We drove down to Lebanon on Saturday to visit my mom and sister.
I spent eighteen years of my life there and pretty much didn’t look back after I left. But you spend that much time in a place, even in the boonies outside it, it’s part of you. There is so much missing, like middle school all the city kids had to attend, that was flanked by portables for most of my childhood and was condemned some time after I left. It’s strange.
And I left my mark, more or less. I took Chase to see Mural Park, which I was an apprentice painter for.
This is how I spent two summers, a decade ago, painting two 22 by 94 foot murals. My name is on them and everything.
I’ve spent twenty five years in the Willamette Valley. That’s a God-awful long time. I’m glad that in two weeks (!) we’ll be travelling to Wyoming, which is like the geographical inverse of this place. I’ve never been longer than a week outside of the Valley except for some time in northern California, visiting family. It’ll be interesting.