Portland

There are 44 posts filed in Portland (this is page 4 of 5).

Sungari

Most Chinese food — or what passes for Chinese food in Oregon — isn’t very good. There are some truly lousy Chinese restaurants in Portland. (As opposed to, say, Mexican restaurants, where you can almost always find good, cheap tacos.)

In Salem, Kris and I were fond of Tong King Garden, a little hole-in-the-wall with spotty service, cheap prices, and good food. Compared to other Chinese places, it was delicious. (It probably helped that it was the first Chinese restaurant I ever tried.)

Here in Oak Grove, I’m a fan of Imperial Garden, which sits on the Superhighway, next to G.I. Joes. Imperial Garden has the best service I have ever encountered in any restaurant. Their lunch specials are awesome: $4.50 gets you tea, hot-and-sour soup, steamed rice, two pork wontons, a spring roll, and an entree of your choice. The food is good — it’s the only other good Chinese restaurant I know besides Tong King Garden.

Except for Sungari, that is.

Sungari is in a class of its own. Using a bell-curve scale, if Canby’s Gold Dragon is a 2, most Chinese places rate a 4, and the two places I mentioned above rate a 7, then Sungari rates a solid 9. Maybe higher.

What makes Sungari worth raving about? The food is just so damn good. Dave introduced me to the place (as he’s done with so many other good restaurants — Nicholas Lebanese springs immediately to mind) a couple years ago. I was only mildly impressed. I was in a foul mood, and wasn’t focused on the food.

Last year, Kris and Tiffany and I stopped there before our tour of the Portland Underground. Though we were rushed, our dinners were good. So good, in fact, that Tiffany has been back a couple times since. And when it came time to choose a restaurant for her birthday dinner, she requested Sungari.

Last Sunday we went back — our meal was fantastic.

To start, we shared an appetizer plate of prawns, spring rolls, and five-spice beef. (The latter of which was the only dud of the evening.) For dinner:

  • Tiffany ordered the Chicken with Honeyed Almonds
  • Kris ordered the Sesame Beef
  • I ordered the Salt and Pepper Pork Loin

All of these were delicious. I know many people eat family-style in Chinese restaurants. Kris and I never have. But we did on Sunday. We each tried all three dishes, and were delighted. The Sesame Beef was the stand-out: lightly breaded and fried, the meat has a crisp texture, and the sauce is sweet and savory all at once. The pork was not as crispy as the beef, though lightly coated. It had a distinct buttery first note, followed by a taste of spices, and finishing with a bit of a peppery kick.

Really, though, I could have eaten the Sesame Beef all night.

It’s also fun that Sungari is located on first, along the MAX line. In fact, the train takes a corner around the restaurant, so that one can watch it pass during the meal. It’s entertaining. It’s also entertaining to watch the heavy foot traffic nearby.

The real drawback to Sungari is that it’s expensive (for Chinse food). Whereas I could feed three people for $16 at Imperial Garden, it costs $72 to do so at Sungari. But what a meal!

The Milwaukie-Gladstone Trolley Trail

Kris and I went for a walk through the neighborhood tonight.

As we strolled up Lee and onto Oak Grove, we noted the two houses that had recently sold. We turned onto Rupert and walked past the church. “I wonder what they’re doing there,” Kris said. “It almost looks like the church is developing it for their own use. There’s a driveway that cuts back behind it.”

“And look at that,” I said. “That old house has subdivided its lot; there’s a new building going up.”

Just then a couple in a red station wagon slowed to a stop. “Can you help us?” the driver asked. “We’re looking for the trolley tracks.”

“I think they’re down there at the bottom of the hill,” I said, pointing the way. “Or used to be. There’s just a divided street now.” The man thanked me and drove way.

As we reached the bottom of the hill, we noticed that there were, indeed, trolley tracks still visible, running from Arista back through some yards and out onto the other Arista.

The Interurban Line was one of the first rural trolley lines in the United States. (In fact, I think it was the first.) It was built in 1893, and ran from Portland to Milwaukie to Oregon City. It is likely that our house was built soon after the trolley went in. What is now our back door used to be the front door, and the lot extended back another hundred feet to the trolley. The land was subdivided long ago. When the Superhighway (99e) came in the thirties, trolley usage declined, and it was shut down in 1959. What happened next?

