A rose by any other name would smell as sweet: Ya-Yas, Yoo-Hoos, Chicas, ex-med student wifeys...I don't care what you call them, they know how to show you a good time. And they did, in Portland's sunniest-to-date weekend.
And they're sweet (and a bit saucy, also with some spice).
And there was a rose festival.
Our hostess welcomed us from coast to coast and paraded us around Portland with the glowing panache of her pregnant self. We emptied our minds and hearts through the bond formed years ago and emerged from the weekend, cleansed, validated, and content (until next time at least).
Despite a Hazelnut Italian Soda mishap, some green-bean-flavored ice water, and some post Thai take-out stomach rumbles, we hit a home run---gastronomically speaking. A few of the star players: buffalo mozzarella ("la plancha style") with green tomatoes, ethnic bliss at Portland's Saturday Market, deep-fried-ice-cream-flavored ice cream, cheese and fruit plate preceded by chocolate mousse and followed by french onion soup, and an absolutely show-stopping Greek salad!
As we roamed Macminnyvillanova (was that it, Rebecca?) and Alberta Street, we collected recycled paper shopping bags filled with yarns, yards, and wools and toys from the quaintest toy store of all to take back to the orphaned children left at home to torture their fathers. Some of us even got away with a whole new Oregon-made outfit and a one-ton bowl for future succulents. All in all, we were like bandits making out (wait, what?)
Only one regret: not purchasing that orange "kitting takes balls" t-shirt. Dangit.
Already missing those lovely ladies.