Snow Fun

I last posted a week ago Sunday, when the snow started falling. Here we are almost ten days later, and that initial snowfall seems balmy and bucolic by comparison. The headline above is from this morning's paper. It's snowed almost daily for the last week and a half. Until today, when we did nudge 32 degrees, temps have remained well below freezing. I'm tired of the cold, the cancellations, the constraints on getting around. Whiiiine.....

But the wintry weather does have its compensations. It's beautiful, of course; I put up a bunch of mostly-artsy pics on flickr. And it's primo weather for hot-tubbing. Squint and you could be at an expensive ski resort in Vail or Aspen, a handsome cowboy waiting for you in the steamy water:


We've been walking every day, as usual, breaking through the crunchy crust, trying not to slip as we follow foot-deep vehicle tracks on the mostly-deserted streets. I spotted this vanity plate (below) just around the corner from us. Yes: visualize rain!

I made up a new word the other morning, as each step we took fractured the ice-covered snow into sharp, ankle-biting shards: Snice. Here's a representative specimen:


And here's a snice example of ad hoc automotive sharkification:


As a matter of fact, I do have cabin fever, and apparently some of my neighbors do, too. On the other hand, our old kitty, Abbie, is losing ground, and it's nice to have an excuse to stay home, catering to his needs and providing almost-unlimited lap(top) service.

A Permanent Part of Portland

A little over a year ago, Jerry and I bought a brick in Pioneer Courthouse Square. We specified that the inscription read JEREVA, 8.3.2005- . Shortly after I submitted the order, the brick mavens got in touch to make sure we were aware that they couldn't go back sometime in the future and add another date after the dash. I assured them that this wasn't a tombstone-type engraving.


They batch the brick orders, apparently, so ours wasn't installed until a couple of months ago. We got a map and a certificate, suitable for framing, signed by Mayor Potter. Ours is brick number 2273, in square 49 on side C, on the upper level near Broadway and Yamhill. We finally got over there to look for it; it took us a while to find it, but I think we have it triangulated now. I suppose we'll have to add it to our tour-guide itinerary. You've been warned, out-of-towners.

August 3rd, 2005, was the day we moved to Portland and began our new life in the Northwest. We're planning to keep that dash open-ended as long as we possibly can.

Mt. Tabor, finally

It only took us three years to check out Mount Tabor, an almost-200-acre park smack in the middle of southeast Portland, maybe 12 minutes from our front door. Mount Tabor is the site of an extinct volcano and three active reservoirs, the source of much of Portland's drinking water, each graced with crenellated gatehouses and ornamental iron fences. The total effect is more Versailles than municipal utility project, which is kind of cool.


As you look east from the other side of the Willamette, Mount Tabor is a conspicuous landmark. Not surprisingly, the view toward town from its slopes is spectacular.


We encountered several very happy dogs on the short hike to the summit, and found a canine mis-en-place, complete with excellent throwing stick, along the trail. All that was missing was the Alpo, or whatever brand/formulation enlightened dog owners favor these days.


Speaking of food, on the way home we detoured a few blocks east and had a delightful breakfast at the Arleta Library Bakery & Cafe. Jer had turned up his cute snub nose at the menu I pulled from their website, noting that "the only way they do eggs is scrambled." Oh dear. But what they do with their scrambled eggs is, midway through, change course and turn them into an elegant omelette roulade. Delicious. It's a tiny, friendly neighborhood place, and we will be back.

Scenes around the 'hood

On one recent walk around the neighborhood, we saw...

a charming sign:

a large-scale model airplane hanging in what appeared to be an abandoned and partially-demolished workshop. It seems to be a bit deficient in the wingspan department. If I'm not mistaken, the engine cylinders are crushed beer cans:


a challenging doorway:


and a tile-encrusted set of stairs worthy of a Mexican village:


Most of our perambulations aren't quite so rich in amusement value, but we usually see something that makes us stop and think, or grin, or scratch our heads. For instance...

a flicker rat-a-tatting on a metal chimney:


a kitty curtain call:


an insouciant vehicle:


and, last but not least, what I will G-ratedly refer to as the Tickle Chair:

Dammit, it's almost APRIL

According to my calendar, the vernal equinox happened well over a week ago. In case you didn't get the message, Northwest weather gods, it's supposed to be spring. Trees are leafing out, fruit trees are a' bloomin', daffodils have been up for a while. Get with the program, wouldja?

