Ode to PDX…and its unofficial mascots

I’m pretty sure the first time I ever flew through Portland International Airport (known as PDX) was the Summer of 1990. My mom’s side of the family was having a reunion on the Oregon Coast to celebrate my grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary.

I remember parts of the trip VERY well, as it was when I introduced my new boyfriend to the family as my fiancé. As the room erupted in stunned and excited congratulations, my grandma exclaimed, “Well, TONI!” followed by a hopeful, “Your kids are going to have GREAT hair!” With dark, thick waves in common, she was probably right.

Fresh from shocking my extended family.
They didn't even know Rob and I were dating.
We continued to shock them when there were
no other announcements in the following months.
When you know, why wait?? 

Eleven years later, PDX was my first airport destination after 9/11 as Rob and I flew north to visit friends. The short flight from Oakland was edgily long, as I tried not to stare at the cockpit door. I instead focused on the new Fallish sweater I was wearing, excited that the Pacific Northwest promised cooler, crisper, moister October weather compared to the endless summer temps of the San Francisco Bay Area. It was that trip when I first started to fall in love with the PNW and gave myself permission to imagine moving there some day.

Some day ended up coming very quickly. Our official "We Busted Out of California" date – as sworn to the IRS – was June 1, 2004. One of the key factors in choosing Woodhaven as our new home was its proximity to PDX. With hopes for an early retirement doused with travel, Rob and I deemed 1 hour from a major international airport the most we would consider. Woodhaven checked that box – and many others – so PDX was officially our new Home Airport.

As Rob and I made good on our promise to travel a fair bit, I grew to love coming home to the Portland Airport. The open, airy concourses with tall, peaked ceilings; the quirky shops and restaurants that by requirement reflected local businesses; and of course, the carpet.

There was something about that dark teal industrial flooring speckled with purple, red, and navy dots that just breathed “HOME!” every time it greeted me after disembarking. Imagine my surprise, delight, and relief when I discovered in 2014 that there was a whole tribe of us PDX Carpet Superfans. It would have remained an unknown shared obsession if the PDX Powers That Be hadn’t decided it was time to replace and update the secretly iconic carpeting. A benign announcement set off a storm of cries and pleadings and banding together in weirdness that pretty much defines Portland. As a sign of love, honor, and solidarity, the PDX Carpet Foot Selfie soon became A Thing. I participated with wild enthusiasm. As I do.

Traditional Foot Selfie
circa 2015

This family portrait is proudly framed in 
our guest bedroom

My dear friend Joyce Anne came to visit all
the way from Virginia. We both have bad backs
so we thought this was a most appropriate pose.

Soon the carpet’s untrademarked design was splashed all over hats and mugs and socks and cat collars and luggage tags and earrings and coasters and water bottles and (eventually) pandemic face masks (I’m just naming the PDX carpet swag I have). And serviceable segments of the old carpet were culled and put up for sale, in large swaths as well as bound as doormats or squared off for wall art. Yes, of course I did! Duh!

Doormat in use heading to our back patio.
Second, never-to-be-used doormat in closet.

Hanging in our powderless powder room.

Array of available swag for purchase at the airport
aka Toni's Wish List

With all of this PDX excitement and adoration as a backdrop, you might sense my utter coming-out-of-my-skin THRILL when this happened in April 2022.

Yep, I already had the mask! Ok, fine
I had a few carpet-themed ones to
choose from.

While the world was getting swooped up in Portland Airport Carpet Mania, the intended PDX story got lost in the unexpected flooring hype. Off to the side, largely unnoticed or commented on, a new concourse was being built. Like, brand new and from scratch. Big and gleaming. With lots of windows.

Yeah, the carpet hubbub had been super distracting.

I don’t know exactly how it happened that my llama friends got invited to help celebrate the opening of Concourse D. I just know that Llama Mama Shannon – well aware of my PDX obsession – understood our friendship might be on the line if I wasn't at least offered the chance to join in the Llama/PDX collab. Two of my most favorite worlds were colliding!! IT WAS A BLAST!! And the beginning of what is becoming a super fun relationship between my favorite llamas and my favorite airport.

Just strolling through the ticketing 
area with an alpaca...

Some of the most excited folks
are flight attendants. It might have
something to do with their stressful jobs.

EPIC!

During the Christmas holidays last year, as a way to bring lightness and fun and cheer to weary travelers, the llamas were invited back to PDX to mingle and jingle. They were a huge hit. I mean, like with travelers and gate agents and TSA folks and pilots and flight attendants and restaurant workers and construction crews (because even bigger stuff was in the midst of being built).

Rob has one llama t-shirt.
I have a week's worth of Christmas
llama sweaters.

The smiles and laughter and double takes were addicting. Passengers whose flights were delayed suddenly didn’t care. A crowd who had been diverted due to weather was now grateful for the rerouting. Toddlers who were tired and cranky suddenly had smiles and new attitudes. Visitors new to Portland got the fastest initiation imaginable to the quirky vibe of The Rose City. A woman on her way to see her dying father for the last time expressed quiet gratitude through tears for the fluffy, therapeutic hug. Being able to be a part of those moments that shifted mood and attitude was amazing and humbling. These animals are incredible.

