An Unmarried Woman

April 26^th, 2010

Some people are avoiding air travel these days.  I don’t have that luxury, nor would I consider it if I did.  The sticky wicket for many:  logging more ground time than moments up in the air.

Growing up overseas meant LONG flights, such as Sydney to LA.  As a young working professional for Mapco,  I racked up travel hours well into five digits.  Now I spend at least two working days a month computing between Tulsa and Portland.  That doesn’t count the time to pack and unpack, to get to the airport and from the airport and to stand in line(s).  A puzzling piece of glass art in my carry-on tote this trip kept me at PDX security an extra 10 minutes.

“Why do you fly UPS?!” a colleague teased me in a text message he sent last month while I was in transit.  He was  indirectly marveling that I was traveling at roughly the warp speed of 100 MPH between cities.

And no, I don’t travel UPS.  Despite over two million miles with American (according to my Advantage account), I normally respond well to the cattle call of Southwest.  And “luv” them I do for on-time delivery, even if the comedic antics of the flight attendants get to be a bit much when replayed upon each take off of a multi-stop flight.

A Gallup Poll trainer I met last year shared the skinny on why SW can be on time: financial incentives for employees.  According to him,  SW pilots are rewarded for on-time arrivals and fuel economies.  Ever been on a plane that arrived early at the gate only to be held captive waiting for the ground crew to hook up the jet way? Apparently this is uncommon with  SW.  The minute the jet way is connected to the plane the crew can cut to half power – not before – thereby saving fuel. Consequently,  SW captains make sure the ground crew is prepared when tail winds prevail.

Another important variable in the time equation is layover time in your connecting city.  When booking today’s PDX-TUL route, 20 minutes in DFW seemed ideal, except for someone who checks luggage.  I sucked it up and booked a later DFW-TUL flight to improve the chances of all three of us  (myself and my two 50# travel companions traveling steerage) arrived in Tulsa together. As I write this I am somewhere over the Rockies.  I’ll report back later on the success of my logic.

What doesn’t seem to matter is what city I change plans journeying between Portland and Tulsa.  Regardless of whether it is Dallas, Houston, Phoenix, St Louis, Albuquerque, Las Vegas, Denver, Kansas City or St Louis, the end result is the same.  When I study the map of the lower 48 in the back of the airline magazine, the straight distance I trace between my two cities appears to be PDX-DEN-TUL.  Had I gone through Denver on my last epic adventure I would have had time to learn to snow board.  As it was, I spent the day in DFW.

If you find yourself in this position, my best advise is to concentrate on the journey and not the destination.  Regardless of which gate you land at, hop the train to Terminal D.  It is newer, lighter, and more airy.  You might meander through the stain glass labyrinth, price your perfume in the duty-free shop… but eventually make your way to the exit.   Save dining on a cheeseburger for a time you can fulfill your carving with one from Goldie’s, Lucky’s in Tulsa or Blue Hour in Portland.  Get away from the crowds and head to the dining room in the Grand Hyatt for a respite!  If you hear an automated voice upon reading the words “Grand Hyatt,” you’ve been on the DFW train a time or two.  “Now leaving for D gates and the Grand Hyatt.”

After passing the security checkpoints, stop.  Look up and you’ll enjoy whimsical art. Suspended from the ceiling.  (Seeing my upward gaze prompted a fast walking flight attendant to stop and look skyward.  Her expression seemed to say, “Well, what do you know?!”).

Yes, with a little effort, a dreaded, long layover in DFW can refresh your spirit with art, exercise and good food.

And if you are ever delayed in Portland International Airport, don’t despair.  Though I haven’t a clue why PDX edged ahead to win the “Best Airport” moniker I think contributing factors must have been the live music, on-site spa, shopping that attracts even non-travelers from the city and burbs (really) and the two-way toilet flush mechanisms.  And did I mention no sales tax?

If you still are not sold on finding the up side to airport exploration, think back to the Valentine’s Day article published in Tulsa World.  Some travelers have found love down on the ground, across the crowded space of a bustling air terminal.

Bon Voyage!

Trix

I am in serious trouble.

