The Wednesday miracle
Wednesday, we were shin-deep in thick snow. A wondrous thing happened: cars in the street moved toward their destinations with neither surprise nor trepidation visible on the faces of their drivers. In the aisles of the local Safeway, no frenzied shoppers were dashing down the aisles screaming We’re all gonna diiiiiie!
As of today — the Sunday after the snow — all passers-by are reduced to staring at a patch or two of the slush hiding in the shadow of a building and noting to themselves, “Hmm, not all gone yet, I see.”
Maybe the mental scars have simply not been able to manifest themselves in my consciousness yet. Either that, or I’ve lived in Ohio for too long.
Image via Wikipedia
Only I would get a weather program — swackett — that has Harold Lloyd in it.
Boulder(sunshine+snow) > Cincinnati(sunshine+snow)
Spring — the arrival thereof — has duly commenced here in southwest Ohio. I try never to rely solely on the weather when calculating things like the arrival of a warm season. I depend on other, surer signs: a small bout of insomnia, and a fit of cleaning.
Thankfully, both signs have now occurred, and I am recovering from them. I have just picked about 150 pounds of books to be sent to the used book store. Probably more is to come. I depend too much on my Kindle, so I don’t need paper copies. Besides, how many worn old copies of Agatha Christie does on need to keep, anyway?
It’s a very busy thing, this not having of electrical power. It gives you a full day’s agenda.
I could get used to these sunny days here at the lake. But we are at the highlight of summer here. It will not get better, and that implies that the weather will slowly get worse, and the sunlight less, here on in.
To the end of storing up memories for later, I have been listening a lot to the local birds. One wren and one cardinal in the neighborhood regularly duke it out over territory around dinnertime. They haven’t started it up for today, as of this writing.
There used to be several (at least 3) crows around the house, too. They haven’t been seen lately. There isn’t too much road-kill around this part of Chautauqua.
One notable thing about this particular vacation of ours here in Chautauqua is the rain and cold. I’ve never known Chautauqua to be an oven in the summer, but warm, definitely. And never quite so much rain. If I were paranoid, and a follower of a failed Democratic candidate for president, I’d think it was all my fault, somehow.
I mean, I still drive a Volvo with a regular gas-eating, internal combustion engine. And what a lovely engine it is! Never gives me a lick of trouble, and looks good while not giving me any trouble.
I’m sorry… I just can’t believe in global warming today. I wish I had a raincoat.
Peter is sitting next to me. He says, in response to “What should I write about?”, “Write a screenplay.” I’m not sure that’s gonna work.
First of all, that would mean there’s a plot hanging about around here, and I sense none. Or there could be, and I haven’t looked for it. It’s hard to find a plot when people are simply hanging out or going to classes at the Chautauqua Institute.
Yesterday, I tried to listen, from across the street in our nice comfy porch, to Karen Armstrong give the 2:00 lecture that she will be giving every day through Friday. Unfortunately, we had a huge downpour, including hail, and her words got a little drowned in all that. The one bit I did get was that credo does not mean simply “I believe.” The true meaning involves more heartfelt devotion, according to the Sanskrit root. I hope to get more good lecture stuff today, but it’s as the weather goes.
I sit waiting this morning for a callback from the ADSL provider. Perhaps to accentuate this, the weather is turning suddenly bad. I guess now we get the leftovers of the great storms of Iowa a few days back.
Update: situation solved. Things work better if the lines are plugged into the right sockets.
I don’t want to talk about it any more. I could use a thunderstorm now, but they seem to have left.