As Kris and I were marveling at the short section of remaining track, the red station wagon happened by again. We waved it down. “Look,” we said, pointing at the track. “There’s some rail still here. We think it used to run at an angle back thataway.”

“It did,” proclaimed a voice. We turned, and there was a man sitting on his front porch, listening to our conversation. “The rail line ran back through there, and then up the other Arista to Milwaukie. And from here, it ran all the way to Gladstone. Over the years, the right of way has been ceded to landowners, but Metro and the Clackamas County Parks District have acquired the entire length. They’ve got the funding and are going to turn it into a trolley trail. You could walk it now if you wanted to.”

The woman in the passenger seat of the car leaned over. “I know a man who has photographs of the old trolley line, all along its entire length. He has photos of every stop.” (Here I was stupid — I should have got the woman’s name and phone number.) The couple in the car waved and drove away, but we stayed and talked with the man on the porch, who introduced himself as Doug Woods, a member of what passes for Oak Grove government. (Oak Grove is actually part of unincorporated Clackamas County. It’s a fiercely independent area that refuses to incorporate even though the larger governments ache for it to become a city.)

Doug was full of area history. He explained how upper Arista used to be split level. “One lane of traffic was several feet higher than the other,” he said. “A few years ago, the county got tired of that and leveled the whole street out, removing the old railway median. Now they’ve got to put it back in.”

In fact, along whole stretches of the old trolley line, people are going to have to make concessions. It’s lain “fallow” for decades, unused, and slowly residents and businesses have staked claims to the unused land. Doug pointed out that the lady who lives next door to him was cranky that the proposed linear park would cut behind her property. It would essentially take away a twenty-foot wide stretch of land that she’d come to use as her own, even though the right-of-way belonged to the county. Further down the line, in Jennings Lodge, the trail has been annexed by a car dealership and by the parking lot of Buster’s Bar-B-Q. These residents and businesses will lose some land they’ve been using for free.


We live due east of the “e” in River Road, just west of the trail.
I’ll let the other neighborhood bloggers share their location if so inclined.

“When it’s all done,” said Doug, “there will be a multi-use trail that runs all the way from Milwaukie to Gladstone. It will be eight-feet wide and completely paved with asphalt. It’ll have soft shoulders. The local high schools can use it for cross-country training. Local equestrians can use it. Bicyclists can use it, but they won’t be able to dominate it like they do the Springwater Corridor. It’ll be a truly multiuse trail.”

I asked him what the timeline for completion was, but he couldn’t say. Plans were already behind schedule. He hoped it would be done in five years, or maybe ten, but there just isn’t any way to know for sure.

We asked him about other stuff in the neighborhood. He told us that the church at the top of the hill used to own the vacant lot, but sold it. It’s being developed, and the fire department had demanded another accessway into the church. That’s why there’s a new road back there. Doug told us about the big white house on the bluff overlooking River Road. The woman who bought it came before the county with a proposal to turn it into a bed-and-breakfast. “Or,” she said, “I could subdivide it. I could legally turn it into a fifteen-lot development.” The country approved the bed-and-breakfast.

We talked for a long time. Twenty minutes? Half an hour? Eventually we took our leave and walked home, better acquainted with our neighborhood than when we’d started.

(I first wrote about the Trolley Trail on 08 February 2005.)

Burglary Leads to Bizarre Kidnapping

“You wouldn’t believe how stupid some people are,” Dave often tells me. He’s a lawyer. “Criminals are just stupid.” Here’s a story from today’s issue of the Clackamas Review that supports his claim.

Burglary leads to bizarre kidnapping, drug charges
from the 28 June 2006 issue of Clackamas Review

A residential burglary went from bad to worse in Milwaukie June 16, leading to criminal charges for all involved.

According to Clackamas County Sherrif’s Office spokesman Detective Jim Strovink, the incident started out as the sort of case law enforcement often never sees: Someone burglarized a house and discovered a marijuana-growing operation. Although the resident reportedly had a medical marijuana permit, police say he was growing far more than he was allowed.

“You’ve got one individual who burglarized the house and got some marijuana,” Strovink said, “and recognized ‘what is this stuff — this stuff is great!'”

