Independence Day

July 4, 2025

We start the first day of the rest of our lives in an interesting setting, a sharp change from the day before in many ways. For one, we woke up for the first time in a new apartment, but in the same condo we've stayed at twice before, the building right across the street from our storage unit and about a block from Elizabeth's condo and the parking space the Raven used to park in before he flew the coop and moved back east. We'll be her for 31 days, the magic number in the Pearl District for Airbnb and similar short term occupancies. Less than 30 days you in general can't make such rentals, and less than 31 you have to pay a roughly 10% tax.

We have mixed feelings about this place but in net they're positive. For one thing, it has the identical floor plan to the unit up on the seventh floor where we stayed after returning from the SLO hospital until we flew down to Tucson. So on the one hand she has warts and it's associated many strong memories good and bad, and on the other it has the sense of familiarity - same layout, same convenient location and so on - that gives at least myself the feeling of coming home.

For a change I had the foresight yesterday to take a few quick pictures before we trashed the place. I had to act fast because it doesn't take us long.

We awakened this morning at around six, relieved that the streets had cleared overnight, the chaotic and at times deafening sounds from the First Thursday street fair mercifully finally gone. Our plan for the morning is that Rachael will take a walk out toward Leif Erickson Drive again, while I will drive down to Kelly point for some early morning birding.

Rachael is up soon after me, attractively wandering around in her birthday outfit while trying to remember where she put her clothes last night. I help her out by lending her my unlost Pendleton so she can at least make it around the corner to the bathroom. After she's out, dressed decent, and has her hands wrapped around her first cup of coffee that she brewed last night and microwaved this morning we talk through our respective plans for the day.

Nice shirt, love! I always did think it looks better on you than me.

We both want to get out early before it heats up, and her plan is to head out Thurman to about the bridge across Balch Creek and then maybe continue on to Leif Erickson Drive again. It's a temporary annoyance that we only have one key to the building for a few days because I forgot to ask our host Andrew before we checked in the first time. No biggie, but it means one of us needs to be the key-bearer and we need to coordinate a meetup later to let the other in the door. It's an easy call - the key goes with Rocky because I'm way more likely to lose track of time, and because if she's not home yet when I return I'm perfectly content to hang out in a neighborborhood coffee shop or park while I wait.

And then we verbally frisk each other to improve the chances that we'll make it out the door with everything we need, and then I kiss her goodbye and head for the elevator. Because we've added a new best practice to our lives: unless one of us is sound asleep we always kiss each other goodbye when we part now, because life is full of surprises and gives no guarantees. Who knows? I could end my day flattened beneath a freight hauler or shackled and stuffed into the nearest ICE box, never to be seen again. Stuff happens, and suddenly ugly stuff seems to be happening much more frequently than before.

The car is in Elizabeth's parking space, where I moved it last night for security purposes because of all the street fair traffic looking like a risk. So that's my first challenge - walking over to Elizabeth's condo and getting into the car, which is no mean feat. It only takes me five minutes to walk over there, but then takes just as long to wedge myself into the driver's seat because there's not enough room on the left to get in or out of the car. Instead I have to enter from the right side, and then lift myself over the high central hump - something that would be considerably easier with less problematic knees. The worst part is that once I'm sitting inside the passengers bucket seat I have to double up my legs so they'll fit to lift them over the central hump, whatever that high divider is called that holds the controls, coffee slots and the like; and bending them results in a bone-on-bone instance painful enough that I groan and then start cursing.

I think the net takeaway from all this is that I'll very seldom put the car back into this space and will be doing a fair amount of meter feeding in the coming month.

Tight! World, meet Dick, our chariot for the coming month. Named Dick because we aren't on a first name basis yet, and not named Curtis because only CJ would have a prayer of guessing at what that was all about. Nobody is ever sure when I'm joking and when I'm not. Sorry, can't be helped.

But finally I'm in, I'm out, I'm northbound on the freeway for exit 307, which will take me west toward Kelly Point. And a brief segue about me, the one eye thing, and doing freeway driving. I'd say I'm doing great. I've pretty much mastered the situation and can drive normally at my normal safe speed and driving style as long as I take care to avoid glare issues. I've got night time driving mastered - I just don't do it - but there's always the chance I'll find myself staring east into the sunrise or whatever. I need to start routinely bringing my Ray-Bans with me when I'm driving. Lesson learned.

But then suddenly I realize I'm coming to exit 308, the one to Hayden Island, and am about to drive right past it and on over the river into Washington; but I catch myself in time and smoothly exit onto Hayden Island and change my plan for the morning. As long as I'm here, I'll walk around its east end, Columbia Point, because in season it's a worthwhile birding destination also, and incidentally quite scenic.

