UNGROUNDED LIFE IN TIGARD

An ungrounded life is for people who wish they were somewhere besides where they are, where they live, where they spend their time.

I met one of them in the local Walgreens.

I could tell he was ungrounded by how he looked.

He was wearing a suit, which from my experience, was his work clothes.

An older man, probably younger than me, he walked in tall, his head above the shelves, looking a little too bemused to find himself on the corner of 99W and McDonald, or Gaarde.

We’ve got a town with street names changing when they cross another street.

I had him tagged from the get-go, a stranger in a strange land.

Most of the time I keep to myself around strangers. But sometimes, I want to know more.

Since this Dapper Dan lined up behind me at the counter, I said, “Looking good today.”

He gave me the once over.

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I was in my blue coveralls, looking like I’d been changing oil in my car.

What I’d been doing is cleaning up the street in front of my house.

I’ve got two huge trees on either side, one that drop leaves like nobodies business, the other dropping yellow seed pods by the thousands.

It gets messy. Besides, all of the neighbors had taken advantage of a dry day to clear my leaves off their land.

They probably think they’re better than me? Not today, boys. We’re all working together.

I like telling a funny story: Everyone likes the oxygen from trees, but not the leaves.

Okay, not so funny. But the leaves turn to mush in the rain, then they’re a hazard when it freezes.

So, blue overalls over blue jeans and a striped rugby shirt. That can’t be the wardrobe of an ungrounded life.

A suit? Maybe.

The Man In Walgreens:

Me: Looking good today.

Man: I’m trying to upgrade the typical Portland appearance.

Me: If a suit doesn’t do it, nothing will.

Man: I spent most of my working life on the east coast. We’re a bit more formal.

So far, so good?

I’d been scrounging around after spending half an hour in a 210 degree sauna, so I was a little blown-out looking.

He was an upgrade in comparison.

Me: East coast? Like the right side of the Mississippi River?

Man: That’s the one.

He looked like he might be chatty and we were about five customers away from checking out.

I had a few cans of hard seltzer in my hands, representing the working class.

Me: I moved here from Brooklyn, across the river from Manhattan.

Man: I know here Brooklyn is. We lived on the West Side, at the top of the island.

Me: By the Cloisters?

Man: A little higher.

Me: I was there in the early 80’s. Sunset Park. The only white guy living in a white flight neighborhood. I’ve heard it changed.

Man: It’s all been gentrified.

Me: It happens everywhere, but you never know the effect unless you see how it was. NW Portland was a dive neighborhood when I moved in. It got fixed up when we moved to the inner Eastside. That was a dive, too, that rebounded after we moved to Tigard.

Man: So we can expect a Tigard Renaissance when you leave?

BoomerPdx Engagement For An Ungrounded Life

Did my new best friend know he was talking to a prolific blogger who picked on Portland?

No.

Did I mention it?

No. See, I’ve had bad luck with people who present themselves one way when they are another.

I talked it up once with decent guy who turned out to be a Second Amendment man whose every expression included guns.

He was talking guns even when guns weren’t the topic.

I explained the problem. He said I lived in an echo chamber of only people who agreed with me.

So I uninvited his participation and deleted all of his long gun comments. My blog, right?

The Walgreen’s guy was fun, he was funny, and that was enough.

He had things to say about Portland. I’ve said things about Portland.

Was he a Trump loving, election denying, republican? Not that it mattered, but if I invited him to the blog and he saw an opportunity to spew Fox News talking points, it would ruin the special Walgreen’s Moment.

An ungrounded life is one thing, blind adulation is another.

Reading The Ungrounded Life Truth

When the suit guy checked out I heard him say, “It’s nice to meet people who wish they lived someplace else. I know I do.”

He sounded like part of the ungrounded life group. And he included me? Why me?

Earlier in the day I’d walked the dog from Mistletoe and Benchview over to Ascension, down to Fern, across to 135th, and back up the hill.

It felt like the longest walk. This is the longest walk:

I felt like Superman. Felt good.

If you live someplace that challenges you in a good way, why leave?

Also, once you figure out where to shop for specific items, stick around. That knowledge is hard won.

For example, the same amount of hard seltzer from the same brand sells for four dollars at Safeway, three dollars at Walgreens, and six dollars with tip at the closest bar.

Took a while to figure that out. Things aren’t always what they seem to be.

A local know-it-all ran his mouth on too many things he didn’t know, so I helped him out with facts instead of his inane bullshit.

Instead of thanking me, he said, “This is why no one here likes you.”

The nerve of some people.

Do I want others to like me?

If you ask yourself the same question, switch it around. Let the people you like know instead of telling who doesn’t like them.

I didn’t ask Joan Didion a question, but she had an answer for the ungrounded life:

Know your home, stick around, and show your best side to strangers.

Everyone you care about already knows the rest, and they stick around.

Find a good spot for a book and a nice pour of wine.

Who wouldn’t stick around for that?