Pride Goeth

Earlier this week, I ventured out of the warmer clime of our home and went out in the negative (F) temps in search of human interaction.  Sort of: I went to a shopping mall and then to get my haircut.  As I left our house, I turned on  my car to pull the engine out of hibernation and then dashed out to the barn to feed our horses.  (One does a lot of dashing in below-freezing temps.  That's how the song came about, you know.)

At the mall, I guess I wasn't so much interested in purchasing Christmas stuff at 90% off, and I arrived at my hair salon a little early.  I sat down to look through all the hair style books.  New year, new look, maybe?  Into page 3 of the first book, I mused to myself,... But....where are the pages with the 49-year old models?  The ones with the double chins?  And the hairstyles that DON'T frame your eyes, since who wants to highlight those bags?  My stylist came and got me in good time, though, and I resorted to my standard to-the-shoulder undercut.  Oh, well.  I walked out of the salon thinking I looked pretty good.

And so that was my frame of mind when I got back to my car, whipped off my black down coat (because I can't stand to be buckled in with that thing on, it's like driving in a straight jacket), and that is when I saw what probably everyone at the mall had laid eyes on:  the entire back of my coat was covered with horse feed slobber.  Apparently one of the horses had slimed me as I walked around and under their heads.  For those of you who do not spend much time in an equine environment, horse feed slobber looks an awful lot like vomit.

And the moral of this bit is: just when you acquire a notion that you're all that, or even a 49 year-old semi-all that with bags and sags, God WILL manage to put you in your place.    

Long Ago

I remember driving with my then-boyfriend/now husband, the 1500 miles to my new home in Connecticut.  I knew nothing, no one.  My then-boyfriend/now husband and I found an apartment for me, and then I drove him to New York and he flew off to the west coast.  This puts the story smack-dab in the middle of our romance.  But I am not thinking about that right now.  I am thinking about my move to Connecticut, not knowing a soul and not ever having been there.  Lots of the 28-year memories are foggy, but I remember a few things.  I was upset, having moved into the apartment, to discover there was no air conditioning.  And then nearly in a panic when I couldn't find any heating, either!  I remember calling home to my parents in a dismal mood.  Well, I soon found out: in Connecticut, the autumnal temps are such that one doesn't require an air conditioner, as in Oklahoma.  And the heater?  In-floor heating coils.  They were economical way before the Go Green era came about.

I remember being invited to spend Thanksgiving with a wonderful family in Rhode Island.  3 generations, the grandmother of whom was from Portugal.  They were amazed when I told them we Okies thought nothing of driving 3 hours to visit family.  Three hours in New England could take you through 3 states, and why would anyone want to drive three hours anyway, the grandmother asked.  She also told me stories of when she was young, how the different Catholic churches were designated by nationality/ethnic groups.  When she, as Portugese, went to Mass at a church nearer her home than her family church, the priest told her to go to her "own" church.

The move to Connecticut was followed by a move to California, to be nearer my then-boyfriend/now husband.  The same exercise in excitement, frustration, making new friends, making a household of sorts (from Mid-America to the East Coast to the West Coast...).  It wasn't any easier than my move to Connecticut - in fact, I found it more difficult.  It seemed harder to make friends, MUCH harder to find a job.  The only real plus was that I had an apartment close to Morro Bay (the beach).

No sooner had I moved out there then my then-boyfriend/now husband took a job in...Cairo.  Egypt.  And no sooner than that, but I was laid off my job.  So, no job, no boyfriend...I had loved Connecticut, and that's where I returned.  But this time, to a new town.  So...same song and dance, just a variation on my peripatetic theme.  I found a job I loved (Lord & Taylor), and settled in nicely to my new life.  But then...

My then-boyfriend/now husband proposed ( from Egypt), and...cut to the chase: we were married.  And I moved again.  To Cairo.

Now I was taking a roller coaster variation on the peripatetic theme!

Why am I reminiscing about all this?

Daughter #1 is moving to Atlanta this month for an internship.  She is about to enter a wonderful and trying experience, and I tell her, she will be very much the better for it.  Yippee!  I am excited for her!!

12th Night

I hope your holidays were gleeful and happy, and that your New Year is full of wonder and joy.

Empty Nest Stress

 All day Saturday I made mental notes about getting The Boy off to the airport the following night: Sunday night.  Graham has a friend who is flying out w/ him, so I called HIS mother to touch base about trips to the airport, etc.  After a few minuted discussing planes, trains, and automobiles, it came to light that their flight was NOT Sunday, it was tonight!  And everyone but me seemed to be aware of this.  EVEN THOUGH I WENT THROUGH THE ENTIRE WEEK SAYING THAT "GRAHAM LEAVES ON SUNDAY".  Nobody bothered correcting me.

