The Husband, The Kid and I have evacuated to Portland, OR. It seemed like the thing to do. I love my DTLA loft, more than any other place I’ve ever lived in LA (and that’s a lot of places).

But it simply lacks the affordances of a freestanding single-family home. Here, we have an embarrassment of space; dirt and trees and birds for Small Cat to watch. It’s less dense, which buffers us from the encroachment of disease somewhat. And it doesn’t hurt that spring is my favorite time of year to be here.

We’re resigned to a full month. It’s a mishmash of feelings: gratitude for having options; frustration at being so far from my hometown and parents; delight in the tenderly unfolding season, fear for the vulnerable people across the globe.


We all feel a bit cringey when we look back on very dated photos, of ourselves and others:

What the hell were they thinking?!

When we look back on the decade spanning 2010-2019, this silhouette will be just as tacky in retrospect:

Terrible for the cervical spine.