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.

Two years

I can’t begin today’s post without first acknowledging the significance of what we witnessed in this country last evening as Barack Obama was elected the 44th President of the United States. What a great moment for our country in so many ways. Being the NBC devotee that I am, the only thing that may have made it slightly better is if Tim Russert had been there to break it all down for us. I think he’s watching from above though with a huge smile on his face. But, as I commented to a friend who offered to help W pack up his stuff on his facebook page last night, “I even know some good long distance movers I can recommend!”

And speaking of long distance movers…today, November 5, marks another significant day in the Burpo household. It was exactly two years ago today that we arrived in Portland to begin our new life here. And to celebrate, my wonderful husband surprised me this evening with six roses and a bottle of one of our favorite Oregon pinot noirs. But yes siree, two years already or another way to put it - nearly two thirds of Ian’s life to date. And since I didn’t have a blog where I could write about that whole experience back then, I’ve decided to make up for lost time today. Lucky you.

I have very vivid memories of the time leading up to our last day in DC. Ian was 10 months old and the previous eight weeks or so had been a whirlwind of surreal activity: finding a real estate agent, prepping the house, putting it on the market and following it through to closing; blindly finding a rental in Portland; interviewing and selecting movers; arranging boarding and pet transportation for the kitties and getting all their paperwork in order; and general orchestration of a week-long cross country move that involved three hotels, two rental cars and one plane trip.

And while it really was the culmination of about five years of saying we couldn’t wait to get out of DC, when the time actually arrived I remember that each day closer we got to our departure date I got increasingly emotional about actually leaving what had become home after 11 years (and 13 years total on the East Coast). After all, to me it wasn’t just a place I lived for a while – it was were I started and built my career, made some of my closest lifelong friends, met and married my husband, bought our first house and had our first child. So by the time departure day arrived, let’s just say I was more than ready to stop the bleeding and get on with life.

Despite the emotional “challenges” and complete chaos of the time period – we did take advantage of our last days there by playing tourist. I especially wanted to get some shots with Ian for future evidence of the great city where he once lived, if only for a very short time. We visited Arlington Cemetery for the first time in a long time, hit all the major monuments and a couple of days before we left, Jeff and I felt very fortunate to be able to attend the grand opening of the amazing new George Washington museum portion of Mount Vernon.

But tourist talk aside, after we loaded the family jammer (aka, Acura TL) onto the car transporter, and Louis and his crew had packed our entire life into their truck and drove away as the trick or treaters were starting to make their rounds, we locked the front door on Dinwiddie Street for the last time and headed to our first home-away-from home, a little place called the Remington hotel. And let me just say, the Remington rocked (still giving shout outs to Brianne for recommending it to us). Really, we could have just lived there for a while except the commute to Portland might have been a little much. But other than that - it had a fully equipped kitchen, washer and dryer (very helpful when traveling for a week with a baby), separate bedroom and bathroom, and a balcony complete with a lovely view of the Watergate. And, it cost far less than $10,000 per night, which I learned through this whole process is about the average cost of a hotel room in DC.

A few days later, very early on a Saturday morning, our time at the Remington - and in DC - came to an end. Someone – okay, me – thought it was a good idea to schedule our flight out at some horrific hour of the morning. (Why is it that it always seems like not a big deal when you are making the reservations and then when the day comes you think, “What the hell was I thinking scheduling a flight this early?”) And really, what’s an early morning flight out without sleeping late? That’s right, no fun.

So suffice it to say that our final morning started off with slight chaos as we quickly tried to get Ian breakfast, pull ourselves together and get out the door. The good thing is that it left little time to think about anything except making our plane. We flew out the door, jumped in the car and we were off speeding toward Memorial Bridge for the GW Parkway to National Airport (thank God it wasn’t Dulles). Only, of course there was construction on the bridge, so it was closed which was definitely not in the plan. Quick, Plan B! So we made a quick uey and headed back the other way through the Mall and Tidal Basin to the freeway.