Weatherwise, the past 48 hours or so have been insane, or what the more temperate among us would call "dynamic." Snow flurries, hail, sleet, rain, sunshine. Lather, rinse, repeat. I turn off the reading lamp in the living room because it's so bright outside; next thing I know, I'm straining to make out words on the page, and look up to see an ominous charcoal-grey sky. A few minutes later: Hail, sleet, snow, rain... sun. Temps have not climbed out of the low 40s in days. Does this look like spring to you?

The silver, so to speak, lining is that it's awfully nice to take a hot tub in weather like this. The electrician was here last Thursday to do the final hookup. By Friday afternoon the tub was filled and up to temp. The hail hit, Jer and I looked at each other, and went for it. Yee haw!

The good news about slush on the lid of your hot tub is that the insulated cover is doing its job. Underneath that encrusted plastic shell is 350 gallons of steamy aqueous goodness. With jets and colored lights, should you so desire.

Whenever the weather become a major conversational topic around here, somebody asserts "This is so unusual." Yeah, right. I'm starting to realize that unusual = typical, for Portland. I kinda like it that way.

Unicordions, planetwalkers, wizards

We have absolutely no plans for this weekend, but I can use some down time. Here's what we did in one four-day period last week:

Went to a talk at Reed by John Francis, the planetwalker. I knew John, slightly, during my college days back in Philly. He was a lanky, charismatic black dude who was never at a loss for words. He's still all that, plus a few pounds and gray hairs. Our paths would cross occasionally in Rittenhouse Square and, now and then, at the apartment of one or another of Mitch and my bluegrass buddies. He might even have been at our place once or twice (it was the '60s; I can't quite recall). I remember hearing, several years later, that John was on some kind of enviro-spiritual trip and, as part of that, had stopped talking. As it turned out, he also gave up driving and riding in motorized vehicles, choosing to walk, often great distances, instead. The silence lasted for 17 years, the auto-ban for 22. He explained the other evening why he did both, and why he gave it up. No, I didn't go up to him afterwards and say "I knew you, kinda, when..." but it felt good, on some deep level, to reconnect.

Attended Pizzazz, a city-wide talent show sponsored by the Portland Mercury, the alternative weekly I'm (sorry) not in the habit of reading, and Pabst Blue Ribbon (barf) beer. Our friends Kristin and Eric were among the ten finalists and, as it happened, the opening act. They sang and played an accordion duet while a lithe male dancer in a skin-tight unicorn costume did an interpretive dance to their rendition of "Total Eclipse of the Heart." At the climax, the dancer squeezed a heart-shaped sponge full of stage blood over his pristine white satiny self. The audience loved it, and applauded wildly. It was a raucous, fun evening, despite the fact that our pals did not win a prize. The crowd was friendly, the venue (Wonder Ballroom, with a surprisingly good cafe next door) very pleasant, and the pacing of the show so crisp that we were out the door in two hours flat. We geezers so appreciate efficiency in our wacky entertainment ventures.

A long and fairly strenuous hike on a perfect fall morning with Mike Houck, one of the city's major environmental activists (I've blogged about him before). We started at the base of the aerial tram (I posted a set of flickr shots shortly after it opened earlier this year), trekked south along the Willamette (who knew there was a continuous bike and walking trail from South Waterfront to Willamette Park and possibly beyond?), then headed west and uphill through George Himes Park -- big trees, lush ferns, lots of switchbacks -- to Terwilliger Blvd. From there we ambled north to OHSU and the upside tram terminal. As the photo suggests, we still faced quite a hike from the entrance up to the tram itself. They only collect tickets on the upward leg; the ride down is free. By that point we figured we'd earned it.