It is approaching midnight in Portland.  Aside from a few dog walks and 15-minutes each for  lunch and dinner at nontraditional hours of the day, I’ve been at my computer with an iPhone ear bud in my right ear -ALL DAY. The skin on my face feels warm from the bright glare of the screen.  And I have another long night ahead after ending yesterday’s efforts somewhere close to three this morning.

I am woman hear me whine!

Clearly I’m not practicing good time management skills.  I am being too chatty, too social with client vendors and business colleagues.  And  thanks to facebook, I am in touch with people who otherwise would have been part of my past, people who are part of my present and people I am just getting to know who are sure to be pivotal in my future.  Social networks and technology may be the death of me but most days I cannot get enough of it.

Which would you rather say at the end of a day:  my files are pristine, my desk is neat or I yakked with a ton of interesting people today, creating some good will for my clients and it never seemed like work plus I reminded a handful of personal friends I was thinking of them?  Stopping to smell the roses is good advise.  Making the time to listen ranks right up there with it.

Enjoy the small talk!

xo, Trix

Here are some fun things I found in my net travels today:

http://www.pcpa.com Wonderful art event page.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sGkz2qCkMZ4&feature=related

A song video sure to make you smile.

http://www.bookdaily.com/book/683650 A funny read by a talented, talented Broadway star.

April 19th, 2010

I have always intended to broach the subject of online dating services. I was going to round up the statistics, read accounts and opinions online and conduct interviews with those I knew to have had success with eHarmony and match.com.  Then one night a web banner ad caught my eye.

“It’s okay to look,” it beckoned ever so innocently.

Ha! I hope the ad copy person who thunk that one up made a mint.  I muttered out loud, “it’s okay, it’s okay” like a mantra as I clicked and clicked and clicked again.

My iPhone buzzed.  “Walk the Whippets in five?” queried my neighbor Kim.  “Give me 10,” I replied as I zipped through application questions.  For a marketing professional I won’t pretend I did my best work throwing together my own profile but I posted my facebook self-portrait, some basics and dashed for the elevator.

“GUESS what I did?” I told Kim as soon as our three Whippets finished their usual high-energy, over-the-top enthusiastic greeting for each other.  I don’t remember much about our following conversation.  I wanted to get home and look – again!

Ball caps, bikes and beards.  That’s how I’d sum up what I found.   “Of course.  That’s Portland,” a friend told me.  “Hmmm… Tulsa, too,” I answered.

I began to learn the vernacular and considered posting a comment that “winks” weren’t really welcome.  How does a girl my age respond to a wink from someone in North Caroline, Ohio, Minnesota, New Mexico, Tennessee, Florida … when she lives in Portland, Oregon? “Flirt back right away with a wink, or even better, an intriguing email. He picked you out of millions,” match.com urged.

I wasn’t buying it. I hit the delete button as swiftly as I did late one night last July when I changed my facebook relationship status and Jake popped up immediately asking, “Single?”

At the time, economics, logistics and a long-term, deep connection kept Joel and I from acting impulsively but in June we had turned the first corner, or two or three.  As I sat at my desk responding to emails I pondered my profile details. I didn’t feel “married.” The facebook relationship options were limiting.  “single” wasn’t accurate.   “It’s complicated” promised to invite too many questions and “divorced” would take some time.  Why wasn’t “separating” an option, as it is on match.com?

As I waded through match.com messages initially, I experienced the gambit of emotions: dread, fear, hopelessness, interest, and compassion.  Whatever their level of honesty or motivation, on my computer screen were the faces and messages of men seeking relationships, risking rejection but taking a chance.  As days passed I found it bit easier to delete the fellows with 3 cats, 5 kids at home, 50 extra pounds, four-digit incomes and no common interests but I bought into the process.  In a week over 700 chaps had viewed my profile.  I’ve asked the question before:  “It’s a big world out there.  When it comes to something as important as finding a life partner do you limit yourself to the haystack in your backyard?”

I had beginner’s luck.  The first person I wrote back to was Buz.  A sane voice with sage advice and a great sense of humor.  We arranged to have lunch at a restaurant in South Waterfront.  I texted Joel with my plan and timetable, caught a cab and spent a delightful afternoon getting to know a new friend in Portland.  I had planned to take a cab home (good advise) but didn’t.  Please don’t tell my mom; I’ll never hear the end of it.

