We got up around 9:00 a.m. because we were in no hurry. We brewed coffee, but threw out the pot because Kristina said it tasted like ashes. Second pot was better enough to drink.

We had granola we had bought the night before from Fred Meyer Market the same time we bought the milk. It was good as usual, pretty big bowls, to fortify us for the day.

We started by driving through Laurelhurst, a posh district with posh houses surrounding Laurelhurst Park. It’s one of the most beautiful parks I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen quite a few. The grass was green and rolling up and down. The trees were big, of mixed ancestry that got along together.

There were people everywhere, walking, lolling, singly, couples, families. And dogs. Lots of dogs.

We went over to the pond that was almost a lake, long like the park. Lots of ducks, and their favorite island with reeds and bushes where they could lay eggs and raise a family. They drifted around on the water, and some drifted over right up to us, hoping for a hand out, and then drifted away when they didn’t get any.

I imagined again I was an underwater camera with a split lens where you could see the surface at the same time, the seamless fluid placid drift above, and below the surface simultaneously those active working duck feet like engines propelling invisibly. Like everything in life.

We admired the old antique street lights along the paths that I’m sure at night make the illumination feel like history in the present. But it was daytime so we didn’t get the full effect.

There were people lying everywhere on towels or blankets, on their backs or fronts, depending on which side they wanted sun. They mostly didn’t notice us and were complete in themselves.

Dogs were let loose and ran around to get to know each other.

Intermittently spaced were sets of stairs leading down from the street so neighborhood residents could walk down into “their park.” I felt mingled.

Kristina said, “If I lived here, I’d come to the park every day.”

I said, “If you could afford it,” and “It’s nice to be around and among rich people.”

We stayed awhile to soak up more ambience. Sated, we went back up to the car and drove around other neighborhoods, higher and lower.

Our park visiting agenda was not yet completed. “We’re going to Mount Tabor.”

We parked and stopped in at the Visitor Center. Kristina asked about the status of the statue at the top of the hill. It was one of those midnight grab and replace by a crew under cover of darkness which swoops in, does their thing, and vanishes before the morning light. Their “thing” in this case was the removal of a statue “honoring” a Civil War insurrectionist and replacing it with a locally sculpted tribute to an under recognized integrationist.

The woman in the office said, “Oh, no, that new statue didn’t last long. It wasn’t sanctioned. It was made of transitory material, the artist is willing to make a permanent version out of durable metal, but he needs money to do it which is so far not forthcoming.”

Kristina said, “I must have been one of the last people to see it.”

We discovered that so many Portlandians were not aware of any of this.

I thought again, as I always do, of the way we are all awash in history as tides come in and out, and most of us it seems are unaware of what’s going on around us.

I thought of course of Greece and Rome. Those marble statues, erected for ego, were defaced when politics changed. At the Getty Museum those rows of marble heads often show the noses smashed. Then came the beheading, replaced by a new face of favorable status. Getty collected the heads and lined them up.

Sic transit Gloria mundi, as they say. Now-a-days the “transit” has picked up the pace.

So we set out in the park and started to climb. I moaned and groaned. To myself I silently whispered, “Gotta do this, gotta do this, I need the exercise, just keep moving, a little more, a little farther, one foot, next foot…”

That internal dialog sounds dramatic, even pathetic, which is probably why I kept it to myself, mostly, and stopped now and then to catch my breath.

There were several ways to ascend. Some by roads and paths, some by stairs. We mostly stayed on the path, my walking poles thumping with each step.

One robust woman walking the path familiar to her called out to me encouragingly in passing, “You’re doing great!” A little later, I saw her high above on the upper path. She waved down. I waved up.

There were happy walkers everywhere. I was one. I liked everything, the people, the dogs, the grass, the trees, the big rocks, the view when you could see it. I said things like, “I hope I live long enough to reach the top,” and “I hope they have a restroom.”

Of course we reached the top, and yes, there was a restroom, empty, available, door unlocked. I finally changed its emptiness and sat awhile. The sink worked, I washed my hands, and emerged renewed. We went to the benches and looked through the gap between the trees and saw “There’s Portland!”

Chaz and Kristina pointed out “That’s where we were” and “That’s where we’re going.”

I thought, “Wouldn’t it be nice if every city had a mountain you could climb to get perspective.”

It was easier going down the mountain.

We went to Jake’s. We were going where Kristina and Chaz knew. They knew Jake’s, recommended it, and were right. It’s a steakhouse in a hotel, the sign said “The best steaks in Portland.” I cannot disagree. My wonderful ribeye medium rare filled me with the satisfaction of just wanting to curl up and purr. I purred.

Our wonderful waitress, how lucky we were everywhere we went, to have a wait staff we immediately became friends with. She was more than competent, more than just a real person. She had a lively mind and of course an active sense of humor. She’s also an artist, writer, actor, singer, you name it.

Kristina said, assessing her, “You know, you could take over running this place.”

The waitress said, “Oh no, I’m only part time. I just came from a commune, I’m working on projects, check my blog.” I gave her my card and we traded blogs.

I thought, because I always do, how this vacation trip of ours keeps collecting people who are instant friends, and wouldn’t it be wonderful if we all could get together at a party that could go on and on maybe forever.

It’s just a thought.

After our sumptuous feast, we explored the hotel a bit. It’s one of those grand establishments of which in Portland there are several. The corridor led us to the other entrance where two young alert young men were manning the desk.

Kristina said, “Years ago, my daughter and I stayed here in the old section where they filmed the TV series Leverage.”

The young men said, “Lucky you.”

We went back to our rooms in the house to get some sleep before the next day when we were meeting other friends for dinner.

We had already seen a lot, done a lot, and this was only our second day in Portland.

What’s next?