Before going there though, two quick segues. First, the fact that I missed my exit to Kelly Point. This is just the latest of a number of such screwups over the last several days, and a lesson I'm trying to learn and that Rocky has been trying to thump into my thick, balding skull for a good long while now - it wouldn't hurt me to consult a map from time to time, she's prone to remind me when we go out together somewhere. She's right, but that's a larger story we'll come back to someday soon.

Second, there's the fact that I'm up for walking around Columbia Point, and that it's a walk and not a bike ride because bikes are verboten on this particular riverside walkway. And the exciting fact - thrilling fact almost - is that the knees are up for it and I'm not afraid of the walk because the pain will be too much. In fact, they're doing noticeably better in the last week, both of them. But that's a conversation all in its own right that can be deferred. For now, let's just hold that thought and loop around the point.

It's a terrific morning to be out here. It's calm, very peaceful, there's very little wind. And it's quite scenic, with a low blanket of clouds covering the lowlands in all directions and an appealing sheen on the surface of the river reflecting the dawn's early light.

There aren't many birds, but I get some interesting sightings: like this bold song sparrow singing his heart out with a solid grip on one of the first blackberries of the season.

A bit further around the point I see a lone cormorant above, and while I'm snagging a shot of him I hear a familiar call, look up, and see an osprey gliding straight in my direction. It's too sudden for me to do any more than pivot and just catch him before he's out of range, but after that I decide to sit on a bench at the tip of the point and just stay there for awhile on the chance that he'll circle back as osprey often do.

And he does make a second pass, and then a third, but never near enough that I can get a shot worth taking. I do enjoy watching this cormorant fly in and take up his post though, and sorry I didn't see him coming in time to get a shot of him coming in for a landing.

Another weathered soul, missing a primary. I can relate.

And I just sit there for what - maybe 15 minutes? - and enjoy the calm and the beauty and the peace of the morning. This is a little unusual for me, as I don't tend to just sit and watch the world go by that often. I need to do it more often, in the same way that I find it so rewarding to just sit and watch the pageant in a European plaza teeming with life.

I'm about to move on to the Channel side of the point when a man comes along walking his small black dog - a cute little guy, of the type Rocky's apt to adopt some year when we're more settled than we are now. One of the great things about dogs is that they're such effective ice-breakers. That's such a cute dog you've got there, what's his breed, yes, it's fine that he wants to put his cold damp nose up against my thigh to check me out, and isn't this a fine morning to be here?

There still aren't many birds around the other side of the point but they're worth a gander - as are the wildflowers lining the path. And the bunny is obviously worth it. I've seen more bunnies in the last week than probably the whole last half year put together because I've been getting out early in the morning so much more often lately.

So that gets added to my gradually developing list of New Life's Resolutions: seize the day and get out into the world earlier in the morning more often. The birding and bunnying is better, it's good for the soul, and the light is so much better for photography then. And slow down. Friends, I can only slow down as fast as Doctor Greenberg will allow me; but although I'm racing along at 35 mpd I'm definitely getting my groove back.

Rachael's already home from her walk by the time I get back of course, all upbeat and aglow from her walk through a neighborhood she likes better every time she steps out that way. We talk over plans for the rest of the day and eventually she finds her way back to the bedroom for a brief nap while I work on the blog and other tasks.

Poor little GBO! He's been stashed away in my tool bag for so long I'd nearly forgotten he was back there. And just in time, because he loves to travel. He'd have been devastated if he got wind that we took him to a new land and didn't let him look around. GBO, welcome to Madlandia.

After we're both up again we spend some time starting to get organized so we won't live in the middle of this farrago (new word! I finally took the time to look it up last night) of our randomly scattered belongings for the next four weeks. We make a dent, but there's more to be done - soon, because constantly losing things is driving both of us nuts. I propose that we watch What's It All About, Alfie sometime later in the day on this big screen we didn't know we'd have available here; and we will one of these days. This evening though it's still nice enough out that we'd both rather do a repeat of this morning. And soon she's off on another walk out toward Balch Creek, netting enough miles to score her 12 for the day while exploring a new side street she's not trodden before.

I score my own twelve when Roddy and I wheel our way down to the Sellwood Bridge and back, on another bird hunt of course. There's still not much avian action to get excited about, but it's an uncommonly interesting time to be out. And it feels good to put the first miles on the new blog that we expect to let run for years.

