Looking outside from inside the new Guilder Cafe at Powell's

4044

This last weekend was the closest we had to a pre-pandemic weekend in over two years.

1st weekend day: killed time at the Midland Library; 2nd weekend day; hung out at Powell's, and had coffee.

We experienced, for the first time, the Powell's Coffee Room under its new holder-in-fief; Guilder Cafe. I already assayed the approach in this episode; well, as one may or may not know, it's open and you can finally go to Powells and sit in with your books or share a coffee with someone. 

Guilder Cafe (the sworn enemy of Florin, it will be remembered) is a whole 'nother world from what World Cup was.

The seating area is smaller and as differently-arranged as it is stylish. Gone are the big-lumber long tables in favor of a single long table in the middle about two-thirds as long as the old ones. Steel stools replace the old chairs. While you can sit and look out toward the street on the Burnside side, the similar seating along 11th Avenue is gone in favor of seating looking in and square tables which can be moved.

These tables do not wobble as the old ones did, so there's that.

The lighting is cooler (though not gloomy) and much more nuanced. And, in the northwest corner of the space, where there used to be a couple more aisles of book shelves, there is now this:

... a sort of 'bleacher' arrangement, steps up the sides and twelve large cushions to sit on. In front of this, a rather tasteful conversation-pit arrangement.

The coffee menu is high in quality and limited in offerings. You can have lattes, cold-brews, Americanos and the rest, but there are no flavored syrups. The menu (including the food fare) is here.  The only sweetenings available are simple syrup and stevia. You'll also be paying more (my Americano was $3.25, my wife's au lait was similar. This is in line with Guilder's ethos which aims to support small business (namely, in this case, Guilder) and the farmers who grow the coffee we love so much along with our books.

Hours currently are until 8 PM, which, on this Monday, felt a great deal like 10:00 PM did back in the day. 

Also, Arnold Drake the paper flower guy was there. So there is that. We shared some warmth as he left for the day; one member of the erstwhile regulars' club to another. It was worth the waiting for that. 

I won't lie; like a whole lot of us who've fretted about Powell's during the pandemic, I have dreamt of this happening again. At least it's happening in some way. If the increased pricing is a little off-putting then at least it pays off in a high-quality locally-roasted cup that's doing some good in the world (and letting us, in a very real way, support local business; it's a convenient way to walk that talk), and if the decreased seating area is a bit discouraging, at least it's spacious and allows for the maximum social distancing in such a space.

So, for me, it's a mixed bag, but it's a new world we have come to terms with. Whole new planet, really. I think most Powell's customers will find Guilder a good fit. 

It's What We Used To Do Every Week, Only Now, It Feels Awkward

4013

... but we will adjust. We always do.

The hours are slightly different but coffee's coming back. 

We can't have the same world we did before. But we will try and make the new one kind, if we can.

Northwest 11th by Powells On Any Given Late Afternoon In The Long Ago

3672

This one tugged at the heartstrings, you know, now that we're all in search of lost time.

The point of view is the units block of NW 11th Avenue, between Couch and Burnside. I'm facing north-northwest. Powell's Books is at my back and on the right. The building you're looking at is called the M Financial Center, which impresses me in as much as I know of no other letter of the alphabet that has so much finance devoted to it.

The intersection in view is that of NW 11th Avenue and Couch St.

NW 11th and Couch is unique amongst Portland intersections is that it is the only place in the city of Portland and indeed the state of Oregon where the so-called 'scramble' crossing is implemented. Couch traffic goes and Couch pedestrians can cross; then 11th Avenue traffic goes and 11th Avenue pedestrians cross; then all traffic on the streets stop and the six cross walks (two for each street and two diagonals crossing the middle) flow. It's an innovative thing and maybe it's the mad dash of everyone toward the Powell's entry on 11th and Couch convinced the city to put it there, I don't know. It's been three years and more since it's been put in and I hear nothing about it being put elsewhere, which is strange in our town where traffic patterns seem disrupted on the basis of wish and whimsy in these latter days.

Indeed, the streets there are so very narrow it's hard to see who, if anyone, is really saving any time by cutting across.

Quite a few years ago, as a teenager in Salem, I remember the city there piloting the idea at the corner of High and Center Streets, and in Salem that makes sense as the street widths there amount to a considerable hike. Surprising therefore that it never caught on there. I guess we love it here, we inscrutable, quirky Portlanders who do things, I guess, just for the sake of being seen doing 'em.

Anyway, that was then and this is now and Powell's is still not opening, not yet. We remain hopeful but understand why this is.

So it goes.

