Musings on the 82nd Avenue of Roses Parade

FoPoers are a proud bunch, sure.  But maybe we’re more proud of some of our qualities and attributes than others.  I know I’m guilty of being Foster-centric, and often miss the happenings of 82nd Ave.  It does form one our neighborhood boundaries, after all, and has vast potential to be a great street…just like Foster.  Still, it often gets overlooked.  Well, not this weekend, and not today.  Thanks to one of our readers, we have a nice reflection on this weekend’s 82nd Avenue of Roses Parade and what that gathering meant to one neighborhood resident.

**********************************
By Lauara Canaday

Today I attended the Community Fair at Eastgate Plaza—accidentally.  My husband had some shopping to do, and I needed to stop by Jo-Ann’s, so after a lot of traffic related confusion on Holgate, and maybe some uncharitable remarks regarding the disruption of the status quo, I jumped out of the car and wandered towards my destination.  I must admit, I didn’t make it.  The parade was just beginning.  Ranks upon ranks of baton twirlers, drummers, and pom pom dancers in brilliant turquoise started the show.  I heared a waft of music, saw distant sparkles, and I suddenly just really had to get closer.   As I stood (and then eventually sat down), amazed, the great displays and groups just kept coming.  Miss Tall Oregon; a dragon dance group; Benson Heights middle school marching band.  

BagpipersUntil this morning, I couldn’t have guessed that these groups existed.  I recalled parades of my youth and the excitement of marching with schools, scout troops, and bands.  I remembered the time spent in each of these associations and my pride in representing them.  It blew my mind a little to realize the hours of people’s lives that these marching and motoring groups represented.  Watching the parade was like flipping the dollhouse around and seeing what was inside. A Taekwondo Acadamy; a fleet of beauty queens; energetic representatives of a food co-op dressed as poultry and veggies. So this is what my neighbors do in their spare time—this is what they care about.  And then I started recognizing people.  Is that drummer the bartender at O’Malleys?  Is that lady with the dog a face I know from the grocery store?  

Suddenly it occurred to me that by watching, I played a part in this spectacle also.  The parade is an interaction.  It is something the community does together: cheerleaders and bagpipers passed and I clapped and cheered back; a small child offered me a piece of candy.  I may have teared up a little. 

Dragon DancersI have lived in Portland for 6 years.  They have been great years full of good friends and memories.  But I realize I have maybe been a little isolated of late.  Being surrounded by neighbors and families and unexpectedly feeling like a part of something threw into stark relief the difference between lurking on facebook and actual interaction with my community.  Seeing smiling faces of all shades and ages gave me some needed perspective on how I might fit in, regardless of any potential monolith of white hipster representation the city might sometimes seem to present.  All of a sudden I had ambitions to see my particular interests reflected in next year’s parade.  Maybe next year I will attend on purpose, meet up with new friends, share what I am proud of and add something to my community that wasn’t there before.  

The parade passed on up 82nd: local businesses, colorfully-masked Latin dancers, a punk rock color guard, a hearse club, and, finally, a long noisy pack of classic cars.  I got up and made my way to complete my abandoned errand.  On the way out, I caught the last song in a set by The Slants, one of my favorite local bands—hard working, but always impeccably cool.  I took my time taking in the crowd and all the booths on my way to the bus stop.  It was refreshing to see the kids running around and the unabashed fun people were having just getting together and celebrating a little in the sunshine.  I thought to myself that I needed this, but I didn’t know it.  I am so glad I made it down to see the fair and the parade.  I am so glad I got to see all these people doing their thing.  These are my people, and I am so happy for it.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to Musings on the 82nd Avenue of Roses Parade

  1. Sydney says:

    I love this! What a great reminder of what life is really about…

  2. RachelM says:

    It was the Beaumont Middle School marching band. And, yes, that was Mikey from O’Malley’s drumming with the Last Regiment of Syncopated Drummers. It was also nice to see the mayor and several city commissioners make it out our way. Our neighborhood is pretty cool.

  3. Pingback: The Rise of 82nd Avenue - Foster United

  4. CD says:

    THE SLANTS!

  5. Dianne Gill says:

    Hello Lauara and all who helped us bring the community spirit and good ol’ fashion fun back to 82nd Ave during the Parade and Community Fair/Carnival/Cruise-In at Eastport Plaza! It wouldn’t have been the same without you and the aproximate 1,200 walkers/marchers/horse back riders, clowns, bike riders, etc….. and of course the nostalgic cruise-in cars that acutally cruised 82nd back in the day… The float that had Mt. Hood and Multnomah Falls on it actually was hand made by the David Douglass Histrocial Society….. It was awesome too! On behalf of Eastport Plaza Shopping Center and the 82nd Avenue Business Association…. Thanks! Mark your calendar for next year…. 8th Annual 82nd Avenue of Roses Parade and Eastport Plaza’s Community Fair.. Last Saturday of April, 2014. Best Regards, Dianne Gill – GM Eastport Plaza

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s