BRINGING WORK HOME, OR WHY MY BICEPS LOOK FABULOUS

Lately it seems that I bring work home with me, look at it, try to accomplish something with it, put it back into a pile, then take it right back to work with me.  I am not entirely certain why I even keep up the illusion of doing work at home.  It's not going to happen.

There's a commercial on television, or there used to be, where the weightlifter in the local gym explains his workout routine: "I pick things up, and I put them down."  This is my work-at-home routine.

Plus, my backpack weighs a lot.  Including my lunch, the darn pack probably weighs in around forty-plus pounds.  I'm surprised the strap hasn't fallen off yet.  It is mind-boggling how much crap I can stuff into it and still it will zipper closed and function like a backpack, though it resembles a body bag with its contents.

Still, no matter how much work and how many good intentions I cram into my work backpack, it still functions mainly as my limited form of exercise.  I may not get much work done, but I do get a work-out done.  Bring on the weekend; I'm ready.  I have all kinds of things to accomplish for work next week, and not a lick of 'em will get done. 

However, my biceps will look fabulous, and sometimes that fact alone is accomplishment enough.

WHEN IT ALL HAS TO COME DOWN

I've been trying to figure out why I am hesitant to put away the Christmas gear.

Usually by now everything has been packed up and put away, out of sight and out of mind.  I started converting things a while ago so that the decorations would not be in plastic bags stuffed into marked boxes, but rather in sealed plastic crates and placed on shelving units.  Of course, some of it, including the artificial tree, remains in boxes.

I have also been struggling with an apartment search.  My townhouse is fine ... for now.  I pay a decent rate for a decent living space that functions more like a single-family house as long as the townhouse attached to me stays empty.  Unfortunately, there is zippo insulation between the walls next door and mine, so when someone does live next door, it's actually more like they're living in my house with me.  This is true of all apartments, except that here I do all of the maintenance and pay all of the utilities.  I'm getting too old for that shit.

These two topics have been colliding for exactly a year now, which is when I first started repacking the holiday stuff into tote-able containers and when I started hauling other stuff out of the basement.  I have convinced myself that two things needs to happen before I can seriously plan to downsize: My youngest needs to fly out of the nest, and my basement needs to be cleared out of everything except the washer and dryer (and the kayaks, which fit perfectly in the small nook under the stairs).

AHA!  It's not at all that I am hesitant to pack up Christmas; it's that I am hesitant to pack up Christmas and put it back into the basement.  The basement is ground zero in this dilemma.

The other part of this whole conundrum is that the rooms here are tiny (fit a bed and a dresser and maybe fit a few shirts into the minuscule closets if wire hangers are turned sideways).  I have another tiny bedroom off of my tiny bedroom, and I use the back tiny bedroom as my closet.  I've done a fabulous job of clearing out that area, as well, so it's less than half-full.

What it ... What if I make a deal with myself that I can ONLY keep what fits into the back tiny room in an organized, non-fire-hazard manner and completely clear out the basement as originally planned!?  If I do this, it means that I will visually be able to see how I can function in a smaller space as I will not have crap all over my townhouse.  It also means that I will have to pack Christmas into an even tighter, smaller space.

This is another "AHA" moment as I have some empty plastic containers from last winter's clear-out of two-thirds of the cellar.  I hauled out thirteen trash bags of stuff one week alone and more after that.  I could ... I could ... Dare I think it?  Dare I say it?  I could DOWNSIZE WITH CONFIDENCE.

Of course, when I'm ready.  I'm not quite ready.  Kid #3 is still here (which is fine -- he's still young), the basement still has 33% of thirty-plus years of accumulated crap in it, and, last but not least, Christmas is still up at my house.

I'll get to it, I'll get to it.  For now, I will procrastinate in real time but plan my attack in cyber time.  Eventually, like the cosmos, these two concepts will collide.  There may not be a Big Bang as a result, but at least my basement will be clear and Christmas will be down.

