A Love Letter

Dear Summer,

I am at a loss without you. I keep reliving those fleeting, hot days when we spent time together. I know you had to leave and you promised to return. But it feels like a lie. Maybe if you would just write and let me know you're ok and send me a picture, I might be able to believe that you'll return.

I look out the window now and the freezing rain leaves tracks on the window, on my reflection. My sallow face is dark under the eyes and tear stained. I can see some of the things you've left behind...sunflower stalks, the sandbox, the pool. When I go to the shed to drag out the snowblower, I can still catch a whiff of freshly mown grass that remains on the lawn mower and brings back memories of heat and lemonade. These brief flashes of memory restore me long enough to clear the driveway and salt the walk.

I did hear from your friend, the ground hog, that it will be another six weeks of winter, which was disappointing news. And Winter has buried me three times in the past two weeks, which seems vindictive, if you ask me. If Spring ever arrives, I know she'll bring with her the lilacs that you know I love. And the lilacs will give me strength to believe that you will return and we can be together again.

Your fireflies at dusk and your starry nights dazzle me. Your heat and even your humidity make me blush and sweat at the same time. Your brightness and breezes light up my world and carry scents of barbeque and sunscreen. Your bold thunderstorms shake the earth beneath my feet and render me speechless with their drama. I cannot wait to feel your embrace once more.

For now, I will sit under a strong lamp and take some vitamin D. I'll buy a pack of hot dogs and grill them on my Foreman Grill. I'll have a cold Budweiser and turn up the furnace to 90. Then I'll spend the evening throwing darts at Winter's picture. It's a poor substitute but I can't cry anymore.

God speed, my love. Return to me soon.

Love,
Flannery
xoxox

February Snow In November

I'm ready for winter...I think. Just two weeks ago, we were still having weather in the 60's and 70's and this week? 20 degrees and inches of snow that seems to be staying put, at least until Sunday when temperatures will start to climb again.

Over the past five or six years, winter has taken it's toll on me. Of course, for four of those years, I was living and/or working in Cleveland, where winters are far more brutal than they are here, a mere 60 miles south. So, I always approach fall with trepidation, foreseeing what's around the corner. But I'm trying to avoid letting dread of the future step on my wa.* I don't need extra, unnecessary angst baggage, thank you very much.

On Monday, snow tumbled from the clouds and filled the windows in our office with static. We periodically craned our necks to get a look and proclaim, "Wow, look at all that snow." When lunchtime rolled around, I toyed with the idea of jumping in the car instead of walking to the grocery to get my salad lunch. But, I was wearing my boots, I had my gloves and winter coat...why not walk?

So, Jeff and I made our way to the Iggle in a light snow. On the way into the produce section, we were treated to a spectacular display of mullets. There was an older couple where the man had your standard mullet and his lovely lady friend had a modified femmullet (feathered on the sides, long in back). We sighed in delight and fought the urge to snap a picture. It's really the small miracles, isn't it? I got my salad and we tromped back to the front door and exited into a swirling snow extravaganza.

"Wow, look at all that snow!" we both said.

We continued our return to work, talking about this and that. But I couldn't help interrupting Jeff and expressing my amazement. The snowfall was so perfect: big, one-inch flake clusters, spiraling around us like fairies on crack. It seemed to have been choreographed by some crazy genius, maybe Paula Abdul.

Making our way across the parking lot, we were walking into the snow, so we had to look down, lest we take snowflakes in the eyes. It was so odd, because the snow was blowing by fast and it looked like we were not moving forward at all. It was a cool illusion of perspective. I wanted to notice this, point it out to everyone around me and remember it.

Throughout my journey through the snow globe, I could sense rumblings in the back of my mind: this snow is going to cost me money. I'm going to need to run the furnace more. I'm going to have to turn the lights on earlier in the evening. I'm going to have to heat the car up and leave it running. Yeah, maybe. But I'm ready for that. And I'm done being angry at the amount of money it takes to live. I've determined that it's my job to compartmentalize that shit and get on with life. I've learned I can't silence my negativity, but I can quiet it by acknowledging it's there and moving on, kind of like you would do with the arachnid exhibit at the zoo. As much as I don't like spiders, I recognize their value and I don't dwell on them. And my negativity does have value...it keeps me from blowing all my money on stupid shit...for the most part.

