Hammered Home and Storytelling in Everyday Ramblings

This is close up detail on the house that was moved and restored to the place where the Psychedelic Supermarket was, I found out that the original store that became the local forward thinking chain Natures was also on that block as well as the self-help agency.

I am not sure of the iterations of all of these entities yet but the guy who wrote the dissertation is still around. I may be able to contact him. I found some lectures by him online about the history leading to the Occupy Movement and from other sources I am hearing that he was the unofficial “mayor” of my neighborhood during the late 60’s.

One of the students in my class last night remembered the coffeehouse, which was on the spot of the new building in which I teach my Monday class. It is very interesting that I spend the bulk of my time in the nexus of these two places now.

I have the strangest sensation that this part of the history of the city I live in is calling to me, singing a siren song.

But it may also explain in a practical way why that strange creepy guy was digging a hole in the vacant lot next door and why there is such a strong presence of mentally ill drug and alcohol addicted men in their later years living in nearby stairwells and underpasses.

S., who was a visiting home health nurse (and a navy nurse before that) cautions me against judging the creepy strange guy and that I could have just asked him what he was doing in a friendly way.

I was not getting the vibe that was safe.

But now that I know that I live in what basically was a run down (the word slum has been used) battered place that housed poor people and immigrants and that when the hippie movement turned sour there was much local criminal activity it makes sense that a guy who may have been in jail all these years would come back and dig something up in what was the backyard of a house that is on record as having been a site of much drug selling.

Instead of feeling bad after being slightly chastened by my dear friend I realized that I wasn’t judging him I was indulging in a most basic human trait… storytelling.

I also found out that the artist Mark Rothko grew up not far from here. He was not happy, as it was very hard as a poor immigrant to fit in and make a place for himself. Portland was a place with a number of private men’s clubs and he had relatives that had been successful before they got here that also looked down on him, as his father died at 50.

It is as if the whole story of the American experience is encapsulated in the one 16- acre area.

In the book (that I have just skimmed) it talks about the history of the indigenous folk as well as the settlers.

We are having a rare heat wave. It has been in the 90s’. That is 33 Celsius. Not record setting but close. While it is wonderful to see blue skies and the mountains it is a bit much. I had grumpy students last night and right now it is the warmest I have ever known it to be in my place. That means everybody else locally who doesn’t have air conditioning is struggling a bit. Oh and there is quite a bit of public inebriation going on…

As if we didn’t get that the climate is changing…it is certainly being hammered home this year. What an extraordinary time to be alive!

Last updated June 09, 2015