If You Meet the Buddha on the Road ...

... lend him a jacket ...

In Portland, if you want a job as a weather forecaster, you must learn to say, "Tomorrow,  we expect light rain and forty degrees for our high temperature." Because that's the default forecast for this part of Oregon during the winter, which runs pretty much from the end of October until the first of March.


That's what happening at Steve's house right now. 


Only, tomorrow's forecast here is for colder temperatures and the possibility of snow to the valley floor. 


Sticking snow, since it's supposed to drop into the low twenties or high teens by day after tomorrow, courtesy of a cold front from Canada that swings out over the ocean to gather a little moisture before it arrives.


The crocuses and daffodils are up, the fruit trees budded, even the willows are greening, and here comes the snow? 


Bad snow! Bad!


Of course, the forecasters have been wrong before. Much of the time. Must be weird to get up every day and go to work having to pretend that yesterday didn't happen because to talk about it makes you look incompetent. 


While writing stories about Hell might help psychologically, it doesn't seem to have staved off winter quite as much as I would like. I am ready for summer here.