mollyringle: (Default)
 

While Texas drowns and another hurricane barrels toward the East Coast, wildfire smoke is filling Seattle’s sky, filtering the sun to a dim orange circle. We’ve had the driest summer on record, barely a drop of rain since mid-June. Heat and drought have rendered all the grass brown and the plants desiccated. Leaves are shriveling up and falling off trees. The “evergreen” Northwest looks not entirely unlike Mordor.

 

This is all wrong. By now we should have our first rains, cleaner air, a washing away of the summer dust. Instead we’re the Fire Nation and I hate it.

 

So, the time is ripe for a reposting, with a few edits, of something I wrote long ago on being one of those rare people who really, truly doesn’t like summer weather and really, truly does love rain, moss, ferns, clouds, and coolness. Here you go.

 

* * *

 

When I moved to the Sacramento area from my native Pacific Northwest in August of 2000 for a three-year grad school stint, the constant sunshine and 80-to-100-degree temperatures were at first a novelty. Then they began to make me bored. Then unhappy. Then borderline psychotic. I tried to believe it was the natural adjustment to an 800-mile move. I thought maybe I just needed something more productive to do with my days.

 

Then one day it rained--unexpectedly, and for that region totally unheard-of in August. All my tension relaxed. The air was clean, cool, and sweet. I could step outside, take a deep breath, and smile. Of course, it was August, so that only lasted a few days. The sun returned. The drought and 100-degree temperatures came back. Everything was yellow and brown and sky-blue for three months, like a photo of the African savannah, even into October. I plummeted into deeper unhappiness.

 

October is supposed to be the cool month, the month that is definitely no longer summer. In Seattle, October is when the battering rains howl in from the sea and knock trees down--if that hadn't already happened in September. In Cali, all remained warm and bright, the Beach Boys’ "endless summer." It was not so groovy after all. But the weather couldn't really account for my bad mood, could it?

 

Finally the rain returned in November, a true autumn rain this time: soaking, dripping, chilly, misty. The scent of wet leaves and chimney smoke rolled down the streets. Pollen and dust swirled away down the gutters. The wet pavement reflected lights at night. My mood soared.

 

I could no longer rule it a coincidence. After finishing grad school, I hightailed it back to Seattle as soon as possible.

 

Everyone's heard of Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD), which renders its sufferers depressed in the winter months due to a deficiency of happy-making neurochemicals normally triggered by sunlight exposure. But when I suggest I might have Reverse SAD, I garner little sympathy or comprehension. Who could possibly hate summer and sunshine? What's wrong with me?

 

Some doctors do acknowledge "summer depression," a condition that can cause irritability, insomnia, anxiety, and decreased appetite, but researchers estimate it's only about a fifth as common as regular SAD or winter depression. What causes summer depression is less clear. Too much heat? Too much light?

 

Both, I propose; along with other factors. For example:

 

- Sun exposure can cause wrinkles and cancer. On hot, clear days I have to slather sunscreen upon myself, enduring its greasy feel; and slather it also upon my kids, who complain every time. Never heard of rain causing cancer, did you?

 

- Every summer day without rain, I have to take half an hour to water the garden, or live with beige-colored, dying plants for July and August. I much prefer the rest of the year, when the sky supplies the water cost- and effort-free on my part.

 

- We sleep less in the summer and feel the ill effects. Up here in the north, the sky starts getting light at four o'clock in the morning in June, causing birds to chirp and making it hard for humans to sleep in. It's also hard to get our kids to go to bed at eight-thirty p.m. when daylight still reigns. In dark, rainy weather our whole family regularly sleeps longer and deeper.

 

- Glaring sun in your eyes can cause car or bicycle accidents even when you're wearing sunglasses. Cloudy skies make our roads safer--aside from that one first rainy day in late summer, of course, when everyone temporarily forgets how to drive on wet pavement.

