Raindrops keep falling on my head

Yes, it's true. It rains a lot in Portland. They say if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere. Oh wait, maybe that's New York. Well anyway, they say that here, too. Only in Portland that line refers to the long, wet and gloomy winters.

Seemingly like clockwork, the rain starts somewhere around November 1 (this year it was on Halloween) and ends sometime in June. At least that's what happened last winter. Our first winter here - which as you know if you read yesterday's post - started right at the beginning of the rainy season. But overall, I have to say I was pretty unphased. Maybe that's what they call the Honeymoon Phase? I don't know. But either way, I was so completely not bothered by the rain that winter. However, the first summer was a different story. And that's when I learned, it's all about expectations.

You see, while we expected a fair amount of rain in the winter, we had also heard from everyone and their dog something like the following: "Oh, but the summers in Portland! Oh, you just wait! There is nothing more glorious than Portland in the summertime! It makes up for every day of rain!" So, I waited. And guess what? IT NEVER CAME!!! In fact, I specifically remember waking up one morning in late July and it was drizzling outside for about the fifth day in a row and I was really pissed off. I had waited very patiently and where was my beautiful summer???? If it was there, I couldn't see it. Oh beautiful, perfect summer - come out, come out wherever you areeeeeeeeee......

So "summer" eventually faded back into winter and it rained. And rained. And rained. Though, here is where I have to mention that when I think of Portland winters - besides rain, there is also one other word that comes to mind: schizophrenic. That's right. The sky over Oregon appears to have a severe case of mental illness. Allow me to explain by describing a typical day - say, oh, yesterday, for example. Wake up. Overcast and pouring rain outside. Get ready to take Ian to school. Look out window. Suddenly rain is nowhere to be seen, replaced by beautiful sunshine.

Me: "Oh, I guess they were wrong. It must be done raining. Guess I won't need my umbrella after all."

Sky: "Silly girl."

By the time I dropped Ian off 10 minutes later, out of nowhere the sunshine had disappeared and it was replaced by darkness that more resembled midnight than 8:30am. And before I knew it, it was pouring rain again. (Sometimes this can happen like five times in one day, by the way.)

Me, umbrella-less: "When will I learn?"

Sky: "Apparently never because we go through this every time."

Me: "Shut up, I'm not talking to you."

Sky: "And who are you calling schizophrenic?"

Anyway, I made it fairly easily through last winter too until it got to about the May timeframe. And suddenly I had that feeling that I'd heard Portlanders talk about. It's when you just reach that point in the year where you can feel yourself becoming slightly bitter, and you start to think that moving to the Sahara Desert sounds like a good idea about now. That feeling typically happens sometime between the last week of April and mid-May. Then, last year the rain just kept going into June. And not only was it still raining, but it was still chilly too (which apparently is not normal). And that just wasn't fun. June-uary is what all the weather guys on TV started calling it. They thought it was funny. I didn't.

But then, just as we had been promised our first year, July 4 hit and just like that the weather transformed itself. The sun came out and pretty much didn't stop shining until, well, about a week ago. And the temperature was somewhere close to perfect - often in the 80s with no humidity. Let me say that one again because it's important: No humidity.

But now it's November and just like that time when I put Catalina out on the front porch and encouraged her to go find a new home, the rain has returned. It's still a beautiful place, though. Even in the rain. In fact, it's really all that wet stuff that contributes to much of the amazing beauty of the Northwest. And truth be told, I'm somewhat of a fan of the chilly, rainy day. Just not 50 in a row. Guess I'd better get out my umbrella.

Until I write again.