Buz brought to my attention the challenge my two-city schedule created for anyone interested in me.  I also hadn’t given much thought to my in-transit status: separated but not officially divorced.  When a friend suggested eHarmony was a better choice I spent some time completing their questionnaire.  It was indeed a more impressive approach than that of match.com but they rejected me! Their message was crystal clear.  eHarmony is in the business of match making, claiming credit for 2% of marriages in the United States.  When I become officially available, it will be okay to look at their membership rolls.  Not before.

Expand your horizons, Trix

Visit these sites:

http://www.eharmony.com

http://www.match.com

http://chemistry.com

Consider this:

Online Dating Magazine estimates more than 20 million people visit at least one online dating service a month (2007) and that more than 120,000 marriages a year result from online dating (2007).

April 15th, 2010

For the very reason some couples are madly enjoying being married (Nancy Hermann you know I mean you and Bill), others of us have our best shot at another chapter of bliss.

We are the tail end of the boomers. Our children have flown the coup.  We are fifty something and fit, perhaps less flush than we might have been two years ago but confident, comfortable and able to still grab life by the tail.

If you are in a relationship – great. If you aren’t – great, but don’t get lazy. Take a proactive role in finding happiness if a relationship is what you seek, as I do.  I view life has something meant to be shared.   Furthermore, the way I see it Marcello Angelini, artistic director of Tulsa Ballet, is auditioning over 1000 dancers to fill a few positions for the company’s 2010-11 season.  In looking for your Prince Charming (Princess, if you are a male reader) are you going to wait for friend Sally to call and suggest a pot roast dinner  to meet her brother’s squash partner, Delbert??

Sidebar:  “Delbert” was the term a high school art teacher who looked like Barbara Streisand used interchangeably with jerk, nut… basically a dufus.  Very clever lady.  Not only did she give me an A (for effort) but she also shared a fabulous relationship story.  She dated a fellow in the early 1970’s who had difficulty popping the question, aka committing.  What did Barbara do (yes, that was really her name AND yes, her last name started with a S)?  She began sending herself flowers and acting surprised when they arrived. “Oh, I cannot believe he sent me flowers.  We only met for lunch once,” and so on. Her Delbert got nervous about losing her to competition and proposed!  “Best $100 I ever spent,” she said with the sliest of smiles.

So today I confided to my very wise, caring Greek friend Voula that I had joined match.com.  Was it fitting perhaps that the restaurant we met at was called Veritable Quandary?! More about the online dating experience in “Beards, Ballcaps and Bikes.”

Sweet dreams, Trix

April 12, 2010

My last scavenger hunt was 40 years ago. Somehow I rigged the assignment process to ensure my partner was sixth grader Paul Egers.  He was a tall, blonde Dutch boy.   We were as much an item as two can be at 11 and 12 years old.

We lived in Sungei Gerong on the Indonesian island of Sumatra.  Our quaint ex-pat compound had no restaurants, no TV, no shops.  We entertained ourselves in much the same way as our parents, filling hours sharing meals (getting paid to eat frog legs), playing games (remember Twister, multiple solitaire?), listening to music (I swooned over Davy Jones and the Monkeys), reading books (below, above and at our grade level), bargaining with toucans (peddlers), swimming and drifting around the camp on foot or bicycle during the cooler hours of the day.  The Musi River separated us from villages, like Palembang, to the west.  The Stanvac refinery delineated residential blocks from work areas and the jungle stretched out beyond fence borders to the east and north.  Days were simple but full.

I fell back on that kind of resourcefulness Monday night last week in Tulsa and decided to make the evening with a friend a bit of a “culinary” scavenger hunt. We were hunting for something new, something familiar, good service, tasty food, good value…NOT frog legs.