Dinner at Portofino, a restaurant in Sellwood that we'd passed countless times thinking "Eh, generic old-style Italian restaurant. When we're in the mood for that, Gino's is right up the street." A couple of months ago, though, they put up a spiffy new sign, which put the place on my radar. So we went one evening with Libbi and David and our mutual friend Angie, who was visiting from the Bay Area. The friendly proprietor, who'd worked there as a kid, shared the history of the place, and the food and wine were delicious. Another good, unpretentious neighborhood restaurant to add to our list.

That's four days in a row of Portland synergies, delights and revelations, and it's just an arbitrary sampling. I haven't even mentioned breakfast at Toast with Angie and Libbi, or a delightful pre-Hallowe'en party with artsy and literate folks in the Hawthorne 'hood, or, for that matter, Hallowe'en itself. Jer and I channeled a wizard (his usual persona) and an autumn tree sprite, respectively. Trick-or-treaters on the block included a clever mom-made ram and his brother, an equally fine bat (bat-tering ram?), a piece of pie/pi (this was the same kid who went around last year as an e coli bacterium), two fairy princesses, a diminutive Boston Red Sock, a Boston (no relation) terrier in a skeleton outfit, and an electric plug. No unicorns, but that's okay; our earlier encounter will live in my memory for quite a while. Whether I want it to or not.

Playing Tourist

I found the Portland Walking Tours site back when I was in research mode, before we moved here, and filed it for future reference. It seemed like a fun way to get to know more about our new home town, and I envisioned taking time off from unpacking and organizing our nest (in retrospect, whom was I kidding?) to unwind with a tour now and then.

Finally, two years after settling in, we've done the Best of Portland tour, the Underground (a.k.a. Worst of Portland) tour and the Epicurean Excursion, all within the last month. I can recommend each one, and will regale you with random factoids about the city for as long as I can remember them. But the Epicurean was, by its nature, the most entertaining. They promised at least 30 different tastes along the way, and I believe we hit 40 easily, starting with tomato-orange soup at the Flying Elephants deli, and ending up with gelato, coffee and chocolate nano-truffles at Via Delizia in the Pearl. In between: three varieties of Bridgetown beer poured on site by the brewmaster, a selection of PaleyBars (tm) (100% natural energy bars in various flavors, formulated by one of Portland's top chefs, Vitaly Paley, which is a great name for an energy bar impressario), thinly sliced Walla Walla onions marinated in rice wine vinegar, plus three boutique mustards and a sip of pinot noir at In Good Taste; slices of baguette and levain with EVOO behind the scenes at Pearl Bakery, where I took these shots (note the rakish angle at which Damon, our guide, wears his hairnet), followed by tastes of croissant, gibassier (perhaps the revelation of the trip, a Provencal breakfast pastry flavored with anise and orange peel), and melt-in-mouth chocolate bouchon, oh my. (This is starting to sound like an infomercial, but nobody is paying me, I swear. Note lack of hyperlinks when I could easily have done so.)

So. After all that carbo-loading, we headed briefly in the direction of Zenlike simplicity with a stop at the Tea Zone. There we sampled three perfectly-brewed teas -- Dragon Pearl jasmine, an oolong, and a lychee-flavored black tea, accompanied by tiny hazelnut and lemon-flavored cookies. We leaped back on the carbo bandwagon at the Ecotrust building, with Hot Lips roasted garlic pizza and blueberry soda, and an apple taste-off, organic vs. not. Finally, we wound down with the aforementioned gelato (three flavors -- orange cream, almond and someberry) plus chocolate nibbles and an extremely welcome cup of coffee.

En route, I got to fill in more of my mental map of downtown, especially the Pearl. Amazing how much construction is happening in the area. I assumed this was yet another condo complex going up, but apparently it's going to be a humungous new Safeway.

