Leaving Oregon

I’ve been sleeping most of the day. I wake up now and then to glimpse the incredibly beautiful scenery of southern Oregon and northern California. There won’t be much more daylight, now. And, I’m grateful for my familiarity with the keyboard, so I can look out the window as I type these words.



I’m having a love affair with my life right now. I share so much with you all. And, I love that you are out there reading and soaking this in with me. It is always makes experiences more real to me when I can share them with someone. And, yet, there are so many little things I see that I can not capture, that I can not explain, that I can not hold onto even long enough to relate back. So many little things that are just for me. Like little secrets of the sweetest variety.

Joni is singing to me as I pull into Redding, CA. “I remember the time that you told me love is touching souls. Surely you touched mine cause part of you pours out of me in these lines from time to time. “

They tell me we have a half hour here, and I don’t feel like moving.

There is a huge part of my heart that beats for Portland, Oregon. I moved out there via greyhound right out of college with the intention to salsa dance with my sister… it seemed as good a plan as any. I worked and lived there for just about 2½ years until Andrea and I decided to flee the rain and relocate in the desert. That was a complicated time. And, being back in Portland on my own – I felt all the weight of what I’d left there. And, all the beauty. So many things I did for the first time. So much history…

Sigh.

Janis is jamming now… and it’s like an ode to this fair city, “I need you to come on, come on, come on and take it! Take another little piece of my heart now baby. Break it! Break another little piece of my heart. Come on now, have it! Have another little piece of my heart… you know you got it!!! Waaaahh!!!”

Despite the heartbreak of this place, my roots are still strong here.

Walking up to Jennifer’s house, I remembered my last visit to Portland, when we’d eaten dinner with our mutual friend, Amy, across the street. So, walking down the block, I looked in the window of Amy’s house, saw blond hair, and decided to knock there first. Turns out the blond hair did not belong to Jennifer at all.
But, Amy and Veejay invited me in to eat, anyway, and we called Jennifer and Zoe over, too. They quickly added three extra places to the table. And, we all sat down to homemade falafal. That’s just how things work in Portland. Or, at least, that’s how things work at Amy’s house. And, Amy’s house is only an option to visit in Portland.

The show ended up being a hang out fest with several of my favorite people ever. I did manage to squeak out 3 songs… with the little bit of voice I had. (I’m happy to report I’m finally getting better, and can almost speak normally again for the first time, today). But, mostly, we sat and talked and laughed. And, Jennifer’s brilliant daughter, Zoe, recited the Jabberwocky for us. ☺ And, later, when her dad arrived to pick her up, he shared several songs with us, too.



For the first time, I found myself disinterested in leaving. The gypsy that I am had come to roost like a hen on a familiar nest. I felt like the children’s story “Are you my mother?” But, instead, “Are you my city?”

Is this my home?

I guess I can’t really answer that, yet. There are travels and concerts ahead of me, still. And, now that I have my voice back, I’m eager to get to them. But, there is a definite grief in leaving that hasn’t been there before. But, I should know better than to hold onto things. That’s when they turn sour… just soak it up, and let it run its course…

This trip fed my mind and heart.

My host, Gina, is like family to me, and this is one of the first visits I’ve had with someone who knows me really well, who I feel completely at home around, and who can talk as much (actually, probably more) than I can. When the two of us get going, we can analyze and reminisce until the cows come home. And, wow did we… and then some.

Friendship, love, marriage, patterns, happiness, speaking your mind, no matter the consequence. What it would mean to live life doing only what you truly want to do, even when it upsets other people. Relationships that have ended sourly, new beginnings that spin sweetly, things that could have been, and things that never should have, dog people vs. cat people, dinner recipes, the importance of bath time, your ideal day and how to make it happen, being a gypsy vs. the commitment to a routine and long term goals, the joy of dancing, and of course music, music, music, music…

It has begun to occur to me that I was sorely mistaken in the first blog I wrote. The whole bit about having options, about choosing music. And, even when I wrote it, there was a chill that went down my spine and I thought, I’m not sure I really mean this…
I talked to my mom in the bus station in Chicago, and said to her, that I think I just didn’t understand that statement when I heard it originally. I don’t think it was intended to mean that real musicians are otherwise stupid people who can’t get work anywhere else. My mom said that would make it a “default,” something you fall back on because you’re not good at anything else.

Not having an option is different. It’s like you wake up and all you want to do is speak your truth, and the way it pours out of you is through music.

Not having an option means knowing that you could give up everything familiar, everything stable - in a moment’s notice, and live in substandard conditions – to be able to do the one thing that makes you feel like you have a purpose.

Not having an option means that you would do whatever it takes. It’s dizzying at first, but as I’ve opened to this new idea of not having an option… I see that I feel much more balanced now. Much more whole. Much more clear and alive. More sure. More at home with who I’m becoming…

So much is unraveling in me… I look forward to the stay with my dear friend, Kristin who has always believed in me and my music. And, then to arriving at my mom’s house where I can rally with her intellect and come up with a bit of a budget and plan for how to sustain this… feed this… let this grow.

Sitting here in Redding, CA, waiting for the bus to move again, I am drained (from having stayed up all night to salsa dance with Gina and my sister, and then going to the 24-hour hotcake house, and running on about 2 hours of sleep) and content.

Judy reminds me that this is not how the rest of my life will be. It’s easy to be happy here… running about from experience to experience. Being held by people that love me so much. I said to Andrea, it’s like “it takes a village to raise a Jessica.” And, I’ve sought out each piece of my village on this trip one by one, and been nourished by them each in their own way. The pieces of my heart that they touched at one time coming to the surface and getting some light again. I feel like I’m putting me back together again. I do have to recognize that it can’t always be like this. I can no more hold onto this trip than I can hold onto any day, any person, any thought, any emotion, and action.

To truly live, I have to let this float over me and run its course, and let it go.

Oh god. Breathe me by Sia just piped in… Be my friend. Hold me. Wrap me up, unfold me. I am small and needy. Warm me up. And, breathe me.

Gotta listen.

Love to you all.