In the pandemic

Well, I don’t even know where to begin on this one. There’s a global pandemic, as I am sure you have heard. Each day is a soup of harsh realities mixed with laughter and making the best of things. It’s a lot of stringing silly ideas together and snacks. Never underestimate the morale-boosting power of snacks.

Life has hit a large speed bump. I was on a big-time roll when I got to Portland. I did The Moth again and it was a glorious taste of freedom. I told a story that was so touching to a couple in the audience that they both shook my hand. I was going dancing with Jenn and I had finally started shooting pool with a rather patient and kind teacher.

Now, home has become the workplace, the gym, the discotech, the restaurant, the bar. The biggest outings are going to the grocery store and walking around the neighborhood.

As a copy editor for a newspaper, I read about the pandemic for 40 hours a week. I have cried, I have prayed and I have done my best to be with the information that is impacting us all. It’s not easy. This is not an easy time at all.

This is a serious situation on all fronts. I have felt guilty in many moments because I am healthy and my primary responsibility in this time is to stay sane. Doesn’t seem like much when people are dying and others are alone and scared.

I’m taking each day as it comes. Each one is new and a place I have never been. This was true before the pandemic and it will be true after. I took for granted that there was ever any certainty in life. Things changed quickly and we were not ready. I was often in a rush and I have tried to rush through this experience as well. I don’t think the option to rush even exists anymore.

I have been writing a poem each day to document this time. I see the ups and downs in the stanzas. Some days are beautiful and bright and some days are pitch black.

Here’s a poem from March 31:

Quarantine poem 15.2

This whole thing is like when your car won't start.
The deafening silence when you turn the key and
N O T H I N G H A P P E N S.

The engine doesn't fire up.
You can't go anywhere.
When you intended to go somewhere.

The panic sets in.
Questions race through your mind.
But really there is just one.
How will I F I X T H I S?

You sweat and your pulse races
because maybe you can't this time.

What I can see from this point is that
if I keep going -- if we keep going -- we may not
fix it but we will T R A N S F O R M.

My unsolicited advice for getting through this time is to find something to create, walk outside for at least 30 minutes, eat your veggies and force yourself to have fun. This won’t fix anything but it will help you keep going. Sending you my love in perpetuity.

One big leap

What is there to share? What is the true thing that I have to say?

I left San Diego on Jan. 30 because my heart told me it was time to move on. It was time to feel what was next. I moved to Portland. Leaving San Diego was my final and biggest act of letting go in 2019.

I WISH San Diego had been the place for me. The home I dreamed of. It just wasn’t. After 13 years, I feel sure in this statement. When something is FOR me, I just know it. I know it in all of my being. No matter how I tried to transform myself inside of San Diego, there was always a mismatch. A longing inside me for somewhere else that matched me.

Over the past couple of years, there has been a growing unrest inside me. I criticized myself for it. I had an extremely comfortable life in San Diego. I had the perfect one-bedroom cottage in a hip neighborhood with parking and laundry inside my house. I lived two miles from work. And I had the best boss on any planet in any dimension or alternate universe. She is No. 1.

I had coworkers who make the world go ‘round. I had built loving and lasting friendships with people from many walks of life and of course at the end of every day I always had Buttercup.

I could go on listing all of the wonderful qualities of my old life – I was wearing shorts in January, folks. San Diego is paradise and there is no two ways about that.

However, it just wasn’t my paradise. I grew restless and bored. I wanted room to roam and nature at my fingertips.

I am a girl from the mountains. I am an Adirondack kid and I can’t ever shut up about that. I love talking about living in the woods and that our class trips were hiking and skiing expeditions. I love remembering all the funny things that we all did to get by in the mountains. Things that were commonplace to us, but are far outside the norm for city slickers.

I have been missing the mountains something fierce. I also realized that every time I visited Portland, I never wanted to go back home except to be with Buttercup.

Maybe I am telling this story all a little backwards but that’s quite alright. I don’t want to be caught in focusing on a narrative when the important matter is that the Universe has been sending me the signs of Portland for more than a decade.

I remember in 2004 my friend Sean describing Portland to me and it sounded like Utopia. I tucked that information in the back of my mind and set about my life. I never forgot his words and I can see in my mind the excitement on his face when he was describing the lush landscape of Oregon.

