Rain after months of drought feels just like moving back to Portland, especially in this tidy, piny suburb of the Bay. I can’t count the number of times I’ve turned east to go up the hill and thought I was back on Mount Tabor. Skyline of trees, traffic light on a single-lane road bright against the clouds, a film of water running clean on the paving.
Dayadhvam and all that. My teenage heart can’t let go of rainfall and dry land, any more than it can let go of nineties guitars. It so happens there have been a lot of nineties guitars around the house this week, and the weather has made us wonder if the Northwest is holding on to its legacy of nineties guitars, or if it’s all mandolins and beards on the one hand and Teh Electro on the other. By way of research J. found this, which we couldn’t watch for long. “It’s like he decided to become the Frank Zappa of Portland.”
Rain, rain, rain....