We got to Oregon on Saturday. Eric and I had never had a honeymoon when we were married seven years ago, instead we had to travel to St. Louis and Dallas for receptions--no money or vacation time left after that. So, here we are, alone and together. (Bianca is at home with grandma Quigley for the week.) And it's nice.
Yesterday, right outside the Hotel Elliot where we're staying, we browsed through the Farmer's Market on the street. And took a walk by the water. And drove over to Long Beach, Washington. Then ate at The Wet Dog Cafe, and had frozen hot chocolate at a local ice cream shop. It was great. No worries about a certain four year old. But even though I should be enjoying my time away, I really do miss her a lot and have been calling twice a day.
This morning, I woke at 6:30 am to go jogging. I went two blocks down to the water and jogged along the trolley tracks. It was beautiful. And still. There's something about jogging somewhere that breaks the boundaries between tourist and local. The locals wave and say "good morning" to you in a way they don't when you've got a camera dangling from your wrist. I noticed all the blackberry weeds growing along the waterfront, mentally noting to come back after breakfast for a mid-morning snack.
Astoria reminds me a bit of Key West. My friend Hilary and I spent a summer living there, the summer between my sophomore and junior years of college. It has that dingy, old, but rich and beautiful feeling. We leave the windows open at night to let the cold breeze in to take in all the smells. Yeah, it takes me back a bit. I remember being considered a local, since I worked there as a hostess, and I loved being a local. It was great. It's funny, how much the locals despise the tourists but need the commerce to keep their little communities running. I don't blame them, who likes people intruding into their place to take in a couple days of beauty, acting like that's all they need, when it's there every day? I wish I never had to leave, as long as Bianca could be here with us.
