Probably not.
Snow is what we talk about.
We live in a neighborhood or rather private people. We don't tend to socialize but are friendly. We really 'bond' in winter when we're all out moving snow that there is no place to move to anymore.
Bern and I did the walkways to the driveway, Cornwall Avenue and the back deck 4 times today. And an hour later they needed done again. We also swept the deck numerous times and went down to deepen the dog's run in the back yard that we create when the snow gets heavy at least three times. The fun goes roughly in a circle with a circumference of maybe 20 feet with one other circle around a tree and a dead end off to the east of the back steps that goes 6 feet or so and is an encouragement for pooping. Usually there are yellow spots in the run--but not for long today!
About 3:30 I heard the sound I dreaded to hear all day--the sound of snow shovels in the driveway we share with Mark and Naomi. I just wasn't up to taking it on yet. But guilt won out and I went out to help--cleaning our walks again on the way. Zoe and Johanna are two of the three daughters, a 6th grader and a senior in high school respectively. There is also a younger son.
So Zoe and Johanna and I cleared the driveway which was about six inches everywhere and more in some places. It took most of an hour and was not fun.
I took the dog for a walk about two hours later and there was at least a quarter of an inch of snow where we had stripped it away.
When you have as much snow as we have, it is the sole topic of conversation among those moving it and everyone else--though we haven't left the house except to shovel since Sunday afternoon.
Hopefully we'll be able to clean off my car and Bern's truck tomorrow and the roads might be somewhat cleared by afternoon and we can get out. Then all we'll talk about is the expected snow on Thursday and that the high on Sunday will be 7 degrees F.
Well, I shouldn't complain...we do talk about the 'cold' as well....
Monday, February 9, 2015
Saturday, February 7, 2015
waiting (already) for Spring
It's still the first week of February and already I'm waiting for Spring! Reminded me of a poem I wrote in February nine years ago....
HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU
I love eating breakfast
in local restaurants
in tiny North Carolina towns
with odd names that have 'boro'
at their ends;
because I know the sausage gravy
is real and the biscuits made from scratch
and the grits won't be runny
except with butter--real butter.
And I love you more than that.
I love reading three books at a time:
a mystery, a fantasy, a straight novel,
all on my bedside table,
sometimes in my book bag,
letting each capture me,
mixing up the characters and plots,
racing with each of them to the end.
And I love you more than that.
I love a beach and the stuff
washed up on it--odd and wierd--
and a dog--snuffling and running along--
beside me, behind me, ahead of me,
and the smell of the ocean
and the heat of the sun,
burning my bare shoulders and face.
And I love you more than that.
I love the taste of Pinot Noir--
the husk of nuts,
the almost too ripe grapes,
the way it slows me down
and slurs my speech
and opens my heart to truth.
And I love you more than that.
I love sleeping alone in hotels
that have too many pillows on the bed
and HBO on the TV,
so I can pile the comforter
from the other double bed
onto mine and snuggle down in the pillows
and go to sleep with the TV on
knowing I'll wake up in time
for the conference I'm attending.
And I love you more than that.
I love the smell of vanilla (love that a lot!)
and the first taste of every morning's coffee
and the feel of cashmere sweaters
(my own or some lovely woman's)
and the look of the night sky in deep winter
and the first few notes of anything
Mozart wrote (God bless him!)....
I love my senses.
And I love you more than that.
And I love when the pitchers and catchers
report for spring training,
just imagining it--the leather of the gloves,
the shining white of the baseball,
the weight room designed to overcome
the indiscretions of the off-season,
the green of the grass,
the blue of the sky,
the soothing symmetry of the game
and the promise of Spring around the corner.
I love you profoundly, eternally, always and forever;
...and I'm not sure I love you more than that.
jgb 2/11/06
HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU
I love eating breakfast
in local restaurants
in tiny North Carolina towns
with odd names that have 'boro'
at their ends;
because I know the sausage gravy
is real and the biscuits made from scratch
and the grits won't be runny
except with butter--real butter.
