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Dipping my Toes

Dipping my Toes

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The sounds I heard outside this morning didn’t make sense. Were the taps and creaks from errant branches, from the building warming in the tropical sun? Only when I looked out the window did I see the rain.

It doesn’t matter; I have plenty to do inside as well as out. I brought books and notes and half-finished essays. Brain food. Things to think about and read.

A trip to the beach rests the body and the mind. So I sleep more, worry less (or try to!) and ignore weather reports. How long will it rain? The clouds are dark, but I see some blue. Did the storm break the humidity?

Only one way to find out. I’ll finish this post and my morning pages, then dip my toes into the day.

Natural Cool

Natural Cool

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We leapt from a rainy June to a sizzling July, and are now measuring the heat index instead of the precipitation.  On my slow walks this weekend I sought the relative cool of the shady stretches that line Folkstone Drive.

Is there any cool better than natural cool? I know what the air conditioning devotees will say. Of course there is. It’s the cranked-down chill of a 72-degree office or living room. And don’t get me wrong. On days when the mercury climbs toward 100, it’s mighty nice to step inside a well-chilled house.

But there is also something to be said for the deep woods, for ferns waving in a slight breeze, for soil that is still a bit moist from last month’s downpours, for a creek gurgling in the distance.

For sections of road where tree branches lace overhead and spread their shade to the pavement below. For old houses with thick walls flanked by tall oaks.

There is something to be said for natural cool.

Kingdom of the Wind

Kingdom of the Wind

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When the wind blows this hard (gusts up to 67 miles an hour), I feel like I’ve entered another country, a howling, raging place, a Kingdom of the Wind. I wake to its sound.

The bamboo beats a rough staccato on the siding, and there’s a clanging I can’t quite place. Is it a rogue bucket on the deck, or old Jacob Marley rattling his chains?

With winds this high, either Dulles Airport is closed, or diverting its traffic to an alternate runway, one that goes … right over our house! So on top of wondering if a tree will fall, I’m worried that a plane will, too.

An unsettled morning to be sure, with government offices closed and my office shuttered. I have one question: Will the errant branch we call the Sword of Damocles finally be blown out of the old oak? It’s dancing madly out there now, but is so wedged in place that it lingers still.

Just lost power … just got it back …

It will be a long day here in the Kingdom of the Wind.

Phantom Snow

Phantom Snow

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Sometimes I think we know too much about the weather, about European and North American Mesoscale (NAM) models, about high pressures and cold air damming. After all, we’re not meteorologists; at best our knowledge is a touching glance.

But then I learn just enough to gain a vision.

Take yesterday’s “mixed precipitation” event, which produced coated boughs and slick sidewalks. I’d heard that due to low dew points, it would be snowing up in the atmosphere before it touched earth. In my highly unscientific understanding of this I imagine the air cooling, filling with moisture, to give passage to the first flakes, to pave the way.

It’s an amateur’s view of the universe: phantom snow falling on fluffy clouds, a shower of white that no one can see. A poetic description that cannot possibly be true, but I like to think of it that way.

Two-Hour Delay

Two-Hour Delay

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When I was a kid, you either had school or you did not. There was no in between. By the time I had children, the two-hour delay was well established.

In many ways it makes sense. Icy mornings often moderate, and two hours can make a big difference in the condition of roads and sidewalks. Having just driven to Metro on a day deemed too tricky for an on-time start, I can vouch that the county made the right call today.

But I can remember what a mess it was when the kids were young and school started at 11:05 rather than the (already late) 9:05. I could barely transcribe an interview before they were home again. And there’s something about the moral relativity of a two-hour delay that disheartens me. It’s mushy, especially when employed too often.

Perhaps that’s why I slogged into the office today. It was hard … but it was pure.

(We only got an inch of snow today; the photos is from 2010.) 

The Howling

The Howling

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We’re back to winter here, with a blast of Arctic air that’s sending us down to 10 degrees wind chill tonight. Back to three layers, plus coat, hat, gloves and scarf.

Inside, it’s warm and cozy — as long as I ignore the wind.

Why does the wind howl, anyway? It’s a question I’ve been asking myself this winter.

When wind whips around a building or a tree, it splits up. The sound comes from the two currents rejoining on the other side, according to an article on the website Mental Floss.

Leafy trees absorb more of the vibration than bare ones do, so the howling is louder this time of year.

The explanation makes sense, but doesn’t stop the goosebumps. A howling wind is still a scary sound — even with a scientific explanation.

January Thaw

January Thaw

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The birds believe it. They are out in force this morning, robins and cardinals and crows. They are flitting from bare branch to bare branch, hopping up to puddles. Suddenly, there is water, something they’ve not had enough of this dry, frigid winter.

They, unlike humans, have not heard the weather forecast. They don’t know that this jig is up tonight when temperatures plummet from the 60s to the 30s (I think 30 degrees qualifies as a plummet … it will certainly feel like one).

So for today, just for a few hours, I’ll try to think like a bird, to pretend there is no future, no past, only a balmy wonder of a day with no breeze to speak of, just some light rain and not even much of that. In other words, a day — which is, in the end, all we’re ever given.

Bomb Cyclone

Bomb Cyclone

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Two blog posts in a row about weather. Hmmm… Must be winter!

This morning I’ve been reading about the Bomb Cyclone, a winter storm with super low pressures that has brought snow and ice to Florida, freezing rain to South Carolina and blizzard warnings to parts of my own state. Here it’s a windy snowstorm with beastly cold to follow.

What I’m thinking about (snug in my warm house) is whether naming weather systems makes them more formidable. Used to be, it was just hurricanes. Now we name snow storms (“Snowmaggedon”) and cold snaps (“Polar Vortex”), too. Every year we have Super Storms and Storms of the Century.

Whether this is due to the extreme weather patterns or Weather Channel proclivities it’s difficult to say, but one thing I know for sure: Weather hype makes a difference. I’m much colder in a Polar Vortex than I am in an ordinary chill.

Brrrrr!

Brrrrr!

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The weather is making me think back to the old winter days in Chicago. I never ventured out of the apartment without two pairs of socks, hat, scarf and mittens, and two or three layers under my coat.

Temperatures here are Chicago-winter-worthy, and wind chills respectable even by Windy City standards. Commuting as I do via public transportation, I have plenty of opportunities to feel that wind chill as I stand on a breezy street corner waiting for the bus.

It’s best to wait actively rather than passively, I’ve found. The toes numb more slowly when they’re in motion, so I pace back and forth or bounce up and down to keep myself warm.

Cold is a miserable business. You can say what you will about its bracing qualities, about its crispness and clarity. For me, it’s just something to be endured.

Whitish

Whitish

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A later-than-I-intended walk puts me out the door right as the snow started to fall. A fine sleet at first, but now that it’s gotten started, a coating of white on deck and road.

I like walking in the beginnings of snowfalls, the world hushed and waiting. Today’s totals will be less than Saturday’s, but any snow this time of year is a bonus.

Will there be a white Christmas? I doubt it. But I’ll take a whitish Christmas, too.