Two years

I can’t begin today’s post without first acknowledging the significance of what we witnessed in this country last evening as Barack Obama was elected the 44th President of the United States. What a great moment for our country in so many ways. Being the NBC devotee that I am, the only thing that may have made it slightly better is if Tim Russert had been there to break it all down for us. I think he’s watching from above though with a huge smile on his face. But, as I commented to a friend who offered to help W pack up his stuff on his facebook page last night, “I even know some good long distance movers I can recommend!”

And speaking of long distance movers…today, November 5, marks another significant day in the Burpo household. It was exactly two years ago today that we arrived in Portland to begin our new life here. And to celebrate, my wonderful husband surprised me this evening with six roses and a bottle of one of our favorite Oregon pinot noirs. But yes siree, two years already or another way to put it - nearly two thirds of Ian’s life to date. And since I didn’t have a blog where I could write about that whole experience back then, I’ve decided to make up for lost time today. Lucky you.

I have very vivid memories of the time leading up to our last day in DC. Ian was 10 months old and the previous eight weeks or so had been a whirlwind of surreal activity: finding a real estate agent, prepping the house, putting it on the market and following it through to closing; blindly finding a rental in Portland; interviewing and selecting movers; arranging boarding and pet transportation for the kitties and getting all their paperwork in order; and general orchestration of a week-long cross country move that involved three hotels, two rental cars and one plane trip.

And while it really was the culmination of about five years of saying we couldn’t wait to get out of DC, when the time actually arrived I remember that each day closer we got to our departure date I got increasingly emotional about actually leaving what had become home after 11 years (and 13 years total on the East Coast). After all, to me it wasn’t just a place I lived for a while – it was were I started and built my career, made some of my closest lifelong friends, met and married my husband, bought our first house and had our first child. So by the time departure day arrived, let’s just say I was more than ready to stop the bleeding and get on with life.

Despite the emotional “challenges” and complete chaos of the time period – we did take advantage of our last days there by playing tourist. I especially wanted to get some shots with Ian for future evidence of the great city where he once lived, if only for a very short time. We visited Arlington Cemetery for the first time in a long time, hit all the major monuments and a couple of days before we left, Jeff and I felt very fortunate to be able to attend the grand opening of the amazing new George Washington museum portion of Mount Vernon.

But tourist talk aside, after we loaded the family jammer (aka, Acura TL) onto the car transporter, and Louis and his crew had packed our entire life into their truck and drove away as the trick or treaters were starting to make their rounds, we locked the front door on Dinwiddie Street for the last time and headed to our first home-away-from home, a little place called the Remington hotel. And let me just say, the Remington rocked (still giving shout outs to Brianne for recommending it to us). Really, we could have just lived there for a while except the commute to Portland might have been a little much. But other than that - it had a fully equipped kitchen, washer and dryer (very helpful when traveling for a week with a baby), separate bedroom and bathroom, and a balcony complete with a lovely view of the Watergate. And, it cost far less than $10,000 per night, which I learned through this whole process is about the average cost of a hotel room in DC.

A few days later, very early on a Saturday morning, our time at the Remington - and in DC - came to an end. Someone – okay, me – thought it was a good idea to schedule our flight out at some horrific hour of the morning. (Why is it that it always seems like not a big deal when you are making the reservations and then when the day comes you think, “What the hell was I thinking scheduling a flight this early?”) And really, what’s an early morning flight out without sleeping late? That’s right, no fun.

So suffice it to say that our final morning started off with slight chaos as we quickly tried to get Ian breakfast, pull ourselves together and get out the door. The good thing is that it left little time to think about anything except making our plane. We flew out the door, jumped in the car and we were off speeding toward Memorial Bridge for the GW Parkway to National Airport (thank God it wasn’t Dulles). Only, of course there was construction on the bridge, so it was closed which was definitely not in the plan. Quick, Plan B! So we made a quick uey and headed back the other way through the Mall and Tidal Basin to the freeway.

