Greetings from BizarroLand!

Well, it’s been a long few weeks of driving that final stretch between Big Sky, Montana and Portland! Maybe it just seemed that way. Who knew that much of Washington state looks like South Dakota, and much of Oregon looks like Texas? I almost decided to turn around and head back to my sturdy Midwestern cornfield-homage roots, but instead called upon the pioneer spirit of my ancestors and forged on. It’s a good thing I did, too, because the stretch of driving between Hood River and Portland was gorgeous, as if to make up for the barren wasteland before it. Whew! I no longer feel gypped or deceived by laden promises of lush greenery.

Anyway! My nineteens of readers are surely wondering what I’ve been doing since I’ve been in Portland, thinking, have you cycled all the vastness of Portland yet, Miss Tasha? Started a crop of meconopsis grandis, aka the elusive Himalayan Blue Poppy (which I’ve tried to grow for YEARS, but the Midwest is not the proper environment; I have high hopes for the PNW though)?

The answer to that would be no, I have not quite managed anything that paltry, because I’ve had bigger fish to fry, so to speak. Yes, I had to take on the most critical yet difficult tasks that one could possibly ever have to navigate in one’s lifetime:

1. Getting HRH The Kone settled in and happy
2. Figuring out Portland garbage pickup

You can imagine the suffering I’ve had to endure as we worked our way through these weighty and seemingly impossible tasks.

First, The Kone. Our first few days here I believe we hit pretty much every dog park within a 5 mile radius – Brentwood, Woodstock, Mt. Tabor, etc. The Kone seemed pleased, and yet……he refused to get out of the car once we were back home. Hmm. And this was even with me carefully timing it so that we were outside only in between rainums. Hmm. I stopped at local Otto's Meat Market and got him some fine marrow bones. Meh. Kone and I went to Otto's since they sell yummy sausages from a grill outside (note: Portland rocks), and he was even given free spare hot dogs, and still the pouting. Hmm.

He had playdates with Lucy, his new BFF! A ridiculous number of toys and treats! A big yard to be all bouncy-pouncy in! Meetings with the chicken village next door!

Nada.

Clearly, he was feeling the pain of losing the Kone scones. Of course we needed to reprise our usual morning routine, as part of the strict disciplinarian approach I’m known for, so we started going to Brentwood dog park every morning, but then….where to go for the scone? My go-to coffee shop is Papaccino’s, where they already know my drink, yet they have nothing resembling a petite scone. Oh sure, I tried different things – Kone would either turn his head away, spit them out, give me a depressed long-suffering look, or all of the above.

We tried the Starbucks across the street at the Safeway, but those useless cretins don’t carry the petite scones, and the coffee was lousy to boot. We tried the further away Starbucks, which was too far away and had no parking so it all seemed a bit ridiculous. I mean really, we’re in Portland and I’m seeking out a Starbucks? So wrong on so many levels.

 

Our new solution: we go to the dog park, then Papaccino’s, where I get my (delicious awesome) coffee. Before we leave the house I put into my purse a substitute scone – or in the case of Angela doing some baking for HRH and shipping petite vanilla bean scones from Chicago – an actual scone. So when I get back to the car with my coffee, I can tell Kona that I have his yummers, and pull out his faux scone, and everyone is happy.

Whew. Major MAJOR problem solved.

Next up: Why one needs a PhD to figure out Portland garbage pickup….