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26
Jan 26

Winter and weddings

Here’s the update from high noon. At least the sun was out, which was an improvement over yesterday. Also, there was no precipitation today, which was a glorious change of pace after yesterday.

We went back out in the late afternoon to chip away at more of the drive, thinking the sunlight might help, though it still felt like it was 10 degrees. Maybe it did. This is the system we adapted today. It is pretty good, if only because we had a lot of driveway in which to experiment.

I took the larger snow shovel and, standing in the middle of the drive, I would ram it underneath the frozen solid slab of ice that covered all of the earth. After two or four big pushes a few feet were carved out. My lovely bride, standing in front of me, and with a slightly smaller shovel, and one designed with a much better angle for, ya know, shoveling, would scoop those chunks into the yard. I worked around her, scooping up and chopping the left and right sides. This shovel is large enough that three rounds would just about clear the width of the drive. I figured that attacking the middle intimidated the flanks, because those were always a bit easier to bust up. In the places the ice got stubborn, I turned the shovel onto its corner and give a little axe-like tap. Working like this, we made our way down the drive, clearing off about 990 square feet in an hour.

Then we helped dig out the new neighbors. They have two little kids, and it was still ridiculously cold, never mind that I ditched my jacket. So mom and dad were taking turns with the kids inside, and the drive outside. Welcome to the neighborhood, nice to finally meet you.

Our other neighbor, Joe the Elder, was out on his tractor trying to plow the three neighborhoods for which he is responsible. No one gave him this job. He took it on himself. And it’s a good thing, despite the many taxes we pay, we are not the recipients of any road cleaning services. During last weekend’s snow was the first time in three winters I’ve seen a snowplow go down the road that wasn’t Joe the Elder. He must have been lost.

My lovely bride walked out of the neighborhood to see the big road, by which we mean a two-lane county highway. It is not in great shape. The local school districts have all canceled classes again tomorrow. I have just uploaded some reading materials for my students. There are a lot of country roads between our house and campus and I’d already heard from about 15 percent of my students that they weren’t going to risk it, anyway. I do not blame them. I commend the wisdom of the safe decision. We’ll catch up Thursday and next Tuesday, if necessary. (It’ll be necessary, but we’ll do it.)

As it says in the video, above, we dug out Sunday. You see why that’s necessary, but you also realize it is a Sisyphean task. I believe it snowed and sleeted and iced after that dig-out as it had before hand.

We got eight inches, easy. But even more on the leeward side of the house, where the sidewalk sits, blown off the roof no doubt.

That was Sunday. We were contemplating how to handle the drive today and I said, Are you expecting any deliveries this week? No? We’re not shoveling the sidewalk.

Saturday, before the storm blew in, we went out to celebrate my god-parents-in-law (just go with it) 50th anniversary. It was partially a surprise. It was supposed to be last weekend, on their actual anniversary, but that got snowed out. Their daughters hustled to get it in today, else we might have just celebrated in the summer.

It went like this. They’d rented a room at the happy couple’s favorite Italian restaurant. Much of their family came, some old work friends came, and so on. They just expected the immediate family for dinner, so the surprise was this full room. My godfather-in-law is a retired teacher, and I sat next to two of his former colleagues. The easiest way to say it is that the stories your teachers have about their lives away from school will really make you second-guess every opinion you had of these people. These two guys were no different.

Dinner was served. Vows were renewed, as officiated by one of their daughters. Photographs were taken. Cake was distributed. This was the cake topper.

Their actual wedding cake topper. (The groom was not wearing a black tux in 1976. It was a much better tuxedo.) One of their son-in-laws pulled it from safe storage when they weren’t looking so it could be used again Saturday. They’d asked all of the guests to prepare pages of a scrapbook, memories of family and friends for half a century. It was lovely.

My father-in-law, the best man at their wedding, gave a toast Saturday, much as he did so long ago. He did a great job. My mother-in-law gave a little speech. These two wouldn’t have been together if not for my in-laws. The two men were childhood best friends. They’ve known each other 70 years. The two women went to nursing school together, and were roommates there. They met at my in-laws’ wedding. My in-laws had the one daughter, and they are her godparents. They had two daughters, and my in-laws are their godparents.

Not the whole of the dinner party, but that immediate family — the happy couple, their daughters’ families, my in-laws, us — returned to their house for a few minutes after dinner. The still-blushing bride pulled out her wedding album. I saw photos of both of their parents — two of which I had the chance to meet a few times. She pulled out her wedding dress, which has been carefully sealed in a cardboard picture box all of these years.

Fifty years.