Yelp suggested Tei Kei’s on Utica Avenue for happy hour.  We arrived at six o’clock and were offered our choice of almost any table in the exquisite, multi-million dollar Asian-inspired building.  My companion mumbled something about a not-so-recent food poisoning story that seemed blown out of portion.  I chalked it up to many food establishments hitting a bit of a lull between Easter Sunday and tax day, something I learned representing Polo Grill Restaurant in the 1990’s . “Happy hour prices ended at 6:00,” our waitress declared.  It was 6:05.  We ordered wine, deciding to save our appetites for the next stop.

We pointed the car north toward Trula in the recently reopened Mayo Hotel,   a Tulsa icon that fell to rack and ruin for over 20 years.  In September it opened as a mixed-use downtown destination after $40 million in renovations.  Part hotel, part residential, the stately building at 5^th and Cheyenne Avenue hosts a restaurant, Topeca coffee bar, the historic Crystal Ballroom and a new rooftop bar, dining room and outdoor terrace.

The last day the hotel was open in the early 1980’s my parents treated my sister, her family and me to Sunday champagne brunch.  Stepping inside the lobby this week was almost like falling into a rabbit hole.  I could remember that January afternoon as clearly as brunch at Philbrook this past Sunday.  A small group was camped out in the bar, looking happy, but we shared the restaurant with only one other couple. Nonetheless, a waitress who lived nearby assured us, “Things are happening down here.”  The formula for rejuvenating a city’s core is the same town to town.   The risk taker, the visionary, the optimist establishs the order in which it all comes together – residents, retail, entertainment.  Thursday was proof of that when the new Driller stadium opened for its inaugural game to a sold out audience.  Cains Ballroom co-owner Alice Rodgers excitedly captured the community enthusiasm with the tone of her post on facebook, which read, “25,000 people were milling around downtown last night!”

After a salad course (the fried green tomatoes were both visually appealing and filling) we were off to the Chalkboard, an uptown boutique hotel restaurant developer Paul Coury brought back into existence about 11 years ago by enticing John Phillips to return to Tulsa .  Somehow fate smiled on both the Mayo Hotel and the Ambassador Hotel and spared both from the wrecking ball when floods, fires and rodents did their damnedest to accelerate the affects of years of neglect.

At the Chalkboard Restaurant we found fellow diners and many familiar faces.  Three generations of a local family toasted a grandfather’s birthday, couples leaned close, and businessmen plotted and planed, paged through text messages and the like.

For a night cap we traveled slightly south to Vintage 1840, a wine bar on Boston Avenue  for the home-like comfort of an overstuffed antique sofa and nostalgic, recorded music.  From there we followed the allure of live music across the street to Mercury Lounge where the crowd was friendly, the musicians engaging.

As we found on Monday,  life is a banquet.  Sample as much of what your city has to offer as you can and tell me what you find.  Maybe get a group together and each pick a destination.  VooDoo Doughnuts is on my list this week and I anticipate LOTS to share with you about that Portland icon!

Bon appetite and happy hunting, Trix

Check these out:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mayo_Hotel

http://www.themayohotel.com/

http://www.hotelambassador-tulsa.com/

Home Page

3.31.2010

I’m wondering  about my girlfriends. As I write, playing on iTunes is Perfectly Lonely by John Mayer (a recent gift from a separated woman). Today I got an email photo collage of “divorce cakes” from an engaged friend (who has gone through a divorce and very much deserves the happiness she’s found) and later a joke email about a neglected, sad woman and her husband in therapy.  Like the music and the first email, the joke got me to smile.  Actually all three provided pretty good laughs.  I can count on girlfriends to generously dole out hugs and laughs.

The icing on the cake was in the mail today:  a photo of Joel and me at a Portland fundraiser last month. It was probably the best photo we’ve taken in years. That’s a good development director for you!

I’ve thought about standing at Union Station and screaming “THIS SUCKS” at the top of my lungs when a passing train would drown out my voice.  Figured it might spook the Whippets so I moved on.

I am good. You?

March 29th, 2010

You may have heard Portland is the city of roses, the most European of American cities, the most dog friendly, the greenest, home to the most polite drivers…

Portland is a city of hoods.

That may suggest the expected collection of quaint, unique neighborhoods (a reader recently wrote of reading Portland has 120’ish) or worse – a criminal element.

