Return to the Happiest Place in Tualatin

It's been particularly chilly the last few days in Portland. On Sunday the temperatures threatened to dip into single digits.  The PDX subreddit was filled with links to imgur photographs that locals had taken of the frozen beauty of Multnomah Falls. Such frigid winter temperatures seem quite normal for someone like yours truly from Colorado, but evidently it hasn't happened around here in many years.

Today it was not only cold but thickly overcast, as if the sun never quite came up---one of those quintessentially bleak winter Oregon days. The last thing I wanted to do was go outside, but I needed to accelerate some projects for my job.

So I bundled up and headed out to the Bimmer. I hadn't used it in a couple days, so I let it idle quite a while before putting it in a gear. The Province of British Columbia might not approve, but it's one of those standard practices that keeps the engine still running as well as it does after 300,000 miles.

As I cruised down I-5 heading south, I felt the heat from the bottom vents on my ankles and calves. There's something so beautiful about that feeling, especially for someone who grew in the Midwest riding in Volkswagens. It's a primeval "I'm inside in the warmth" sensation that makes one feel that all is right with the world at that moment.

Along those lines, my destination that day was Bridgeport Village, the recent lifestyle center along exit 290, about which I have previously written. It's my favorite Starbucks for day work. It puts me right into the mood to answer emails to my Manhattan-based coworkers, and dig into the details of the many lines of code that I maintain.

Lately BPV is decorated for Christmas with the uniform golden Christmas lights along the tops of the faux urban village buildings and the naked trees. Such touches indeed work. Walking along the storefronts I think of my Xmas list for my nieces and nephews.

Red and I came here last week, to do some shopping at the REI and Whole Foods, which sit conveniently next to each other like sister shrines in the religion of postmodern hip consumerism. Seattle and Austin come to Portland (or at least Tualatin).

After our shopping we were both hungry for dinner. Red, knowing how well I love BPV, asked me about places to eat.

"Well, there's P.F. Chang's," I joked, knowing she would reject that option. There's always a P.F. Chang's at a lifestyle center like this. It's pretty much the signature business of such places.

But after we considered the paucity of other options for dinner, I wound up getting the last laugh. Red and I both really enjoyed Chang's crab wontons.