I was still 17 when I moved to Portland at the beginning of 1995 to live with a boyfriend who was going to college here. I was a jaded youth but still young and simple enough to be impressed by the fact that I was living in a city as opposed to a suburb or out in some far flung corner of the country. I was awed and amazed by my own strength at taking this big adventure. Less than 2 years later I realized that it was Portland I was in love with much more than the man I shared a tiny 1 bedroom apartment with on the corner of NW 21st and Flanders. Leaving him was one of the smartest moves I could have made and at 19, it gave me a fresh chance to find my own way in the world, and more importantly at the time, in the city I call home.
In the 14 years that have passed I’ve grown up while Portland changed around me. I went from that amazed 17 year old girl from a suburb of San Francisco to the city dwelling woman I am today. I still remember cheapish rent in NW Portland and the smell of brewing beer downtown. So much has changed in this city since that time. I still freak out looking at the Pearl District and thinking what it used to be.
Yesterday I found something that hasn’t changed one bit. On our way home from a Fathers Day outing we stopped by Powell’s. Since it was a weekend, naturally the streets were crowded and parking wasn’t to be had within 10 blocks. It occurred to me that I hadn’t ever known my husband to park in the Powell’s parking garage. I suggested it to Mike, a Portland native, and he gave me an absurd sideways glance.
In all his time in the city he’d never parked in their parking garage. He asked a couple of questions and then I directed him to the entrance to the garage. When we pulled up to the little entrance I suddenly remembered the last time I’d been in the parking lot. I was 18 and my boyfriend had a little old white diesel Rabbit. The clutch had a tendency to stick and he had such a hard time making it up the steep incline on the way in (and not rolling out of control on the way out) that we never parked there again. I remembered laughing the entire way down and putting my arms up in the air like I was on a roller coaster.
Yesterday on our way out of the parking garage, after surrendering our keys, getting our ticket, buying out books, getting our parking validated and then getting our keys back, we climbed the several flights of stairs to the top of the parking garage and I realized that we were parked in space 36. The same space the little old white diesel Rabbit had been in so many years ago. When we went down the steep decline on our way out my daughter and I both squealed WHEEE while my husband laughed at our giggles of excitement.
In a city that changes so much so quickly, it’s interesting to see what stays the same.
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Great memories. Thanks! I remember always parking there because you could for free for so long. Ahh, Powell’s.
Are you talking about that hideous Powell’s garage with the steep upward incline going in, and the equally steep downward incline coming out? Yes, I’ve parked there, and a long time ago vowed *never* again!
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