Our Attempt at the Portland 4T Hike

When the rain stops, the sky clears, and it's Friday when Husband occasionally doesn't have to work ...... we play.

Things we like to do:  Ride bikes .... shop ..... hike ....... road trips .... and, um ....  Okay, so our list is small.  Always needing to burn some calories, I investigated a hike I'd heard about, presented it to Husband, and got the green light.  The Portland 4T.

The 4Ts are trail, tram, trolley, and train ... in that order, and it went like this:

We started at the zoo, or rather in the zoo parking lot where we stashed our car.  Then we headed south on foot across the freeway and up a trail that was still soggy from the downpours of the two previous days.  Stupid me for not thinking about mud in my choice of footwear.

This trail wound up through typical lush, soaked-in-green Oregon forest.

 Beyond this initial trail, we had the option of more trails or streets.  We chose the streets and left the mud behind.  There are 4T signs along the way, not to be confused with SW Trail signs which promptly led us off in the wrong direction down a road near where I lived during my high school years.  I love these older neighborhoods with unique designer homes that were obviously built before the concept of production building and "cookie cutter" sameness and before anyone had thought through the eventual need for a garage and actual parking.  Each home is a work of art, with colonials, craftsmans, victorians, cape cods, moderns, tudors, etc., all perched along the narrow roads.  No two are alike and I love them all.

After discovering our mistake we headed back up and arrived at Council Crest Park, the highest point in Portland, where the radio towers puncture the clouds.  The view is spectacular.

And when you are at Council Crest Park, you MUST stand in the very center of the rock pavilion and declare boldly, "Portland Rocks!"   I did not make this up.  Just do it and see what happens.

Then we wound down through more delightful homes wherein, I'm sure, people live happy/cozy lives, and made it to OHSU among Portland's massive complex of hospitals, medical school, and other health-related institutions, and to......

The tram (2nd T) ..... which gave us a free ride down to the valley floor (you only pay going up) and then we did another half mile walk to the Spaghetti Factory which we sadly discovered was closed for the afternoon.  Darn.  So we caught the trolley heading downtown (3rd T).  Now here's a curiosity:  You are supposed to buy a ticket at a machine at the trolley stop, which we did ....... but no one ever collected it.  We never even saw a driver.

The trolley took us (and a friendly but very loud woman with her "therapy/service" dog NAMED  GINGER AND SHE IS FIVE AND A HALF YEARS OLD, AND THEY'VE BEEN TOGETHER SINCE SHE (the dog) WAS TEN WEEKS OLD AND SHE'S THE SMARTEST DOG IN THE WORRRRLD, BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH ............, to the grand old County library on 10th, where we escaped and began a search for food.  A few minutes away, we found a block full of sidewalk food venders and decided on Thai.  Then we found a low stone wall on which to sit, well away from the scruffy looking fellow asleep on a bench.

The food?  Meh.  It was so-so.  But the little gal inside was sweet.

We then headed a couple of blocks back to catch the Max .... Portland's public transit train ... AKA the last T. Again we dutifully bought our tickets from the machine and again, no contact with a driver and no one collecting tickets.  You have to wonder if we were the only dopes on the train who paid for the ride, because you just walk on and walk off.  No wonder it needs to be subsidized!  It can't be making it in fares!

The Max dropped us off in an underground station where we boarded elevators that brought us back up to daylight and ..... VOILA!  The zoo parking lot!  Right where they said it would be.  Who would have thought!?

All in all, it took us about four hours with about five miles of walking, and we're giving it a thumbs up.  You get woodsy forest, fascinating homes, gorgeous views, the city, and a few rumpled panhandlers tossed in for good measure.

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Tips:
1. Don't depend on the signs.  Either carry a good map or access to the internet and/or a GPS.  You will need it.
2. They sell fudge at the Zoo shop.  Just saying.
3. You may or may not decide to buy trolley or train tickets, but you didn't hear it from me.
4.  Pass on the Thai food.  You're better off with a burger.
5.  Plan for mud.  This is Oregon.  It rains here.

(Update:  I heard they do random checks and there's a nasty fine if they catch you without a ticket.)

Home-made clothes and root beer

(I was rereading some old drafts for posts never published.  Found this one, dusted it off, and added some pictures and updates.)

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I am reminded again why I don't sew much anymore.  I used to sew everything.

My sewing history goes back to about age 12 or 13 when I learned from a patient combination of my aunt, home-ec teachers, 4-H teacher, and grandmother who gave me a used machine.  I have always loved clothes and for many years, this was my only way of having any.  I remember gleaning fabric from a couple of old wool skirts found in a trunk in our basement, to sew some culottes, which were popular back then, so that I'd have something new to wear to high school.  If I didn't sew it, I didn't have it.  I made pep-club uniforms, boy scout shirts, costumes, and even a swim suit which proved to be a mistake.  I've sewn for hire and for favors.  I've made countless window coverings of almost every type, quilts, cushions, and have even re-upholstered a boat.

