It is drawing nigh unto two in the morning, and here I sit (again) in front of a computer screen. Outside the windows the wind is winding itself up, scattering my papers across the table behind me and throwing small twigs from the trees into the yard. Soon full storms are supposed to erupt. Not to worry, the weatherman tells us, the tornadoes that are likely to form tonight should be small ones. Both girls were downstairs moments ago complaining of the heat. When I went to check, they'd turned off the fan and closed all the windows upstairs. No wonder. I opened the windows, plugged in the fan and tucked them back in, reassuring them that I'd come shut the windows again when the rain begins.
I hated closed windows as a child. My attic rooms were always hot and stuffy, the indoor silences thick around my face, stifling. I needed wind across my skin and the sound of peeper song and insect chants to lull me to sleep, reminders that the world was a bigger place than my bed, my little room, my parents' house. Some of my favorite nighttime memories are of sleeping outside under an open sky and waking to watch the treetops dance wildly as the wind picked up, and faint rumbles and flashes of distant light in the west announced the approach of more powerful weather.
I grew up attending stuffy churches with shut windows, but the faith I somehow stumbled into anyway remains. I don't know why I still believe, given the effort I've undergone to abandon that faith and the often excruciating difficulty of the journeys I've had to make to reclaim it. Perhaps the answer lies in the fact that the story rings true to me with a deeper truth than fact alone. Like fairy tales, it carries something I need to survive: adventure, beauty, strength, hope, a wind that blows from beyond the edge of the small world I've known, a wind that throws my life into crazed disorder and makes breath possible.
Faith and Faerie, I've been told, are incompatible. One cannot believe in both miracle and magic. One should not open windows in the wind.
Phooey.
Showing posts with label weather. Show all posts
Showing posts with label weather. Show all posts
Friday, June 06, 2008
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Tonado Weather
This is it. Spring and fall, April and October are our annual times for tornadoes. Tonight's storms are being tracked from the local newsroom. So far the area has lost two houses, a barn and a lumber mill, and the evening is just beginning.
Guess who's staying up late tonight.
Guess who's staying up late tonight.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Thirteen Recent Moments of Serendipity or Sheer Amusement
1. Finding a given-up-for-good earring on the school parking lot this evening as we left the girls' spring concert. It was one of my favorite pair, one I lost Wednesday afternoon.
2. Seeing three deer in the field last night, while walking. One leapt out of some trees rather near me and ran, making startled deer noises, across the field and into the woods. The other two studied me at length before running halfway across the field and then stopping to study me some more. They did this so long that I expect they will present their theses at the end of this semester.
3. Finding purple salvia at the local grocery store's parking lot greenhouse.
4. The Older Daughter's deciding to forgo the school reward field trip in order to do something alone with me that day for a treat.
"Are you telling me you'd rather do something with your family than with your friends?" I asked, astounded.
She looked at me as if I was utterly brainless, "Well, yeah!" I am still reeling in befuddled wonder.
5. Sitting at my table with my father soldering phone wires and fastening them to receptacles and talking or not talking, as the mood struck us.
6. A working internet connection.
7. And phone lines that don't buzz in our ears.
8. Walking down to the creek in the rain while we were under a flash flood warning and watching the water tearing past at four times the width of the normal stream bed.
9. Looking out the window during last Friday evening's slumber party to see the younger daughter and her two best friends in the driveway having an all-out mud fight .
10. Hosing them down afterward. In well water.
11. Overhearing the younger daughter tell her father over dinner, "I like 'Red Green', even if it is a show for middle-aged men!"
12. Participating in the napkin fight that erupted as a result of the above comment.
13. Lying on my stomach across a made bed in the middle of the day, watching a steady rain soak the earth outside the window and listening to it on the leaves and grass. Luxury.
2. Seeing three deer in the field last night, while walking. One leapt out of some trees rather near me and ran, making startled deer noises, across the field and into the woods. The other two studied me at length before running halfway across the field and then stopping to study me some more. They did this so long that I expect they will present their theses at the end of this semester.
3. Finding purple salvia at the local grocery store's parking lot greenhouse.
4. The Older Daughter's deciding to forgo the school reward field trip in order to do something alone with me that day for a treat.
"Are you telling me you'd rather do something with your family than with your friends?" I asked, astounded.
She looked at me as if I was utterly brainless, "Well, yeah!" I am still reeling in befuddled wonder.
5. Sitting at my table with my father soldering phone wires and fastening them to receptacles and talking or not talking, as the mood struck us.
