Running a post office errand this afternoon turned into walking around my neighborhood just on general principles, and then remembering I have a February bus pass and thinking No one's stopping me, so I rode the bus down to Sellwood/Moreland. Portland Memorial is down there: my relative Vesta Dunger and her husband Max (pronounced "Mocks") had their ashes interred there. I went in to visit, but it was at the end of mausoleum visiting hours and even though the staffpeople there were OK with me going in, I told them "This was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I should probably plan to come back. Have a good night." They were nice.
As I left the building I gestured at it and said "I know you're in there!" in Vesta and Max's general direction. And I smiled.
I like to say that I'm not Goth, but that I'm a Goth Appreciater instead. Never went in for wearing the fashion or writing the poetry or hanging out in graveyards, but as time went on I started gravitating towards people who did. Example: I had a crush in high school on my school newspaper colleague Kathryn. Her look was, I put it, "sexy Emily Dickenson." And, like most Goths I know, she was bright-eyed, amused by the world, and hilarious. The Goths I know are less like Dickenson -- or Lydia in Beetlejuice -- and more like Abby Sciuto on NCIS. And I appreciate them.
(Hi, y'all. Um...is it way too non-Goth to say "y'all"?)
Anyway, the reason I was walking? For the first time in weeks -- no, more like months -- Portland had sweatshirt weather. I didn't need a coat!
And now I'm looking forward to the rest of the country not needing a coat. Seriously, winter's been harsh all over the place. We can use a break.