Crazy Legs and Scene from a Marriage

He: New tights?

Me: Yes. Do you like them?

He: They look like an old lady's couch upholstery

Me: Umph.

He: You asked.

Me: Your survival skills are usually more sharply honed.

He: Have a good day at work.

My fantasy response: (Thanks . . .you ass. . .)

Me: Bye

A Swiftly Tilting Planet

I woke up to today's big news of the earthquake on the Nazca plate (in southern Chile). Not clear how much of a mess it made and how much life is lost, because it was in the overnight hours and communications go down during events of this magnitude. It's one for the books, an 8.8 er with a really long - people are saying 90 seconds - release of energy to the surface. 90 seconds of the earth roiling and bouncing under you must seem like an eternity. I hope the damage is not too extreme. I always have mixed feelings about these kinds of events, my fascination and my compassion warring for attention. I love watching our restless planet from a safe distance and I'm every bit a nerd, following the science "gossip" as geologists parse out more knowledge and understanding after a quake. The Nazca plate has a planetary counterpart in the Cascadian plate off the coast of the Pacific Northwest. That plate is frozen with very little quake activity on it; which generally means that it's due for a big release of all the energy and stress that's been building unrelieved for the past hundreds of years. I worry about that. When it goes, that could be a apocalyptic event for that part of the nation, but will have an impact on us, probably beyond my ability to imagine. And I'm also concerned about the human implications of the current quake - for the people I don't know, the Chilean citizens and the people of Haiti too, whose ongoing plight may very well be eclipsed by this latest disaster. I worry on a personal level as well - there's a tsunami warning up for the entire Pacific and Sarah is off in the archipelago of Malaysia - away from her Hanoi home and out of touch with her New England home. I can't do anything about that, of course, only breathe and believe that all will be, and all manner of things will be and all will be well and all manner of things will be well. All will be well. My prayer - with a nod to Julian of Norwich - for Sarah, for the people of Chile, for the people of Haiti and for us all.

Crazy Legs and a Bright Spot

Flying the freak flag with my Peter Max prints and the chunky shoes.

The crazy leg parade continues and it's just about the only bright spot around here. I am thinking with a great deal of envy about all the people off to warm climates where the sun is shining. Or someplace It's grey. And as pretty as these bursts of snow are - it's the wet stuff that falls off the branches quickly and are reflected in grey, endless, endless grey skies. The branches are a tired grey, the roads are a tired grey, the snowbanks are a tired grey. Late winter has settled in and the theme is no longer white, it's grey. I know the sun is up there somewhere but long ago the ancients probably had weeks like these where they just had to wonder if the sun would ever return - and this not so ancient has weeks (or at least days) where I wonder too.

Almost Weir

Hike Ku for Weir Hill

Equipment Failure
Unfavorable omen
Try another day

We finally got some snow. Shoveling snow and skiing snow. I'm not sure it counts as a hike if you ski it, but ski it we . . . uh. . . tried. Steve's thirty year old nordic boots separated instep from sole after a tumble in the first few yards of our ski. That happened to me a few years ago at Cardigan in NH. I remember it well. And retired the trusty skis of my childhood at the ripe age of 48. Steve was due for a ski replacement and he may be the last human on this continent still using wax skis so it's time. In the short term, it meant that our hike/ski of the Weir Hill loop was off. But after charging home from work, getting kitted out, dragging gear over to North Andover, and already in the woods, I took advantage and spent about an hour skiing over to the lake, between the drumlins and back while Steve listened to news in the car. I didn't do the loop, that would taint the 60, but I can't wait to go back with Steve for a winter ramble at Weir Hill. It was, as the pictures will confirm, absolutely lovely and far pleasanter than the crowds of summer and fall. There were dogs and of course, they were off leash, but with the exeption of the big dumb one who thought I had lots of sticks - poles, skis - to chase, they left me alone and I left them alone. Like McArthur, I shall return. With Steve and his new skis.

Snow Day? Hah!

