Ladies, Gentlemen, Daddy: Tonight at gymnastics class I did a back hip circle on the bars all by myself. I mean ALL by myself, without a spotter anywhere near me. This is an amazing feat, and I just had to tell someone. I wish I'd filmed it. Maybe I will next week.
Those of you who know what a back hip circle is are probably not too impressed...but keep in mind that I'm 35 and haven't done one since I was 14.
Is this too close to bragging? Especially for Lent? I don't mean to brag. (And not just because that might jinx me.)
Think of it instead as good news. And when you talk about me, please say "My daughter/friend/cousin the gymnast..."
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
The year's at the spring
The lake is still frozen, but most of the grass is uncovered. The snow has melted, except where it was piled up by the plows. And so, except for the frozen lake, the world is starting to move around and look normal: The grass is green. The sky is blue. Birds are singing. The sun is shining.
I could be anywhere.
I loved living in the surreal world of long winter -- even though our winter wasn't particularly intense this year. The snow wasn't high, the blizzards were few, the wind couldn't even phase this Oklahoman. But it lasted longer than winter lasts at home, so it was unusual. And the lake froze, which was miraculous.
But now it's starting to be spring. It's still cold, and there is frost on the grass in the morning. Black mud is everywhere. My dogs track it in on their feet. I shampooed the carpet, but it's already muddy again. I give up.
Now, I guess what I have to look forward to is the ice breaking up on the lake. I am excited to hear what that sounds like, if I can hear it from four blocks away. I'm excited to see the big pieces stand up then roll over into the water. I'm excited to see the lake like a puzzle as the ice pieces thaw. I wish I could get on one and ride to an island like The Penguin Who Hated the Cold.
But everyone here is so happy for spring to come. They are even nice about the mud because it's a sign of spring. They tell me spring is hideous, muddy, cold, rainy, awful...but they love it because it leads to their idyllic summer, which I will miss because I'll be in Oklahoma.
So I'm griping today. But at least I'm not in Oklahoma yet, where they're already having tornadoes. And soon, in Oklahoma, the snakes and ticks and chiggers will start to awaken. So if I must have spring, at least it's only muddy and cold, not actually dangerous.
I could be anywhere.
I loved living in the surreal world of long winter -- even though our winter wasn't particularly intense this year. The snow wasn't high, the blizzards were few, the wind couldn't even phase this Oklahoman. But it lasted longer than winter lasts at home, so it was unusual. And the lake froze, which was miraculous.
But now it's starting to be spring. It's still cold, and there is frost on the grass in the morning. Black mud is everywhere. My dogs track it in on their feet. I shampooed the carpet, but it's already muddy again. I give up.
Now, I guess what I have to look forward to is the ice breaking up on the lake. I am excited to hear what that sounds like, if I can hear it from four blocks away. I'm excited to see the big pieces stand up then roll over into the water. I'm excited to see the lake like a puzzle as the ice pieces thaw. I wish I could get on one and ride to an island like The Penguin Who Hated the Cold.
But everyone here is so happy for spring to come. They are even nice about the mud because it's a sign of spring. They tell me spring is hideous, muddy, cold, rainy, awful...but they love it because it leads to their idyllic summer, which I will miss because I'll be in Oklahoma.
So I'm griping today. But at least I'm not in Oklahoma yet, where they're already having tornadoes. And soon, in Oklahoma, the snakes and ticks and chiggers will start to awaken. So if I must have spring, at least it's only muddy and cold, not actually dangerous.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
The sun came up upon the left...
We've had some sunny days this winter, but the difference in those days and this one is that those days were still cold. The sun might be brilliant, the sky pure blue, but it just lit up the snow and the white clear expanse of the frozen lake. But today I could feel the sun...and I'd forgotten what that is like. It's no snowstorm, but it's not so bad.
The front yard snow melted all the way off the walkway, and there is green grass under there. I found my wonderful red mitten with the knitted daisies on the wrist. It had been missing for a month, and I'm glad to find it again. Especially because now, perhaps, it will be too warm for the professional-looking ski gloves and mittens Joe bought me before he left. (He was right; in this weather, ridiculously expensive gloves are well worth their cost!)
