Snow plows

It's snowing all over the place today (though not where I am). Because I am jealous -- and because they're hysterical -- I was delighted to learn that Scotland names its snow plows, the better for tracking them.

Some examples include The Great Grittish Flake-Off, William Wall-Ice, Sled Zeppelin and Salt Disney. But there are many, many, many more. And they are glorious.

Notes

I sent notes to a couple co-workers today for things they did that I appreciated. Hopefully it made them smile! One replied noting that we had just passed the 26-week mark since we'd been sent home. It's a wacky thing.

Apple cider

I had my first glass of the season today. It's just divine.

Fans

My windows are open, the fans are on and it's 84 degrees in here. So it's probably my last night without air conditioning, since I'm basically covered in a constant sheen of sweat. I wish it was cooler in here -- just a touch! But I'm savoring the quiet of not having the A/C kick in and enjoying feeling like I'm a little closer to the outside world (what with being separated just by a screen). While it lasts.

I'm so good at yoga

(This is actually veryyyyyy far from the truth.)

But the most exciting thing to happen today is that a friend who teaches yoga decided she was going to livestream classes. The timing worked today for me to hop on. And it was so nice -- it was nice to do it, but also nice to feel encouraged by a friend! I've never taken her classes before IRL, but she was great.

And then we started an email exchange when I thanked her for doing it. And it's been a long while since I've seen her, so that's great, too.

Other positive things today: what's become a weekly dinner date with some friends. A walk outside for the first time in forever. Grey skies and crisp air. A Crazy Ex-Girlfriend meme. Cooking real food (of a sort) for the who-knows-what-time in a row. Peanut butter M&Ms. (They're sure to make a repeat appearance.) Various forms of contact with various people.

And it was yesterday, but I made a super tasty martini (or two) with some hazelnut espresso vodka I brought back from Portland last year. Yum.

New life

It's a warm February, and the leaf debris that had gathered in the crease of my car's trunk apparently had some seeds in it. With sun and some rain, they've begun to germinate, and now I have a tiny garden in my car.

This isn't the first year this has happened. But I was delighted last time, and I'm delighted this time, too.

In today's news

I'm eating a delicious golden apple that I picked myself. It's crisp and flavorful and subtle and yum. There are new shoes on my feet, I'm almost done transcribing an interview I feel as if I've been typing forever, and there was the odd sight this morning of people standing on the roof of my office building.

Plus, there's snow in Cleveland. I'm not there, but I'm living vicariously through people's Facebook pictures -- with the added bonus that I don't have to drive in it!

Because it's time

I've been meaning to write something for a while, but work and life and general bumminess have meant that instead, I haven't taken the time to pull out the marvelous and share it with you.

But it's the last day of January. And I got an email from a friend -- one who means a lot to me, and one whom I always mean to talk to more than I do -- imploring me to update more often. She's right.

I still don't have a lot of time or energy tonight (so that e-mail I've owed for several months -- and the newest one -- will be yet delayed).

But I can share this, from a trip I took earlier this month to a land of snow. It was a friend's first snowman and (hopefully to the delight of the aforementioned friend who wants me to update more often), his name is Nigel.

Enjoy him. We did.

Maybe?

This morning, the so-called song of summer (maybe) came on the radio on my way into work. Unless you've been under a rock, you've heard Call Me Maybe pretty much everywhere.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I kind of love this song. But the real reason I love it is this dramatic reading of the song, which I must have listened to at least a half-dozen times.

It still makes me grin so big.

Also! This exists! I haven't listened yet, but I'm way excited about the mix.

Ode to a Pear

O, pear you are
juicy and awkward, requiring me
to slurp you up
before I chew. I eat you with
a pile of paper towels,
soaked through. Your bulbous bottom
bumps my lip, your tiny stem
evades my grasp, your subtle core
hides beneath pearflesh, a sad surprise
when I bite seeking more fruit and find, instead,
something new. I eat you and think
of Jelly Belly candies, of summer days, of
my mother, who loves the flavors you
imbue. I will not bake you. You are
a fruit to be devoured raw, dripping, sticky,
sweet. O, pear, you may frustrate my desires
to elegantly consume, but pear?
I savor you.

Take a gander

On my way home from work yesterday, I saw two geese. Crossing the street. In a crosswalk.

The first one to get to the curb nibbled on some grass before hopping up and out of the way.

It was predictably adorable.

