We got in “Christmas Spirit” last night at The Grotto. It’s one of those wonderful things that makes Portland weird. It’s actually “an internationally renowned Catholic shrine and botanical garden” that celebrates Christmas with an annual Festival of Lights fundraiser. Since we consider ourselves to be in the final stages of our Portland residency, we’ve made an informal list of things that we need to experience before we leave the area. With rain in the forecast later in the week, we decided to make the hour-long trip and hopped on the Streetcar and Trimet Red Line to avoid any parking hassles. It was a holiday adventure well worth it.

I was fighting a cold and the low 40 degree temperatures certainly didn’t help. Everyone on the train was hacking and sneezing to the point where I wasn’t feeling so bad. On public transportation there’s also always someone talking to themselves, while everyone else tries to ignore it. It is cheap and convenient conveyance but there’s no privacy, and more often than not crowded. When we finally arrived at the nearby terminal, it was dark and the underpass tunnel was packed with the homeless. The National Sanctuary of our Sorrowful Mother is located on Skidmore Street – if that tells you anything? Once we successfully found the grounds clearly marked with a giant white cross, the sounds and smells of Christmas filled the air. We were serenaded by a men’s Acapella choral group singing the songs of the season. It reminded me of my high school days in the choir, but with mature, professional voices. As it turned pitch dark, the tree lights and displays were a spectacular sight. We were glad to get there early, avoiding the incoming crowd and not having to fight the traffic and muddy parking lots. 

On the way back to town, a young lady got on the train and sat across from us. It was a strange encounter, as you might expect on the MAX. I was leery when she asked about a contact for gambling addiction and thought she might eventually ask me for money. Instead, I think she was honestly serious about getting help and encouraged me to Google a local Gamblers Anonymous hotline. She immediately called the number after explaining that she had lost her paycheck on a video poker machine. Unfortunately, her phone died in the middle of the discussion with a counselor.  As she exited the train, she promised to finish the conversation and attend one of the meetings that I suggested. It reminded me of how lucky I am not have a similar problem – just a cold. I’m glad we were there to help and that she felt comfortable discussing her addiction with a couple of strangers. Maybe it was all a result of going to The Grotto and being in the “Christmas Spirit.”