But getting back to Monday's snowfall...I think I will always remember it, especially if I see the likes of it again. It's the kind of thing that could inspire me to write a poem. Maybe I will...


*This will probably be the only footnote you see from me. Ever. I'm using it because I don't want to break the flow of my paragraph defining what you'll probably understand if I just let you find your way in the context of the paragraph. But for those who get lost: "Wa" is a term of general well-being. I think it's from Doc's bag of phraseology, but it may be a bit of new-agery.

Slumber Party Baptism

Our usually temperate and climactically neutral home town was hit by high winds yesterday. (Thanks, Ike!) I believe the gusts got up to about 50 mph, which will knock a person down, if not some tree limbs. It was strange to have all that wind and very little if any rain. We were doing OK until about 7:15 p.m. when the power went out. Doc was working, so the girls and I went over to Frank's to check and see if he and his son were ok. They were. They had decided to head over to John & Michelle's house to finish cooking and watch the Browns lose.

We were standing in the driveway, talking about our plans when we heard a large, crunching noise, like a giant eating a Cheeto. We turned in the direction of the noise in time to see a large limb from a tall tree crash down on Frank's picnic table.

"Well, we'd better be getting in the house," I said, turning to gather up the girls. But they were already gone, two blond streaks of lightning. I was still making my traditional, lingering, midwestern good-bye when I heard the giant reach for another Cheeto...right over my head. I myself became a streak of lightning to avoid getting hit by a tree myself.

Needless to say, the girls were totally freaked out. We got into the house and I asked them if they wanted to go to Grandma and Pop's house. They did and Riley immediately began packing a bag. I thought that was a little much. Surely the power would be back on soon and we could come home. My parents still had power, so at least we could go there and...I don't know what...maybe stop freaking out.

I gathered the essentials plus the loaves of bread that were ready to go in the oven and headed to the car. I loaded the loaves on the shelf behind the back seat and the teddy bear, blankie and other comforting goo-gahs in the front. The kids buckled themselves in and we were off. On our way out of the driveway, I saw our other neighbors, Wally & Ms. Snap out in their front yard. We checked in on them and they were ok. Ms. Snap said she'd call me when the power came back on; they were staying put. We pulled out of their driveway and headed down the street, only to be faced with low-dangling wires. I maneuvered my way around them after making a sudden stop, where my bread flew off the back shelf. Luckily, Riley caught the tray and put it back, so no harm done.

We got to Mom & Dad's and I went to call Doc at work. They didn't have power at the bakery either and he wasn't sure if he wanted to come to Mom & Dad's or not. He said he'd stop home first, regardless. That should have been my clue that he wasn't coming to meet us at my folks. After baking my breadand waiting a good half hour after he should have been home, I called and let the phone ring and ring and ring. Finally he picked up; he'd just gotten in the door. He was still non-committal about his plans, but he said he'd call me after he got himself situated.

I waited and waited. I tried calling and got no answer. I didn't know what to do. I had no clothes with me for work the next day and I didn't want to bring the kids back to a dark house. I needed to talk to Doc, so, I got back on the road, leaving the kids to watch Return of the Jedi with Pop. When I got home, I found Wally walking around my neighbor, Jerry's, front yard. Jerry's truck was blaring the Browns-Steelers game, but Jerry was nowhere to be found. It was weird and kind of surreal. The wind was blowing like crazy and Jimmy Donovan was telling us all about the game as if nothing strange was happening at all.

We wandered over to Franks and found Doc over there, watching a movie and having a beer. Oooh, I was ticked. Frank kept asking me to sit down and relax, but I couldn't even answer him. I finally got a word in edgewise and asked Doc to come back to the house and help me out for a minute. He had the flashlight and we made our way through the back yards into the garage. We stood there for a moment trying to figure out what to do. We were at an impasse. The kids were at my parents, Doc wasn't about to leave and I wanted everyone to be together.

It ended up that I was able to find some clothes and all my stuff to take over to Mom & Dad's. Doc wanted to be home in case a tree fell on the house and it caught on fire. I kind of thought that was exactly the situation wherein I wouldn't want to be anywhere near the house. But Doc's a post-apocalyptic man; he's ready for the end of the world. So we parted ways agreeing to disagree and I made my third trip out.