And I love you more than that.
I love reading three books at a time:
a mystery, a fantasy, a straight novel,
all on my bedside table,
sometimes in my book bag,
letting each capture me,
mixing up the characters and plots,
racing with each of them to the end.
And I love you more than that.
I love a beach and the stuff
washed up on it--odd and wierd--
and a dog--snuffling and running along--
beside me, behind me, ahead of me,
and the smell of the ocean
and the heat of the sun,
burning my bare shoulders and face.
And I love you more than that.
I love the taste of Pinot Noir--
the husk of nuts,
the almost too ripe grapes,
the way it slows me down
and slurs my speech
and opens my heart to truth.
And I love you more than that.
I love sleeping alone in hotels
that have too many pillows on the bed
and HBO on the TV,
so I can pile the comforter
from the other double bed
onto mine and snuggle down in the pillows
and go to sleep with the TV on
knowing I'll wake up in time
for the conference I'm attending.
And I love you more than that.
I love the smell of vanilla (love that a lot!)
and the first taste of every morning's coffee
and the feel of cashmere sweaters
(my own or some lovely woman's)
and the look of the night sky in deep winter
and the first few notes of anything
Mozart wrote (God bless him!)....
I love my senses.
And I love you more than that.
And I love when the pitchers and catchers
report for spring training,
just imagining it--the leather of the gloves,
the shining white of the baseball,
the weight room designed to overcome
the indiscretions of the off-season,
the green of the grass,
the blue of the sky,
the soothing symmetry of the game
and the promise of Spring around the corner.
I love you profoundly, eternally, always and forever;
...and I'm not sure I love you more than that.
jgb 2/11/06
Friday, February 6, 2015
Winter dreams of mine
A day or so ago, I posted about my ability to sleep. And I can. 10-11 hours a night, I can sleep. And I dream a lot, though I don't share many of them here because they aren't interesting.
Here's a poem from over 8 years ago that bears all that out.
Winter Dreams of Mine
I dream more than most people I talk with about dreams.
My Dream-Maker seems to go full tilt all night,
especially in winter when the wind wails
and whispers of sleet slide against the windows.
My dreams are not earth shattering, not prophecies
from a poet-god, nor are they full of advice.
Mostly, they are mundane--ordinary things:
often I am building something, a gizmo I understand not;
other times I am walking through strange lands,
seeing things I do not comprehend...but never afraid.
I have no nightmares these days.
Sometimes I dream of sleeping in the bed with you.
I dream of waking up and watching you sleep
and then dozing off again to dream of sleeping.
I dream of extremely hairy black dogs sitting on my head
and golden cats--like tiny lions--opening the door
to the room and falling asleep on my feet.
Just the other night, I dremt I woke to your saying:
"can I have a drink of water?" and getting up to run
the water cold before filling the glass. Then I dreamed--
amazing as it is, that you brought me water and said:
"you won't remember this when you wake up...."
But I did remember and when I woke, I wore a Puli like a hat
and the cat by my feet stirred and lept from the bed.
I heard you downstairs making coffee.
"Let the day begin!" I said, anxious to see you,
just as I slipped back under the winter covers
and slept, hoping to dream of getting up and joining you.
jgb 12/21/07
Here's a poem from over 8 years ago that bears all that out.
Winter Dreams of Mine
I dream more than most people I talk with about dreams.
My Dream-Maker seems to go full tilt all night,
especially in winter when the wind wails
and whispers of sleet slide against the windows.
My dreams are not earth shattering, not prophecies
from a poet-god, nor are they full of advice.
Mostly, they are mundane--ordinary things:
often I am building something, a gizmo I understand not;
other times I am walking through strange lands,
seeing things I do not comprehend...but never afraid.
I have no nightmares these days.
Sometimes I dream of sleeping in the bed with you.
I dream of waking up and watching you sleep
and then dozing off again to dream of sleeping.