Hmmm, unless I've forgotten a stop entirely, I get almost exactly 30 different tastes, depending on how you count. Well, it sure felt like 40.

Pretty swift

For the last 25 years, a huge flock of migrating Vaux's swifts has roosted for several weeks in the Chapman School chimney in Northwest Portland. Toward sunset they gather for the night and spiral into the chimney. The peak period is now, in mid-September. I thought this phenom -- "the Chapman School swifts" is how everybody refers to it -- was so cool when I first heard about it, shortly after we moved to town. Jer and I finally got off our butts the other night and drove over to see it for ourselves.

I'm bad at estimating crowd sizes but, according to Portland Audubon, the Chapman School colony typically numbers 10,000 to 15,000 birds. Some years the count's been higher than 30,000. I took these photos at highest resolution so you should be able to discern a few hundred swift-like specks if you click to enlarge them.

I've seen masses of birds take to the air before; it's always a dramatic sight. But the Chapman display was particularly striking because of the chimney as a focal point and the swirling aerobatics that accompanied the ultimate funneling-down. The drama was enhanced by a hawk (Cooper's?) that perched on the rim of the chimney itself and, before too long, snagged a swift for supper. Oops; make that 9,999. A while later, another raptor rocketed through the swarm but emerged empty-taloned and sat watching from the tip of a distant tree. Raptors put in an appearance most evenings during the season, according to the Audubon Society. They're no dummies; for predators, this is like buffet time on a cruise ship.

The surrounding scene, a gaggle of non-migrating humans numbering 200 or so, was quintessential Portland -- young parents picnicking with their kids, hipsters and skateboarders, Tilley-hat-wearing birders and old farts like us -- low-key, friendly and appreciative.

It was a misty evening, on the verge of rain, and after the last of the swifts had spun themselves into the chimney, Jer and I were happy to get back in the car and turn on the heat til we dried off and warmed up a little. What a contrast with the day before, when temps were in the high 80s and we'd closed the house and lowered the blinds to keep it cool. We cruised down NW 21st Ave. and, after turning thumbs down on a 40-minute wait at Cafe Mingo, ended up at Serratto a block or two away. I'd never even heard of the place, though it turned out that the Food Dude gave it a pretty good review two years ago. We'd give it a couple of stars, too. I didn't even considering ordering something with wings for dinner.

Bridge Pedal!

This morning I rode in the annual Portland Bridge Pedal, a mass bike ride for which the city closes its major bridges in one or both directions, and blocks off a number of streets as well. You have the option of doing six, eight or ten bridges, at 14, 24 and 36 miles, respectively. (The routes are up at www.providence.org/oregon/events/bridge_pedal/) Since I was starting from home, which would add another 14 miles to my round trip, I unhesitatingly went for the low-end itinerary.

We got off to a slow start because of the sheer number of participants; they'd expected 15,000 people and 20,000 showed up. We had to push our bikes halfway across the Hawthorne Bridge before we could finally hop on and ride. There was even more congestion and a long wait at the approach to the Ross Island Bridge. The first three photos illustrate the problem. The top shot is the trudge across the Hawthorne, and the next two show the bottleneck at the Ross Island, looking forward and back. Looking back made me feel a tiny bit better; it's the Schadenfreude factor.

Once we made it to the roadbed of the Ross Island, though, the rest of the way was fairly smooth sailing. Booths were set up at the crests of the Marquam and Fremont Bridges and a carnival-like atmosphere prevailed. The rest of the pics feature the Fremont Bridge, and the view therefrom. I wondered whether there was a correlation between the suicide prevention hotline signs and the presence of a bagpipe band. On both bridges, we could wheel in to have our photos taken. They'll be available online within 48 hours; if mine turn out I'll post them.