Or maybe not. They keep telling me, with woe in their voices and weariness in their eyes, that a blizzard could still come, all the way up until Easter. At Easter, they say, with full-body sighs and a slump in their souls, we have The Mud.
I believe it about The Mud. I'm getting a horrible, black, mushy glimpse of it on this warm day. I've bathed Niki twice and Tula once. The white carpet is next. But the mud is fine, I suppose, because it comes with the sun, the ocean-colored sky, the birds I hear on our morning walk downtown.
Do I love these things of spring? Maybe not as much as I love ice and snow. But there is something to be said for them, especially when they start bursting into bloom. I can't imagine that right now, and I'm glad. That's one of the things I hoped to experience in a long North Country winter: The feeling that it would never be spring again, a longing for light and warmth. I don't long, but I think I will be pleasantly shocked to discover that flowers grow and leaves jingle and water moves.
What I do long for, on this weird warm day, is my husband. I miss him so much it takes my breath away. I feel lucky for it. And it makes me sympathize with my neighbors who wish for the sun like I wish for him.
The front yard snow melted all the way off the walkway, and there is green grass under there. I found my wonderful red mitten with the knitted daisies on the wrist. It had been missing for a month, and I'm glad to find it again. Especially because now, perhaps, it will be too warm for the professional-looking ski gloves and mittens Joe bought me before he left. (He was right; in this weather, ridiculously expensive gloves are well worth their cost!)
Or maybe not. They keep telling me, with woe in their voices and weariness in their eyes, that a blizzard could still come, all the way up until Easter. At Easter, they say, with full-body sighs and a slump in their souls, we have The Mud.
I believe it about The Mud. I'm getting a horrible, black, mushy glimpse of it on this warm day. I've bathed Niki twice and Tula once. The white carpet is next. But the mud is fine, I suppose, because it comes with the sun, the ocean-colored sky, the birds I hear on our morning walk downtown.
Do I love these things of spring? Maybe not as much as I love ice and snow. But there is something to be said for them, especially when they start bursting into bloom. I can't imagine that right now, and I'm glad. That's one of the things I hoped to experience in a long North Country winter: The feeling that it would never be spring again, a longing for light and warmth. I don't long, but I think I will be pleasantly shocked to discover that flowers grow and leaves jingle and water moves.
What I do long for, on this weird warm day, is my husband. I miss him so much it takes my breath away. I feel lucky for it. And it makes me sympathize with my neighbors who wish for the sun like I wish for him.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Big, Fat Snow!
I can't write long because I must go outside! I am walking to the post office to mail a package to my husband, and I'm so excited! The snow is coming down fast, but the exciting part is that some of the snow is big CLUMPS of flakes...not even just big flakes. FINALLY something I've never seen before in snow!
I know the snow is dangerous for some people, and I'm sorry for them. Here, it's fun. The news is sorry for upstate New York, but I'm so grateful to be here where it's still full-force winter...or should I say full force winter at last? For this winter hasn't seemed particularly long, or cold, or dramatic to me yet...I hope it starts being all of those things today!
(But you know me...I have to complain about something: I wish it was doing this on a day when it would close school!)
I know the snow is dangerous for some people, and I'm sorry for them. Here, it's fun. The news is sorry for upstate New York, but I'm so grateful to be here where it's still full-force winter...or should I say full force winter at last? For this winter hasn't seemed particularly long, or cold, or dramatic to me yet...I hope it starts being all of those things today!
(But you know me...I have to complain about something: I wish it was doing this on a day when it would close school!)
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Through the drifts the snowy cliffs did send a dismal sheen
I LOVE a good dismal sheen on the cliffs of Black River Bay, and ladies and gentlemen...and Daddy...we are getting one! Because guess what: IT'S SNOWING!!!
Thick and fast it comes at last, and more and more and more!
They tell me it will continue through tomorrow. Let's pray it does. I love it so much I can't stand it! The dogs and I walked downtown, and the big brick Presbyterian Church and the little white library beside it were dramatic through the snow. The orange streetlights and the little white ones on the gazebo at the river and the lit-up windows of houses with lace curtains looked like illustrations from books my father read during the winters of my childhood. The big red house at the end of our block had its pellet stove going, and the whole street smells like Christmas.