The Weather prognosticators were wrong. Big time. I want to be paid that generously for being wrong. But that's the not the worst of it. The rather low key storm forecasts - I'm serious, very little hype for weather guys around here - got every school system, every non-essential persons, and every anxious driver to stay home. For nothing. I don't mean three or four inches nothing, I mean - nothing. Where has our collective hardy New England soul gone? We've become a bunch of weather conspiracy theorists - the killer frosts, the crippling snows and the paralyzing storms are out to get us. So what do we do? We stay home. Except for those of us who are storm shopping hobbyists, and we go to the grocery store and buy up canned goods to place on the shelves next to the canned goods we purchased for the last storm. Most of us have access to any number of warm lit places and when we don't we have lots of food in our fridges and blankets on our beds. We're fine. Most of us lose power for hours, and even when I've been without power in the winter for days - I can't say it was fun, but once the driveway was clear and I could get to a coffee shop or restaurant, I settled in with wifi and coffee and noodled to my hearts content. Or these days I can go to the gym, work up a sweat and shower there. Come on New Englanders - cowboy up. It's only snow. And it's winter. In New England. Sheesh.

Check off Another One

Hike Ku for Foss Farm Hike

Needle Skirted Pines
Ice tutus flood plain trees
Playing at dress up

Back to the book, hike 17, check. Done. I had worked a shorter day, wanting to be home to see Jon and enjoy Valentines Day with Steve, since we were planning a two day flying trip to NYC to see the in-laws and Julia (alas not to be - Steve was felled last night by a nefarious stomach bug) and would be having little time alone. Since the weather is still cooperating and winter may be rearing it's snowy head again, we headed out to Foss Farm, out in the Carlisle area. It's not too far away from the Great Brook Farm hike of last weekend. I vaguely remember being there when I worked in Bedford with a member of the community gardens. Very different scene yesterday. It was frozen in some places, muddy in others and we moved between pine groves and agricultual fields cutting across the landscape with a large empty 19th century barn and farmhouse near the trails end. I am always amazed that we are in shouting distance of hundreds of thousands of people, and most of the time on these hikes we see almost no one. Yesterday was no exception. The description of the hike (which the 60/60 author made in warm weather) routed the walk away from the Concord River floodplain, described as buggy and wet. This time of year, it was icy and not buggy, so after walking the 3 1/2 miles or so to the end of the described hike, we turned it into a loop and came back along the river trail. How cool was that? The interior route, although pretty, was very much like the hike of the day before and even the one of the weekend before in terms of terrain and scenery. But this river trail was like being on another planet. I did not expect the other worldliness of the icy scene we became a part of. Every thing was frozen, iced over, trees were dressed in ice floes where the river froze around them at a higher water level, and as the water dropped over the winter, the skirts remained. One would have been interesting, but a couple miles of them was absolutely stunning. Great winter hike. And then we came home and watched the Olympics and I did not over indulge in chocolate.

Crazy Legs on Parade

These are my Valentine Day's tights. With the grey suit? What do you think? Oh, yeah, they'll take me seriously at work. . . Right. .

Today a lot of things have conflated on the calendar. Chinese New Year (of the tiger), Valentines Day and a new moon. And an all ages worship at work which I'm prepared to be surprised by since the planning of this one has been largely out of my hands. I had this crazy experience of searching out Valentine's Day cards and finding NOTHING, I mean NOTHING appropriate for an all ages group to exchange. I mean, can you imagine a 5 year old giving a 40 something a card that says "hot stuff, be my valentine". Gross. So we now have these very pretty scrapbook page valentines (and even those I had to edit ruthlessly . .) And as I sally forth, I invoke the great WHATEVER. Good, bad or in between, in few hours it will be over . . .

Back in the Woods

Beaver Brook reflecting the sun back at us.

Hike Ku for Beaver Brook hike.

Ice, snow, endorphins
This is what we came here for
Winter in the woods

Off we go-hiking
Annoying dog in the way
February day

I am discovering or re-discovering the joys of the woods in winter. Without much snow, and donning our trusty Yak Traks we can walk quite comfortably through places that would be too buggy in spring and summer, probably too wet in spring and fall and kind of boring during the green leafy time of year. It's delightful. I am hoping for snow though. I like walking in the woods - but skiing then takes it to a whole new level. The snow shoes give us more options for trails, but I like the motion and sounds of skiing best of all. (I still have my skis in my car, for those rare days when I can escape my office for an hour or so and ski the fells. Which I havent' been able to do since early January, too icy these days)

We were back in the woods today, hiking (mostly) by the book. The 60/60 book. Check another one off. (How do I transfer this level of compulsion to something else - something like cleaning for example?) This time around we joined the Z's of Nashua for a woods and water (well, ice actually) walk, and as you may guess from the second Hike Ku our pain in the ass dog. She has become incredibly ill mannered in her dotage. Whining in the car, tripping us up with her lead and the piece de resistance, barfing on the Zizzi's rug when we adjourned for civilized dinner, beverage and move. Next time she stays home. It's like having a toddler all over again.

