Tis the Season

 

A Doctor Seuss tree. How clever. It lives in a Eugene, Oregon neighborhood where all the houses decorate big time for Christmas.

 

A Revolving Door Weather Trip.

Friday brought with it weather like an entertainment show where you don’t know what’s behind each of the doors presented to you.

Rain at 11 o’clock that morning, with me driving through it to an appointment.

At 12, I had a tailwind so strong my raincoat beat like a pup tent the climbers of Mt Everest were fighting to assemble.

By 1 o’clock, sunshine as I drove to Michael’s—and I ran, comfortable as a ferret in a hammock, into the craft store in a T-shirt. (I’d say I was wearing only a T-shirt, but I was also wearing pants, shoes, and socks.)

It sprinkled outside Hobby Lobby, but leaving the shopping area, driving down Gateway Blvd. squeezed amongst droves of vehicles, B-Bs of miniature ice balls bounced off the hood of my pickup like welders sparks pinging and rolling.  It was hailing! 

The hail lasted about five and ¾  minutes. And driving to World Market the sun came out. Leaving that store brought with it a vision of perfection, a complete arc of a rainbow. I think the weather was breathing a sigh of relief.

As I was creeping out of the parking lot, my head was spinning as I tried to take in all of that monstrous, the highest I had ever seen, complete arc of neon orange, yellow, red, green, blue, and purple. I would have applauded the rainbow God, but I had both hands on the steering wheel. Within a couple of minutes, the southern end faded, and it was only half an arc, but I had seen it. (You know a rainbow would be a complete circle, but the earth obscures half of it.) But I had seen the top half. And it was positively magnificent.

How does science do that?

Rain, shine, sprinkle, hail, wind, and a rainbow, Oregon's weather was so tired after Friday that it turned cold on Saturday, leaving us shivering under a quilt as we watched TV. And my chickens, after a summer of roosting on the roof of their house, haven’t got it that they can go inside; they used to, but now they look like drowned rats.

I guess I will have to put them to bed tonight. I don’t want them to freeze their tail feathers off.

I am writing this on December 21, the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year. From now on, the days will be getting longer. Yea!

Happy Solstice, and that means Christmas is coming up in a few days. I am wishing you a good one, a Merry one, and a Blessed one.  And remember, the world is brighter because you are in it.💗💗💗💗💗💗

Portland, Oregon, Mr. President Don't Stir Up Trouble Where There Isn't Any

 From Gary V, Instagram:

“99% of you who see this are wonderful and great people .. please start loving yourself ❤️ start appreciating yourself ❤️ start understanding that for many Reasons too many of you put yourselves down and beat yourselves up … STOP 🛑 THAT SHIT … I am telling you, you’re great… now believe it yourself - stop comparing, stop worrying about outside noise and judgment - start slowing down and focusing on what actually matters ❤️❤️❤️❤️🔑 SHARE THIS WITH SOMEONE YOU LOVE 💕

https://garyvaynerchuk.com/

 I did. ❤️

 

Well, there’s Portland under the watchful eye of Mt. Hood. All’s quiet on the Western front.

The President Administration is trying to convince the rest of the country that Portland, Oregon looks post-apocalyptic. He saw pictures of a riot there in 2020, and assumed the city was now burning.

All’s well. All’s peaceful.

I live about 90 miles South of Portland off I-5 in the beautiful Willamette Valley:

 

Thirty miles East of Portland you will find this:

The first time I saw that magnificent falls I was eight years old and had, only a few month before, moved from the flat land of Illinois to the mountains of Oregon. I was awestruck.

And yes, I have climbed to the bridge many times over the years. The last time it was with a half-sister I had never met but who called me from Portland and I drove up to meet her. When I found that we were both Biology majors I figured she liked the out of doors, so I suggested we drive the 30 miles to Multnomah Falls and have lunch at the lodge. After lunch and we climbed—walked—there is an easy path to the bridge where we had mist in our faces, and looked over the edge to the tumultuous water that flowed beneath us.

Portlanders are being saved from this:

And this:

 Portland's Food Truck Pods

(Even Somebody Feed Phil's Phil Rosenthal, awed over the food there. ) 

 

Mr. President don't stir up trouble where there isn't any.

 

Bridge Over Four Miles of Water

"Oh my god!" I screamed!

