Emerson Roddan's blue fingernail polish

The last time I was in Portland I got two tattoo's, one in a place you could see and one in a place you couldn't.

When I got back to San Francisco I freaked out. What seemed right in Portland--a little dragon on my neck and the word "Poetry" in a secret spot never to be revealed--seemed like a big mistake in San Francisco, like something I'd have to live with the rest of my life. And I'm too old now to live with a mistake I have to live with.

Portland's like San Francisco, only much less self-conscious and Oregon's not a blue state or a red state but a green state where anything's possible but where you're also expected to accept the consequences of acting like anything's possible.

Last night Emerson Roddan of Portland, age 2 almost 3, painted my fingernails. Ashley, Emerson's mom said the fingernail polish was water-based and would wash off. So I went into Emerson's little spa and let her do her magic.

When I woke up this morning in Portland I didn't want the blue fingernail polish to wash off. I felt like I was someone else, someone who was not me, someone who lived in Portland and had a whole new life even though I still had hands that looked as old as they are.