Portland’s rainy season erupted in October. This is a normal occurrence, so six weeks ago Alice and I ventured to the Coast for a day trip. We filled our senses with cool salt air, traipsing across the sand of Pacific City, Oregon, west of Tillamook, where fishermen launch their dories. While soaking in the scenery, we renewed our zest for living.
As you can see, the weather was glorious with temperatures in the mid-70s. That’s because Alice insisted we take the self-guided tour before meteorological fall in the Pacific Northwest took effect.
I have no complaints. Here are some pictures to document why.
Pictorial of Pacific City Trip
Mist hugging Cape Kiwanda creates surreal feeling in the middle of the afternoon.This imposing rock formation at Netarts Spit in Cape Lookout State Park allows the ocean to rush inside.A six-story sand dune offers a picturesque view of Cape Kiwanda’s surrounding area.After many visual treats, Alice appears pleased with her day-trip excursion to Pacific City.
Take a good look at the photo above. In 2002, I wrote and co-published my first book, Gulag to Rhapsody by Paul Tarko, and appeared with Paul at book signings. My name appears on its cover below his, because Paul Tarko’s life mirrors an ideal protagonist for my narrative nonfiction account entailing more than 300 printed pages.
Because my father, who took his life when I was 16, had an honorable lineage in Hungary, writing about Paul – 43 years later – reconnected me with my Hungarian/Romanian heritage.
The picture above is apropos, because my purpose in Oregon is to reappear in a similarly posed photo – this time, alone. Alice brought me here to write another book – this time, about my own life. “Write what you know best,” I once was coached by a writing instructor. My life is what I know best; accordingly, I am destined to be its sole author.
I am here at the behest of Alice McCormick, who shed tears upon reading my early poetry, calling me a good writer. Considering how writers/authors must endure a modest existence as part of their nature, I need to use my new location well.
Throughout all our struggles, Alice sees the best in precarious situations, and this attitude tempers my dark depression when it comes to our finances. Whether it’s blissful unawareness or an unwillingness to comprehend simple math, she answers frequent moods of bottom-line depression with the kneejerk retort, “Well, everyone is in debt.”
I find her logic difficult to refute. Her steady, rosy attitude snaps me out of darkness, because I am forced to dampen a torrent of fierce impatience. Brightening my mood remains a constant challenge for her.
Frequently, I become so preposterous that Alice cracks up.
Sometimes, I make her laugh. Other times, I frustrate her and exasperation leads into loquaciousness; on occasion, she expresses an emotional soliloquy without the usual speech aphasia frustrations from her stroke in March. Whenever she appears to take one step back, she advances two steps. And I rejoice!
I unintentionally piss her off for such breakthroughs to occur. But I fervently wish our exchanges would not be so tempestuous, because emotionally they’re hard on me.
The last five weeks were a challenge. I spent five days a week as an Uber driver beating the bushes for passengers in Portland, and at times its well-publicized phenomenon appeared to be slacking off. Uber continues to seek more drivers, diluting demand; in its defense the “ride-sharing” service is also lowering the wait time for passengers who order its transportation on their smartphones.
The influx of revenue has enabled us to build up the required security deposit to move to an affordable apartment with a year-long lease. And last week, I secured the funds to hire someone to move our possessions.
These added resources come with a heavy price, though. Most days I am no longer home to work with Alice on speech exercises, so her path forward becomes lonely and treacherous. She misses our camaraderie and stays to herself.
Creator gave me Alice. Every time I get too full of myself, she brings me back down to size. My head often gets too big for such a fragile body, so it seems like it’s her mission to make my personality tolerable.
Alice brought me to Oregon with a purpose: She would work in childcare, and I would write my next book. Two weeks ago, the Hillsboro manager of KinderCare gave Alice a regular two-hour-a-day morning shift five days a week, and she began managing the babies and infants there with playful enthusiasm.
We are trying to lessen how much I drive, so I can be here to support Alice’s recovery while renewing a regular daily writing schedule. There is much work to do to create a book about myself and my family background. The pages on this website entitled “Virgil’s Story” are a sample of what is to appear in print.
In early August, Alice received a financial token of support from her best friend to help us. We acknowledge the feelings expressed, and we promise to keep moving forward.
I have a working title for the book, which has been shared with only a few. My close confidantes express support for the project, but it’s up to me to write the book and get a prospective publisher excited.
I wish I could wave a magic wand and proceed with the confidence that comes with following a well-traveled plan of action. But every day offers a new challenge, so both of us keep putting one foot in front of the other.
For the next couple weeks, this website will not be updated until our move to new digs is complete and Internet service reestablished. Stay tuned.