Winter Vacation Begins

For Steve. I'll be working, but he's off on holiday through next Monday - the 22nd - and ready. As lovely as his kids are this year they're still. . .well. . .kids and demand a lot of energy and attention. Time for a break for everyone. I am hoping we get some snow so that we can get some outdoor sports in. Right now, I'm contenting myself with the Winter Olympics and grateful that I was a downhill skier before the technology outstripped our knees capacity to handle it. It a fun over the top excess that I take guilty pleasure in every four years. I know we should be using the money for something else, like the people of Haiti. AND I know it feeds an awful lot of stereotypical jock behavior - go ahead and cripple yourself for your sport. AND this year, sadly, a young man has died already in the luge practice, but in spite of all that, the Olympics are my chance to marvel, fantasize and get motivated to get out THERE. And a fine excuse to sit and watch.

We are watching the opening ceremonies as I write this and I'm charmed by the indigenous dancers. They've been at it for a very long time. That should be one of the sports, given the gear these folks are wearing and the physical demands of dancing and drumming nonstop while the parade of athletes walks into the stadium. One of the things I love about Canada, among many things I love about Canada, is that their political system and structure makes room for the voiceless. Their senate creates an affirmative action for the typically under represented and marginalized, the First Nations people among them. Now, I know it's not perfect and they have their share of indigenous people who are living twilight lives in the shadow of post colonialism, but at least the Canadians acknowledge the existence of someone else beside the white "settlers". Better than this country. Much.

Instruments of Torture

I've been very diligent about my workouts these days. Although the dog and I get out every morning like clockwork, the cold winds and bare puppy feet manage to keep our outings very short and not particularly cardio intensive (unless shivering counts) so off to the very blue collar, very non-beautiful people gym I go to. And once there, to pound away on the instruments of torture and try to reverse the ravages of (drum roll please) nonalcoholic steatohepatitis aka fatty liver. Yes, my liver is fat. Given how little I drink, it appears to be exercise and diet related. Or maybe medication related. But regardless of its origin it is cause for one portly physician after another to give me no end of grief about my middle aged. . . er. . .middle. . . and the need to reduce its size. Hence the gym outings and my rather obsessive postings about what I eat or don't eat. The Andover gym is more of a club with membership fees to match the leather chair and juice bar ambience. The place I go to - in a nearby not so posh town - looks like a warehouse with garish colors, row after row of machines facing row after row of television screens suspended from the ceiling as row after row of walkers, runners, bikers, lifters plug in and stare away. The unemployed construction workers, the little old duffs, and the over weight midlifers all seem to work out at the same time I do. Which is to say early in the morning. And then they all go get eggs and homefries before going about their days. I go get coffee, black thank you very much. No fat in that. Sorry liver.

Welcome Bride

As in Bridie, Brigid, Brigit etc. Groundhogs day is also her feast day, one which shares co-billing with Imbolc and Candlemas. Pre-Christian and Christian myth blends with folks tradition as people draw close to each other during the deep cold of winter. Imbolc was one of those watershed seasons when the freshening animals gave people -who may have come to the end of their winter stores- a new food source in milk. It is now a holiday celebrating community, art and craft. I used the story of this old holiday this morning at work, so its on my mind. In honor of the day, I wove a Brigid's cross for the front door. Protection and peace for all who cross the threshold. Hunker down as winter continues and welcome Bride.