My favorite parts of the ride were coasting down from the Marquam Bridge onto I-5 -- riding a bike on the freeway felt deliciously transgressive! -- and again, riding faster, probably, than I ever have in my life, down from the summit of the Fremont Bridge. The whole trip, from starting line to finish, took me 2.5 hours, including the long wait to get onto the Ross Island. Early on, during the standing and trudging phases, I thought "well, this is my first and last time for the Bridge Pedal." Guess what: I've changed my mind.

Yesterday, I ran into some people who, when I told them I was planning to do the Bridge Pedal, responded enthusiastically, "There's nothing like it; you will own Portland." I see what they meant. Riding the bridges, at your own pace, shows you the city in a way that's both intimate and majestic. Next year, knock wood, maybe I'll go for eight.

Happy Earth Day

Jer and I celebrated Earth Day by taking a longer-than-usual walk on the surface of the planet. We picked up the Springwater Corridor trail at the foot of 37th Ave, just a few blocks from home, meandered along Johnson Creek for a while, and crossed the Three Bridges into Sellwood. Then we zigzagged from named to numbered streets til we hit Milwaukie and Bybee. We stopped for breakfast at the Springwater Grill, and were home two hours after we started out. According to the GoogleMaps pedometer, we did a shade over 4 miles. Easy. We're so blessed to be in a position, both physically and geographically, to get out there and casually cover ground the way we do.

In the last few days I've filled in a couple more blanks in my mental map of Portland. On my way home from lunch with some friends in SW on Thursday, I stopped at the Audubon Store on NW Cornell Road to buy birdseed and another couple of feeders for our rapacious backyard avians. Cornell winds through the hills -- it reminds me a bit of Grizzly Peak Blvd. in Berkeley -- before turning into NW Lovejoy in the city proper. So that's how that works; got it. Bonus: Caught a glimpse on the street of John Callahan, the outrageous cartoonist and actually pretty darn good singer-songwriter, who lives in the nabe.

Last night, Jer and I went to a faboo party just off Albina, in a pocket of North Portland we'd never traversed before. (Note: Any evening that involves raspberry martinis, mango-habanero margaritas, pear sidecars, cedar-grilled salmon, live accordion music and DIY rocketry is surely in the running for Social Event of the Year.) I now have a much better sense of the order, left to right, of North Interstate Ave., I-5, the Vancouver-Williams couplet, and Highway 99-E. I've pondered this area on a map, in the abstract, and thought "My, that looks confusing." Like so much in life, la-de-dah, it's a lot more daunting in the contemplation than in the doing. Now that I've filled in my mental map, I can certainly find a more direct route home the next time.

Road Trip, Sky Trip

It's been a busy couple of days. I finally made it down to Coos Bay, with my friends Beth and Mary, to see a pair of art quilt exhibits, Speaking in Cloth and Fine Focus '06, at the museum there. Mary's husband Farley drove, and we made a two-day art tour of it, taking in the Coos Bay art walk (such as it was) on Thursday night and some galleries in Eugene en route home on Friday, after breakfast at the excellent Zenon Cafe.

Speaking in Cloth was co-curated by two local textile artists, Jeannette DeNicolis Meyer (with whom I've studied) and Ann Johnston, and includes their work and that of four other artists. Fine Focus consists of small works (no more than a foot or so on a side) by 50 different artists. Both were inspirational in the very direct sense of making me want to get back into my studio and create.

Apart from the art, the Coos Art Museum has, in its lobby, the largest angelwing begonia plant I've ever seen. A typical leaf was six or seven inches long, about the size of an entire plant, in my experience. As I was oohing and aahing over it, the volunteer receptionist pressed a cutting on me, which of course I had to baby for the rest of the trip. I'll try to make a good home for Little Bertha.

Speaking of large plants, we called in a tree guy to prune some low and otherwise iffy limbs from the two sweetgums on our parking strip. Most of the work happened before I got home on Friday. It sure makes a big difference; lots more light in the living room, for one thing -- and, I hope, fewer of those hateful spiky seedpod balls to deal with during the fall and winter. We also gained some firewood, which Jer toted around back and I spent an hour or so stacking. Yes, I did ache the next day.

