Portland III: The Blue Hour

Are you sick of my Portland photo posts yet? Because I have so many more photos! It was very pretty in Portland. I mean-- that window up there in the first photo? (Click on it, you can make it bigger!) I didn't tweak those colors or that lighting a bit. It's not fair, really. Brooklyn doesn't often look like that.

Anyway. I've been reading a lot of Hemingway recently as I'm sure I've mentioned. I'm halfway through The Sun Also Rises, a story about expat writers and artists and thinkers living in Paris in the 20s. (Related: Have you all seen Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris yet? I adored it, and am pretty sure it was based partially on this book. All the dancing and drinking and brooding you can handle.) Much of the story's conversations took place in the summertime around 9pm. That sizzly time of day after work has ended but before night has really begun-- that's the blue hour.

The blue hour, or in French- l'heure bleue, refers to the period of twilight each morning and evening where there is neither full daylight nor complete darkness. Everything looks a little... blue. See Jen up there, stepping outside? That was the blue hour, and we were on our way to get gelato. Jen had composed a Caprese salad for dinner that night, and I poured the two of us bountiful glasses of a dark, earthy red.

We had crazy discussions over such glasses all weekend-- just like Hemingway's Jake and Cohn and Brett did. We talked about LIFE and about love and about grief. Her father, Rex, was dying, and we found ourselves quite suddenly acting as real live grown ups. There weren't as many tears as I imagined there would be, but reader, we shifted the world with our words and thoughts and feelings. It was hard. But you know that already.

Rex passed away on Monday. The funeral was today, and I hear that Jen gave a stunning, articulate, and heartfelt eulogy. I also hear that there's a party tonight-- a big white tent, bowls of bright flowers, stacks of sweets, multiple kegs, and of course there will be wine. It's a celebration, in the end, and no one throws a party like Jennifer Pasko does. And pretty soon Jen will be back in Portland, saving lives with her talents and trademarked determination. (For real. She's a surgeon.) Our little worlds will go on spinning, three thousand miles apart.

Rex would have been 63 on Monday. Yes, he was born on the 4th of July, just like my grandfather. And America. Let's all celebrate, shall we? I love this sizzly time of year and we're just getting started.