Johnny Baranski

Hooky

Today I’m playing “hooky” from work and driving to the Oregon coast. Hooky. In contemporary terms it’s called “taking a personal day,” or “a mental health day.” Truth be known though I miss playing real hooky when in a devil-may-care mood I would call my place of employment feigning illness. There was a danger in that to be relished ala “Ferris Beuller‘s Day Off.” Sadly the need for such daring has now gone the way of the hand written letter.

In any case, throwing caution to the wind and hitting the open road, the downside of “peak oil” be damned, still whets my appetite – that and a steaming bowl of Mo’s famous clam chowder with a side of home baked bread.

Inland the weather is sunny and clear as I set out from Portland on my journey. But when I wheel down out of the coastal mountain range the sky grows grim. Then rain mixed with snow blows blindingly sideways. Behaving savagely the Pacific is nevertheless seductive. I aim for Mo’s West, a restaurant in Otter Rock on the rim of the appropriately named Devil’s Punch Bowl given the stormy conditions. Once inside with comfort food and the friendliness of strangers I spend a leisurely afternoon watching the raging ocean’s waves, magnified in each raindrop on the restaurant window, crash the shoreline.

Year of The Tiger
March roars in
like a lion