In a few short days I will hop on a plane, and
over 7-UP and honeyed peanuts imagine that this
time, this trip, I return a woman. (Strike up
Oprah's theme please.) A deep sigh, and a cough as
a bus glides by, and I'm off and riding again.. . . . . .
........ Which would be a tidy end to this essay it 1
had not inadvertently been blocking the door to
the hairpiece establishment throughout my coastal
musings. When peddling away, I looked back in
horror to find six or seven wiry-capped consumers
shaking their fists after me. I crossed the street,
cut between two cars whose drivers were jawing on
cellulars, and narrowly escaped being hit by a
turquoise Cadillac convertible. Another glance
behind confirmed I'd lost the baldies and was safe
again amidst the traffic. I decided then I was really
looking forward to those pre-packaged nuts; I have
had my fill of crackers and cheese as of late.
"Live, from N orth H ollyw ood,
C alifornia..."****
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IJVTLK LEFT EKE- W M L l??5
Hit squarely in the noggin with the idea a
vacation home was not uncalled for, I made flight
plans. Oh, certainly work was pleasant enough. I
wasn't altogether disenchanted with it. I wasn't
tired of toiling or dulled by drudgery, just a bit less
chipper when faced with corporate paper pushing.
Then one Sunday afternoon when peddling my
bike up Ventura Boulevard, finding it difficult to
ignore exhaust despite the sunshine, I realized I
hadn't been home for a year. I slowed to catch my
reflection in the window of "Holiday Hairpieces for
Men and Women."
Home was always Cannon Beach. Anyplace one
masters puberty is inevitably viewed as home' with
a grotesque fondness. This cheerless thought in
mind. I contemplated the girl in the window.
Infamous in my youth for too much make-up and
decidedly inappropriate toggery, 1 was gleeful to
see I had only outgrown the lavender eye shadow.
I fancied physically (some might add
'intellectually') 1 was just the same - just the same.
In recent years my visits home have grown
fewer and far-far-farther between. Perhaps
because since leaving for University - and upon
graduation, just leaving - I often imagined locals
had catalogued my pubescent errors for public
record. 1 clearly recall my humiliation at "townies"
commenting on the phases that thrust me into
womanhood.
One August dusk (I was eleven or so), the scabby
kneed Spruce Street gang I was running with held
a ferocious game of Kick-the-Can. A tiresome
curler-headed neighbor came out to request we not
play in her yard.
"I'm sick of cleaning up after that St. Bernard of
yours..."
I acquiesced, but informed her it was a tad
difficult to keep track of our dog's visits to inviting
lawns.
Deaf to this logic, she said, "You know Annie, you
shouldn't be playing with these boys anywho!
You're getting your strawberries now!"
I first merely raised an eyebrow at the absurdity.
Then, with the boys' laughter ringing in my ears
and a furtive glance at my chest, the connotation of
her words sunk in. Face flaming, I responded
definitively, "I am NOT."
"Yes, you are." She was one of those people glad
to give unwelcome news. "Yes, you are... You
know, your sisters never rough-housed when they
were becoming young ladies."
Unable to quell the need for retribution, from
that night forward I always gave dear Precious (the
afore mentioned St. Bernard) extra attention after
she had actively admired that fine woman's rose
bushes. (Her roses weren't the worse for wear in
the end; she should have thanked me for it.)
At seventeen, wearing some tawdry thing or
another (that was my scarf phase), I was waiting
tables at the Brass Lantern when: WHAABAM! A
member of the C.B. Bachelor Fraternity (nope, not
you Peter) looked me up and down. He shook his
head, advised me not to "grow up too fast," and then
turned away (after requesting more pita and a
lemon wedge for his hummous). Speechless, I filled
with a fury that festered, fermented, and (just
yesterday) finally expired. I was always getting
indignant over such chidings as these. And no
matter the passage of time, holidays spent in
Cannon I often entertained feelings of being
rather thirteen-ish.
Miscellaneous Local: "Well, if it isn't little Annie
Osborne."
Me: "Yep."
Miscellaneous Local: "Why, you look so grown
up!"
Feeling quite brainy and a little peckish, I retort
with the ever witty: "I reckon so."
Miscellaneous Local: "Well, well."
Me: "Well, bye.”
Subsequently, I pilgrimaged sparingly to the
motherland while hankering for adulthood.
When I left it was my conviction that city life
meant freedom from this meddlesome gossip. I'm
miffed to admit it took some time to recognize that
grievous hearsay was not endemic to small town
inhabitants, but to bipeds everywhere. The city
simply provided a larger landscape. There is no
place better to learn this disagreeable truth than
Los Angeles. (Of course, gossips in Hollywood are
paid loads of dough to be "curious.")