Do you know the meaning of the word, “unconscionable?”
That sort of thing can happen to you no matter where you live, whether it be in the money-desperate East Coast, or the fascinating ambience reputed to be exuded in Portland.
What is happening to us already is taking place in downtown Portland.
We thought we were safe, but the fast-growth city of Hillsboro, now above 95,000, appears to be vulnerable, due to our proximity to Intel Corp. The demon appeared to us surrounded by Gummi Bears that have the same false flavor as the handmade card above them.
The card read “We can’t bear to see you leave. Please stay for another year” (accompanied by an image of a teddybear).
The card and Gummi Bears, all hung by a piece of blue tape quietly placed upon our apartment’s front door prior to the Independence Day weekend, were accompanied by a faded letter that detailed a new rental price structure.
You can see those prices on our landlord’s website here.
Our floor plan matches that of the Devonshire. So the real message we received says: Alice and I have until August 25 to decide whether we can continue to stay in our apartment.
If we do, we’ll pay an additional $550 to our current $1,050 monthly rent, more than a 50 percent increase. And we must execute a 9-12-month lease to lock in that rate.
If we don’t agree to renewing our lease, we will be charged an additional $750 on top of our $1,050 – a total of $1,800 – on a month-to-month basis, effective September 1.
No wonder I was asked recently how Alice is coming along after her stroke. I expressed optimism in response, but I’m the one who is worked up into a lather.
And that’s how we got to this point. Doesn’t Tandem Property Management worry what kind of image this stroke of greed exudes while we try to pay off our medical bills?
That’s the definition of “unconscionable.”
Consequently, we are looking for a new place where Alice’s vision can take root and allow us to contribute to a city called Portland.
If you know a suitable place where the two of us can be comfortable, a cat can roam happily, and that contains congenial neighbors of different generations, drop me a line at [email protected].
We pull our fair share wherever we go, and will continue to do so. But the vibes here reek of greed.
How can a man live as long as me without experiencing how deliciously suggestive it is to go clothes shopping with a woman?
Two weeks ago Alice and I made our way back to Portland’s 23rd Avenue. My palate enjoyed the avenue’s delights before, and I was lured back once my taste buds demanded new adventures.
We found the pizza at Escape From New York Pizza as satisfying as our first, second and more tastings. A triumph for consistency, that’s for sure. And the price of a large New York-style pie was the same as before, $20 plus $1.50 for each topping.
Not the case, though, for Kornblatt’s Delicatessen. The “authentic New York style” establishment is now owned by Daniel Sohn, and he relegated the delicious ricotta-laced cheese blintzes to a mere mention on Kornblatt’s takeout menu. In addition, Sohn raised the price for his previously featured blintzes to $8.95, up from the bargain $5 advertised in a shop banner three months ago.
I began to feel seriously bummed, but Alice and I walked over to Portland’s retail outlet of Carlsbad, California-based prAna (635 NW 23rd Ave.), which specializes in women’s and men’s leisure wear.
Alice admired a long summer dress’s color inside prAna’s display window. How appealingly unconventional it seemed.
Alice walked in as I dutifully followed. Once inside, a lithe salesperson named Meghan Callaghan sauntered up to us and unknowingly opened the portal of a fantasy world.
Meagan Callaghan turns a uniquely patterned summer dress into a hands-on tactile experience.
All of a sudden, I was encouraged to feast upon the vision of my woman wrapped inside a celebratory subtle summer dress. I had no choice but to let my mind go, and tactile bursts of sensation ignited inside my fertile brain.
A few words of explanation here. Understand that while creating, writers live alone – at least, in their heads – and I routinely disappear from Alice for hours on end while at home. I appreciate it when she wears the same garments, because routine appearance allows my mind to ponder upcoming subjects for my writing.
But inside this chic clothier, I discovered how a woman rules my world. Provocative images of how the dress with a flowing skirt would fit snugly in and about Alice overtook my gray matter, and I readily submitted.
This saleswoman Callaghan was something else, too. As she absentmindedly caressed the skirt’s fiber, I imagined doing the same, but with Alice inside of it. Callaghan was tempting me with my own woman; what a thing to do!
Is this a specialty of salespeople in apparel shops? Do they wear nothing but trendy outfits utilizing model-like swirls and twirls? Are Alice and I supposed to channel Callaghan’s desirability into our own exclusive whirlwind if I buy the dress?
What is motivating me? Is this saleswoman a specialist in giving other women the means to hypnotize would-be paramours?
Well, I bought the dress, promising to write about the experience in exchange for a substantial discount on its $80 price. The deal was made right there, and Alice left the store with a new way to bedazzle me and our friends.