Fifty years, and one week. Count the weeks. That’s 2,601 weeks. Count the days. That’s 18,269 days, as of Saturday. Lovely people; they built a fine life and a wonderful family. They said it was about this cold that day, too.

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15
Jan 26

Cold and new sweatshirts

It was cold here today. At the peak of the afternoon the thermometer, which is, of course, an app, said it was 32 degrees. But, just below that, all proud and sure of itself, was a line that read: Feels like 22°. But at least it was sunny, here on the inner coastal plain — where the heavy land and the green sands meet.

Yesterday it was 50, for a time. Right now, this evening, it feels like 15.

All of these numbers have been verified against other outputs, because I’m not the simple sort of person who thinks we don’t need weather forecasters or forecasts anymore because we’ve got phones.

Some people think of it that way. I talked with one over the holidays. He was playfully griping about his wife always watches the weather, and why is there so much weather, and where did the sports go on the nightly news.

Rare is the day when I can tell people what I do and they want to talk about it. So we did. And I’m pretty sure he came to regret it. As I explained … ahem … the National Weather Service, and Accuweather, and IBM and it’s super computer and The Weather Channel and the private equity firm that owns them now, and satellites and buoys and forecasters … to a man who has been in commercial aviation for longer than I’ve been alive.

Just your random guy, this would make sense. But you have to figure, a man that flew for Delta, and now boasts of flying rich people around on their whim, would have some passing familiarity with the demands of the atmosphere on the needs of his job. But, no, it’s right there, in your phone.

Friends, it is not.

Anyway, cold, but sunny. I will take the former because of the latter. I accepted it cheerily today, albeit with a shiver, and because this was the last night of the season when civil twilight arrives before 5:30 p.m. We are, friends and loved ones, making progress out of the darkened season.

It occurred to me the other evening, as I put on a fancy new sweatshirt, that a simple and small thing I would do if I had no cares in the world money, would be to buy up a bunch of sweatshirts. Don’t get me wrong, I have a lot of old sweatshirts, several of them decades old, and they occupy an important place in my mind and in my wardrobe. But there’s something magical about slipping on that new sweatshirt the first few times, when the inside is just so.

It is the tactile version of the new car smell. It is soft and luxurious, and maybe in a way most of our torsos don’t deserve. Of course, you say, that’s silly. When has a torso ever deserved anything. Others will say, a new sweatshirt isn’t an extravagance. But, no, I’m saying I’d figure out how many wearings and washings I could get out of each shirt before it didn’t fit this criteria any more. Then I’d give the thing away, and wear a new one. How many would that be a winter? Thirty? Forty? If I had money that I’d never miss, that’s a thing I would do.

I thought of that recently while I was slipping on this handsome little fellow.

It was a gift from my godmother-in-law (just go with it). She has three of us to shop for, though really she doesn’t need to buy me anything, so every year her sons-in-law and I get basically the same thing. And she’s good at it. I have some really nice lightweight pullovers from her thoughtfulness.

And if I spread out wearing them, they’ll last a long time. Decades, maybe.

I managed to avoid a Thursday meeting about a Tuesday meeting, which was to precede a meeting next week. I wrote something that kept the meeting from happening. I wrote it on spec last night. It was requested today. I blew it up and rewrote the thing, just to make a few points more carefully and clearly.

And then I wrote a document that, hopefully, will be of some help to my faculty colleagues. Our university does a wonderful job of building up support services and resources for the student body. And what is in the surrounding community is quite robust, as well.

The problem I have seen, on every campus I’ve worked on and probably the ones I attended, as well, is one of awareness. Not everyone knows about all of these programs. How could they? Why should they? So in each class I build a one-page document with some of the most important resources and share it with my students. Last semester I thought, I should share this with my colleagues, in case any of them would like to add to whatever they distribute. I did that earlier this week, and that led to a few people sharing what they share.

I began to think of synthesis. I said I would pull all of these together once the semester got under its own power and nothing needed my attention anymore.

Well, that’s silly, of course. Everything will always need our attention. So I just did the thing today. And what emerged was a three-page Google Doc full of campus and community resources. And maybe someone can make good use of them in the days ahead. Or maybe we can keep building the thing out in weeks and months to come, because, even at three pages, it is hardly complete.

So I wrote six useful pages before lunch. And then I had lunch. And late this afternoon I have built two more lectures. That means … hold on, I’m doing math.

…

Seriously, this takes a while …

… probably longer than one of those documents I wrote this morning …

I think approximately half of my semester’s course work is laid out.

Barring the unforeseen and small changes.

