You did good.

I don't know when, or if, Holman's will be reopening. I'm sad about it because it was part of my original Portland experience. Oregon was one of the last states where it was legal to smoke (tobacco) indoors, and there was a fresh novelty of enjoying breakfast at the Bloody Mary bar with all of life's indulgences at hand. There was football on several televisions and a few video poker machines to keep patrons occupied, if they weren't engaged in conversation. Back when you could rent a studio on Hawthorne for under $500 and make enough money dog-walking to be able to afford tattoos and the newest iPhone. Nobody knew how good they had it. 

The Horse Brass was the next milestone in my official Portland residency. I remember enjoying the entire menu underneath the scale models of Star Trek Enterprise spaceships which hung over the rafters. A modern totem which held a similar magic to the pieces of "horse brass" ornaments which were attached to noble steeds. Modes of transportation and the lives that bore them. They serve beer, and the menu is always a wonderfully curated selection of local and imported varieties. I'm always happy with the stouts and porters that they carry. 

My life is still good. I don't have leftover piles of cash every month, but I live in a beautiful neighborhood which is full of life and light. I can walk and enjoy the crisp night air and saunter within walking distance of dozens of great restaurants and bars. 

I walked around the neighborhood tonight, and I saw somebody trying to throw a pair of shoes onto an overhead communications line. The laces were tied together so that they would wrap around the line and become entangled up above the intersection. There were already dozens of other pairs of shoes entangled along the line, so I wondered if this participant was a self-identified member of some specific tradition. My inquiry yielded no confirmation of a "shoe ledger". 

Rumors indicated that local students celebrated some shared accomplishments by sacrificing the footwear their parents had bought them. I'd be mad if my kid threw his Nike's up on the telephone wire. But I don't have kids. The shoe-lobber was having difficulty with accomplishing the task and I wished them well. Not much later that night, I heard a cheer erupt from that block. It meant to me that someone was celebrating, because they know how good they have it.