PORTLAND DRIVER ON A CABINET SEARCH

What does a Portland driver do when an IKEA bathroom cabinet doesn’t match the moment?

And you live in a Portland, Oregon zip code?

Go on a Portland road mission for the right junk.

Warning: The time and effort spent is the real object, not the end result. You know, the ‘life is journey’ stuff.

However, junk is still junk, until it’s ‘your junk.’

So there I was cruising N. Killingworth.

Every city should have street named ‘Killingsworth’ for shock value.

It sounds like something Stephen King would drop in a scary story, “The House On Killingsworth.’

I’m driving through North Portland residential blocks trying to find these junk stores for the perfect bathroom cabinet I’d find hanging on the wall with it’s shelves full of knickknacks, or small bowls of art glass, or test tube of beads.

My kind of junk, more special than Home Depot guaranteed.

My search ranged between Killingsworth and Fremont, MLK and Williams.

Did I find the magical cabinet to pull a bathroom together? No, but I found something else:

Portland’s future.

Portland Driver Future Through The Windshield

I was on a Portland road mission, not the usual sight seeing:

Me: And over here on Northwest Lovejoy I met my wife.

Wife: I know. I was there.

Me: And over on Southeast 11th my first son was born.

Wife: I was there, too.

Me: Hey, just keeping the magic alive. It’s not a Portland competition.

Wife: Do you need directions?

Me: Honey, I’ve got instinct honed by recklessly driving courier vans all over this town.

Wife: Recklessly? Why do you dramatize everything.

Me: Because I’m a writer who never stops working?

Wife: That’s always your excuse.

Me: And I wrecked the van into four airplanes.

Wife: Were you driving a van, or a cruise missile?

Me: I got banned from Pearson Field.

Wife: You mean fired?

Me: Same thing.

I drove in on I-5 North and branched off to 405 because I like driving down that gully past 14th and Everett where I’d spent years working for Oregon history.

And I like train yard and cargo crane view north of the Fremont Bridge, the city to the south. It’s not Tacoma, but looks hards working.

Not that the Marquam isn’t a nice view, just no trains or cranes.

Me: Do you remember when Navy ships came during Rose Festival?

Wife: They still do.

Me: . . . and sailers used to climb up the Fremont and steal the flags.

Wife: Instant death on that fall.

Me: Or black out and drown.

Wife: Ok. That’s enough.

Me: They’d probably wash up on the shore across from Saturday Market.

Wife: Only if the water reversed its flow.

Me: Oh, okay river expert.

Wife: Pretty basic.

The Portland Road Mission Began

Me: Taking the Kerby exit . . . and we’re off.

Wife: Hit a left when you can, not the big right turn circle. Do you remember the street?

Me: They said up from Mississippi to MLK and Shaver.

Wife: This is the left.

Me: Oh man, crossing lanes of traffic. I hate when others do it.

Wife: Which way on MLK? I’ll check.

Me: You don’t need to check. It’s a right. I’ve got instinct here.

Wife: Not seeing it.

Me: This looks good for a U-turn.

The day continued with the two of us scouring Portland for a piece of history kind of cabinet instead of a big box store cabinet in a box.

Even better we built a memory, a Portland memory full of Portland streets and stores and shops, Portland homes and churches.

My idea of a good day is a Portland road mission.

Remember the last time Old Bob told about the time he ventured out to Lamps Plus?

When Doris dared go to Washington Square?

You lose something important if you don’t feel the community connections that give a city it’s character.

Worse if you don’t see a role for yourself.

I know mine: Wife Driver.

And she knows hers: Husband Driver.

Who will be a Portland Driver?