Then over the years people would say to me “you belong in Portland.” I started to relate to that as some distant dream because I had no idea how to extract myself from the comfort of San Diego. Why on earth would I do such a thing?

They (and by “they” I mean Oprah) say that a call from your soul starts out as a whisper then becomes a brick to your forehead the longer you ignore it. Well, on Dec. 27 the brick came and I could not say no. My dad asked me that if he and my mom gave me the first month of rent for Portland could I make the leap. There was no way to say no to that. The rent I would be paying would be to move in with my dear friend and constant adventure buddy Jenn.

So I said yes. And I was terrified to dismantle my life in one month. I got rid of 99 percent of my possessions. My mom flew out from Florida, we cleaned out my place, packed the car and drove 1,000 miles in two days. Buttercup was an angel and only had some meows from the backseat but other than that no complaints.

We arrived in Portland at about 2 p.m. on Jan. 31. Jenn welcomed me with hugs and laughter and a few days later it is starting to sink in what I have done.

A little Portland bathroom graffiti that I saw on Friday night. It reads: “Everything is working out best case scenario.” I know this is true. Photo by Ranger Holly.

It is no small thing to uproot yourself in obedience to a call in your heart. It is an intangible thing. I have no physical documentation to prove that I am supposed to do this. I have nothing but a zillion little clues that took me here. Inexplicable synchronicities that light my path ahead.

Here I am. In Portland. In some moments I am asking myself “WTF did I do?” In others, I have a smile cracked across my face because I know there is so much goodness to come this year. I also know that I am the dreamer of the dream and I create my life. I say how it goes and I declare that this is going to be remarkable. This is a chapter that will be full of love, adventure and overwhelming joy.

I am beyond grateful.

End note: I am sure there are more words to come on this subject. I am still settling into this new world. I miss my San Diego people so much. I am also so grateful for a soft place to land in Portland. I couldn’t have done this without Jenn.

Bury me in sequins

It took awhile for these words to come together. I started writing the story of Maureen nearly a year ago. I purchased this shirt on a whim. I had no idea it would be kicking off 12 months of my life where I would be destroying all the subconscious mental and emotional things that were not working for me. A year ago, I would not have thought there was much to work through. Therein lies the beauty of discovery and experimentation. 

I look back on myself a year ago and think of how sweet and naive I was on this day. The day that I met who I call Maureen, an alter-ego in an article of clothing. What a twisted, glorious ride it has been. Every superhero has an origin story, this is hers.

365 days ago

On Saturday, Sept. 8, I arrived in Portland for a weekend with Jenn. We went to breakfast at Beeswing, then thrift shopping at Artifact on Division. 

I’ve written about my dear friend, Jenn, before. For two gals who have spent most of their relationship living thousands of miles apart, we have had numerous memorable adventures together.

There is an indescribable magic in being with this woman. We’ve gone from the East Coast to the West Coast and at this time last year, she had been joking about that meme that says, “We’ve been friends so long, I am not sure who the bad influence is.” That’s us now.

Inside Artifact, the first item that I put my hand on was a vintage top made completely of large black sequins and delicate beadwork. I grabbed it off the rack and just to be funny, I held it up and asked Jenn, “Should I get this?”

“Yes!” she said.

“Ok, but where would I wear it?”

“You can wear it out tonight,” Jenn said.

And she was just so confident about her statement that I decided to try it on. Thinking it would not fit at all.

I went to the dressing room and of course it fit perfectly. As if Oleg Cassini had stitched it for me himself. I was still not convinced that I should buy this $24 sequined top. So I did what I always do when I am undecided about a clothing item: I walk around the store with it to get acquainted and try to imagine my life if I purchase it. Maybe it’s not that serious but I try not to purchase things I’m not going to wear and I had brought a very tiny suitcase to Portland.

In the dressing room at Artifact the day we met.

As I perused the store, I found a couple other items and tried them on and the top again. I took a few dressing room selfies, sent one to my friends in San Diego and asked them if I should buy the top. This is how purchase decisions are made in modern times. 

A few affirmative text messages later, I strolled up to the register at the front of the store to purchase the shirt. 

“Oh, this is interesting. Where are you going to wear this?” the cashier asked me.

Even in PORTLAND — where the motto is “Keep Portland Weird” — the cashier was questioning my wardrobe choice. I didn’t think someone in Portland would think anything of this.

