While surfing craigslist this morning, I came across this gem:
hurse (burlington, vt)
i have a 1976 hurse. It has good tranny. Comes with lawn tractor and weed wacker in back. perfect for interested in starting law service. rear struts have a few bee hives. this thing is a tank. Comes with 2 12's in cargo. has rear ramps!!!! Fully autographed cheyy chase sealing. Over sized Breaks and rotors and front break calipers. Rear 33's in back with sick mudden tires. 27s in the front. This thing is great, I have slept, and worked in the same atmosphere for 3 years and it still runs strong. I just bought a new Dodge colt wagon and cannot afford the 20 dollar a month insurance. it comes with an airconditioner for passenger window. i have it rigged to the battery.
This really needs no additional comments. I think it speaks for itself.
I love Vermont.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
It's Beginning to Look a lot Like January
From the Burlington Free Press this morning:
There is a chance Burlington could reach 20 below Friday morning for the first time since Jan. 15, 2004. Such a reading Friday would tie a record low for the date set in 1920, according to National Weather Service data.
This just in - winter stinks.
In order to alleviate the crushing depression that comes with a 9 month winter season I've started an informal plant exchange with neighbors . My apartment is currently covered in small jars of water with plant cuttings sticking out of them and I'm really looking forward to a host of weird plants coming in from all the green-thumbed folks in my area. Hopefully everything won't freeze beyond salvation in transport... If anything particularly odd and wonderful comes my way I'll make sure to post.
There is a chance Burlington could reach 20 below Friday morning for the first time since Jan. 15, 2004. Such a reading Friday would tie a record low for the date set in 1920, according to National Weather Service data.
This just in - winter stinks.
In order to alleviate the crushing depression that comes with a 9 month winter season I've started an informal plant exchange with neighbors . My apartment is currently covered in small jars of water with plant cuttings sticking out of them and I'm really looking forward to a host of weird plants coming in from all the green-thumbed folks in my area. Hopefully everything won't freeze beyond salvation in transport... If anything particularly odd and wonderful comes my way I'll make sure to post.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Safety in Numbers
There are few things in this world that horrify me as much as children who kill. In today's AP news stream, a 17 year old was sentenced for killing his mother and wounding his father with gunshots to the head because they wouldn't let him play Halo 3. A few weeks ago, an 8 year old in Arizona killed his father and his father's friend with no apparent motive. According to the FBI, twenty-one children ages 5 to 8 committed homicide in the 10-year period ending in 2004. Quite often, these children are the products of abusive homes but in rare and extremely disturbing cases, there is no evidence of abuse whatsoever, nor is there remorse on the part of the child.
This trend scares the hell out of me. Why? Because every day I go to work with children who fit the description of remorseless youth from abusive homes. Their stories will make you sick to your stomach. Stories of abuse, neglect, and warfare from their war-torn home countries. Stories of hideous and filthy living conditions with several families crammed together in apartments just down the street from our center. Stories of drug addicted parents who prostitute these kids out for drug money. At the elementary school we run the after school program in, 100% of kids qualify for free or reduced lunch and according to the principal, at least 1/2 of all students have suffered sexual abuse. Most days I don't know whether to scream or cry, and neither do the kids.
So we have an "at-risk" population here, to say the least. And we have violence. Last summer we faced a growing number of teens bringing in box cutters and knives they called "shivs" without understanding the jail house connection to the descriptor. This fall we've had to call the police 8 different times to break up fights including one that involved a teen member who beat up his girlfriend in our facility while she was holding their baby despite staff intervention. We've had to call the police many more times than that to break up fights in the park across the street which sees frequent drug activity. So we've instituted safety drills for staff. Most of them revolve around the theory of huddling in groups in a locked room with the lights off. Safety in numbers.
It is a frighteningly real possibility that someone will bring a gun into our center. We've had them at the park, we've had them in the parking lot. We're waiting to have one brandished inside. We now have the Chief of Police on our Board of Directors to try and get a handle on the issues we're seeing. Hopefully he can help. All I know is the first time he toured the building and was introduced to me, he came into my office, looked at the window to the hallway, and told me to get that covered ASAP. A gunman would be able to see me as soon as he or she came into the building. Sweet dreams everyone.
