Sister Soothing House

14 05 2018

Julie was reading the book Sister Parish. We stayed with her for about month. The Oregon countryside was soothing.

We unloaded the Uhaul into a storage unit in the Portland suburb of Tualatin. The Jeep finally broke down on the way to the city so we had it towed to Corvallis for work. Julie graduated from Oregon State University with a degree in education. Corvallis, OSU’s home, reminded me of those small gritty college towns I had traversed as a sports writer early in my career. A small college town with a lot to prove.

The first week at Julie’s was tough. I had trouble breathing at night. It was cold. There were cats in the house and for some reason I began to have difficulty breathing. One night I was gasping for air so bad, David almost had to take me to a local hospital — none of which, he said, were highly rated online.

David prayed for me and the nerve attack subsided.

We prayed a lot at Julie’s. I started calling them ‘lift up’ prayers. It helped steel my resolve to our current situation. I continued to do phone interviews for writing work as we looked for apartments to rent in Portland, where the goal of landing a “real job” was the plan.

The weather was mostly wet and cold. “Welcome to Oregon, it rains a lot,” Julie said with a smile. Her house was surrounded by farms and timber. The neighbors had cows that would wander along the hills and moo loudly when feed trucks would arrive.

Seeing David connect again with his sister after all these years was special. Julie showed me family photographs from David’s youth that gave me joy and a new vision of the man I married.

Covered bridge near Scio.

The central Oregon farmlands were beautiful to these Florida strained eyes. Scio, Oregon is billed as the state’s covered bridge capital. The old wooden bridges were typically one-way quick bursts by vehicle. The farms near Julie’s sold eggs, milk and bison meat. I had never seen so many different farm animals. The children’s song, Old MacDonald Had A Farm sprung to mind.

At nights Julie would cook. David and I drove into Portland to look at apartments on most days. We said lift up prayers every morning. TBN disappeared from the cable television in our room, but David managed to find sermons on his smart phone app. One of the cats would tolerate my presence but they were still shy about touching. Maggie, the skinny calico, liked to sleep in our bed under the covers and would hiss if you got near.

We got lucky on the fourth place we looked at in Portland. The phone call message was surprising. A deal we had not previously heard — certainly not in Fort Lauderdale. We told Julie the good news and David’s brother Russ helped us load up the Uhaul again.

We spent about a month at that hilltop cottage with Julie. I learned how to breathe again. The quiet peaceful farmlands had provided time for reflection and rest. We were ready for a new challenge.

 

 

Advertisements




Twinkle, Twinkle Lucky Star

30 04 2018

From San Antonio we continued westward into the southwestern desert. The BMW got an oil change in El Paso and I pulled off the interstate in Tucson, Arizona to do a telephone interview with Crater Lake National Park. I talked for about an hour with a recruiter for the park’s lodging concessionaire. We had a delightful conversation and agreed nature is a great healer.

The Uhaul got an inspection upon entering California and was quickly cleared when no plants, fruit or tropical fish were found. In Blythe, we stayed at one of the scariest motels I have ever set foot in. It was so dirty, I slept on top of the bed fully clothed. You get what you pay for and $47 basically got us a roof. We hit the road before dawn and began a beautiful drive through mountains of wind farms. We bypassed Los Angeles and stopped in Bakersfield, staying at a much better hotel on a street named for the late country music legend Merle Haggard.

On our final night in Redding, California, I received an e-mail from the Crater Lake recruiter indicating they would be pursuing other candidates upon receiving an unfavorable reference from the concessionnaire at Glacier National Park. This stung greatly considering the dedication I demonstrated during that summer in Montana and the many friendships forged. I could only surmise there were some shenanegians at play and decided not to inquire further. I felt betrayed.

The final leg of the trip into Oregon was one of the lowest points in my life. I began questioning all of life’s moves and wondering why God had brought me to this point. I was filled with extreme sadness — not only for myself but for David. My inability to provide equitable financial support during our 10-year relationship was embarrassing and had placed us into a situation beyond hardship.

And then the cold hit. Temperatures dropped as we entered Oregon. David’s sister, Julie, lived on farm land near Scio in a lovely English style cottage house on top of a hill. Julie had come to our aid like no one else could or would. She gave me a big welcoming hug when we met. I needed that hug in the worst way.

Oregon farm land

Julie is a few years younger than David and a widow. Her husband passed away a few years ago. He was President of the federal metals credit union. Her house is the most organized and clean home I had ever seen. Julie lives with two cats — Maggie, a calico and Fergie, a plump ginger. The cats, however, didn’t take warmly to their new visitors. They hissed at me whenever I would attempt to pet them.

Julie laid down three rules as we unpacked:

“No politics, no preaching and no marijuana in the house,” she said. “I don’t think we should be a nation of stoners.”

I was ok with all three. Julie’s bookcase revealed she was a conservative thinker. She also differed from her brother on religion and did not appear to practice any sort of spirituality. Three thousand five hundred miles and eight days later, our trip was over. We were in a new house in new territory yet to be explored.