Strolling through the retail area
post-security

I love this photo of Kristy and Lori
helping folks enjoy the llamas!

Another excited flight attendant!

Somewhere in the midst of this, the story and photos and videos went viral. “Therapy llamas at PDX” headlined newspapers and television “feel good” stories all over the world. Yes, world. The Llama Mamas were interviewed (in the wee hours our time) on BBC. A story popped up in a Ukraine newspaper as well as some in Europe and Asia. Glimpses of Rob and me were spotted in the Washington Post, the New York Times, and numerous television newscasts who picked up the fun, colorful, merry story of llamas and alpacas struttin’ through an airport. And then there was social media.

Yeah. Trust me when I say, lots of people learned about the Portland Airport and its unique greeters last December.

Since the wildly popular Christmas appearances, Rob and I have been thrilled to join Lori and Shannon on more visits to PDX. We have a blast casually walking into the terminal from the parking area, waving to stunned drivers in the Departures lanes. We wish we could go slower through the revolving doors so folks had more time to get their cell phones into Video mode, because nobody would believe it without seeing it. We totally snap folks out of their rushed “I’m Traveling” mindset as we meander our way toward Security. We are greeted with uninhibited smiles from TSA Agents as we show our badges to pass through the “Employee” line, with queued travelers hoping the line moves fast enough for them to catch up with us. We take our time on the concourses as bewildered passengers hug and feed and take photos with our fluffy and calming buddies, bringing a peace and distraction the travelers didn’t realize they needed.

This is truly the BEST volunteer gig I never imagined existed.

(Click here to watch the llamas navigate a revolving door like the pros they are!)

Going through security. It was a bit
hectic so it was hard to get a good photo!

Past security and helping people make memories.
Also note the new carpet. Greener, more 
geometric, still means "Home!"

I love when kids walk with us!

Last week, PDX unveiled its brand-new main terminal to the world. It has been under construction for four years. It’s been noisy and confusing but also a case study in how to clearly communicate and provide signage to an ever-changing audience. The airport folks truly did an outstanding job helping travelers manage construction chaos. And it was all worth it because they have created a Pacific Northwest Welcome like no other. It is utterly astounding.

Rob and I got a sneak peek a few days before the Grand Opening, attending a “housewarming party” for folks who worked on the terminal. We arrived with two llamas and stood in awe of what supposedly is an airport terminal but is more like an indoor forest of calm and welcoming.

The ceiling is waves of wood. There are huge windows allowing a flood of natural light. There are live trees – tall ones! – planted in little groves. There are stairs inviting you to sit and pause. There’s a large bar upstairs, allowing great views of either the terminal or the airfield. There’s a large sitting area decorated with a fresh run of the Vintage Carpet, a proper ode to what birthed the community of PDX Superfans. The entire space invites you to breathe. To take a moment. To regroup and recharge. In an airport.

(Click here for a video I took during the sneak peek party. I was near a speaker so I changed the music to something less thumpy.)

All of the materials -- including the wood
for the ceiling -- were locally sourced.

Area to chill and reflect on the 1980s
when the original carpet was designed.

Lots of great media coverage celebrating the 
Grand Opening! The llamas are totally unphased
by being in the spotlight. I do my best to hide
behind them.

There’s a very cool Midwest/PNW/Soulfood restaurant in the new terminal pre-security (think fried chicken with a kale salad). I have every intention of suggesting it for dinner soon despite not having a flight for another month. Yes, I want to go the airport just to hang out. We will need to allow for lots of time to check out the new shops, and maybe have a pre-dinner glass of wine while listening to the live music from the grand piano. 

Or, maybe we will get to join Lori soon. Maybe we will wander the airport with some llamas, inviting snuggles and carrot kisses and photos and bringing some levity and deep breaths to travelers and the folks that support them. Because that’s how PDX rolls.

U.S. Senator Jeff Merkley from Oregon
We don't have proof, but I am here
to tell you he totally did the carrot kiss!

(Senator Merkley was not part of the festivities.
He happened to have just arrived in Oregon
and was off to a meeting of some sort when
he saw the llamas. He and his group were pretty
excited to meet them!)

 

There is nothing like a Dame

“As I learn more about the Royal Rosarians, I find it more difficult to take it seriously while at the same time becoming more in love with Portland.”

My friend Shannon shared these perfectly descriptive words just hours after we witnessed her mom, Lori, get knighted by the Royal Rosarian Queen of Rosaria. Specifically, Lori is now “Dame Lori of Rosaria, Dame of the Rose Gift of Grace.”

I’m working on my curtsy for the next time I see Lori. Oops, ‘cuse me… DAME Lori.

It’s all quite important, you know, this knighting stuff, even if you have no idea what I’m talking about. Quite honestly, I didn’t really know what was going on either, when Rob and I joined Lori’s family in a hotel ballroom on the east side of Portland last week for The 2017 Royal Rosarians Honorary Knighting Ceremony (cue trumpets). But it sounded terribly momentous and exceedingly bloggable so there was no way I was going to miss it.

The little bits that I DID know about this super duper foofa were disconnected nuggets of iconic Portlandness.