PERFECTLY FINE DAY FOR SNOWSHOEING

I complain about the winter sometimes.  It makes my already dry skin itch and crack and hurt and bleed.  The winter is, to be frank, painful.  But, as great minds have been quoted saying, "Beauty is painful."  Despite the physical discomfort associated with winter here in New England, it is beautiful beyond words sometimes.

Today is one of those days.

After more than a week in the deep-freeze (could be two weeks, could be two years at this point; my brain is frozen solid), temperatures break and we are back in a more seasonable pattern with daytime temps in the mid-to-high thirties.  When a co-worker stops in to ask me if I want to go snowshoeing after work in a day or two, I immediately respond affirmatively.

I am slightly concerned as this co-worker and I have snowshoed once before as a storm rolled in and covered us with fat, heavy snowflakes.  I used to be a semi-athletic person, but she is a super-athletic person, and I huffed and puffed and sweated that first trip out trying to keep up with her.  This thought, though, does not stop me from agreeing to this mid-week trek. 

I am no quitter.  Plus, I hate admitting defeat.

The sun is setting slowly by the time we strap on our snowshoes to hit the trail.  We have about an hour of daylight left, and I worry again about being able to keep up with my younger counterpart.  If I blow out a hip or a knee or suffer a myocardial infarction or just plain die of old age out in the woods, she could be a few football-field lengths ahead of me and might not notice I'm missing until tomorrow at work when I don't show up.

To her credit, she sets a good pace; to my credit, I keep up and barely break a sweat.  We are out in the woods for over an hour, closer to an hour and a half, and we've passed stone walls, old foundations, a couple of bogs, and the backside of a power plant.  We've forged a couple of streams and balanced across slim wooden access paths that show clear signs of people who didn't know the trail and stepped deep into the groundwater, probably up to their thighs by the looks of the tracks.

It's Jack London's To Build a Fire, and I'm wondering if those errant greenhorn snowshoers before us felt the same frigid tinge of regret as did London's narrator.

We circumnavigate the trails, only re-crossing our steps near the end on our way back to the main road.  The sunset through the trees, along the bogs, and shimmering across the tree-laden snow is stunning. 

My friend apologizes about the impending dim conditions and the rapid loss of sunlight, but I assure her that this is not my first winter rodeo into the woods.  I grew up  surrounded by acres of woods, and my sister and I would downhill ski ... through the trees ... at night.  (We didn't know such a thing as cross-country skis existed, so we improvised.)  I know that as long as there is snow on the ground, even in darkness I can navigate through the woods from the color contrast of ground versus solid object.

Turns out I needn't have been concerned about keeping up at all.  I'm quite sure my coworker has restrained herself for my benefit.  She probably doesn't want to have to haul my dead carcass out of the woods any more than I would want her to have to.  The snow is suffering a bit from the sudden temperature changes of sub-zero to unseasonably warm (it will be over 60 degrees on Friday), so a fresh coating of powder would be ideal, but, in an imperfect world, today is a perfectly fine day for snowshoeing.

BAD DAY HAPPENINGS - 20 THOUGHTS:

1.  Put on a shirt with long sleeves; my arms are too long for "long" sleeves, apparently.

2.  Hole/run in top of nylons; use nail polish to stem the stitching and almost stick pantyhose to my thigh.  Almost.

3.  Slit in back of dress has let loose a bit; too high a slit for school.  Have to change my outfit and I'm already late leaving the house.

4.  Madly changing, pulling random pants off the hanger in the dark.  Hope they're blue because that's the color of my shirt and my shoes.

5.  Nothing for lunch; throw 1/3 piece of leftover pizza and two slices of turkey into a bag.  I'll lunch like I've reached into a dumpster today -- whatever I pull out of the plastic bag is what I will eat.

6.  Almost forget to make my iced coffee.  Almost.

7.  Shut off the outside light when leaving for work even though it is still dark; I don't waste electricity all day while I'm at work.

