first day

I'm not in the New Year's spirit. Is that possible? I mean, how is it possible? Really, what about the idea of New Year is there not to like?

It's not that I dislike it. It's just that I have other things on my mind this time around. Never one to participate in the festivities, it's not like I missed out this year because I didn't attend a party. I never do.

I worked until 10:30pm (don't get me wrong, I'm glad that they let us out two hours early). When I got home, I watched half an hour of the weak programming on one television network, and half an hour of commercials interspersed with nanosecond appearances by Dick Clark, Ryan Seacrest, a few of Disney's and American Idol's latest stars, and about a million of their closest friends in Times Square.

My husband and I kissed at midnight. That was the best part. And now it's another day, pretty much like all other days, except I didn't have to work today. Ted did -- up before the freakin' crack of dawn to open the store, and there for nine hours. It snowed. Again. Did I mention that we just survived the snowiest December in New Hampshire history? I still have all the same chores on my 'to do' list. I still have all the same worries. I still don't know what to do about my chores and worries. This year, the type of blind optimism that even the grumpiest people embrace (at least temporarily) has eluded me. And I'm not typically one of the grumpiest.

So, why am I here? Why bother blogging on the holiday when I'm so clearly not drinking the Kool-Aid this year? Two reasons. I'd like to try and be a bit more conscientious about writing, and that includes blogging. That said, I am tempted to put sanguinary blue on ice and start an anonymous blog, but that's a story for another day. And I want to share the always well-timed and beautifully phrased wisdom of Verlyn Klinkenborg. From his "The Rural Life" column in the New York Times.

New Year’s Eve
By Verlyn Klinkenborg

At midnight tonight, the horses on this farm will age a year. That is the custom — every horse has the same birthday, Jan. 1. Like all things calendrical, this is a human convention. When it comes to equine conventions, I know enough to notice some of the simpler forms of precedence: who goes first through a gate, who gets to the grain feeder ahead of the others. But I can report that the horses make no fuss about their common birthday or the coming of the new year. Tonight, like any other, they will be standing, dozing on their feet, ears tipping back and forth at the slightest of sounds.

There is something deeply gratifying about joining the horses in their pasture a few minutes before the clock strikes 12 on New Year’s Eve. What makes the night exceptional, in their eyes and mine, is my presence among them, not the lapsing of an old year.

It’s worth standing out in the snow just to savor the anticlimax of midnight, just to acknowledge that out of the tens of millions of species on this planet, only one bothers to celebrate not the passing of time, but the way it has chosen to mark the passing of time. I remember the resolutions I made when I was younger. I find myself thinking that one way to describe nature is a realm where resolutions have no meaning.

It’s not that time isn’t passing or that the night doesn’t show it. The stars are wheeling around Polaris, and the sugar maples that frame the pasture are laying down another cellular increment in their annual rings. The geese stir in the poultry yard. A hemlock sheds its snow. No two nights are ever the same.

I always wonder what it would be like to belong to a species — just for a while — that isn’t so busy indexing its life, that lives wholly within the single long strand of its being. I will never have even an idea of what that’s like.

I know because when I stand among the horses tonight, I will feel a change once midnight has come. Some need will have vanished, and I will walk back to the house — lights burning, smoke coming from the wood stove — as if something had been
accomplished, some episode closed.

I love that this article puts the hype into perspective. At least, it somewhat justifies my lack of enthusiasm for the revelry. It also gives me an excuse to include a picture of my niece, Courtney. Not that I need an excuse. I feel certain she wished Willie a happy horse birthday and carrot-filled new year.

i don't have to dream

And here in New Hampshire, it will definitely be a white one. Despite my earlier rant on the bombardment of stormy weather, it's always nice to have snow for Christmas.

Listening to lots of my favorite Christmas songs these days. Just heard this upbeat little number, and decided to share it with you. I've actually put video of Bianca Ryan here before. Well, here she is again.

If I'm not back blogging before Tuesday, MERRY CHRISTMAS!

enough, already

When we moved from the amazing-wonderful-incredible-beautiful-perfect-except-for-the-earthquakes Seattle to Connecticut, Ted's best friend laughed out loud (literally) for five minutes. Ted, who grew up in Arizona, said he'd never live in the Northeast. His rationalization became that we would be living in the "tropics" of New England -- so close to the Southwestern border of the Southwestern-most New England state that it was really more like a part of New York. And there was some truth to that concept. Yes, we got snow, but were never as hard-hit as the interior of Connecticut and certainly everything above it.

Then, we moved to New Hampshire.

We got here just as September began. It was beautiful. Warm and summery, open windows and breezes, sunshine. "Isn't it great being in New Hampshire," we thought? Fall was everything it should be: crisp, clean air with the aroma of wood-burning fires. Incredible foliage. "We're so lucky to live in New Hampshire," we mused. Then, November rolled around. There was a dusting of snow the first week. "Wow, that's freakish," we speculated. When I was growing up in this state, it was usually a safe bet that the first snow would fall sometime around Thanksgiving. So it was weird to get even very light snow so early.