I dream of extremely hairy black dogs sitting on my head
and golden cats--like tiny lions--opening the door
to the room and falling asleep on my feet.
Just the other night, I dremt I woke to your saying:
"can I have a drink of water?" and getting up to run
the water cold before filling the glass. Then I dreamed--
amazing as it is, that you brought me water and said:
"you won't remember this when you wake up...."
But I did remember and when I woke, I wore a Puli like a hat
and the cat by my feet stirred and lept from the bed.
I heard you downstairs making coffee.
"Let the day begin!" I said, anxious to see you,
just as I slipped back under the winter covers
and slept, hoping to dream of getting up and joining you.
jgb 12/21/07
Thursday, February 5, 2015
The Baby Boomers are outnumbered
I heard on NPR tonight (and what 'on NPR' isn't true!) that there are more millennials than Baby Boomers. And here I thought my bell curve was unbeatable! Haven't those of us born after WW II cut a huge swath through the population? Haven't we ruled the roost for decades? Haven't we taken, taken, taken without giving back much for 50 years or so?
The thing about the millennial generation (generation Y; my kids are Gen X) is the limits of it are rather vague. Somewhere between the 80's and the turn of the century. And not only are they the largest generation they are, no surprise, the most diverse American generation ever.
And they've grown up in the digital world. No group is more tuned in and turned on to social media than the Millennials. Which is either good or bad.
On this program one of the 20 somethings said, "we know more about what is going on than anyone ever has. Maybe if, God forbid, we're ever in charge, we might make things better."
The two things that bothered me about that is that the young man was from Utah (the 8th ring of hell in my mind) and that "God forbid" he through into his otherwise hopeful statement.
But maybe he was being ironic since, one day not to far ahead, they WILL be in charge.
Diversity, numbers, irony...maybe there's a chance....
The thing about the millennial generation (generation Y; my kids are Gen X) is the limits of it are rather vague. Somewhere between the 80's and the turn of the century. And not only are they the largest generation they are, no surprise, the most diverse American generation ever.
And they've grown up in the digital world. No group is more tuned in and turned on to social media than the Millennials. Which is either good or bad.
On this program one of the 20 somethings said, "we know more about what is going on than anyone ever has. Maybe if, God forbid, we're ever in charge, we might make things better."
The two things that bothered me about that is that the young man was from Utah (the 8th ring of hell in my mind) and that "God forbid" he through into his otherwise hopeful statement.
But maybe he was being ironic since, one day not to far ahead, they WILL be in charge.
Diversity, numbers, irony...maybe there's a chance....
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
White on white on white...
I've seen worse snow. A couple of years ago the snow was over my head when we cleared the driveway. But the absolutely, positively worse snow I've ever seen was in the 1980's somewhere--my difficulty in linear time kicks in here...somewhere between 1981 and 1984 when we lived in Charleston, West Virginia and couldn't leave our house for three days.
I let Templom Kerti Paloc Suba, our Puli of the time, who we called "Finney", out the front door of our house and he started down the steps and disappeared from view, under the snow.
I had to go dig him out.
On the third day I walked, somehow, down the road of Hazelwood Avenue to get milk and bread at the 7/11 that was somehow open and had milk and bread.
Our children were 5 and 2 and it was a remarkable thing to be home-bound with them and no way to go outside.
Right now, the snow is everywhere. Yesterday I ran out of places to put it before I ran out of snow.
And more is coming, I hear.
We don't need any more. But if it comes, we will manage. Our current Puli won't disappear into the drifts. Not yet.
It's New England after all. Snow is what defines us.
I let Templom Kerti Paloc Suba, our Puli of the time, who we called "Finney", out the front door of our house and he started down the steps and disappeared from view, under the snow.
I had to go dig him out.
On the third day I walked, somehow, down the road of Hazelwood Avenue to get milk and bread at the 7/11 that was somehow open and had milk and bread.
Our children were 5 and 2 and it was a remarkable thing to be home-bound with them and no way to go outside.