The city is still offering free aerial tram rides on Saturdays during February, so yesterday we decided to check it out. The new tram connects the South Waterfront area with the OHSU (Oregon Health & Science University) complex on Marquam Hill. It was a controversial project for all the obvious reasons -- cost, neighborhood impact, and so on -- but, from what I've read, it's quieter and less obtrusive than originally feared, and most of the neighbors seem to have made their peace with it. The line was long-ish, with lots of kids and a definite Disneyland vibe. It moved quickly, though, since the ride is just three minutes long and each of the two cars (cabins? capsules? gondolas?) holds more passengers than you might imagine.

The view en route is spectacular, and the structure itself a gorgeous piece of engineering. I took the equivalent of two rolls of film and posted a bunch on Flickr. At the top, we strolled along the observation deck, which is studded with sculpture. The adjacent corridor is hung with some interesting paintings and prints. Who knew? Obviously we'll have to add another stop to our standard tour-guide itinerary: "We'll take you to the Japanese Garden, the Rose Garden, the Classical Chinese Garden, Powell's Books, and then we'll go to the hospital."

How I spent Christmas eve

For Christmas, Jerry gave me three envelopes, each one tied with a ribbon. One was marked "Open at 10 AM Sunday," the others "Open at 3 PM" and "Open at 5 PM," respectively. On Christmas Eve morning, I obediently opened the first one. It was a long, accordian-folded missive from Jerubic Tours, Ltd., with a made-up -- I assume, though I suppose I could try Googling it -- London address. Subject line: Portland Highlights - Phase I. It went on to say, "Dear Ms. Basch: We are delighted to inform you that you will be treated to our Portland Highlights adventure on December 24, 2006. Your escort, J, will provide transportation and take care of all financial details. Your role is simply to sit back and enjoy the ride."

The document revealed that the first event on my itinerary would be a matinee of Susannah Mars' "Mars on Life: The Holiday Edition." Cool; I'd actually considered getting tickets earlier in the season but decided there'd probably be too much else going on around now (ha), so we passed. The letter from, ahem, Jerubic Tours went on to say "Subsequent events will be revealed in due course. However, for pragmatic reasons, certain facts must be made known to you at the outset. Since you will not be returning to your home until mid-morning on Monday, you should make the needed preparations - toiletries, robe, etc. The evening will include an opportunity to dress in your best. For your guidance, be aware that your escort is required, by our house rules, to wear a tuxedo. And oh yes, bring a bathing suit. And your computer. Ta ta!"

So my escort and I packed as instructed, took care of the kitties, and set out for the theater. It was a delightful show. Susannah had invited a rotating lineup of guest performers to join her onstage during the run; for this performance, it was Rebecca Kilgore, a jazz vocalist, also a local, who was terrific, too. Interesting, we learned that Susannah is Jewish, and during the 8 days of Chanukah had actually brought a menorah onstage and, during the show, lit the appropriate number of candles. Along with the traditional carols and funny Christmas / seasonal songs, she did a surprising number of Chanukah tunes; more than I knew existed, actually.

During the intermission, I opened my "3 PM" envelope. It was another long, festive-looking document from Jerubic Tours, Ltd., heralding Portland Highlights - Phase II, and informing "My dear Ms. Basch, From the theater you will be going on to your accomodations for the evening." Then followed several color pictures and a description of the historic Multnomah Hotel, now the Embassy Suites at 4th and Pine.

The communique concluded "Relax and enjoy the amenities. And keep in mind that J, your escort, is always at your call and is thoroughly trained to be able to take care of all your personal needs. Your pleasure is our reward. Jerubic Tours, Ltd." Heh heh. Every time "Jerubic Tours, Ltd." appears throughout this adventure, it's in Olde English type, which makes me chuckle, too.