Southwest Oak And West Burnside, February 2020, from Powell's

3656

Our next stop on the daily photo log adventure comes from only two months ago.

Two months ago. Seems like twenty years ago. I see other on-line humans calling it "the time before" and I mean, say what you want about pop culture, I see where this is all coming from and I'm endlessly impressed with the average person's mind's ability to MacGyver coping with a chaotically shifting zeitgeist on the fly. I mean, cultural literacy won't get you through every emergency, no, but when the order of the day is that which we accept as read today might get rewritten in our faces tomorrow, and the day after may contradict that, well, it's no small tool. Intellectually, it can be a swiss army knife.

Anyway, about two-and-a-half months ago. Coffee Room. #BookChurchPDX. Powell's. 11th and West Burnside. Lookin' out the fishbowl. There is, for those of you who are unfamiliar with Portland's skyline, a building at the corner of Southwest Broadway and Washington. Back in the day I knew it as the Bank of California building. It's now called the Union Bank building after its parent company merged a few times. And it's visually notable for the way it's lit at night, with spotlights pointing down the flutes in the building's architecture.

The Brown Eyed Girl looked out the window across West Burnside where Southwest Oak Street split off between 11th and 10th. The Union Bank tower's the tallest and the lighting made it stand out, and she loved the view, and insisted I take a pic.

When someone with good taste insists, one does not demur. So.

In the foreground is a little walk-through mall with tiny retail spaces called Union Way. The passage goes through to Southwest Stark/Harvey Milk Street. The building immediately net door was a branch of Car Toys for years; what it is now I can't recall. The shorter building was the Federal Reserve Bank Branch in Portland for a long time and was, a short while ago, the home of Jive Software before the vicissitudes of intellectual property and corporate merger sharked that away from Oregon. And over that is the Union Bank building in night dress.

All this from the window of the Cathedral of Saint Ursula in Portland, the Coffee Room at Powells, where we would be tonight If Only.

And so it goes.

[pdx] Arnold Drake World, Magic Paper Flower Man

3509.

I've written before about Arnold Drake World, the man who does the exquisite paper flowers, lilies and roses, and does his Zen meditations in the Powell's Burnside Coffee Room, time and oft when we too camp out there. Last Saturday we saw him there and he had clearly added another trick to his already-impressive repertoire. Here's him:

Note the little white thing underneath his hands. that's one of those long folds of paper he usually has doing a ballet in the air between his hands before he transmutes it into a part of one of his creations. And that's impressive enough; if I looked up dexterity in the dictionary and didn't see his picture next to the definition, I'd be disappointed.

But he's doing more than that this time. He's got a bit of the old-school prestige going on here. He was totally levitating that piece of paper, hands flashing above and below, one side to the other. Performing, as usual, for nobody, and everybody.

If you don't admire that man's style, man, I gotta check your pulse. You can't be alive and not be moved.

[art] Ink: Zoë At Peet's On Couch

3469.

The Peet's coffee on NW Couch between 11th and 12th has begun to evolve into a pre-Powell's 'book church' stop for us. The coffee is good and we can get madeleines (most of the time … it was snickerdoodle this last Saturday) which have gone beyond a mere Proustian affectation to become something I have become simply mad about.

You don't have to love A la recerche du temps perdu to love madeleines, and dipped in the front of a salted caramel latte, they're celestially good.

Our barista today was this magnetically affable young woman named Zoë. Eventually, her lower arm tattoos caught my eye, I asked permission to photograph, and she granted this request.

The wide-screen view didn't work out, but the closeups, much better. This first one made me laugh inside because of its sheer irreverence with a dark tinge.

She said it was inspried by The X-Files. The truth is out there; it's that the show is timeless, at least so far. It was the other one that really touched my heart, though, in the best Oregon-emigrant sort of way:

The cartouche curls into the suggestion of an ocean wave. it merges into flora including a palm tree, then incongruously contains a sunrise over an evergreen forest, the skyline dominated by a snow capped mountain reminiscent of Wy'east. She explained this was to honor her homes; where she came from, San Diego, and where she calls home now … Portland.

Now, that's an Oregon-California merger I can get behind. Full of West Coast heart and soul. Delicious artwork, too.

We like Zoë, and we love that branch of Peet's Coffee. Next time you're in there, may we recommend two things: Donsuemor madeleines, and a hello to Zoë. And my thanks for letting me pict her ink. Quite an honor.

[liff] Mackenzie Phillips at Powell's Books

3451.

Seen in passing: During our usual Sunday night sacrament at Powell's Books, the actress Mackenzie Phillips appeared to promote her latest book, a series of essays on life, recovery, and addiction titled Hopeful Healing. 

