Just Thinkin' About the Weather...

Have you ever listened to the 10,000 Maniacs? They're a great group, or were, when Natalie Merchant was lead singer. Anyway, they have a song titled, "Like the Weather" on their CD In My Tribe. I even included a link so you can listen to a bit of it...Like the Weather. Just be sure to click on the right clip. It's the third song down.

So why am I writing about the weather?

Because it stinks!

Here in Northern New England another snowstorm hit us overnight. First, it snowed a lot, then it rained on top of it. Then, when we had to clear our driveway to get to work and school, it started to snow again. The weather forecast called for an abrupt ending to the snow, anywhere from 6-9 a.m. It didn't cease abruptly and it went on until 9:30! Now, Kristina, you say, what's the big deal? Another half hour? Yes, but I started clearing at 7:00, people! By the time I was done, I had to re-do several sections. Plus, the snowblower didn't want to blow the snow because it was the consistency of mud and when it did manage to blow snow, it blew it onto snow not yet blown, weighing those sections down until it was one large, immovable chunk. So we had to shovel that part. I lost three pounds in the process and gained a hernia.

I know I'm whining and I'm very good at it, but we'd just gone through a week of sunny skies and balmy temps in the 30s. Snow was melting, grass was appearing, our driveway was ice free and safe! No longer. The weather is messing with my head...again.

I guess that's what I get for living in New England.

Hey, I said it first, so save your breath pointing out to me that maybe if I didn't like winter, I should move. I do like winter, just not in January, February, March, and, God forbid, April. So there.

Still, at least this year I have my mom and husband to help out (the hubby usually manages to find a way to break a bone. No such luck for him this year). My mother is in her 60s and while she helps out, it makes me nervous. She is going to hurt herself and then I'll have to be her nurse. That wouldn't be pretty. There is a reason I'm not a nurse. It has to do with the fact that I don't like people.

Then again...as I was shoveling the end of the driveway, along came a little machine with a plow and the young driver plowed the end of our drive for me. Bless him! There are good people in the world! I have seen the light!

Anyway, if you follow my blog, you know that at this time of year, not only am I just thinkin' about the weather, I get a little obsessed by it.

We'll see what happens this year. If you want to see someone make a slow spiraling descent into madness, pray for snow. Otherwise, join me and do the happy dance for spring to come now!

Just A Bit Of Chatter

It’s the middle of April and we are 4 inches shy of the record for most snowfall in a season in NH since data collection began (can that sentence get any longer?). So this weekend I did the only thing that I could think of…I put the sno-blower away. Since snow in April is not unheard of, I believe that this move would be called ‘taunting’ Mother Nature. My fellow New Hampshirites might want to kill me - or at the very least, maim me - for tempting fate, but I am beyond caring.

I want that record.

In reality, I don’t really think it’s going to happen. In fact, a big part of me doesn’t want it to. Actually, I’m very confused about the whole thing. It’s been a long week where things keep going wrong or coming up or bad news hits. Maybe I just want one thing to go right. Even if it does come in the form of a freak snowstorm.

On a happier note, our tractor, Bobo, which has been hibernating all winter, actually started. Not that it does us any good - we have yet to find our farm to use it on (we probably own the most expensive and large lawn ornament out there). It’s been a long search to find our dream house. In our desperation, we even looked at a house where a murder took place not all that long ago. Fortunately, I didn’t feel good about the house. Even if I had liked it, there is no way I could have lived there. If the murder had happened a 100 years ago - maybe. But not 3 years ago. That’s just icky, spooky and very disturbing. I didn’t even live there and I had bad feelings about the place for weeks afterward.

The funny thing is that I don’t mind the idea of ghosts or spirits, or whatever it is you want to call them. I even have my own story about possible contact with the other side. Several years ago, my husband and I were living in an apartment that was part of an old house. The best part, in my opinion, was the attic, which was the size of a barn loft. To get to it you had to climb up a dark flight of stairs, hidden behind a door in the kitchen. When my older sister came to visit from out of state, I gave her the grand tour, which included the attic, of course. While up there, I kept experiencing what felt like a drop of cold water hitting my elbow. At the time, I was busy chatting so I merely swiped at my elbow, without thinking much of it. Only afterward did I stop to wonder what could be causing that cold, wet sensation. It’s dry as a bone up there and I was wearing long sleeves. Had I just had an encounter? Maybe. My husband avoided the attic like the plague and liked to keep all the lights on in the apartment. He said he never felt right living there. He is particularly sensitive to the possibilities of other-worldly creatures. Maybe I am, too…

We are now starting to think we have a haunted piano. It’s a baby grand, circa the 1940s, and rescued from a house fire. When my husband is working downstairs, he keeps hearing strange noises coming from its direction. He has heard what sounded to him like a shoe dropping onto the floor, but finds nothing there. There have been other strange noises, as well, and growing more and more common. While working at the computer - with his back to the piano - he also gets this sensation that someone is watching him. Hmmm… We were hoping to fix it up and use it once we move, but maybe we shouldn’t wait. Maybe it’s getting restless.

Whatever it is.

On that note, I shall say good day, leaving you with just a bit of chatter to fill the empty void…

New Hampshire's Going For The Record!