(This is the part I’ll keep repeating, if only to see the list grow smaller.) That should leave me only with grading the work of 93 people throughout the term, plus the 15 or 20 things I’ve planned to write, plus finishing two research projects, and three panel presentations. Plus committee work, my contract packet, whatever else pops up, and so on.

So I have some free time between now and early May, clearly. Obviously I volunteered to present guest lectures via Zoom in Minneapolis if a teacher somewhere needed it.

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29
Dec 25

One last Christmas party

All told, we had three family Christmases this year. One with my family, last week, and then with the in-laws on Thursday. Today, with the god-in-laws. (Just go with it.)

So there we all were, 15 of us in one lovely little three-bedroom split-level home. This was where my god-sisters-in-law grew up. Their parents are my lovely bride’s godparents. And my in-laws are their godparents. And, of course, there’s the next generation, five between the ages of 5 and 17. We visit, listen to the standards, Sinatra, Martin, a lot of Nat King Cole this year, which was lovely. We have appetizers while the kids run around. We open presents, by order of age.

In that room I’m the sixth oldest. That’s on the wrong side of the median, but I try not to think about it. It’s fun watching them all pair off. My father-in-law and my godfather-in-law have known each other since elementary school. My mother-in-law and my godmather-in-law went to nursing school together. My godparents-in-law met at my in-law’s wedding. And this family has grown up together, three generations worth.

Nine of us gather for dinner around a table built for six. There are place cards. I am usually sat at the right hand of the other end of the table, but today I was at the left hand of the head of the table. We have homemade lasagna. It’s better than what you know.

It just is, and I’m not sorry about that, but I am sorry for you.

My godmother-in-law reads a bit of scripture. The kids dine in the kitchen, and the oldest one, is gracious enough to dine over there. Better than spending time with us, I’m sure. She is on the right side of the median age, and she’s smart enough that she figured that out long before I did.

She is now preparing to go to college next fall, where she’ll play field hockey on a campus that looks like it came straight out of a European fairy tale. (They have a castle.) People are buying her gifts to decorate her dorm room. I am trying to decide how to buy her car things and not hurt the tiny little ember of credibility I have in her eyes.

We chat. Some people have coffee. Cookies and other treats appear from nowhere. Before long, someone has to scurry off to this event, and then someone else must slip away for that event. It’s a lovely way to wind down the holidays, and mark it all with people who like you enough to include you into things. I am grateful for that. And the lasagna. But mostly to be included.

A little while later, everyone sets out for home. I help move a few things around so our hosts don’t have to. There are many hugs and all of the usual things. My in-laws head north. We head south.

We stopped in to check on the cats of a friend. The front door was partially open. I grabbed something sturdy and swing-able and we walked through the whole of the house. No one was there. The cats were there. The lights were on in the proper configuration. The back door was locked. The pantry was open. We called the neighbor, a woman who dashed right over in her pajamas and long coat. She’d been in. And she’d opened the pantry. Maybe she’d forgot to latch and lock the door. We all had a laugh. I made a joke about wiping down my fingerprints.

We got home around 8 p.m., and for some reason I thought it was time for bed, but it was 8 p.m. So we sat up and watched the game and read and I’ll soon go to bed. Tomorrow, it is back to work.

The first part of this break flew by. Now I’ll need the second part to pass much, much more slowly.

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26
Dec 25

A quiet end to a quiet week

Weather is coming in, and the whole region is in a tizzy. Snow and then ice. Or maybe it is ice and then snow. Could it be rain and then snow and then ice?

(It turned out to be sleet, and then rain. And that was about it. So it could have been worse. Indeed, in some places it was far more dramatic.)

The in-laws had come down yesterday. They celebrated a quiet Christmas with us and had planned to head back home just after lunch, but that forecast meant they were going to leave mid-morning.

So, last night, I’d set my alarm so I could be sociable for a a little while before they left. It seemed like a good idea until the alarm went off. When the alarm went off it woke me up from a dream. In the dream, I was giving — to an unseen audience — the little speech I give to students after Thanksgiving break. “I know you’ve done a lot. I know you’re tired. Rededicate yourself to this for three more weeks so you can finish strong.”

I woke up from a dream giving that speech. And I woke up exhausted.

So I decided that, instead of starting back to work tomorrow, I’ll give myself the day off.

Also, my throat is a little scratchy? And I’m sneezing some.

Anyway, my father-in-law asked me to put a little air in one of his rear tires, which I was happy to do. Plug in the travel compressor, attach it to the tire stem, top him off with about four whole pounds.

