Simply Scandinavian 19 T E M P L E S T P O R T L A N D 207 874 6768 S I M P L Y S C A N D I N A V I A N . C O M Editorial Colin W. Sargent, Editor & Publisher 12 p o r t l a n d monthly magazine S now and I have always had a stormy relationship. As a Portland native, I’m familiar with the dark goat-paths we all slip and slide over when the snowplows pile the vile stuff too high. Walking home one Janu- ary, legendary Portland millionaire J.B. Brown died after slipping on an icy patch of sidewalk, no doubt trimmed with lovely snow. By April, snow and I are so over. I find my- self looking at snow/weight calculators on the internet just so I can brag about how much snow I’ve shoveled. Because by then I’m tired of saying, “Cold enough for you?” Besides, I grew up shoveling driveways. But once again, absence has made the heart grow fonder. I just caught myself oddly hum- ming “White Christmas.” Surprise: Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” is still the best-sell- ing single of all time, according to Wikipedia and Guinness (both the beer and the book)–in spite of the preciousness. In spite of how the two words in the two-word title invite reflection. Words do matter. Over 100 million copies of Crosby’s cover have sold. To qualify for such a Christmas, I say snow must be falling or sticking by the end of the 25th. Melbourne, Australia, tried to sneak on the list in 2011 because of a wicked, bright, and lustrous hailstorm. Sorry, mates. Who else is in the running? According to the National Cli- matic Data Center, Albuquerque has a three-percent likelihood of a white Christmas this year. Portland, Oregon, has a two-percent chance on December 25, Miami one-percent. Ditto for Los Angeles. Vancouver, with its palm trees on the Pacific, checks in at 10 percent, Toron- to 46 percent. If you think I take this too personally, I do. Decades ago, my wife Nancy made me promise that her first holiday in Maine would be a snowy Christmas Eve. I reluctantly agreed. What was the big deal? I already knew snow wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. But for all my cynicism, I couldn’t change the sparkle in her eyes. I never have. “Just that first snow,” she said. “I don’t know why I love it. It puts us all in a movie, just for a second.” I grew wary of her appreciation for it. Nancy’s sense of snow was simply superior to mine. For her, it was somehow…musical. I should have known. Snow is what you bring to it. A roaring fire. Families snuggling by the window to catch sight of the first flakes. Sharing the season’s first cup of cocoa with some- one you love. And here we go again. My snow memories aren’t all bad. Actually, my prof- it from a winter’s shoveling of my neighbor’s driveway allowed me to go to Pine Tree Shop- ping Center and plunk down the cold cash for a Realistic, professional-grade, battery-operat- ed tape-recorder for taping The Monkees and my older sister’s phone conversations. The scene I wish I had in a snow globe–my son proudly building his first snowman on the sugary side yard of a fisherman’s shack, our first home on Underwood Road in Falmouth, our collie dancing around him. And just like that, I’m dreaming. Portland’s chance this year? Eighty-three percent. Snow Global data sources: wikipedia, national climactic data center