And so why is it so interesting to be out on this evening, the 4th of July, 2025? Well, there are a few little points of interest, as Sherlock might have said as he directed Watson toward the solution to the latest puzzle. There's the Blues Festival on at the waterfront, with the bowl in front of the main stage starting to stream in to claim a space for watching the grand finale. And then there's this edgy, angry confrontation between two masked camps, one of them hurling profanities at the other. And then there's a happy crowd of partygoers lining the water in Willamette Park, playing games, chatting, watching their kids run wild while they wait for the fireworks barge to arrive. And up next there's a steady stream of outboard motors making their way downstream to where they'll moor for the evening in front of the blues festival where they'll party hearty and enjoy the music and the fireworks that will light up the sky when it's over. And now there's a different stream, this one of folks carrying hand-crafted signs of protest, where they'll join a crowd that spans nearly the full length of the Sellwood Bridge. They're all in good spirits but maybe a little nervous or anxious or even frightened inside, and I hear one woman telling her friends that she should had gotten a mani-pedi today so she'll look her best if she ends up in a jail cell before the day is through. Some levity, a little black humor for a very dark time.

A moment later when I'm slowly crossing the bridge while trying not to bump into anyone in the crowded scene I'm suddenly in a call and response situation: Stand Up!! Fight Back!! Stand Up!! Fight Back!! Stand Up!! Fight Back!! And I find myself shouting Fight Back right along with the throng as I make my way to the east end of the bridge and then double back toward Oaks Bottom to go look for some birds.

And there's the larger context, that all those miserable, spineless, gutless lost souls in Congress passed the Big Beautiful Bill in the wee hours of the morning today, literally taking away our independence on Independence Day, all so some poor, ignorant, insecure, tiny fingered little wanna-be king can feel like he's big stuff, and so millions of our countrymen can be thrust into poverty or jail or some gawdawful ICE box just so as the billionaires of our world can claim even more billions.

So it's an interesting night to be out in the world, one I'm unlikely to forget. But I thought I should set it down anyway, because my memory is getting less reliable all the time.

Happy Independence Day, folks. Let's go take some ground. Stand up!! Fight Back!! Stand up!! Fight Back!!

Sweetly rolling Roddy out the back of the new whale, an interesting story waiting to be told on the old bat channel once I get caught up over there.

Portland, why do I love thee? Let me count the ways. Here's one to add to the list - this safety enhancement to the bike infrastructure didn't exist three days ago. It's designed to protect the bike path beneath the Steel Bridge from oncoming traffic. Nice!

Hard to blame folks for getting agitated, but don't give them an excuse to sic our own troops on us, please.

No peregrine falcons about that I can see today. I think it's just not the season for it - not enough duck food around this time of year.

Hey! Chris needs a pump, I've got a pump, he gets repaired, I get a shot. Win, win!

There's a funny story here. Those two balloons? They got tangled under my rear fender while I was pumping up Chris' tire. When I rolled off there was a small tug and a startling pop behind me and then I look back and see the poor little blue guy bleeding out all his air on the pavement, like he'd been flattened by a truck. Oops.

It's deafening when I cross the Sellwood Bridge, with the driver of nearly every car that passes leaning on his horn in support of a No Kings demonstration that nearly spans the entire bridge.

Windy! And no one is heeding the sign as far as I can see. They don't appear to be out here to listen.

Finally, in Oaks Bottom I came across a bird worth stopping for.

The Portland Blues Festival is on. And how many memories does this invoke of this and other live music venues, boys and girls? Oh, only about a thousand.

Today's ride: 12 miles (19 km)
Total: 12 miles (19 km)

Rate this entry's writing	Heart	10
Comment on this entry	Comment	3

Steve Miller/GrampiesWishing we could give this entry more than one heart, on more than one level. Good writing, sounds much closer to pre predisone Scott. Nice photos. Support for you poor oppressed Yanks. It feels so weird to be watching this rerun of the Vietnam era, and probably the Macarthy era which we're too young to remember. We hope "third times a charm" and the US and the rest of us can survive and come safely out of this nightmare time.
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6 days ago

Scott AndersonTo Steve Miller/GrampiesThanks, Steve. Actually, I remember just the tail end of the Macarthy Era, when our family would sit in front of our first small 17" TV set and watch Edward R. Murrow. Thanks for the reminder. It's one of the earliest memories I have, along with watching the B&W news reels with my sister while waiting for the Saturday morning cartoons to start.
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6 days ago

Bob DistelbergI also was struck by the sense of normalcy in this post. Not that I’m not also intrigued by the postings of the other Scott!
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6 days ago