And that’s when the coolest thing happened that Jeff and I didn’t talk about until several days later. As we were speeding through the National Mall area, suddenly for both of us it was like time stood still for a brief second. It was somewhere in the 6am hour and we were practically alone on the road. It was a perfectly clear, crisp early November morning and the sun was just starting to shine down, showing off Washington in all its glory. I remember looking left and seeing the Washington Monument standing tall and beautiful and then to the right where the Jefferson Memorial sparkled over the glass-like water of the Tidal Basin. For places that are rarely without someone around them, there was not a soul to be seen. It was one of the most peaceful, beautiful experiences of the city I had ever had. I just felt like it was giving us a special last goodbye. And then, screeeeeeeeeech! Just like that the moment was gone and we were racing on 395 across the bridge toward the airport, flew up to the terminal where Jeff dumped Ian and I out with our 10 million bags and sped off to return the rental car.

Before I knew it, we were on the plane and taxing out for our departure to Seattle. (We flew to Seattle because it was cheaper than Portland and offered the all-important nonstop. Plus, let’s face it, it’s not like we had somewhere to be with our entire household on a truck somewhere in the middle of the country.) We lifted off as the sun was beaming down on the National Mall as I cried and cried like, well, like the 10-month-old in the seat next to me. And suddenly, I was no longer crying because I was sad about leaving home. I was crying because it was on that flight that our son first decided to start exhibiting abnormal Exorcist-like behavior while on a plane. I can definitively say that flight was possibly the longest six hours of our life and that by the time we stepped foot in the terminal in Seattle, we really couldn’t have been happier to be on a one-way ticket.

And the day only got worse from there. In the chaos of the flight, my normally organized self had left Ian’s blanket on the plane, which we realized only after we got to our hotel and tried to get Ian to take a nap. So, our overly tired baby who was battling against a three hour time change was now being shoved into a pack n play in some hotel room to try and sleep without his blanket. Yeah, right. That didn’t go over so well. So I was on the phone to Alaska Airlines’ lost and found faster than you can say binkie. Unfortunately, the office had closed early for the day approximately two seconds before I called. Perfect. Oh, and did I mention that it was a complete monsoon outside? Pouring cats and dogs doesn’t even begin to describe it. I mean, we were living in the Pacific Northwest now, so it was only a proper welcome, right?

Which finally brings us to Sunday, November 5, 2006. After finally getting Ian down for the night, we woke up and before opening my eyes I was on the phone to the airline telling them we were willing to do anything to get our blanket back. Luckily, they had it and those kind people even offered to give it back for free. I bet they wouldn’t do that today. “Um, I’m sorry maa’m, but that’s going to cost you a small handling fee of $5,000 for holding that blanket for you at our lost and found overnight.” Which honestly, at that point, would have been well worth it. It was also that day that Jeff called Jill who had originally procured the blanket for us in Texas and had her purchase and ship a backup ASAP.

Blanket fiasco almost resolved, the day started looking up even more when, by the grace of God, it stopped raining long enough for us to venture down to Pike Place Market for some Seattle sights, real coffee and breakfast. Then, before we knew it, we were on the road – minus a quick stop at the airport – for the three hour drive down to our new home. As we drove in the pounding rain, I noticed a plethora of Dairy Queens along the way (something that is sorely missing from the DC/VA/MD region). Ah yes, I liked this place already. We even stopped at one to celebrate (and have lunch). Finally, we came into Vancouver, Washington and hit the “Welcome to Oregon” sign as we crossed the Columbia River into Portland. Minutes later, we were pulling up to the big yellow house in the Hawthorne District of southeast Portland that would become our home for the next six months. And as a bonus to it all, before we even had time to hit our first manager’s reception at the Embassy Suites that night, Louis called us to tell us he had arrived a day early and was out in the Columbia River Gorge somewhere eating the best salmon ever just waiting for the go-ahead to come into town and unload our stuff. A couple of days later the Acura arrived without a scratch and so did Zach and Catalina, delivered straight to our door after several days of boarding and two long flights. (To this day we suspect they are still paying us back for putting them through that adventure.)

And that is how we came to live in Portland two years ago today. For the record, that rain/snowstorm (in the mountains) that took place over the first few days we arrived here made national news and went into the history books as being one of the worst in recent history – even for the Northwest. Go figure.

For a photo history of our journey, you can check out this album in Kodak Gallery:
http://www.kodakgallery.com/Slideshow.jsp?mode=fromshare&Uc=13mm790j.22wgj8xv&Uy=cnfxgv&Ux=0

Until I write again.

