Sometimes people ask me, “What’s it like to live in Portland?” Well, if you want to love this city as much as I do, you’ve got to love rain. Today is a good example of that.
Light sprinkle as I went to Subway for lunch (forcing me to leave the keyboard and interact with people), easing off to nothing when I went across the street to Fred Meyer to pick up some groceries.
I came out into a downpour. It was raining so hard my shoes were soaking before I’d gone three steps. My jacket – waterproof, of course – plastered itself to me. Including the hood. My jeans joined in the fun.
The Fred Meyer parking lot is on a hill, but I still had to run through a river to get to my car. I could feel my feet pruning up on me as I went.
Was I grumbling? Complaining?
No, I was cackling like a madman, enjoying myself every step of the way. Can’t help it. I love the rain.
Once I was in my car, I tried to capture this in a picture for you, both the downpour and the river that was that parking lot, but I don’t think it does the situation proper justice.
Nevertheless, here it is. (I’m afraid I tried to square it off by instinct, so you don’t get a sense of the steepness of the hill. Sorry.)
My grocery bags were in the cart. I was only outside and exposed to the elements for maybe thirty seconds before I got those bags to safety in the back of my car.
And yet, they basically melted. Here’s a picture of one. Tore itself as I tried to pull fish out. Fish.
I had to strip off my socks and dry my feet before I was willing to walk across our hardwood floor, and my jacket and jeans are still hanging up to dry. Of course, all three cats were on the bed. Mandinga, curled up at the base of my pillow, Samba snuggled up under the blankets themselves, and Pel, admonishing me that I should have just stayed inside where it was warm and dry, like a sane person.
Now, was this typical? Can’t say it happens every day. But it’s always a possibility. And if you want to live up here, you ought to make peace with that…