The funny thing about ambient music is, I can play it over and over again, and never really notice if it’s the same song. And then, there are times I’ll recognize the artist and feel sophisticated, like when I’m seeing my new age hair stylist, Donnie. It’s my kind of classical. It’s music you can play waking up, or settling down—as foreplay, meditation, or yoga. It’s “ambient.” It conforms to the mood, and vice versa.
We went down to Portland on Saturday, arrived an hour and a half later than expected. Even the squirrels seem happy in Portland. Or maybe it’s just the weather, the fact the sun finally came out. Walking our dog Ginger through Loren’s neighborhood on a Sunday, past the old Craftsman bungalows and sun rooms, the succulents in the concrete cracks, the old Volvo’s and BMW’s and signs in all the yards saying This is Our America, where Everyone is Equal and Love Wins, and Black Lives Matter, and so on. I want to live and die in Portland, like The Smiths song, Such a Heavenly Way to Die. I bought a toothbrush at the Trader Jo’s made out of recycled yogurt cups. We did our best to stay off our devices and when the kids got back from the bookstore Powell’s I took a picture and texted it, here:
“Discreet Music” is the name of a Brian Eno album from 1975 and also a blog series I’m running through January, prompted by a journal-writing theme I started in Germany over the holidays. It’s inspired by the David Sedaris book I’m reading that chronicles his journal entries from the late ’70s onward.