Category Archives: Emigration/Immigration

Immigrant songs – Heaney, Joyce and Ronnie Drew

James Joyce, Zurich, 1915.

James Joyce, Zurich, 1915.

As an Irishman, it’s rare to find a fresh take on emigration. The culture of leave-taking and return, post-Christmas news reports from the departure gates at Dublin Airport, regularly thinking eight hours ahead, finding yourself in an Irish bar at 6 a.m. watching a sports game “from home” – most of these are familiar to the Irish emigrant.

Along with the songs and stories of course – from John Healy’s “The Grass Arena”, to Ronnie Drew’s recording of “McAlpine’s Fusiliers“, to the granddaddy of them all, James Joyce’s “Ulysses’, written in three continental cities but a chronicle of only one.

Historically the message has usually, ultimately, been one of exile – whether by force or choice. This ‘push’ story has often obscured the ‘pull’ narrative, the story of the return to Ireland: there are not as many songs about the prodigal Irishmen and women who came back.

This “pull” is the subject of a short, early poem of Seamus Heaney’s. “Gravities” appeared in Heaney’s first collection, “Death of a Naturalist”. It’s a poem that examines the “strict and invisible” force that pulls people back, to relationships and to countries.

Reading it also reminds me that even some of Ireland’s most famous exiles, Joyce and the monk Colmcille, for all their achievements in other countries, never escaped the pull of the home. (Even if, in Joyce’s case, they would never return.)

“Gravities” 

High-riding kites appear to range quite freely

Though reined by strings, strict and invisible.

The pigeon that deserts you suddenly

Is heading home, instinctively faithful.

 

Lovers with barrages of hot insult

Often cut off their nose to spite their face,

Endure a hopeless day, declare their guilt,

Re-enter the native port of their embrace.

 

Blinding in Paris, for his party-piece

Joyce named the shops along O’Connell Street

And on Iona Colmcille sought ease

by wearing Irish mould next to his feet.

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Feeling Irish abroad – but maybe not today

Patrick Kavanagh, 1963. Pic: NLI

Poet Patrick Kavanagh, 1963. Pic: NLI

What’s makes up an emigrant’s St Patrick’s Day?

Wearing green? Hitting the Irish bar(s)? Calling home? Listening to the Six Nations? Or none of the above?

It’s probably the latter for me. The most Irish thing I’ll do today is have a glass of Jameson this afternoon. The most Irish-American thing I’ll do this weekend is the Shamrock Run, a 5k in downtown Portland tomorrow morning, which attracts thousands of participants, many clad in kelly green (one of the 40 shades I’d never heard of until I moved here).

But Portland isn’t Boston or New York or even San Francisco. On a run today I spotted, in the early morning murk, a single tricolor hanging outside a house on NE 33rd Street. Yesterday a couple of colleagues wore green (as did I).

But that is the extent of St Patrick’s Day, for me. I’m tempted to pop into the local Irish bar, which is making the most of the weekend, but it looks like rain, and it’s chilly, and I’ll have to walk the dog later, so I’m not sure.

Not that this represents much change from when I used to live in Dublin. As a journalist, I worked every St Patrick’s Day, negotiating the alcohol-fueled mess of Talbot Street and the DART to get home at the end of the day. I’d wade through thousands of pictures of parades, but never bothered going to one.

Living abroad, I feel more Irish in certain moments than on certain days. A particular light in the evening will remind me of the sky over St Anne’s Park in Raheny, or a damp, clear morning will bring to mind stepping out of my dad’s house on a spring weekend. A Planxty song or a Patrick Kavanagh line or an Irish accent in the coffee shop – all of these prompt a certain small twinge, a reminder of my Irishness.

But I’m not feeling any of this today. Maybe next year, until then – go mbeirimid beo ar an am seo arís.