The homeowner, Bradley Poppino, 43, was apparently away at the time. The alleged burglar, Paul Canul, 18, of Milwaukie, reportedly decided to come back.

“He recruited a couple of mopes to go with him and said ‘I’ll give you a cut if you help out.’ Little did he know that the homeowner, Poppino, had returned and discovered what had happened.”

Poppino reportedly had a friend of his own, neighbor Andrew Kester, 27, also of Milwaukie. Poppino had parked his vehicle away from the house — to make it appear he had not returned — and was waiting.

“Sure enough, the three mopes come down the road there — two go to the front and one comes to the back.”

The neighbor saw them. “He said ‘school’s out and here’s three guys with backpacks — it looks unusual.’ He pops up, and Poppino comes out of his house.”

Two of the suspects reportedly ran in one direction; the third, Canul, fled with Poppino and Kester in hot pursuit. Canul reportedly had a pistol, but “they were not intimidated — they tackled him.”

Canul was brought back to the house and allegedly duct-taped and threatened if he didn’t return the marijuana stolen in the first burglary.

“They allowed him access to a cell phone, after they started intimidating him, saying they would cut off his toes — one for every hour they didn’t have the product returned.”

He was allowed to talk to his friends, to tell them to come and bring the marijuana; in the process, he made it known to them that he was still being held at the house they had allegedly tried to rob. They called the police.

“The uniformed officers go down there from the description provided to them,” Strovink said. “They go up to the door at Poppino’s house, and they’re greeted by these two individuals, Poppino and Kester. They split the two up and start talking to them, and they give it up to them.

“They go inside, and there’s this guy — sitting in a chair with a blanket in his lap — and there’s a mountain of duct tape beside him, and his shoe’s off.”

By that time it was about 7 p.m., and Canul had been there for about four hours. Strovink said Canul confessed to stealing from the house; officers took everyone into custody.

Poppino was charged with Kidnapping I as well as with manufacturing marijuana; Kester was charged with kidnapping, as well. Canul was charged wtih Robber I and Attempted Burglary I, as well as the unlawful possession of a weapon with the intent to use it.

“This is a rather odd series of events,” Strovink said. “But it’s not unusual to have people growing marijuana — manufacturing it — to be ripped off.

In this case, he said, “you’ve got guns, drugs, and stupid people…that’s the trifecta.”

It almost sounds like the plot for a bad buddy-comedy film.

White Surprise

“What the hell?” I said this morning as I was preparing to leave. “Snow!”

Kris didn’t even respond. I’m always teasing her, telling her that it snowed the night before. I tell her this in February, I tell her this in June, I tell her this in October. It’s like the little boy who cried wolf.

“Seriously. Snow.”

“No way,” she said, but she came and looked outside with me. “Is it snowing now?”

“I don’t think so,” I said, but I was wrong.

Snow fell during most of my drive to work. The roads were thick and slushy. The pines and firs wore a light veil of the stuff. It felt like Christmas. (Or how I always wish Christmas would feel.) A grey fog clung to the hillsides along the highway, blending serenely with the the snowy woods. I’d grabbed my camera on the way out the door, and thought I ought to take a picture, but decided to wait ’til Good’s Bridge in Canby.

Unfortunately, the snow at Good’s Bridge was only a veneer; there was nothing photogenic. Further outside of town toward the shop, there was nearly no snow at all.

Perhaps there’ll still be some white spots when I make my return trip to Salem today. Perhaps I’ll drive through Silverton, so that I’m certain to see some snow.

(Note that while this is one of the latest snowfalls I’ve seen around here, it’s not actually the latest. That occurred on St. Patrick’s Day 2002. We woke in a yurt to find a light dusting outside.)

Food Day

Saturday was a brilliant day. The sun shone. We worked in the yard. We listened to opera. Best of all, we indulged in some of Portland’s finest food.

Sahagún
Sagahún is a tiny chocolate shop located just north of Burnside on 16th. (The actual address is 10 NW 16th Ave.) I’ve been hearing about this place for weeks. On our drive to pick up AmyJo, I had Kris read a doting profile of the owner to me out of a local hispanic paper. ExtraMSG, a Portland-area foodblog, recently raved about Sahagún’s hot chocolate:

At $4.00 each, they aren’t cheap. But they’re unequivocally worth every penny. Easily the best hot chocolate in this survey and truly ruined me for the others since I had this one first.