6. A working internet connection.
7. And phone lines that don't buzz in our ears.
8. Walking down to the creek in the rain while we were under a flash flood warning and watching the water tearing past at four times the width of the normal stream bed.
9. Looking out the window during last Friday evening's slumber party to see the younger daughter and her two best friends in the driveway having an all-out mud fight .
10. Hosing them down afterward. In well water.
11. Overhearing the younger daughter tell her father over dinner, "I like 'Red Green', even if it is a show for middle-aged men!"
12. Participating in the napkin fight that erupted as a result of the above comment.
13. Lying on my stomach across a made bed in the middle of the day, watching a steady rain soak the earth outside the window and listening to it on the leaves and grass. Luxury.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Ice, Ice, Baby!
Here at Possum Box Lane we have lots and lots and lots of ice. Every tree, every bush, every blade of grass is encased in its own little ice capsule. The countryside glitters and gleams, even though the sun is behind layers of thick clouds. In our yard, one hugantic tree limb has fallen across the front walk and into the driveway where my car would have been had we not moved both cars well into the lane and away from all trees. Another big limb is lying in the side yard. Both maples are topped with giant spikes where their heaviest and highest branches have cracked and broken off. Down by the creek, I discovered yesterday that my favorite wild plum tree, the one whose white frothy blossoms I loved in the spring and whose tart fruit I nibbled and carried with me on walks in the fall, has snapped off at the ground, its diamond crown more than it could bear.
Our power went out yesterday around 1:00 p.m. We still had heat from the gas heat stove, although its fan no longer worked. As the light failed, Great Scott lit candles, and he and the girls finished their game of Dragonology. We laid out his double sleeping bag and the girls' bags on the floor in front of the stove and closed off the upstairs. Then we sat in the living room, and I read aloud from E. Nesbit's children's book of Shakespeare plays until bedtime. To the girls it was an adventure. The cats loved having them in front of the stove, and before long two girls and two cats were snuggled together in a heap watching the flames in the heat stove flicker shadows against the walls and ceiling. Great Scott and I went to bed with flashlights and read for awhile, The Great Golden Sun Cat curled sleeping atop the covers. It was one of the most peaceful evenings we've had in a long, long time.
The power came back on this morning around 10:30 or 11:00. The phone went out about the same time. As I type this to post, I'm in Great Scott's classroom at his school (the school itself is closed today). Our internet connection at home is dial-up, so I won't be able to post more or to post comments regularly until the phone problem at home is fixed. Since the last phone repairman told us that digging would be necessary the next time the phone went out, that may be awhile. I'll try to pop in as I can via the library computers or here at school.
Many thanks to those of you who checked on us. May your power stay on, and your heat be consistent and cozy!
Our power went out yesterday around 1:00 p.m. We still had heat from the gas heat stove, although its fan no longer worked. As the light failed, Great Scott lit candles, and he and the girls finished their game of Dragonology. We laid out his double sleeping bag and the girls' bags on the floor in front of the stove and closed off the upstairs. Then we sat in the living room, and I read aloud from E. Nesbit's children's book of Shakespeare plays until bedtime. To the girls it was an adventure. The cats loved having them in front of the stove, and before long two girls and two cats were snuggled together in a heap watching the flames in the heat stove flicker shadows against the walls and ceiling. Great Scott and I went to bed with flashlights and read for awhile, The Great Golden Sun Cat curled sleeping atop the covers. It was one of the most peaceful evenings we've had in a long, long time.
The power came back on this morning around 10:30 or 11:00. The phone went out about the same time. As I type this to post, I'm in Great Scott's classroom at his school (the school itself is closed today). Our internet connection at home is dial-up, so I won't be able to post more or to post comments regularly until the phone problem at home is fixed. Since the last phone repairman told us that digging would be necessary the next time the phone went out, that may be awhile. I'll try to pop in as I can via the library computers or here at school.
Many thanks to those of you who checked on us. May your power stay on, and your heat be consistent and cozy!
Thursday, November 30, 2006
First Ice of the Season
Above is our lilac bush at 8:30 this morning.
Yesterday's high was 72 degrees F. Today's high we hit first thing in the morning at 33 degrees. Great Scott and I sat up to watch the news last night. The advancing front was impressive, especially the sharp line of temperature difference. In front of it were temperatures in the 60's well into the evening. Behind it numbers in the 30's were the rule. Schools across southwest Missouri are closed in anticipation of the 6+ hours of ice that have begun already with an anticipated 4-6 inches of snow to follow in our area.
