The end of the ice age
Work finally opened for business today after a week of closure, unheard of in all its history, during which I was confined to the fireplace with cookies, two cats, my favorite person in the world, and a pile of books. (It's been horrible. I'm thinking of suing for damages.)
But this morning reality fell upon me like melting icicles divebombing into pavement. I kept calling the county weather hotline, hoping for a more pessimistic update, but no luck. So changing out of my pajamas and into a Perky Attitude costume, I set off intrepidly on my bike, determined that if I had to return to life as usual, it should be really as usual. Linda snapped a couple of pictures from the front porch with her camera phone. Repeated attempts to pedal resulted in wheels moving independently of the bike, which failed to create the necessary momentum for forward movement.After a few blocks of dragging the useless pile of metal through the slush alongside me in search of dry land, I abandoned ship four blocks from home, moored to a stop sign, and trudged forward on my own steam, unencumbered for wading through intersections like this one.By the time I reached the MAX station, the temperature had risen ten degrees and slushy icicles inched their way off the tin roof, waiting for the perfect moment to dive down the back of a warm jacket. Gresham was in better shape than yesterday, and in better shape than Portland.
I heard the mayor of Gresham declared a state of emergency and the National Guard was called in. They must've brought snowplows because (unlike in Portland) most streets were clear. Deep snow still covered the sidewalks though, and the snowplows left huge berms that you needed ropes and crampons to climb over to get from the sidewalks to the pavement so that you could walk.