No really, this DID just happen

Oh Reed Library WHAT IS THIS MADNESS!

 

 

 It's not just Sochi apparently...

This is me working...

So here I am, cosied up in the old (beautiful) section of the library on a Saturday morning (boo), with books like 'Trance and Transformation of the actor in Japanese and Noh and Balanese masked dance-drama' spread across a huge this-should-be-enough-space-for-more-than-just-you-Emily table, empty cup of bombai chai tea and the remnants of the vegan raspberry scone scattered across my laptop keys, a billion tabs open with half watched youtube videos of Wyang Wong dances (I woke up this morning with no idea either, I am now full of complicated Indonesian terms that I have no idea how to pronounce) when the procrastination beast begins to rear its ugly head and soon my laptop decides it wants to cycle through screensaver photos. So I watch as my year in the US begins to flick, little memories slipped out of their nicely ordered envelopes. It's going by so fast. I can't believe I only have just over two months until classes finish (and no finals for me waheey) and what has tricked me into thinking is life here, will end. I can't believe I'm huddled over my laptop getting nostalgic already when I SHOULD be continuing my quest to find THE best brunch spot in Portland (I blame 'meat-space' required research. You can't hump a craptonne of oversized hIstry of clothing books on the 19 and set up shop in Stumptown on a Saturday of all days - no sir-ee). I got to thinking about my neglected little blog this semester and thought damn, I want to be able to remember all the little things too!  I mean, I haven't posted about anything at all in a while (whoops) I think because I was waiting for really exciting profound stories to share (I do have a pretty good story about about being saved by both my British accent and a wonderful homeless guy named Stan , when stupidly I was out in China Town alone at night (so sketch) after a lantern viewing at the chinese gardens - but that's a whole other kettle of fish). So I'm going to throw out a really weird little menagerie of photos from this semester and the end of last semester that I meant to attach their stories to and share with you but have just been left lying around :)

 Portland does religion

Portland also does life lessons in the form of strange front yard art

 This this the norm. No joke.

 So is this

 All of my superbowl photos suck. This is the least sucky. Go Hawks.

 Me. Doing sport.

 The Godsend that was Naima's room when the heating broke in Mac. The day it first snowed. Useful

ooh look, is that... GARY SNYDER!? I think so.

'Fucking yam chips'

 Yes, the couple in the distance are on skis...

 Alberta 

 Guy Fawkes

 Tash loves Portland. Can't you tell?

Performance Studies class <3

I MISS THIS BEAUTIFUL GIRL. INDIA IS LUCKY TO HAVE YOU <3

The day mountains moved me

So with an I-tumbled-out-of-bed-ten-minutes-ago Alex running down the road, car kitted out for an apocalypse by mumma Bailey (you can't be too careful when The Shining was filmed predominantly in Timberline Lodge), Erika and skis tucked in, road trip tunes on tap, we were off. I couldn't have asked for a more beautiful day.

I apologize in advance for the poetic overindulgence in this post. I have been falling for the Oregon mountains since that first jet-lagged tinged encounter as my plane entered PDX way back in August (a lifetime ago), and figured, when better a time to write about how they stole my breath than snuggled up with one. An open fire in Timberline lodge. Hands cupped around a steaming mug of fancy hot chocolate. Sun shot periwinkle air. Beautiful Bailey to my left. The summit of mount hood hugging the window pane on my right. My cheeks sore from the cheesy grin plastered all over my body the second we turned the corner of the road and there she was was, aching inside my eyes. With wisps of mountain breath clinging to the trees, the Narnian landscape rolling out under our wheels, The Black Keys blaring, camera emphatic, I felt my toes take root as she blew me away.

There's a reason I only take stills. 

These were also in fact NOT the mountains we went up. 
(Mount Hood is hiding behind those trees on the left)

But these are some hip transfer kids I know (to quote Erika)

ooh blue skies

my fantastic filming skillz mean that just as the summit comes into view, I stop.

When Mum asked me over Christmas if I missed anything about America, my immediate response was 'The mountains' - in London there was a definite absence of that higher horizon line which peppers the landscape as I trundle down to 7/11 or back from a coffee house on Woodstock. I don't understand why they move me so much, mountains. I remember being consumed on both sides of the Yangtze Gorge that summer in China, where ranges equally ate my words. And that flight down to San Francisco through the reigning glory of peak after peak after peak. But Mt. Hood is different. Being on her. Alpine beauty tossed with a white so white, it's a delicate violet. The warp and weft of cascading oceans of fir slowly inhaling and exhaling down the gentle slopes of her back. Its Christmas everyday. And Narnia on weekends.

 

This is the sort of day I'll never shake.
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