I filled the tub with water this morning in preparation for the power outage that is probably immanent due to the lines being downed by ice and broken branches. Great Scott is washing dishes (What a Man!) and is playing Christmas music; the girls have just climbed out of bed at 9:30. Today we will probably put up the Christmas tree. The cats want out. Then they want in. They want out. In. Out. In. Out. They are angry. They have gone to the study upstairs to curl in Great Scott's desk chair and sleep in disgust.
Rain continues to fall, freezing on branches and grass. Forgive me; I rather love it.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Cold
Monday night after Great Scott's tests, I stayed up until 3:something in the morning, unwilling to sleep, wanting to stop time in the stillness of the night. I was cold. Very cold. Putting on another sweater didn't help. Putting on houseshoes didn't help. Sitting directly in front of the heat stove helped a little, but not much. When I did go to bed, I piled on the covers but couldn't sleep for my violent shivering. This continued all day yesterday and into today.
On the rare occasions that I speak (or write) of the most painful and frightening things that have happened in my life, I don't get emotional and am not tempted to. I don't cry; I don't feel like crying. I don't get angry. I don't feel afraid. My body, however, becomes very cold, and I tremble. I tremble hard. So given our current concern about Scott, I assumed that my feeling chilled was probably a physical manifestation of emotional stress.
This morning I took a walk. Last night had brought a hard frost, and even past 10:00 a.m. each grass blade and fallen leaf was outlined (when not completely covered) in its thick silvered-white. Halfway back to the house I knelt in the middle of the gravel road and cried, my hands in my lap, the stones pressing against my knees. When I thought I had my breath back, I lay down on the ground, my face buried in my arms. And this was good. There is a comfort in hard earth, in the chill of stone, in their solidness, their support along the body, their stillness. I lay there a long time, letting these soak into me, and if I went home feeling even colder than before, I also went home understanding that while I had been afraid of the cold after all, I don't have to be .
(Note: I discovered this afternoon that I am, indeed, running a fever, and I've been queasy all day, as has our older daughter. The stomach flu, I am told, is going around again. Ah, timing!)
On the rare occasions that I speak (or write) of the most painful and frightening things that have happened in my life, I don't get emotional and am not tempted to. I don't cry; I don't feel like crying. I don't get angry. I don't feel afraid. My body, however, becomes very cold, and I tremble. I tremble hard. So given our current concern about Scott, I assumed that my feeling chilled was probably a physical manifestation of emotional stress.
This morning I took a walk. Last night had brought a hard frost, and even past 10:00 a.m. each grass blade and fallen leaf was outlined (when not completely covered) in its thick silvered-white. Halfway back to the house I knelt in the middle of the gravel road and cried, my hands in my lap, the stones pressing against my knees. When I thought I had my breath back, I lay down on the ground, my face buried in my arms. And this was good. There is a comfort in hard earth, in the chill of stone, in their solidness, their support along the body, their stillness. I lay there a long time, letting these soak into me, and if I went home feeling even colder than before, I also went home understanding that while I had been afraid of the cold after all, I don't have to be .
(Note: I discovered this afternoon that I am, indeed, running a fever, and I've been queasy all day, as has our older daughter. The stomach flu, I am told, is going around again. Ah, timing!)
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Blustery Day Rambling
Autumn is solidly set into the calendar of our daily lives, it seems, here at PossumBox Lane. The wind is shoving against the house, rampaging through the leafless, sketchy branches of the trees outside, and the cat has once again claimed the top of the old heat stove as his favorite perch, albeit somewhat gingerly, as he is never sure when it will be hot enough to burn his paws and when it won't. This morning the girls and I dug out their winter coats and found gloves that will serve, at least for a little while.
Autumn and winter have always been bittersweet times of the year for me. Early autumn has usually been particularly troublesome, as I'm plagued by intensity of emotion from both ends of the scale, usually simultaneously. Heading into the holiday season, though, the inner drive toward anger or frenetic joy tends to die down. In the past, I've hated this time, dreaded it horribly. After feeling so much, feeling so alive, this grey existence quickly extended into depression and despair out of sheer guilt for feeling less than I thought I should be feeling. This year, I think--I hope--will be otherwise.
I am doing my best to lay aside self-expectations this winter, to let myself off the achievement hook. If I don't write a single couplet, fine. If I don't get all the holiday decorations out, fine. If I neglect my blog shamelessly--well, that'll just have to be fine, too. One thing, though, I do fully intend to pursue. What I want, more than anything, is to be able to find something beautiful in the fog of "depressed" or diminished mood, something to show that there is meaning there, and worth, something that applies to the life I live everyday as the person I am in the circumstances in which I find myself. Instinctively, I know with that "knowing beyond knowing" that meaning and value do exist in this foggy grey winter existence. I will find it. And I will live there, rest in it, be content.