I was 196 feet in the air, on a bridge over water. Ahead, the road disappeared as it appears to at the crest of a San Francisco Street. No, like Disneyland’s Splash Mountain: you're floating log reaches the crest where you know it will plunge down. You try to look over the edge but don't see anything but space.

"Don't look down," I said.

"Yes, stupid, look down. You're driving. And you're doing down there whether you like it or not."

So, I screamed as the bridge-road took a 196-foot dive to a depth just skimming the water.

Sweetpea, lying on the seat beside me, couldn't see over the edge of the window and only knew that I tend to have outbursts once in a while.

So, why was I there?

Well, let me tell you, the Universe wanted to give me a thrill. And me, with my propensity for making wrong turns, it was an easy task.

I was in Astoria, Oregon, having just driven 350 miles from home, and could see my motel sign, a dip down onto a street below mine.

Ms. GPS was talking to me: "Turn left at Portway Street," she said. I spun around trying to see where Portway Street was and drove straight ahead onto the bridge's on-ramp. And then the little twerp GPS was silent. Did she tell me I had passed my turn-off? Nooo.

I was on the Astoria Megler Bridge, a 4.1-mile bridge, the longest continuous truss bridge in North America. It was built to a height of 196 feet at one point, so ocean-going vessels could sail beneath it without knocking their masks off. Or whatever they have on board that sticks up to that height.  

It was also built to withstand wind gusts to 150 miles per hour and a water speed of 9 miles per hour. The citizens of Astoria thought William Buggee, the architect, was crazy and said nobody would use it, but an average of 7,110 vehicles cross it daily, and Semis no less.

I had never heard of the Astoria Bridge, one of the best ways to have an adventure. I was fixated on that span of road ahead that was jacked up over the rooftops with a little bitty car climbing up its sloping entrance. "That doesn't look safe to me," I said, and then I was on it.

 Those aren't bugs up there, a tractor-trailer and a car.

 

 <-----------------------------------

The mighty Columbia. I would call it "Old Man River," but that belongs to the Mississippi. Instead, it's Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean. I have been curious most of my life about the mouth of the Columbia, and I thought the bridge was over the mouth, but my friend, whom I was visiting, said I was over the river, you can't see the mouth as it is out in the ocean.

But there was water all over the place, first a bridge over a bay into the city, then the river four miles wide and its famous bridge.

 

I grew up in The Dalles, Oregon, alongside the Columbia River. We swam in that river before we knew Hanford Nuclear Production Complex upstream was leaking toxic waste into it. We used to watch great flotillas of logs pushed by tugboats being transported downriver to lumber mills. One year, the river froze with big chunks of ice floating downstream. We watched the building of The Dalles Dam, which flooded out Celilo Falls, an area of the river that was narrow, rapid, and created a natural fish ladder where you could watch salmon throw themselves up the rapids and thus gain access to their home spawning grounds. Folklore says that once the salmon were plentiful, you could walk across the river on their backs.

The Native Americans had a treaty with the US government stating they could fish there forever. Well, they got relocated. There are not many salmon in the river now, but some make their way upstream using cement-built fish ladders around the various dams that change the once tumultuous river into lazy lakes.

But I got to cross that bridge and the Columbia from the perch high above the river, a glorious sight, and better than a roller coaster. Sometimes the best adventures come from a mistake. Mid-river, Oregon changes into Washington State, so I had to drive to Washington to turn around and retrace those four miles back across the river. 

 

 

 

Sweetpea, my little dog, was so excited when we got to the hotel, she ran in circles around the room, up and up over the beds.

The following day, my friend told me that she once walked that bridge with a crowd of other people. Pedestrian crossing is allowed only once a year in October. A shuttle carries the people to the Washington side, dumps them out, and makes them walk up that incline (as punishment perhaps) back to Oregon. Her comment: "There weren't enough porta-potties."

I picked up a small newspaper from her coffee table called, as I remember,"The Columbia,” where an article explained the value of tugboats. The ocean-going ships—those tremendous rigs, cargo ships, and such-need moving water rushing past their propellers to make them maneuverable. In slack water, they are sluggish. The day's heroes are the lowly little tugboats that usher the big guys into the docks.

Prettier than a tugboat, this little lady escorted me down the hill from my friend’s house.