Feigning confidence I replied, “Anywhere! Everywhere! Like Dolly Parton, I am going to be working it 9 to 5.” (Truer words were never spoken, because I wear this top as often as possible.)

Jenn and I left the store and as we walked down Division, I was convinced I had just wasted $24 of my hard-earned dollars on this item.

That night we had plans to go out with our friend Sarah to take in all that the Portland nightlife had to offer us.

Our evening started around 7 p.m. with dinner at Jenn’s house. I was sitting at the kitchen table decked out in my sequins and regaling my married counterparts with my recent ill-fated dating experiences. 

“Let’s see what kind of men I can fetch in this shirt,” I said, feeling rather plucky.

Then in one of my favorite moments of this evening, Sarah asked, “What time will we get back? Like do you think we will be home before 2 a.m.?” 

Jenn and I exchanged a glance that said, “No way will we be home before 2 a.m.” I don’t remember exactly what we responded, but it amounted to a bunch of vague mumbling that Sarah generously accepted.

We set out in an Uber and I made stupid jokes from the backseat for 20 minutes as I often do. The three of us decided that the woman who had owned the sequined shirt before me was a bawdy dame named Maureen who had retired to Miami. She took no prisoners and had no qualms at the end of her life. Maureen had done it right and left it all on the cutting room floor. That woman left a legacy that I was now wearing.

Our first stop on this tour was a wine bar where we did have a great bottle of wine, but it was so subdued, I thought it must be too early for the denizens of Portland to be out. I was dressed to meet people and so I cast my vote to move along. 

We did, and we went to Revolution Hall. Very cute, very trendy and yet again… subdued. Which is my polite way of saying that there were like five people in flannel shirts there and the bartender who I do not recall as being overly chatty. Or chatty at all.

We decided to mosey along again. This time to Roadside Attraction. The eclectic portal to another dimension that is disguised as a Florida yard sale inside a Chinese restaurant on a pirate ship.

Remember, I was dressed to fetch men, and here we were at yet another establishment with nary a person in sight. I set about entertaining myself with Jenn by queuing up several Johnny Cash songs on the jukebox.

However, the jukebox was free and some jackass had clogged it with about a million Black Sabbath songs. Don’t get me wrong, Ozzy Osbourne has a time and a place, but to me the time was not 12 a.m. on Saturday night while I was wearing sequins. It just wasn’t.

I was annoyed by the lack of tomfoolery I was looking for and was about to convince everyone to give up. In fact, I have a text message that I sent to Jenn around this time that says, “Let’s get out of here.” I don’t know where I sent it to her from, maybe the bathroom? But just as I had sat myself back down at the bar cursing this city devoid of men to fetch, “Folsom Prison Blues” finally came over the speakers.

I turned to Jenn with glee and decided we could at least stay a little longer. The next moment, I saw someone leaning over the jukebox and either Maureen or I yelled, “Don’t touch the jukebox!” Super classy.

The man looking at the jukebox claimed he merely wanted to look at the CD that was playing because he had never heard the Johnny Cash version of the song before. I was disgusted by this. But in this alternate universe in the middle of Portland, I befriended this person and convinced him to hop on our proverbial Midnight Express as we took off for not one, but two more bars. None of which had people in them. 

In a way, I did temporarily fetch a man with those sequins, kind of like a fishing lure. And after laughing and rollicking our way around the city, we finally landed back at Jenn’s house around 3:30 a.m. (Sorry, Sarah.) Concluding the first of many chapters with Maureen.

If you’re a keen observer, you will know that I wore this sequined shirt when I did the Moth this summer!

The Moth

“It's actually Horvath, but having your Polish last name properly pronounced is, you know, kind of low on the list of priorities.” Season 5, Episode 10 of Girls. Hannah does The Moth.

When I watched Hannah Horvath tell a story at The Moth in Season 5, Episode 10 of Girls, I knew I wanted to do it, too.

I am a theater kid at heart and I took the stage many times in high school and I loved it. My favorite performances were the ones where I wrote and performed in the stories. There was a one-act play that I wrote about what goes on in the teacher’s lounge. As well as a monologue that I wrote about a feminist who refused to shave her underarms and had taken over the PA system at the local Walmart.

Last December, I went to a curated evening of Moth stories with Jenn in Portland. The performers were moving, funny and inspiring. That night I set my goal for 2019 to take the stage.

