John Twist


It isn't the rain, it's the gray...


Ground Hogs Day In Portland OR.  Constant drizzle and gray.  I love this city.  I've lived here long enough (since 1985) to watch a lot of change happen.  And it really isn't the rain that'll get you, here.  I grew up on in the Baltimore/Washington DC area.  When it rains there it can come down in what can only be called "torrential" downpours.  If you have 5 steps between your car and front door you will be soaked by the time you get inside.  But Portland?  In Portland it can "rain" all day long and you can walk to your car without an umbrella comfortably.  But the gray can go on for days and days.  No wonder we have so many writers.  No wonder such introspective artists, like Elliot Smith, arise in our perpetually gloomy winters.  It ain't the rain that'll get you.  It's the gray.  People visit from California in our summers, which are as dry as our winters are wet, and decide to move here.  Till they hit the gray.  I've been acquainted with several who declared their intent to move here while visiting in the summer.  I would intone, like the Greek Chorus, in a epic tragedy, "but it rains for 8 months..." They couldn't hear me.  And within 3 years they'd be moving "out of the gray" sarcastically denouncing the Portland weather.  I tried to tell 'em.  Really I did.  I love the gray.  Literally.  And metaphorically.   The sound of winter.  The fall of the rain. The crackle of the fire


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