(Husband says I need more pictures in my posts, so here you go.)

I sewed my prom dress, my simple wedding dress, and even my mother-in-law's Mother-of-the-Groom dress.

Us, many years ago, sandwiched between the folks.

Mother-In-Law, in her sage green dress, is standing next to the groom

 who was still in his short-lived post-mission-extreme-hair phase.

My step mother, next to me in her lovely non-homemade turquoise dress, unknowingly did not comply with my attempted color scheme.  Oh well.  (Thanks, Lins, for cleaning up the old photo.)

When I had children, I sewed everything they wore too.

And of course the Husband sported many home-made shirts.

It was just what one did if one couldn't afford to shop ready-made.

Not anymore.

I recently decided to re-use some fabric from a failed window shade project to make a new duvet cover for our bed.  I pieced together the top of the duvet and then headed out to the distant BIG fabric store to look for the backing.  Good freakin' heavens!  The cost of fabric is ridiculous!  Get this:  It would be cheaper if I bought a new set of king-sized sheets and used that for the bottom piece, than to buy the fabric.  And if I didn't already have the fabric for the top piece, it'd be cheaper to just buy a finished duvet.  How can that be??

How can unused fabric cost more BEFORE it is made into something, than after?  Doesn't labor count?

The sad thing is, if fabric cost what it does now, back when I was a teenager, I would have never learned how to sew.  I couldn't have afforded it!  It is no longer cheap, nor practical, to make one's own clothes and my frugal-to-my-bones nature is aghast.   And if you do take out a second mortgage to invest in some fabric for a project .... once that project is done, you'd better be happy with it because you ain't taking it back.  And need I mention the price of patterns?

Hence, I fear that sewing will become a lost skill.  Like the home-made root beer my dad used to make (not the dry ice variety, but that which you bottled and kept in the basement like wine) ..... no one does it anymore.  Sewing used to be a big part of my life.  Not that I miss it, because, to be honest, I don't.  But I see the value of what it taught me for those many years.

So now I'm looking for sheets of the right color, for the right price, to finish my project.  And I WILL find them because another skill I have honed to near-perfection, is ...... shopping.   And now that I've discovered and embraced RESALE shopping .... my frugal bones are ecstatic.

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Update:  I ended up using an old sheet from my own linen closet, made the duvet, and now it remains stuffed on a shelf in my closet because the darn thing is too heavy to sleep under.  THAT is the problem with home-made ..... no returns.

Hello, my name is ..... and I am addicted .....

to a lot of things ..... such as .....

Carbs.

Good conversation.

My bed.

Fun.

The news.

Cranberries.

My husband.

Oregon.

My flat iron.


And social media.  AKA facebook.  I admit it.  I am one of those people.  I am on it TOO often.  I comment TOO much.  And I've been nursing the illusion that everyone is anxious to hear my next thought.  As if.  Very, very few facebook denizens are THAT witty, clever, funny, or smart that we want a constant stream of their comments crowding onto our news-feeds all day long.  And I am not the exception, as much as I'd like to be.

At least I am not guilty of inflicting my nightly dinner menu upon my patient friends, nor posting those obnoxious sayings, like .... "Share if you love your daughter!"  Let the record show that I love my daughter and my other various and assorted kids.  And my grandkids, sibs, and all extended family.  I'm even fond of my cat .... most of the time.  They know it.  You know it.  That's enough.

My awakening came when I learned that a friend had unfriended me.  That's something that, no matter how gently they intended it, kinda hurts.

Wait ..... I thought.  Me??  But my posts are important!  They have substance!  I do research!  The world needs enlightening, and I am here for it!

On the other hand, I enjoy well thought-out posts from others, and have learned a great deal from my facebook community.  And the humorous updates are priceless.  So who doesn't love a hearty political rant now and then, to nudge that sleeping giant called the Silent Majority?   But then ..... maybe the giant prefers to sleep.

So here's my plan.  I am going on a diet.  A social-media diet.  If I can limit carbs, I can limit posting.  No more than ONE of my in-your-face political rants per week.  Or maybe less.  I'm not talking about commenting on someone else's post .....  and I can see this needs further clarification.

This does not include things like ..... Anyone know of a good Mexican restaurant? ..... Which I do, by the way ..... in case you're looking for one.  Or .... Are movies still $5 on Tuesdays at the Regal?  Or .... There's a great sale on cereal at Freddies.  THAT kind of thing benefits us all and is not what I'm talking about ...... although, I don't buy cereal anymore and am not that into movies.  But you get what I mean.

I am cinching in the belt and counting my social calories, so to speak.  Reining it in.

But watch out.  OCCASIONALLY, that sleeping giant is going to get a solid whack in the shins because I can only hold the steam in so long before bursting.  And the giant is invited to punt-kick back ....  or roll over and finish his nap.  It's all good.

One bit of advice:  Don't follow me on Twitter.  I've figured out how it works and the rants are flying over there.