I’d been through the town before, many years ago, when Shirley and I were driving up north, I think to Canada.

We always when traveling watched the calendar to see how much time we could spend in any one place.

And I always watched my thin flat wallet to see what we could afford, maybe eat some food, and not rent a place to stay because we could save money and drive all night.

We were primed to love Portland, partly because that’s where Ursula K. Le Guin lived, and she’s the best.

Of course we had to go to Powell’s.

Powell’s Books is world famous for good reason, and they had a book I wanted but couldn’t find anywhere else. The store is a block long on all sides, stories high, and has a restaurant. Hunting for books makes people hungry.

The store was up-to-date about things like computers, and they led me right to where the book was. I was thrilled. It was a book on literary criticism, the library didn’t have it, but Powell’s did, and now I did, so I could finally read it all. I was teaching high school English and was serious about it.

It was afternoon in Portland, I wanted to go see the college but Shirley said not now, so we drove down a street that ended at the water and talked to some fishermen who were dealing with fish.

We thought, “This is a city with all kinds of people and they’re friendly and interesting, and we could live here happy.”

And then we continued on up to Canada before it got dark.

So now, many many years later, here I am driving up with Kristina and Chaz to Chaz’s daughter’s wedding, and we were staying in the ground floor of a nice house in a nice neighborhood, one of those places you can rent for a few days, and Kristina said, “We need milk.”

Of course we had to do our own food, you rent the place empty, except that they had left some dry coffee for us.

So we dropped off our luggage, and Kristina said, “Do you want to drive or walk?”

And I said, “Uh…”

And Chaz said, “Do you want to walk?”

And I said, “Uh…”

And Kristina said, “We’ll walk. You need the exercise, and it’s only a couple of blocks, and there’s this neat place and this other place…”

And I said, “Uh…” and, “OK, if I must. I know it’s good for me. I know I need exercise. I know I’m lazy.”

And I grabbed my walking sticks and said, “Let’s go,”

We walked up the block. And then another block. The houses were all really nice, two-story old, and one had music coming out of it where someone was playing the guitar very well.

We came to a corner with a stop light, crossed, turned right on a busier street with more nice houses, and traffic. It was getting pretty dark by then, but there were lights here and there, some holiday decorations that were maybe left up all year, and some just starting out early for Halloween coming next month.

Ahead we saw more stop lights and lights on buildings to show there were stores and restaurants and the market we were heading toward for milk. And the Bagdad restaurant by the Bagdad Theater where we’d get food before going back to the Fred Meyer market across the street, and milk.

I was so sorry I had eaten something before in Eugene in a shopping mall where we found the little Greek take-out Kristina remembered and steered us to. She said, “Don’t fill up, save room for dinner,” but all I heard was “dinner” so I ordered a moussaka plate, and added a bowl of agvolemono soup. It filled me right up.

So when we got to Portland and the Bagdad Café restaurant, I was already full, and watched Kristina and Chaz eat their delicious dinner of mac ‘n’ cheese with bacon and garlic bread. They also ordered drinks, a kind of stout for Kristina and an apple cider sampler for Chaz, four progressive drinks on a little tray. I had water.

They kept trying, Kristina especially, to get me to order and eat something, anything, and she gave me a bite of hers, which was very good, gentle macaroni, and vigorous bacon.

The waitress was truly wonderful. Rachel. She was friendly, the way you’re supposed to be with the customers, but she was better than that. We all talked enough to know we had a lot in common, beyond just Southern California. She was attentive to our needs, very professional with those few other patrons remaining before closing time. I was my usual jokey silly self, and she joked right back.

She said, “If you change your mind and want to order something besides water, I’ll be back…”

I tried to be funny and said, “If I stay here overnight, I’m sure I’ll be hungry by morning. Got a corner, back room?”

She said, “I don’t think my manger would go for that, but I’m sure we could find a place for you.”

So I knew right away that she was the real thing, quick clever smart, could give as good as she got. She had the kind of good humor that is infectious joy, and I thought, “If people in Portland are this good, quick minds and happy cheerful, Wow, what a city!”

And when we got around to talking about the joy of little children, I was impressed the way you are when you find like-minded people you can like and admire and become instant friends. I mentioned something about my blog, and that I’d probably have to put something in about our first night in Portland, and she expressed interest.

As we were leaving, Kristina asked if we could go through and look at the other side, and Rachel said, “Of course, go right ahead.”

So we went through the restaurant to the theater lobby, very impressive, then we turned around to get the full effect. A big WOW! This is a true movie palace the way all the old theaters used to be. So many are closed and gone, but enlightened cities preserve and refurbish and re-open.

Los Angeles is trying to reclaim its iconic Cinema Palaces as Theater Row along Broadway. Here in Portland we were in the presence of civic enlightenment and tradition and opulence, and we walked through the open door into the empty theater with chandeliers, loges set up for eating while watching, and a real balcony overlooking.

We exited the theater to cross over to the market and look through the window of Powell’s annex bookstore.

I said, “I was going to give Rachel my card which lists my blog. She seemed interested.” Kristina said, “You can send an email to the restaurant, attn: Rachel.”

I decided yes, but first I should write this blog entry.

We passed Powell’s Book Store, already closed because it was Sunday, evening, in a corner of town vibrant but without a lot of late foot traffic. The door was locked and they were sweeping the floor. Sweeping spilled words?

We came down to Fred Meyer’s store, entered on the right side, and Chaz and Kristina went after the milk they were told was at the end of the store. I stayed behind to spare myself the extra walking, and chatted with my usual enthusiasm to the clerk and the Security Guard. They were both friendly. Especially Jordan, the Security Guard, who was young and enthusiastic. I could see right away that he was not just the bored guard who stands around as a presence. I pointed to his security insignia and quipped, “I feel secure, just because you’re here.”

Right away he recognized in me a kindred spirit. We talked and traded stories and discovered a similar background, both of us from greater L.A., he from East L.A. and Hollywood, me, born in Hollywood but raised in Monterey Park, a kind of L.A. suburb, and then Altadena about as close for fifty four years.

I apologized for blathering on so long, as I tend to do once you get me started. Jordan said, “Oh no, I could listen to you all night.” I thought he was being nice, and then I thought, “He’s right. I could listen to myself all night, and often do.”

I thought, “Portland is an amazing city! Everyone I’ve met is alert, enthusiastic, genuinely friendly, and it’s only our first night here.”

I left my card, which lists my blog, sterlingbooks.org, and came “home” to write all about it.