We’ve been friends since then, the kind who drift in and out of each other’s lives but always pick right up where they left off months or years earlier. Last night, after all these years, I finally got to see the show in person.

Yes, the Oregon Zoo in Portland was the location last night for a stop on the Summer Love Tour of “A Prairie Home Companion.” Sara Watkins, probably most noted for her time with the progressive bluegrass group Nickel Creek, was the featured guest.

Most of the usual suspects were there too, including Richard Dwarsky on keyboard and Pat Donaue on guitar.

Ah, yes. Guitar. Donahue, who writes funny, clever songs, nearly stole the show early with a live version of the song you can hear below on this YouTube video.

We got to hear Keillor strike precisely the right tone in lampooning Portland and its right-living transplants, wax nostalgic about summer love “when cars were cars,” work in tandem with sound effects wizard Fred Newman and sing, sing, sing. During the intermission, when we stood up to get the circulation back in our legs after sitting on the grass for more than an hour, Keillor and Watkins walked through the audience, continuing to sing and inviting us to join in.

I found out about the Portland stop on the tour from my niece who lives there. I told her one of my favorite stories from the “News from Lake Wobegone” portion of the shows over the years, and lo and behold, last night’s version was a reworking of that story. I wish my niece had been there to hear it.

I couldn’t find it online, but here’s another story from another time.

Here’s a picture of Keillor watching dueling fiddles in the gloaming last night on the Summer Love Tour.

My ex-wife, a native of the Netherlands, discovered Garrison Keillor when she discovered America with her own eyes and ears, and eventually she became a collector of APHC shows. She’d record them, split them into cassettes of the songs and cassettes of the stories, and she’d fall asleep listening to Keillor’s voice, which for her was Ambien without the side effects.

My nephew, Gil Landry, played with Old Crow Medicine Show on APHC in October 2008, and after the show he bought one of Keillor’s books and asked him to personalize it for me. I received it at Christmas that year in Lake Charles.

It was a special night, more so because I was there with my dear friends George and Lucy. I hope they enjoyed it as much as I did.

Maybe someday I’ll tell you more about last night’s show. Right now I have some work to do, and it’s demanding my attention. I’ll leave you with two things:

1) If you have a chance to see the show, see it. Don’t wait too long to get tickets (Jackie, I’m looking at you, sweetheart!).

2) This picture og Keillor feeding us animals at the zoo.

That’s the news from Lake Wobegone, where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average.

I like what Cassidy did. I don’t know her, but I’m already pulling for her. Allow me to explain. Today I went for a walk at a nearby park, and before I could make a full lap around the oval designed for laps, I found Cassidy’s message, written in chalk on the walking path.

In case you can’t read this, here is what it says:

I am a distance runner!
and play bass claranet.
someday I will attend the
Curtis Institute of Music!
(hopefully) ♥ Cassidy ♫

I don’t even mind she misspelled clarinet.

Here is my favorite part of the message Cassidy left for the world to see:

Don’t you hope she’s accepted into the Curtis Institute of Music? If you know Curtis, put in a word, why don’tcha.

Something tells me this girl would be an asset even if she doesn’t have first-chair-clarinet potential.

I’m already a fan of her self-expression.

So, what do you want to tell the world, and how are you going to tell it?

My latest idea is a TMI setting for cell phones. Here’s how it would work: If you begin to give too much information, the phone automatically drops the call.

I got the idea after two conversations I had this weekend dropped right about the point when I was going into much more detail than I needed to about something. At first, I was frustrated, but then I saw this as a good thing.

Surely someone can come up with the technology for my TMI setting, right? Oh, and sorry. I’ll stop calling you Shirley.

Would they be displayed in off-the-shoulder sundresses? And whose soft shoulders would I see? Would it be steady for the entire 23 miles, or just every now and then?

Alas, there was nothing but a lot of open fields and a different look to the … oh … um … the highway’s shoulder.

I get it now. Sorry.

Tomorrow I’ll finish the drive to where I’ll work and where I’ll live. The next time I stop at a gas station, I won’t be able to pump my own gas. That’s against the law in Oregon. For posterity, I took a photo of my last self-service fill-up for the time being.

Technically, the pump was self-pumping at this point, but you get the idea.

I wonder how the law works. If it’s illegal to pump your own gas, can you fill up your neighbor’s car? Can the owner of a gas station fill up his own car, or does he have to have another professional do it? At any rate, if I lose my new job, I have tons of gas-pumping experience, more than the average Oregonian, so I’d be a strong candidate for employment in this branch of the oil and gas industry.

By the way, I took the photo above in Weed, California. That’s right, Weed. Here’s a postcard from the gas station.

Clever.

Today was a long day, but it was fun. It began with my uncle giving me an old photo of me and my sisters sitting at the table eating. I call it the Breakfast Club.

That might not be breakfast, though. I think it’s probably lunch or dinner. If you know me and know my sisters, can you identify each of us? One hint to get you started: The only one drinking at the moment is a part-time blogger for a Louisiana newspaper’s Web site.

One of the three sisters in the photo loaded me down with breakfast bars and other snacks when I left her house in Anaheim yesterday, but I still picked up something this morning on the road in northern California. I didn’t care what it tasted like. I had to have one.

Don’t you love it? For the record, it was delicious.

Then, it was on the road from the Bay Area to here in Medford. I drove over the Bay Bridge, saw hot air balloons near Vacaville, caught an “America’s Top 40″ with Casey Kasem from the 1970s on the radio, then took some more photos for you.

This wasn’t far from Shasta Lake. Or, maybe it’s part of Shasta Lake. I’m not sure. Beautiful, though.

Don’t you agree?

Here’s a steep incline across the road from where I took the photos above. If you look closely, near the upper right corner you can see a big rig slowly working its way from right to left, upward and onward.

Some of these climbs were not easy, and most of the views were spectacular. Oh, to be a passenger and able to stare instead of a driver and having to pay attention to the road and the other vehicles.

You know what, though? When you see Mount Shasta, you stop.

Twice.

Below is Mount Shasta’s Black Butte.

As I’ve been saying all week, my BlackBerry photos don’t do any of this justice.

But anyway, I’m in Oregon. Tomorrow, I’ll be an hour from Portland, at my new home.

Talk to you soon.

Disclaimer: They’re really tall.

Call it a legitimate head’s up, so to speak.

Angels Stadium of Anaheim.

Sincerely,
The Los Angeles Carl Dubois of Anaheim

Good morning from Anaheim Hills, where I am visiting my sister Renee and her family. The weather’s lovely. Wish you were here.

Sorry, no photos to share, but soon I hope to post more from my journey to Oregon.