Among the other activities that Fiancee S. and I used to fill our weekend getaway last weekend was a visit to my friends C. and H. down in my old University stomping grounds. It turned out to be both good and bad to see them. It was good because I hadn't had the chance to see them since my parents came out to visit in October. It was bad because I found out that they will be joining the migration to the great Northwest in about a month.
Now for all you great northwesterners who fear that C. and H. will be coming to cut down your redwood trees to make decks and hot tubs, drive a BMW all over the place, and generally contribute to "yuppification" and higher taxes, fear not. C. and H. are still spiritually hippies and have the vintage Volkswagon bus to prove it. Lest that description also scare you into thinking of some patchouli oiled followers of the Grateful Dead, they merely look middle class, live modestly, and esposue libertarian political doctrine. No, they will be moving to the southwest corner of Oregon, where they will be improving and renovating a former dry goods and general store more recently used as an art gallery in a town of around 2000 people. C. will use a studio space in the back for a wood shop. H. will pursue further work in pottery. They both will (hopefully) prosper selling local arts and crafts on consignment for the next couple years and rent out apartment space.
C. and H. will both be sorely missed by me. I've known them for about 10 years now. They are true, dear friends who opened their home to me on holidays during my wayward graduate student years when I needed a place to go. I remember many a night seeing live blues shows with them, occasionally slipping out back between sets to, as former President Clinton would put it, "inhale". I remember spending time with them and celebrating my Eastern European heritage by making and then cooking a few dozen pieroghis. Though we have drifted a bit since, they were like family to me there for a while... when I very much needed it.
Finding out this news so close to Turkey Day seemed rather ironic, as the first time I remember spending time at their home was for Thanksgiving. I remember that there was Thanksgiving ham not turkey (H. is not a turkey fan) and homemade baklava. I remember we had a great time eating and drinking that day and then trying to learn to play Scot afterward. I also remember that was the day I was introduced to the tradition of listening to an extended version of Arlo Guthrie's "Alice's Restaurant"... as it played on local radio.
All good days. All good times. C. and H., best of luck and you will be missed.
on 2003-12-05 at 3:02 p.m.
The Wayback Machine - To Infinity And Beyond