 

- For those of us with school-age kids, they are home all the time in summer, causing a “disrupted schedule” for us all, as this WebMD article on summer depression diplomatically puts it.

 

- I’m uncomfortable when I’m sweaty for hours at a time. Are there people who actually like being sweaty all day? Or at least don’t mind it? I assume there have to be, but HOW do they not mind it?

 

- Rainy seasons give me an excuse to stay inside and curl up with a book or a movie or a TV show. And if I do venture out to the park with my umbrella and waterproof boots, I'm likely to have the forest or beach to myself. In summer, I do want to go outside, but there are PEOPLE all over the place out there.

 

- Did I mention the West is ON FIRE?

 

The good news--besides the fact that autumn will eventually come--is that I'm not alone. When I asked around, family members and friends have come out of hiding to admit their preference for non-summer weather too. My rain-loving Oregonian mother suggests a few names for people like us:

 

SLUG: Sunshine Leaves Us Grumpy

SHINE: Sun's Heat Is Not Enabling

GRACE: Give Rain A Chance, Everybody

PUDDLE: Prefer Umbrella Drip-Drop-Like Environment

HAPPY: Have Always Preferred Puddly Yard

 

I’m ready to be HAPPY instead of summer-SAD, please. Hurry back soon, rainclouds.

mollyringle: (bat)
Here in Seattle, cool drizzle has moved in, and I was outside just now enjoying it, and listening to Dead Can Dance, and thereby having a delightfully Halloweenish feel to my lunch hour, and that led me to a revelation about Halloween and the Southern Hemisphere:

I have friends in Australia (e.g. writer Dean Mayes​) who have expressed dissatisfaction about Halloween; it seems to them just a pointless imported American holiday. And I've always been all, "Noooo, but Halloween is our one truly cool holiday! All the others are tedious, but Halloween's different and spooky and crazy and awesome!" Which I still believe.

HOWEVER, now that I think about it, I bet the problem is simply this: in the Southern Hemisphere, they've got Halloween in the middle of spring. And you cannot have Halloween in the middle of spring. That makes zero sense.

Halloween (or properly Samhain) is all about the decay of summer into autumn, life into death, the veil between our world and the Underworld becoming thin, and all that spooky goodness. You MUST have it on a chilly autumn night with leaves falling off the trees and scudding along the street in the wind. You totally cannot have it among blossoming bushes and greening gardens.

So, see if this makes more intuitive sense, my Australian and other Southern-Hemisphere friends: picture Halloween on April 30/ May 1. Then picture Beltane ("May Day") on October 31. I'm betting that fits a whole lot better. Right? (This blogger has said as much too. I feel silly that this confusion hasn't occurred to me until now.)

Seasons and holidays: sorted.
mollyringle: (Rain - leaves)
As you probably haven't heard, because California's admittedly more serious drought has overshadowed ours in the news, the Pacific Northwest this summer has very much NOT been its characteristic rainy self. Actually--and no one from outside the region ever believes this, but it's true--we usually do get dry summers. It's normal for the grass in Seattle to have turned brown by August. But this year the drought started in spring, kept up relentlessly, and was coupled with unusual heat that also persisted week after week. Leaves have been turning brown and falling off in great enough numbers that I had to rake in early August. That is NOT normal.

But! On Friday it rained! In fact, it freaking poured. It had rained a little, a couple of times, between May and now, but only enough to sprinkle the air and make it muggy. It was nothing like this. After so many months suffering from the heat wave, I experienced such a surge of happiness that it felt almost like I was in love with the rain.

Making it better still, my family and I were on our way to Mount Rainier for the weekend when the storm moved in. We rolled down the car windows and inhaled the gorgeous mossy fragrance of Rainier's thick evergreen forests freshly drenched with rain. Our rental cabin had a hot tub, so we got to relax in steaming water with cool rain filtering through the trees above us and dripping on our heads. We got to fall asleep with the gentle sound of raindrops pattering on the cabin roof.