You all know how much I love my hot chocolate. I went in prepared to be blown away.

I was disappointed.

This was not the best hot chocolate I’d ever had. It wasn’t even the second best hot chocolate I’d ever had. It wasn’t even close. Don’t get me wrong: it’s fine stuff, but it’s no better than my dear-departed chantico (though it’s a different kind of drinking chocolate, to be sure), and it’s certainly not worth the trouble, the time, or the cost. The stuff I make for myself at home is still the best hot chocolate ever; why should I drive all the way to downtown Portland to spend $4 on an inferior cup of hot chocolate? Answer: I shouldn’t, and I won’t.

We also picked up some miscellaneous chocolate bits at Sahagún, including the pepitapapa, which is a candy made from bittersweet chocolate, chili peppers, and pumpkin seeds. Again, this wasn’t as good as I had hoped. Nor was the cherry-cashew cluster.

Sahagún let me down; I feel deceived by the hype. My expectations were too high. I may return again, but it’s not a priority.

Ken’s Artisan Bakery
Ken’s Artisan Bakery, on the other hand, is sure to become a regular stop for me and Kris when we’re downtown. This homey little bistro is located a short walk from Sahagún, at NW 21st and Flanders. Many people seemed to be picking up bread products to go, but there are several tables available for those who would prefer to sit and chat with friends.

Ken’s offers an assortment of fresh crusty breads, of course, but there’s so much more to choose from: tarts, croissants, pastries, and more. (I went home with a lovely brownie.) On Monday nights they do pizza! (I’ve got to try that.)

Kris had a savory ham-and-cheese filled croissant. I tried a bite and wished I had ordered one, too. I contented myself with a cinnamon roll, but not a gloopy gooey cinnamon roll. (Not that there’s anything wrong with gloppy gooey cinnamon rolls.) It was a light, flaky cinnamon roll with a sugary glaze. Different, but delicious.

In many ways, Ken’s reminded me of Willamette‘s Bistro back when it was a swank little coffee house (as opposed to now). I love that the bakery’s web site features little essays on baking.

Ken’s Artisan Bakery is a gem.

Pix Patisserie
On a whim, we stopped by Pix Patisserie on north Williams. “This place is good,” Amy Jo told us, enthusiastic. Pix seemed like a cross between Sahagún and Ken’s Artisan bakery: there was a case of hand-made chocolates, but there was also a case of pastries. And behind the counter was a vast assortment of liquor. Is the place also a licensed bar?

I loved what little I saw of Pix Patisserie. I loved the gaudy red wallpaper. I loved the absurd chocolates for sale. (Buy hand-crafted chocolate chess pieces for $20 per set.) I loved the various savory croissants that were available. (I took home one embedded with chorizo sausage, which made a nice breakfast Sunday morning.)

We didn’t spend much time here, but I’m sure we’ll return soon.

Sinju
To cap off our evening, we joined the Gingeriches and the Proffitt-Smiths at Sinju to celebrate Jeremy’s birthday. We’ve been to Sinju once before (with Dave and Karen), but it didn’t leave any sort of impression, for good or ill. This time it did.

This time, Sinju was simply amazing.

As before, we were ushered to a private, screened room. We took off our shoes and sat at the recessed table. I ordered sake. “I’m getting better at sushi, but I still can’t eat it without alcohol to grease the way,” I explained. “Hey — this is hot,” I said when my sake came. The rest of the party laughed. Apparently it’s supposed to be served hot. And you know what? I liked it this time. (I’ve never liked sake before, but I’ve only tried it cold.)

We ordered appetizers: chicken karaage (fried chicken with garlic ginger sauce), gyoza (pan-fried dumpling filled with beef, pork and vegetables), and the ahi tower. The gyoza was outstanding. While we waited for our meals to arrive, I shared the special sake I’d brought for Jeremy: Scottish Lagavulin sake!

Dinner was alarming. The waitress kept bringing more and more food. Had we asked for all this? First she brought individual dinners for those who had ordered them. Then she brought a boat of sashimi nearly as long as the table. (Seriously: this was a boat — a stylized wooden ship.) Then, to top it all off, she delivered a heavy tray packed with sushi rolls.