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Spies, sex, and snow – a new ‘Fairytale’

'Fairytale of New York'

‘Fairytale of New York’

It’s December 13 and I’ve yet to hear ‘Fairytale of New York‘. Is that a record? (Sorry.)

After 30 years of the song every Christmas, this is probably not a bad thing. Over the years I’ve heard it often enough – at Pogues’ concerts, in convenience stores, badly sung in crowded bars, blared out in taxis, whistled by a guy at a bus-stop, and so on.

The fact that I now live in a city where the song is rarely played on radio (in my experience, at least) or in a bar, and is unknown to most people I encounter, has been something of a relief. There was a time when it wasn’t Christmas until I heard those first piano notes but, away from Ireland, they’ve become less, not more, resonant.

Of course, as an Irish immigrant in the U.S., this surely amounts to a form of treason. After all, there are few songs of the last 30 years that speak so specifically to one particular aspect of the Irish-American experience. (A gritty, mid-century, Irishman in New York experience that seems a million miles from what’s sold nowadays to planefuls of shoppers by Aer Lingus, it must be said.)

Much as I still admire its craft though, Shane Macgowan and Jem Finer’s song doesn’t speak to my experience. But that also doesn’t mean that I haven’t been seeking out voices from home, and so, in recent weeks, I’ve been listening at length to another emigrant Irish songwriter.

Seamus Fogarty

Seamus Fogarty

Seamus Fogarty is a Mayo man based in London, who writes songs about bodysnatchers, Vincent Van Gogh’s ears, working on building sites in England, missing a bus and sleeping in a church in Carlow town, the health of Irish traditional music, and burial at sea, among other topics.

Luckily enough his new album, ‘The Curious Hand’, also contains a Christmas song, and – joy to the world – it’s not a million miles removed from the beer-stained, exhausted mood of ‘Fairytale’.

‘Christmas Time On Jupiter’ begins with the singer waking on Christmas Day in a Chicago hotel room, to find a Mexican spy he’s spent the night with rifling through his wallet.

From there – with a touch Shane Macgowan would be proud of – things go downhill.

I struggled out her door, into the winter snow,
I was alone with my thoughts, my feet were crunching away,
I was sitting by a fire on Christmas Day.
‘Mented from the drink, a shadow from the night before,
When I got into my house I was offered more.
And we sat around, a momentary family, raising a brief glass to our asylum…

As family Christmases go, it’s hardly traditional, but – as much as ‘Fairytale’ three decades ago – Fogarty evokes one type of immigrant life at Christmas, where casual friends and booze might be just enough to keep the loneliness or the homesickness at bay.

It may not prove as enduring as the Pogues’ song but it updates it, and so it’s taken the ‘Fairytale’ spot on my Christmas playlist. Not that – thankfully – I’m likely to hear either in the store tomorrow.

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Free jazz has killed my CD collection

Will I play these again?

Will I play these again?

I own hundreds of CDs. More actually, well into the four figures. I know this because, before moving to the U.S., I had to pack and carry four cratefuls of them to be shipped.

As I did so, I wondered: what’s the point? Do I need these things? Will I ever play most of them again?

And then I reassured myself that of course I would, that they were a vital part of who I was, that they were intrinsic to my well-being. Many of them had been a part of my life for years, so how could I live without them? Seriously?

It’s now November 2017 and I’ve not listened to a CD properly in 16 months. As I type this, the same crates are lying in my basement, alongside my CD player (which, damaged in transit, hasn’t worked since I arrived in Portland). With the exception of taking the occasional disc to the car to ease the commute, I haven’t unboxed any of them.

And – though I never thought I’d write this – it hasn’t mattered. Like most amateur music listeners, I now listen to music via a streaming service, aware that the sound quality is not as good, that the speakers are not as hi-tech as those with my old CD player, and that my booklet-perusing days are all but over. The audiophile I want to be is horrified.

