The Winter of My . . .um. . .

in time of all sweet things

in time of all sweet things

Since West Virginians have just been deemed the unhappiest people in the United States by a bunch of flatlanders with a questionable methodology, [see Buzzardbilly’s excellent commentary and rant about the Forbes article here.] I feel like a traitor admitting to anything less than sheer giddiness, but it’s been a long winter.

As my favorite weather guy will tell you, we’ve had significant cold, ice, wind, sleet, cold, plagues, mayhem, cold, heating bills and cold that started early and is likely to go on for awhile yet. If I remember right, if we see even flurries in April we will have had seven consecutive months of such nonsense which will be some kind of record or near record or something we haven’t seen in years or some such rot. It’s too depressing to think about, so I’m not.

[Having a favorite weather guy is kind of pitiful. I’ve become one of those people who are hyper-vigilant about the forecast, the office authority on projected precipitation, and way too informed about the effect of barometric pressure on mood. Someone told me this is a sure sign that I am now an old woman. Like that’s a news flash.]

The good news that has provoked some gleeful girlish giddiness is that we’ve had a lovely period of faux spring.

It couldn’t have come a moment too soon. Just when I was getting ready to adopt a bunch of feral cats, move into my bed permanently, and, otherwise, settle into extreme (even for me) eccentricity, we got a taste of spring.   I knew it was a false start and I knew there was more cold to come, but I had tangible proof that we weren’t locked into this miserable weather pattern forever.

It started last week.

By Saturday, I was in the yard recording my wind chimes (see extreme eccentricity statement above) and by Tuesday I was dining al fresco in short sleeves at a new Italian restaurant. The respite from listening to the furnace kick on and off and hearing ka-ching wasn’t the only benefit. My vitamin D levels are restored, my equanimity is less unbalanced, and I even sung along to the radio.

I’m not being trite when I say, “Hope springs eternal.” I’m making a bad pun which is no less egregious, but I’ve had a bad winter – cut me some slack.   It’s been a right horrible winter after a right horrible couple of years and spring is the most hopeful time of year.  [November 4th was epic, but it was epic because it was unusual.  Spring happens year after year even if we’re convinced we’re trapped in Narnia and the evil queen is in power.]

But best of all, my daffodils are blooming.

Daffodils make me giddy.

I spotted shoots in Huntington a few weeks back and the 2009 Hyper-Vigilant Daffodil Watch began. It’s always been true that I am two weeks behind Huntington for spring blooming and greening. After a week or so, I trundled out to the travesty that I call a garden and, sure enough, there were sprouts. (And great rejoicing echoed in the holler.) I’ve checked them compulsively ever since.

I do this year after year. The first one acquired the first bud on Saturday. Every year, a few will develop buds and then torture me for weeks before blooming. Then like a symphonic finale, the others will bloom in a crescendo and it’s all over and done with just in time for the Oh-My-God-Would-You-Look-At-The-Redbud-This-Year Season which imperils my car insurance rates and ensures a tardy arrival at the office since I frequently miss my exit for gaping at lavender dotted hills.

Wednesday, I had to run a business errand in Huntington. I drove from the office, past Ritter Park, and through a lovely residential section while rocking out to the radio. The trip to my destination was otherwise uneventful. On the return trip forty minutes later (after an unplanned excursion through an unfamiliar part of Cabell County accounted for by my abysmal spatial skills), I retraced the first part of my journey only to discover blooming magnolias, forsythia and daffodils. DAFFODILS!

Had I plunked my butt down on a bench in Ritter Park for that 40 minutes, I could have watched it happened. (Although whiny, I am a dedicated employee, besides I am not psychic – otherwise I would have certainly been sprawled on a park bench.) I set my watch, marked my calendar, and began planning for my daffodils blooms. Two weeks…check…

Much to my shock, one day later I found daffodils blooming in my yard. Only two of them, but it didn’t take two weeks and two is better than none and THE DAFFODILS ARE BLOOMING. I flitted around the garden like a deranged paparazzo taking pictures and ripping my clothes on wild rose gone wild. I was quite happy (but did Forbes call me? Noooooooooooooooooo).

Having grown up in the tropics, I was 15 before I saw a daffodil. I thought they were pretty spiffy, but it wasn’t until I was an adult (in the legal sense) in Milwaukee, that I saw them blooming in the snow. Great Aunt Gertrude’s Girdle!  What a marvel that is to see.  My love affair with daffodils officially began.