And that’s when the coolest thing happened that Jeff and I didn’t talk about until several days later. As we were speeding through the National Mall area, suddenly for both of us it was like time stood still for a brief second. It was somewhere in the 6am hour and we were practically alone on the road. It was a perfectly clear, crisp early November morning and the sun was just starting to shine down, showing off Washington in all its glory. I remember looking left and seeing the Washington Monument standing tall and beautiful and then to the right where the Jefferson Memorial sparkled over the glass-like water of the Tidal Basin. For places that are rarely without someone around them, there was not a soul to be seen. It was one of the most peaceful, beautiful experiences of the city I had ever had. I just felt like it was giving us a special last goodbye. And then, screeeeeeeeeech! Just like that the moment was gone and we were racing on 395 across the bridge toward the airport, flew up to the terminal where Jeff dumped Ian and I out with our 10 million bags and sped off to return the rental car.

Before I knew it, we were on the plane and taxing out for our departure to Seattle. (We flew to Seattle because it was cheaper than Portland and offered the all-important nonstop. Plus, let’s face it, it’s not like we had somewhere to be with our entire household on a truck somewhere in the middle of the country.) We lifted off as the sun was beaming down on the National Mall as I cried and cried like, well, like the 10-month-old in the seat next to me. And suddenly, I was no longer crying because I was sad about leaving home. I was crying because it was on that flight that our son first decided to start exhibiting abnormal Exorcist-like behavior while on a plane. I can definitively say that flight was possibly the longest six hours of our life and that by the time we stepped foot in the terminal in Seattle, we really couldn’t have been happier to be on a one-way ticket.

And the day only got worse from there. In the chaos of the flight, my normally organized self had left Ian’s blanket on the plane, which we realized only after we got to our hotel and tried to get Ian to take a nap. So, our overly tired baby who was battling against a three hour time change was now being shoved into a pack n play in some hotel room to try and sleep without his blanket. Yeah, right. That didn’t go over so well. So I was on the phone to Alaska Airlines’ lost and found faster than you can say binkie. Unfortunately, the office had closed early for the day approximately two seconds before I called. Perfect. Oh, and did I mention that it was a complete monsoon outside? Pouring cats and dogs doesn’t even begin to describe it. I mean, we were living in the Pacific Northwest now, so it was only a proper welcome, right?

Which finally brings us to Sunday, November 5, 2006. After finally getting Ian down for the night, we woke up and before opening my eyes I was on the phone to the airline telling them we were willing to do anything to get our blanket back. Luckily, they had it and those kind people even offered to give it back for free. I bet they wouldn’t do that today. “Um, I’m sorry maa’m, but that’s going to cost you a small handling fee of $5,000 for holding that blanket for you at our lost and found overnight.” Which honestly, at that point, would have been well worth it. It was also that day that Jeff called Jill who had originally procured the blanket for us in Texas and had her purchase and ship a backup ASAP.

Blanket fiasco almost resolved, the day started looking up even more when, by the grace of God, it stopped raining long enough for us to venture down to Pike Place Market for some Seattle sights, real coffee and breakfast. Then, before we knew it, we were on the road – minus a quick stop at the airport – for the three hour drive down to our new home. As we drove in the pounding rain, I noticed a plethora of Dairy Queens along the way (something that is sorely missing from the DC/VA/MD region). Ah yes, I liked this place already. We even stopped at one to celebrate (and have lunch). Finally, we came into Vancouver, Washington and hit the “Welcome to Oregon” sign as we crossed the Columbia River into Portland. Minutes later, we were pulling up to the big yellow house in the Hawthorne District of southeast Portland that would become our home for the next six months. And as a bonus to it all, before we even had time to hit our first manager’s reception at the Embassy Suites that night, Louis called us to tell us he had arrived a day early and was out in the Columbia River Gorge somewhere eating the best salmon ever just waiting for the go-ahead to come into town and unload our stuff. A couple of days later the Acura arrived without a scratch and so did Zach and Catalina, delivered straight to our door after several days of boarding and two long flights. (To this day we suspect they are still paying us back for putting them through that adventure.)

And that is how we came to live in Portland two years ago today. For the record, that rain/snowstorm (in the mountains) that took place over the first few days we arrived here made national news and went into the history books as being one of the worst in recent history – even for the Northwest. Go figure.

For a photo history of our journey, you can check out this album in Kodak Gallery:
http://www.kodakgallery.com/Slideshow.jsp?mode=fromshare&Uc=13mm790j.22wgj8xv&Uy=cnfxgv&Ux=0

Until I write again.