[Above photo: Could this be better?!! Pinelands Farm cross country tracks]
6 February 2022
Portland is well-adjusted to snow. Plows are everywhere. Big rumbling ones clearing the streets. Entrepreneurs with hydraulic blades on the front of their pickups, scraping driveways and parking lots. All manner of small and tiny self-propelled plows zipping up and down sidewalks, like the scoopers in Paris. And why is it that Parisians, looking down their long Gallic noses, are above bagging and disposing of their own pup’s poop? Do they, in fact, not poop and, thus, are overwhelmingly surprised and repulsed by their dog’s business?
Somehow, I link it to their withering attitude towards those of us attempting to speak their language. Yes, we often butcher it. But isn’t it better to try? Isn’t that more respectful than simply being impatient with them for not grasping our tongue? I recall being at a cocktail gathering in Berkeley for a visiting French analyst. Our son was at Ecole Bilingue and at that moment was in France for a several week exchange. He was in “Puteaux”. “Eh?” “Puteaux.” “Eh?” This enlightening exchange continued for awhile, me trying to twist my tongue impossibly and use extreme glottal stops. Finally, on my last try, “Puteaux.” “Oh. Of course, Puteaux.”, drawn out dramatically. Under her breath, no doubt, saying, “Why didn’t this dolt say so in the first place?” He and his sister, of course, were so fluent that they could pass, since they’d been immersed in it since kindergarten.
We had a big snowfall last weekend, which encouraged me to drive to Pinelands Farm, some 35 minutes distant. It is 5000 multiuse acres with 30km of groomed trails through meadows and woods. I seem to get lost in these places, as I had the day before at Riverside Golf Course. This means, for me at least, 35km of groomed trails. Both days were glorious, bright sunshine and temperatures in the low 20’s, keeping the snow fast. In fact, I liked it so much that after my extended tour I returned to the Outdoor Center and applied the day’s pass fee to a membership for the entire season. It is unbelievably good upper and lower body exercise, given my inefficient movements. I have a rueful admiration for the young ‘uns who skate past at half again my speed. It is not easy to grow up and old. “I used to race cross country in Colorado in high school.”, I mutter under my breath.
Friday we had about 3-4inches of snow (?sleet) as fine as sand. It was gritty and as light as talc as I swept if off the roof and windows of my car on Saturday. A perfect day for skiing, I thought, as I squinted into the bright sun, driving through a wonderland of snowy woods and fields heading for Pinelands. Once there and on the trails, it was another story. 19F with a windchill factor lowering it to 4F. My nose immediately began to freeze so I put on a comfortable 3 layer tight-fitting face mask that my sister-in-law manufactures. (The middle layer is virus-trapping polyester fabric. GreenPeaPie.etsy.com) Since my nose runs in the cold, pretty soon the mask was saturated. And I was gasping, truly gasping, for breath. I wondered if I was having a coronary but had no chest pain. It being so cold and windy and I, feeling breathlessly vulnerable, turned back to the Outdoor Center, put my skis in the car, and ate lunch in the café, chastened. When I got home, I was beat, having exercised only 30-40 minutes. Later I realized that I was waterboarding myself, trying to breath rapidly and deeply thorough a soaked cloth. However, it made me feel old in a way I haven’t felt before. Accepting my ageing is taking some adjustment.
It is snowing lightly now, again, a gentle fall of large flakes, like a flock of shedding geese passing over. [Maybe the MyPillowGuy is finally self-destructing!] It’s 20F and dropping to 4F tonight. This afternoon I walked for a few miles, taking lunch at Sichuan and passing down to the waterfront so I’d have a hill to climb home. For reasons unclear to me, I am pretty breathless going uphill. I feel great on the level and perhaps just need to do more hills, gently and repetitively.
I’d forgotten about slush. I kind of like it, since my boots keep my feet dry. It is a funny admixture of two states of matter, liquid and solid. If we looked closely enough, probably some is evaporating in a gaseous state, as well. Since it hasn’t been above 25F for the past 3 days, it must be the pressure of tires and feet that heat the snow. Perhaps it is salt added to lower the freezing point. We used to dread it, which now puzzles me. Since we couldn’t use it for fun—snowballs, snow angels, snowmen, sledding, skiing —and it seemed determined to get our feet wet and cold, we scorned it. By April I may lose my admiration for slush. I say ‘admiration’ since holding an intermediate position—-neither solid nor liquid, passive nor aggressive, not forcing nor yielding—is not easy. Witness the state of American political polarization. The Middle Ground is elusive for most of us.
Jamelle Bouie wrote a very helpful article in the NYTimes today. It concerned Whoopi Goldberg’s innocent ignorance expressed on The View about the Holocaust: “It wasn’t racism. It was white people against white people.” Bouie’s point is that racism is not defined by skin color, rather by “the belief that human beings can be delineated into categories that share immutable biological traits distinguishing them from one another and determining their potential and behavior”. As in Superior Race and Inferior Races. It has been used for centuries to group humans into classes: who deserve to be royalty, clerics, wealthy merchants, soldiers, professionals, the proletariat, slaves, etc. It is a way of justifying, solidifying, and excusing the practices of the ruling elite who determine the rules of the game. The essay was very helpful to me in trying to understand the genesis of the primal, and tribal, struggles with which our nation is aborning, yet again. My only direct experience of birth and the pain has earned my respect..
A Psychiatrist in Myanmar 