The Alladin Theater in Portland was a good room, but publicity hadn’t been good, the word was not out, and the audience was small. Somewhere between lunch and supper I began to feel queasy, and by shortly before show time I was shaky and nauseous. I soon realized that nothing would do but to evict the food that was feeling like a rock in my stomach, and I went down the hall to the bathroom and did so. Still shaky but feeling somewhat better, I went downstairs and we did the show with me sitting down. It went over well, and I don’t think the audience knew I was sick. I think they just thought I was old. For a while there, I did too. Then we zipped down to Salem to another Motel 6, slept soundly and headed for the northern California coast, a house in Arcada where soup, friends old and new, and a house concert awaited, at the head of the redwood highway. More memories were just around the corner.
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