Getting drenched at Paradise Inn:


Then yesterday the clouds cleared, so we could actually SEE the mountain, which was a plus too. Best of both worlds.




Being in love with the rain isn't a new feeling for me. You can probably tell I don't like hot weather anyway. In fact, I could live without it being above 80 F (27 C) ever again in my life. It's part of why I live in the Northwest: not only is the cool, wet cloudiness what I'm used to, having been born here, but it's what I like. (Some people are born here and end up loving hot, dry weather best. Others are born in hot, dry places and love cool climates best. I'm convinced it's not a "nurture" issue, or at least not entirely, but more of a taste/preference issue.)

While I'm on the subject, I will share with you two other times that come to mind in which I felt in love with rain:

1) Davis, California, November 2001: Since it was central California, it basically didn't rain at all from April through October, and was hellishly hot as well. We got all the way to November before a proper drenching rain swept in. That morning when I got up for class, in the dark (an 8:00 a.m. section means getting up in the dark in November), I didn't mind the earliness or the darkness at all. My heart was soaring. I opened the bathroom window and inhaled the sweet rain scent. I biked to class in the dark, in the rain, and adored every second of it. Yes. In love.

2) London, England, August 1995: It was my first visit to the U.K., with my parents and younger sister. Our ten-day stay unfortunately coincided with an unusual heat wave. Like the Pacific Northwest, Britain doesn't have air conditioning in most buildings because they "don't need it," so that made things even more uncomfortable. But on our last evening there, back in London after the week's bus tour around Great Britain, the heat eased and a gentle rain began falling. My sister and I danced in the hotel parking lot in it. Experiencing rain in England: I mean, come on, that's a must.

Am I still in love with rain after it's been around for three months straight? Well, no. Or at least, less so. Variety is the key here; that's the thing. But I do get tired of heat a lot faster. Now our forecast calls for another week of dry warmth...sigh. Oh my lover rain, you were fabulous, but I'd like to see you a little more often this time of year. 
mollyringle: (Caillebotte - Rainy Day)

I feel like I should post something. Summer kind of melts my brain, though, especially when it's been as hot as Seattle has been this year. We got virtually none of our beautiful "June gloom," the layer of clouds we usually get that keeps it cool and keeps summer officially away until the 5th of July. Instead, this year, not only did it not rain on the 4th of July (sacrilege! It must rain on the 4th of July in Puget Sound!), it was hot all that week, all of June, and all last weekend. We've had almost no rain at all. The grass is already scorched to stiff, dry brown. Leaves are turning yellow and falling off trees. It's like a lovely September afternoon...but it's July.

For the first time ever in all my lifetime in the Pacific Northwest, I caved and bought an air conditioner. Last weekend when it was 98 degrees out (aaaaarrrrrrrggggghhh), we did a lot of standing in front of it. (When you feel like snickering at our idea of "hot" up here, keep in mind very few of us have any A/C, and in fact our houses are more designed to trap heat in than to let it out. So it quickly got to the mid-80s indoors here with no way to cool off--until we got the A/C, that is. But it only really cools off one room at a time.)

BUT now it's cloudy and mid-60s again. Whew. So perhaps I can perhaps think once more.

Tidbits of good news:

The Seattle Public Library finally carries one of my books!

I showed my kids the 2003 Peter Pan movie, and they liked it. In fact, the younger one has been watching it again for a couple days in a row. I, being a girl, still adore the non-canon kiss they added. Peter spiraling up into the sky afterward, literally glowing and with a face-splitting smile, captures youthful post-kiss feelings so beautifully. Even if he's not supposed to want to grow up. ;)




Latest fermentation experiment: I'm trying homemade lacto-fermented juice. The ginger bug is made and bubbling nicely, and I've just added it to orange juice. Wish the good bugs luck.

Not a lot of big trips going on for us this summer, but we do plan at least to get to mountains and coast at various times.

Writing (starting a new novel). Reading (all kinds of stuff). Learning mindfulness (some days go better than others).