After the show, we drove to the hotel, checked in, soaked in the jacuzzi for a while, did the hot hot dry sauna for about 30 seconds, which was as long as I could stand it, and then had a couple of cocktails in the Arcadian Garden Room, which must've been quite a swanky venue in its day. According to a coffee-table history of the hotel that we found in the room (quite an impressive hardbound book), luminaries like Charles Lindberg, Elvis, Queen Marie of Romania, and John and Bobby Kennedy either stayed or were feted there, or both.

Before going downstairs for drinks, I opened my "5 PM" envelope, which was all about dinner, of course. Portland Highlights - Phase III was addressed to "My dearest Ms. Basch" (Notice how the greetings have become progressively more familiar?) "You and your escort will be dining this evening at The Portland City Grill." A veritable cornucopia of folded paper spilled forth (basically a printout of the entire menu), and the missive concluded "And this will bring to an end your Portland Highlights Adventure. On behalf of all of us here at Jerubic Tours, Ltd , and your escort J, we wish you a Very Merry Christmas. It has been a pleasure to serve you. Portland Highlights Adventure is a production of Jerubic Tours, Ltd. " So we duded up, Jer in his tux, and me in a lovely burnout-velvet-and-sparkles tunic affair that was a gift from him on a previous occasion, and walked a block and a half, in a major downpour, to the restaurant.

The main attraction of Portland City Grill is its altitude and the view that that implies. It's on the 30th floor of the US Bancorp Tower, a.k.a. Big Pink, which I'd guess is the tallest building downtown. Of course the view from our windowside table was spectacular. The service was efficient, though totally scripted; it's the kind of place where anything you might order is "an excellent choice." Like, would they tell you if it wasn't? Not if our meal was any indication. Jer had a Caesar salad and blackened ahi; I had a few pieces of sushi followed by pasta with seafood. This isn't a restaurant review so I'll spare you the details, but it was one more data point in the theory that the elevation of the restaurant is in inverse proportion to the quality of the food. I'd go back for drinks, though, especially with out-of-town guests.

After dinner, it was back to the hotel, and at that point discretion dictates that we draw the curtain on our happy couple. The next morning, after a very decent complementary breakfast at what I'd much rather think of the Multnomah Hotel than the Embassy Suites, we packed, retrieved the car from the lot across the street, and were home in less than 15 minutes. The cats seemed happy to see us, or at least our opposable thumbs.

I just have to say I love my romantic guy for orchestrating all this and making it happen.

P.S. The note cards in which he enclosed the three installments of our adventure were very cool as well -- all familiar Portland views (the Powell's corner at 10th and W Burnside, the Bagdad Theater on Hawthorne, and the stretch of Milwaukie Ave that includes the Moreland Theater and Fat Albert's) by a local painter named Tom Rettig. Not the guy who played the kid in Lassie; I did Google that.

Mosstown

Mossy brick in the herb garden
Originally uploaded by revalani.

Portland has many nicknames -- City of Roses, Stumptown, River City, Bridgeville. I've never lived in a place before where the moss grew moss. It's so incredibly plushy, lush and luxurious.

Living here, how can you not like green?

I took a bunch of pictures on my walk this morning, and discovered later that I'd photographed a couple of the identical mossy outcrops around this time last year. Evergreens, in a manner of speaking. Much more mossiness at www.flickr.com/photos/revalani/sets/72157594438359372/

Living in Mayberry

I often marvel at how sweet and small-townish our neighborhood feels to me. Kids have a lot to do with it. There were very few children at Sea Ranch; we had no -- zee- ro -- trick-or-treaters the entire time we lived there, and Christmas was a whirl of cocktail parties and potlucks, plus a fast hour of caroling in the old barn. Pleasant, but definitely an adult holiday in its observance. Before that, in Berkeley -- much as I love the place -- there was (and, I assume, still is) an element of cool and political correctness that encouraged solstice celebrations and the recognition of Chanukah, Kwanzaa and other alternative observations, but not the whole Santa Claus, reindeer, snowman, red-and-green, go-for-it aesthetic that Jer and I see on our morning walks about the 'hood.