I knew there was this group of people called the Royal Rosarians. They wear cream-colored suits, straw hats like you might find at Shakey’s Pizza, white gloves like you might find at a tea party, red ties, and some of them top their cream suits with velvet capes of various colors (I’ve since learned the capes – and their color – designate various levels of status. Rosarians are all about status). These people and their distinctive outfits look very important and very fancy…if not a tad bit 1912. The Royal Rosarians are most prominent during Portland’s annual Big Time Event called the Rose Festival.

The yellow cape means this Royal Rosarian
is a former Prime Minister and is now
considered a Duke of the Realm.
Keep reading.  It gets even better.

The Rose Festival started over 100 years ago to honor and celebrate Portland’s self-proclamation as The Rose City (and to hopefully boost tourism). The Festival is a two-weeks long shindig of parades and visiting fleets and dragon boat races and a big carnival and fireworks along the waterfront. It’s held the first few weeks of June, which assures in true Portland style that at least one…if not all three…of the parades are celebrated in the rain.

The final parade is The Grand Floral Parade. Similar to the Rose Parade on New Year’s Day in Pasadena, there are lots of floats featuring roses adhering to the rule that all material appearing on the float must be organic. So lots of flowers and grasses and seeds and such. And glue. Lots and lots of glue.

Because I’m friends with Lori and Shannon, I have had the honor of walking in the Grand Floral Parade a number of times in our 13 Junes here. It’s over 4 miles of people smiling, giggling, pointing, and shouting “LLAMAS!!” as we walk by. It’s a hoot and a half and I llove it.

So because I’ve been in the Grand Floral Parade a few times, I’ve come to understand that one of the key responsibilities of these cream-suited Royal Rosarians is to walk along with parade route with each entry, sort of like fancypants body guards (my knighting ceremony program uses the more elegant “escort” descriptor). I’ve heard whispers that getting to be the Rosarian that walks with the llamas is one of the more coveted assignments of the parade. Awww, shucks.

And that’s about all I knew. The Rosarians wear these old-timey cream suits, they guard the llamas as we walk in the Grand Floral Parade to make sure nobody breaks any “no touchy” rules, and they are sort of a big deal because, well, they are ROYAL.

We were all suitably impressed several months ago when we found out that Lori had been nominated to get knighted into the Royal Rosarian culture. Oh my gosh!

Lori has rightfully received a number of community service awards for her hard and dedicated work bringing llama llove to Portland area hospitals, senior centers, schools, and the occasional wedding (remember a couple months back when that story about llamas attending weddings went viral?? Yeah, those are Lori and Shannon’s animals.)

These pix were all. over. the. internet.
The weddings gig help fund the animal therapy non-profit.
The goal is to never have to charge even for gas when the
animals go out on therapy visits.
Shameless plug:  Make your tax-deductible donation HERE!

So Lori being recognized for her loving contribution to our community was no surprise, but, well, THE ROYAL ROSARIANS wanted to honor her?!? Yowza! Big Deal here in Portlandia, believe you me.

That brings us to last Friday morning. Several hundred of us were in our prescribed “Business Attire” sitting in banquet chairs waiting for something Really Important to happen. There were some television cameras, photographers, and reporters adding to the anticipation.

And then with great flourish and music, the Duke of the Realm welcomed us. A couple dozen Royal Rosarians entered the room and passed under a rose arch.

The annual hope is that this ceremony is held outside in
Portland's famed International Rose Test Garden.
But often it is in a rain-free hotel ballroom instead because Portland.

Then came the Candidates for Honorary Knighthood, and then the Rose Festival Court (15 young women vying to be the next Queen) and then the Queen of Rosaria escorted by the Prime Minister. The national anthems of both Canada (still not clear why?) and the United States were sung by a Lord High Chancellor and a Sir Knight.

Also listed in my program were people called the Royal Regent, the Lord High Sheriff (ummm…I know cannabis is now legal in Oregon but…), the Chancellor of the Exchequer (the treasurer – thanks, Google!), the Minister of Foreign Affairs (there was quite a contingent of guests from Portland’s sister city in Taiwan), the Lord High Chamberlain (no thanks to Google, I’m still confused), the Royal Scribe (secretary), and the Royal Gardener (well, they ARE all about roses after all).

Sensing a theme?

As the ceremony got underway, there was much pomp and even more circumstance. Hats were tipped in unison, heads were nodded in recognition at just the right time, titles were spoken with great reverence. The pace was slow and deliberate. There was not the slightest sense of urgency about, well, anything because pageantry takes time, people.

Somebody of some Rosarian status was walking by.

There was much talk about this place called the “Realm of Rosia” and all these middle-aged, mostly retired people in cream suits were quite proud to be among its fine citizens. They all deferred with great respect to The Queen of Rosaria – who either just finished her last year of high school or her first year of college. They eagerly eyed the 15 young women of the 2017 Royal Court who each hoped she would be named Queen the next morning just minutes before the start of the Grand Floral Parade. 15 young women who may or may not be old enough to vote in an election in our fair land.

Somewhere along the way, as the history and purpose of the Royal Rosarians was summarized (they started in 1912 as the official greeters and ambassadors of goodwill for the City of Portland), a very critical and clarifying word was oh-so-casually dropped: mythical.

You mean to say this whole thing is…make-believe?!?

Yep, it’s cosplay for the senior set. LARP without the foam swords. And yet, because of Lori, I was totally buying into it.