Jan Garbarek. Pic: Yancho Sabev

Jan Garbarek. Pic: Yancho Sabev

Sometimes I feel a pang of regret – like, for instance, when I gaze upon my beautiful copy of Harry Smith’s Anthology. But rarely.

Rarely that is, unless I want to listen to music issued on ECM. The German jazz-classical label opted to keep its output off all streaming services in recent years. Not being able to listen on Spotify was bad enough – knowing that I had dozens of ECM albums sitting in boxes close by was a tease.

As time passed, the only reason I had to buy a CD player was to listen to Jan Garbarek, Pat Metheny, Keith Jarrett, and others who’d recorded for the label. Now that last reason’s fallen.

Last week ECM, making somewhat sniffy noises about piracy, relented, and placed its back catalog on a number of streaming services.

It’s great for me. I can now listen to Art Ensemble of Chicago while driving, or Tomasz Stanko while working out, or Dave Holland’s free jazz while writing blog posts (the latter’s probably not wholly advisable).

But, now that the initial excitement has faded, I’m left with an existential music listener’s question. Will I ever listen to my once-beloved CDs again?

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Out of season – and with good reason

Rain in Portland, winter 2016

Rain in Portland, winter 2016

As an Irishman, winter’s here.

It began on November 1, not December 21 – the incomprehensibly late date observed in the United States.

The timing of the seasons is something the Celts got right. The drenching skies, low clouds, and fading daylight of November mean winter, not autumn/fall.

Leaping into the hardest season on the morning after Halloween means that, by the time Christmas arrives, you’re halfway through. And the days are getting longer by then, too. How could winter just be starting at that time?

I picked up the ‘winter in November’ belief at school in Ireland, and I’m fairly sure that it’s a commonly-held belief there to this day.

So, it’s hard – as someone who now lives in Oregon – to accept that the forthcoming 48 hours of chilly rain is just another fall weekend. And don’t get me started on the other cultural divide that pops up at this time of year – the pumpkin spice latte.

Whether I’m living in the right season or not, I’m guaranteed to be doing one thing this weekend – spending too much time sheltering indoors. Which for me, means a lot of time listening to music.

And what better music to listen to in Portland, in November, than an album called ‘Winter Light’, by an acoustic jazz combo called ‘Oregon’.

Who says I’m not in tune with the seasons?

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Fall sees me tripping over my words

