Wandering is Good for the Soul

Voodoo Doughnuts in Portland

After three an a half hours we're here!

We went on a Trip!

We decided that this Sunday was a perfect day for a road trip, and that's what we did.
We got in our beat up Honda Civic and just went south until we eventually hit something that looked like people inhabited it.
We ended up in Portland, which shouldn't be too surprising, as I've gone twice in the 6 weeks that I've been here, and it's the place where my heart sings the loudest.
(Plus my mom had never had a Voodoo Doughnut, and we had to mend that situation ASAP.)

Our first stop was the beautiful Columbia River, with sail boats littering the water. Against the blue of the river, and the grey of the sky, it almost looked like they were little paper boats floating in mid-air. The horizon line was marred and seemed like nothing held them to the earth.
Next we went to Voodoo. Of course we went to Voodoo. If you've never been, imagine a bondage shop met a bakery and made sweet sweet fried dough love. Tadaahhh. Voodoo.
They have doughnuts like the Cock and Balls, Triple Chocolate Penetration, and (my personal favorite) the good ol' Dirty Bastard. A delightful vegan mix of peanut butter, oreos, and pure fucking magic. I tried to take a picture, but after an hour long wait, my mom was not in the mood to pose with her doughnut before devouring it whole.
Sometimes I think she can unhinge her jaw. But like, in the cutest way possible? (Nice save)
After that we ventured out of downtown and stumbled upon an air trolley and decided to get a bird's eye view of the city.
Not gonna lie, the carriage looked like a giant metal sperm, just flying across the sky. It was almost majestic.(The key word here being almost)

Portland Skyline

Regardless of the less than graceful design  of the tram, the view was stunning.
The water was clear and the buildings reached for the sky without pushing aside any of the God-made landscape around them.
I don't know what makes mountains here different from mountains back home, but you can never really tell where the sky starts. The blues just meld together and create this infinite number of shades and gradients between Alice blue to Steel tricking you into thinking that the horizon never actually ends.
I wonder what it looks like at sunset.

Columbia River (I think)

My mom and I are a bit like gypsies. We get itchy if we stay in one place too long, and we tire of our surroundings with an astounding speed.
I remember the road trips we took when I was growing up. We never took a map, and GPS wasn't really a thing yet. We just got on the freeway and drove until one of us got hungry (me) or had to pee (still me). We would end up in these beautiful unknown places, only three or four hours from home, yet completely foreign to us. We would eat in a restaurant that only had four tables in it, and watch how the people who lived there talked to each other, acted with each other. Then, just as silently as we came, we would leave, full bellied and having had our wanderlust temporarily satiated.
I'm so thankful to her for giving me that gift. That desire to know, to explore beyond what was asked of me. My mom and I are partners in crime, and best friends, sisters, and yet closer. For 20 years of my life, it was just her and I against all the forces that be, and let me tell you, we got along just fine. Better than fine. We grew and blossomed in defiance of anyone who told us no.
We moved a lot when I was younger, never too far, but I changed schools every year until fourth grade I think. Then it changed. Or I guess I changed. We somehow ended up in the Foothills, and something made us stay.
Once we found the Foothills I fell in love. I loved my school, the Sabino Canyon in my back yard, and having a secret tree that was perfect for hiding. I told her I wanted to stay. I made her stay. For the first time it suddenly mattered to me to have a constant group of friends and have a place to call a permanent home. My desire to explore had been exchanged for a sudden and intense need for roots. At the time I didn't really understand what "roots" meant, but I knew that I wanted to find a definite place to call my own. I wanted a home, not just a house. Before I knew it, we bought a house, and made it ours, filling it with real furniture that didn't come in a box, and things we didn't really need like candles, and decorations, and general cachi bachis whose only purpose was to tell other people "this is ours". I made her stay in that house for 8 years. I think she knew that I needed it, and she said yes.
After I started college and settled in a bit, it was no shock to me when she announced she was moving. I hadn't killed myself or anyone else in the one year I had been gone from home, and she felt like she could finally pick up her bags and move. She may have been born in the desert, but the sun and the cacti and the dirt were killing her and her blue green eyes craved the water. You could feel how distant she was whenever you were with her- it was like her body was there right in front of you, but her mind was already listening to the waves of some distant shore. She had done her job, raised me the best that she could, and now the best thing she could do for me was let me flounder and find myself.
So I said yes. Of course you can go. I'm fine, no really I'm fine, I have grandma and grandpa, and I'll be fine.
What I really meant was, dear god, please don't, I still need you, please stay, what if I fail, what if I fall, what if, what if, what if.
But that wasn't fair. It was my turn to take care of her. I couldn't do that to her. I couldn't force her to stay in a place that made her miserable. We're partners. We're in this together, and when one of us is in need, the other will do anything to help, that's what family does. That's the definition of love isn't it?
So I helped her pack, and said goodbye.
For the first time ever, we are in different states, and I can't tell you how hard it is. You would think that being at college would distract me enough for it to not make a difference, but I feel the blow. It was the first time we spent Christmas apart, her birthday, Mother's day, and I felt every second. I wanted so desperately to know that if I needed her she could be there for me, with my favorite cookies and a story to tell. In my mind, that combination is pure magic, and can make any problem, no matter how mouse or mammoth sized just disappear.
But that isn't fair. It's my turn to take care of her. Give her what she needs- she needs to exist somewhere else for the time being.

This summer was the first time we've spent more than 3 days together in a year, and it's been magical. You can tell how happy she is, and how at home she is among the emerald trees that match her eyes. For right now, this is where she needs to be, and as long as she is happy, so am I.