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.

County Fair and Other Amusements

Yesterday started out sunny and warm. The newspaper said it would probably be the best day, weatherwise, of the three-day holiday weekend. Jer and I seized the opportunity, and rode our bikes to the Multnomah County Fair at Oaks Park. It felt so good to get back on my bike again, and the ride along the Springwater Trail and the streets of south Sellwood was a joy (for me, anyway -- Jer came back with an aching tailbone; must do something about that seat).

The fair itself was a schizoid blend of traditional -- home ec skill competitions, midway and carny rides, animal exhibits and trials -- and (ick) modern, as in vinyl window sales come-ons (I counted four of those), obscure specialized appliance vendors, insurance and real estate agents, really tacky souvenir vendors, and so on.

Next time, if there is a next time, I'll know to avoid the mercantile tents at the south end and focus on the animals and the judged events. These included a smattering of quilts and other needlework, an aisle or two or fresh flowers and prize produce -- very slim pickin's, considering how early it is in the growing season -- and a couple of dozen flower arrangements. Aren't these two charming? Click to get the full effect. Another one of my favorites consisted of a pair of cowboy boots, a walking stick, and a bird of paradise).

There was a bountiful assortment of baked goods and home-canned foodstuffs. Look at all those ribbons. One entry was labeled "curried prunes". Mmm, mmm, good.

Butter making dirt babies? I don't want to know.

Our dinner last night was a lot more appetizing than either of those. Jer made individual puff pastry tarts filled with asparagus and shiitake mushrooms, gruyere, creme fraiche and tarragon, and an edamame, green bean, orange and marinated red onion salad with a tart-sweet dressing.

I took this photo of the western sky just before we settled down to dinner and a movie. Thunderstorms were forecast, and they hit not long after. We abandoned Across the Universe to take in the spectacle from our porch. The light, warm rain drew us out, and we ended up walking around the block, flashes of lightning and rolling thunder accompanying us every step of the way.

It was a delightful day.

What a gorgeous day

Saturday was not only Abbie's birthday, but the most beautiful day, weatherwise, in six months. It was clear and sunny, with highs in the mid-70s. T-shirt/bare feet weather, finally, and no need to turn on the heat. In the morning, I did the MS Walk with Lib and her family and some friends. Unlike the past couple of years, we actually applied sunblock before heading out.
The view en route was spectacular. We could see Mt. Hood in the distance, looming over the city.




You can tell it's spring when the toenail colors bloom. This is a quite conservative application, all one hue, and the first of the season. Later on, maybe, I'll get back to the purple-teal-lime green spectrum. Or not.

Jer was in Albuquerque all last week, for a fringe science conference. I picked him up at PDX after the MS Walk. Toward cocktail time, we had a drink on the front porch -- again, the first of the season. China Rose loves the swing, but is wondering where the cushion disappeared to. I'll bring it out again once I see fewer daily showers in the forecast.

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.

Just one nice day

Local lore dictates that Presidents' Day weekend -- a mashup holiday, you young'uns, created many years ago from Lincoln's and Washington's birthdays -- is the time to prune roses in Portland. I'd been hoping for a few hours of sunshine, or at least not-rain, to get a start on the job, and yesterday, after what seemed like weeks of unrelenting cold and wet, the window of opportunity opened.

The entire neighborhood seemed to have gotten the "Yardwork!" message. I chatted with neighbors I hadn't seen outdoors in months. The little girls from next door hauled over their miniature gardening tools and helped me for a while, though with one tiny glove between them, I had to direct their efforts away from the roses and toward the ongoing chore of picking up those obnoxious sweetgum seed pods, aka sticky balls.

Pruning is a satisfying task, deciding as you snip what stays, what goes, where to make the cut. I have only a vague notion of how it's supposed to be done, but the roses have always tolerated, or worked around, my efforts.

The afternoon went by quickly. I filled three large bags, plus the yard debris can. Just as I finished the row of miniatures by the driveway, the sky turned hazy and the temperature dropped. It was a good stopping point.

I was hoping for another break in the weather today, so I could attack the roses on the other side of the house, but it doesn't look like we're going to get one. No worries; it's still a week til Presidents' Day.