<p>2018 Benefits Open Enrollment (OE) runs from Oct. 30 to Nov. 13, 2017. Refer to the <a style="TEXT-DECORATION: underline" href="https://nikehr.nike.com/node/17356" target="_blank">Benefits Open Enrollment page</a> on the NIKE HR Website for complete details and enrollment guides.</p> <p>The <a style="TEXT-DECORATION: underline" href="https://nike.ent.box.com/s/w8dhd296uxv7axlrb551s7jeft1rt5g5" target="_blank">Benefits OE Training Deck</a> (presented on Oct. 11, 2017) covers:</p> <ul> <li>What’s New?</li> <li>Roth 401(k)</li> <li>Open Enrollment Timeline</li> <li>Healthcare</li> <li>Prescription Drug Coverage</li> <li>Dental/Vision</li> <li>Security Benefits</li> <li>Dependent Care/CERA</li> </ul> <center> <h2>DATES</h2> </center> <br /> <ul> <li><strong>Oct. 16</strong>: OE guide mailed to eligible Employees.<br /> <strong>Note</strong>: DC & Retail will have posters displayed as well as an option to opt-in for text reminders.</li> <li><strong>Oct. 24</strong>: HDHP Flip Book mailed.</li> <li><strong>Oct. 26</strong>: Soft OE begins (early OE start for HR)</li> <li><strong>Oct. 30</strong>: OE begins - email sent to eligible Employees. Separate customized email sent to expats.</li> <li><strong>Nov. 3</strong>: Reminder email sent to Employees (this will be sent after 5 pm PT).</li> <li><strong>Nov. 10</strong>: Final reminder email sent to Employees.</li> <li><strong>Nov. 13</strong>: OE ends (soft date)- email sent to non-enrolled.</li> <li><strong>Nov. 17</strong>: OE ends (hard date). <strong>Note</strong>: This should not be communicated to Employees.</li> </ul> <h2 align="center">WHAT’S NEW?</h2> <br /> <ul> <li><strong>Healthcare premiums</strong>: Employees will pay one rate for adults they cover and another rate for children. Premium costs will be based on plan type and number/type of dependents covered.</li> <li><strong>Prescription drug coverage</strong>: Nike is changing coverage from a 2-tier to a 3-tiered design. <ul> <li>The cost Employees pay will depend on which tier their prescription falls under for the Basic and PPO plans.</li> <li>A new mail order program called Mail Service Member Select (MSMS) is being added – an easy way to fill prescriptions and save money.</li> </ul> </li> <li><strong>Dental plan enhancements</strong>: <ul> <li>Preventive care will not count towards the annual maximum.</li> <li>Dental Plus Plan will include a new PPO Network – to provide bigger savings.</li> </ul> </li> <li><strong>Roth 401(k)</strong>: OE communications mentions the new Roth 401(k) feature that allows Employees to contribute to retirement savings on an after-tax basis. NIKE matches up to a combined 5% for Employees retirement. (<strong>ex</strong>: Employee contributes 1% to Roth 401(k) and 5% to regular 401(k), NIKE will only match 1% to Roth and 4% to the regular 401(k) account.)<br /> On Jan. 2, 2018, Employees will be able to login to Fidelity to make an election. Refer Employees to <a style="TEXT-DECORATION: underline" href="https://nb.fidelity.com/public/nb/nike/home" target="_blank">netbenefits.com/nike</a> for more information.</li> <li>The <strong>Recommendation Path</strong> scenarios-based tool in the Benefits portal will not be available this year. The results weren't found to be a very accurate guide during OE last year. Advisors should not be advising Employees on what they should select, it's the individual's financial decision.</li> </ul> <h2 align="center">AFFORDABLE CARE ACT (ACA)</h2> <br /> <ul> <li>No changes for 2018. ACA queries are handled by Benefits Team.</li> <li>NIKE must collect and report accurate SSNs for all enrolled Employees and dependents.</li> <li>Nike must offer “Full Time Equivalent” benefits to Employees working an average of 30 hours a week.<br /> Eligibility is based on a 12 month lookback period (Oct - Oct), this year it's Oct. 17, 2016 - Oct. 17, 2017.</li> <li>Notices are mailed to all eligible Employees. Benefits are only applicable for 1 year, and re-evaluated every year. When coverage ends, they would be eligible for COBRA.</li> <li><strong>Mid-year Employment Status Changes</strong>: Benefits will look back from termination effective date and look back to October of the previous year to determine eligibility. Route questions to Benefit Ops.</li> <li>At the end of the year NIKE provides a 'W-2 Like' form, called the <a style="TEXT-DECORATION: underline" href="https://nikehr.nike.com/node/17470" target="_blank">1095-C</a> (sent by Towers Watson) to Employees, with confirmation of their medical enrollment and covered dependents.</li> </ul> <center> <h2>FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS</h2> </center> <br /> <p><strong>Why has my premium increased?</strong><br /> Any increase arises from the normal cost of doing business. Premiums change every year, and last year's premium changes were minimal.</p> <p><strong>Who can termed Employees contact regarding their retirement planning questions?</strong><br /> Employees termed under the Organizational Transformation should be routed to Securian (a Minnesota Life affiliate). Call: 1-866-881-3348.<br /> Non-termed Employees with retirement planning questions should also be routed to Securian.</p> <p><strong>What is Alight Solutions?</strong><br /> Alight Solutions is the new name for the dependent verification vendor AON (previously called AON Hewitt). Rebranding will occur in Q1 or Q2, 2018.</p> <p><strong>How can I check if my dentist is in the PPO network?</strong><br /> Network queries should be routed to Moda at <a style="TEXT-DECORATION: underline" href="http://www.modahealth.com/nike" target="_blank">www.modahealth.com/nike</a>. Employees cannot check if their dentist is in-network under NIKE's PPO plan until Jan. 1, 2018. Moda offers generic network information prior to this date.</p> <p><strong>Can my dependents be covered on the Vision Plan if I am not?</strong><br /> No. Employees do not have to enroll in every available plan, but they must be enrolled in a plan for their dependents to receive coverage under that plan.</p> <center> <h2>ADDITIONAL RESOURCES</h2> </center> <br /> <ul> <li><a style="TEXT-DECORATION: underline" href="https://nikehr-1.custhelp.com/app/answers/detail/a_id/5089">Employee Self Service (ESS) training deck</a> for HRD Advisors</li> <li><a style="TEXT-DECORATION: underline" href="https://nikehr.nike.com/node/17356" target="_blank">Benefits Open Enrollment page</a> on NIKE HR Website</li> <li><a style="TEXT-DECORATION: underline" href="https://nikehr.nike.com/sites/default/files-public/primary-downloads/benefits-oe-faqs-en-us.pdf" target="_blank">Open Enrollment FAQs</a> on the NIKE HR Website</li> <li><a style="TEXT-DECORATION: underline" href="https://nikehr.nike.com/node/15762" target="_blank">Medical Coverage page</a> on the NIKE HR Website</li> <li><a style="TEXT-DECORATION: underline" href="https://nikehr.nike.com/node/15757" target="_blank">Dental Coverage page</a> on the NIKE HR Website</li> <li><a style="TEXT-DECORATION: underline" href="https://nikehr.nike.com/node/15753" target="_blank">Vision Coverage page</a> on the NIKE HR Website</li> <li><a style="TEXT-DECORATION: underline" href="https://nikehr.nike.com/node/16837" target="_blank">When Coverage Ends and Cobra page</a> on the NIKE HR Website</li> </ul>