8.  Trash day -- Three bags to haul out to curb because recycling/trash never happened during the blizzard last week.  I cannot carry them all along with my iced coffee, so I leave two bags in the walkway.

9.  Drop my backpack and place my coffee down next to my car.  Haul trash bag #1 to curb.

10.  Run back to get other two bags of trash but forget that I put them in the walkway.  It's dark because I shut off the light, and I trip over the two bags, almost landing face-first into the snow.  Almost.

11.  Thank goodness I don't pitch myself into the snowbank because I'm not sure I have time to change yet again.  Almost kick my coffee over in the dark when getting into my car.  Almost.

12.  Traffic is moving at a snail's pace.  Turn to take a shortcut and promptly get stuck behind someone who believes that 50 mph speed limit means 20 mph.  NOT a shortcut. Get to work, put the iced coffee on top of my car to grab backpack out.  Almost forget iced coffee on top of car in the parking lot.  Almost.

13.  Get to work in time to get my second new student in as many days.  Try to assign a locker, but the locker won't open.  Find another locker.

14.  Schedule is short today due to a school function.  Still trying to make up two snow days' worth of work plus Monday and Tuesday's work in a period-and-a-half.  Students are rushing, rushing, rushing so no one is learning, learning, learning.

15.  Get handed paperwork that should have been given to me two weeks ago.  Paperwork is due to admin by tomorrow.

16.  Book I am supposed to start reading for a Thursday class has gone MIA through no fault of my own.

17.  Need to pee before leaving work.  Students are in my wing after school and are having a potty party.  Must walk blocks to get to faculty bathroom.

18.  Try to get to the store and the packie (next to grocery store) after work; stuck behind another person who believes the speed limit is 30 mph less than what is posted ... wondering if it is the same person from this morning possibly going slowly north then south then north ... just to drive us all insane.

19.  Long lines at store.  WHY?  Why, why, why?????  Woman in parking lot backing van out takes three minutes.  WHY?  Why, why, why????  I finally pass her with my cart and make her wait for me.  Temperature has dropped, and I am anxious to get into the car and turn on the heat.

20.  Get home, get groceries put away, get dinner made (steak and salad), sit down to eat.  All I want is an ice cold ... Guess what I forgot to do after waiting in line and dodging moving vans and freezing while putting groceries in the trunk?

No beer for me after a day of bad happenings.  Almost a disastrous day.  Almost. 

COASTAL PHOTOS POST-STORM

The recent storm causes considerable coastal damage.  Towns and cities along the Atlantic Ocean find waves crashing inside their establishments rather than hundreds of yards away, and many access roads are blocked.  Even a portion of Boston's Seaport district floods with kayak-able, briny-caked streets.

All of this means that two days later an investigative drive along the coast of Kennebunk, Maine, is done with a twinge of caution.  If the streets are icy, I won't be getting very far.  A little bit of pre-drive, online investigation reveals that the damage to the area doesn't seem to rival at all the whacking the Massachusetts shoreline has endured, but the damage is still substantial.  So, I charge up my cell phone, bring extra batteries for the 35mm camera, and head north.

I have a quick detour about one-third of the way to Maine when my car is shaking a bit on the highway.  I pull off to a parking lot, kick snow and gunk from the wheel wells which seems to help a bit, and continue on my way.  By the time I cross the Piscataqua River bridge, whatever has been wedged in the wheel seems to have melted or fallen away, and I am able to sail along at a better clip. 

When I arrive close to my destination, I have almost a half hour of exploration time, so I turn right onto Sea Road and make my way east.

Other than a lot of snow and some icy tire tracks along the too-skinny back roads, there seems to be relatively marginal coastal damage.  Some of the parking areas along the winding streets have been plowed, giving me (and other hardy souls) places to pull over in the sub-zero, windy, outrageously chilled winter air.  What the beach-walkers get is a short, ice-riddled stroll along quiet, brittle beaches; what the camera-toters get are spectacular hues, unusual ice formations, and a stunning glow of the frigid sunlight dancing over an eerily calm sea.

