DREAM STREET: 82ND AVENUE PORTLAND OREGON

Dream street?

82nd Avenue?

Somebody wake me up?

No, it’s not a dream, but a street of dreams. And those dreams came to life.

What goes better with a dream than hope that it all comes true.

Hoping for the best day in Oregon is an exercise in futility most of the time.

Why? Because we’ve got too much weather. From too much rain, to too many hot days, to cloudy and maybe rain, we still hope.

We hope to land on dream street.

When it happens, it feels like the stars lining up.

And they did just that on 82nd Avenue.

Who Dreams Of 82nd

The pictures on this post are the north and south views of 82nd from the corner of SE Chestnut.

Regular day? Normal clouds? Light traffic?

Check, check, and check.

But a half block up Chestnut things were cooking up.

First, a small group arrived, then more.

It happens when people get married.

Who are these people?

One is the groom’s party, the other the bride’s party.

Was it a party? It was a smashing party of well dressed people launching their babies into married life.

What is it about men in tuxedos and women in flowing gowns that makes them dance like whirling dervishes?

It might be the booze, but I think it’s more like hiding in plain sight.

Buttoned up couples walked the aisle. The groom’s dad walked behind his son who had is mom on his arm. They walked first.

The bride walked with her father last.

I had a ringside seat for the bride transfer from father to husband.

There was an ethereal aura to it. In the long history of children and parents, kids starting a new life together is a stunner no matter how long it’s been planned.

Dream Street For Two And More

The wedding plan came off without a hitch.

The ceremony was as tender and touching as I hoped for.

The wedding official did an outstanding job.

It was a seamless transition from, “I do,” to let’s eat.

The same smooth operation that moved things from chapel to 5 Star restaurant, turned into a dance club.

What Happens At Dance Club Stays At Dance Club?

Not when gorgeous people in all their finery get down.

After all of the time and effort in planning, to the execution of the plan, the wedding party got heated.

From the dance floor: Men knew how to dance, and if they didn’t they knew how to shake it out.

Women found dance partners, or not, and got out on the floor either way.

Sweating, slamming, low dancing, head swirling dancers in formal wear, looked like the prom no one remembers.

You’ve heard the advice to ‘Dance Like No One Is Watching?’

Those were the dancers on the floor. Confident, in time, and going out of control.

When the rowdy kicked in, shirts got ripped and pulled out. The guys started lifting each other walking around. The women kicked into a higher gear and the music pounded it home.

It was a night planned for and schemed, and it rolled along like it would never end.

That was the hope and dream of everyone in the 21 Sparkler send off for the bride and groom.

May their life together remain as rowdy and rambunctious as the crowd they summoned.

I believe it will because they have the special blessing of seeing through the fog of the future.

It’s a blessing conferred by the echo of Foggy Mountain Breakdown heard up and down 82nd Avenue.