The advantage of mega-metropolises like London
or L.A. is that they are remarkably easier to hide
in. What's that? You question my inclination to do
so — to disappear into a mass of humanity? Allow
me to inquire: Have any of you locals ever driven
to Seaside for Snapple and Snackwells to avoid
running into friends and/or loved ones at
Osburn's? Have you sipped an Amber Ale discreetly
in some shady pub, attempting to shirk Bill's
regulars? Perhaps you have made the drive to
Portland, bent on becoming smitten with someone
you weren't related to?
Though I may sound as if I'm touting the social
freedoms of the city; tut tut, allow me to make
myself clear. Those of you heading toward the big
town and a "what ho" with someone you haven t
shagged ten years past, fine and dandy, do as you
will. Sleep outside the family. Just save the
flaking, the brawling, the scheming, the wearing
of fetching lampshades for home. Knowing folks
in Cannon Beach remember your past degradations
is realistic; believing folks care is narcissistic.
Hometown locals may tease one to no end, but
forgive one (eventually they have to). City folk put
you on "Hard Copy" and hound you until you pray
for the end (not that I would know).
****If you think the title is pretentious, you've
never been to North Hollywood.
This essay brought to you by: Little Annie
Osbomie.
Post Script:
I don't remember it being this cold. I used to go
prancing about in cut-offs mid-winter, and I cant
ascertain if my current reaction to this frigid
breeze is from getting older or from California
sissifying me. I'd forgotten the sensation of
slipping into jeans so cold they feel damp. I keep
fidgeting with my thigh-highs, trying, in a
lady-like fashion, to inch them further up my legs.
Chill dillema aside, it has been splendid to tool
around in my dad's Buick wagon, checking out new
developments and visiting old friends. And I've
kept the eyeballs peeled for tidbits and details that
characterize Cannon Beach to carry in my heart
when I'm away from her again. Back in North
Hollywood and lounging at the apartment pool, I'm
sure to recall memories of men with big beards and
facial hair (in L.A., males proudly display
prevalent jawlines) who drive extended-cab trucks,
all sorely lacking vanity plates. Reaching for
bottled water (I will need to cool off), I will think of
my mom wearing eighteen layers and drinking H2O
straight from the tap. A quick dip in the pool, and
I'm sure to remember these days of wading in
waters that dear Great Great Grandma Braillier
waded through when herding the cows back to the
Tolovana homestead. But I've lapsed into the
hokesy-folksy. It must be this fresh air.
R E N T A L S • SALES • T R IP S • CLASSES
A N N IE S KAYAKS
5 0 1 /3 6 8 -6 0 5 5
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487 HWY1O1
>
IN WHEELCR. OREGON
K A Y A K IN G ENHANCES LIVES
A R T SAVES LIVES
WHERE TO GET AN EDGE
CANNON BEACH: Jupiter's Rare and Used
Books, The Cookie Co., Coffee Cabana, Bill's
Tavern, Cannon Beach Book Co., Hane's Bakerie,
The Bistro, Midtown Cafe, Once Upon a Breeze &
Cleanline Surf
MANZANITA: Mother Nature's, Cassandra's,
Nehalem Bay Video
ROCKAWAY: Sharkey's
TILLAMOOK: Rainy Day Books
NESKOWIN: The Hawk Creek Café
PACIFIC CITY: The River House
OCEANSIDE: Ocean Side Espresso
LINCOLN CITY: Trillium Natural Foods,
Driftwood Library
NEWPORT: Oceana Natural Foods, Don Petrie's
Italian Food Co., Café DIVA, Cosmo Café,
Bookmark Café, Newport Bay Coffee Co.,
Cuppatunes, Bay Latté, Ocean Pulse Surf Shop &
Canyon Way
EUGENE: The WOW Hall, KLCC, Oasis
CORVALLIS: The Environmental Center, OSU
SALEM: Heliotrope
ASTORIA: KMUN, Columbian Café, The
Community Store & Café Uniontown
SEASIDE: Buck’s Books & Universal Video
PORTLAND: The Goose Hollow Inn, Powell's
Books (Two Locations), Music Millennium (Two
Locations), The Laurelthirst, Key Largo, East Ave
Tavern, and many many more.....
DUVALL, WASHINGTON: Duvall Books
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON: Elliot Bay Book
Co., Honey Bear Bakery, New Orleans Restaurant,
Still Life in Fremont, Allegro Coffeehouse, The
Last Exit Coffee House, & Bulldog News.
/Did you get \
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J [f you have a personal ipjury claim..UP­
KEEP THE MONEY IN THE MOVEMENT!
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Call: Greg Kafouiy
/3 2 0 SW Stark St. »202. Portland, OR
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97204; 224-2647j