My youngest & I hit the road yesterday. She's a great traveler. We pulled into Seattle by noon, toured Olympia briefly, at the Little Red Barn downstate, and navigated our way into Portland under cloudy skies with a slight drizzle.
It's funny that, small as she is, compared to her nephews, a toddler and an infant, she's a giant. It is amazing to rediscover just how small new little humans really are. Today, we all went to a local coffee shop, Airplay, where local musicians perform for kids and their Moms.
Dozens of babies and small kids had gathered and soon they were rockin'...Outside, in the clear air and bright sun, I gazed at Mt. Hood, every crack and peak stood out, covered with snow.
Later still, the cloud cover returned, and the city turned dark and cold.
Everyone in a city has a story, of course. As I wander around, of course, I engage strangers in conversations -- an Indian woman whose family runs a local hotel, for instance. She said business is way off; people just aren't traveling as much these days.
A professor at a local university, who says he's seen a rapid increase in applications as the depression worsens.
A young woman with a tiny baby who smiles shyly when I recognize her as Japanese: "Konichiwa. An Australian woman with her toddler who misses her home country.
In my virtual world, more and more evidence pours in that my given "profession," journalism, is losing some of its most prized institutions. Newspaper after newspaper publisher is forced into bankruptcy; others simply cease publication altogether. The industry trade group cancels its annual convention; its members can't afford to attend this year.
There may soon be no organizations that employ us, but we journalists will still wander among the population, asking questions, capturing stories. Whether anyone will read them any longer is the question we can't answer.
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