Oscar Wilde in New York, 1882

Fall or autumn?

‘Tis the season – of mists and mellow fruitfulness, and attempting to call the time of year by its American name.

Unlike the unrelenting stacks of leaves blowing into our driveway – despite my occasional efforts to remove them – I’m not sure ‘fall’ will stick.

Because a season of low light, cool evenings, and chilly air presaging the arrival of winter is an ‘autumnal’ one. Full stop (not ‘period’).

The word itself has a long history, stretching back to the 8th century. Its origins are in the Old French ‘autompne’, which crossed with the Latin ‘autumnus’ to create the late Middle English ‘autumn’. From there John Keats and his ilk ran with it.

‘Fall’ is fine, but it just doesn’t have the same historical heft. It’s more of a verb – part of ‘autumn’, but hardly the full experience.

And so, the season of spectacular leaf color, and equally spectacular Oregon rainfall, remains ‘autumn’ – in my company at least.

But my annual wrangling with the topic is part of a bigger question. As an immigrant to the U.S., should I drop the old words for the new?

Is it an auto shop or a garage? A line or a queue? Fries or chips? A restroom or a toilet? I could go on.

Should I adapt? Or should I instead adopt some advice. Another Irishman who spent time in America, Oscar Wilde, remarked that, “we have really everything in common with America nowadays except, of course, language”.

Little has changed since Wilde made that comment more than 130 years ago. Some things never change, it seems.

To that end, autumn will always be fall here. Just not to me.

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On returning to visit Ireland

On Dollymount Strand, September 2017.

On Dollymount Strand, September 2017.

Every emigrant believes that their story is new.

It’s a conviction woven through the fabric of the emigration itself; a new start, new beginnings, a renewal of outlook and perspective – all these are critical to the experience, and my experience was no different.