Right now, the snow is everywhere. Yesterday I ran out of places to put it before I ran out of snow.
And more is coming, I hear.
We don't need any more. But if it comes, we will manage. Our current Puli won't disappear into the drifts. Not yet.
It's New England after all. Snow is what defines us.
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
"Well, there's always a tradeoff...."
There is a group I meet with most Tuesdays, mostly Episcopal priests, mostly retired, and Charles.
We meet at St. Peter's in Cheshire and Charles is a revered member of that parish who set up for our Eucharist when we started meeting at St. Peter's and we invited him to join us and he always does.
If everyone who ever came was there, we would number nine. Most weeks it's 5 or 6. And I enjoy it. It is the extension of the Waterbury Clericus (an odd word my spell check refuses to recognize which means the Episcopal priests in a Deanery {a geographical gathering of Episcopal churches [who sometimes work together, or not...]}) Whew! I was out of parenthetical symbols....
The snow was so heavy the last 24 hours or so, that I knew I couldn't get dug out of my driveway by 9:30 a.m.--though I live only two blocks from St. Peter's. So, I emailed Charles (who as a lay person is much more suited to herd the priest cats than another priest) and told him I wouldn't be there.
He emailed back that he was on his way back from Virginia and holed up in a motel in Danbury (40 or more miles away) because I-84 was too icy to risk. I emailed the folks I knew might come but didn't have Andy's email address.
Mike (who didn't read his email) called at 8. Bern talked with him and told him Clericus was cancelled. She got up then and I went back to sleep, knowing I had some shoveling to do since Bern threw out her back in the last storm. When I came down at 10, she told me Andy had called to ask if I wanted him to 'swing by' and pick me up--though Andy lives 20 miles away and I'm 300 yards from St. Peter's! And she told him too, that Clericus was cancelled.
"But I didn't tell him you were still sleeping," Bern told me.
I pondered that for a moment and replied, "I don't mind who knows I sleep 'til 10 most days. I'm like a teenager again, I can sleep 11 hours most nights. I'm young again," I said, and after pondering that I sleep away a lot of my new found young-ness, I added, "but I'm not conscious for much of my youth...."
"There's always a trade off," she said. Then she said, "This seems like a perfect tale for your blog."
And I knew she was right--though her being 'right' is a pain in the ass. And I think I know for a fact that she has never read my blog. But she was right about it being the perfect tale and right about there always a trade off.
The world, it seems to me, is divided into people who know there's always a trade off and those who don't know that or lean into it or live by that rule.
Life is much more enjoyable and joyful, even, if you are at home with the "trade offs" that come along one after another. The thing is, 'trade offs' are what life is constructed of just as a house is constructed on wood and nails and brick and siding and paint.
And 'trade offs' fuel life just as high test gasoline fuels a BMW.
Just like that.
The trick is to choose your trade offs wisely and be content with them.
It seems to me that 'contentment' is much better than 'happiness'. Happiness is fleeting and dependent on more things that make you happy. Contentment is as peace with the way things are and willing to pick and choose about the trade offs that are always there.
I'm 67 years old and delighted to sleep 10 hours a night. The youthful wonder I have during the 14 hours I'm awake is a much to be desired 'trade off', thank you very much....
We meet at St. Peter's in Cheshire and Charles is a revered member of that parish who set up for our Eucharist when we started meeting at St. Peter's and we invited him to join us and he always does.
If everyone who ever came was there, we would number nine. Most weeks it's 5 or 6. And I enjoy it. It is the extension of the Waterbury Clericus (an odd word my spell check refuses to recognize which means the Episcopal priests in a Deanery {a geographical gathering of Episcopal churches [who sometimes work together, or not...]}) Whew! I was out of parenthetical symbols....
The snow was so heavy the last 24 hours or so, that I knew I couldn't get dug out of my driveway by 9:30 a.m.--though I live only two blocks from St. Peter's. So, I emailed Charles (who as a lay person is much more suited to herd the priest cats than another priest) and told him I wouldn't be there.
