MeSoFun Blog

The "Nose Lecord," as I famously called it. My Dad has a song. He is unaware of this fact. But it's a fact. Like a sappy, puppy-dog-in-love teenage boy, I have a song that is my Dad's song. Don't worry. It's a manly song, full of guitar solos and stuff that makes The Wife turn the volume down. But TW wasn't home yesterday, which meant I had free reign over house cleaning, which I take to with aplomb. Yesterday was for toilet scrubbing, bathtub scouring and mopping the floor. It's amazing how much work that can feel like. Pandora helps me get through, so I put on the Zeppelin station. It's not very good, Pandora, but I was too lazy to find a decent local station to stream. About halfway through the work, Dad's song started. All bass strings, maybe a guitar playing a harmony. No drums. You probably know the California Raisins' version or Marvin Gaye's version, but in our house, Credence Clearwater Revival was and remains the only proper v

That's my house, on the left. Everybody takes the place they live for granted. Maybe it's the amazing pizza place down the street, the sunsets on clear nights or the mountain vistas. Everyone, everywhere, falls into the trap of not noticing. The Portland Art Museum. Still have never been inside. Guilty as charged. There is a house – a mansion, open to tourists – about 200 yards from my house. The mansion was built in 1860. In the fall, when our stock of senior citizen tourists is particularly lush, tour buses pull up to the curb in front of the mansion and gray-haired leaf-peepers take stock of, essentially, a house that's a half a block from my bedroom. I've never bothered to even take a picture of the exterior. Then Flat Stella came in the mail. Stella was visiting us from Minnesota. Born of our lovely niece Holly, who I spend far too little time with in person, Stella came to take in the sights of Portland. I'm always a sucker for a photo assignment. We had just