Nebraska

Orion had a rough night of it two nights ago. Jenny and I do ... OK ... in this heat but he just wasn’t having any of it. Anyway he “slept” in our bed, if by “sleeping” you mean “alternately dozing and awaking and then jumping up and down and expecting Mom and Dad to play with him.”

Last night he made it through the night. (Well, until about 4:30 am which is when he always wakes up.

No, we don’t have A/C, although yesterday we discussed getting a window unit for Orion’s room. I am not above that.

On July 29, 2008, we were wondering if summer would ever arrive in Oregon ... I recall riding the Soma up Hessler Drive and taking a picture of the brooding rainclouds over Mt. Hood.

Anyway, one of the super-fun things about having grown up with Nebraska weather (“Florida summers, Alaska winters!”) but living with Oregon weather is watching the locals fold after two days in stuff that I used to endure for weeks on end. Right now I’m remembering June to July, 1995, when I was working in Arkansas City, Kansas. There were 6 or 7 (I forget) straight weeks of weather above 95°F ... with 80% humidity ... and no nightly temperature drop (last night it got down to 72°F) ... and mosquitos ... From that perspective, Oregon gets about 8 months of weather that would qualify in Nebraska as “Spring,” 1 to 2 (noncontiguous) months of “Summer,” about 5 months of something like “Fall,” and a few weeks of “Winter” every other year or so.

The short bursts of extreme weather in Oregon are perfect. A week of 90°+ heat is just enough to remind me what “summer” feels like, but not enough to make me hate the sun. I couldn’t (and didn’t) cope with that always–74°–and–sunny stuff they get in California. I like my seasons, thank you, preferably in small polite doses. Without mosquitos.

The rains have started.

I like this. This is why I moved to Oregon. I moved here for the cool and gray and damp and peaceful. And the seafood. Everything is better in Oregon in the “winter:” the beaches are empty, the trails are empty, you can go snowshoeing, less traffic when I ride my bike. All the wimpy people who dislike moistness are indoors now, at Powell’s or McMenamin’s. Which are also better in the “winter.”

It is, however, very dark. People here are pale. And let’s not kid ourselves: it starts raining in October and it doesn’t stop until about July. June if we’re lucky.

The really great thing about having grown up in Nebraska is that I have extremely wide latitudes for what I consider “bad weather.” Nebraska gets Florida summers and Alaska winters. The lousiest winter days in Oregon (sleety snow/rain driven hard from the southwest) are about like a typical March morning in Nebraska.

Oregon gets like five or six days in the summer where the mercury tops 90 degrees. But it’s a dry heat.

In 13 years in Oregon, I’ve never lived in a place with air conditioning, or insulation, or double-paned windows. Or bug screens.

Oregon shorts Fall a little bit though.

The woman heroically coordinating my 20th high school reunion sent a mass email requesting RSVPs. The putative event is a year away. I’m inclined to just say “yes,” but with my life, it’s hard to estimate my ability to attend something like a high school reunion as much as a year in advance. A year ago, we were living in China with no kids, no car, no house, and no furniture. We have since corrected those omissions.

Tomorrow marks the one-year anniversary of our return from China. We literally descended through fireworks; I saw Independence Day 2007 from above.

It’s been a busy year. I haven’t been on airplane at all in the last 12 months.

From 1995 to 2003, somehow I managed to visit Eugene at least once a year. For eight years, when I thought of “Oregon” the place I pictured, instinctively (and a little bit sadly), was “Eugene.” Since my brother moved to Portland, I haven’t so much as driven through.

I haven’t been back to Nebraska — my home state — since the summer of 2004. Thus marking the longest period of my life that I’ve gone without setting foot on native soil.

Ten years ago, I had every intention of attending my 10-year reunion. I even paid for a ticket, filled out an entry for the facebook, and everything. Then I was laid off from what would be my last-ever archaeology job ... which layoff was approximately coincident with a move from Southern California (back) to Oregon; my first wedding (the less said, the better); and launching a glorious new career in web design. I pretty literally forgot I had a high school reunion to attend.