It's almost as if the ocean has exhausted itself and is trying to sleep off the remnants of the storm so recently departed. 

I don't drive all the way into the tourist village area of Kennebunkport.  I have seen the television footage and the high water levels it suffered, and I'm not entirely certain that I want to be sad, which is what will happen when I see it.  As it is, my main reaction to the ice-crusted world is two fold: it seems like Mars; and I only have the capacity to stand wide-eyed while mouthing the expression "Jesuschrist" over and over again.

Well, taking Christ's name in vain may not adequately label what I've seen, but the spectacular views and the seemingly small amount of damage here do seem to be the result of divine intervention.  The ice remains solid, but the winter sun tries its best to melt the coating away from the crags along the shoreline. 

By Friday, when the temperature hovers near 50 degrees, this may all be a memory.  Until then, though, I will enjoy the glistening splendor of a coast that is predominantly shackled in ice.  Salud!

HOLD MY BEER AND WATCH THIS

It's something crazy like -250 degrees outside.  Okay, more like -10 and, as the sun rises, it should warm up to about -3 by the time I have to meander out to my car. 

I officially live in the Simulated Arctic Circle.

My idiot neighbor next door never shoveled his walkway post-storm last Thursday.  Once the deep freeze set in (yet again), he has been attempting for days to chip away at the feet-deep drifts that block him from getting from his front door to his car without needing mukluks.  He is out there now, early in the morning, scraping, scraping, scraping, scraping at the snow.  It sounds like a frozen sawmill coming through the windows. 

Good luck, little dude; good luck.

However, this is New England.  Sometimes we have mild winters, sometimes we have extreme winters, and sometimes we fall in between.  Right now we are in the midst of a particularly harsh spell.  Oh well, kids.  This is one of the reasons we live here (not just me, but all of us crazy people): winter is beautiful.

Plus, we get to puff out our chests and say such sage things as: Florida is cold?  It's snowing in Florida? Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.  Hold my beer and watch this...

I AM LEAVING THE LIGHTS ON ... LITERALLY

It's Epiphany weekend.  In holiday terms, this means that Christmas is officially over.  The infamous Twelve Days of Christmas have now passed, and there's really no reason why my house should still be decorated other than the simple fact that I enjoy the lights very much.

I won't lie; sitting in the chilly front room (poorly insulated old house) in front of the electric fireplace and snuggled under thick blankets while watching television or reading is made infinitely more enjoyable with the tree still aglow.  I have started collecting some of the decorations I've spread all over the downstairs, and I've placed them under the tree, so things are migrating in the post-holiday direction.

I cannot help myself, though.  I really, really, really like the festive atmosphere of the season.  It helps to survive these sub-zero, dark, snow-laden stretches.

Something else helps to get through -- sun.  Thank goodness the sun has been out post-storm.  It doesn't temper the wind chill, but at least there is an illusion of warmth through the windshield of the icy car or through the frosted windows of the house.  The sun also reminds me to be thankful and present while the season is still here when I walk past the ready-to-be-taken-down decor.

I have a second, small tree in the den (a glorified hallway between the kitchen and the tiny living room), and I set up a Santa band and an electric talking Santa to make it more holiday-like.  As I'm meandering through, debating taking down the Christmas set-up and getting my house back to its typical boring look, I notice a bright shaft of sunlight piercing the room.  It lands directly on the electric Santa.

I cannot explain why, but the sunlight on the toy warms my heart and prevents me from moving anything anywhere.  Nope.  That sunny Santa is going to stay right where he is for another few days, maybe even another week or two.  Truly I am not being lazy.  With two snow days from work, I've certainly had the time and means to take it all down and put it all away.  I simply do not want it all to end just yet.

If you're suffering from post-holiday withdrawal and you need a little holiday magic to break up the tundra-like existence cursing us all in the Northeast right now, grab yourself a blanket and head on over.  I'll leave the lights on ... literally.