So. Happy summer!

mollyringle: (couple w/ umbrella on street)
An open letter to those in charge of stocking items at Target:

Dear madams and sirs,

You have lost a goodly handful of cash, and much of my business, due to being so astoundingly, colossally stupid as to fail to stock kids' rain boots this time of year in Seattle. You currently have flip-flop sandals and swimsuits all over the clothing department, but nary a rain boot to be found. Sirs and madams, this is the Pacific Northwest. Puddle Land. Drizzle Country. We *might* be planning our summer wardrobe this time of year, but it is beyond question that we need rain boots every month of the year except July and August. And often even then. If you do not stock kids' rain boots in early March in Seattle, when and where do you consider it worthwhile to (expletives deleted) stock them?

Your faithful customer--no, actually, someone else's now--

Molly
mollyringle: (Hughes - Night)
A couple of years ago, as the spring equinox approached, I wrote a short piece about Persephone digging herself out to get the season going. Today is the autumn equinox, and I've finally written a corresponding piece about her descending back to the Underworld. There. We now have a pair of equinox bookends.

I should note that these two vignettes do not feature the same Persephone and Hades that I've written about in Persephone's Orchard. The Persephone and Hades shown here are more magical and more connected to the seasons, have a much more tentative marriage, and in general are more like the gods in the myths. Enjoy, and happy equinox!

AUTUMN

Persephone treads the forest path alone. Twilight is falling earlier now, just after dinner, and the air is turning cold. She glances at the jewels on her rings and sandals, but so far they aren't lighting up to brighten her way. They haven't sensed the Underworld and Hades yet.

She has said goodbye to her mother for the summer, which is always sad for both of them, and the poignancy has radiated out into the world. A cold wind blows at her back and shoots through the forest. It desiccates green leaves, turning them brown and red and yellow and sending them swirling to the ground. Good thing she and Demeter snipped all the frost-sensitive herbs this morning and hung them up in the kitchen to dry.

Over the past six months, they've also banished apple blights, blessed grape arbors and wheat fields, celebrated the birth of lambs and calves, and attended about a thousand and one harvest festivals. Honestly, Persephone's sick of making fresh grapevine wreaths for her head every day. Switching those for one sturdy jeweled crown, which needs no maintenance except the occasional quick polish, is fine with her. Read more... )
mollyringle: (Kimberley)
Some years spring comes gently and gracefully. Other years, like this one, it seems we have to fight endlessly for it through snow, slush, mud, wind, and rain. Currently, I long for spring and am wanting to throttle winter. So I wrote this. Other than a mood piece or a really weird short-short story, I'm not sure what you'd call it. But I call it...

PERSEPHONE DIGS HERSELF OUT

Persephone treads the stone passageway under the earth. The jewels in her crown, belt, and sandals light the path for her, surrounding her with a gentle white glow, like those little lights humans string on their houses at winter solstice. (She's never up there that time of year, of course, but she's seen pictures.)

The solstice was three months ago. She's done now with the winter half of the year. She's arranged and co-hosted the Underworld holiday party, supervised all the clean-up, and personally written the thank-you notes. (Honestly, did Hades ever help with those? Good thing he has broad shoulders and a world of jewels to recommend him--and the attractive habit of not talking much.)

Hours ago she locked up her winter wardrobe, kissed her husband goodbye, and set off. She passed the three-headed dog, who whined and yipped and jumped up to lay his heavy paws on her shoulders. She sent him into a stern Down-Stay, scratched all six of his ears, and moved on. She exited the hundred-foot-high gates of the Underworld, wiggled through the dense crowd of ghastly and sad and excited souls crowding for entrance, and set out on the lonely road that sloped gradually upward. A glowing soul, or a regular living cave insect, has sometimes crossed her path, but otherwise it has been nothing but her and the cool black rocks.