But wait.  There's more.

The knighting finally got underway. There were 42 Candidates for Honorary Knighthood. Each candidate selected a rose variety and was knighted as the ambassador of that rose. According to my handy program, each Honorary Knight (boys) and Dame (girls) pledged to:

“…observe the traditions of honor upheld by the Royal Rosarians – to aid in the cultivation and growth of the Roses assigned to them, to stand firm in the defense of righteousness and the flag of their country.”

Heavy responsibilities, those.

Lori’s knighting took about 30 seconds, not including the very kind introduction. As it should be with all knightings, Lori knelt before the Queen under the watchful eyes of the Prime Minister and the Royal Regent. The Queen said some fancy words and proclamations, used her scepter (of course there was a scepter!) to dub Lori’s shoulders and head, and then commanded Lori to “Arise” as a Dame.

Lori said this was actually a pretty cool albeit mythical experience

Lori was then handed a framed scripty scroll, a gold rose-themed medal was placed around her neck, and her Damehood was official and complete. Whoo hoo! Only 29 more knightings to go!

Lori and Shannon and the official
Certificate of Knighthood

As the candidates took their turns on the stage, it became clear that one of the big perks of being the Grand Poobah Prime Minister of the Realm of Rosaria is that you get to nominate your friends and favorite folks to be knighted. Several candidates were actually introduced as “the Prime Minister’s friend” and one was “the Prime Minister’s favorite music and choir teacher.”

There was a radio show host, the locomotive engineer from the Oregon Zoo, and a cowboy poet. The president of the Pasadena Tournament of Roses was knighted, as was the mayor of a city in South Korea. Several people from the US Navy and the US Coast Guard can now also add Knight or Dame to their titles, as can heads and first ladies of various regional flora festivals (strawberry, autumn leaf, lilac, daffodil, and apple blossom).

But most anticipated by many in attendance was the very last knighthood candidate.

He is so famous and so VIP that he stayed out of the room until it was his turn to be knighted, so as not to, you know, distract.

Finally, with all the appropriate fanfare and fight song accompaniment, the last Candidate for Honorary Knighthood burst into the ballroom, paws pumping and tail flapping.

Yes, the Prime Minister of the Mythical Realm of Rosaria is also a very proud Oregon State University Alumni. Thus the OSU mascot, Benny the Beaver is now and forever shall be known as Sir Benny the Beaver.

Only in Portland.

Can you tell by the smile which Rosarian is the Prime Minister?

Hard to know if the contingent from Taiwan was excited
or offended that their Deputy Speaker shares his
knighthood with an unusually large beaver
wearing a football uniform.

A little behind-the-scenes experience

As a once-regular viewer of “Here Comes Honey Boo Boo” I had the sneaking suspicion that reality TV isn’t necessarily real. I mean, really, how likely would it be for Mama June to really take her Forklift Foot to get a pedicure? The foot so named because it got munched by heavy equipment and was thus banished to being covered by a sock at all times? Mama June’s “decision” to go to a nail salon could only have come from the show’s producer.

With that wise-to-the-ways-of-the-world enlightenment, I really shouldn’t have been surprised by yesterday’s outing to Roloff Farms, but I was.

For those not in the know, Roloff Farms is a somewhat famous pumpkin patch in a Portland suburb that is the backdrop to a very popular reality TV series called “Little People, Big World.” It has been on the air for 9 years and follows a family of little people (older generations…like mine…used to call them midgets but political correctness has made that term a no-no. Yay PC Police.).

I have to confess: I have never watched an episode of “Little People, Big World.” But I watch enough shows on that cable channel (see “Boo Boo”) that I have seen endless promos for it so I have a vague understanding of who the people are. Plus, the family are local celebrities so they are in the Portland news at times. For instance, somehow I knew that the husband and wife are getting divorced (Wikipedia says it was announced this past June), and that one of their sons recently got married on the farm (Wiki says September 2014).

So when my most favorite llama in the world got invited to hang out at Roloff Farms yesterday, I jumped at the chance to join him. I was curious what the pumpkin patch was like and wondered if I might catch a small glimpse of reality greatness. Pre-visit conversations suggested the show wouldn’t be filming while we were there, so I prepared myself for a relaxed, mostly predictable llama outing.

And so it was.

Lots of happy people excited to get to pet and hug and kiss Rojo and his buddy Smokey. Pictures, laughter, hesitation, fears conquered. One woman exploded with giddiness as she breathlessly explained she has been a Facebook fan of Rojo’s “foreverrrr!” and had never met him before and got off work early just to come meet him and OMG he’s so fluffy and it’s like meeting a celebrity and yesyesyes please take our picture on my phone!

You know, relaxed and predictable.

Note the clenched hands. She was jumping up and down and was a bundle of excitement.

About 20 minutes before we were set to pack it all up and head home, the Farm’s event planner person came over and asked if Matt, the little family’s patriarch and star of the show, had come by yet. He hadn’t, so she said she would be back in a few minutes with him. There was a general buzz of excitement as we watched for his customized jeep thing to motor over. So nice of him to want to come by to say hi!