By hoods, I’m speaking of apparel.  I learned this as a Portland newbie in October 2008 when the rains came.   Umbrellas, as mine did last night leaving the theatre, dance around in the wind like kennels in a Jiffy Pop tin foil dome until inverted into a lovely, stainless steel stem tulip-looking sculpture.

Yesterday spring sunshine gave way to an uncharacteristic and noisy night-long-into-day speedy rain.  After twice pushing and pulling the Whippets out for walks I puddle hopped my way solo to Safeway for staples.  A hooded character slugging home ladened with grocery bags I imagined I did not resemble the dramatic cloaked image of Meryl Streep as the French Lieutenant’s Woman surrounded by grey mist and fog.

Before I learned to dismiss coats and jacket without hoods as frivolous, I first wore a black rain hat Joel purchased at Monique’s on NW 10th Avenue.  Dear friend and fellow Tulsa transplant, Wiley Parsons,  called it “jaunty.” I think my stylish solution only shouted, “I am new! I’ll get with the program.”

It was Wiley and I that thought gloves without finger tips were the solution for cold hands when walking dogs and needing agile digits to efficiently tie doggiedoit bags.  I quickly lost one and then the mate (in the summer I would switch to regularly losing sunglasses on dog walks).  The replacement ones Wiley and Joel proudly brought home from REI were nothing short of inspired and downright goofy.  A partial mitten-like enclosure dangled from the wrists to convert the fingerless gloves to well, mittens. Good idea, poor execution.  But back to hoods versus parasols, the key to it all is we are a walking population when not crowded on street cars and disembarking from cabs. Umbrellas are bothersome, cumbersome.

It really isn’t the rain one has to cope with here, it is the greyness.  Rains are usually mists and rarely accumulate to more than that of a Midwest city.  Long Termers know to get the hell out of town by February.  The rest of us count ourselves lucky when the day brings a sun shower.  My friend Ruth Otey told me sun showers mean “the devil is beating his wife.”

Ruth moved back to Texas this week.  I’ll miss her determination to make a life here for herself and her daughter in Portland.  Ruth made no secret of her passion for anything chocolate so I’d routinely save the chocolates Umpque Bank doles out with transactions to give her on Thursdays.  Last week we paused from our duties to sample Lovejoy Bakery chocolate croissants and coffee at the kitchen table.  I wept when we said our goodbyes.  I’ll always think of her when it rains on a sunny day. Those are the days that bring rainbows.

As always, Trix

March 28^th, 2010

If you are reading this, you have at least considered cheating. The kind of person that gives in and then truly enjoys the experience guilt free is my kinda person!  Life is short and self control, according to Switch authors Chip and Dan Heath, is an exhaustible resource.   Liberate yourself! Confess with a post on this blog wall (emailing me doesn’t count). “The last food craving I surrendered to was….”

I may have outgrown it but there have been a few late nights, often after a healthy dose of culture, when I have wanted and had a chili cheese omelette.  The addiction started nearly 30 years ago in the French Quarter restaurant the Coffee Pot (thanks Lisa and Chris).  Before that in college I was known for dunking Pepperidge Farm Nassau cookies in a tub of Cool Whip.  Disgusting?  Which story?  Got me beat? Prove it, I say!

The trigger for this self confession was my last indulgence.  Earlier this month, I was cruising down Memorial Drive in Tulsa.  That’s when it hit me:  the scent and then the idea of a hamburger!   South of the two miles known as “Auto Row,” the heavily traveled street is peppered with fast food establishments and retail.

Now back when he was dancing with Ballet West in Salt Lake City, Joel hit Wendy’s regularly for a double cheeseburger.  When we met, however, he was living a beefless life.   “I am  sure to sprout feathers and gills any minute,” I told my mother, commenting on our dinner menus after a few months.  Somewhere in the first year that changed. When I was pregnant we each had an emergency Burger Street cheeseburger in the freezer.  At the red light I texted Joel.  “Carving a hamburger.”

Typos are my trademark; Joel knew what I meant and accepted the assignment to find the ideal Portland burger for Wednesday night. By holding out 48 hours I was contributing to my knowledge of my new hometown, not just given in to a craving.