I’m proud of the dress. But as a man, I’m ashamed to admit this is the first practical piece of apparel I bought for a woman. Other than shopping for Victoria Secret unmentionables, I never knew the erotic thrill attendant to buying something less explicit that the woman in my life could wear.
I guess I’m a bit of a cheapskate. Also, I’m dense. But no wonder Callaghan has become prAna’s Portland assistant manager.
She has the power to cloud men’s – and women’s – minds. And we both left Portland’s Northwest 23rd Avenue with more good memories to share.
One day after I bought the dress for Alice, she looks fashionable while rapt in attention to friend Pauletta Hoffman.
After a post headed “Alice Is Out of Work” written ten days ago, darkness enveloped me. Everything seemed bleak, hence our GoFundMe post.
Ten days since, light surrounds us, and I am ready to remove the GoFundMe appeal.
GoFundMe post brings contribution
To bring you up to date, an almost immediate response to our cry for help came from a dear friend in Bucks County who gave a $200 contribution. Alice and I are overwhelmed by his generosity, and plan to respond in kind by writing a firsthand account of nearby pinot noir wineries.
Writing about wine tours was an idea posited by him a month ago, and his donation should enable us to do a creditable job. Consequently, once it is written, we will send him an advance copy of the story, because writers swell with pride when earning their keep from readers’ help.
But that’s not the biggest news. In early November, I applied for a freelance job driving for Uber, but was rebuffed by the background-check company that Uber relied upon to validate application data.
The problem? That company didn’t check my driving record beyond what existed in Oregon. Even though I am a senior, I was listed as having less than one year’s driving experience.
Uber certification at last
Six months after supplying my Pennsylvania driver’s license information, in addition to attaining a Portland business license, vehicle inspection, first-aid kit and fire extinguisher, I finally received Uber certification to go with the logo we pasted on Betsy, our 2010 Ford Escape.
When? Last week. It felt like some kind of answer from a nondenominational heaven after wringing one’s hands in desperation.
Are drivers employees of Uber?
Uber is the result of what happens when technology transforms the car-service business. The product is called ride-sharing, and unlike a judge’s ruling in San Francisco this week, its drivers are not employees.
I set my own hours: not from a company-mandated list of options. I have full freedom to determine what hours I work, based upon my own schedule, not the company’s. What employer lets its workforce do that?
What Uber is doing – community after community – is lowering prices. Limousines are unnecessarily extravagant, considering what their drivers are paid. And limo drivers work under horrendous conditions, too. People at CBS News are still mourning the loss of Bob Simon to a limo driver’s blunder.
Cab drivers don’t compare to Uber drivers
Taxicabs are pricey, too, and their drivers are not exactly pick of the litter. Meet a few Uber drivers, and you will be able to make comparisons.
This week, I finished working a part-time schedule as an Uber driver and am optimistic enough to write this update. Hats should go off to Kaiser Permanente who forgave our entire medical debt; that is a huge help. We’re currently trying to convince Legacy Good Samaritan Hospital to reduce that bill to half its current size.
Here’s the downside of this good news, though. Alice brought me to Oregon so I could write more, but writing time will now be limited until debts are brought under control. I hope to add two new entries to the website each week.
Also, I worry about Alice when I’m not home. Will a new emergency arise while I’m not there? How can she let me know something’s wrong?
From a positive perspective, being an Uber driver will help me learn more about Portland and Portlanders. I can explore the area more, and detail findings on this website.
Thanks for all the good wishes and thoughts. I wish today’s readers had more resources, considering how easy I am self-critical when the cupboards get bare. But I accept the improved situation as it currently stands.
Stay tuned. Considering the quality of readers this website has attracted, new entries will continue to appear.
Alice embraces Mason at Rehabilitative Institute of Oregon to ease his premonitions of doom and gloom.
On Monday, June 8, Alice McCormick, who has aphasia, visited Knowledge Universe’s Evergreen Road location in Hillsboro to entertain what she was told would be an offer to resume work. Instead, she learned no further work is being offered by the corporate parent until she completes a job application on its website and submits a resumé.
In other words, because her longevity there is less than one year, Alice’s status is that of a new job applicant. With her current inability to speak and write fluently as she continues to recover from a stroke, neither of us are optimistic about her future at KinderCare.
Since medical bills are overdue, and there is a pressing need to keep our heads above water, we started a gofundme drive earlier today. Here’s a link.
I sincerely wish there was a better way to move forward, but we appear out of options. I will continue to write and post more items on this website.