After I’d lived in the barn for a few years, I bought a bag of 150 daffodils and planted them. I didn’t know they multiplied.

They were so crowded that I thinned them two years ago, but like many of my projects I never got around to planting the ones I removed. So, while my daffodils are greatly reduced in number, the blooms this year are spectacular.

The first bloom always summons e. e. cummings to the talk radio show in my head.

remember grow

remember grow

in time of daffodils (who know
the goal of living is to grow)
forgetting why, remember how

in time of lilacs who proclaim
the aim of waking is to dream,
remember so (forgetting seem)

in time of roses (who amaze
our now and here with paradise)
forgetting if, remember yes

in time of all sweet things beyond
whatever mind may comprehend,
remember seek (forgetting find)

and in a mystery to be
(when time from time shall set us free)
forgetting me, remember me

Bolstered by a taste of warm weather and blooming daffodils that will be even more spectacular if wrapped in snow, I am not the least bit distressed by tonight’s forecast for cold and an inch or two of the white stuff. I’m not happy that the furnace is ka-chinging, but I am happy. The daffodils are blooming and all is right with my world – the goal of living is to grow. . . forgetting me, remember me.

Not quite ready for Unclutterer

I routinely read Unclutterer and it’s been a real inspiration for getting the house under control.   My office, however, remains a disaster.  It’s silly season at my place of employment and I’m busier than a one-armed paper hanger on a unicycle in a hurricane.  It’s not likely I’m going to get around to cleaning this up, painting, and organizing any time soon. 
I will declutter.  I will declutter.  I will declutter.
I will declutter. I will declutter. I will declutter.
It's silly season at the office
It’s silly season at the office

Toilette de Visite

Carole Landis 1943

Carole Landis 1943

Growing up, I watched an awful lot of movies with women wafting about in peignoirs and other impractical loungewear. I’m particularly fond of some of the nonsense Nora (Myrna Loy) wears in the Thin Man series of movies. (These movies are national treasures.)

I had a peignoir once – for less than 24 hours.

 

The first year my dad was in Vietnam, my mother pulled out all the stops for Christmas.  As a precocious 7 year-old, I received a frilly, silky, filmy nightgown and matching robe (peignoir) in lavender and purple.  Opening the gift, my jaw dropped at the visual of the fabric nestled amongst tissue paper.  Adding even more wonder and decadence was a small bottle of Evening in Paris eau de toilette – a gorgeous royal blue and gold punch to the white, lavender and purple.

 

Is it any wonder I’m a diva?

  Continue reading

Ten Years and 800 Miles

From Party Line to Skype Party
From Party Line to Skype Party

I’ve been thinking about all the different means of communication lately.  Other people have said it better, but we’re living in a time that the history books will discuss with the same fervor as they discuss the Industrial Revolution.  In my lifetime, we’ve gone from telephones on party lines to parties on Skype. 

In my lifetime, we also went from manual typewriters to electric ones, “memory” typewriters to computers, cute pocket-sized paper appointment calendars to PDAs, and PDAs to smart phones. I was barely keeping up with all of this and the explosion of Web 2.0 is really giving me fits.  I was the last person on the planet to get a mobile phone and nearly the last to begin blogging.  I started Twitter about 8 months ago and just recently was coerced into Facebook. 

I may have reached the end of my patience with learning curves.  I’ve been on the internet since before pictures and sound when Usenet ruled the world.  I even remember the social gathering sites before Usenet – when a digital communication was judged by its (correct) grammar, spelling, and readability.  In 1989, I was the only person in my town who knew what a smiley was.   The other day I got around to asking someone what wOOt meant.  I was only mildly annoyed that people kept wOOting me and I wasn’t sure what their intentions were.  I had figured out it was, generally, a positive exclamation of some sort.  I also just recently sorted out kthxbai.  I’m kind of fond of that one but the Urban Dictionary just told me it is generally used to express contempt.  wOOt!

I’m too old for texting and gaming language.  I’m one of those who usually can’t figure out what the vanity plates are trying to say.  (I also can’t quite figure out why people use their license plate to communicate.  It would be different if you could change them like a Twitter status.)  Fortunately, I have access to people of minimal years and/or gaming experience who are willing to explain this stuff to me.