A word about our democratic process

I probably don't need to remind everyone that today is election day. By now, many of you have probably voted and are at home watching the results and ready for all the political ads to go away. I must say that despite my former residence, I have never been one to be a huge political junkie. Maybe it was the move to Oregon that gave me some new perspective or heck, maybe it was the fact that we've had a president (who I admittedly did vote for the first time around) for the last eight years that has almost single-handedly put our country in the tank and severely damaged our reputation around the world. Either way, I've really been looking forward to this day and couldn't be more excited that change is coming soon.

Now that I've gotten my presidential commentary out of the way, let me say that what I'm really here to talk about is the voting process. This is something I've been thinking about a lot over the past few weeks. More specifically, it started the day we received our ballots in the mail. You see, for those who may not know, in 1998 Oregon became the first state to require that elections be conducted by mail. Today - if my Wikipedia info. is up-to-date - Oregon is still the only state that votes entirely by mail, with several counties in Washington having also switched over to mail. (Please feel free to email me if my stats are incorrect.)

According to a story I heard on NPR this morning as well as a Washington Post op-ed from 2005, voting by mail is somewhat controversial because it increases the chance of voter fraud. Yet, it also increases the voter turnout. Nearly 87 percent of Oregonians cast votes in the last presidential election, thanks in part to the ease of the voting process here.

Another argument against voting by mail is that it eliminates the communal aspect of voting. I must admit that this is something that crossed my mind a couple of times as I was filling out my ballot. Believe it or not, I have vaguely fond memories of getting up at the crack of dawn and going out to stand in line in the cold darkness of the early morning to vote for our next president before heading off to work. Sitting down and filling out my ballot at the kitchen table over a period of a couple of weeks and then dropping it off at the library didn't seem to bring quite the same level of excitement (though the library parking lot was compete madness on Sunday!). But, on the other hand as I look at the long lines on TV today - I think I'm already over it.

However, the most interesting thing I have found about this new experience is how much it changes the whole voting dynamic. Along with our ballots, we received a few "pamphlets" of information about the issues that more closely resembled college textbooks than actual pamphlets, complete with the very small print to prove it. I started flipping through these puppies and immediately felt completely overwhelmed. For starters, there were 12 measures on the ballot ranging from changing the election process to increasing prison sentences (there were two of those and you were supposed to decide which one was better, if any) to whether or not to divert more money from the lottery to public safety (supposedly taking money away from education) to changing the building permit requirements in Oregon for projects under $35K (which some groups claim is a safety issue while proponents say these groups are just concerned about losing the revenue stream). All I kept thinking as my eyeballs popped out of my head was, "Geez, I'm not sure I signed up for all this - I was just hoping to vote for a new president."

And those were just the state measures. There were five or six more issues specifically pertaining to the Portland metro jurisdiction and Washington County, where we reside. For instance, did we want to vote to provide more funding to the Oregon Zoo to update the animal spaces and provide them with more humane living conditions? Heck, that one initially seemed like a no-brainer to me, but once I started studying I found out that there was some strong opposition to the measure because it was poorly written and didn't do enough for the animals. Before I knew it, this no-brainer issue was leaving me brain dead.

Of course there were also all the candidates for office - a tight U.S. Senate race, a U.S. representative, Secretary of State, State Treasurer and I swear at least 10 local/county officials were up for re-election to the water board or some other such thing. Once I got into it, I seriously thought my head was going to explode. I hadn't studied that hard since....well, since...hmmm....well, never mind - just suffice it to say that I was very overwhelmed in my attempt to be an informed voter.

And that's where I started to become somewhat concerned about our democratic process. I thought, here I am trying to make a concerted effort but unless I sat down and read through each of the ballot measures line by line to create my very own opinion - I pretty much had to rely on the opinions/rhetoric of others (read: special interest groups). Is that the most accurate way to go about voting? I'm not so sure. Soon I found myself in this awkward predicament of feeling compelled to make choices on issues when I felt that it was nearly impossible to fully comprehend all the dynamics at play.

So, once I realized that my head was spinning with confusion over trying to understand all sides of the 10 million issues on the ballot, I did what anyone would do - I decided to cheat. Well, sort of. I said to hell with it, I'll wait to see how Jeff is going to vote because he's a pretty smart guy - what with that whole mathematical economic analysis degree and all. And then I'll finish filling out my ballot. And that's exactly what I did. I asked him every day when he was planning to fill out his ballot until finally he did it on Sunday. (Some might call it nagging, I call it encouraging his civic duty.) Then I sat down with his ballot and compared answers and where we disagreed, we discussed it. Sometimes his answer swayed me and sometimes not. And sometimes, it was just plain too late because I had already filled in my vote and there was just no way I was going to go to the trouble of getting a new ballot. There were also a few things I just did not vote on because I couldn't decide and I didn't feel it was right to cast a vote just because I could. But according to the NPR story this morning, this type of family conferring is not uncommon in voting by mail.