Matt did eventually show up, perhaps 40 minutes later. But he was preceded by people with cameras and microphones and walkie talkies and one of those scene clapper board thingies. Apparently they were filming after all! Cue mad dash to purses for hair brushes and lipstick.

And so began what ended up being almost 2 hours of learning what filming a reality TV show looks like. Spoiler alert: not much of it is real.

There ended up being two scenes involving Rojo. The first had Matt and his son (Jeremy) and daughter-in-law (Audrey) riding in on the jeep thingy and Shannon (Rojo’s best girl and handler) bringing Rojo over to meet them. They chatted, laughed, took some photos to make it real, etc.

The second scene involved Jeremy bringing Rojo into his dad’s office because Matt suddenly wasn’t feeling well. And when you aren’t feeling good, what better remedy is there than a therapy llama? How convenient that one just happened to be on the premises!

In between these two short scenes was a lot of standing around and waiting for…something. I think we were all waiting for the director. He (Patrick – I know his name because the ex-wife, Amy, called out to him not to let her dog go into the office) was the only one who seemed to be working at a fast pace. Everyone else was mostly standing around talking, adjusting headbands, drinking water, waiting for Patrick to tell them what to do.

My first glimpse into the scriptedness of “reality” TV was watching Patrick chat with Matt, Shannon, and Lori (Shannon’s mom) about the first scene and what they were supposed to say and do.

What they were supposed to SAY and DO?!? You mean this stuff isn’t live and spontaneous? You mean it’s planned?!?

Yup.

Right down to doing a couple of takes because either words were flubbed or Rojo’s fluffy head blocked a face. The reality was crushing.

As the jeep thingy rolled out of the scene, we thought we were done and I was sort of sad not having had the opportunity to actually say hi to Matt and thank him for having us (cuz, you know, I wasn’t in the live, spontaneous, impromptu scene). But then there was buzz about the second scene, the one in the office. Whoo hoo!

The office was a nice walk through the Roloff’s property. I followed along with my camera while Rob helped Lori’s husband pack up the llama gear and try to keep Smokey entertained with some hay.

Walking through the property, I had a hunch it was all very iconic to the fans of the show. Indeed, all the barns and houses and rolling hills looked something like a movie set with everything very well-manicured and tidy and camera-ready. Even the vintage cars parked outside were gleaming despite the rainstorm that had accompanied us most of the day.

We stationed ourselves outside of the office and…waited. While we waited, Lori hurriedly wiped Rojo’s feet off, not knowing she had plenty of time to even give him a pedicure had she been so inclined (no forklift feet on Rojo).

The scene revealed itself to be one in which Jeremey calls his dad on a walkie talkie and they chat before Jeremy brings Rojo in to see him. Rojo…all by himself without Shannon or Lori helping out or giving guidance to Jeremy. While we were pretty confident Rojo would be just fine, it was also Hour 5 of an unexpectedly long day and we could tell Rojo was ready to head home.

That and one of the camera crew had expressed some concern that there was a stuffed cougar mounted in Matt’s office, sort of up high, in pouncing formation, and wondered if that might distress Rojo.

Just your typical, relaxed, predictable llama outing.

Director Patrick finally showed up all abuzz and things finally started happening just as a wagon of tourists bounced by on a farm tour.

The walkie talkie conversation between Jeremy and Matt was apparently only audio – or Matt was being filmed inside the office – so Jeremey just walked around outside while Patrick fed him lines.

Fed him lines?!?

Yep.

There was no script, nothing written down, nothing to memorize. But it seemed as if the director had a storyline in his head and had a vision how to make it happen, and thus certain lines were necessary.

So much for reality.

When Jeremy entered the office with Rojo, Matt had been told to say, “GET THAT THING OUT OF HERE!” Then the office door closed and apparently a beautiful interaction happened with the unfazed-by-the-taxidermy Rojo. Matt felt much better.

Cut! And done.

Jeremy came out and gushed about how well-behaved Rojo was and how Rojo had let him lead him around the office and kissed Matt without using carrots. Lori, Shannon, and I were beaming. And relieved.

Then Matt came out. Matt, who had actually been feeling fine the entire time. He thanked us for being there and then said, “I hope they don’t cut the scene at ‘GET THAT THING OUT OF HERE.’ Rojo is really a great animal.”

And right there I understood why he and the entire family seemed sort of…resigned. Here was a show about them and their lives, but very little of it seemed real and very little of it was seemingly in their control. They were told where to be, what to say, situations were contrived for story lines, and an editor could change the tone and meaning of everything. The cost of reality fame appeared startlingly high.

On our way home, I tried to figure out what exactly is real about reality TV. I decided it must be more real for the film crew. Since there are no scripts…and the people they are dealing with are not professional actors…the film crew and director probably feel like they are dealing with reality much more than a sitcom or movie crew does.

I am pretty sure the whole story line about Matt not feeling well was conjured on-the-spot when the production people learned about the therapy work Rojo does. So that sudden storyline probably felt spontaneous to the crew, and they had to react in “real time” to make it happen.

But watching the stars of the show, well, it’s not what I always assumed it was. I thought reality TV was largely people going about their real lives with a camera crew nearby just capturing the action. I mean, the couple of other times people have filmed Rojo and his buddies, that’s what has happened.

