I have no idea what that means.
AAAAAnyhoooo. Up before the crack this morning, I was oogling her photos, and while the sun was rising I thought, "Hey. Here's what you do. Go out and see the blue sky this morning. Take a walk, take some pictures. Find the beauty here in the 'Couve."
No easy task. Not that it's not beautiful here in the Northwest - it is. But our little hood? Is a bit run down. Worse for wear. But perhaps if I see it through the lens I can turn that shabby to chic! (My Pollyanna tendencies notwithstanding, I do love rust!)
So, while there are no golden statues in my neighborhood, I managed to find a few things that made me happy.
I have found that if you are having trouble seeing things, you need to look up. Or down. Just change perspective somehow. I don't mean just finding the beauty, but really seeing. It's a good way to get your bearings.
So I looked up. And hello, Spring. I see you just around the corner.
The Red Red Robin is here.
The corner of Grand Blvd. & Mill Plain is perhaps one of the most uninspiring corners on earth, save for the fact that on this corner you can get a) cheap gas, b) GREAT pizza, c) a quickie lube at Minit Man. Well, you used to be able to do c), but my favorite oil changer has disappeared, poof, and it hasn't been opened for months. This morning, I was pining for him just a little bit. I don't know where to go now to get the oil changed in my car. Well, there are dozens of places I can think of off the top of my head, but nowhere to discuss bluegrass music, and I'm pretty sure Jiffylube & Oilcan Henry's won't let JH go down into the pit to gaze lovingly up at the underbelly of our car. I miss you, Minit Man.
Further down the block you start to believe that collars don't get any bluer than this little patch of the 'Couve:
Inviting, no?
But make it to the end of the block, and here is the pot of gold at the end of the rusty rainbow: Paper Tiger Coffee Co. They roast onsite, they have a brilliant selection of books to read, the owners are lovely and you can chat and discuss and muse and wonder to your hearts content, all while sipping the most perfect cappuccino this side of the Atlantic.
As always though, the best part of any journey, large or small, is coming home:
The neighbor's flowering plum is getting ready to bloom, which makes me want to work in my garden.
And peeking in our window, I spy one of our sweet cats on the bookshelf, and my boy in his robe, playing Wii on a sunny Saturday morning.
It's not Paris. Only Paris is Paris. But still, how sweet it is.