Great Brook

Hike Ku for Great Brook State Park Carlisle Ma

Ice dragon hatching
Winter tries something new
Art along the trail

Still no snow. In a fit of enthusiasm for the great outdoors, Steve and I got out the 60/60 book, henceforth known as the *&!!*# book, and found a hike that could double as a snowshoe outing. Snowshoes went in the car, boots on the feet and of course there was almost no snow on the trail Ice mostly and cold winds. I took great pleasure in the outing until my second fall, and then I was done. Unfortunately we were about three miles from the car when I got done. Dang. 7 miles and I felt every inch of them by the end of it. Funny thing about winter; a hike that is a walk in summer changes dramatically when the terrain is ice coated. I had my workout and went off to an evening of guilt free eating. Pho da lat in Lowell. Life is good even though the wind is cold.

I Saw MY Shadow!!!!

I did, I saw my shadow yesterday, and so did Rascal. Which means we have six more weeks of winter. I didn't run back into my burrow, although the idea of sleeping six weeks away is very tempting. (Of course with the apnea, I don't really sleep, I just thrash, mask or not.) Apparently the Pennsylvania groundhog, ole Puxantawny Phil didn't see his. But as I remarked in yesterday's blog, shadow or no, in six weeks it is spring equinox. All that fuss over a rodent and it just doesn't matter. I loved this news bit though (reported on Fox I think - so it MUST be true)

Animal-rights group PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) wrote a Jan. 21 letter to organizers of the annual Groundhog Day spectacle in Punxsutawney, PA, demanding that the live groundhog used each year on Feb. 2 be replaced by a robotic version. . .

The paper showed a letter written by Gemma Vaughan, a PETA "Animals in Entertainment specialist," to Bill Deeley, president of the Inner Circle of the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club, in which Vaughan appeals to him to "make the compassionate decision to use an animatronic Phil and retire the live groundhogs who are used for Groundhog Day activities to a sanctuary."

Vaughan goes on to say that the groundhogs "become stressed when they are exposed to large, screaming crowds; flashing lights from perhaps hundreds of cameras; and human handling."

In response, Deeley told the Associated Press that Phil is kept in a climate-controlled environment, is inspected annually by the state Department of Agriculture and is "being treated better than the average child in Pennsylvania."

Poetry Slam

About 5 years ago, a blogger began a virtual poetry slam on February 2nd. Many, many, many poets of the blogosphere posted original or favorite works and I am joining them with a salute to the muse. One is a top ten from Mary Oliver and the bonus poem is a rather smarmy love poem.

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

The Parts Know

I didn’t need you

I could buy my life

Or borrow it

From the net or facebook

I thought I could

I didn’t need you

Or I thought I didn’t

Wouldn’t, couldn’t, didn’t

Need you

I thought I didn’t

My skin wanted skin

Your skin

It wanted your breath

When you spoke

Wafting against my cheek

My nose wanted scent

Yours,

Left behind on the towel

Or the pillow

Or on me

My ears wanted music

Your laugh

Or the other rumbles you make

Humming, talking, swearing

Vibrating those tiny bones

I didn’t think I

needed you

I didn’t . . .

but my parts

Knew they did

Returned from the Deep Freeze

And back to this blog. I was going great guns there for a while, but I got bored with my pictures and bored with my words and I figured if I was boring myself, G*d help you Sarah for reading it. But it's dark deep winter and other than waiting to see what the rodent in Puxatawny Pennsylvania has to say about the coming of spring tomorrow, I thought I'd try to write my way through the remainder of winter. Winter stopped being pretty a couple of weeks ago. We had a rain that took the snow off the trees and roofs, pitted and pockmarked the snow in the yard and exposed bits of trees and debris that had been buried under the snows of December and January. And now all the snow seems to have displaced itself to the central and southern Atlantic. All we have is cold. Relentless, bone gnawing, cold. The sun is out, which is a cruelty in intself. I look out the window and its so glorious and sparkly that of course, it must be crisp and beautiful. Not. Cold and windy. When the dog finds it too cold to pee, we just turn around and come back inside. I miss the outdoor walks, but I'm taking on the gym big time this winter, so at least I'm getting a workout, even if I'm sorely lacking fresh air. And I am feeling schizoid about even bringing up the lack of snow, because do I REALLY in my heart of hearts want to shovel more of it, or drive in more of it. Not particularly, no.

Will s/he see or not see her/his shadow? And does it matter? Spring Equinox follows in six weeks and like it or not, the back of winter is broken by then.