Speaking of research, many people may not know the shapely, dancer-looking author, publicist and NPR commentator Connie Cronley (Sometimes A Wheel Falls Off is a delicious read) has a hamburger named after her.  I suspect as many people don’t know the hamburger was invented in Tulsa, Oklahoma. It was! If Michael Wallis says it was (and the Dallas Morning News publishes it), who dares question his powerful, deep, entrancing voice that can only be the voice of authority?

Michael knows his stuff;  Athens, Texas can only lay claim to a “patty melt,” which is ground beef served between two pieces of bread.  Doesn’t count.  No bun, no burger.  Michael’s research revealed Oscar Weber Bilby was the first person to serve a real hamburger.  The date was July 4^th, 1891 – how American!  But wait; does this dethrone the hot dog?

When Wednesday found me back in Portland we took a cab across the Willamette River to… Burgerville.  Not the Tulsa legendary Weber’s in Brookside but a Portland icon, Joel assured me.  The Yukon Gold Fries were very tasty but my money’s still on the burger at Blue Hour.  And in Tulsa, it is hard to beat a Baxter’s Interurban Grill Theta Burger – my way, sans pickles.

Bon appetite!  Trix

www.burgerville.com www.webersoftulsa.com www.bluehouronline.com

Tidbit: In French literature, Blue Hour means any time of heightened emotions.

www.baxtersgrill.com

www.conniecronley.com/about.php

www.michaelwallis.com/

www.chrisbrogan.com/switch-a-book-review/

March 24th, 2010

What is on your nightstand, bedside table?

Reading wise.

The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo seems to top a lot of lists – sort of the way Noble House and The Thornbirds did in the early 1980’s and The Pelican Brief did in the early 1990’s.  Remember those fun reads?

There have been similar blockbusters since then.  Forget the NY Times list, just take a gander at what people are reading in airports and on planes.  Speaking of which, Kindles are taking off. Do you have one?  On a flight to Dallas I sat next to a free spirit, retired from overseeing the food service of the Pennsylvania prison system.  He liked reading on the (clothing optional) beaches of his Carribean island. Over a glass of wine in the DFW airport I learned from him Kindles are a challenge in bright light conditions.

Switch for me was an easy pick up at Powell’s Bookstore this week since change is inevitable in both professional and personal arenas.  I read Fast Company and I cannot sit still, inspired by so many people doing neat things.  Travel guides for Oregon and Washington also creep into my stack.  It is very easy to work, walk the Whippets and want for nothing living in the Pearl – mixed urban land use at its best, delivering EVERYTHING within 6 short blocks of my front door.  I know I must expand my geographical horizons or face disapproving looks from visitors this summer, to say nothing of bluffing my way through conversations with locals when they speak of any ‘hood outside easy walking distance.

The magazine More came recommended by friends in Tulsa and Portland.  I found it a bit light on content and suggest you’ll do as well with a visit to their website.  On a wild hair I picked up the college day rag choice of many TU female students, Cosmopolitan, and of course, who can resist the marketing machine of Oprah, to say nothing of the cover hook:  REAL LOVE?

I leave you with two items for comment:

Somewhere in the sea of online literature this week I stumbled on a study that concluded 6 minutes a day spent reading boosted your mood.  As willing as I was to embrace this over a recommendation of 6 minutes on a treadmill, I found it rather vague.  Is subject matter important? Time of day? What do you think?

Oh, and here’s a thought-provoking, potentially scary observation: lots of fellows on match.com are reading Five Love Languages.  Are their motives for wanting to understand women honorable?

As always, Trix

Like books?

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March 14th, 2010

Last night I had the most wonderful time on the town in Portland with my second husband. We attended Hooray for Bollywood, the annual gala for Portland Center Stage. Lavish silks and twinkling lights draped the Amory, costumed dancers and musicians mingled with exquisitely, colorfully dressed guests. The mood was festive, the giving generous, the performances sprinkled throughout the evening of the caliber I’ve known to expect of the theatre troupe since Steve took me to the season preview evening early last year.

