Oregon's most recent barrage of rainy days gives us excellent opportunities to research information and stay active indoors. For example, there is nothing like learning about our country's official state mottoes. They stir the blood and fire the imagination. They smack of great deeds and stalwart souls: "It is forever" (Idaho), "I lead" (Maine), and "Live free or die" (New Hampshire). A few states have slogans that are more open to interpretation, such as Maryland's "Manly deeds, womanly words."

Although Washington's selection of "By and by" sounds like the mantra of a lazy fisherman, it does serve to make the Oregon state motto, "She flies with her own wings" look good in comparison. Although it is a noble-sounding sentiment, I suspect that most Oregonians have no idea what our slogan means. (After all, if we were to fly, whose wings would we use but our own?) I like Oregon's unofficial state motto a lot more: "Umbrellas are for wimps."

How did we evolve to this statewide philosophy regarding umbrella use? Maybe our history of persistent but relatively light rainfall, combined with our settlement by testosterone-riddled farmers and loggers, has led to a studied indifference on the part of modern Oregonians regarding umbrellas. Such accessories are seen as fripperies for out-of-staters and the faint of heart. As my dad light-heartedly says from the drenched locale of Astoria, "A little water never hurt anyone ... unless he contracts pneumonia."

But this year, conditions will apparently be even wetter than usual for Oregon, perhaps forcing some of us to change our macho habits. Winter's meteorological conditions have always been awe-inspiring. They are responsible for the first myths, as early hunter-gatherers huddled around a fire and peered up at dark clouds with a sense of wonder and fear. The storm gods inspired by wintry thunderheads were fierce and wrathful, and their very names inspired respect: Zeus ... Thor ... La Nina.

Perhaps you are not impressed by La Nina's moniker, and you don't think you need to batten down the hatches for "The Little Girl." Do not be so hasty in your underestimation. So impressed am I by this little girl, I am going to do something this soppy winter that I have always had too much self-respect and self-consciousness to do before: I am going to use an umbrella. Regularly.

I am a grown man and in full control of my mental faculties. Having followed the alarmist long-term weather forecasts in the local media, I know that now is not the time for false heroics regarding umbrella usage.

I will defiantly open my umbrella and use it both as a shield against the dreaded La Nina and as a shelter from the contemptuous glances of sodden pedestrians doggedly slogging their own proud but soggy paths. I will tell myself that it is better to be ashamed and dry than righteous and miserable, while seeking solace in the words of a wise man from across the Atlantic. If the people of any other geographical region can commiserate with us Oregonians, it would be the English, who also enjoy their fair share of overcast days. To paraphrase the English judge, Lord Bowen:

It rains down

Both on the proud

And also the shameful fella.

But chiefly on the proud,

Because the shameful

aren't afraid to use