You Gotta Do What You Gotta Do

We ran into our three-and-a-half year old neighbor, Savannah, her mom, and one-year-old brother as they were on their way back from some junior sledding on one of the small hills around here. Savannah's mittens were wet and crusted with snow, and you could see that there was some snow packed down into the tops of her boots, too. (Remember how much that stings?) Her cheeks were red, and her nose was running.

Seeing her reminded me of how uncomfortable the snow can be when you're little. You don't really have the body awareness to stay warm and dry, and the cold, wet yuckiness inevitably sneaks up on you when you're playing. That and having to pee when you're wearing a coat over a one-piece snowsuit are real drawbacks to fully enjoying the snow when you're a kid.

We stood chatting with her mom when Savannah interrupted the conversation. "Excuse me," she said, so politely that we all turned to listen. "Do you want to know why my nose is stuffy?"

Of course we did. "Because I was crying before," she informed us. "My mommy closed me in my room, because I wouldn't follow the directions to get dressed, and I cried." If she was looking for shock or condemnation of her mother, she didn't get it from us. But we did nod sympathetically, I more so than the others.

"My gosh, Savannah, the same thing happened to me when I was little!" I told her. "My mom wouldn't let me come out of my room until I got dressed, and I cried and cried because I really, really didn't want to put my clothes on all by myself." To this day, I can still see the other kids in the neighborhood playing in our court, as I tearfully watched them out the window. The sunshine seemed so warm and bright, and their shouts and laughter so merry.

"What did you do?" she asked.

"I got dressed," I shrugged. She obviously doesn't know my mother. "How about you?"

"Yeah," she sighed, "Me, too." She paused and looked pointedly at her mother. "But I didn't like it."

I Like My Cabin

We were back to school today after our unexpected snow vacation. Many roads and sidewalks are still treacherous-- every other student had a story about falling on the way to school this morning. Of course my favorite has to be the one about the girl who just gave up trying to walk at all on the icy path and crawled the last few yards to her bus stop.

Her narrative illustrates not only the perilous conditions our students braved to get here this morning, but also their motivation to make it. Most of the kids I talked to today enjoyed their time off, but even the most reluctant of students was happy to be back. Why? The most common explanation was that they were bored.

My experience was the opposite. The term "cabin fever" has no meaning for me. I found the quiet days off at home restful and recharging. Not that I wasn't happy to return, too, but it wasn't because I was bored at home.

What Makes a Good Movie?

We saw The Messenger the other night. As unrelenting as Precious, but with even less redemption, the movie ruined my evening. It wasn't that I disagreed with its premise or message; it was just so bleak and angry that it was two very difficult hours spent and impossible to shake for hours afterward.  Does that make it a good movie or bad movie? It's hard to say, but I'll tell you this. Since then I've seen two other movies, The Lightning Thief and Valentines Day. Both were flawed, some would say deeply so, but when the lights came up, I turned without disappointment to my friend. "Well," I said, "it wasn't The Messenger."

S'no More, Please

Two annoying things about our historic snowfall this winter:

1) Why the need to name the storms (at all, much less with terrible Book of Revelation puns)? Snowpocalypse? Snowmeggedon? Even Snowverkill, while much funnier in my opinion, because it actually rhymes with the word it's playing on, is overkill. We're not Eskimos, people, let's just call it snow.

2) What is up with the chairs and reserving parking spaces?  Look, I dug out my car, and I feel some ownership of my space, but shouldn't people recognize that without a physical barrier? They know they didn't dig out that spot.

Maybe not though. Here's a funny story: We have two cars and one of them was in the shop last week, but before we went to pick it up, we dug out a space for it. (It was great exercise! Exhilarating! Hundreds of pounds of ice and snow, and that bright yellow vein of frozen dog urine was simply fascinating.) Anyhoo, we brought the car home, put it in the spot, and everything was great.

Not long after that, the plow came through to clear a few extra spots-- of course the driver had to get out and move some chairs out of the way first-- seriously. Later that afternoon, I went to run some errands, and when I came back, I put my car in one of the newly plowed spaces because it was a little closer to home. The next morning I go out and there's a chair in the spot that we had cleared the day before! Now who thinks they should be able to reserve that? I'm just sayin.

A Puzzle

We've been working on a jigsaw puzzle this week. I can't remember the last time I felt like I had enough spare time and spare brain power to take one on, but I know it's been over six and half years. That's how long we've had our dog, and she and the cat have teamed up to make a really hard puzzle much more challenging: the cat knocks the pieces on the floor and then the dog eats them. I have no idea how many pieces are gone forever, but I have the mangled remains of at least three on the table that I've personally pried from the dog's jaws.

I'm not sure if the uncertainty of knowing whether or not a specific piece even exists anymore has dampened the experience, but working on this is not as fun as I remember puzzles once being. It kind of seems like a waste of time. Even so, I'm glad that I got it out, because once it's done (and it will be done, missing pieces be damned!), I don't think I'll regret not having the time to do more jigsaws in the future.

I Don't Like the Olympics

This will not come as a surprise to anyone who knows me well, but I feel like I should put it out there anyway. I don't understand why we encourage such nationalistic competition. Why should I root for someone I don't even know in a sport I don't even care about just because we happen to be born in the same country? 

I wish all the athletes well. Go humanity!

Need to Know

One of the scenes I remember most from the movie Dances With Wolves was when Dunbar is on his way west and he and his guide stumble across the bones of a pioneer woman with an arrow tangled among them. "Someone at home is saying, 'Now why don't she write?'" the guide laughs irreverently. Of course, later he meets the same fate.

When I was a kid, we would go back to visit my father's home town every year or so. A small hamlet in upstate New York, not many people left there, and he was greeted as a prodigal son every time he returned. I have clear memories of sitting around kitchen tables or in front rooms on sofas that felt too hard and springy from lack of use, drinking soda and listening to a litany of marriages, births, and deaths, as his kin folk and neighbors welcomed him back by catching him up. It seemed like everyone knew everything about everyone else, and that knowledge was essential to their community.

I've spent more time than usual on facebook the last few days, mostly because of the storm-- I had time on my hands and an interest in how my local friends were faring in the snow. In the last few months, I've gotten back in touch with people who only a few years ago were lost to me forever. As over-documented as these fb reunions are, the experience still amazes me.

I wonder, though,  how these reconnections should fit into one's life. Does it lessen their value that in most cases the so glad to hear from you after all these years is about the extent of our contact? One of my long-lost friends posed a question on her wall: "What is the relative attraction of Facebook when compared to Twitter, e-mail, or phone calls?"

And a friend of hers replied: "I consider it my daily newspaper about people I know."

I agree with him. It helps us to maintain the knowledge that is essential to our community and it keeps us from asking, Now why don't she write?