Portland, Oregon may have a yearly jazz festival, a yearly beer festival and countless movie festivals to fill those long summer days but the truly worthwhile annual event actually kicks off at the first sign of a snowflake. I’m not referring to the slight frenzy caused by Starbucks’ charmingly snowflake-speckled seasonal coffee cups but to the utter mayhem caused by those tiny, mysterious specks of frozen water so very incomprehensible to my Ugandan neighbors. Each year it seems those tiny, mysterious specks congregate in Portland to conspire against the streets and schools and townspeople. And each year it seems Portland doesn’t expect those mysterious specks and doesn’t have the necessary equipment to deal with those mysterious specks but wholeheartedly and falsely promises to have a proper plan in place for the following year.
I used to appreciate Portland snow days for their ability to completely dismantle my standard routine but ever since moving here, I’ll take any semblance of a routine I can get. I’d even take a routine pap-smear right about now. The best way I can describe day-to-day life here is by saying it’s just like a series of chaotic Portland-esque snow days except the windchill is 70o F, there are no charming seasonal coffee cups in sight and sadly, my carrots don’t get to fulfill their true destiny as crooked snowman noses.
Ugandan snow days may be completely snow-free but they’re a nonetheless extremely real phenomenon. Of course I’m referring to the overall atmosphere of a snow day rather than an actual weather pattern, which is to say there’s a general state of confusion and uncertainty mixed with an anticipation that anything could happen. Obviously there are minor differences; instead of waking up to excitedly discover school’s been canceled on account of snow, I wake up to upsettingly discover the class I’m scheduled to teach has been canceled on account of….well, I never actually got a clear explanation. And instead of getting to see my breath in the frosty air, I get to see my breath in a giant red cloud of dust. Which seems especially good for my health.
I’ll admit I have a strange, secret recurring hope that one of these days I’ll wake up, run to the window and discover an unexpectedly full day of work. I daydream about the characteristic chest pain that comes from running up three flights of stairs to be on time for a doctor’s appointment. I fantasize about the kind of heart palpitations that precede an exam. In other words, I’m way more of a brainwashed American than I previously thought.
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