Obviously, from Honey Boo Boo, I knew that the reality families are often thrown into unfamiliar situations to make for good TV, but I figured that’s where the puppet mastering stopped. It didn’t occur to me that lines were being fed and problems being manufactured in the interest of keeping things “real.” I knew it wasn’t the highest brow of television, but I thought there was still some integrity left. Oh, naïve innocence. Dashed.

And what about Piglet, some of you stalwart readers might be asking? He was safely tucked in my purse all day just waiting for the opportunity to be photographed with Matt. But I never got the vibe that my asking for a photo would be met with the same play-along acceptance that Ted Danson offered so long ago. Did I mention resignation? Yeah. So Piglet went all the way to the farm and came all the way home, only to be photographed with pumpkins. Sigh.

Magic Carpet Ride

I will admit that I was a little late coming to the party for Seattle Seahawks fandom. I jumped on the bandwagon just days before they beat the 49ers for their first trip to the Super Bowl. I still don’t want to talk about what happened on their second trip.

There’s another bandwagon in and around Woodhaven, though, that I am proud to say I was riding in long before it was cool. That doesn’t happen very often with me.

The last time I was in the front seat of a trend was my fascination with sock monkeys. Before that, it was in the ‘80s when I had to rush to my pizza job and threw on my freshly washed Keds without laces. It wasn’t too long after that that I noticed I wasn’t the only one going laceless. It’s because these “I’m hip!” moments are so rare that I remember them so well.

So what's the current fascination that I was proudly enamored with long before it was A Thing?

The carpet at the Portland airport.

It’s such a strange thing to notice, carpet. Unless it is really vivid, like the carpet at The Wynn Hotel in Las Vegas. Or iconic, like the avocado green shag carpet in the house I rented in college.

But in an airport? When there are so many other things to be concerned about, like restroom locations and baggage carrousels and 3oz bottles of liquids? Really, who notices carpet in an airport?

Well, I did. And apparently I had company.

I honestly don’t remember consciously noticing the carpet at first. My awareness of it just built over time. Sort of like aging. Or gnomes.

After we had lived at Woodhaven for a few years and traveled a bit, I started to realize that exiting the plane and casting my eyes on PDX's turquoise carpet with navy blue accents was becoming my first sign of Being Home. Whether we had made a quick trip to California to visit family or a long trip across an ocean or continent for a vacation, I always seemed to sigh contentedly when the acres of greenness greeted me amongst the people movers and gate announcements.

Eventually my joy at seeing the carpet was verbalized. I felt a bit goofy admitting my appreciation for it out loud, even to Rob. But he’s used to me finding happy in odd places.

So it was Rob, not me, who first discovered I’m not the only one with a crazy obsession with an industrial floorcovering. Mere seconds after Rob told me about a Facebook page dedicated to The Carpet at PDX, I eagerly joined the handful of fans, giddy and mystified that others understood the visceral peace evoked by a 1987 synthetic fiber graphic.

That page now has over 13,000 followers. Hello, bandwagon!!

The Carpet’s rise to stardom (seriously -- it's been in USA Today and everything) has been fascinating and weird, much like its hometown. In the beginning, there was a lot of “OMG – me, too!” about the shared devotion to the rug. Then people started taking pictures of it in various forms. I dragged Rob to the airport one night especially to snap this photo:

And then there was this favorite one with a friend who was visiting from the east coast. We share the ups and downs of living with chronic back pain. Meds and prayers and stares were involved in the taking of this photo:

Eventually the photos morphed into people taking pictures of their feet on the carpet, now deemed “Foot Selfies.” These days, you haven’t truly visited Portland unless and until you have Instagrammed or Facebooked a picture of your feet on the carpet.

But the photos are only part of the story.

True to the beauty of American consumerism and capitalism, it wasn’t too long before t-shirts and socks sporting the carpet's graphic were available. I was among the first to snag this walking favorite:

But then, just as excitement was building about the communal appreciation for the airport’s well-worn carpet, it was announced that it was going to be replaced. Yep, that’s right. Torn out, ripped apart, traded in for something new. Just as Portland had finally said, “I LOVE YOU!” the carpet was ditching us.

So Portlandia reacted as you might not expect. With this:

Yes, as quirky and old-fashioned and rustic and hipster as Portland would like you to think it is, it is actually filled with savvy entrepreneurs who can read a wave like a master surfer. And so the metro…and Woodhaven…have been flooded with Carpet-themed tchotchkes.

Earrings, phone covers, t-shirts, coasters, scarves, stickers, water bottles, baseball hats, wallets, key chains, magnets, luggage tags. And that’s just the swag I have. Seriously.

OH! Right. I also have a couple other Carpet Must-Haves: the carpet itself.

Yep. I now have in my possession actual remnants of the actual carpet that actually covered the actual floor of the actual Portland airport. You may gasp in awe.

OK, so I’m not the only one who has pieces like this. Way back in March, four local vendors were chosen to buy the ripped out carpet and do what they wanted with it. One of them was very prepared with a website and planned offerings, so I immediately placed an order for two doormats and a square suitable for framing. And have been waaaaaiiiittttiiiinnngggg ever since. First the stuff had to be carefully taken out, then transported, then repaired, then cleaned, then cut, then bound, then finally shipped to Woodhaven. I guess four months isn’t so bad to wait for a piece (or three!!) of iconic
Portland history?