When the bough breaks

A major windstorm cranked it up good today, and one of our sweetgums took a direct hit. A huge branch came down and snagged on several wires, blocking the street completely. I called the city's emergency tree number and spoke to a very nice woman. When I commented that the crews must be busy today (a holiday, wouldn't you know it), she replied "there'll be half a dozen trees left standing in Portland once this storm is over." Shortly after I made that call, the power went out, but the cause apparently lay elsewhere. Not our tree's fault, greater Southeast Portland. Really.

A guy in a city pickup was here within the hour, assessed the situation, then chainsawed off enough secondary limbs to clear a lane for traffic. Comcast put in an appearance but bowed out when PGE showed up with their biggest rig and put a crew on it. One of them looked like Mark Ruffalo, which added to my viewing pleasure. They approached the problem by deploying a tiny chainsaw-on-a-stick (the first time I've been tempted to describe a chainsaw as "adorable"), delicately severing specific twigs on which wires had gotten hung up, unsnagging them one by one. Finally the main body of the branch was all that remained, riding by one short stump on an ever-sagging phone wire. Mark and a pal gave it a flip and it thudded to the street. "You might want to see if you still have a dial tone," one of the guys suggested. It occured to me that the phone company hadn't put in an appearance, but just as I was finishing this post a Qwest truck pulled up. So we had a utility trifecta on Rural Street today, plus, for extra credit, a municipal show of force. I'm impressed by the response. "The City that Works," indeed.

Power was restored about three and a half hours into the unscheduled tree surgery. Yay. It's so nice to live in civilization instead of at the far reaches of the electric grid. If we were still on the coast, I'd be straining my eyes to read by oil-lamp light, instead of blogging right now.

Tomorrow we'll have to figure out how to deal with the massive debris pile in the street. On the bright side, though, that's one load of leaves we won't have to rake this fall.

Great balls o' fire!

I spent most of yesterday in an air-conditioned car riding to and from air-conditioned Astoria with my art-quiltin' STASH buddies. It was a welcome respite from Portland's heat wave. Tuesday was a record-breaking 102; temps have gradually moderated down into the high 80s. But still: HOT.

Last night, after it cooled off a bit, Chef Jerub prepared a lovely dinner of grilled chicken and veggie skewers, served over rice with a side of sauteed greens. We'd finished eating and were watching a Jerry Lee Lewis tribute concert on the PVR, when we heard what sounded like thunder. Strange; there was no rain in the forecast. We paused Jerry Lee and came upstairs to check out the scene: More thunder, lightning, and finally a steady downpour that went on for an hour or more. Several of our neighbors were out on the sidewalk, too, or sitting on their front steps. We talked for a while, illuminated by flashes of lightning, enjoying the mild summer storm.

The plants seem to've appreciated it, too, after all these days of artificial watering. Several of the grasses are flowering, all but one of the transplanted rose bushes (rose sticks, really) are leafing out, the ground covers are spreading. Some of the plantings are actually starting to touch each other, yay.

Our Sea Ranch friends Bill and Claire visited last weekend, and bought us a carnivorous pitcher plant (sarracenia) at Saturday Market. Its requirements are completely counterintuitive: it wants a nutrition-free growing medium, since it gets its nourishment from the insects it eats, and, as a bog native, as little drainage as possible. It seems happy so far, in a pot in the garden. We're resisting the impulse to name it Audrey.

Occasional Sunbreaks

As we settle in for another gray, wet Northwest winter, I'm amused by the variety of phrases the daily paper trots out for the 5-day forecast: Rain. Light rain. Showers. Possibly damp. Wet in the AM. It may rain. And my favorite, occasional sunbreaks. "Sunbreaks" wasn't a word I'd encountered before moving to Portland.

In quilting, a so-called "challenge" usually involves making a quilt on a given theme or incorporating a particular, often problematic, fabric. It's supposed to be fun, to help you stretch as an artist, get you outside your comfort zone, and think beyond your usual aesthetic. So. The current challenge for a group of art quilters I belong to involves a beautiful coppery metallic fabric. It's showy, intense, and heavy. I hung it on my design wall and meditated on the possibilities for a couple of weeks. Finally I realized what my subconscious was trying to tell me: Sunbreaks.

I worked quickly and improvisationally on this one. It came together in three or four days. It still needs to be layered and quilted, but I'm pleased with it so far. Guess I was just ready for a sunbreak.