Why we rode the bus to the P.O.

We didn't have to give up a perfect parking space, across the street from our building.

By taking the #17, we could first stop to eat, then continue to the P.O.

Disembarking down at SW 3rd and Pine, we crossed with the light twice and brunched at the Bijou Cafe, our first-found favorite eatery in Portland.

Satiated by buttermilk pancakes and the trimmings (all organic ingredients), we crossed with the light again and made our way to the #17 stop over on SW 4th.

Soon enough we got on board for a short ride to the post office at NW 7th and Hoyt.

Mama took one look at the long line we'd just joined, looked up at me and asked, "Is it always like this?" "Sometimes even longer," I replied.

Shipping our little package to Aunt Baker down in Puckett, Mississippi, all signed and sealed, we exited the post office to wait for Leland who had agreed to be our ride for the last leg of our journey.

Naturally I had my camera, so I got a couple of shots of Mama, the railroad station, a tree (I cannot resist foliage and/or blossoms), and Leland's arrival. I am ashamed that I didn't take any photos of the bus, Mama on the bus, the Bijou, the bus stop on 4th, but there's always next time. You've not escaped, rest assured.

Leland happily parked his good-looking Honda catty-cornered across from our building, close enough that if the promised rain appeared later on he wouldn't get too wet.

I didn't have to look around on a busy Saturday once we got back home. Parking space? Parking space? As in, Bueller? Bueller?

And that's why we rode the bus to the P.O.




The wind zipped in and Mama zipped up.




There's my baby, our knight in shining Honda.