And Counting...

Photo: © Stan Banos

Remarkable thing happened round about two months ago. Something was lost, cast aside, terminated. No, it wasn't yet another age related loss, for that's what aging is- (slow) death by a thousand cuts. This was a positive, yet unconscious loss... for the better.

For over two years since my wife and I went our separate ways, I would experience an emotional gut punch on a daily basis- the lost joys of times past, the guilt of future times lost, and always, always... always, the questions of "what if." What if I, what if she, what if we? The reminisces and reevaluations, whatever place or time of day- opportunities rife with the chance of daily repetitions, so I simply kept as busy as I could, as long as I could.

Photo: © Stan Banos

The first half year it actually served a productive means to an end- after my initial anger, I learned to identify and recognize my faults, my contribution(s) to the breakup; the remaining year and a half, not so much- just continued pain and grieving for some of the very happiest times of my life: the laughs, the sharing, having each other's back. Gone, over, and not to return.

So it came as quite the welcomed surprise a coupla months past when I realized I had somehow abandoned said routine- or it had abandoned me. How or why it dissipated I don't know, and that's not to say that all is forgotten and carefree, but it's now been relegated to a more manageable, less debilitating, background pain- present, just not overwhelming. Amazing how these things have their very own time lines, and how one is clueless to predict and powerless to preemptively intervene.

Recently, I visited The (still technically legal) Wife in Portland for an extended weekend. It rained some manner of length all four days, but it was nice to see her and Nelson, my one eyed cat. The latter can still be mistaken for a growing kitten despite his now double digit age- he's even lacking the usual age induced, marsupial pouch! Ever loving, forever cute and not terribly bright, he failed to recognize his old man; next reincarnation I'll make sure to demand a smart pet- just once, for the sheer experience of having a heads up partner in crime.

Photo: © Stan Banos

 

Nevertheless, it was a pleasant trip- one I undertook free of expectations: photographically, relationship-wise, whatever... And stress free it remained. Portland is indeed weird. As The Wife remarked, "It's hard to tell the true crazies, from the less so." I suppose the degree of scruffiness helps, but it's no guarantee. Because of the weather I was content to stay indoors in her and her sister's spacious and beautifully decorated apartment, read my book (Say Nothing) and ventured about the local neighborhood with her during the infrequent breaks in rain. That said, I was still able to snare a coupla of worthwhile snaps, have some great pizza (they looked like absolute jewels emerging from the oven),* and The Best roasted Brussel sprouts with chewy bacon bits and a glaze I would readily kill for at Ken's Artisan Pizza. 

Also managed to venture downtown to The Blue Sky Gallery on a Saturday, where I caught Matthew Moore's excellent Post-Socialist Landscapes.

*How did Portland, of all places, become the supposed king of pizza? When growing up in NY, a slice of great pizza could be had, in practically any neighborhood, in any borough, at any time of day- guaranteed (and for 15 cents a slice in the mid '60s- yeah, you heard right)! Now, you can count the number of places in my hometown on one hand...