I wasn’t sure which stage I would take or when. I did know that I wanted Jenn to be there and I wanted it to be a Moth StorySlam. I set my intention and sent it off into the Universe.

In March, Jenn texted me asking if I would want to come to Portland the first weekend of June to see her favorite band Rainbow Kitten Surprise play two nights. Yes, absolutely. I got the time off work and then had the idea to check the Moth schedule in Portland. Bingo! June 3 at The Secret Society.

I started practicing my story and organizing my thoughts and story arc and making sure it fit the night’s theme of “chemistry.” I was having a bit of a hard time deciding on the ending but I was confident that it would come to me.

One of the reasons that I wanted to do this is because the people I adore most in my life have been the ones who tell stories that have me hanging on every word. When I was a kid, my Uncle Ralph would tell stories at our dining room table or around the fire at his camp in Bloomingdale and I was enthralled. It was the way he lived the joy of his stories and laughed deeply from his soul and I could feel what he was feeling as his stories played out.

I also have a theory that some of the best storytellers are from Kentucky. My dear friend and Kentucky native, Dan, tells the most phenomenal stories. We used to work together and I would do anything to bait him into talking to me and telling me a story.

Then there is Penny. My fauxom and as I call her “the arbiter of lost souls.” She’s also from Kentucky and reminds me of Uncle Ralph and Dan combined. She will tell these wild stories and be laughing so hard that tears are streaming from her eyes.

These three people are my storytelling idols. For a long time I have wanted to be like them and make people feel how they make me feel when I listen to their stories: alive and inspired to go out and live more adventures.

On June 3, Jenn and I went hiking and I was nervous. I was rolling my story around in my mind but more so I was nervous about the prospect of not being selected to go on stage. The Moth is done by lottery and there are only 10 spots, so there is no guarantee you will be chosen. And I was still wondering how would I end my story. What would be the thing that wraps it all up? After two months of working on this story, I was still not sure.

We got to the venue that evening and stood in line waiting to get in. I was so excited that I signed the registration paper without reading any of the fine print. I peppered the man registering people with questions and then I went to talk to my friend Dale and settle my nerves.

Then it was show time. The first half of the evening had five storytellers. None of them were me and I was just sitting there trying to be present with them but also praying that each name drawn from the plastic jack-o’-lantern would be mine.

At intermission, I looked at Jenn and said, “I have to give up or this will never happen.” This is the secret to manifesting what you want: give up.

Intermission ended and the MC drew a paper from the pumpkin and read, “Holly.... (insert LONG PAUSE where I know it’s me because my last name is often mispronounced).” He mispronounced my Polish last name and I stood up laughing to myself remembering that episode of Girls.

I took the stage and looked out into the audience and I felt like I was home. The stage lights were on and I could see Jenn and my friends in the second row and it was go time. I had the audience laughing about my life experiences and the comedic characters I had met one night in Downtown San Diego.

So pleased with myself in my vintage sequins. Photo by Jenn.

Now, I’m not going to tell the full story here, that’s for me and my closest 200 friends in Portland to share. However, I will say that my favorite part of the story became the ending that I had figured out just a couple hours beforehand.

What I will tell you is this: At the end of my story I told them that I asked for a sign from the Universe that someone I care about is safe. And when I told them the sign that the Universe sent me just five minutes after I asked, the gasps and reaction was audible and I knew I had told a story that had them hanging on my every word.

There’s so much more I want to say about this event but I am still sorting through it myself. I am so proud of myself for accomplishing this major goal of mine. And for telling the Universe that this is what I want to be doing. I want to be onstage telling funny, heart-felt stories to my closest friends and bring us all back together around the proverbial campfire.

As I was writing this post, I realized that my Uncle Ralph died on June 1, 2003. It was June 3 that I was onstage telling my story and sharing the gift that he gave me so many times. Thank you, Uncle Ralph for getting me on that stage.

PDX: A love story

Last weekend, I was in Portland with my best friend from college, Jenn (she’s an amazing independent book editor), and we had the best time, as we always do in every city we go to.

Our love affair with Portland began in July 2014, when my friend and her husband were visiting the city to see if they wanted to move there. I joined them and we got an adorable Airbnb in Hawthorne District. Hawthorne remains one of our favorite neighborhoods. We always hit the thrift stores as soon as I get in.

