A Cloudy Afternoon in Portland: Walking Through the Rose Festival

Friday afternoon. The office blower. I listened to Thelma...she's working in the office these days, covering the switchboard, got kind of a metallic voice. I haven't met her, but she's top notch. She took the message down verbatim. "Jack, it's Rose Festival weekend and I want to go to the movies, and Saturday is Kitty's party, and Sunday they're doing that thing with the boats and it's supposed to be a nice day and we got tickets for the the-a-ter and all remember?" Dolly-girl. Thelma's voice changed and she even sounded like Dolly-girl. Exactly like her. And I did remember. I got home; we made plans.


Friday afternoon we met up at the moving pictures. Me and Dolly-girl like the flickers and we try not to miss the good ones. State of Play was what we were looking for and the schulmpy Russell Crowe didn't disappoint.

Saturday was this and that until it was time to be splashing gin into glasses. Kitty was throwing a dinner party and we weren't missing it. Parties at Kitty's are like a ball game on a sunny day. No better way to relax.

Sunday dawned gray. I heard Dolly-girl in the kitchen firing up the Tappan under the percolator. I stretched, moved a cat, and headed for the Saturday Rex Parker that had been waiting for me since Friday. Twenty-one minutes later I was checking the date to see if there was some way Rex was saying Saturday but it was really Wednesday. Nope, just a gift. Good thing, as Dolly-girl and me had plans and sometimes the Saturday can take most of Sunday, follow, but that's another story.





We wrecked a double hen fruit for each of us, downed a couple-a-cuppas, and headed off on shank's mare to catch the interurban downtown. First thing we see when we get off is a guy working on Sunday so he doesn't have to on other days.

I didn't think I'd seen his panel around before; I would have remembered it.

He was playing our kind of tunes. Or croons.

And he was painting a window with some kinda left-handed precision...

Meanwhile, there's a group of Wobblies protesting what this economy has done with our Franklins. Me? I'm with them. Dolly-girl too. Hard times are hitting and there's people in this town with the what-we-got-is-more-than-enough that could pay more. Me and Dolly-girl, we don't have no Le Sabre, or a Ninety-eight with its brake set at our house, but we could do with less to see these people give other people the hand they need.

But, the march wasn't on our what-we're-doing so we headed on down to the wrong side of the river that we live on the right side of, got it? One thing that happens during the Rose Festival is the Dragon Boat races. Who don't like an exciting finish?

After the race, we headed off to get to the the-a-ter and saw this guy, helping make everyone feel at home here in Stumptown.

We jumped on the interurban again to head up to where we'd be seeing the thespians ply their trade--that's what Dolly-girl calls it, thespians plying their trade. She's had better school than me.

The play--Grey Gardens--was done with singing and an orchestra. I gotta hand it to that Edie, she had a set of pipes. It was a good show. We walked out of the the-a-ter, hooked arms, and headed back to where we could catch the 9 Broadway to 27th and Saratoga. It let us off an easy walk to where we set the brake. A grand day out.