No Vodka for Old Women

Portland is an odd place. For a lot of reasons. Yes I have seen the many "Keep Portland Weird" bumperstickers, and I do enjoy a bit of the weirdness myself. But there is one thing that both Klaus and I could never understand. And that is the OLCC vice grip on any alcohol other than beer or wine. Truly missed are the days of swinging down to Trader Joe's to pick up a jug of Vodka of the Gods or something a bit better, depending on that week's paycheck. Or even strolling the aisle at Ralph's or Vons (sometimes behind glass or cages, but no matter) for a slightly harder beverage.

One of my many titles as Klaus' wife was Official Designated Driver. Everytime. No question. If we wanted to get home in one piece, I was going to be driving. Even before I had a drivers license and was driving home through the twisty Hollywood Hills after a party in a '75 baby blue Cadillac in the middle of the night. And that was okay with me. So that meant no alcohol, and I've become really used to that - iced tea, some cranberry juice, or even a diet Coke would just have to do. Until all of this has happened. Mama wants some vodka.

I have heard the siren song of a vodka bottle calling my name (at top volume - LU....LU... - anyone who has heard Klaus call for me in a crowd or a store knows exactly what that sounds like) but until now I have resisted. Mostly because it would mean that first I would have to find a liquor store, and then I would have to visit before 8 PM. I have found one store here in the Pearl but it's kind of snooty, and not where I want to patronize. There is another store that is on Hawthorne that I thought might be more up my alley - and since Bogart was thinking that a long walk was necessary it seemed like a good idea.

The Willamette River separates the east and west side of Portland. There is a great esplanade on both sides, perfect for walkers, roller skaters, bike riders, and of course, Airedales.

The salad bar is tasty too.

We arrived at the liquor store to find a note on the door explaining that now OLCC liquor stores will be closing at 7 PM... and it was about 7:45 PM. Damn. No vodka tonight. But not all is lost - only a few blocks away is the Potato Champion cart, so off we toddle toward the deep-fried salty happiness.

Mmm. Belgian fries...

Bogart met a German Shepherd named Monkey - and it was love at first sight.

Poor Monkey just wanted to enjoy some alone time but Bogart was persistent.

An awfully handsome boy, he reminded me a bit of Klaus' old dog, Schnuff. Smaller and blacker, but a very good-looking boy. And friendly even with the testosterone-filled Bogart.

I think they were plotting to get some fries. Who wouldn't? They are truly a greasy cone of goodness.

And Bogart was truly the instigator. Until Bogart jumped up onto the table to demand his attention, Monkey was sitting on the ground waiting for some poutine to make it into his mouth. The fuzzy hooligan had other ideas.

The walk home was poignant and sad. Klaus, Bogart, and I used to come here all the time for a late-night snack. Now it was just Bogart and I. There have been a lot of those moments lately.

Love,

Lulu & Bogart