I wish I had red bows for the dog's collars and one of my grandma's heavy quilts with the World War II wool blankets in the center. She was a crochet artist, not a quilter, so hers were just big squares of material from old dresses and work shirts, stitched together for warmth, not beauty. If I had one now, I'd wrap up in it on the couch and call the dogs over to sit on either side of me. I'd read Joseph Mitchell's New York essays and drink Earl Grey and look at the snow falling on the skylight.
I don't, though. But I have a big red and blue quilt made by my Army friend, Michelle, for another birthday. She is a quilt artist, so it's lovely. I'll wrap up in it, then, and hold the dogs and read about the city until I can't stand it anymore and have to put my gnome boots back on to go walking up and down our road with my crooked-toothed companions in the snow, the snow, the snow!!
Thick and fast it comes at last, and more and more and more!
They tell me it will continue through tomorrow. Let's pray it does. I love it so much I can't stand it! The dogs and I walked downtown, and the big brick Presbyterian Church and the little white library beside it were dramatic through the snow. The orange streetlights and the little white ones on the gazebo at the river and the lit-up windows of houses with lace curtains looked like illustrations from books my father read during the winters of my childhood. The big red house at the end of our block had its pellet stove going, and the whole street smells like Christmas.
I wish I had red bows for the dog's collars and one of my grandma's heavy quilts with the World War II wool blankets in the center. She was a crochet artist, not a quilter, so hers were just big squares of material from old dresses and work shirts, stitched together for warmth, not beauty. If I had one now, I'd wrap up in it on the couch and call the dogs over to sit on either side of me. I'd read Joseph Mitchell's New York essays and drink Earl Grey and look at the snow falling on the skylight.
I don't, though. But I have a big red and blue quilt made by my Army friend, Michelle, for another birthday. She is a quilt artist, so it's lovely. I'll wrap up in it, then, and hold the dogs and read about the city until I can't stand it anymore and have to put my gnome boots back on to go walking up and down our road with my crooked-toothed companions in the snow, the snow, the snow!!
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
My Grandma, and Snow, and Lent
I was born in a record snowfall for Oklahoma. My parents weren't sure they'd make it to the hospital, but the ambulance had four-wheel drive and the helmsman steered us through. Thus was I born officially an Okie from Muskogee. And then I was taken back through the snow to our little house on the hill in Adair County. Sometimes my father and I run into that ambulance driver, and he remembers that I was the little baby who was born in the blizzard.
My grandmother wanted to name me after the snow, but nobody would let her. Even when I couldn't speak, she knew my heart and what I would like best. She always did, all her life, sometimes I think, even before I was thought about. We were alike in many ways. I loved many things about her but also her snow-colored hair and her skin the color of cream. Everything she had was white: Her Bible, her galoshes, the hammer she used to crack open walnuts, her gloves, which had rabbit fur inside them. She often wore pearls. She had the most gracious smile, and when I think of her, I see that...how she would lean it in on the person with whom she was speaking, as if that person was always on the verge of delighting her. Yet these things aren't even the surface of how I loved her.
But for the moment, I think of her because she wanted to name me after snow, my favorite weather, so I only tell you that part, and that she was the color of snow in every way.
She knew that snow is not even a weather; it is a state of being, one that was rare for me until I came here, and now it comes every few days and never quite melts all the way. I was thinking this morning as I walked the dogs through the slush that I am ungrateful for how constant it is. In Oklahoma or Italy or especially Mississippi, I would dream of snow that lasted longer than a week. That's all I asked for. Now I have snow that lasts for months, but I complain that it's not deep enough, that it melts in between, that it's not constant enough. I ask for too much.
My grandmother once built a snow-woman. It was her same height and had her hourglass figure. She ignored dishes, housework, all kinds of things, in order to stand out there and build her. Then she cut a line up the side of an old dress so she could put it on her. There is a picture of the two of them in the yard that sunny, cold day. People stopped by the house to comment on the snow-woman. Grandma talked about her every time it snowed after that, but she never built another one. That one memory was plenty, I guess. I hope so.