He emailed back that he was on his way back from Virginia and holed up in a motel in Danbury (40 or more miles away) because I-84 was too icy to risk. I emailed the folks I knew might come but didn't have Andy's email address.
Mike (who didn't read his email) called at 8. Bern talked with him and told him Clericus was cancelled. She got up then and I went back to sleep, knowing I had some shoveling to do since Bern threw out her back in the last storm. When I came down at 10, she told me Andy had called to ask if I wanted him to 'swing by' and pick me up--though Andy lives 20 miles away and I'm 300 yards from St. Peter's! And she told him too, that Clericus was cancelled.
"But I didn't tell him you were still sleeping," Bern told me.
I pondered that for a moment and replied, "I don't mind who knows I sleep 'til 10 most days. I'm like a teenager again, I can sleep 11 hours most nights. I'm young again," I said, and after pondering that I sleep away a lot of my new found young-ness, I added, "but I'm not conscious for much of my youth...."
"There's always a trade off," she said. Then she said, "This seems like a perfect tale for your blog."
And I knew she was right--though her being 'right' is a pain in the ass. And I think I know for a fact that she has never read my blog. But she was right about it being the perfect tale and right about there always a trade off.
The world, it seems to me, is divided into people who know there's always a trade off and those who don't know that or lean into it or live by that rule.
Life is much more enjoyable and joyful, even, if you are at home with the "trade offs" that come along one after another. The thing is, 'trade offs' are what life is constructed of just as a house is constructed on wood and nails and brick and siding and paint.
And 'trade offs' fuel life just as high test gasoline fuels a BMW.
Just like that.
The trick is to choose your trade offs wisely and be content with them.
It seems to me that 'contentment' is much better than 'happiness'. Happiness is fleeting and dependent on more things that make you happy. Contentment is as peace with the way things are and willing to pick and choose about the trade offs that are always there.
I'm 67 years old and delighted to sleep 10 hours a night. The youthful wonder I have during the 14 hours I'm awake is a much to be desired 'trade off', thank you very much....
Monday, February 2, 2015
On dodging bullets
You can only dodge so many....
It started snowing at 9 last night and was still snowing a bit at 5 pm this afternoon--along with periods of sleet. Pretty nasty. Both Cornwall Ave and Rt. 10 are still snow covered and we haven't dug out our cars yet. Tomorrow maybe.
And speaking of dodging bullets--how about those New England Patriots? I don't often find myself in a large majority--but I think my astonishment that the Seahawks passed inside the 5 on second down with arguably the best running back in the league is shared by a huge number of football fans and pundants.
I was getting all ready to rub it in on Patriot fans when that ill-advised pass and interception changed the reality inside-out and upside-down. Alas.
I think I hate the Patriots because how Belechec and Brady left the Jets. But Bern thinks it's because my pinstripe heart hates all things north of here because of the enormity of my hatred of the Red Sox.
She's probably right. I hate when that happens because it happens with such regularity...Bern being 'right'....
It started snowing at 9 last night and was still snowing a bit at 5 pm this afternoon--along with periods of sleet. Pretty nasty. Both Cornwall Ave and Rt. 10 are still snow covered and we haven't dug out our cars yet. Tomorrow maybe.
And speaking of dodging bullets--how about those New England Patriots? I don't often find myself in a large majority--but I think my astonishment that the Seahawks passed inside the 5 on second down with arguably the best running back in the league is shared by a huge number of football fans and pundants.
I was getting all ready to rub it in on Patriot fans when that ill-advised pass and interception changed the reality inside-out and upside-down. Alas.
I think I hate the Patriots because how Belechec and Brady left the Jets. But Bern thinks it's because my pinstripe heart hates all things north of here because of the enormity of my hatred of the Red Sox.
She's probably right. I hate when that happens because it happens with such regularity...Bern being 'right'....
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