Also? There's a swath of road on my way home that smells amazing. I don't know what kind of flowers or trees or naturey goodness is planted there, but it's delicious and immersive. So I always make sure to go by with my windows down.

On pollen

It's pollen season.

If you haven't spent any amount of time in the South, this probably doesn't mean much to you. If you have, you understand that this is a strange thing to make me smile.

But it does, in part -- in large part -- because this pollen season has been worse than any other. The pollen has hit record levels. The pollen is falling from the sky. The pollen isn't just covering cars in a film, it's covering everything in a thick, impenetrable blanket.

And it reminds me of snow.

I'm lucky in that it doesn't make me sneeze and itch and want to be indoors (knock on wood). So I can marvel at the way the wind moves the pollen on the ground, and smile at way it comes down in clouds and feel like I have some semblance of winter, even though it's in the 70s, and no one got any winter to speak of.

He speaks the truth

It has been far too long without an update. My apologies, on behalf of all of us. It will still be long between updates, but at least I can tell you a couple things:

• My sister has come to visit. We've been exploring Atlanta and Georgia, including her new favorite place: Babyland General Hospital. They're thinking of building an amusement park.
• It's snowed here, too. It even stuck. A little.
• I met a Santa Claus who keeps every list children send or hand him, and scrapbooks them. He could not explain why.
• I flew in the Goodyear Blimp. And it was awesome, like a boat ride in the sky.

It's hardly everything, but it's a few things. And maybe you're still out there, looking for joy.

Again with the fog

No pictures for you today, but I will tell you that the fog this afternoon was subtle. It was as if you woke up bleary-eyed, without your glasses, and rubbed your eyes against the blur. It made bridges fade into nothing, as if they were Photoshopped away. It gave the air a certain brightness.

It also felt as if you were walking into an industrial freezer upon stepping outside: that cold blast, sustained, the air unmoving, an eye-opening chill but not an unpleasant one.

Hello, sunshine!

The best part about winter is that it begets spring. And this past week, spring arrived -- at least for a little while.

This means bright sunlight, melting snow and people wearing shorts and short sleeves. Broad smiles. Windswept hair. Drinks on patios. It's awesome.

I ate lunch outside the past few days, sitting on the stoop of my building with a book. This evening, I managed to spare a few minutes for an art walk -- something much harder to convince yourself to do if it's an art trudge. Yesterday's warm weather inspired a trip to Coventry and some super conversation.

You Southerners -- with your 70-degree Marches -- may think we're crazy. But I'll leave you with the weather report from the college radio station this morning:

"Exceptionally warm... 63 degrees... unbelievable!"

And that pretty much sums it up.

Snowman

He was on a main stretch of road and had a red scarf, carrot nose and stick arms. But the best part? Resting in his stick arm -- on his snow hip -- was a bottle of Coca-Cola.

If that's not a Coke commercial in the making (or is it one already?), I don't know what is.

More about the snow

I realize it gets mentioned a lot, but it is omnipresent. So.

Over the past week, the snow has looked like flaked glass chips, confetti and grated Parmesan cheese. As well as plain old snow.

And when I had a visitor from Southern climes last weekend, he humored me by walking outside and saying, "Hey! It's snowing!" every time. (And yes, it was.) I had been lamenting the fact that my Southern friends got snow and were excited about it, while everyone here seems to be pretty much all snowed out.

It is a lot of snow.

So much so, in fact, that I got stuck in the driveway last week. My friendly neighbor pushed me out. So I made chocolate chip cookies in return. Yum.

Snow flakes

Rumor has it that the Eskimos have many words for snow. It's certainly true that there are a plethora of ways a snowfall can manifest itself.

This afternoon, the snow was coming down in one of my favorite ways: as individual flakes. So when they landed on my black coat, I could see the different shapes and compare them to each other. No two alike, indeed.

In a winter wonderland

I caught snowflakes with my tongue today.

Oh, shovelers

I've been meaning to say so for days, but people with snow shovels, plows and salt have been making my life so much happier as of late. Walking on a clean sidewalk and driving on a cleared street -- the joy that comes from that mid-winter cannot be overstated.

I didn't have my camera with me when I ventured a little further into snowbelt territory today, but the trees had what looked like a foot of snow on their branches. In many cases, it looked like someone had tossed a white sheet or a big, fluffy blanket over the trees -- you could just see the shape of them and the tips of branches underneath a glistening pile of snow.