That one sentence really says it all, and I wish I could leave it at that.
I envy the type of people who, when I ask them how something went, they email
or say something so literal and void of description that I respect and loath them all at once. Short. To the point. And you can't whine
about how they didn't answer your question.
Just because someone doesn't flap their hands around, employ dynamic voice fluctuations and/or a sea of smiley face emoticons and exclamation points, while elaborating the emotional weather report for the entire trip and trips before that, doesn't mean that they didn't enjoy themselves. In fact, the way I read it is that they are only faking that they enjoy me. And they want to torture me. It's a test, I think, just to get me to ask: "Doesn't disappoint, how?" "Did it disappoint on a previous occasion?" "What music did you listen to on the way up?" "What color were the trees?" "Was it raining?" "Did you, at any point in the day, embarrass yourself in some grand way?"
But now I don't even remember what I was going to tell you about Portland. I'm lucky enough to get there at least once a month and getting to Portland consists of stopping in Hood River, another favorite spot. On the way back, dad and I were able to try out Everybody's Brewing in White Salmon. A clandestine establishment way up on the hill with a view of the mountains and the river, their microbrew was delicious.
At an antique mall in Sellwood, found---GASP!---a bunch of old typewriters. Thankfully, my good friends at Rustic Rooster in Prosser feed my habit by giving me deals on any antique typing gadget they can get their mits on. I type most Bipolar Betty Cards on a modern automatic, but I love to set the others around my living space and studio like art pieces. I am looking forward to the day when I can exclaim: "Don't touch that--it's an antique!"
"You're all very pretty," I told the typewriters in Sellwood. "But one more non-functional gadget might break me."
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