Out-going weather in Portland, this weekend. Weather that hasn't even required a sweatshirt (except in the morning) or a coat, and sun to keep it that way, and I've needed to soak in that. So I did. I feel a little guilty about using a car yesterday to get to some of the outside, but the car made sense for errands. I drove to the big post office near NE Broadway, where Old Town/Chinatown starts to transition to the Pearl, to drop off my tax forms, because I wanted to at least get them in the mail by Saturday and make SOME deadline earlier than April 15th. Other downtown trips followed, on foot: the library to return a CD, Pioneer Courthouse Square to use an ATM, and simply watching everyone enjoy the weather, too.
Car-freedom enabled, I got back to my car and drove to NE, treating myself to dinner at Beulahland. And because I can always use just a little more Goth cred, I walked from there to Lone Fir Cemetery, an easy walk from there. Wandered among tombstones, doing my best not to stand above where people had been buried, and occasionally reading aloud from The Warlord of Mars, pulp science fiction that hadn't been published when a lot of people in Lone Fir had been buried.
And I had this thought when I saw a tombstone for a man who'd been born around 1858 and died around 1890: You had a shorter run than me, but you lived in a tougher time than me.
Not what I'd expected to think at that moment, but maybe what I needed to think.