Seussical

 I wish every last one of you could have been with us on our weekend in Portland.

Except... it was kind of nice to just spend time with Mr. Suite. 

 While he indulged my every whim. It was an "as you wish" kind of weekend.

 And even this shopping-averse farmgirl enjoys the city now and then.

Look how thoughtful the fabric store was to make a waiting area for the patient husbands.

 Portland is just so... yummy.

 And quirky and fun.

 Sometimes not my style, but still impressive.

 Oh, Hippo Hardware, how I love you.

You light up my life. (Couldn't resist.)

Between Hawthorne and Sellwood neighborhoods

I took a few dozen inspiration pics for our new old farmhouse. This one has similar lines to ours.

 A teahouse in a caboose! If only the girls could've been there. 

Except, I remember again, it was kind of nice to be alone with my husband.

 Right before we left I had decided to see whether wheat might be contributing to my arthritis symptoms.

But when you're eating at Bread and Ink restaurant, 

Noah's Bagels, Central Bakery, Bijou and Papa Haydn's....

You eat bread.

At least I do.

 No trip to Portland is complete without Powell's.

This time it was so incredibly busy that I didn't get that "home away from home" vibe.

Still I managed to blow the book budget. On both visits to the store.

 We didn't go by train.

Maybe next time. With the children.

 I couldn't resist the house of lolo.

Since we have a lulu of a Lolo of our own.

And this? Just one of many surreptitious shots stolen in Anthropologie.

Love.

Also? Planning to hack it.

Thanks for coming along on a bit of a recap of my romantic weekend away. 

Mr. Suite took photos of omelettes and other important subjects.

I just share the good stuff with you.

the millionaire next door

In the middle of nowhere, in an unincorporated town consisting of a deli, general store, Church of Christ, grange hall and elementary school, in the absolute boondocks of hobby farmville, we have evidently struck gold.

Or maybe fools' gold.

When I was a little girl, my dad owned a tree planting business. This took us out of Oregon several summers in a row, to the great sky country of Montana. While Dad and the crews reforested, Mom took my brother and me on day trips to ghost towns and butterfly hatchings, canyons and rivers and amazing natural features. But the thing that I remember best is the fool's gold. We brought huge chunks of it back to our rented cabin and were so excited to show it to my dad, who of course turned it into a history and geology lesson.

Anyway, here in Oregon, in our 1887 church-turned-farmhouse, we live smack next door to a quaint B&B resplendent in cedar ciding, custom cabinetry, and deep front and rear covered porches. It's a small bed and breakfast, with just two guest rooms, but very charming and wine-country-chic.

Today it went on the market for $650,000. I received a couple of calls from fellow Realtors wondering what could make the tiny collection of buildings on two acres worth nearly twice their own personal estimates. I was stumped. In fact I told both real estate agents that it must be one of the mini-wineries on the hill just down our road. 3000-plus square feet each, with private vineyards covering acres of hillsides. This made much more sense. But then this afternoon, while sewing new curtains for the den, I received a third call, this time from a friend's husband who works on the county road crew.

"I'm out pulling signs from the right-of-way," he said.

"Do I have something in the county truck?" I replied. Signs cost money and I'd rather mine didn't linger in the county boneyard for the crime of misplacement. No, he just wanted me to know about the Re/MAX sign next door and the fact that my dog was digging up the grange's side yard.

After hauling the dog home with an unidentified bone, and incidentally herding our free-range chickens off of the B&B front porch (I have NEVER seen them leave our property before), I confirmed the Realtor rumors for my own self.

I hope it sells for a quarter million more than it appraised one year ago. But I hope we don't get any neighbors who want the rest of us to start living like the millionaire next door.