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Nowhere to Go

Nowhere to Go

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Here in our little corner of the world neighbors plow your driveway because they have a snow blower and you don’t.  It’s that kind of place. There’s a lot of kindness here — and a lot of plowed-out driveways.

But it’s a classic case of all dressed up and nowhere to go.

Because every one of these neatly dug out, snow-walled stretches of pavement ends in — a snowbank.

The little plows have arrived but the big one has not.  So I remain blissfully snowed in with the driveway clearing, the pantry emptying and my hopes high. Not for a rescue. Oh, no. But for another day of being snowed in.

Transformed

Transformed

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I’ve lost track of the tally, but somewhere between two and three feet of snow fell between Friday afternoon and early this morning. The storm has moved on now, leaving a world transformed.

The cars are mountains in the driveway. The inverted birdbath a pyramid of white. Tree limbs are sugar frosted.

Inside, we are transformed, too. Or at least I am. Every time we’re pelted like this I’m a little more humbled, a little more gladdened.

Blizzards are good for the soul — as long as the soul is housed in a body that’s housed in a heated home well stocked with food!

… The Storm

… The Storm

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I was working outside yesterday morning, trying to bundle the last of the leaves into bags, when I saw the first flake fall. It could have been a cinder from an errant chimney, or a bit of fluff from a milkweed pod.

But it was, of course, a snowflake. As benign and unimposing a beginning as you could imagine. I thought at first I might have imagined it. But then there was another, and another.

Even so, it was a gentle prelude, giving no hint of the long, strong storm that would follow. It’s been 22 hours and it hasn’t stopped. From such a simple beginning this whole white world was wrought.

January 22, 2016 1 p.m.

January 23, 2016 11 a.m.

The Calm Before …

The Calm Before …

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A gray sky, a Christmas morning anticipation. The snow is coming, the snow is coming.

It’s coming to cover the leaf piles and the brush piles, the trails and the sidewalks. It’s coming to bury the daffodil shoots that began emerging from the ground in December. It’s coming to cover the yet-to-be-picked-up leaf bags and the two cars that aren’t in the garage. It’s coming to transform the peeled brown landscape into one of perfect white.

I have books to read, chocolate to eat and movies to watch. The house is packed with people and with food. I’ll bundle up and take a walk soon, because there won’t be a chance to take another for quite some time.

Meanwhile, in the heavens, a great storm gathers. The systems have converged, as have the models. What started as a rumor, an office “have-you-heard” on Tuesday, is now (almost) a reality. 

It’s the calm before …

 

Foggy Start

Foggy Start

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A foggy start to this December morning. Moisture beaded up on the car windows, so I took extra care backing down the drive. From such cautious beginnings come slower, less urgently paced days.

Today’s Metro ride on the Silver Line took me through bands of gray clouds with neon signs flashing: “Walmart,” “Exxon.” Tyson’s Corners were softened by the mist.

Clouds had engulfed the city, too, graying the red-brick Building Museum and hiding the pockmarked steps at Judiciary Square.

I hurried to the office, energized by the anonymity, seeking the quiet that comes with still weather, a place to sit down, open the book, call up the screen — and write.

Tale of Two Temperatures

Tale of Two Temperatures

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It’s 90 degrees today in Cotonou, Benin. It was 40 degrees when I woke up in Oak Hill, Virginia. Fifty degrees of separation — that’s a lot for a person who’s never experienced winter.This is just one of the many adjustments we’ll be witnessing in a few days.

I’ve been pulling for one of those warm winters that can sometimes grace these parts, especially when there’s an El Nino pattern. But the next few days promise brisk winds and seasonable temps, and my purple (excuse me, aubergine) wool coat has already been pressed into service.

Nothing to do but go with the flow, whether it’s warm or cold. Nothing to do now but hold on for the ride!


(Rush hour in Cotonou from the back of a zemidjan.)

Battening Down

Battening Down

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Actually, I have done little of this. The rocking chairs are inside and the rest of the deck furniture is too heavy to blow away.

I’ll collect some extra tap water tonight, keep it around in pitchers and bowls. And I’ll check the basement frequently to see if rain is seeping in.

Beyond that I’m planning to clean, organize and watch movies.

It’s blizzard mode, only with rain instead of snow.

Spun-Gold September

Spun-Gold September

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How quickly we embrace perfection and come to expect it. I’m talking about this week’s weather. Cool nights for open-window sleeping. Light-sweater mornings.  Days that start with enough coolness to refresh but that warm up nicely by noontime.

These days give us stability, they give us versatility (we can wear skirts or trousers, shorts or jeans), they give us perfect temperatures for walking, sleeping and waking.

The funny thing is how quickly we get used to them — or at least I do. Oh yes, another day in paradise.

So I’m trying to appreciate every spun-gold September day.  Even if I’m stuck inside for all of them.

A Change in the Air

A Change in the Air

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I love humidity, really, I do. I love the way it buoys me up, an invisible presence; the way it surrounds me. I like an air that can hold its own.

Sometimes after a long day in a chilled office I walk the hot sidewalks of a muggy D.C. and my fingers fairly tingle with the moisture in the air. The feeling comes back into air-condition-numbed extremities. I feel alive again.

And yet … this morning I woke up to a lovely, chilled, low-humidity day … and it feels divine.

Suddenly, there are closets to clean and yard work to do. There are books to read and comb through, materials to research. And this isn’t even counting what awaits me at the office.

Summer torpor slows me down, and that can be a good thing, a corrective. But after weeks of stickiness, this low-weight air is invigorating, a mountain stream. It gives me a first-day feeling, a necessary fresh start.

Water, Water Everywhere

Water, Water Everywhere

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A rainy Monday, so maybe not the best day for a post about thirst and the lack of public water fountains. But an article in yesterday’s Washington Post made me think about this endangered feature of communal life.

According to the International Plumbing Code, the number of public drinking fountains required in new buildings is down by half, the article says. There are a few causes. One is the consumption of bottled water, which has quadrupled in recent years. Another is fear of contamination, which ironically has grown since the Safe Drinking Water Act in 1974 began requiring municipalities to notify their residents immediately of any problems with their water.

But the lack of clean, safe public drinking water has actually hurt American’s health by driving young people to consume more sugary drinks, the article argues. And a preponderance of plastic water bottles is hurting the environment.

This article explains why I have to hunt longer to find a public water fountain. And it also makes me remember the water fountains of my youth. The one at Idle Hour Park, which made a deep whirring sound and produced a trickle of water that seemed to have been drawn up from the depths of a nearby swamp. And the one in the hall of my grammar school, which we would be allowed to stand in line and use on warm spring afternoons. Imagine 400 to 500 kids drinking out of the same fountain! Still, nothing has never tasted as good as the water that flowed from that cool — and I’m sure unsanitary — tap.