Today’s Words:
conversion
skin
famulus
seek
opposite
schlep
weary

I live near a big boulevard, Glisan. Glisan cuts a long swath — hundreds of blocks across Portland, East-West, but the swath is only wide–4 lines wide–for about 20 blocks. I live within one of those twenty blocks. For those 20 blocks, Glisan is inhospitable to pedestrians. And yet, because there’s a bar, a cafe, and a Max station along those blocks, those 20 blocks are often traveled on foot by people. So, it’s a strange thing, taking a sidewalk next to a superhighway. I always notice the squirrels and cats in attendance, taking refuge high in trees and rooftops, sitting way back on porches, careful not to come too close to the road.

One very early morning, unable to sleep, I crossed Glisan heading north–the direction it’s not so fun to go, because north of Glisan lies the railroad tracks, the max line, *and* US-84, which in turn is a highway that crosses the entire country. I found this out firsthand in January 2005, when Lily and I got on I-84 in Portland, stayed in 84 for about 5 days, and only got off 84 when we took a state road to get to 15 Walnut Street, in Dumont, NJ.

There’s a house that I often pass, and feel sorry for. Most of the houses have a fence, or hedge, or other natural barrier against the garbage de Glisan. But this one house is defenseless, and as a result, every morning, there’s a pretty good accumulation of beer bottles, Coke cans, and cigarette butts.

Someone must be coming out in the afternoons to pick that stuff up, but I’ve never actualy seen them. I don’t think they come out before noon, because if I’m on Glisan before noon, the garbage is there. But any time after 5 pm, the garbage is gone. I often wonder, when I pass this house, how long the present occupants have lived there, how long they’ve been doing this daily task. I wonder if they thought about the garbage issue when they bougt the place. Or was Glisan a smaller street back then? I wonder if, when they put the house on the market, the realtors will come by every day to clean up the garbage.

Now, mind you, I don’t have a lot to do with my days.

So I’m going to have some fun with the poor, trash-collecting house this week. When I go to the cafe down the street, I’m going to bring a plastic bag. On my way back from the cafe, I’ll quickly clean up the trash in front of the old house. It’s sure to puzzle whoever has had this task all these years.

Tonight, when I shlepped some stuff home, I ran into my OCD landlord on the landing. In a suspicious tone of voice, he asked me if I had dumped a bunch of cardboard boxes out near the dumpsters, rather than properly disposing of them. I told him no…not me… and I came in longing to live near a river, in a little house a long a tree-lined lane. With hippie neighbors who love to sing and play guitars. I think I might just head out to Craig’s list now. G’night.