Since I have been home in San Diego, I have been wondering if I would I love Portland so much if it weren’t for Jenn? I have never been there without her and as I started to think about it, I realized some of my favorite cities are the ones I have experienced with her: Ft. Lauderdale, Key West, San Francisco, San Diego, Portland.

Jenn is that friend who is always up for adventure. She’s always up for seeing where the night goes and is ready to adjust the sails when we need to. She’s a fantastic trip planner and navigator. She’s the one who takes ideas and makes them better.

We’ve been friends since we sat next to each other in news writing at University of Central Florida and I’m pretty sure we’re going to be doing the Golden Girls thing in Miami later on in life.  

Our weekend went a little something like this:

Saturday

• We had breakfast on Hawthorne at The Hazel Room. Great food and all the alt-milks your heart desires.

• We always go thrifting at Crossroads. I’ve scored something amazing every time we’ve gone in this store.

• We stopped into the boutique Sloan to look but not buy.

• Then we got manicures at a place I will not name because I do not recommend.

• We had pre-concert dinner and drinks at Tope. This place is a modern minimalist’s haven. The rooftop patio is the thing that dreams are made of.

• Rainbow Kitten Surprise concert at the Roseland Theater. This venue is fantastic and the band was even better! An amazing show and the impetus for this trip with my BFF.

• Post-show drinks at the Elvis Room. It is completely unclear to me why this place is called the Elvis Room. Sorry to be dense. Kitschy and gorgeous nonetheless.

• We stood in an epic Disneyland-style line at Sizzle Pie for approximately 30 minutes. Then inhaled our slices. Worth the wait and the people watching was entertaining. We saw a Prince Harry lookalike!

Sunday

• Lunch with my friend, former San Diegan and amazing artist Anisa at Produce Row. Her art is popping up all over Portland, so keep your eyes peeled!

• When Jenn and I are together, ice cream is a must. We hit up Salt & Straw and had some of their summer Camping Series flavors.

• We stopped into Artifact to peruse vintage finds. This store provided me one of my favorite articles of clothing back in September. It’s a vintage black sequin shirt. Once owned by a woman named Maureen (I made up that last part, but it seems accurate).

• Casual Sunday Beer ™ at Assembly Brewing. My favorite summer ritual is getting a Casual Sunday Beer (CSB) with friends. A CSB is an afternoon drink on a patio where you genuflect in the sun and appreciate how amazing life is. We also got some of their Detroit-style pizza. BONUS - a nice (read: questionable) man in a dirty tank top performed a poem for us. Beautiful.

• We got a drink at Scotch Lodge before we went to see Rainbow Kitten Surprise for their second show.

• I had a late-night sushi craving after the show, so we hit up Saucebox. We didn’t get any sushi because it was too late but we got some food to keep us going.

• Then we went to Roadside Attraction. This place is one of the weirdest dive bars I have ever been in. The decor is ripped from an old Chinese restaurant, a pirate ship and a flea market in Florida. It’s surreal and amazing and I’m pretty certain it is a portal to another dimension.

The flowers along the trail were so beautiful! Photo by Ranger Holly.

Monday

Jenn’s dog Piper was leading us on the trail. She’s the cutest and best leader of the pack. Photo by Ranger Holly.

• When in Portland, one must go hiking. We hit up Multnomah Falls, which though touristy and popular is a hike that requires proper footwear. Just, FYI, don’t be one of those people in flip-flops huffing and puffing up a steep incline.

• After the hike we had lunch and more ice cream at Sugar Pine Drive-in. So good!

• Then, this was the biggest thing for me -- we went to The Moth at The Secret Society. The Moth is a live storytelling event and in December I made up my mind that this year I would get onstage and tell a story at The Moth. AND I DID IT! I was the sixth person called to the stage and it was exhilarating and fun and I loved making a room of about 200 people laugh. I’m going to do a full post about this because it’s that important to me.

• After The Moth, our crew went to Victoria Bar. Another of Portland’s modern minimalist bar/restaurants. I got come celebratory mac and cheese.

Tuesday

This was our last morning together and we had breakfast at Bella’s Italian Bakery and then Jenn dropped me off at the airport.

It took me a full four days to finally unpack and put my luggage away. That’s actually kind of quick by my standards. At any rate, I had a blast in Portland as always and writing this up shows me why I have been so tired this week. Jenn and I always pack it in when we’re adventuring together!