December 31, 2003

My New Year's Celebration, One Night Early

At about 10:00 PM, a mere ten minutes after viewing a webcam image of Pioneer Courthouse Square lightly blanketed in snow, I was on the #4 Division bus heading for downtown.

By the time the bus pulled up to the corner of SW 6th and Yamhill, the snowfall was dwindling to a halt. On the floor of the Square, three people had a snowball fight, as they slowly assembled a snowman.

A snowman. In Pioneer Courthouse Square. How often -- or rather how rarely -- does that ever happen?

I stood with two other watchers, discussing the snow, and how we wanted it to continue through the night. The man to my right pointed out the corner of a nearby building, where stood, unlighted, the ball which would drop the next night.

The woman to my left said that someone had given her a flyer which explained the New Year's Eve party in the Square was no longer free. People, she said, were going to be charged $25. The man to my right and I told her that someone was trying to scam her.

The builders of the snowman completed it at the very edge of the curve sloping down through the amphitheater, allowed to leave it there despite initial requests by security that they remove it from the disabled access ramp.

As they finished, a new group began building another, near the entrance to the Square's underground information center.

My fellow watchers tried to determine the years of previous snowfalls, without agreement.

Slightly later, waiting on the corner of SW 5th and Yamhill for the #4 Division back to Southeast and home. The stop filled with eventual riders, growing increasingly impatient as they wondered just how long it would be before they saw their eventuality.

A couple argued, the man holding a heavy box and loudly proclaiming exasperation every time a bus somewhere north of us for some reason turned off the mall and onto a cross street. The video screens inside the shelter continued to give no indication of delays, or detours. The woman with him become angier each time he opened his mouth to tell of another turning bus, wanting him to keep it to himself.

Rumors circulated that buses were stopping at the other end of the mall to put chains on their tires, and that therefore the buses would come, eventually.

But the #14 Hawthorne arrived before any sense of an impending #4. I took the #14, perhaps in part to escape the growing mood at the corner of SW 5th and Yamhill.

This bus filled, quickly. But here people were more punchy than frustrated. A pair of young man, separated by most of the length of the aisle, called back and forth to each other, discussing discoveries at a "summit" about the old Commodore 64 computer.

The woman in the seat next to me, seeing how pushed together were the riders in the aisle, suggested to me that one man might want to tell the man behind him that he had scabies, so he would stop pressing up against his ass. She explained that this is how she once got a bum to stop trying to sit on her lap. It's a good excuse, she said, because everyone knows what scabies is.

A tall man in the aisle began singing.

"I loooooooooove my chilly bootay!"

Later, it mysteriously transformed into a call and response.

"Where we at?"

"On the bus!"

Still more mysteriously, it later turned into the first few phrases of "Silent Night." So intent on his singing, the man missed his stop at Burgerville, not getting off until Safeway.

Off at SE 39th and Hawthorne, to wait for the #75, which would take me to SE Division and a mere three blocks from home.

Another endless wait, after stepping in a puddle of ice water at the corner, outside Fred Meyer.

Three kids across the street passed twenty minutes, or more, throwing snowballs at passing cars. Along the way, two cars circled around and came back to yell at them, or maybe just scare them shitless. At the second car's arrival, the kids turned and ran across Hawthorne, and then ran yelling and laughing towards the east.

For all of Portland's inexperience with snow, the only driver seen having difficulty at the itnersection of SW 39th and Hawthorne was an officer with the Portland Police Bureau, whose chains raised skidding steam from the road, whose car swerved a bit when he got through the traffic light.

An endless wait, of course, did end. The #75 to Division. The walk through snow and slush. The finding of untouched snow on sidewalk, and the intentional cross-walk steps to leave reverse footprints, left on the right and right on the left.

The insane intersection of SE 42nd and Division strangely absent of any signs of accident. I was sure there would have been an accident.

And home, two and one half hours after departing for a spontaneous field trip to see Pioneer Courthouse Square in the snow.

My accidental New Year's Celebration, one night early.

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