst and can't end soon enough.
But, lest I wallow in grief, there are some highlights to acknowledge. I've made it through ...so far. I managed to go fly fishing half a dozen times. I read some insightful and entertaining books. I taught a class for the first time in a decade, and have had contact with a handful of former students who honor me deeply by taking time to say hello when they travel through Portland.
II
I'm reminded that today is the 28th anniversary of the Loma Prieta earthquake that shook the Bay Area in 1989. Being in the big middle of it all, the memories are fresh and fuel the desire to keep an earthquake kit updated at all times. So today, on this mild rainy day Portland afternoon, I'll relive a few of those tense minutes from what easily seems like only a few years back.
In this culture of plenty seeing a major grocery chain with no water or batteries is alarming and not easily forgotten. That evening of October 17, 1989, was the closest I ever came to experiencing a natural disaster. It began by relaxing. At 5:00 pm I finally sat down to watch the World Series after a long school day. I'd taught 5 classes and made the drive back home from El Cerrito to Oakland and was looking forward to watching the Giants battle the Oakland As. At 5:04 pm I heard a rumbling sound which I presumed came from the apartment above me in the 4-plex I shared. My neighbor at the time was a drummer in a band and sometimes practiced at home. The sound I heard seemed familiar. Then a jolt and a Paul Klee print hanging over my fireplace slid off the wall, it's corner catching the top of an antique kerosene lamp nearby. The painting and the lamp crashed to the floor with a burst of glass. That's when I first thought earthquake. The TV went out and a sinking feeling that baseball was over for the evening overtook my thoughts. Before I could frown the second and largest jolt shook the building. It reminded me of the thunder claps I'd heard in Texas and Louisiana. That's when I scampered for the door frame.
The earth stopped moving within seconds and finding myself in the front door frame I opened my door to the sounds and sights and yes, smells of this 7.1 quake. There was a funny brown dusty smoke in the air. I'd later find out it was coming from the fallen Cyprus structure that was part of the old highway 880 overpass system.
My phone service allowed a couple of calls before going dead. Fortunately, at that time, I had a girlfriend in a nearby town who still had power. We reunited and walked around her neighborhood that eerie evening. My school remained open the next day but it was one of the few that did. I recall no less than 3 aftershocks that rattled the old glass windows of my classroom. The underpinnings of PTSD, they produced fearful reactions for many of my students on a continuing basis. It took a few weeks before we were all confident that another big quake wasn't far behind.
There were fires and unfortunate souls who perished in the overpass collapse. The Bay Bridge cracked open and was down for what seemed like months. The freeway system was subsequently reconfigured in key areas that altered traffic patterns ever since.
Sitting here on this drizzly Portland afternoon I'm quite aware of the San Juan de Fuca plate that is predicted to deliver a mammoth Pacific Northwest earthquake sometime in the next 50 years. I hear it could be as large as 9 on the Richter scale.
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