Transitioning back to the city

A little over 72 hours ago, my butt was spread across the new hammock that we hung up toward the end of our stay on Orcas. As I lay motionless in the afternoon shade, reading the last dregs of Esquire's June issue (an interview with cover boy Tom Cruise; more on him later), I enjoyed this uphill view of our cabin (right).

So you can imagine the re-entry to urban life was a little unsettling, even if it is civilized Portland.

Did I say civilized?

We got into town a little too late, fortunately, to run into the World Naked Bike Ride, an event that drew thousands of riders to the city's streets. I'm afraid I don't understand the connection between riding in the buff and protesting our society's addiction to fossil fuels but what the hey. (Aren't you glad I didn't post a photo? Click on the link above for a tasteful slideshow if you're curious.)

By the time we unpacked, it was time to walk over to Broadway for a sushi dinner. We hadn't even gone half a block when we came upon this sight. (Apologies if anyone's disturbed by a visual of a dead rodent.)

Evidently, some well-meaning neighborhood kids put up a cross and a handmade sign, bidding the furry little guy "R.I.P." Just as evidently, some prankster decided to put a cigarette butt in Mr. Squirrel's mouth.

"Well," said Lori, with a shake of her head, "I guess you can tell we're back in Portland."

***

And now, back to Tom Cruise. Like most folks, I thought he was fine in "Risky Business" and tolerable in most movies before coming to the Katie Holmes phase of his life. I wasn't expecting much when I began the magazine article, figuring I'd skim a little bit and then jump to the next unread feature.

Gotta say I was surprised to learn he'd come from a modest background. His dad was an electrical engineer who moved the family frequently between jobs, which meant Tom and his three sisters were constantly adjusting to being the new kids in school. Their mother did all the work and later, after the parents separated, his father dropped out of their lives, failing to offer any financial help. So I had some sympathy when I read this:

I remember massaging my mom's feet when she'd come home from work. There were times she had three jobs. I have three sisters, and I felt very protective of them, too...

There was always food on the table. But there was no money. Every time my birthday was coming, I'd ask for a go-kart or a minibike. My mom's way of saying it wasn't going to happen was to ask me what kind of cake I wanted. That's what I got — the kind of cake I wanted and a trip to the movies.

My mom can't sing a lick, okay? She'll admit it, and she's got a sense of humor about it. She's got the most wonderful laugh. But let me tell you something: We'd get in the car in the morning, she'd put on a song and just start singing, and it was so bold and uninhibited that you just had to smile. We'd all have to sing with her to start the day.

And you know something? After about fifteen minutes, damned if I didn't feel better.

Read more: http://www.esquire.com/features/tom-cruise-bio-0610#ixzz0rXRCpOlG