Every once in awhile I forget why Oregon has such a vice grip over my soul. Usually on days when the cold and drizzle and cabin fever have set in, because I have fair-weather fan tendencies of discontentment, (currently applying to my Fantasy Football team as well), and the complaining begins.
Note to self: When the complaining begins, read this. And the Bible. That's probably a better choice.
Ok, picture it. The summer heat wave is fading and that inevitable bitingly crisp air rolls through. For a moment it's panic mode. Not the "it's snowing!" level of panic mode on the Oregonian scale, but close. We light candles. Make soup. Dig out the wools socks and beep up the thermostat arrow. Up up up.
And it's ok. This is what happens. The army boot/legging/chambray combo is always a good choice, especially in Portland. Plus, Trader Joes begins stockpiling pumpkin flavored everything on all the shelves. From October-December I'm habitually flipping pumpkin spice pancakes on the stove at least twice a week in a programed consumerism daze.
Then one morning, instead of a dim 8am light alarm through the bedroom window it's full on sun power beams. 2pm light at 8am. Enough to take the edge off the lack of coffee in the house. Almost.
Feels like Summer and looks like Fall.
There's fire-colored leaves scattering our walk into town for that "almost not needed, but who are we kidding as parents of a two year old, we totally need" caffeine
and even a couple minutes to splash tiny toes in the freeeeeeezing river.
We just might never leave.
P.S. Do you Love where you Live?