And the food? The little girl who insisted her food groups not touch each other on the plate forty years ago, sampled every offering at the Indian food buffets. The chicken curry with Mahogany rice, cilantro sauce, pistachios and cashews was ambrosia. (I was also recently introduced to mouth-watering cuisine at Portland’s East India Company Bar & Grill http://eastindiacopdx.com/index.html.  The setting alone ensures a lovely experience, only to be surpassed by expertly prepared food that pairs nicely with Chateau Indigo Chardonnay 2008 – the first Indian wine I have tasted.)

But wait! Cut, rewind.  “Second husband?” you say. Yes, a tall, swelt, salt-and-pepper-haired fellow who says I’m the “ideal date.” I know better; I am an easy 25 years older than his dream catch but since I’m still fairly new to town, having me on his arm allows him to glide seamlessly through a sea of faces belonging to forgotten names. When Steve says, “You’ve met Tracey? No…?!” that is my cue to extend a hand, introduce myself and simultaneously solicit the mystery person’s identity.

We’ve been an occasional couple since we met during my first visit to Portland in May 2008. For me it was love at first site of a building he’d designed (he also designed the renovation of the armory for PCS). I was accompanying a friend condo-hunting on a tour of The Casey. Steve’s reputation for green buildings meant even the sparkling stainless trash chute  allowed residents to direct trash into one of three recycle channels.

It was on the 13th floor that I found a two-bedroom I could live with quite nicely in. Subsequently, for MONTHS Joel avoided meeting Steve, sure if we ganged up on him, it would cost him a multi-million dollar mortgage. By early 2009, Steve began to wonder if I truly had a husband but continued to invite or escort me to functions while Joel traveled for business. Our first movie date was to see Slum dog Millionaire at the Living Room Theatre so a Bollywood themed fundraiser was rather fitting.

Every single woman my age should have a fellow to call on, a man who easily makes an even number at a dinner party. A two-by-two parade is something our generation, in particular, is more comfortable with at this stage of life.

“My married friends’ husbands aren’t too keen to include me,” said a Wyatt third-floor neighbor. “I’ve loved being single for over 20 years (following a marriage and two less-than-perfect involvements). “The husbands seem to fear I’ll give their wives ideas,” she said with eyes mischievously twinkling. She’s right; many separated and newly divorced friends tell me, “I’ve been approached by women saying they wish they were brave enough to walk away.” Voluntarily ending an established relationship, especially one tied to a desirable lifestyle, financial security and guaranteed companionship is frightening. Once you’ve done that you then have to muster courage regularly to walk solo into a room with a dozen to several hundred party goers assembled for a social event. It does take chutzpah! I know; I did it myself just a week before Bollywood when I attended the Tulsa C.A.R.E.S. 13th Red Ribbon Gala in Tulsa.

It isn’t easy but it becomes less difficult and you owe it to yourself to show up. Don’t miss out on celebrating and supporting your community or attending the events that benefit your career. Give the evening dresses in your closet an occasional airing out and yourself a night on the town. Don’t let the parade pass you by.

As always, Trix

Worth becoming familiar with:

To date this season Portland Center Stage has produced stellar performances of Ragtime, Snow Falling on Cedars, The Receptionist & Alfred Hitchcock’s The 39 Steps. See what is still in store this season at www.pcs.org

The Casey is a 16-story, 61 unit luxury condominium tower in the heart of Portland’s Pearl District. Designed by GBD Architects, the Casey was the first residential building in North America awarded a LEED Platinum rating. www.thecasey.com

Tulsa C.A.R.E.S., Tulsa Center for AIDS Resources Education and Support, delivers social services to people affected by HIV and AIDS.
 With the advancement of medicine, many of those infected with HIV/AIDS, are living longer, healthier lives, which in effect creates a greater need for support services in this population. According to the Centers for Disease Control (CDC), in 2006, there were an estimated 56,300 new HIV infections in the United States. There are approximately 2,274 people living with the HIV infection and 2,247 living with AIDS in Oklahoma, according to the Oklahoma Department of Human Services Fact Sheet (Dec. 31, 2007). According to the Community Service Council of Greater Tulsa, it is estimated that nearly 1,700 people are living with HIV/AIDS in the Tulsa Metropolitan area with a growth of 100 new cases each year.
www.tulsacares.org