I was up in Pearl browsing the art books, as is my wont; The Wife™ was mildly apprehensive that I would be invading a closed level, as celebrities such as Mackenzie create rather a stir in our still-parochial burg.

But there was no problem. Indeed, the few moments I spent seeing someone I used to crush on on TV when I was much younger than I am now were rather calming. The audience was attentive and she was engaged with them. There seemed to be a calm chemistry going on between them all.

I always thought that it was ironic that someone should speak so authoritatively on addiction and recovery should have once played in a production titled One Day At A Time. 

It was an interesting moment. There really was a sort of serenity emanating from the group that was calming. I didn't stay long, but I'm glad I went by.

Brush with greatness again, my friends.

[pdx_liff] Powell's Books = Our Personal Sacrament

3433.

We have a nickname for our regular Sunday night sojourn to Powell's City'o'Books, or I do, anyway:

Book Church.

It's a sacrament, a worship. It can be as spiritual as you want, as worldly, or as profane. The Wife™ dabbles in metaphysics, humanity and puzzles, and I ascend, without fail, to the summit, to commune with all the art teachers in the art techniques aisle in the Pearl Room.

I adore the way this couple just hunkered in the corner of the landing going up from the Rose Room to the Pearl Room. So ineffably romantic.

… but then, Powell's exists for you to love and it loves you back, if you respect it. It's a store, and it's also a place to hang and absorb. Buch luft macht frei.

The Rose room landing area has gone through a bit of a rethink lately. The big rack of travel accessories at the landing is gone and the maps have moved about a bit, and instead of the old big desk the customer service people sat behind, there's this open, moddish S-curve now:

All Powell's employees are beautiful, of course. This woman's hairdo is one of the neatest things I can think of. Retro in the good way.

After I browse the Pearl Room (the afterlife should look like the Pearl Room, I should hope), I come down the stairs into the Rose Room ...

… and the next 'station of the cross' is the Blue Room, where literature is found. Here is where I met Marcel Proust, Annie Lamott, Adam Gnade, Raymond Carver …

And then it's rendezvous in the Coffee Room, where The Wife™ and myself have caffiene communion. Occasionally we share a shortbread host.

… and, sometimes, if we're lucky, Arnold World, the patron Saint of Paper Flowers, is coaxing paper towels into blossoms.

Our officiants now are hard at work behind the altar … a young woman with a delightful Commonwealth accent:

And a pleasant, intense fellah with remarkable ink.

We all take our God whene we find him.
To us, anything from Powell's is ex cathedra. 

[pdx_liff] Powell's City of Books On The Afternoon Of Pride Weekend

3332.

Sunday evening was, as usual, church for us, and by church, I mean hanging out Powells City of Books drinking coffee (well, iced tea that day ... it's been warming up) and looking through books we will either purchase or bookmark for future acquisition, and watching the world go by on 11th and West Burnside.

W Burnside looking east toward Oak

Of course, it's been Pride Weekend here in Portland, and it was wild, a good time had by all. We didn't go ourselves, not only did we have a sort of a mixed-up weekend, but the last thing our LGBTQ friends need is a cis het culture vulturing it. It's their space. I respect this.

But there was a lot of people thronging Powell's, as is the case whenever there's a big event in town. A lot of beautiful, beautiful people, and I think the beauty was probably multiplied by it being Pride. After all, what else can happen when you have an entire day dedicated to stepping aside and concentrating on remaking ones'-self into a person who lives and lets other people live?

Oh, I'm not talking about queer people. They seem pretty cool about themselves already. I'm talking about us straights who still have a little evolution to do. I'm working on mine. Are you working on yours?

So, this year's Pride is symbolized and sanctified by this picture. I was in the coffee room waiting on The Wife™ to catch up to me when I saw this person. Absolutely loved the countenance. Very beautiful and artistic. And so I requested permission to pict, and she gracefully granted.

Most beatific. Glad to be here.

Completing the tableau, the prettiest ugly car you ever saw, a classic VW Karmann Ghia, or what happened when VW decided to design a sports car. When I was a kid, I thought they were pretty ugly. Now, I have the attitude best encompassed by the person who described the actor Richard Boone, back during the Paladin days, which I paraphrase here:

The car is so ugly, it's beautiful.

The picture is blurred because my camera decided to be a brat and focus on the plate glass rather than the object in the street. The passenger was thrilled to be lensed, though. That much was apparent from the look on her face.

If you drive a classic VW, people are going to look. Know that going in, Homo sapiens volkswageniensis.