Winter Light

For Allen and me.

Wherin my eyes go squinty

The weather has been threatening snow for days. Saturday was supposed to be a huge storm, but we got only a light dusting. It was, however, insane-o cold.

It's supposed to snow tonight. "Heavy snow and wind". I wish every snow day was an actual snow day.

This weekend was solid, a good end to a less than exceptional week.

I Superbowled with friends, watched a documentary on the Shakers, and called 9-1-1 on a domestic disturbance on 4th Ave.

This coming weekend begins the Olympics, which, as I may have mentioned, I just love. The open ceremonies are Friday, so we're getting cable on Thursday.

I'm still looking over my Arizona photos, closing my eyes and lifting up my face to feel the sun that is one week removed.

photo via here

Two nights ago I dreamed of the beach.

I think that's a good sign.

Passive Sentences are Never a Good Sign

Mistakes are made.

For example, sometimes we say things like,
"Winter won't get to me",
and then,
we're just wrong.

Dead wrong.

Though, in fairness, it wasn't just winter,
life had a hand in it too.

And Nemesis, the goddess or revenge.
You bet your bottom dollar she was involved.
This is a Percy Jackson reference.

But, I don't mind those really, really, really horrible days,
because whenever they happen, I start thinking,
"My luck is going to turn around. In a BIG way. It just has to."

And I like to think of what things will look like
when my luck does turn around.

Answer: Things will look good.

A Winter Rally

Now that I'm back in New York with the February blues,
this day seems a million miles away.

But really, it was just Saturday.
Three days ago.

It was Annie's day, and it was great.
If you don't believe me, just look at the photo.
Don't we look happy?

February will not get the best of me.
I will close my eyes and remember sitting barefoot
on the sidewalk outside my sister's house.

I'll remember squinting into the sunlight,
and pulling up the sleeves of my sweater.

I'll remember my toes in borrowed flip-flops
walking across parking lots
holding hands with nieces and nephew.

You haven't beaten me yet, Winter.

In the Arizona Morn

I like to have adventures.
So, when I visited Arizona last weekend, Annie took me hiking.

She chose South Mountain,
and a trail that follows the National Park trail
for about two miles in,
then branches off to a trail called the Hidden Valley Trail
for another two miles.

We made it through Fat Man's Pass (pictured below, with Annie)
at the beginning of the Hidden Valley trail,
and then we saw cat paw prints.
Big cat paw prints.

It had rained the night before, and the dirt was soft,
but whatever made these impressions was big.
And heavy.
There were other human footprints on the trail,
but the paw prints crossed over them all.
The most recent.

It was about then that Annie and I became very aware of the time,
and reasoned that we shouldn't keep our sister
waiting too long for us,
and should probably turn around.

So, we did.
In a big hurry.

We got lost a couple of times on the way back.
Not lost exactly, just turned around.
We jogged up to higher ground and were able to spot the trail.

It's disconcerting how easy it is to loose the way.

I suppose now would be the time to draw some
elegant analogy about life, and paths, and higher ground.
But, I'm not going to.

I will say that Bear Grylls makes it look like a cinch.
(I will also say that I referred to Bear Grylls no less than a billion times as we hiked)

Back-to-back-sister-pose. It never gets old.

Frat Party

Good pals GK and Susanna came into town for a visit.

They have a lot of Brooklyn friends, so,
in order to jam-pack the fun,
we had a party.

During the party:
a party-goer pulled all my Harry Potter books off my shelf,
and inexplicably stacked them nearby.

Someone hid a half-eaten cookie in my bed.
I discovered it later that night when I pulled back the covers.

I woke the next morning to find crushed tortilla chips
under both windows in my bedroom.

I had to hide all my pop-up books (I have a few)
to keep them from being destroyed and flung all over the house.
They are still under my bed.

Someone(s) disassembled a wire magazine rack
and moved it from the living room into the middle room.

Someone when through my trash and
then pretended to chug from an empty milk jug.

People* (who will remain nameless)
spirited off to a corner and started kissing.

There was unnecessary screaming,
intermittent crying,
countless knocked-over glasses,
and someone spilled apple juice all over GK and Susanna's bed.

Babies.
All babies.
That's who did this.
A billion children come to the party.
In truth it was more like 8,
but that's still more than I've ever seen
assembled in my apartment.
Or in any place that doesn't have
a childcare license issued by the state.

The damage, as it turns out, was insignificant,
but that party was...intense.

Full disclosure:
It was a really fun party.
Lots of good friends came, the food was all eaten,
and the kids left liking me and James.
The highlights:
Watching Bravia** commercials
with 7 children gathered around me,
asking Tate and Calvin to identify the Star Wars characters
from James's picture books,
and, let's be honest, the cookie in my bed.
The lowlight was wrestling Ducky away from Van Risser.

*the "people" involved in this unseemly display were Van and a lovely little lady.

**that one is the favorite of most kids, but I like this one best.