I got that travel compressor years and years ago, as a Christmas gift. It lives in the trunk of my car, just a fabulous gift. You can get a modern version similar to it for about $30 and I can tell you whatever it cost back when, it has paid for itself many times over. (If you get the sort that plugs into a cigarette lighter for power, make sure it has a very long power cable, so you can easily reach your back wheel.)

We went back inside, warmed up and sat for a bit, unsure how to talk trash about the music trivia game we’d played last night. He won the first round and I won the second. The four of us are already planning rematches. I clearly need to do some studying.

They made it home without incident, home before the weather. My lovely bride and I had a quiet afternoon and evening, at home, reading. I have to finish a few things so I can get to one of these, which I received for Christmas.

Santa brought me the first of this Rick Atkinson trilogy a few years ago. This second installment was released earlier this year, which was about two years longer than I wanted to wait. The British Are Coming was such a great read, covering a lot of ground, human and real, thoughtful and beautifully detailed. I could say that about everything of Atkinson’s work that I’ve read — the man has won the Pulitzer Prize for reporting, twice, and once for his historical works — and I’m sure The Fate of the Day will be another wonderful read.

That other book, Men at Work could be another good read. My Santa Claus book club never steers me wrong.

And that’s why I need to get some other stuff read. Guess what I’m doing this weekend?

Tonight, I turned on the light in the backyard several times, and just saw rain.

I wonder what I’ll see what I wake up tomorrow.

adventures / Alabama / family / Monday / photo — Comments Off
22
Dec 25

Fam week

And we’re back! Quite literally. I am in my little chair, which I bought four years ago with birthday money. My feet are up on a stool I made in junior high. My arms resting on my desk, which I made eight years ago.

That seems impossible somehow. And explains why occasionally I wonder what a new desk, a real desk, would be like. I made this out of pallet wood and, in a go-big-or-go-home way, it was the second thing I’d made since … well, almost junior high. And, in some ways, it shows!

But it holds my things, so it is good enough for now.

Anyway, we’ve been out of town the last week. Did you miss me? Did you notice?

We flew out Monday evening to Nashville. We got a rental car from Hertz, a hybrid Kia. Would not recommend it. The car had a Florida tag, so I was Florida man for a week, and drove like it. Would not recommend either of those two things, either.

We drove down to north Alabama, where we visited with my mother for the week. Highlights include, hanging out with her and helping around the house, seeing my grandfather, and rebuilding a closet shelf for him. I also helped him clean out a closet and bureau. I ate more food than necessary — including, in one meal, more fried food than should be approved for anyone. We had Mexican twice, catfish once. We watched football. And so the week flew by.

We also saw a cousin, and his new baby. I looked this up, she is my first cousin twice removed. She’s six months old and adorable. Right after lunch they went to this place that exists just to exist, apparently. It’s there because there are parking lots, and a bunch of little stores surrounding all of this. Inside this building, though, was a little Santa display. Small little setup, great looking Santa. And so we watched the kid take her first Santa pictures, and watched her mother absolutely humiliate herself to make her baby giggle for the camera, which she did. It was beautiful. They gave us a photo.

The place we were at, of course, was a mall. Or used to be. It has some out-of-town owners, and they’ve put up a lot of local propaganda. It is obvious they are trying to learn about the place, and convince the locals that they know about the place. And, I suppose if you’re in need of a visit to Sunglass Hut, Claire’s, American Eagle, Bath & Bodyworks, or Spencer’s, you would see those messages.

This is a small town, but that was a once-proud mall. Now they’ve framed up the stores to hide the empty windows. As for all out-of-time spaces, I try to imagine what this could be. Apartments, pickleball courts, a series of specialty medical clinics, a real and vibrant community activity center. It could host a couple of amazing worker spaces, or museums, or both. Or maybe a business incubator or an adult learning facility. Or maybe it could even be a place where you can buy things. But, instead, it just, is. And stuff like this is hanging from the walls everywhere.

C.S. Lewis isn’t going to help you much with this, mall.

Anyway, the father of the new Santa’s village child model is my cousin’s son. And everyone always thinks he’s like me. Poor guy. Now he’s in his mid-20s and knows everything. Poor guy. And occasionally, I try to impart wisdom. Poor guy. We also exchange music, so I gave him two records — an Avett Brothers and a Ryan Adams record. He played it cool. He better enjoy them.

Also last week, I did a lot of grading. My last two finals came due while I was traveling, or down there. And I wrapped up the assessments for two classes, and submitted the final scores. I still must wrap up my online grading, and get those in. Guess what I’m doing tomorrow.