Bee Lavender

Does it seem like I have saved perhaps…. too much stuff?

Why yes, it does.

As a child I marched in the Whaling Days parade every year, either twirling a baton or in the back of a vintage car owned by my Lavender grandfather. It never occurred to me at the time to wonder why the town would celebrate whaling, or for that matter, what “whaling” might be.

I transplanted these from the family homestead in Poulsbo so long ago I can’t even remember.

This is the only living connection to my grandmother; I remember her best in her garden.

How I funded my summer at the Governors’ School for Citizen Leadership, age 17.

Hanging with the secret kitten at the Chicken House (shhhh).

Talking to current residents it seems that nobody remembers the years in which I was banned from visiting. Nor do the new folks seem to know anything about the controversy surrounding the establishment of the house, when “No Chickens” signs were posted in the windows of restaurants and cafes on Alberta.

In fact they didn’t really believe me on either score… but of course I have documentary evidence for my claims.

Remember when Cherry Sprout was Big City, and only sold collard greens?

Better yet: remember when Mississippi Ave was boarded up, and you couldn’t buy any food at all within 10 blocks of the Alberta Albina intersection? No?

I really don’t recognize my old neighborhood any longer.

I’m in town to pick up all the stuff I left behind when I moved away.

Fourteen years ago.

Marisa and Jodi have been incredibly kind to look after my albums, taxidermy, and funeral home telephone all these many years. Though they probably didn’t know it would take quite this long for me to return….

Marisa’s studio.

People! This is the kind of OCD thing you are supposed to hide, not glorify!

Nicholas: favorite and still the best restaurant in Portland.