Naturally, I have been trying very hard to get some paw selfies of our two cats. This has been unsuccessful because they are cats. I will persevere and will post a picture in several years when I am finally victorious.

In the meantime, if you come visit Woodhaven and all the old carpet in PDX is gone, you can still get a foot selfie in our living room. Your Facebook friends and Instagram followers will never have to know.

Pee Town

It’s rare that I write book reviews because, well, it’s rare that I read books. I’ve covered that territory in past blogs. I am still mostly comfy with my identity of being more of a writer than a reader.

Nevertheless, I just finished a book that demands sharing. And no, it’s not the autobiography by Anson William of “Happy Days” fame. That one you can just have. Seriously. Anyone want my copy? Free to a good home!

No, the book YOU MUST KNOW ABOUT is something I picked up in a curious little store in Portland (is there any other kind?) while killing time until our appointment at the cat lounge. I saw the title and giggled. Then I flipped to a few entries and giggled a little more. Spontaneously (for me -- it took about 7 minutes), I decided the literary tour would be a fantastic addition to our guest room’s reading basket. Assuming I would giggle yet a bit more, I decided I should read the missive before inviting my future guests to do so.

And that is how I came to discover, purchase, read, and now recommend my favorite current book: The Best Places to Pee in Portland by Kelly Melillo. Subtitled “A Guide to the Funky & Fabulous Bathrooms of Portland.” BPTPIP is currently available on Amazon for just $995.95...or $10.82, your choice.   It has been reviewed by all of 9 readers; I’m suspecting a number of which are Friends of Kelly. And now I bring you #10 (obviously, I am quite jealous of the person who got to post #1 given, you know, the nature of the book).

When I bought The Pee Book, the quirky store owner (quirky modifying both the store and the owner) excitedly shared that the photographed feet on the cover rocking the pine green heels belong to the author herself. I also learned excessive details of the store owner’s accounting woes, technology phobia, and plans to bribe her brilliant but unmotivated slacker son to rescue her from both. It was quite a tale almost resulting in my regretting attempting to purchase the book. However I am now quite relieved I persevered. What an educational hoot!

Kelly (I consider her a pee pal so we're on a first name basis) reviews 51 potties throughout Portland. Most are in restaurants or bars, although also included are a tattoo parlor, a barber shop, a hotel, and an exceptionally orange and curvy public bathroom that apparently has been reviewed on Yelp and can be found on Flickr (I shall be visiting soon).

Each review provides a little history of the business and visionary insights from the current owners. Kelly also provides menu highlights, ghost sightings, and footnotes illuminating such tidbits as Gloria Gaynor’s hit “I Will Survive” was actually the B-Side of a song called “Substitute,” and “chin chin” is naughty-talk in Japanese. And then, as promised, each entry features a description and photograph of the noteworthy toity. So much porcelain! So many urinals! But all tastefully done such that I didn’t feel like I needed to hide the book in an in-flight magazine while recently reading it in seat 14B.

While I thought I would laugh at the obvious joke of this book, I was quite surprised to find it a rather interesting way to learn yet more about the enchanting oddness of Portland. Yes, there did seem to be an unusually high number of references to pinball machines and handcrafted cocktails. And more than a few bathrooms showcased patron-provided graffiti and chalkboard art. And a number of unisex loos. Big yawn.

But there were also totally unexpected discoveries like a video arcade's bathroom whose tile floor has been painstakingly designed to mimic a screen shot from Pac Man (OMG!). And the sake house inspired by Ewoks. And the beat-poetry-like venue whose owner describes the décor as “Grandma who wears Hot Topic clothes.”

Perhaps my favorite for the ingenuity and ability to create a community is the bathroom that has a drawing of a woman on the wall. The drawing is wearing a fabric skirt. If a bathroom visitor lifts the skirt, they only see a blank wall. However, when the newly relieved but somewhat disappointed customer exits the bathroom, they are met with cheers or applause or teasing because a light outside the bathroom goes on anytime someone inside decides to take what they thought was a secret peek.

Ok, yes, it’s a community built on laughing at someone, but still, it’s pretty creative, no? And yes, I am very relieved I am in the know about this whole skirt thing because I totally would have peeked and then I would have been so embarrassed I would probably have needed to return to the little room. Now that I am in on the joke, I am tempted to go and lift the skirt up and down a number of times just to make the light blink like a strobe light.

Not only does The Best Places to Pee in Portland tell you exactly that, it is also quite a comprehensive road map to some the hippest, coolest, “au courant” local hang out spots in town. I thought I had something of a pulse on that. I mean, I DO read Portland Monthly and watch Portlandia with insider smugness. But of the 51 locations featured in the book, I have only been to 5 of them. And had only heard of 7 others. That means there are at least 39 totally Portland adventures I need to drag Rob to!

Drink up, honey! We have some peeing to do!

Sleeping cats and fast cars

Like so many odd yet ridiculously intriguing ideas, this one was birthed in Taiwan. Then came Oakland. And then, naturally, Portland.

So, in the name of Living a Bloggable Life, I HAD to go check out Purrington’s Cat Lounge – Portland’s version of the I’m-not-convinced-it’s-a-trend smush of a coffee shop and a cat adoption center.

