Saturday, January 24, 2026 – Day 529

Saturday, January 24, 2026

Good morning, everyone.

This is the continuation of my time living in Portland, Oregon, when I was 20 years old—with my triplet brother Tim and my roommate from WIU, Phil.

We’d been in Portland for about a week, and reality set in quickly. We needed jobs. And we needed a place to live.

We found temporary housing overlooking a junkyard in a sketchy part of town. There was no heat. That was fine while the weather was still decent—but once November arrived, it became a real problem.

One cold, rainy night, we huddled in the kitchen wearing our coats, standing over the gas stove. Dinner was SpaghettiOs. Six hands hovered around the burner, trying to steal a little warmth. The rainy season had arrived, and the cold air rolling in off the Pacific cut straight through you—right to the core.

We were a sad lot. We’d gone west full of excitement—new sights, new adventures—and somehow ended up with nothing to our names.

At some point—my mind has conveniently blocked out the details—we moved out of that place and into an apartment complex.

The new apartment felt downright civilized. It had heat. We even had a few pieces of furniture, a working TV, one bed (I slept on the floor), and some basic kitchen utensils. Still, when I think about it now, we were more comfortable back in the WIU dorms. Minor setback, though—we all found jobs.

Phil was hired by the owner of a Victorian home to help restore it. That suited Phil. He liked working with chemicals and pushing back against societal norms. He was a psychology major at WIU, after all.

Tim got a job as a lumberjack. Perfect fit. Tim had no fear.

I landed an indoor job at a bank. I was hired into what I think was called the lockbox department. My job was to open thousands of envelopes, pull out customer checks for various vendors, run adding-machine tapes, and batch them up for deposit. It wasn’t glamorous—but it was a job.

My shift started at 6:00 a.m. That meant getting up in the dark, standing on a street corner in the rain—and it rained every morning—and getting to work on time. And by God, I could do that. Give me a start time, and I was going to be there early.

There were ten of us on staff, and I was the only male. Most were young adults; the oldest might have been in her 30s. At 6:00 a.m., it was a quiet, sullen office—everyone focused on waking up, collecting trays of mail, separating checks from remittance slips, and running tapes. It wasn’t glorious work, but I was grateful to have it.

Over the next month or two, the women warmed up to me and I befriended a couple of them. It was a strange experience for me. I learned about everyone’s personal situation, down to the menstrual cycle. You quickly learned to avoid those ticking time bombs. The chatter amongst the group helped break the sheer boredom of the job.

Between the three of us, we could just barely cover our expenses. Living on your own didn’t leave much room for fun. We were invited back to the Foltz every Sunday so we had one good meal during the week plus leftovers and we always took them.

My parents came out for a weekend near the holidays to check on us. As soon as they arrived, they did what parents do—they assessed the situation. One thing was immediately obvious: the kitchen cabinets and refrigerator were empty. They took us to the grocery store and filled two shopping carts with food. That trip was a lifesaver.

After they left, the homesickness crept in. I wrote letters to friends, trying to stay connected, but it didn’t fill the void. The constant overcast skies, the rain, waiting on public transportation, the monotony of the bank job, and just barely hanging on—it all wore me down.

Then Tim and Phil lost their jobs—or were seasonally laid off. In the end, it didn’t matter. They had no money to contribute. I could see us slowly falling behind on bills. Every dollar I earned disappeared immediately, yet when I came home from work, it always seemed like Tim and Phil had managed to have a pretty good day.

By early March, I called home and asked if I could come back. This westward experiment wasn’t working for me. My parents bought me an Amtrak ticket out of Seattle, and after seven months, I was home—ready to start over.

Tim stayed in Portland. He was there when Mount St. Helens erupted on May 18, 1980. But even for him, Portland wasn’t the life he imagined, and he finally called it quits in 1981 or 82.

I’m glad I made that trip out west. It was a wake-up call. It was time to dig myself out from those WIU grades and buckle down. I never wanted to live in a place where I couldn’t pay my bills—that felt far too close to being homeless. I was lucky to have loving, forgiving parents who welcomed me home.

Have a great Saturday. I’m especially thankful for heat today—it’s minus 13 outside. Yikes!

Love you guys! ❤️

Photos: Sadly I don’t have more photos from my time in Portland. I wouldn’t have had the money to develop the film, if I could even afford that.

My sister Lis and her husband Steve are in the Middle East and they brought their AA shirts.

Photo one: Jordan with the Dead Sea as the backdrop.

Photo two: Karnak Temple in Luxor, Egypt

Photo three: Egypt at the entrance to King Tut’s tomb.