In the winter we will go see Rain Man

It's 60 degrees Fahrenheit in Miami, at this moment.

That's also the official temperature a bit further down the Overseas Highway, in Key West, where I used to flip-flop around outside. At this moment, here in Seattle, the temperature is 56.

And it's only January 19th.

It's been a particularly good winter here, at least as far as I'm concerned. Oh, it did get a bit cold for a week or two, and I saw a lot of Seattle folks bundled up, heard them complaining.

But for someone who grew up in northeast Ohio, right at the edge of something that is called the snow belt, I think this is glorious; makes me think about packing a picnic and heading for the beach (which is just around the corner and down Fauntleroy a ways at Lincoln Park).

But the thin-blooded whiners who were upset about the brief cold snap aren't the only ones complaining about the weather, here in the Pacific Northwest.

The people in Vancouver, British Columbia, who are organizing the 2010 Winter Olympics are bitching, too, but for another reason.

They're wondering if they're going to have enough snow.

As my grandfather Warwick used to say, it's raining pitchforks and ponytails up there and not a flake of snow in sight on Cypress Mountain, thirty minutes north of downtown Vancouver, where three ski events and three snowboard events are scheduled.

And it seems the Olympics staff can't make artificial snow, either, because the water in their snow cannons won't freeze in the warm air.

Of course, they do have snow stockpiled for such an occasion, both artificial and nature versions of the stuff. And they're keeping the stockpiles covered, so all the rain won't melt it. But they're still worried.

I would be, too, if I were in the Olympics business. But I'm not, so I'm loving all the shirt-sleeves weather here in Washington State.

And I'm wondering if the folks running the Olympics have considered installing in-line wheels on the bottoms of the skis and snowboards. Just a thought, you know?

It's about the small things

What a glorious day yesterday was; the sort that makes me glad we moved to Seattle.

No wind, clear skies, lots of sunshine and mid-afternoon temperatures in the mid fifties. What more could someone who enjoys four seasons ask for in a winter day?

It was Rachael's "Sunday", too, so we stopped by Easy Street for breakfast. Easy Street is a local landmark, often billed as the best little record store, coffee bar and diner in West Seattle. They also have a small performance space and Eddie Vedder still drops by, now and then, when he's in town.

We stop in a couple three times a month because the food is tasty and plentiful, the wait staff is attentive and friendly and people at other tables join in your conversations. The visit yesterday was no exception.

At home, we settled in to watch Tomb of the Dragon Emperor, the third entry in The Mummy series. It doesn't hold a candle to the first one. The actors were trying too hard, even Brenden Fraser, whom I usually enjoy. But it was fun; particularly when served up with a nice bottle of white wine we got at Christmas.

I sneaked in a nap after the movie, and just before three p.m. we went for a walk, down by the Fauntleroy ferry landing, on to Lincoln Park, then up the hill, nattering on about houses that we liked.

And what a grand view of the Olympics from my bench above the ferry landing! Picture postcard perfect.

Home again, we grilled fish for supper, decided it was too warm to throw a log in the fireplace, and then I wrote for a couple of hours while Rachael fiddled with a video game. Bedtime came early, just like darkness does this time of year.

Another day in the life, don't you know. Not very excited business, but it's the little things that make a difference, isn't it?

Weird weather

More strangeness.

It was near freezing last night and it began to snow about seven p.m. Our neighborhood had three inches of wet, heavy stuff by ten p.m. and the roads were miserable.

It tapered off around eleven p.m. and then the temperature began to rise and it began to rain. By nine this morning, it was forty degrees outside, the snow had been washed away and the sun was out.

At the moment, I'm watching the beginnings of a lovely sunset over the Cascades.

Go figure.

Ho, ho, ho

I have remembered why I left Ohio for Florida.

The skies opened Thursday morning and we were visited by another four to six inches of snow and overnight temperatures well below freezing. The city owns twenty-seven trucks with snow plows and almost 1,600 miles of roadway to tend. It's not difficult to do the math.

Most streets turned into ice rinks and the neighborhood around Lincoln Park and the Fauntleroy ferry landing (where we live) was hard hit. Buses have not been running there because they cannot negotiate the hill that climbs to the 35th Street ridge, so my transportation options has been curtailed.

And, of course, the tires that served us so well in Florida gave out when faced with ice-slicked streets, so we were stuck numerous times, while out and about, until we offered up five hundred bucks for a set of traction tires to be mounted on the back of the X-Terra.

Newscasters estimated that almost seventy percent of all employees called off work Thursday. Friday morning, Metro Transit had "lost" seven buses. They were somewhere, of course, but abandoned by drivers who had not yet reported to work, and so dispatchers had no idea where the vehicles were.

And Friday afternoon, two tour buses, filled with teenagers, attempted to descend an ice-slicked street on Capitol Hill and wound up bumped together at the bottom of the slope with the front five feet of one bus hanging over over a retaining wall above the northbound lanes of Interstate Five. You can find a photo of it on the internet.

I asked Rachael if she wanted to move back to the Keys. She laughed. I guess she thought I was joking.

Living in a winter wonderland

It snowed last night!

For most folks, that may not be such a big deal, but it's the first significant snowfall I have encountered in almost six years.

After four plus years in the Florida Keys, and an almost snowless winter in Seattle last year (at least where Rachael and I live and work), it was fun, sitting in the living room, watching the flakes fall. And a late walk through Lincoln Park was hush, chill and lovely.

I am certain that by Monday, if this continues, I will remember why I left Ohio (for the Florida sun) in the first place, but for now, I'll enjoy the greeting card images and savor a good book and a mug of cocoa in front of the fireplace.

Raindrops keep falling

It was a good day, yesterday, to stay inside.

It was cool and it rained most of the day; I sat on our new sofa all afternoon, reading, ignoring the wet, gray world, wrapped in layers of clothing so that I could leave the balcony door open to breathe in the aroma of the rain. Not an altogether bad way to pass the time.

The weather wizards say it has been a strange winter and spring, too cool and too wet; acquaintances that have lived here for years, some their entire lives, are eager to apologize for the weather.

It doesn’t really matter to me; a writer can observe as much of interest about folks when it rains as when the skies are clear and bright. I count the number of umbrellas; watch the faces of the men and woman who brave the day without cover, trying to fathom their Puritan souls. I love to guess how passersby will cross a puddle, on tiptoes or tromping, and wonder what someone may have been thinking when they bought an umbrella in that particular shade.

Personal space seems to shrink, too, when it rains; people are more willing to pack in tight to a dry space, waiting for a bus. And it is all I can do not to laugh watching the funny little dance some folks do, waiting in the rain to cross a street.

Years ago, there was a radio and television entertainer named Art Linkletter and his signature catch phrase was, “People are funny.”

I’ll tweak that just a little; people are really funny when it rains.