With all that said, these communication technologies have been very good to me and for me.  I’ve met some people I feel closer to than my immediate kinfolk and many of them, if not most of them, I would have had no chance of meeting prior to this communication revolution. 

As I sit here typing this, I’m bouncing back and forth between Google, my anonymous email account, my “real” email account, Facebook, Twitter, a forum, and Skype.  I gave up the instant messenger a couple of years ago which was a good thing, I guess.   You can only open so many applications before stuff  starts crashing.  Today, I have communicated with friends who are literally strung out all over the globe, many of whom I have never seen in person and some whom I have never seen at all (or heard).

I can’t quite remember when I got the first instant messenger available, but I was one of the first – my ID number is a low one.   In tandem with the IM, I was active on a couple of mailing lists where I met the man who is now my SO.  I’m given to understand that I must now define SO as that acronym seems to have become passe` – significant other.  After one’s 30s, the terms boyfriend and girlfriend are just stupid.  It conjures up middle-aged meat markets where people are wearing clothes that are too tight, makeup that is too heavy, and any number of comb-overs.  Blech.  Gentleman friend is almost as obnoxious.  The SO is indeed a gentleman, but gentleman friend conjures dapper Victorians, lavender smelling salts, and a trace of sock garters.  (I believe this communication revolution is not complete as we do not yet have phrasing that is correctly descriptive.)

As the friendship moved into the area known as Something More, our communication technologies increased.  While we began digitally with instant messaging and email, we regressed to snail mail and land lines with the occasional mobile phone call.  There was a brief flurry of text messages until I cancelled my data plan.  Between the USPS, Fed Ex, AT&T, Verizon, and ICQ (with the occasional 3D meeting), we got to know one another pretty well.  Now, we’ve added Twitter and Facebook.  We are so wired (and wireless) that I’m sometimes convinced that I have datacom cable running along my spine.

Have I mentioned he lives 800 miles away and I’ve known him for ten years?  He does and I have.

Skype has added another dimension.  We can now do video phone calls.

I like Skype.  I’m glad we didn’t have it in the early days.  We’re now such an old unmarried married couple that I don’t feel the need to put on makeup or brush my hair or even change out of the ratty sweatshirt before I fire up the Skype.  But in honor of Valentine’s Day, I did all of those things, plus moved into a room with good light.  We had champagne and chocolate covered strawberries on my chaise lounge – well, I did.  He sat at his desk and I’m not sure what he drank.  This is much better than sitting in the coat closet talking to my junior high boyfriend via the handset to the kitchen phone that had the 50 foot cord that was always knotted and permanently kinked where the closet door closed on it.

It’s all rather peculiar, yet so normal.  Something I couldn’t imagine in my 20s is now part of my daily life.  These technologies have been so good to me and yet I’m grousing about the emerging ones. 

Just a few months ago, I howled with laughter at the idea of Twitter.  I’m now so enamored of it that I’ve adopted the unused dry erase board in my office to share my “status” with my Twitterless co-workers.  Next to a childish drawing of my face are the words Faceboard Flitter Status – Connie is followed by sick of winter (really, really sick of winter) in a different color.

I haven’t been sure what this compulsion to share my status and my thoughts with friends and strangers is.  It’s one of those things that if I think about it too long, I just get confused.  I do know that my journaling has slowed way down and I often forget these are public musings.  Whatever it is that I’m doing, I ‘m not doing it for the audience, because I’m still surprised anyone other than me is reading it.  In the old days, I lurked for months and sometimes years, before I jumped into an email list or forum.  Those things were groups.  Some of these newer things are solo acts.  We glom together, we step back, we comment, we announce, and we end up grouping again.  I think what I’m doing is just talking; and bonding with the folks who listen and who, in turn, I listen to.

In a previous paragraph, I had written that I wouldn’t vlog under any circumstance, but I edited that out since it seemed out-of-place as I was talking about what I was doing.  I ridiculed the concept of Twitter, but now use it somewhat regularly.  At some point, I am really going to internalize never say never, but I can’t fathom what would have to happen to get me uploading vlogs to Youtube.  That will be a personal revolution I can’t imagine right now.

Kthxbai!  (I mean that sincerely – no contempt implied.)