So violence is everywhere. I could quit my job, hide under my table and never read a newspaper again, but I could just as easily be hit by a car crossing the street, so what can you do? I hope some piece of what I do makes a difference with the kids at this center. I hope it helps them become functional adults. But who knows? Too many news stories have prominently featured alumni getting arrested. I'm actually not surprised anymore when staff point to the crime section of the paper and say "oh yeah, he used to go here".
If you're the religious sort, do me a favor and say a prayer for these kids. They need all the help they can get.
This trend scares the hell out of me. Why? Because every day I go to work with children who fit the description of remorseless youth from abusive homes. Their stories will make you sick to your stomach. Stories of abuse, neglect, and warfare from their war-torn home countries. Stories of hideous and filthy living conditions with several families crammed together in apartments just down the street from our center. Stories of drug addicted parents who prostitute these kids out for drug money. At the elementary school we run the after school program in, 100% of kids qualify for free or reduced lunch and according to the principal, at least 1/2 of all students have suffered sexual abuse. Most days I don't know whether to scream or cry, and neither do the kids.
So we have an "at-risk" population here, to say the least. And we have violence. Last summer we faced a growing number of teens bringing in box cutters and knives they called "shivs" without understanding the jail house connection to the descriptor. This fall we've had to call the police 8 different times to break up fights including one that involved a teen member who beat up his girlfriend in our facility while she was holding their baby despite staff intervention. We've had to call the police many more times than that to break up fights in the park across the street which sees frequent drug activity. So we've instituted safety drills for staff. Most of them revolve around the theory of huddling in groups in a locked room with the lights off. Safety in numbers.
It is a frighteningly real possibility that someone will bring a gun into our center. We've had them at the park, we've had them in the parking lot. We're waiting to have one brandished inside. We now have the Chief of Police on our Board of Directors to try and get a handle on the issues we're seeing. Hopefully he can help. All I know is the first time he toured the building and was introduced to me, he came into my office, looked at the window to the hallway, and told me to get that covered ASAP. A gunman would be able to see me as soon as he or she came into the building. Sweet dreams everyone.
So violence is everywhere. I could quit my job, hide under my table and never read a newspaper again, but I could just as easily be hit by a car crossing the street, so what can you do? I hope some piece of what I do makes a difference with the kids at this center. I hope it helps them become functional adults. But who knows? Too many news stories have prominently featured alumni getting arrested. I'm actually not surprised anymore when staff point to the crime section of the paper and say "oh yeah, he used to go here".
If you're the religious sort, do me a favor and say a prayer for these kids. They need all the help they can get.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
La Isla de las Munecas - Creepier than Advertised
Unlike many in Vermont, I own a TV and I watch it regularly. Now, I still don't know much about any current sitcoms or reality shows since I relegate my TV intake to the Discovery Channel, Food Network, and my favorite - the Travel Channel. Last night I had the pleasure and the pain of watching Anthony Bourdain's trip through Mexico on the show No Reservations. I'll spare you the inane details, but there was one tidbit I felt compelled to share: The Island of Dead Dolls...
"Only in Mexico... for over 50 years the reclusive hermit Julian Santana lived alone on a small island in Teshuilo Lake sandwiched in the canal-lands between Xochimilco and Mexico City. La Isla de las Muñecas as it has come to be known is a place rich in myth and legend. The story goes that three girls were visiting the island long ago and one drowned, leaving the island haunted by her spirit... when taking residence there, Santana put up a doll as protection. This gesture soon became habit, as he began to scour the city's rubbish heaps, and amassed a huge collection of dolls that he would tie to trees, or place in a special shed with an altar. Locals began to take their boats out to trade their old dolls for Santana's home-grown vegetables and the collection blossomed. La Isla de las Muñecas became home to over a thousand dead dolls in various states of decay, and following the eccentric hermit's demise the city has planned to build a museum on the site, to be curated by Santana's nephew."