This winter season we got a lot of snow here in New Hampshire. In fact, we’ve had the most snow in a season since 1875. On March 28th, we got about eight more inches. Unfortunately, they measure snowfall in Concord and they only got about 2.8 inches. That just doesn’t seem right to me. We get dumped on and most of it doesn’t count. Anyway, right now the record is 122 inches, set in the winter of 1873-74. We are currently at 115.2 inches. That puts us into second place. You may not believe this - I don’t believe it myself - but I’m actually kinda wishing for more snow. I want to break that record. Why, you ask?

Because I want bragging rights.

Wouldn’t you? I can just picture myself, eighty years old and sitting by the fire, telling my grandchildren in a gravelly voice, "I remember the winter of ‘07/’08 when we broke the record for the most snow in a season. It was a nightmare, I’m telling you. Your grandad had a broken wrist, leaving me to sno-blow the driveway, which was a couple hundred yards long, shovel the steps, porch and deck, and try to rake the roof with an implement that was longer than a tree. Then, just when his wrist healed, he went and injured his thumb!" At this point, I’d give a good guffaw and slap my knee. Then I’d grow serious again. "That was the year of the bad back, little ones. Most of us New Hampshirites weren’t able to fully straighten up again until August." Big sigh here. "I remember one time we had to clean up from a snowstorm…in the pouring rain!" Of course, the grandkids would ask next, "But why didn’t you just let the rain melt the snow, Grandma?" And I’d smugly reply, "Because, smart aleks, the next day was going to be frigid cold, worse than being in Minnesota, if I remember correctly. That rain wouldn’t have been able to melt all the snow in time and we would have ended up with 8 inches of ice on the driveway. Our little ice rink wouldn’t have melted until July."

Just when the grandkids thought the story was over, there’d be more. I’d lean closer. "You whippersnappers don’t know what it was like. Just leaving the driveway was an adventure. All that built-up snow and ice had created a ramp at the end of the drive, plus the snow banks were so high, you couldn’t see down the road you were trying to turn onto. You just punched the gas and hoped for the best, sailing through the air, wrenching the steering wheel to make the turn, praying there weren’t any cars coming. We were Dukes of Hazarding it that winter."

I’d probably embellish the story a bit, too. It’s one of the privileges of getting old, and of having lived through harsh times. Perhaps I had double pneumonia that year and the kids had the plague, too. I had to sno-blow uphill, both ways. We lost electricity twenty times and our pipes froze. Our roof nearly caved in from all the snow. We could go sledding off the roof. We almost lost our youngest in a snow bank. Actually, we did lose several of our sleds after one particular snowstorm.

Ahhh…Good times.

So why do I want more snow? Like I said earlier, I want bragging rights. Plus, it gives me something to aim for. Everyone needs goals in life. I’m hoping you’ll root for us. Do whatever you need to do to send us snow. Prayers. Snow dances. Whatever it takes. It’s only seven inches. But if you could, could you just have it all sent to Concord? I’m sure they wouldn’t mind, not in the least.

I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas

Well, I was. That was before our first storm hit and we had to clear the snow with our new tractor, Bobo. We got about 8 inches this time around. Not too much - perfect for giving our new tractor its first run at plowing. We were optimistic about it, thinking how quick and easy this was going to be compared to using our snoblower. That was before the tractor got stuck several times, one time almost for good. That time my husband finally conceded that maybe I wasn’t exaggerating when I said the tractor felt like it was going to tip. Empathy always blossoms within us when we experience what someone else went through. It’s the one true way that people can understand what others feel. I felt panic; so did he. I felt like jumping; so did he.

Anyway, the problem is that we have a long, narrow driveway with not much room to manuever because there’s a bit of a ditch on one side and more of one on the other. Plus, the tires kept spinning on us. "We need chains," my husband kept telling me. "No, doy," I kept replying as I grabbed the piece of wood I had pried off one of the kid’s forts and stuck it under a tire. We were out there for 3 1/2 hours and still didn’t get the whole driveway plowed. The funny thing was, it started to snow when we were out there, giving us another inch. It was supposed to be done by the time we headed out. Someone, somewhere, was having a lot of fun at our expense.

So we ended up shoveling the rest. My husband did most of the work because he broke one of the shovels, leaving only one snow shovel and a spade, which was just about useless. This is the same husband with the injured wrist that he’s supposed to be wearing a splint-like thingie (yes, I’m a writer) on to protect it. He took the splint off before going outside and forgot to put it back on. He was supposed to wear it so that in 2 weeks, the doctor could see if it’s healed (or have to do an MRI). Well, there goes that theory. Of course it’s not going to feel any better. He was manhandling a tractor and shoveling for 3 1/2 hours. You do the math. Anyway, not knowing he didn’t have his splint on, I attempted to help with half a shovel when I should’ve taken over with the regular one. Needless to say, I’m going shopping for new shovels soon. My 3-year-old will love the half-shovel, though. It’s just his size.

What does all this mean? I really do try to relate this stuff back to my writing, though it isn’t always easy. I hadn’t expected to spend so much time on clearing the dang driveway, which means I’m not much farther along on my editing. It also means that we’re going to get tons of snow this year in New England because we don’t know how to plow without getting stuck, and I’m sure there’s something else that this is all supposed to mean, but I can’t remember what.

On a nice note, yesterday my son brought home a card signed by all the 3rd graders thanking me for coming to their class. That’s what makes this job worth it. The adulation of my fans.

Modestly yours,

Kristina
author of The Chronicles of a Writer: Descending Into Madness