So I happened to be down on the EastSide of town (that’s a song lyric, I just know it) yesterday afternoon, and I made a thrilling discovery. Yet another coffee roastery in Portland! I know, right?! Now, I say that all toungue-in-cheek and so now you’re probably going, “Yeah, we know there’s a lot of coffee in Portland, shut up about it” and that’s kind of mean of you so Hey–Shhhh! Okay so here’s what I was getting to: This is truly fantastic coffee. For reals.

It’s called Mudd Works. I had their Organic Orgasmic blend in a latte and it was extremely tasty. Not a hint of bitterness nor dirty aftertaste. Just smooth, rich flavors with a little spice at the outset. The barista who made me the drink told me that his brother is the man with the magic, who has been roasting coffees in various cities for twenty years. You can buy Mudd Works in a bag at Market of Choice or have a drink whipped up for you at Mr. French’s (no website) on SE 1st and SE Washington in the old B&O building. Sure, it’s out of the way, but it’s worth trying.

I’ve had a lot of different coffees during my time here in Portland. Some day I’ll write a post about all the walking I did this past summer and all the drips I’ve sipped along the way. But in the meantime, just believe me that Mudd Works has got it figured out.

The chairs and tables come off the sidewalks. We move into the bars, coffee houses, restaurants, and theaters. Every day we fight the urge to use the central heater for the first time this season. Not ’til December. It’s only 55 degrees in the house; we can live with it if we wear thick socks.

As the first rains come, streets are flooded because the storm drains are clogged with fallen leaves. It happens every year. Why don’t we sweep sooner? Freeway traffic slows down as more bikes are stowed. Showing up to work wet is not acceptable. Dampness suggests you rode TriMet, which is O.K.

We drink thick, dark beers and toast with robust red wines as the holidays of thanks and giving pass by. Clinks and clanks of champagne flutes and sniffers toast the birth and death of a year.

Then we wait for the sun to come back.

At least, that’s the attitude of a lot of Portland residents who decry the long rainy season. Sure, it lasts from November until… uh… May. Which is long, I’ll admit. And the fact that daylight savings time moves dusk to 4pm and sunrise to 8am doesn’t help.

Admittedly, my first winter here was psychologically challenging. My circadian rhythms were completely screwed up. Early sunset meant early dinner cravings; late sunrise meant difficulties waking up in the morning. A deep dislike for being rained on kept me indoors on my days off of work. Small-town Girl in a Big City nerves made me afraid to be on the streets after dark, which meant that when I wasn’t working I was at home eating or sleeping.

So yeah, I can see why people who are new to Portland hate the winter. It’s all they can talk about. You can tell if you’re meeting a newcomer if one of the first statements they make to you involves wetness, darkness, or annoyance over the bums. And I’m not looking down my nose at the newbies. People, I was one of you three years ago!

But if you’re willing to stick it out, it gets better.

I love winter in Portland now. The excuse to wear four shirts at a time, the heavy winter beers that are like meals in pint glasses, the guiltless days spent in coffee shops reading or writing while drinking foamy hot lattes, the indoor gatherings of people who during summer months were out hiking or biking and not socializing, the influx of local art into galleries or downtown residences whose doors are flung open for First Thursday, the amazing bands playing the bars every night of the week, the after-work volunteer opportunities and meetings of great minds… those are just a few reasons to love Portland in the wintertime.

What we in this fast-paced and impatient society forget is this: Slowing down is just as important as zooming around. Sure, we feel limited by shorter days and crappy weather, but the silver lining is composed of more opportunities to think, to rest, to have a full-length conversation, to enrich our minds with movies and art and good books. There is a reason why Portland is known for creativity, for progressive thinking, and for being home to well-educated people.

So, grab a snuggly blanket and think on this: Is Portland’s long winter truly so terrible?

Pawly is back with my parents now, in her new metal urn. To celebrate the occasion, I wrote a few little poems in haiku form. I hope you like them:

in light, shadow fades
in death, shadow remains true
her love transcends all

sunshine holds shadow
in transparent slumber now
love part of earth’s light

a body to ash
a soul to eternity
here stands love’s symbol

symbolic of love
shadow, soul separated
now entombed, enthroned

she casts no shadow
for in life, that was her name
and in death remains

of life every hour
your shadow, dark companion
duty beyond death

I encourage everyone to add your own haiku’s to celebrate Pawly. If you didn’t know Pawly, then share with us your experience with a favorite pet. And if you would like to learn more about haiku, here is a great resource. Have fun with your poems!

So, I’m going to put a lid on the politics for awhile. Obama is going to be President, and McCain/Palin will just fade into the night. Only part of that last statement is true, unfortunately, as demonstrated by every news show airing this morning. But, I’m not going there, people!

At the risk of inciting controversy, I’m going to shift to a subject about which I feel fiery passion:

Sharing Information Responsibly

A story to illustrate my point, with certain details omitted for obvious reasons:

Yesterday, a contact on a social networking website posted this bulletin:

I was watching on the news and they were saying how many votes from Hispanics, my question is how many of these hispanics are true to form US citizens? You are supposed to a US citizen by birth to vote.
I know there will be no one to check into it but I think we need to know just how many votes are legit!

