we gave away the chicken paw we brought home from wong's king seafood restaurant on sunday too early to find out if it might actually grant us our wish of wishes of this week and keep the teenager with us. her mother wants her back?!? what a system. and what about the stress of uprooting her again? especially now that she's finally adapted to the rhythm of the life and style of moniquipher. how can she possibly cope with arizona again knowing that everyone on the avenue is waiting to see her on her next walk?
cathedral park was deserted on tuesday evening except for some dog walkers and a couple of men fishing off the jetty at the river. the mood on the free box blanket on the lawn under the st. johns bridge was melancholic, a jaded nostalgia for the view of the north end of forest park across the river and a sad warmth -- despite the chill -- that seemed intentionally cultivated to shield the picnic from the looming sadness of the coming morning. then there were the meth fags (conjured, perhaps, by some serious wondering over which van sant film had included a scene in the park), and that's a piece of sentimental education that our fourteen year old would never have taken in had she not come to portland. who cares now what she's done for our image, but who could question what she's done for portland's collective heart?
before one last portland ice cream, we made sure to mess up the sidewalk on mississippi with one last family walk. if she's leaving anyway, she might as well make a scene. and notoriety is what gets you covers. at least that's what our agent said when he asked us for the video to leak to vanity fair. hugs. get what you want. and don't worry. just let those tears come.
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