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Showing posts with label Snow. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Snow. Show all posts
Monday, February 20, 2012
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Circles in the Snow
Because we've missed out on much of the white stuff this season, I rode Amtrak north in search of some. Pleased to find that every seat had access to an electrical outlet, I worked on a book update until dinnertime, although I frequently glanced out the windows. One of the first things you notice riding a train is people don't pay as much attention to the back sides of their houses as they do fronts, which shouldn't be a surprise, I suppose, because it's also clear, as passengers pass through the aisles, the same is true of their bodies. Another thing I noticed was lots of train whistles. "A train's coming!" A bit slow on the uptake, I had to remind myself that it was our whistle.
The prettiest part of the trip was Virginia, with all the little hamlets nestled in mountain hollows, and farms, orchards and vineyards. By the time we reached West Virginia, after a layover in D.C., the sky was turning dark. I realized I might as well stay put because the views from the observation car wouldn't be any better. The sounds might have been, because the elderly gentleman across the aisle, who must have slept 90% of his trip, made no attempt to disguise a variety of noises. Perhaps he left his Z-Pak at home. Not for the first time, I wished I'd reserved a berth in the sleeping car.
As soon as I returned from a tasty vegetarian pasta in the dining car, my neighbor in the window seat pointed out that it was snowing. I said, "That's interesting. It was raining outside the dining car." She laughed. A few minutes later, when the snow changed to rain, I said, "See? The rain finally made it to our car." She laughed again. It's nice to have an appreciative audience, except she apparently figured I wasn't really working and began offering enough information to make me hope she'd reach her destination soon.
By the time we sighted Lake Erie the rain had turned to ice and snow. Two hours later, when I disembarked in Toledo, the roads looked a mess. My sister showed up a couple hours later, finding me half asleep on what I'd turned into a long vinyl couch. "Here I am, picking up my homeless brother," she said.
"You've been into first impressions this week, haven't you?" says Virginia. "Remember when your friends from North Carolina showed up on Friday. You hadn't shaved in 3 days and had mud and ashes splattered over your clothes and face."
Nothing a shower and "Queer Eyes for the Straight Guy" can't fix. Whatever, I had found my snow, I thought, until my sister assured me we'd be out of it in 15 minutes. Sort of. A few hours later it began falling heartily in Bluffton as my mother and I watched from her apartment living room. We drove slowly to dinner with Mary and Fred, and then even slower after I watched a van carve a circle in the snow in front of their house and a couple guys push her back on course, not really what I had in mind on a day of 70 degrees at home in Virginia.
The prettiest part of the trip was Virginia, with all the little hamlets nestled in mountain hollows, and farms, orchards and vineyards. By the time we reached West Virginia, after a layover in D.C., the sky was turning dark. I realized I might as well stay put because the views from the observation car wouldn't be any better. The sounds might have been, because the elderly gentleman across the aisle, who must have slept 90% of his trip, made no attempt to disguise a variety of noises. Perhaps he left his Z-Pak at home. Not for the first time, I wished I'd reserved a berth in the sleeping car.
As soon as I returned from a tasty vegetarian pasta in the dining car, my neighbor in the window seat pointed out that it was snowing. I said, "That's interesting. It was raining outside the dining car." She laughed. A few minutes later, when the snow changed to rain, I said, "See? The rain finally made it to our car." She laughed again. It's nice to have an appreciative audience, except she apparently figured I wasn't really working and began offering enough information to make me hope she'd reach her destination soon.
By the time we sighted Lake Erie the rain had turned to ice and snow. Two hours later, when I disembarked in Toledo, the roads looked a mess. My sister showed up a couple hours later, finding me half asleep on what I'd turned into a long vinyl couch. "Here I am, picking up my homeless brother," she said.
"You've been into first impressions this week, haven't you?" says Virginia. "Remember when your friends from North Carolina showed up on Friday. You hadn't shaved in 3 days and had mud and ashes splattered over your clothes and face."