Yes, Purrington’s is a place where you can grab a cup of Meow Mocha or a mouse-shaped cookie and then go enjoy your treats in a room strewn with cats. Real, live, people-friendly, mostly-napping, totally petable, entirely adoptable cats.

I went with two other cat-loving friends. Lisa, Barb, and I each have two cats at home. But all six of them are close to or well ensconce in their Senior Kitty years. So hanging out with some energetic kittens sounded like a yarn ball of fun.

Studying Purrington’s web site, it seemed clear we would need reservations for our 1 hour of cat therapy. We opted for a 2:00pm slot on a Wednesday, to allow for lunch before and hopefully not too much traffic after.

As we approached the café, one cat was already on a cushion in the window meowing a welcoming.

His name is Owen.

Once inside, the café was pretty sparsely appointed. It was mostly a long bar with a register and a retro-hip cashier. As we paid our $8 entry fee to hang out with the kitties, the cat-eyed lady tried to interest us “small sips or nibbles” – hipster lingo meaning snacks – but we were entirely focused on the cats visible through the medium set of windows. It was only on our way out an hour later that we noticed there were bakery goods and some commemorative t-shirts and coffee mugs for sale.

While properly dousing ourselves with the requisite hand sanitizer, we dutifully read the rules. We were all a little disappointed about the “no picking up the cats” rule. My cats don’t let me pick them up either. It’s a conspiracy! Boo! I also spent some time amusedly pondering exactly what circumstance prompted the “no intoxication” rule and its priority placement at #3 on the list. Oh, Portland.

Lisa, Barb, and I entered the cat room and found seats. The room was long and narrow with windows at the far end opposite where we entered. There were already 13 of the maximum 15 people allowed in the room, including a tattooed cat lovin’ employee proudly sporting a “SHOW ME YOUR KITTIES” t-shirt and a somewhat awkward, young, gushing reporter from a verylocal Portland newspaper who went around asking questions with a notebook and pencil in hand.  ("Best assignment EVER!  I am totally blissed out right now!")

We looked around for the cats. We were told there were 10 of them but they were a bit hard to spot. Most of them were asleep in various cubbies and boxes. The few that were awake and moderately active were already being entertained, iPadded, and cooed to. One lively black kitty named Mystery decided Lisa was interesting and let Lisa entertain her with balls and feathers on a stick. Lucky Lisa!

Slowly people cleared out, including the lone male and his friend who was wearing a cat-themed sweatshirt covered in cat hair I’m pretty sure she arrived in. The extra space allowed us to finally move closer to the window and to the mostly awake cats. But, well, they had had a long morning and really just wanted to nap. So we primarily spent our hour petting sleeping kitties and comparing cat notes with the other women in the room.

Curly Sue was kind enough to let us pet her through her napping

Debriefing in the car on the way home, Lisa, Barb and I agreed that we had had a fun time and were glad we had visited Purrington’s…but we weren’t sure we would do it again unless we knew someone who wanted to check it out for the first time.

Although the cats were younger than ours our home, they were all at least 1 year old (lounge rule) so they weren’t the crazy high jumping whirls of activity we were expecting from younger kittens. Also, we decided that the lounge was very well appointed for cats but not so much for the humans.

The rectangular shape of the room made it difficult to roam around and interact with the cats. Also, with so few tables to set things on, we were all relieved we hadn’t opted for any nibbles that we would have had to keep on our laps or the floor. The ratio of 15 people to 10 marginally accessible cats also seemed a little high.

Nevertheless, we agreed the concept is a great one for the cats. They get to live in a home-like setting, get TONS of human interaction and love, and eventually…hopefully…find their forever homes thru adoption from visitors. And for that we were very pleased to have donated $8 to the paws cause. That and I found it a rather calming, Zen-like experience to simply hang out in a room of cats and the people who admire them.


Prepare for a detour:

In completely unrelated but equally notable news…this happened before we headed out to Purrington’s.

Note the breakneck speed of 13mph

Lisa has a Tesla. I had only seen pictures of them. Even though Barbara drove us to Purrington’s in her car, Lisa offered to take me for a spin in her shmancy ride to start the day. I was absolutely dumbfounded when she offered to let me drive it!

Ummm…. WOW!! That thing flies! It goes from 0 to NASCAR in barely two blinks. It handles with a ton of stability and the braking is as easy as simply taking your foot off the accelerator. It was by far the most fun I have ever had driving a car. I didn’t bother to hold back my gleeful giggling because, well, there was truly no way to stifle it.

The interior was leather and suede…SUEDE! And the controls were all on a touch-screen. In fact, the navigation system/controls were essentially a large iPad with continuous access to the internet. Unlike most (all?) other car navigation systems, everything is always available and accessible. No waiting until you get to a stop light to try to punch in an address really fast. While very convenient, I wondered about the safety of actually being able to check Facebook or emails or watch cat videos on YouTube all while supposedly driving your car. But with the planned self-driving feature anticipated for later this year, I suppose that concern will soon be moot. As are any passing thoughts I might have to ever have a Tesla of my very own. Yowsa!  Thank you so much for the test drive, Lisa!!!

A much more commendable speed of 82mph...and you can see the in-dash iPad