I don't know why I keep thinking about her. This entry was supposed to be about the fact that we FINALLY may have snow again -- big snow, but not lake-effect snow. I wished for it so hard on my birthday, and we got some last night and today. I hope we have so much more tonight, so much we can't get out of our houses, so much I must build a fire, so much my small dogs disappear when they jump off the porch. And so it is about that, what I want more of, I guess -- snow, and my grandma, who was its same color and who I loved more than winter, and who has been in Heaven now for many years.
In my rambly way, I come to how this all relates to Lent, I guess: That Lent is wanting desperately what it seems like you can't have -- a miracle, or a person or time that is gone, or for things to change or stay the same when ultimately, nothing ever does either one. The desire is Lent, but Easter is the hope of Heaven, when all those people will come wading across the river carrying daffodils and calling your name and saying, "Come with us! It's snowing over here!" At least, that's what they'll say to me. Lent is remembering that Easter will come, and Life is remembering that Death will, and Winter is remembering that Spring will. The first Easter was better than anyone could have imagined, like spring always is, like I'm sure death will be (as Walt Whitman said, and he's generally right).
And so I shouldn't hurry Lent or try to hold onto winter or waste my precious life. Everything comes in its time, and I'll always have plenty.
Still, I'm no saint, and I hope it snows so much I can't see out the windows in the morning, and that my life is long, and that people have to hunt Easter eggs in the snow this year.
My grandmother wanted to name me after the snow, but nobody would let her. Even when I couldn't speak, she knew my heart and what I would like best. She always did, all her life, sometimes I think, even before I was thought about. We were alike in many ways. I loved many things about her but also her snow-colored hair and her skin the color of cream. Everything she had was white: Her Bible, her galoshes, the hammer she used to crack open walnuts, her gloves, which had rabbit fur inside them. She often wore pearls. She had the most gracious smile, and when I think of her, I see that...how she would lean it in on the person with whom she was speaking, as if that person was always on the verge of delighting her. Yet these things aren't even the surface of how I loved her.
But for the moment, I think of her because she wanted to name me after snow, my favorite weather, so I only tell you that part, and that she was the color of snow in every way.
She knew that snow is not even a weather; it is a state of being, one that was rare for me until I came here, and now it comes every few days and never quite melts all the way. I was thinking this morning as I walked the dogs through the slush that I am ungrateful for how constant it is. In Oklahoma or Italy or especially Mississippi, I would dream of snow that lasted longer than a week. That's all I asked for. Now I have snow that lasts for months, but I complain that it's not deep enough, that it melts in between, that it's not constant enough. I ask for too much.
My grandmother once built a snow-woman. It was her same height and had her hourglass figure. She ignored dishes, housework, all kinds of things, in order to stand out there and build her. Then she cut a line up the side of an old dress so she could put it on her. There is a picture of the two of them in the yard that sunny, cold day. People stopped by the house to comment on the snow-woman. Grandma talked about her every time it snowed after that, but she never built another one. That one memory was plenty, I guess. I hope so.
I don't know why I keep thinking about her. This entry was supposed to be about the fact that we FINALLY may have snow again -- big snow, but not lake-effect snow. I wished for it so hard on my birthday, and we got some last night and today. I hope we have so much more tonight, so much we can't get out of our houses, so much I must build a fire, so much my small dogs disappear when they jump off the porch. And so it is about that, what I want more of, I guess -- snow, and my grandma, who was its same color and who I loved more than winter, and who has been in Heaven now for many years.
In my rambly way, I come to how this all relates to Lent, I guess: That Lent is wanting desperately what it seems like you can't have -- a miracle, or a person or time that is gone, or for things to change or stay the same when ultimately, nothing ever does either one. The desire is Lent, but Easter is the hope of Heaven, when all those people will come wading across the river carrying daffodils and calling your name and saying, "Come with us! It's snowing over here!" At least, that's what they'll say to me. Lent is remembering that Easter will come, and Life is remembering that Death will, and Winter is remembering that Spring will. The first Easter was better than anyone could have imagined, like spring always is, like I'm sure death will be (as Walt Whitman said, and he's generally right).
And so I shouldn't hurry Lent or try to hold onto winter or waste my precious life. Everything comes in its time, and I'll always have plenty.