By the time I got back to my parents, I was wound so tight from stress and PMS that I could have chewed through nails. The girls where asleep and Pop was not far from it. My Grandma and cousins were still up though and asked if I wanted to play poker. Why not? But then Wendi saw the box of hair color I brought and asked if I would rather she color my hair for me.

"Yes," I said, "That would be great."

We got into our jammies and I mixed the solution and she donned the gloves. We got a chair and some towels and a comb. I sat down and she spent the next 20 minutes applying the hair color. I don't know why this is, but if someone brushes my hair for me, it flips my switch from "torqued" to "mellow" in about 3 seconds. I could feel all that weird stress that had blustered around me all day dwindle and die down.

We chatted about this and that as she applied the color and we waited for the timer to go off. She also offered to rinse the color out for me and I almost passed out from gratitude. We got the water at the right temperature and I knealt on a towel in the bathroom near the tub. I leaned forward over the edge of the tub and let her begin rinsing.

She talked about what a great color this would be on me and how much like her daughter's hair color it is. She also told me it would be "glamourous." I just listened and felt overwhelmed by her kindness. I felt blessed to have her washing away the gunk, both physical and metaphysical. I could feel the tension and white noise leave my head flow out through my hair follicles and run down the strands of "Roasted Coffee" hair, into the drain.

I felt renewed; baptized by hair color. I was forgiven for being a basket case all day; all the tension and strain was washed away. I was glad to be in my jammies talking with the girls about hair and the mystery of men's minds. We eventually decided to head to bed. I hugged Wendi and told her to be safe on the road. She and Carol were leaving to continue their "Faith Walk" around the perimiter of the US. They wouldn't be back until Christmas. I told her I'd miss her very much and thanked her for coloring my hair.

I went to bed feeling loved and blessed and fortunate for having a family of strong, resourceful people. I was reluctantly proud that Doc was able to brave out the storm in the dark and protect the homestead. I felt lucky to have a homebase in my parents' house where we could all meet and find our bearings. And I was certainly blessed by an impomptu and healing slumber party.

Omens of Snowmen

The other night, I was laying in bed and I happened to look out of the window that gives me a view of the street. I saw amber flashing lights whiz by and thought to myself, "There goes a snow plow..." I snuggled up in the blankets and looked down at the remote, preparing to start an episode of Murder, She Wrote and enjoy a long winter's nap. But then I stopped in my tracks. Wait a minute...it's September! That couldn't have been a snow plow. It must have been a tow truck.

This has been a great summer, but the above episode makes me feel like I must be ready for winter. I'm looking forward to a chill in the air and snow on the ground. This is a good thing. Since we moved away from Cleveland, where winter was sent priority overnight by Satan himself, my level of anxiety about winter has ratchetedd down quite a bit. Actually, as Genn6 pointed out in the comments a few posts ago, my stress level is greatly reduced since I left there. She's right, of course.

I'm in a house I can manage in a neighborhood I love. My gas bill is $81 a month, thanks to joining the budget payment plan. Our lives have really stablized since then. We have a little bit left over most pay checks. Not enough to put any away yet, but soon we should be able to. My new job rewards me with more than platitudes; I usually receive a quarterly bonus which is like trading in a camp shovel for a backhoe to help us dig out of debt. Maybe someday, we'll have a savings account.

I used to feel like I was in a race I couldn't win. Nothing I did at my job was good enough for the powers that be, who had ridiculously high expectations. I was living in a house I couldn't afford. My family were far away. I transitioned closer to my family and commuted 120 miles a day until I could find a local job, which I did...right before gas prices went plaid on us. The race finally started to seem winnable. I had broken through the wall, as Skyler's Dad might say.

I say I did all this, but I had help: namely Doc. He's soldiered through right along with me. My parents and Grandma are also invaluable elements of my success. They gave me the extra support we needed to keep moving in the form of free babysitting, free dinners and lots of good times. Betty was always there to listen to me whine and cry about how I was ready to throw in the towel. The Cap'n was there with a laugh and an example of how bad it could get (I'm sure he's glad about that). Genn6 is there to provide the no b-s analysis of football and music. I've also had all of you to share things with and to receive encouragement from.

I say to old Frosty: Bring it on. I'll be here with my peeps, digging out.

I Wish It Were Raining