As a person of Hispanic heritage, and someone who is so proud of the election turn-out, I was offended. First of all, being Hispanic does not automatically mean that a person entered this country illegally. Second of all, being born into citizenship is not the only way to become a bona fide American; an application process grants citizenship and along with it the right to vote. Third of all, the votes are authenticated through the voter registration process, for which each state is responsible. Finally (and most importantly), by asking this question of her entire social network, in a one-sided bulletin that does not allow for comments or any other forms of public feedback, she unintentionally (we hope) planted a seed of fear, doubt, and racism. There are appropriate forums for such questions. She chose the wrong one.

Now, I’m not here to bash people or upset any of you kind readers. Just so you know, I have written to and informed her of my concerns. The reason why I told this story was to illustrate my point that conversation is the way of the future the now. Declarations are dead. If you say something, you better be prepared to back it up, because people are either going to call you out on it or stop listening to you/reading what you have to say if you don’t welcome their participation. So many people are unwittingly committing the social crime of spreading misinformation, and it pains me to say that the person I quote in this entry is one of millions who do not understand the harm they are doing.

So, how do you avoid alienating–even hurting–readers/listeners and make yourself heard? Well, here’s my advice:

#1 – Make sure it’s the truth. If you can’t authenticate, don’t propagate!

#2 – Think about the impact of your words. How will they make people feel?

#3 – Don’t read the headlines and assume you know the whole story.

#4 – Embellishment makes for great storytelling. That’s all it’s good for.

#5 – Count on others to keep you honest. Sharing is not a solitary activity.

Did I miss something? Please comment and add to the discussion. I welcome all feedback!

Updated November 6th, 2008 at 12:38pm PST: She removed the bulletin and responded to my direct message. Ideally she would have posted an updated version of her question with people’s responses attached, but I guess this will have to do. Remember folks: Open, honest communication will always prevail!

America!, we did it. We. Voted. In. Record. Numbers.

Look!!!

Now, that alone is a HUGE reason to be happy. America! came together! to participate in an election of epic! proportions. Sure, half of the voting public is feeling pretty sore today. Some of them are pretty positive that the world is going to end. Hey, I can’t blame you guys. I was fully prepared to abandon America! if Obama didn’t get elected. I know that’s not exactly comparable to fearing for Earth’s salvation… If it’s any consolation, we’ll get to travel abroad and not fear for our physical safety anymore! Some day!

At least, they’re thinking about liking us again…

I’m being a bit glib. I apologize.

Seriously, though; I’m thrilled on so many levels. Thrilled that America! did the right thing. Thrilled that I got to share the night with my husband and close friends. Thrilled that Portland did the occasion justice by dancing in the streets and only making the police a little bit angry.

Here’s what I mean:

Walking westbound on Belmont, we came upon an impromptu concert. Who better than March Fourth, the most awesome marching band on the face of the planet, to provide the celebratory soundtrack for the evening. I recorded this video as we approached and dove in. You can’t plan something this amazing!

…psssst… go look at the Photos page….

I love this town. And this country. And you, America! Really.

Okay now go here: http://wedidit.us/
And here: http://12seconds.tv/tag/12challenge-2008-11-05

Let’s learn to celebrate America! again, and hope for the future. Forget about the election… Until 2012.

Today is a very important day. About half of the voting country will go to bed really happy, and about half of the voting country will go to bed really freakin’ pissed off. Which half will you belong to? Better stay up and find out!

I mean, you may as well… It’s not every day that we decide the fate of our nation, right?

Of course, this wouldn’t be a legitimate blog without gratuitous voting pictures of Jed and me…

(Notice I’m wearing red, white, and blue. TOTALLY on purpose.)

(Jed’s wearing his American flag boxers today. I would post a picture, but I know how his hairy chest gets to my sister. So I won’t. Unless the rest of you ask really nicely in the comments section. Then I’ll consider it. Just a warning, though: You’ll have to deal with my sister potentially barfing all over you.)

It took me 15 minutes to fill out my ballot, 20 minutes to walk into downtown, and about 10 seconds to put my piece of history in the drop box. Could they make voting in Oregon any easier?

Now let’s just see if we get our way. Jed and I have been threatening to move to Canada if McCain/Palin win the election. Please, America!, don’t call our bluff, okay? Because we just might do it. I hear Vancouver, BC is beautiful…

Voting stories you’d like to share? Reasons why/not you voted? As we all know, we’re entitled to a say!

Pawly meets St. Peter the Poodle at the Pearly Dogbone Gates of Canine Heaven:

St. Peter the Poodle: “Welcome to Canine Heaven, Pawly.”

Pawly: “Whoa! We talk up here? OH MY GAWD I JUST SPOKE!”

St. Peter the Poodle: “Yes, my dear. I like your collar.”

Pawly: “Oh, this? Yeah, if red’s your thing. I prefer to go au naturelle whenever possible.”

St. Peter the Poodle: “Yes, we know. Would you like to check it at the gate, then?”

