Winter in the PNW

Winter, it seems, has been blowing by in the form of a few snowflakes, some drizzle and the regular recurrence of a cold, low northern sun. We have purchased a house in the still-industrial northern burrough of Portland: a neighborhood at the edge of which lies the Willamette river, its numerous bridges and Downtown past a starry scape of warehousing and train yards.

If one could picture a forest of pine trees invading the city of Pittsburgh and light rail commuter trains chasing box cars and locomotives into a final stand at the river - old, steel backs to the water -

it's a start.

Then, drink in a former stronghold of taverns and cash-only diners - now aged and diminished yet still loyally patroned - half recycled into Italian cafes, bakeries and rebuilding centers and splashed with bright paint.

Finally, stand on a bus corner. See the health food store across the street with its armada of 'bru wagons and vested, scarfed eco-soldiers. Watch a bus deploy its platoon of rough-handed long timers, minority high schoolers and paperback wielding transplants. Feel the ever present drizzle on your neck (if you're new and unscarfed). Smell the raw exhaust from a potent PNW grade octane, and listen for the boat horns playing a weary lament on the Columbia, reminding you that the pretty river to the south with its abundant, decorative bridges and city prominence is, at best, just a pretty face.

There's a bumper sticker here that I like, particularly as we live close to the Rose Garden, home to the Trail Blazers.

The bumper sticker says this: Bring NBA Basketball to Portland.