Now, I suppose that theoretically every voter in America goes through the same process we just went through. Sure, most of us - absentee voters aside - don't have actual ballots in hand to fill out in advance, but most people do have sample ballots and more than enough information available at their fingertips to make informed voting choices before hitting the polls on election day. Still, I can't help but think that doesn't present the same kind of urgency - for some, at least. Instead, possibly more often than not, I'm guessing that people come in cold (literally and figuratively) to a voting booth with the clock ticking, a job to be at or a family to get home to, and a long line of people behind them. (I mean, I never did that but other people might...) And somewhere along the line, I have to think that kind of decision making affects us all.

On that note, here's to American democracy and Election 2008! May the best special interests groups win. (Oh, and as for how we'll be spending our evening - we'll be glued to the TV with takeout and a bottle of pinot noir for celebrating purposes, I hope.)

Until I write again.

Even better than I remember

One day I was driving down the street and saw a sign for a new eatery going in a little strip mall area not all that far from our house. It was red and white...Five something. Huh? Wait a minute. I did a quick double take. Yep, it said "Coming Soon: Five Guys Burgers and Fries." Could that be...the famous Five Guys from Alexandria, VA????

Well, as soon as I got home I hopped on their web site and sure enough, apparently Five Guys somehow chose Beaverton, Oregon as the perfect place to expand to the West Coast. (Actually, it turns out they also have a couple of random locations in California, but we won't count that.) Go figure. However, I wasn't complaining because Five Guys is known as one the best burgers in all of Washington, D.C. A couple of weeks ago Jeff and I noticed that construction was finished and they were open for business, so it quickly went on the list of potential lunch/dinner locations when we don't feeling like cooking at home - which is often.

So fast forward to this morning when we decided to take a trip to DSW Shoe Warehouse on a mission to try and find Jeff some new replacement slippers for his beloved Uggs that are just like Uggs but w/o the price tag. Knock offs, I believe is the correct term. Upon arriving in the parking lot just after 10am, which was really 11am, we discovered that the store didn't open until 11am, which it would have been if it weren't for the time change. Which all leads me to ponder - what's with this whole time change thing anyway? Does it really serve any purpose except to mess up our Sunday schedule twice a year?

Down, but not out, we decided to head to Costco instead because I needed some tortillas. Yes, you heard that right - tortillas. In case you aren't aware, Costco sells rather larger packages of some pretty top notch tortillas that you heat up yourself in a pan and then eat warm, which I do by the handful these days. Actually, I've taken to eating approximately two per day as my lunch during the week. Sometimes just plain and sometimes with a bit of Weight Watchers shredded cheese in the middle. Either way, they are quite tasty and it's a problem when we are out, which we were. Once at Costco, we pick up tortillas, some printer paper, a few bottles of wine AND just as we are headed to the checkout - guess what we spot? Yep, some men's Ugg knockoffs, and they were exactly the style we were looking for, for a whole $22! Can you say fate?

So here is the Five Guys part. After Costco, we were on the way home and decided we'd better pick up some lunch. But we both decided we didn't want anything too heavy or fattening and after going through some options, we recalled that we hadn't tried Five Guys yet. Perfect! So we head over and upon pulling up can already tell that it hasn't taken long for this place to catch on. The line was almost out the door. We were not deterred, however. We waited about 10 minutes in line before placing our "to go" order and heading home with the goods, which included two bacon cheeseburgers (one for Jeff, one for me), one hot dog with ketchup (for Ian) and a large french fries (to share).

We dug in as soon as we got home and the burgers were even better than I remembered. A nice juicy patty with perfectly melted cheese, bacon, mayo and lettuce that blended together well, some sauteed mushrooms and grilled onions - all on a bun that is soft without being too bready. Tasteeee. And then there were the hand cut french fries, which despite being slightly on the limp side are still worthy. Really, it was just the light lunch we were looking for. And the fuel we needed for an afternoon of football on TV and last-minute cramming to finish filling out our Oregon ballots - which we have vowed to drop off at the library by the end of today.

Until I write again.