Nothing a shower and "Queer Eyes for the Straight Guy" can't fix. Whatever, I had found my snow, I thought, until my sister assured me we'd be out of it in 15 minutes. Sort of. A few hours later it began falling heartily in Bluffton as my mother and I watched from her apartment living room. We drove slowly to dinner with Mary and Fred, and then even slower after I watched a van carve a circle in the snow in front of their house and a couple guys push her back on course, not really what I had in mind on a day of 70 degrees at home in Virginia.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Making Time
Two days blog-less, I doubt if anyone really cares, but I might wonder if I'm still alive, buried in snow or wrapped around a tree on the way down from Burks Cabin Lane. Today I feel snowed under deadlines, but not too deep to toss away things I'd rather do, because if I did that the work would lose its point. We didn't leave the rat race to race rats. I'll change my calendar if I must.
So, as the grass turned white at noon, I headed up to Arrowhead Lodge, where I feel most comfortable writing and practicing. I'm writing a trio. Those words on paper create a contract.
"Oh, please," says Virginia, "what about me? Did you tear mine up? I've counted the I's in this selfish rant. You've already passed a dozen."
She's right, if you count hers. Besides, what's a blog for? Some day you'll read one without that capital letter and you'll probably wonder what's up. No, her contract is intact, waiting, knowing that extended prose takes even more patience than a blog or a poem.
See, a whole paragraph free of that cap.
"Big whoop," she says. "It was still there."
Make that four paragraphs.
So, as the grass turned white at noon, I headed up to Arrowhead Lodge, where I feel most comfortable writing and practicing. I'm writing a trio. Those words on paper create a contract.
"Oh, please," says Virginia, "what about me? Did you tear mine up? I've counted the I's in this selfish rant. You've already passed a dozen."
She's right, if you count hers. Besides, what's a blog for? Some day you'll read one without that capital letter and you'll probably wonder what's up. No, her contract is intact, waiting, knowing that extended prose takes even more patience than a blog or a poem.
See, a whole paragraph free of that cap.
"Big whoop," she says. "It was still there."
Make that four paragraphs.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
"Let It Snow"
"Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow" found its way onto our set list for last night's "Monster Concert Holiday Singalong" and became a reality show today. I wore a GPS watch as I shoveled our driveway twice, a little over 2 miles in 3 hours. To be honest, I "swept" the driveway with a wide janitor's broom, finding it more convenient than a shovel for pushing away 2-3 inches of light snow at a time.
"How'd it go?" asks Virginia.
If the Singalong -- 4 pianists playing 4 pianos, with perhaps 90 people singing -- were on my bucket list, I'd circle it in red and refuse to cross it off. Based on the number of people asking for it to become the "First Annual," I may not be alone in rating it as more fun than any other musical event I've attended. To say people sang is an understatement. According to Linda Krantz, hostess and co-impresario, something about four pianos going at once ran shyness out of style even better than too many drinks. Too much alcohol would have broken the silence at the "Silent Night" conclusion, and that didn't happen.
This picture shows the quartet warming up beforehand, with Susanne Fitzgerald (on the left) getting ready to practice "Santa Baby." Perhaps you can picture the seats full of warbling revelers.
From right to left: Tim Gaylard, Betty Bond Nichols, Kirk Luder, and Santa.
"How'd it go?" asks Virginia.
If the Singalong -- 4 pianists playing 4 pianos, with perhaps 90 people singing -- were on my bucket list, I'd circle it in red and refuse to cross it off. Based on the number of people asking for it to become the "First Annual," I may not be alone in rating it as more fun than any other musical event I've attended. To say people sang is an understatement. According to Linda Krantz, hostess and co-impresario, something about four pianos going at once ran shyness out of style even better than too many drinks. Too much alcohol would have broken the silence at the "Silent Night" conclusion, and that didn't happen.
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