It’s a weird feeling, returning to a place you spent a significant chunk of your life after being away for eight years. I feel almost like a tourist at times, excitedly pointing out places and things I once took for granted. The amount of glee I felt for a freakin’ road—”OMG, State Route 14!” I exclaimed when we merged onto the highway—is off the charts. Other moments, like stepping through the front door of my parents’ house, felt like they had just happened yesterday. I don’t belong here, but I don’t not belong here, if that makes sense.
A few hours before my flight was scheduled to depart, I didn’t even know if I was going to make it out here.
Monday night, I dutifully went to bed early, knowing we had to get up at 4 a.m. Tuesday morning for the drive to Milwaukee Mitchell International Airport. A few minutes past 1:00 a.m., I was awakened by one of the worst thunderstorms I’ve experienced in ages. The rain, thunder, and lightning were bad enough, but the straight-line winds gusting to 70+ mph sounded like a freight train. I stared out the bedroom window, anxiously watching the trees in our backyard bending sideways, desperately hoping they wouldn’t topple over.
And then Tara’s phone went off, blaring a Tornado Warning. Welp, it was one county north of us, but that was it for sleep. I tossed and turned the rest of the night, finally givine up at 3:45 a.m.
Our drive to the airport was kind of insane. It was storming like crazy, heavy rain and hail and lightning. A mile from home, we came upon a half-downed power line hanging across the road. Tara carefully maneuvered under it, which in retrospect wasn’t the smartest idea. I mean, obviously we didn’t die, unless this is Mark’s ghost writing the blog post. (Ooh, how cool would that be?!) We should have turned around and backtracked instead of chancing electrocution. It’s not like this was the one and only road to Milwaukee! I blame it on lack of sleep and a whole jumble of nerves, ’cause these storms were bad, man.
But we made it to the airport two hours before departure, as planned—and amazingly, despite the weather, not a single flight was delayed. I was pretty much resigned to a bumpy flight—surely, there would be turbulence given the volatile atmosphere—but it was surprisingly smooth. Once we reached our cruising altitude, I was able to relax a bit.
I daresay, I even began to…well, “enjoy the experience” isn’t quite right, but: not loathe it? First class is nice. Basically you’re paying to be treated well, and they certainly do that.
I whiled away the flights to Salt Lake City and Portland by listening to music, playing trivia and Blackjack on the seat-mounted entertainment system, and keeping an eye on the Flight Tracker, which gave real-time information. Like, at one point, we were flying over Denver at 36,000 feet, traveling 470 mph, and the air temperature was -67°. It was addictive.
We landed at PDX shortly after noon, right on time. That’s when the geeking out commenced.
My parents were there to greet me, and after retrieving my luggage, we drove to the Vancouver waterfront for lunch.
Guys, the Vancouver waterfront did not exist when I lived here. It was pretty much an industrial wasteland back then; they had just begun to break ground when I left. Now, the whole area is completely unrecognizable: trendy restaurants, upscale wineries, fancy condominiums. It is nothing at all like the Vancouver I once knew. Look, they did a fantastic job turning a neglected, dilapidated area into a showcase-worthy waterfront. But it’s big and busy and more than a little overwhelming…and definitely geared toward people with disposable income. I’m not sure how to feel about that.
My grilled fish tacos were delicious though.
After a couple more stops, we finally arrived at Casa MarksParentals (okay, that’s a bit clunky). That’s when Tara texted me a few photos from the yard; those storms caused quite a bit of damage in southern Wisconsin, and our property was not immune.
Thankfully, the tree missed Tara’s garden beds (but barely). She says the fence is salvageable. We’ll just have to bust out the chainsaw when I’m back.
There have been multiple rounds of severe storms this whole week, actually. Major hail in Madison, flooding all over the southern part of the state. It’s been a real mess, which has me worrying about Tara and a little anxious to get back home.
The weather here has been typically Northwesterny. Cool and showery with the usual “sun breaks” (try explaining those to someone who has never lived in the PNW; you’ll get blank stares, as I did when talking about them to my coworkers).
I finally crashed hard Tuesday night after being up for nearly 23 hours. Wednesday morning I felt refreshed, so I headed into the Columbia River Gorge to revisit some of my favorite places.
If you ask me what I miss most about the PNW, the Columbia River Gorge is right at the top of that list. The sheer beauty alone is enough to stop your heart.
After hiking up and down Beacon Rock and then to Hardy Falls, I was pretty hungry. I continued onto Stevenson (where we once thought we’d live) and treated myself to a damn tasty lunch at Big River Grill.
Afterward, I made the trek back to my parents’ house. But did I kick up my feet and relax? Nope! I toiled away in the kitchen for hours, preparing chicken cacciatore, because it’s my daughter’s favorite dish and this is her birthday week. Nice as the Gorge is, seeing Audrey and Rusty again was the highlight of my day!
Today, we’re headed down to Springfield, Oregon to visit my brother and SIL. Staying overnight, then heading back on Friday. This is the halfway point of my trip, so I figured it would be a good place to catch y’all up. Lots more on the agenda still, so I’ll write again after I’m back home.
Mark My Words 
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