Autumn and winter have always been bittersweet times of the year for me. Early autumn has usually been particularly troublesome, as I'm plagued by intensity of emotion from both ends of the scale, usually simultaneously. Heading into the holiday season, though, the inner drive toward anger or frenetic joy tends to die down. In the past, I've hated this time, dreaded it horribly. After feeling so much, feeling so alive, this grey existence quickly extended into depression and despair out of sheer guilt for feeling less than I thought I should be feeling. This year, I think--I hope--will be otherwise.
I am doing my best to lay aside self-expectations this winter, to let myself off the achievement hook. If I don't write a single couplet, fine. If I don't get all the holiday decorations out, fine. If I neglect my blog shamelessly--well, that'll just have to be fine, too. One thing, though, I do fully intend to pursue. What I want, more than anything, is to be able to find something beautiful in the fog of "depressed" or diminished mood, something to show that there is meaning there, and worth, something that applies to the life I live everyday as the person I am in the circumstances in which I find myself. Instinctively, I know with that "knowing beyond knowing" that meaning and value do exist in this foggy grey winter existence. I will find it. And I will live there, rest in it, be content.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Snowstorms, Opthamologists and Trout Fishing in America
True comfort, I learned today, is driving home in a mid-November snowstorm with two drowsing daughters while listening to Trout Fishing in America.
Our older daughter (henceforth to be known as The Princess), 10, had her first eye exam today and had the news confirmed. Glasses are needed. We live an hour from the opthamologist's office, and since there was only a half day of school today, both girls went to the appointment and to pick out The Princess's new frames. Snow was flying thick by the time we started to drive back home, and the truck I was driving (my car, Lady, being "indisposed" yet again) wanted to dance with the wind instead of driving through it. The girls were nodding in their seats; the sky was a white-grey with the horizon almost lost in swirling silent flakes; and Trout Fishing in America was singing "Carry Me" through the speakers. Peace comes at the oddest times.
We also found out that our younger daughter (henceforth The Fairy) will need glasses by next year. :::wince::: This is what happens when people who have reading addictions marry each other. Take note and beware!
Now we're home again, the old gas heat stove rattling its fan downstairs like a jet plane taking off, and I'm happy. Yes, the house is a wreck: the dishes aren't done, and the floor could stand a vacuuming; there's laundry on a chair in the living room, and my desk is still mostly buried despite my best intentions and efforts to unearth it. Still, it's Thanksgiving break: The Princess will soon be able to see clearly again; Great Scott gets a few hard-earned days' break, and The Fairy and I will have opportunities for cuddles in mid-day. Am most grateful!
Our older daughter (henceforth to be known as The Princess), 10, had her first eye exam today and had the news confirmed. Glasses are needed. We live an hour from the opthamologist's office, and since there was only a half day of school today, both girls went to the appointment and to pick out The Princess's new frames. Snow was flying thick by the time we started to drive back home, and the truck I was driving (my car, Lady, being "indisposed" yet again) wanted to dance with the wind instead of driving through it. The girls were nodding in their seats; the sky was a white-grey with the horizon almost lost in swirling silent flakes; and Trout Fishing in America was singing "Carry Me" through the speakers. Peace comes at the oddest times.
We also found out that our younger daughter (henceforth The Fairy) will need glasses by next year. :::wince::: This is what happens when people who have reading addictions marry each other. Take note and beware!
Now we're home again, the old gas heat stove rattling its fan downstairs like a jet plane taking off, and I'm happy. Yes, the house is a wreck: the dishes aren't done, and the floor could stand a vacuuming; there's laundry on a chair in the living room, and my desk is still mostly buried despite my best intentions and efforts to unearth it. Still, it's Thanksgiving break: The Princess will soon be able to see clearly again; Great Scott gets a few hard-earned days' break, and The Fairy and I will have opportunities for cuddles in mid-day. Am most grateful!
Friday, November 19, 2004
Light for Today
This morning's light was clouded. And beautiful. I know chilly, misty mornings depress some people, but to me they're comforting, softened around the corners. The trees in our yard are completely bare of leaves now, and their black branches stand out against the pale grey sky like Chinese calligraphy, delicate and bold. I lay awake trying to decipher them for a little while. Sometimes mystery is better than knowing, though. Even if it is more frustrating.
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