Eastbound and Down
See that map? If we thought the drive from Southern California to Portland was a doozie, heading eastbound and down from Portland to Houston should be memorable.
The sun is setting on our time in Portland, and our days here are sadly numbered. Brady accepted a new job, so we’re trading flannel shirts and Starbucks for bolo ties and barbecue joints. We’re excited, stressed, eager, anxious…all of the adjectives that come with a big move. Oh yeah, and we’re still homeless.
There are so many details left to sort out, including how to transport a dog 2,500 miles that weighs more than most college freshmen. We’re pretty confident that Henri is going to have the biggest problem of all with this move. You see, he originated in Dallas, flew through Houston to get to Orange County, trekked up to the land of Lewis and Clark with us, and now we’re carting him back to his native land. Flying him there is an option, albeit it an expensive one, so there’s a solid chance that the “baby cow” will be riding shotgun in a moving truck with his dad while listening to Robert Earl Keen. Just think of all that wind for your hair, Henri! We’d be remiss if we didn’t mention our stuck-up cat (also named Brady) who will be stuffed in a carrier for the first time and forced to fly coach. Thankfully, his brother, Tom, is a lot more down to earth.
There’s never a dull moment at this three-ring circus, so moving the cast of characters halfway across the country will be a comedy of errors at best. The good news is that we’ll be a 45-minute flight from New Orleans (a place we both love), my commute to work in Boston will be slashed by almost half, and Brady (the human) won’t look out of place anymore in his Brooks Brothers clothes and cowboy boots. Did you think I was kidding about the pajamas?
We’re headed down to Houston this weekend to meet with a realtor and try to at least resolve our homeless problem. One of my requests is that we live somewhere “walkable,” which has been met with incessant giggling by most real estate agents. Evidently, Houston isn’t quite as “green” as Portland and people drive everywhere. Not this girl. We sold my car, and I want to live where Henri and I can still walk to the grocery store, window-shop for southern trinkets, and maybe grab a Starbucks every now and again. I’m sure their laughter has something to do with the oppressive heat and humidity, but I’m banking on Carrie Underwood’s theory that big hair just makes you look smaller. She really said that.
I wonder if Henri will develop a charming, southern bark? Stay tuned ya’ll!
Culinary Hopscotch 