The only disappointment of the evening was the salmon teriyaki portion of my combination dinner. The chicken teriyaki, on the other hand, was wonderful, sweet and smoky and cooked to perfection. The sinju steak was good, too, pungent with ginger and a little bit crispy from the bread coating.

After dinner, I joined Jeremy outside for a brief smoke. I bathed in the scent of the cloves. “You reek,” Kris told me when I returned to the table, but I didn’t care.

What a marvelous day for a food-lover.

(And remember: we squeezed in sod-removal, too. Amazing!)

p.s. Apparently Sinju has a second location at Bridgeport Village, the new mall in Tualatin. We may have to add that to our list of regular restaurants.

State of Confusion

My wife is a wonderful woman. She’s intelligent, funny, and competent. She’s probably the most able person I know. However, she is not without flaws.

For one, she has an abysmal sense of direction. She rarely knows where she is, how she got there, or how to get anywhere else. She has no real internal map. If you asked her which way she was facing this very moment, she probably could not tell you.

In contrast, I pride myself on a near absolute sense of direction. I used to say that after I’d been to a place once, I could always get there again. As I’ve grown older, this ability has waned somewhat. Still, except for on our property (where, for some reason, I’m always turned around 180-degrees), I generally know which way I’m facing, and I always know where I am and how I got there.

Naturally, this disparity in directional abilities occasionally causes conflict. For example, on Monday was headed to Sheila’s for a stitch-and-bitch. “Can you give me directions?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said. “but haven’t you been there before.”

“Yes,” said Kris. “I don’t remember how to get there, though.”

So, I wrote out directions:

Head north on McLoughlin, take the Tacoma exit, go left at the light, go left at the stop at the top of the hill, go straight through the stops. When you reach the light at Johnson Creek, go straight, but then almost immediately take a left up the hill. Take a left on Ogden. Sheila’s house is on the left-hand side.

“These directions suck,” Kris told me. I drew her a map instead. “This isn’t any good, either.”

We were frustrated with each other. “I don’t know what else I can do,” I said. “Try Mapquest.”

“Mapquest is wrong. It tells me to get off at Bybee, but I can’t. There’s no exit there.”

I sighed. “Well, then, you’ll just have to do with the directions I gave you.” Neither of us was pleased with this solution, but she did eventually get to knitting and back without incident.

We met Craig and Lisa for a fine dinner at Ciao Vito the other night. After dinner, I was not in the mood to drive home down McLoughlin/99E. Instead, I took 32nd down to Burnside, then cut over to 39th. I pointed out landmarks from my life along the way.

“These are the apartments where Myung lived. He was my sales manager when I was with Combined Insurance. Amy Ratzlaf lived just a block over there. Remember that upstairs apartment where Chris and Cari lived just after college? It’s just beyond that record store. Here’s Stark. What do yo know that’s near Stark and 39th? Portland Nursery, remember? The place we bought our fruit trees and berry plants.”

Eventually Kris became somewhat engaged. “If this is 39th,” she asked, “does that mean that if we followed it long enough, it would run down near Andrew and Courtney’s house?”

“Exactly! See, here’s Hawthorne. There’s lots of stuff along Hawthorne: a Powell’s, the Bagdad Theater, all sorts of stuff. See this Safeway? Nick lives someplace around here. Here’s Holgate. As soon as we cross Holgate, I feel like we’re in the extended range of the area we usually hang out. See? Here’s the Trader Joe’s. Here’s Steele. Who do you know that lives on Steele?”

Kris thought for a moment. “Celeste?”

“That’s right.” If this sounds condescending in the re-telling, that’s because it almost sounded condescending during the event, too. I don’t mean to be condescending, of course, but I find myself trying to simplify things, trying to explain things like I might explain them to a child. Kris is not a child.

“Celeste lives just down there, across from Reed. Here’s Woodstock. We need to cut over to 99E now because 39th dead ends.”

“It does? I thought I took 39th home from Sheila’s the other night. Oh wait — I crossed 39th to Bybee.”