As an Irishman, I’m aware that millions of people departed my home country for the United States over the past 200 years, under many circumstances (and a great many of those unhappy). And yet, because I’m me and this is my life, I can’t help but put myself front and center in my own story.

So, when I returned to Ireland for a visit last week – my first since leaving the country more than a year earlier – I expected (naively, of course) the insights to fall like rain from an Irish summer sky. I would see myself, and the country, cast in a new, deeper light; I would achieve understandings that were impossible in the 38 years I’d lived there.

I may not have forged the uncreated conscience of my race since I’d left, but I would have strongly held beliefs on what makes a good taco, for example, among other things.

Dublin, 2017.

Dublin, 2017.

What I found was what I already knew, but perhaps didn’t appreciate enough before. It’s obvious to some I’m sure, but it wasn’t to me.

For all the tourist ads and Instagram pics, the Ireland I returned to wasn’t a place. The place was there (I was standing in it, after all), but what made it ‘home’ was the people.

And my wife and I tried to meet as many people as possible. Over a short number of days we spent time with family, met old friends and former work colleagues, and even shot the breeze with the owner of our favorite coffee shop.

We didn’t do, or speak about, anything different or groundbreaking or radical to what we had before. The ‘T word‘ may have been raised once or twice, but we got over that quickly enough.

Instead we just hung out, eating and drinking, walking and talking, covering a great number of topics. Not least the greatest Irish conversation starter: the weather. (For the record it rained most days – which added to the sense of homecoming.)

There was no pretense or argument or oneupmanship – just connection.

When I walked into departures at Dublin Airport a few days later, I hadn’t come into possession of any great emigrant insights. I wasn’t taking off with a razor-sharp concept of the 21st-century Irish psyche in my pocket.

My insight was simple enough – that Ireland contains some of the greatest people, who I love and I miss and who I look forward to returning to. Sin é .

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As I walked out one Portland afternoon

Willamette River from the Broadway Bridge

Willamette River from the Broadway Bridge

Three months ago I arrived in Portland, Oregon, stepping out of a taxi at Glisan Street and 11th Avenue with my wife, both of us laden down with bags.

Since then I’ve walked. I’ve walked downtown, I’ve walked circuits of the bridges, I’ve walked up to the Pittock Mansion and down from the Japanese Gardens. I’ve walked in shorts, in temperatures of 100 or more, in the rain on gloomy Sundays, through the aisles of Powell’s bookstore and up the narrow path that leads to Multnomah Falls.

The reason for this constant perambulation is partly exercise-driven. Walking two or three miles is a lot easier on my body that pounding out the same distance running on the pavement.

But it’s also down to curiosity, to uncover the city from the ground level, from the veterans’ statues in the South Park Blocks to the skid row at their northern equivalent, from the moneyed glass towers of the Pearl to the dives along West Burnside.

First Avenue, Portland

First Avenue, Portland

The same impressions recur: the city is undergoing a rapid gentrification, Portland is a mecca for tourists, drivers here are more polite than in most other cities. Other things are also clear: the homelessness crisis is beyond anything I’ve witnessed in Europe, graffiti and stickers demanding rent freezes abound (“Keep Portland Weird” sounds more like “Keep Portland As It Was”).

And then, all about, there’s the fall. Putting complaints about the influx of rebuilding, prices and the decline of old Portland to one side, the city has looked and felt beautiful in recent days.

Last Friday I walked from Mississippi Avenue to downtown, across the Broadway bridge and down 2nd Avenue to the sunlit park at Lownsdale Square. In shirtsleeves too, despite it being early November.

The low light reminded me of walking in St Anne’s Park in Dublin at the same time of the year, the warmth October days spent visiting family in Los Angeles.

The onset of winter and its attendant rains will curb my outings, I imagine. Try as I might, I can’t warm to the Portland habit of venturing out into the rain without an umbrella. Last December I crossed the bridges on an icy mornings, braving northerly breezes down the Willamette River – not something I’ll repeat too often.