Now she feels grit beneath her sandals. Soon it turns to soft soil, and then squishy wet dirt. The smell of earth and mold fills her nose. Before long her foot splashes in a shallow puddle, sloshing cold water over her foot. "Crap," she mutters. She lifts her skirts out of the way and continues forward in the increasing muck, her glowing jewels reflected and twinkling in the puddles. As she advances, the walls of the cave narrow and the ceiling lowers until she has to stoop to keep from hitting her head.

Finally she finds herself at the end of the tunnel: a complete blockage in the form of a huge tangle of tree roots. They corkscrew down from above, covered with grime and dripping with chilly water.

Persephone stops with a sigh, looking up at the gnarly hunk of roots and earth. "I hate this part," she says, then takes a deep breath and ducks into the tangle.

She reaches up, fingers parting the roots to make room for her head. Taking hold of two sturdy, slimy roots, she hauls her body upward into the knot of dirt. She dislodges mud and groundwater, which splatter onto her hair and gown and face. Wincing, she mutters a lively curse Hermes once taught her (in Ancient Greek, even), and pushes her arms further upward into the wet clump. As she fights her way higher, the pressure of roots and earth squeezes her tighter. Pebbles and clods of dirt tumble down the back of her gown and lodge against her rear. Worms and insects crawl over her hands and feet. The roots score scratches in her arms and tear at the hem of her gown. Soil and dead leaves fall into her eyes and land on her lips; she grunts and spits them out, and continues to struggle up--painfully, slowly, up.

Just as she's wondering if this is finally the year some other bastard god or bitch goddess has played a mean trick on her and gotten her trapped in some endless hole, her fingers break through the surface. Through the narrow fissure, white daylight pours onto her skin. With a gust of relief, she shoves one foot against one root, her other foot against another, and stretches both arms into the free air.

Persephone hauls the rest of her body out of the earth and collapses on her back, coughing the dirt out of her lungs, and gulping down the cold fresh air. She's shivering convulsively. Beneath her crackles a crust of snow on top of a carpet of dead leaves. The sky, sensing her presence, parts its clouds and lets the sun spear a beam down onto her. The brightness and hint of warmth make her open her eyes, though she has to shield them for a moment against the glare. She casts a look around from her position on the ground. Beside her rises the massive oak whose roots she just battled. Around her is a forest of similar trees, their branches rising bare and their feet in the snow. Still, her arrival brightens the colors even as she glances about--tree buds swell and turn a deeper red, wildflower bulbs send their green spikes an inch higher, the earliest tiny leaves on a shrub unfurl in brilliant chartreuse.

She drops her hand and looks straight at the sun. "There you are. You'd better warm this place up. It's fricking freezing."

She sits up, and heaves herself to her feet, shaking dirt out of her skirts. "Ugh." She examines her clothes, arms, feet, and hair (which has completely come loose from its tidy twist and is matted with grime now). Her tongue finds a fleck of dead leaf stuck inside her lip, and she spits it out. Where her saliva lands, a clump of daffodils springs up and blooms, delighted to receive such honors.

Persephone plants her hands on her hips and addresses the sun again. "Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to take a nice long bath in the hot springs, get a massage, and put on a clean gown. Then I'm going to come back out here and start taking care of things. You need to have all this--" She kicks at the crust of snow. "--cleared away by the time I get back. Understood?"

The clouds pull farther away from the sun, letting it shine brighter. Simultaneously, a gentle rain begins to fall, melting the patches of snow.

"That's better." Persephone turns and begins walking toward the rainbow that's appeared beyond the nearest hill. "Also, if you didn't get me a cute massage guy this time, we will have storms of trouble."