But then there was another light snowfall. And another. And another. And, you guessed it, yet another. Five light snows in November and early December.

Then came the heavy stuff. Three full-on blizzards, two earning the dreaded "Nor'Easter" title. The kind of weather that convinces the TV news to run a perpetual scroll at the bottom of the screen, even during the commercials. The kind that closes down 600 schools state-wide, and makes a 4.9-mile commute take nearly an hour (those are not hypotheticals, by the way... both of those things happened during the first of two storms last week).

Saturday's storm made for mad plow-scrambling on Sunday, and a crazy accumulation of the white stuff overtaking every corner of the city. By Monday, what was visible of the road was passable, but the snowbanks has crept into the lanes and obliterated the sidewalks. Snow emergencies and parking bans were implemented, and by Monday night, dozens of plows, front-end loaders, and massive dump trucks were in full snow removal mode. I heard that the city of Manchester was trucking theirs to a facility in Bedford where it was dumped into a giant melter, and the resulting water was simply "poured" into the sewer system. I don't know where they're taking it here.

Our personal parking situation -- already a delicate balance of timing and choreography -- took on bizarre, haywire, and often laughable proportions over the course of four days. We weren't quite back to normal yesterday, when the unfortunate people who decided to pursue careers as meteorologists informed us that another storm watch was in effect.

For the fourth time in less than two weeks.

It started right about sunset last night, and has already left a couple inches of snow, topped with a layer of freezing rain, now being covered with more snow. They say we could end up with as much as additional 9" before Friday morning rolls around.

And it's not even technically winter yet.

My husband thinks he's been tricked into moving here. All those reassurances that winter is milder on the seacoast ring very empty to him when he's bundled up to the teeth in heavy coats and nerdy hats.

Maybe I should re-think Arizona after all.

Maybe I should just go to bed.

miscellany

It's the Christmas season, which means I'm revelling in the spirit. Thanks to my friend, Rina, who's let me use her house as my Christmas Central, and five trips to that house later, all of our wrapping was completed a few weeks ago. That leaves me stress-free, so I can be chipper to watch sentimental old movies, enjoy all the lights and decorations, and listen to my insanely huge holiday music playlist. I love Christmas!

The blog's been quiet for a while. I'm still trying to balance three jobs, one of which keeps me working until past midnight five days a week. Other life things have cropped up in amongst the schedule, and the blog is one of many hobbies that suffer. There are two things in particular I just had to share today, so I'm squeezing in a little time to get them posted before heading out to the next series of tasks.

My friend, Chris, invited me to her Facebook community today. When I looked at her profile, I found she'd created an avatar of herself a la South Park. How freakin' cool is that? So, naturally, I had to go find the website and make one for myself. Knowing my proclivity toward certain characteristics in previous avatars, I made two versions. One that I'll show at a later date when I'm feeling particularly kooky. The other fits my standard (look right). Bonus that I got to add an iPod and a computer!

The other thing I wanted to share is a website/campaign that rallies against one of my least favorite people, MeMe Roth (I'm not linking to her site her because she doesn't deserve the traffic). Now, it's not keeping with the holiday spirit to dislike someone, especially so vehemently. In general, I attempt to focus on the behavior, not the person (parenting advice I learned years ago and never needed to implement because I have no kids!). But MeMe strikes me as someone who totally and utterly embodies the bad behavior she purports. At the tip of the iceberg is her claim that obesity is tantamount to child abuse. As a pacifist, I could slug her in the jaw for that.

Anyhoo, MeMe has taken it upon herself to attack Santa Claus because he sets a bad example ('cuz he's fat, doncha' know). Seriously. I mean... SERIOUSLY. The woman is shameless. Thankfully, there's DVA Advertising and Public Relations -- a company who decided to create a campaign encouraging the integrity of Santa's image. Check it out! My favorite part is the "graphic standards manual" for Santa. And the best part is the petition, where every signature translates to a pound of food for America's Second Harvest. Take THAT, Ms. Roth.

Santa rules!

good tidings

It's the night before Thanksgiving, and I got out of work two hours early! What will I do with this extra time?

1. Re-sync my iPod to include only the HOLIDAY MUSIC playlist. In progress right now.

2. Write our holiday newsletter. In one night. Really.

If you know me well, you can stop laughing about that second one. I will not be doing the typical elaborate desktop publishing style newsletter as is my habit. Next year. For now, I just need to send holiday cheer and give a quick update.

So, no more blogging for me. I have things to do!

Happy Thanksgiving.

cat translation

This is too funny. Start with the original:



Then watch the translation:

everybody wins

fortune

"You have a potential urge and the ability for accomplishment."

i should stop doing this

But I totally can't. It releases me from the obligation to actually write something. You must watch this kitty video. Good night!

funny in any language

Is there anything better than baby laughs? I don't think so!

seasons' greetings

happy hallowe'en