“Right. Bybee’s okay, but it kind of twists through that ritzy neighborhood and the intersections are all funky. I tend to avoid it when possible. Woodstock is easy. Now here’s the Bybee bridge. What would happen if I were to go straight instead of turning onto McLoughlin?”

“I don’t know. Would you hit 17th?”

“Yes! Where would you hit 17th?”

“I don’t know. Near the Verizon ad?” (There’s an annoying big electronic billboard at the Verizon store where 17th meets 99.)

“That’s a good guess, but it’s off a little bit. You’ll see. You should recognize where you are.”

“I don’t recognize it,” Kris said when we reached 17th.

“I forgot that it splits in two,” I said, pulling up to the next intersection.

“Wha—? How did we get here? It’s like we’re in a completely different state!” Ah, the flash of recognition. She knows the area around Bybee & Milwaukie: Caprial’s, Cha Cha Cha, Fat Albert’s Breakfast Cafe, Springwater Grill, Stars Antique Mall, Wallace Books, etc. She also knows a little of the area up by the Cronks and Bennetts near Woodstock. We’ve even driven this connecting route before, but apparently the points have never been connected on Kris’ internal map.

“Why don’t I take this way to Andrew and Courtney’s?” she asked. “Wouldn’t it be easier?”

I laughed. “Maybe. It’s not the quickest route, but it might be the best one for you to take.” We passed Eckankar! The Church of the Light and Sound of God! (Changed, apparently, to the Religion of the Light and Sound of God.) “Here, let me show you how this all connects up to the Tacoma Street overpass.” I turned onto Tacoma. “Remember: the Sellwood Bridge is on this road, too, directly behind me. That’s how you get to Marla’s.”

“Don’t push your luck,” muttered Kris.

Wet Wet Wet

Oh, how embarrassing: all the data I’ve quoted in this entry is actually for Astoria, not Portland. (Except the records — I quoted the records for Portland.) I’ll post correct numbers on the 11th.

“I wonder how much rain we’ve had so far this year,” Kris said as she climbed into bed. Just the sort of research challenge I live for.

Since January first, Portland has had 6.22 inches of rain, which is 3.34 inches above the norm of 2.88 inches. Over the same period last year, we received only 1.83 inches of rain. (And, remember, between February 15th and March 15th, we had no rain and record warmth.)

Even more remarkable is the amount of rain we’ve had since the cold spell ended on Decemeber 18th. Over the past twenty-two days we’ve had 19.35 inches of rain, which is 12.27 inches above the norm of 7.08 inches. Over the same period last year, we received only 4.02 inches of rain.

And, of course, there’s more rain in the forecast.

More rain. And flooding. And, from the banging of the doors and awnings, plenty of wind tonight. Good night. Stay dry.

After I reported on our flooded cellar last week, Dave gave us some advice about extending our downspout drainage away from the house. Over the weekend we attached some sewer tubing to the end of two downspouts, so that the roof runoff drained to the lawn (which slopes away from the house) instead of next to the back porch (where it drains toward the house slightly).

Kris went down to the basement this morning to verify that our handiwork had produced the desired results. It hadn’t.

“The flooding is back, and it’s worse than ever,” she announced. I put on my shoes and tromped down to run the sump pump. I actually don’t mind the flooding (it’s kind of fun) except for the horrible musty smell that accompanies it. I’m deeply concerned that this odor may be overpowering in the entire house by the time May arrives.

At least my roof patch job seems to have been effective. We don’t seem to have any new leaks (though the previous leakage caused even more damage when the ceiling dried: paint cracked, stains appeared, etc.)

When I originally posted this entry last night, I forgot to mention that we’re having a heavy water year. (The water year is measured from October 1st to September 30th.) According to the National Weather Service, Portland has received 40.01 inches of rain this water year, which is 10.62 inches above the norm of 29.39 inches. (Last year we had received 24.20 inches of rain by this date.)

Looking at historical water year data for Portland, it seems that we only need another 7.40 inches of rain for this year to be the firth wettest on record since the Portland International Airport opened in 1940. If we can get up to 56.48 inches, we’ll be the fifth wettest on record since 1870. (I wish the above-linked page had data for 1998-1999; memory tells me that was another wet winter, though wet in a different way: misty and constant rather than full of periodic downpours.)