Until then though, you’ll find me out and about, crossing streets, dodging cyclists and checking signs, just walking.

Downtown Portland

New paths – downtown Portland. Pic: Clare Kleinedler

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Ringing the changes – the music of moving

Steel Bridge, Portland, September 2016

Steel Bridge, Portland, September 2016

“If you fear change, give it to me.”

There’s a guy who panhandles on the corner of North Broadway and North Vancouver Avenue in northeast Portland. His message, written on a piece of cardboard, seems to work. Well, it did for me last week.

Change is something I’ve become acquainted with over the past few months. Despite the common advice to remake and remodel, to constantly develop and progress, it’s not something that comes naturally to most people. I include myself.

A friend recently pointed out, however, that leaving a place or a job (and, in the process, a state of mind) is the only way to grow. A couple of months ago my wife and I did both, relocated to relocating to Portland, Oregon from Dublin, Ireland.

The journey’s been like nothing before. We are learning a new city, a new (to me) culture, job and apartment hunting. Some days it’s a natural fit, others demand a doubling down on resolve. But the change has come.

What downtime I have, between the hunting and unpacking and lifting and meetings, has been spent listening to music – on the MAX to the market, in line at the DMV, driving to a house viewing.

And so I’ve put together a short playlist with two intersecting themes – change and American popular music.

All the songs contain some trace or theme of change, from the social (Buffalo Springfield) to spiritual (Nina Simone) to the local (Cisco Houston’s version of a song Woody Guthrie wrote when he lived here in 1941).

Elsewhere there’s personal development (a track from Miles Davis’ Birth Of The Cool sessions), a scorched-earth new start (courtesy of a Louis Armstrong solo) and a simple call for contentment from Elliott Smith.

And what better way to end it all than the famous largo from Dvořák’s ninth symphony, ‘From the New World’, the composer’s musical testament to America – a composition of progress, hope and, above all, change.

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Running into the City of the Roses

The Willamette River

The Willamette River, August 2016

After 8,000 kilometers, a number of farewell parties and all the work that’s involved in packing two lives into two dozen cardboard crates, I arrived in Portland this week in dire need of a mind cleanse.

When I’m jetlagged or feeling the strain of a heavy schedule one thing works for me – running. It doesn’t have to be a long distance or a great pace, or even a particularly enjoyable session. I just need to get out the door and start pounding it out.

My wife and I woke at 6am last Wednesday morning to a crystal clear sky over the City of the Roses. This was it, the first day of the Next Step, and the next step was getting outdoors.

We are staying in The Pearl district, close to the waterfront along the Willamette River – a circuit of which provides a spectacular dawn run. I had done this loop, around two of the 12 bridges which span the waterway, when we visited the city last December.

On the waterfront. Pic: Clare Kleinedler

On the waterfront. Pic: Clare Kleinedler

Back then the weather was cold, with a freezing breeze off the river which blew away any jetlag cobwebs. This week it was warm, 19c at 7am, but a gentle late summer wind was just enough to ensure a comfortable run.

And so I started the next stage of my life much as I’d finished the last one, jogging along an expanse water as the day dawned. When much else is changing there’s comfort in maintaining some routines.

In busy and stressful times, periods of bereavement, heavy workloads, on days when it’s all gone right and others when I’ve hit a speedbump, up to this most recent move, to a new country, running has been a staple. At times it’s been easy, the 10k flying by; other times, every kilometer has been hard fought.

But every time the end result is the same. I walk back in the door in a better frame of  body and mind than when I stepped out.

Last Wednesday I entered our rented apartment, sweating and thirsty, tired and happy, dropped my keys and hat and told my wife something we already knew, “this is a great place”.

It is, and it’s best seen at 7am on a summer morning, crossing the Hawthorne Bridge with the sun on your face, the wind to your back, and the road rising to meet you.

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