My New Room

My old room was on the second floor of a big, old house in North Portland. It was a corner room with two windows. Out one window I could see Forest Park, the largest forested park within city limits in the U.S. Out the other were the three rose bushes of the back yard, and a large tree that had one of its branches broken off and caught in a power line. I loved the feeling that I was hovering above the city, between the backyard trees and the hills of Forest Park. I would go into my room, open the blinds and feel that sensation while I read or wrote or prayed.

The house, called the Ritz, belongs to Church of the Servant King. I lived there with ten other people, including two kids and a baby. When I first came there, it was to visit the community for a week in August. I stayed for five months.

My new room is in the basement of a house in the Laurelhurst district of NE Portland, one block from the dividing line between NE and SE. The room has checkerboard black-and-white tiles on the floor. The house is owned by my friends, David and Jenn, who both teach high school English, and are so cute I want to throw myself out a window (but not really). They took me Céilí dancing (which is a type of Irish social dancing) on Monday night. David's tight blond curls bounced up and down and Jenn's thick brown braids and black skirt swirled.

My room (the whole house really) has shelves and shelves of David and Jenn's books. Here is a sample:
Anne Sexon-- A Self Portriat in Letters
Stephen King-- It
Poetry Therapy
Sigmund Freud-- The Interpretation of Dreams
The Ramayana
Harrius Potter et Phiosophi Lapis (that's right, Harry Potter translated into Latin!)
A History of Medieval Islam
I.Q. Puzzles
Sylvia Plath-- The Bell Jar
A Field Guide Manual for Amature Geologists
1,003 Great Things About Teachers
Harper's English Grammar

On the wall are historical maps of England, posters explaining systems of heraldry, reprints of paintings by Rockwell and M.C. Esher, and a map Portland.

The room is cold. I have a space heater which will warm the room quite nicely after about four hours of continuous use on high. I am using the coffee table as a desk. It has a wooden edge and it is all glass in the middle. I sit on a pillow on the checkerboard floor and write.

It seems that I go from goodness to goodness here in Portland. Church of the Servant King was such a good gift. I learned so much from them, from people who have learned to love each other well by commiting to one another and sharing the same space. And now here I am in David and Jenn's house-- English family crests looking down at me from the wall, evenings spent dancing a jig or talking about our favorite books. And that's not even to mention how close I am now to my other friends who are all planning on starting a community together. I only have to walk a few blocks to find someone to share a meal or a chat.

Still, transitions jar the soul, and I have been transitioning for awhile now with many more ahead. Sunday night I couldn't figure out why I was so depressed. I took my dirty clothes across the basement to the laundry room and in my head it was all gripes: at the Ritz they had two washing machines; at the Ritz the lighting was better and it wasn't so cold. Then I realized that Sunday night was the night after the church service that we'd all sit around talking and laughing. I'd run down and throw my clothes in the machines and come back up and continue laughing or listening to someone's funny story. It was always the best night of the week. My soul had gotten used to that, expected it at a certain time, the way our bodies expect sleep when we go to bed at the same time every night. David and Jenn were both focused on preparing for the next day's lessons, the first day after Christmas break. My lessons were all planned so I read a book and felt like everything was wrong with the world.