Be Careful What You Wish For

For ten days I lamented the cold. For ten days I bundled up and shivered. For ten days I scraped ice from my window in the morning. I longed for a hot bath. I couldn’t get warm enough. The dry air gave me a bloody nose. I moaned. I complained.

Now the cold air is merely cool, and is supposed to grow warmer by the weekend. But the clear skies have gone, too, and the endless rains have set in. After only two days, already the fields are flooding into little lakes.

It’s gray and damp, but now I want it to be cold and clear.

Am I ever satisfied?

Ah, if only it were autumn again, with the cool clear mornings and the warm, lazy afternoons.

Ice King

Beware the Ides of December!

Is it just me, or has this been a cold winter already? When I rolled out of bed this morning, I checked the local weather. According to the web site, the temperature was “-4, but feels like -8. (That’s “25, but feels like 18” to those of you who do not speak centigrade.) Very cold. It has been like this for days.

As always during anomalous weather, I’ve checked the National Weather Service for recent data. I made a lovely table of the temperatures for the past week, but for some reason I cannot get it to format properly in the weblog. I’ve posted it here, on a separate page. Go look at it. Isn’t it fun?

The average temperature for the past week is about 34.6. Last year in December, the average monthly temperature was 45.2. (And the average for all Decembers is 42.8.) This past week has been, on average, ten degrees colder than last December. It feels like twenty.Last year, it didn’t drop below 32 once in December. Our low in January was 27. That was also our low during February. (You’ll remember that we had very strange weather for an entire month starting on Valentine’s Day: not a single drop of rain fell.)

I’ve been cautious on my drive to work this week. The roads haven’t been that icy, but slick patches lurk here and there. The real danger comes at midday: I expect the roads to have cleared, and then something surprises me. On Tuesday I drove to Salem in a heavy fog, some of which had frozen to the road. Yesterday afternoon the sky was sunny and clear during my drive to Hillsboro. I was on a winding country road that dipped into a shaded gully to cross a creek. Just as I approached the bridge, I noticed it was icy. “Crap!” I thought as the car slid from my control. Fortunately, the tires found traction in time for me to recover without incident, but I was much more alert for the rest of the afternoon.

Most winters I can handle the cold. In fact, I like it. Most winters I complain that Kris and her friends keep their homes too warm. I call them Ice Queens. This winter, however, despite weighing more than I ever have before, I am cold. Very cold. Cold all the time. I am colder than Kris, and vociferous about my coldness. I’ve been spending a lot of time in my car, delivering Christmas baskets to customers. This would be fine if the damn heater worked. I hate Fords.

The cold weather isn’t all bad. At times it’s rather beautiful. The days are clear and bright; the nights are filled with stars. As I was leaving Mac’s house last Friday afternoon, we marveled at beautiful sunset: thin fingers of clouds glowed red as they stretched toward the horizon.

Mitch called last night. “Dude, go outside and look at the moon,” he said. “It’s awesome. There’s a ring around it, sort of like a halo, and all sorts of clouds. You should take a picture.”

“I’m in the bath,” I said. “I’m trying to warm my inner core.”

I never did see the moon last night, but I saw it this morning. It still had something of a halo about it, and it looked almost spooky through the trees. Because I was carrying my camera, I stopped to take some photos. I was too cold to set up a tripod, though, so I intentionally took shaky handheld shots, hoping for some sort of cool effect. I’m not wholly displeased with the results.

Living with Rain

Via the recently introduced AskORblogs, Oregon-transplant pb asks:

It was farily sunny today in my section of the Willamette Valley, but rain is predicted through next week. I’ve lived here for a couple years, and the rain hasn’t bother me too much. For some reason I’m noticing it this year. Do you have any strategies that help you get through the winter rain?

Okay, Northwest readers (especially transplants like Mac and Pam): what do you do to ease your mind during the endless weeks of rain?

Me? I rarely notice the rain. Actually, mostly I prefer the rain, though it’s nice to have a few days of sun now and then. (Was it the winter of 97-98 or the winter of 98-99 during which we had something approaching 180 consecutive days with measurable rainfall? That was too extreme even for my tastes.)