Pawly: “Is there a charge for collar check? My mom always had the purse…”

St. Peter the Poodle: “No, no. No charge. So, would you like to come inside?”

Pawly: “Well, yes, but you haven’t said the magic words.”

St. Peter the Poodle: “Oh! Very sorry. *ahem* ‘Pawly, in the house?!’ …is that right?”

Pawly: “Yes, thank you. Will there be a bone waiting for me inside?”

St. Peter the Poodle: “Oh, there’s much more than that. We have a grassy field, and there’s a guy named Doug who has volunteered to come play ball with you once a day. Better be careful while you run, though: This orange tabby who calls himself ‘Squeaker’ told me that he plans to jump on you when you least expect it.”

Pawly: “I see… Well, he should remember that I’m not afraid to give ‘im a little toss–”

St. Peter the Poodle: “–but, when you’re done playing ball we have a nice little place for you to rest, complete with air vent, blanket, bones to chew on, and a wool rug for you to roll around on if your back gets itchy.”

Pawly: “Is there anything for me to do if I don’t feel like playing ball?”

St. Peter the Poodle: “My, I almost forgot! There is a pond for you to swim in, and if you’re feeling adventurous you can climb the Shrubby Hill of Empty Diet Mountain Dew Bottles or squeeze into the Cave of Tantalizing Cheese Smells.”

Pawly: “You don’t happen to have any garbage cans, do you?”

St. Peter the Poodle: “No… Why?”

Pawly: “It’s not important–Go on…”

St. Peter the Poodle: “…Yes, yes. So, there are other dogs you might like to meet while you are here. A shepherd mix named Nelcie is very anxious to challenge you to a doggy-paddle contest–”

Pawly: “–ah, I think I’ve heard of her before. Energetic gal, right? Do you think she’d be up for some tug-o-war?”

St. Peter the Poodle: “Well, you never know unless you ask, right?”

Pawly: “Guess so… Hey, one request…”

St. Peter: “Anything you like, Pawly.”

Pawly: “Well, there’s this blue persian named Sam I used to like hanging out with… Is he around?”

St. Peter the Poodle: “Oh, yes. Let’s go find him now…”

Pawly: “Wait. Wait. Not so fast. I’m not going in there unless we’re sure that my family gives their permission. I mean, sure I went a lot of places I wasn’t supposed to back when I was on Earth. But I figured this time it’s a little more serious. I mean, I didn’t hear anyone whistle or anything, but I just want to be sure…”

St. Peter the Poodle: “I understand. Tell you what: If you hear any of them whistle, you can go back anytime you like.”

Pawly: “Really?!”

St. Peter the Poodle: “Absolutely. There is a catch, however.”

Pawly: “I’m listening…”

St. Peter the Poodle: “Good girl. So, when you go back, you can’t show yourself. You can only keep them company by being with them in spirit. And you can’t stay too long, or else Squeaker will eat your dinner. Dinner in Heaven is at 4pm, and you won’t want to miss it.”

Pawly: “That sounds reasonable.”

St. Peter the Poodle: “Okay?”

Pawly: “Yeah, okay.”

St. Peter the Poodle: “Okay, then. Now, let’s go get the kitty…”

Pawly is in Heaven. She passed away in her sleep while receiving treatment for pancreatitis; of an aneurysm resulting from a failing heart. The two conditions were unrelated, and her death was a pretty big shock to all of us.

Or was it? I believe strongly that a pet will choose their time to die. Pawly was not in the best of health this past year, but her sense of duty to my family kept her moving despite her failing hind legs, breathing despite the endless panting. But even though she seemed to be feeling poorly, Pawly wasn’t ready to leave my family yet.

She had to see them pass into a new chapter of their lives. She wanted to know that they could be happy without her. But first, she had to see the countryside her family called home before she came along. And Pawly loved it! She got to run through fields of sage brush, smell the fresh air of two mountain ranges, see her first cows and horses and llamas… Through those experiences, Pawly became revitalized. And she learned how to have fun again because she could sense our happiness.

So in the days running up to her death, Pawly took car rides willingly and climbed and sniffed up and down rocky hillsides. She even went without her pain medicine for two weeks; before the move across the country she needed two doses a day to fight the inflammation in her hips. She lost 15 lbs, quit panting almost entirely, and her raw, cracked nose completely healed to its youthful softness.

But Pawly’s time with my family was drawing to a close. Suddenly she became violently ill and had to be taken to the doctor. Amazingly, she was calm through the examination and even seemed to like the young man who was treating her. Pawly used to lose her mind when taken to the veterinarian in South Carolina. Maybe all that traveling had made her a more worldly and emotionally resilient dog. Or maybe she was relieved that Mom wouldn’t have to see her suffer–see her die.

In the wee hours of the morning of November 1st, Pawly said goodbye to my family and this world. She spent 12 years being Mom’s Shadow, Dad’s garage guardian, Latice’s ‘Poo, and my living toy. We will talk about her for the rest of our lives, because she was more than a dog for us. She was, and will forever be, our furry heart.

What was Pawly to you? Write a comment to share your favorite Pawly story.