In obedience to the goddess of spring, thunder rumbles from dark clouds on the horizon, backing up her threat--but keeping its distance until she should give her orders. As she walks, violets sprout in every spot that her dirty, cold, scratched feet touch the earth.
mollyringle: (moon over ocean)
I seldom come up with science fiction ideas, but here's one that occurred to me lately while dealing with our flooded basement (puddles and rivulets, not inches or feet, but still a nuisance):

Once science has figured out how to teleport matter, maybe involving those odd particles that act on one another at a distance or something, the world can set up a water exchange program. Via the future's version of the internet, a person or group who has too much water can hook up with someone who doesn't have enough, and, poof!, the water gets whisked away from the flood-stricken and given to the water-needy. So, for example, our basement's water could go to some parched home garden in Australia. Or, on a larger scale, the floodwaters rampaging riverfront property in the state of Washington right now could be spirited away to supply the city of Los Angeles or other desert metropolises. Handy, huh? Get on that, science.

In totally different news, I finally got around to watching the "making of" featurette for HBO and [livejournal.com profile] grrm (George R.R. Martin)'s "A Game of Thrones," and I am officially excited!



Yowza, talk about eye candy--on the part of actors and set dressing alike. Scenery, too, as apparently they filmed in both Northern Ireland and Malta. And the cool thing about Martin's story is that it's not merely eye candy; it's brain candy as well. Mind you, given the sex-and-violence level, I'll have to find a way to watch it when my kids aren't around, but this looks worth it.
mollyringle: (Vettriano - umbrella - by c_sharp_icons)
Bent to smell a rose;
dew hidden in its petals
left my lips dampened.

Think that was the god
of summer, stealing a kiss.
Saucy young fellow.
mollyringle: (winters jewels)
We've noticed that customers who have purchased or rated "Wuthering Heights (Penguin Classics)" by Emily Brontë have also purchased "The Penguin Classics Library Complete Collection: More than 1000 of the Greatest Classics". For this reason, you might like to know that "The Penguin Classics Library Complete Collection: More than 1000 of the Greatest Classics" is now available. You can order yours for just $7,989.50 ($5,423.80 off the list price) by following the link below.

(Boldface mine.)

Um...maybe some other time, thanks.

(In other news: it snowed! And it's very cold. But pretty.)

Zap!

Jul. 3rd, 2008 11:30 am
mollyringle: (lightning)
Whoa. Awesome photo of lightning striking the Space Needle this morning.

We've been hearing thunder and seeing distant flashes off and on for about the last fourteen hours. Rain soaked everything, just in time to keep fireworks from setting the state ablaze like California. Ah, I love Seattle.

Though I am still a bit scared of lightning. It's hotter than the surface of the sun, dudes. Scary.
mollyringle: (winters jewels)
I only do this because today's view was so seasonally unusual. Winter came gallumphing back into Seattle for the morning, leading us all to say, "Uh...???"Photographic proof )
mollyringle: (Willow - Hi - by aom_leiconz)
Tagged by [livejournal.com profile] new_iconoclast...

1) Players start with 8 random facts about themselves.
2) Those who are tagged should post these rules and their 8 random facts.
3) Players should tag 8 other people and notify them they have been tagged.

So, my 8 random facts:

1. As proof that I'm behind the times, I have never sent or received a text message on a cell phone.

2. As further proof of the same thing, up until about a year ago I thought "MySpace" was a file storage type of site. Which I guess it is, if you count skanky photos and long emo posts as files.

3. After reading about noctilucent clouds on SpaceWeather.com, and seeing photos of them, I thought, "Oh, sure, I've seen those plenty of times." I verified this the other night by looking out the window at twilight and spotting some. Sure, there they are; we get 'em all the time here, I figured. Then I found out I was just lucky, for these are fairly rare at this latitude. So what was I seeing before? Not-so-lucent clouds, evidently.

4. I think I have a bunion on one foot. I'm not sure what to do about that, but my mother-in-law has them and they've nearly crippled her on bad days. Greeeat.

5. I tend to like fantasy but not sci-fi; love stories but not romance novels; true crime but not mysteries. With exceptions for each, of course.

6. I like purple flowers best of all. Then blue. Then white. Then red or yellow. But fragrance is really more important than color.