However, there are some things I do more often during winter than summer in an effort to keep myself distracted:

  1. Spend time with friends! Winter is the season for formal dinner parties and for general socializing. Sure, outdoor meals in the summer are fun, but nearly all of the dinner parties we attend occur during the months of rain.
  2. Play video games! For some reason, computer games do not interest me in warmer months, but during the winter they offer a whole other world, a world in which it never rains. (At least in World of Warcraft).
  3. Read! I read much more in winter than in summer. When I’m buried in a good book, I don’t notice the gloominess outside. (This is especially true if I have a hot tub in which to soak at the same time. If.)

What about? What strategies do you employ to cope with the rain.

Comments


On 18 January 2005 (07:22 AM),
J.D. said:

I forgot one: Movies! Not just Netflix, but actual films in a theater. Usually, we see many more movies during the winter than the summer. Part of this is due to our quest to see every Best Picture nominee, part due to the fact we like winter movies better, and part due to the weather. (This year is an anomaly: we’ve seen hardly anything.)



On 18 January 2005 (08:31 AM),
Jeremy said:

I just continue with my normal life. If I have something I want to do outside, I do it in the rain (unless it is impossible). I just put on my rain gear and go to it.

That being said, I tend to slow down a bit during the winter (with the projects that is) and cook more, eat more, drink more, watch much more TV (not hard to do since I watch virtually none during the summer months).

Here’s to rain! Prost.



On 18 January 2005 (10:31 AM),
Virginia said:

My son bought a place a few years ago from a Californian. He had lived up here for several years and he said he is going back to California. He said in Oregon there are only 2 seasons, “Eleven months of rain and 1 month of relatives.”



On 18 January 2005 (11:49 AM),
Courtney said:

I’m a native Oregonian. I am used to the rain. However, there have been winters when the rain has really gotten to me (1996 for instance…remember the flood?!!). My remedy for endless weeks or months of rain was to take a vacation in the winter to someplace warm, like Hawaii, Thailand, Florida, Australia, etc. I found when I could break up the rain with a couple of weeks of sun, it was much easier to take.

I also agree with Jeremy. You mustn’t let the rain deter you from whatever you want/need to do. If you did, you’d never accomplish anything.



On 18 January 2005 (11:55 AM),
Kris said:

Hot tea, hot chocolate, hot cider, hot soup. Any of those and a good book go a long way to making the winter enjoyable, not just bearable. That and imagining my springtime garden!

Seiously, though, even though the heating bill is the worse for it, I love all the huge windows in our new home. Even on a rainy day there are glimpses of sun, green grass, birds and squirrels going about their business. Doesn’t seem nearly as gloomy as in our former ranch-style cavern.



On 18 January 2005 (04:28 PM),
Schmela said:

I love the rain. I usually try to get out and do whatever I would normally do, not including yardwork in the muck. However, rain means time to spend on good books, movies, friends, games, etc. Rain means coffee and potato soup. Rain also usually means snow in the mountains (except for this week…arrrggh), and the skier in me likes that.

We lived in Albuquerque for 4 years after growing up in Washington. The lack of rain was startling and even a little depressing. I used to crave the summer monsoon season, just for the brief 30 minutes of afternoon rain. Living there, I think I always felt like I should be outside enjoying the sun (all 300+ days a year of it), and I usually felt guilty if I was inside at the computer, reading, or watching a movie.



On 18 January 2005 (05:14 PM),
Rob said:

We just moved back to a place that had more sun; in the end we couldn’t cope with the rain, it became too much to live with.

Maybe we could employ some of your techniques if we have to come back to the rainy northwest.

Thanks J.D!



On 18 January 2005 (06:40 PM),
Amy Jo said:

It isn’t the rain that gets to me, it is the low ceiling of clouds. The lack of bright light leaves me feeling lethargic and grumpy. Folks in DC would give my friend Windy and I strange looks when we walked through the rain, faces turned upward, without the cover of an umbrella. She’s a left coaster too (Northern California, but we can still claim her) and nothing made us both more homesick than a drippy day . . .



On 18 January 2005 (10:34 PM),
Tammy said:

I clean closets and plan my spring garden.

I dont mind the rain at all but then I live in a very bright house with a sunroom attached to the living room. My living room has two sets of glass doors in it. One can almost imagine you’re sitting outside.