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In case any of you worried that I would cease to indulge in hosiery fetishism when I recently mentioned a desire to shoot more hardcore for our sites, I hope the above photo (shot this week during our stay in Portland) reassures you that we will continue to feature lots of leg wear and strip-tease style photo sets. I want a better balance between action and teasing, but that doesn't mean I want to abandon the good old-fashioned softcore stuff I love so much.

We had a great time in Portland; our hotel was situated right by a streetcar station so we were able to trolley directly to Powells and second-hand clothing stores (where we HAD to buy a pair of pants for one of Tucker's shoots to go with a lovely retro-poly shirt we've been saving for about a year and could never find the right pair of pants to match). We were only able to spend about a half hour at the bookstore, unfortunately, but we found an armful of titles anyway.

It started to snow on our last morning in Portland. As we drove homeward over the Columbia River the snowflakes were so big and heavy with moisture it sounded like our car was being pelted with stones wrapped in packing foam. We so rarely go anywhere and I enjoyed the trip so much, I almost started crying as the snow flew around us on I-5 and Gloria Estefan came on the radio doing "Conga". The surreal combination of the rare Pacific Northwest snow, the nostalgia of the ironic (for the weather) silly song, the joy of our journey along with the poignantly biting memory of an argument Tucker and I had while we were there, his dozing presence beside me in the car, and the tension of driving in conditions becoming more hazardous by the minute, all flooded me with exquisite appreciation for the sweet uniqueness of the moment. It wasn't one I'd lived before, but still echoed with intimate familiarity.

I felt anonymous plunging along the freeway through the white-out, the two of us insulated in our capsule of dented shuddering metal, and yet so similar to other people, too. Like the only differences between us and other people (and previous we's and future we's) were small, tenderly-mundane details and little slivers of separation. The trip is short and precious as are the little details we pick up and pack on as we hurtle -- wet, messy, absurdly "unique" from up close -- towards a smashing end, wiped out on someone's windshield.

*****

On my to-do list today: respond to lots of emails, "process" some content (I don't know a succinct or sexy way to describe work, so these lame-ass factory-porn descriptions will have to do), balance my checkbook, and defrag the chaos in my head with ample napping and reading. We had a great visit with my mom and her boyfriend on our way home yesterday (wish we could have stayed longer) then had a hideous couple of hours in rush-hour traffic from Olympia to Tacoma, over the Narrows Bridge and past Gig Harbor, plus two more hours from there to get home. We BARELY made it in time for our shows (why didn't I cancel them?) and then we visited with my sister and brother-in-law before going to bed. A lot more socializing than I'm used to in one day, which was nice but I need to refuel myself with solitude today.
posted by Trixie at 3/10/2006 02:56:00 PM -