This has been a rough week for Alice McCormick. Progress, although steady, has slowed down, and Alice has become reticent to begin conversations with anyone she doesn’t know.
After taking out some frustration on me last night, while fighting back tears today, she explained her speech difficulty, “It’s like wearing a muzzle.” Trying to soothe some hurt feelings, she continued, “I love you, and I don’t want to hurt you.”
Alice’s Ambitions on Hold
Since initiating her return to work three weeks ago, Alice put in two days part-time at KinderCare’s Cornell Road location in Hillsboro – her home away from home – where infants and co-workers adore her. A 12-week absence due to her stroke, though, required the new director to seek a replacement.
Before one could be found, Alice got her foot back in the door, until the corporate office required Alice’s doctor to certify that she experienced a stroke and recovered enough to fulfill her position’s responsibilities.
A delay ensued, because the doctor’s office required two full weeks to complete the necessary paperwork. Once faxed to management, last week she was told no opening exists any longer at the location she favors.
Cause for Optimism?
One bright spot exists, but it’s tenuous. Another KinderCare location a couple miles away posted an opening for which Alice was recommended, and she is invited to visit the center’s manager. However, prospective new co-workers haven’t seen her in action, and there is no assurance they would welcome Alice with open arms.
My partner is sensitive to fulfilling her job duties responsibly, and Alice will not allow herself to be a burden or be viewed that way.
Our medical bills have come due, and dunning notices are coming in. Both of us are getting nervous, which doesn’t help to ease the difficulties we face daily. Consequently, we are considering a fund-raising appeal through a reputable company we learned about called “GoFundMe.” More about this shall follow.
Summing Up
When I started writing our narrative about Alice’s stroke, we decided to be candid about our situation without infringing upon our private lives. We believe there are many myths and biases toward survivors of stroke.
Therapists we know stress that aphasia is a loss of language, not intellect. We continue to spread the word, and will persevere with our journey and story. Thank you for the good thoughts and wishes.
As our eyes roamed downstream from Drift Creek Falls, we blinked several times. What is that?
Were we alone? Did something untoward happen? Or had Alice and I stumbled across a West Coast version of Ireland’s “little people?” Are these miniature characters alive? Are they descendants of leprechauns, or are mischief-makers deceiving us?
Our drive to Drift Creek Falls
Let’s put this in perspective. Leaving Hillsboro’s toasty 85 degrees on Friday, May 29th, I drove Alice McCormick and myself south, turning onto Oregon Highway 18 toward Lincoln City. We eventually turned left onto Bear Creek Road (just west of Rose Lodge and milepost 5, or five miles east of where OR-18 intersects US 101).
Passing the historic Drift Creek covered bridge (originally built in 1914), we headed nine miles into the Coast Range on paved one-lane Forest Road 17, negotiating plenty of switchbacks – no guardrails, either – toward the trailhead where 67-foot, picturesque Drift Creek Falls awaited. Although elk in the area are prevalent, we saw none. Temperature was an exertion-perfect 60 degrees.
Sunlight from the west highlights moss hanging from trees.
Walking at 1,000 feet elevation
The trail itself is rated “easy,” because it’s well-graded, although several drops and rises in elevation can render a novice hiker out of breath by the end of its 1¼-mile one-way distance. At its terminus, a breathtaking 240-foot suspension bridge, built in 1998 and rated to hold 75 tons, traverses a 100-foot drop below.
Photograph by Alice McCormick.
Dogs are allowed to accompany their human guides, although there are tales (and tails, too!) of dogs freezing up while negotiating the slightly-swinging suspension bridge. But we only support a cat and left her at home, since Millie is loathe to travel contentedly.
Photograph by Alice McCormick.
Mountain air can cause the mind to play tricks
The usually rain-drenched trail flanked by ferns, alder trees and vine maple tested Alice nicely, and once we crossed the eye-popping bridge she was game to descend 100 feet for another quarter-mile walk to the babbling water’s edge. While we appreciated the sight of the suspension bridge and sound of water roaring above us, our wandering eyes crossed downward to the opposite stone-strewn bank.
Rock gnomes!
Perhaps it was the clean mountain air, but our imaginations turned vivid as we looked down toward our sneakers worriedly. Could we possibly espy a leprechaun running about? Who assembled all these rocks in precarious positions? Did they assemble themselves? Or are these magic stones?
I could ask Christy Lewis, that’s what. She’s the Siuslaw National Forest service’s information receptionist, who calls the creatures “rock stacks.” I bet she would know. But I don’t want to turn this post into a true journalism piece lest we dash asunder future dreams (something akin to Disney’s “Fantasia”).