Still, I'm no saint, and I hope it snows so much I can't see out the windows in the morning, and that my life is long, and that people have to hunt Easter eggs in the snow this year.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Happy Birthday To Me!
I love having a birthday at the end of February! So often, it means I get snow! This year I'm in the North Country where the snow is supposed to fall until Easter...and it wasn't even that cold today! But you want to hear something weird?
When Joe deploys, I like to have one of those block calendars with days that you tear off. I would NEVER wish time to move faster than it does, even during a deployment, but I do like having something interesting to look at every morning and an indication that he's made it through whole months. This deployment, I have a Mary Engelbreit calendar. I know she's not COOL, but I like a lot of her illustrations. Today, mysteriously, the illustration says, "Happy Birthday To You!" and has a picture of a girl holding a cake! Isn't that neat? Are y'all SURE I'm not God's favorite?
I had to work like the dickens (me and my students are collecting phrases like that at the moment) today...and when I wasn't actually teaching, I had meetings! Joe tried to call from Afghanistan and I couldn't take the call! I can't STAND that!! I hope he gets to try again! It's not as bad as when he had to wait for phones on other deployments; this time he has his own. I did text with him a bit...which is weird. I'm used to deployments with five-minute calls and questionable e-mail service!
I didn't get to do much special today, but I had a nice time. My students tried valiantly to perform what I asked of them, even though it was difficult. My co-workers gave me funny cards and birthday wishes. For dinner I had good bread with brie and grape tomatoes followed by Hagen Daaz Vanilla Swiss Almond ice cream (my favorite!). I had many packages and birthday cards saved up, and I opened those too. I'm no good at sending cards and presents, and these were all so thoughtful that I felt both happy and guilty!
I took the dogs walking downtown in the slush, and since then, we have been drying out on the couch wrapped in blankets, watching Canada beat Germany in Olympic hockey. Niki is such a quiet little dog that earlier I forgot we had him and he startled me coming around the side of the couch! He's warm and sweet, and Tula seems to be adjusting. Their dog walker (I know, I know) said she thinks he'll be good for her. I hope so.
So now I am 35. And I live in New York, have a brave and good husband, write some things that get published, have my first book to review, and will be teaching World Literature in the fall. I'm very lucky.
When Joe deploys, I like to have one of those block calendars with days that you tear off. I would NEVER wish time to move faster than it does, even during a deployment, but I do like having something interesting to look at every morning and an indication that he's made it through whole months. This deployment, I have a Mary Engelbreit calendar. I know she's not COOL, but I like a lot of her illustrations. Today, mysteriously, the illustration says, "Happy Birthday To You!" and has a picture of a girl holding a cake! Isn't that neat? Are y'all SURE I'm not God's favorite?
I had to work like the dickens (me and my students are collecting phrases like that at the moment) today...and when I wasn't actually teaching, I had meetings! Joe tried to call from Afghanistan and I couldn't take the call! I can't STAND that!! I hope he gets to try again! It's not as bad as when he had to wait for phones on other deployments; this time he has his own. I did text with him a bit...which is weird. I'm used to deployments with five-minute calls and questionable e-mail service!
I didn't get to do much special today, but I had a nice time. My students tried valiantly to perform what I asked of them, even though it was difficult. My co-workers gave me funny cards and birthday wishes. For dinner I had good bread with brie and grape tomatoes followed by Hagen Daaz Vanilla Swiss Almond ice cream (my favorite!). I had many packages and birthday cards saved up, and I opened those too. I'm no good at sending cards and presents, and these were all so thoughtful that I felt both happy and guilty!
I took the dogs walking downtown in the slush, and since then, we have been drying out on the couch wrapped in blankets, watching Canada beat Germany in Olympic hockey. Niki is such a quiet little dog that earlier I forgot we had him and he startled me coming around the side of the couch! He's warm and sweet, and Tula seems to be adjusting. Their dog walker (I know, I know) said she thinks he'll be good for her. I hope so.
So now I am 35. And I live in New York, have a brave and good husband, write some things that get published, have my first book to review, and will be teaching World Literature in the fall. I'm very lucky.
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