This, in addition to the fact that Graham made his own airline reservation for the Christmas trip home, the maturity of which I was very proud, until he discovered that his flight gets him to Seattle after all the known transportation to Bellingham closes for the evening.  Cut to the chase: he would miss his first class or two of the new quarter, the following morning.  He emailed his profs, and one of them replied w/ a shuttle that Graham had not heard of, but is planning to take, he and his friend Taylor.  It will get them to the Bellingham airport at 2:30 am, and from there they will take a cab to Graham's dorm, and I am oh so sure that his roommate will be REALLY tickled to have that commotion going on, his first night back. 

OK. So where was I?

As we were driving home from the airport, I started in on my maudlin empty-nest thoughts of how all three kids are adults with lives of their own, and how quiet our holiday house will be (because it's not 12th Night until, well, THE 12th NIGHT (Wednesday) and so I still have some celebrating to get out of my system.)

Upon arriving in our drive (not even getting the gate open yet!), my phone rings.  Daughter #2: her upstairs neighbor's pipes broke and water was streaming down her neighbor's ceiling & wall (but not hers, not yet), and there was 3" of water standing in his apt.  All I said was "Set the piano on blocks and open your kitchen and bathroom sink cupboards!"

No sooner, I kid you not, than I hung up from her, but the phone rings:  The Boy.  In Denver.  He thought he forgot his keys (dorm, car, you name it.)  Yes, indeedy, he did.  They are in our kitchen.  But he called his roommate, so all was well, he says.  And could I send his keys, please?

But then he called a second time: His connection to Seattle is delayed for 2 hours, and they will miss the shuttle to Bellingham.  BUT!  He had presence of mind to call his cousin and they are taking a cab to her apt in Seattle till morning.   His words, "Well, Taylor is an adult and I am an adult, so 2 adults should be able to get along just fine.  No need to stress!"

Right.
Actually, my mother is right:

Motherhood never ends.  Ever.

Postscript, 6:45 am Tuesday:  I think I get it now.  I think the three kids put their heads together over the holidays and said something like, "Let's make sure Mom feels really really needed at the end of the holidays!"  Yes, that's what they must have done.  Daughter #1 called bright & early this morning from Chicago: she had rolled her car window down (I do not know why; it is 15º in Chicago.) as she started her 9-hr. drive back to Kansas, and now it will not roll up again...


More holiday...tomorrow!

For Your January Jocundry

If you think you are cold, consider this:  Snag, in the Yukon Territory of Canada, recorded a temperature of -81.4 F on February 3, 1947.  I wonder who was wintering in Snag that year?

Snowflakes: (And we gots 'em!):  When water freezes inside clouds, ice crystals form. The ice crystals join together, creating snow flakes.  Each snowflake is made up of from 2-200 separate crystals.  Judging from our yard this month, we must have a quadri-kabillion ice crystals of all shapes and sizes.  In December, we (rural Kansas) enjoyed 19" of snow.  And in January?  Day 3 of the pretty stuff...

Bald eagles: Migratory, and IN KANSAS NOW!  

Here are the purported 10 Largest Bald Eagle Wintering Sites in the US:

ALASKA (Chilkat Bald Eagle Preserve (Chilkat River, near Haines)
3,000 eagles

CALIFORNIA (Lower Klamath River (near Dorris, CA)
1,100 eagles

WISCONSIN (Nelson Dewey State Park (Mississippi River, near Cassville, WS)
650 eagles

WASHINGTON (Skagit River, 30 miles east of Sedro Wooley, WA)
450 eagles

IOWA Mississippi River Lock and Dam 19 (near Keokuk, IA)
400 eagles

NEBRASKAKingsley Dam (Lake Ogallala, near Ogallala)
350 eagles

MONTANA  Hauser Lake (Canyon Ferry Dam on Missouri River, near Helena, MT)
300 eagles

WYOMING  Woodruff Narrows Reservoir (Bear River, near Evanston)
200 eagles

KANSAS  Perry Reservoir (East of Topeka)
200 eagles

IDAHO  South Fork of the Snake River (near Pallisades, Idaho)
200 eagles  

Eagles do not have vocal cords. They make a high-pitched, shrill squeaking and screeching sounds via the air that passes the bones in their neck.  The sound is created where the windpipe is separated, going to the lungs.  
 

Bald eagles can fly at approximately 30 miles per hour and can dive at 100 miles per hour.

Polar bears: have black skin.
 

Recent genetic studies have shown that some clades (look it up!) of brown bear are more closely related to polar bears than to other brown bears.

Folklore/weatherlore:

Much rain in October,
Much wind in December.  (They got that one right!)

Flowers blooming in late autumn, a sure sign of bad winter coming...  (and my geraniums were still blooming past T'giving!!)  But, I wonder who qualifies what "bad winter" is?

(This will require that someone {besides me} remembers to jot this down in the spring):  The first frost in autumn will be exactly six months after the first thunderstorm of spring.

And finally:

As high as the weeds grow, 

So will the banks of snow.

 

Now, I was out in late November days, running on the Konza Prairie.  It's a tall grass prairie.  And the tall grass, I would muse to myself, was indeed over my head - which is approximately 5'2" high.  But that's grass, and not weeds, per se, so...

Time will tell!

~ Happy New Year