Broken Open

Berlioz didn't break me open, but Bach did.  The beauty of the Columbia River Gorge didn't break me open, but 'birds flying upward over the mountain' did.  Maybe I break too easily.  Or maybe the cracks appear to let the good things in.

There were a lot of good things in Portland.  One of them was music.  Gary and I went to the symphony while we were there.  We went to the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall downtown, the one that is on the National Register of Historic Places, the one that is all done up in Italian Rococo style.  A place where you sit there feeling sort of grand and sort of cozy all at the same time.  We went to hear Berlioz's 'Symphonie Fantastique'.  There were other things on the program too, but it was really all about the Berlioz.  It is a symphony that tells a story.  The last movement is supposed to depict a 'Witches' Sabbath' and the percussionists owned it.  Two sets of timpani battering away in the back, crescendoing until there was nowhere else to go and everyone was on their feet.  Gary was on his feet.  I was on my feet.  I wasn't broken open, but the drums had beaten their way into my body and at the end I was cheering with everyone else.

And there was more music.

Jeremy came over to 'our' house and brought his guitar.

He knew his mother was going to ask him to play.  And sing.  And I did.  And he did.  He played every song I asked for.  Even the ones he didn't really know.  We looked up lyrics, and I don't know how he did it, but somehow the right chords were always in the right places, and every song sounded like it was supposed to sound.  And I asked him to play that Iron and Wine song that I love, the one that has some words that go like this:

Mother don't worry, I killed the last snake that lived in the creek bed

Mother don't worry, I've got some money I saved for the weekend

Mother remember being so stern with that girl who was with me

Mother remember the blink of an eye when I breathed through your body

So may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten

Sons are like birds flying upwards over the mountain

And as he was singing his voice broke and he stopped.  And he looked at me and laughed and said, 'this is a good song'.  And my eyes filled up.  And I was broken open.

There was music in Portland and there was walking.  Gary and Jeremy and I walked along Waterfront Park down by the Willamette River.  There were giant metal bridges everywhere and the cherry blossom trees were in full bloom, their pink petals falling all around us.

And I don't remember what we were talking about, but it somehow prompted Jeremy to say, 'Novelty is overrated.  What most people want is comfort and familiarity.'  And maybe he was right, because later Gary and I went driving around Portland looking at houses for sale, joking about giving up the adventure and settling down.  We both knew we weren't done wandering yet, but there we were driving around dreaming of homes.  And comfort.  And familiarity.  And thinking about where we might end up one day.

And then one day Jason appeared in Portland.  We went to pick up Jeremy at his apartment and Jason opened the door instead.  He had come to Portland to surprise us, so that the four of us could be together in the same place for the first time in three years.  So for three days Gary and Jeremy and Jason and I were together in Portland.  We went to the farmer's market at PSU, where there were flowers and nuts and apples and chocolate for sale, and I wanted to buy everything I saw because it all looked so good.  We walked downtown and ate at Cheryl's on 12th.  When we left the restaurant I was freezing, because I hadn't worn the right clothes, so we stopped at Ross and Jeremy bought me some socks.  And a sweater that made me look like a mushroom.  We walked down to the river and on our way to the famous  Saturday Market we stopped and smiled for the camera:

Jason, Jeremy, Lisa, Gary

And then Jeremy had to go to work.

And the rest of us wandered around some more taking pictures of famous buildings.

The Portland Building

And azaleas.

I think.

Then we took Jason back to the house where we were house-sitting and ordered pizza.  And it wasn't just a house.  It was our home.  Because when we sold our house on Kauai we told the kids that from now on, home would be wherever we were.  And there we were.  And it was home.

And then it was Jason's last day in Portland and the four of us went looking for a waterfall.  On the way we stopped at the famous lookout, the Vista House, and we looked out.

The Columbia River Gorge

We read about the visionary engineer and landscape architect that had designed the famous highway through the gorge.  And then we found our waterfall and took the little hike to the top.

Latourell Falls

And everything was beautiful, because the Columbia River Gorge is one of the most beautiful places there is.  But somehow that day it didn't get in, because I knew what was coming next.

The four of us ate one more meal together and then we dropped Jason off at the airport.  He walked away reluctantly, his shoulders drooping, and then he turned around and watched us.  And I think he stood there watching until he couldn't see us anymore.  And we didn't know when we would see him next.  And he didn't know when he would see us next.  And my eyes filled up.  And we drove away.

A few days later, Gary and Jeremy and I went to see Bach's 'St. John Passion' at the Trinity Episcopal Cathedral in downtown Portland.  And there was glorious German music echoing everywhere inside that vaulted space.  And when the alto soloist sang Es ist vollbracht - 'It is finished' - the world stood still, and the silence was everywhere inside me and there was nowhere else for it all to go but out my eyes and down my cheeks, leaking into the world.  And in the quiet of the cathedral I was looking for a kleenex.  Jeremy on my left silently turned a page of his book, and I knew that he had missed it.  But Gary on my right had not.  And I was broken open.  And something got in through the cracks.

And soon it was time to say goodbye to Jeremy too.

We fed our hungry child one more time.

India House, downtown Portland

Because it always feels good to feed your hungry children.  And then we dropped him off at his apartment and stood there hugging each other in the parking lot.  And Jeremy wouldn't let me go for a long time.  And we didn't know when we would see him next.  And he didn't know when he would see us next.  And my eyes filled up.  And we drove away.

And everything is messy and you never know if you are doing the right thing.  Or if there even is a right thing.  If leaving your family and wandering around is the right thing.  Or if it is just a thing.  And your grown up children can still break you open, the ones that came through your body, and the ones that did not.  The ones that were with you in Portland, and the ones that are far away across the ocean.  And Bach can break you open.  And books and beauty and this confusing world.  And you never want to stop being broken open, because so much can get in through the cracks.

We went to see the movie Birdman while we were in Portland.  A movie about people trying to love each other.  About the mess we all make of things.  About art and magic.  About people being broken and about people soaring.  And there is that scene at the end where the father is flying (or is he?) and his daughter is left behind, and she is smiling.  She is standing there watching her father soar, and she is smiling.

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Spoiler Alert:  There are probably as many interpretations of the ending of 'Birdman' as there are people that see it.  In my opinion Riggan didn't kill himself, he killed Birdman, and in the process gained everything, including the love and respect of his daughter who can now watch him fly free of his past.