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.

Mmmmm, SUN

Abbie and Stella spent the afternoon soaking up rays. I decided to join them at the kitchen table and catch up on my reading. I'm now totally current on The New Yorker; good-bye to that rolling six-month backlog stacked accusingly in the bedroom. I feel like I've accomplished something despite the fact that, like the cats, I appeared for several hours to be the very picture of sloth.

Yesterday, though, I was more overtly industrious, hauling out the stepladder and the long-handled loppers to prune those tall vertical suckers (the ones I could reach, anyway) off the plum tree in the back yard. It was lovely, up among the gnarled branches of that old tree, the sun hitting my face. I actually had to squint, til I remembered what baseball caps are good for.

I will get through this winter, as long as I remember to take my cue from the cats.

Perhaps the novelty is wearing off a bit

It snowed again today, about six inches. The streets were hushed and still this morning til we got to Berkeley Park, which turned out to be Sledding Central. It felt like the whole neighborhood was out there, sliding down the hills on and in a variety of conveyances, including plastic recycling bins, dishpans, and cookie sheets.

When we got home, I called the theater and rescheduled our tickets for tonight (one of the perqs of a season subscription). Just found out the performance has been cancelled anyway, which makes me feel considerably less of a wuss about not wanting to drive.

We shot the equivalent of an entire roll of film in the space of a half-hour walk. I've added 20 or so pix to my Winter set on flickr. So much for "we hardly ever get any snow in Portland."

Okay, so it's still a novelty

Snow in Portland II
Originally uploaded by revalani at flickr

We woke up this morning to huge, puffy snowflakes. They tapered off as I watched from bed; by the time I got up, they'd stopped. But the world -- our immediate neighborhood, anyway -- was transformed.

Blogger isn't letting me upload photos tonight, so I've linked one of the three I put up at flickr.

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.