I live near a freeway, and hear the constant hum. Rain adds a white noise effect. Today was different. The freeway was quiet, as was my neighborhood. It must be the first true day of fall.
While Portland isn’t a *big* city by big city standards, it qualifies for those of us who came from rural towns of 1,200. Over time I’ve gotten used to stepping outside and seeing other humans wandering around, no matter what the time of day. I was raised in Sandy, Oregon, where the most disruptive thing one would hear at 6 AM on a Sunday morning are cows coughing. (Or fornicating. Both can be spooky, until you figure out what those sounds are.) In the big city, trying to identify every sound will drive you crazy.
With the Portland Marathon happening, I was less than enthused about going downtown today. Sunday bus service, spotty per usual, is thrown into turmoil when marathons and parades happen. The streets are overrun (pardon the pun) with strangers who don’t understand. Downtown needs to be quiet on Sunday.
So instead of pilgrimaging to the heart of the city, I stayed in. I watched football. I watched the baseball playoffs, but have lost enthusiasm after my Cubbies were swept in the first round. On the upside, I won’t be bitching about missing the World Series; the best games usually happen when I’m at work.
Now, as the Red Sox head into extra innings, I wish they’d hurry up. I want to go back to listening to just the raindrops and the occasional dog barfing. (Er, barking. Sorry, couldn’t resist sharing that typo.) Soon traffic will resume, the garbage trucks come around, and the school kids migrate back to class.
The nap is over. Happy Monday everyone!
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Sandy?
Did you by chance go to high school with Olympic Gold Medalist Bill-ballstothewall-Johnson?
Nah, Bill Johnson was a bit younger than me, I think. I was a seventh grade drop-out that ended up in alternative school. Apologies for bragging, but I had a GED and was attending PCC before my contemporaries were done with their junior year.
I *did* go to grade school with a skinny kid named Farron Barr, whose dad was a referee on Portland Wrestling. Farron changed his name to Jesse, and the last time I saw him he was no scrawny kid! Sandy Barr did all right for himself, RIP. Last time I saw Jesse, he still remembered me.
You were friends with the offspring of the late, great Sandy Barr?
That’s awesome.
Maybe you should do a post about brushes with old PDX Wrestling greats. Jimmy Snooka’s wife used to babysit my best friend when she was little.
Back on topic…
when I lived on the North side near I-5 I’d convince myself that the whoosh of the late night traffic sounded just like the ocean.
That’s a great idea. There are still a few of the old time Portland Wrestling gang around. A lot of them have passed on. Kangaroo Jonny Boyd, Stan Stasiak, Lonnie Mayne.
I see Billy Two Eagles around town. He’d be a fun interview, if you catch him in the right mood.
Any of the old Portland Wrestling gang reading this? Drop me a comment and I’ll find you. A lot of us old-timers feel that was the only *true* professional wrestling!
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