7. I eat peanut butter with chocolate chips off a spoon (or a table knife) quite a lot. I maintain that this is a healthy snack.

8. I disapprove of most bumper stickers. They're a bad policy. Sooner or later, everyone, even you, does something annoying in traffic. At that point, those who agree with your bumper sticker will be dismayed because you're making their side look bad; and those who disagree with your bumper sticker will just hate you even more for it.

And now...I disobey the rules by not tagging anyone, but inviting anyone to take part who wants to. I have a cold; I get to bow out early.
mollyringle: (lightning)
I know you were all just petrified for me when you heard about the gigantic windstorms in the Pacific Northwest. You weren't?...You didn't hear about them?...Oh. Well! I'll tell you what happened anyway!

A big storm with gusts up to 65 mph was predicted for Thursday night. It rolled in right on time, and started by knocking over our recycle bin and sending our outdated grocery lists flying away into the greater West Seattle area. Wearing the baby, I went outside, tugged the bin upright, and dragged it and the garbage can up against a wind-protected fence corner, in a howling wind that led me to tell the baby, "Auntie Em! It's a twister!" I then saw a lightning flash, which led me to say, "Okay, time to go inside."

We still had power when we went to bed that night, though our bedroom window was getting lashed so hard by rain and screaming winds that I don't think either Steve or I slept much. Instead you're thinking, "So, if the cottonwood tree fell over, would it crush this part of the room exactly, or just the part over there?" Then, with a silent and chilling lack of sound, the nightlights went out. I don't know what time that was, since, like, the power was out and I couldn't see a clock; but I estimate somewhere between midnight and 2:00 a.m.

58 degrees in the house the next morning. OK, we can deal. Sat around and read books and ate non-power-required things like crackers and fruitcake and chocolate and oranges and cereal. (Had to try to use up the milk while the fridge was out.) Went outside and looked at a tremendous number of fallen trees around the neighborhood. Power seemed to be out just about everywhere.

56 degrees inside by the time we blew out the candles and went to bed Friday night. Not too bad, but what a difference ten degrees made, we thought! (That is, ten degrees lower than our usual room temperature.)

49 degrees Saturday morning. Able to see breath in air, indoors. Hmm. This was losing its thrill. There was a little bit of warm water left in the water heater, so I took a bath, and got out steaming and shivering in the candlelight. Found there was power up the road, so we spent a lot of time in bookstores and restaurants and PetCo (baby liked looking at the fish, birds, chinchillas, ferrets, and mice; as well as one insane hamster that kept pawing frantically at the corner of its glass cage for, oh, an hour straight). 48 degrees when we went to bed, and Molly getting into very bad mood.

44 degrees when we woke up this morning. Dead frozen icy air, like inside a tent on a mountain in March. Swore and cursed while putting clothes on, and went straight to local diner (which had power) without even brushing hair. Molly making patient, wifely statements like, "I'm not staying here another night. I'm calling hotels if our power isn't back by 3:00 today." Fortunately for all within reach of Molly's spoiled and bitter mood, power was back when we returned from diner, about 11:00 this morning. Heat is busily blasting away, and the 56-degree mark now feels like a summer day.

Actually, 56 degrees is a summer day around here.

It was nice to get a Christmas card from [livejournal.com profile] ramaustin, though, sending "warm greetings from Florida." Warm greetings were just the type we needed. :)

Also, as a public service announcement, do not run generators or charcoal grills or propane grills or any other outdoor-type of grills indoors. People are dying or being hospitalized from carbon monoxide poisoning when they hauled their Smoky Joes and generators inside for warmth--adult people who should know better. Be careful! Don't be idiots!

And also, get your damn trees trimmed so they don't fall on power lines. Harrumph.
mollyringle: (Powerpuff - by Xenia)
Courtesy of my dad, here's the greatest thing ever: the Calvin & Hobbes snowman creations all in one fabulous collection!

Enter the icy house of horrors )

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