3 years in portland...

I am big on dates. I do not always enjoy the kind that can be awkward and start in the science fiction section of Powell's (done it) or the fruit, but, many days on the calendar hold meaning. I remember seemingly insignificant dates and then recall them with people that could care less what day I bought my Ipod.

This talent(?) or obsessive quality has made me very aware that next week marks my 3 year anniversary in Portland. March 15, 2007, my dad and I left Tennessee with all of my personal belongings stuffed into and on top of the Honda Civic Hatchback we affectionately call the "Iceberg." The only open space was the passenger seat for the non-driver and the space that my Dad's modest duffle fit into.

We started out on what promised to be, and fell short of, an exciting 2,750 mile road trip across the flat, corn-filled midwest. The wild, wild west my father was looking to see was soon replaced by miles and miles, and miles, of broken down irrigation equipment.We laughed, got lost, and listened to the only 5 CDs that were not buried underneath all of the stuff. (Upon arrival, my Dad told my best friend that if he heard "that guy" sing about,"what goes around, comes around," one more time, he would lose it.) It was a great opportunity to spend time with my Dad and a bad time to be our lower lumbar regions.

The sad part of this anniversary is that I cannot call my Dad to share these memories and laugh. He shared them with everyone he saw and at his funeral I was able to hear about how proud he was of me and how much he loved our time together on the open road. Our lives are journeys. Sometimes those we love come along for the ride and sometimes they go on to places we are not yet ready for. I am trying to continue mine knowing that my Dad would want me to go on many adventures and, when possible, take my little silver car.