I answered the door three times today. First, Maddy and Hannah (I think I have the names right), who live up the street. Hannah's in the middle single digits; let's say 6 -- I'm bad (but getting better) at guessing kids' ages. Maddy's a gangly pre- or early adolescent (12? 13?) whom we met at the block party last summer. It was her idea, that day, to get all the kids to lie down in the street in creative poses and have someone else trace them in colored chalk. We admired their work the next morning; it was like CSI Eastmoreland.

Anyway, today the two of them were collecting for the Oregon Humane Society. They had a homemade donation box. Maddy did the spiel -- it didn't take much to convince me to contribute (again) to that particular cause -- while Hannah sang Christmas carols, consulting a lyric sheet but singing con brio. Maddy's braces were red and green. How do they do that? Will she do yellow and purple for Easter?

An hour or so later, another knock. It was Joseph, the older of the two boys from up the street. I hope I have that right; Lewis is the younger, if I remember correctly (always a dubious assumption), but it's hard for me to tell the brothers apart when they're not together. I'm sure old people all look alike to them. He was bearing a cookie tin -- "Bearing" is the word; he held it out, on flat palms, an offering. I oohed and thanked him but he stayed at the doorway, expecting something. "Um, do you know what it is?" he asked. "I'm guessing cookies. Did your Mom bake 'em?" "Yep, and my brother and me." I realized afterwards, dang, I should've opened the box while he was there. It was quite an array. Among other things, lemon bars, chocolate chips, those confectioners' sugar-covered balls that're either pecan puffs or Mexican wedding cookies or maybe pfeffernuse; we'll find out soon... Thanks, Lanell, Hans, Lewis and Joseph!

The third knock was from the UPS guy. I'd ordered a new iron after reading about it on the QuiltArt list. Happy holidays, Reva. I'm not going to mention the brand name here; you can discern it if you click on the photo. It does the coolest thing (okay, we're talking about an iron here, but still); it senses your touch on the handle and lowers into business mode; otherwise, it rises up onto retractable feet (with a cute little R2D2-ish sound that one might find annoying before getting used to it) to keep from scorching. Bottom line, it's happy resting horizontally, so much more stable on the ironing board, don'tcha know, which is important to someone who's sent an iron toppling to the floor on more than one occasion. Plus, it steams in 3 or 4 different modes, and it's just so cute. It looks like a cross between a first-generation iMac (the Bondi blue one, before they offered a choice of strawberry, blueberry and other fruit flavors) and a high-tech running shoe. It ships with an adorable little watering can, skinny and elegant, that's one of the most satisfying utilitarian shapes I've ever encountered (Excuse me while I drift off into one of my fantasy lives as an industrial designer...).

Ahem. I'm back. And I can't believe I'm rhapsodizing about a f*#@ing iron. Maybe I really am living in Mayberry.

Wind Throw

When I lived on the coast, I became familiar with the term "wind throw." A particular combination of topography, wind, soil, and vegetation made for predictably hazardous winter storm conditions in certain areas. These neighborhoods were identified as "wind throw zones." "Wind throw" strikes me as a euphemism for "trees waiting to fall." In that region, Grand Firs, which can be surprisingly shallow-rooted, were the most vulnerable species.

I have no idea whether the concept of wind throw applies here in the city. But in our heavily-wooded neighborhood, the wind really howled last night. Our lights dimmed and flickered much of the evening, though we never lost power. Jerry moved the car down the street, out of the reach of falling tree limbs, just in case.

As we left the house this morning, we heard a symphony of chainsaws and chippers. Three blocks away, a giant tree (one of the 'hood's original elms, I'm guessing) had pulled out of the pavement and crashed to the street. We spoke to the owner of the adjacent home, who told us they'd heard a whooshing sound last night and run to the other end of the house. Fortunately the tree fell in the other direction.