Alice was spry and ready to go as we set foot in the woods.
A Spry and Shapely Companion
Alice’s condition snapped me out of my reverie, because she warned it was getting late. On our way back where we saw a fork designating a northern trail loop (narrower and somewhat longer), she rejected any descriptive narrative of what may lay ahead. Nevertheless, I get the last word, since Alice’s hike makes it germane to include “before” and “after” photos of her splendid adventure to Drift Creek Falls.
After the three-mile roundtrip hike was complete, Alice shows she’s a real trouper.
We’re back in our apartment planning the workweek ahead, and I must say: As nice as Portland and surrounding areas can be, a 2-hour-plus drive to Drift Creek Falls produced more than anticipated. And I’d like to come back, except in Oregon there’s so much more to see.
Now if only those memories of seeing rock gnomes would leave me alone!
UPDATE:Alice suffered a gushing nosebleed the following night, prompting a quick trip to the emergency room on Saturday, May 30. Fortunately, medical personnel at Kaiser Permanente’s Westside Hospital stopped the bleed quickly, and she was released in less than two hours. No one attributed the incident to her strenuous hike.
I remember picking up our tabby cat Millie, intending to settle her upon my lap. Then something unexpected happened.
Alice and I had been watching TV, and as she rested her feet atop a pillow strategically set on the coffee table in front, I made myself super-comfortable. Lying full length, I stretched my legs across Alice’s lap. Then I unfolded a soft blanket and wrapped it around the two of us. Millie ambled over, seemingly because a cozy resting place with a soft blanket could be used to knead her paws. Our feline companion looked up enviously, and I surmised she needed a lift. So I picked her up.
Bad move.
As I brought her atop the blanket – surprise, surprise – the independent animal objected. Wresting furiously away from my grasp, a claw from her left paw sank deep inside my left pinkie finger. I shrieked in pain as the cat’s full weight bore the intruding object downward. Somehow, I managed to collect enough common sense to lower Millie down toward the floor, whereupon the claw loosened and receded, and I sank into a peculiar delirium.
* * *
Millie’s Point of View
Man oh man, the things I have to do to maneuver these humans into acts of submission. Millie the cat here, and six months have gone by without Mason making any mention of me on this website.
The humans changed their password on the computer, so I have been unable to hack my way back here. But my maneuver put the old man out in dreamland. He looks funny with his eyes twitching, you know?
But enough of him. This post is about me, me, me!
Some cats get along with Millie
Over the past few months, I made a friend. Her name is Myrtle, and she lives on the other side of an eight-foot-high wooden fence that separates our apartment complex from a residential area. My buddy can jump all the way to the top of the fence, able to visit me at the slightest whim, while I used to be stuck on the apartment building side.
But I’m no dummy. Over time, I dug a little passageway under the fence, so now it’s no problem commiserating with her. Plus every morning, I pester Mason and Alice with some obnoxious meowing at 4 am. They relent –almost sleepwalking – and let me out. I really enjoy manipulating those two humans.
Don’t call Millie a snob
I tell Myrtle about my days and nights, and she thinks I’m cool. Lately, though, we discovered an interloper cutting through my side of the fence. And we don’t care about his name; we just call him Simpleton.
If I look at him in a certain way, he gets nervous. That’s almost as much fun as messing with Mason and Alice.
Now that I got readers’ attention, I must admit that sometimes I get bored, so I have to find new places to enjoy the day. As you can see from the top photo, I’m not camera shy either. I’m drawn to a puppet-like creature that reminds me of a Raggedy Ann doll that Alice puts on top of the cable TV box. I love hanging out with him.
I have an uncanny sense of what causes humans to gawk when I pose in a super-cute setting, so the doll sets a perfect tableau. Do you think I should audition for a cable-TV show? After all, I could become more popular than the Kardashians. Just a thought!
And look at this.
The sink in the master bathroom offers another good photo op. I like this picture a lot. I call it “Sink or Swim.” And, please, please, don’t let Mason take credit for the photo. I had to prompt him to take the shot.
Oops, gotta go. I believe Mason is beginning to snap out of it. I bet he really will be surprised to discover I write better than he does!
* * *
Awakening from a cat’s fantasy
Boy, do I feel weird. I don’t know what a cat scratch can do, but as I read my latest post it appears I became delusional. I managed to proofread this post, and it appears humorous and utilizes some Millie photos that have been sitting around.
So maybe I’ll copyright it. But don’t you think it stretches the imagination too much? Who would believe a cat could type, or be able to communicate so much mischief?
Nah. Simply no way, José. Unless the cat got my tongue.