How bad could it be, you ask? Take a look:
While the idea that figures that represent humans can contain their souls is an old one, it is sincerely creepy none the less. I highly recommend a google image search on this one. It's like a puppet version of Apocalypse Now.
"Only in Mexico... for over 50 years the reclusive hermit Julian Santana lived alone on a small island in Teshuilo Lake sandwiched in the canal-lands between Xochimilco and Mexico City. La Isla de las Muñecas as it has come to be known is a place rich in myth and legend. The story goes that three girls were visiting the island long ago and one drowned, leaving the island haunted by her spirit... when taking residence there, Santana put up a doll as protection. This gesture soon became habit, as he began to scour the city's rubbish heaps, and amassed a huge collection of dolls that he would tie to trees, or place in a special shed with an altar. Locals began to take their boats out to trade their old dolls for Santana's home-grown vegetables and the collection blossomed. La Isla de las Muñecas became home to over a thousand dead dolls in various states of decay, and following the eccentric hermit's demise the city has planned to build a museum on the site, to be curated by Santana's nephew."
How bad could it be, you ask? Take a look:
While the idea that figures that represent humans can contain their souls is an old one, it is sincerely creepy none the less. I highly recommend a google image search on this one. It's like a puppet version of Apocalypse Now.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Celebrating Old School Style
At the Latke Fest 08 that I recently attended at Josh and Selene's apartment, I came to realize certain truths about parties you attend in your 20's versus parties you attend in your 30's. To wit:
Parties attended in 1998:
- Discussion of who has eating disorders
- Search for over-age friends to buy booze
- Discussion of living with parents
- Leaving early to hit another all night rager
- Complaints about crappy part-time job
- Survey of who's hooking up
- Relaying antics of siblings
Parties attended in 2008:
- Discussion of how easily weight is gained post 30
- Search for good merlot someone recommended
- Discussion of current mortgage interest rates
- Leaving early to attend family function
- Tips on parlaying current job into consulting gig
- Survey of who's getting married
- Relaying antics of offspring
The trick, I believe, is to enjoy your place in life no matter what it is.
Parties attended in 1998:
- Discussion of who has eating disorders
- Search for over-age friends to buy booze
- Discussion of living with parents
- Leaving early to hit another all night rager
- Complaints about crappy part-time job
- Survey of who's hooking up
- Relaying antics of siblings
Parties attended in 2008:
- Discussion of how easily weight is gained post 30
- Search for good merlot someone recommended
- Discussion of current mortgage interest rates
- Leaving early to attend family function
- Tips on parlaying current job into consulting gig
- Survey of who's getting married
- Relaying antics of offspring
The trick, I believe, is to enjoy your place in life no matter what it is.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
On Faith
Faith is not something I often talk about. I'm the granddaughter of a Methodist minister, was raised Congregational and Episcopalian, spent 4 years at an Opus Dei Catholic School, socialize mostly with Atheists, Agnostics, and Jews, and thanks to the most recent wave of refugee resettlement in town, I work with a predominantly Muslim group of kids. I've seen quite a bit of religion and have never really taken to any of them.
When I was child, I remember talking often with God. God was like an imaginary friend - someone you just talked to that no one else could see. I didn't pray to God, I conversed. I talked about my day, had one way discussions on why world events were as they were, asked a couple of questions about Jesus, occasionally requested peace among family members. I played My Little Ponies with God sometimes. God was the only person I told about my secret metal box of treasures I kept in my closet in case the house burned down so I could grab it when I had to evacuate. I figured if anyone would remind me to take it, God would.
But I outgrew talking to God. At some point I started talking to myself instead. Not surprisingly, people react much more positively to children talking to themselves instead of "God". Too reminiscent of Joan of Arc, I guess. Also, God never talked back and I got a bit impatient with the one-sided nature of the relationship. God became this ridiculous part of my past - a figment of my imagination that I was foolish enough to believe in with my childhood naivete. By the time I was 15 I was a full fledged Atheist. The idea of a god or an afterlife seemed like the most ludicrous, arcane idea born of weak people who needed a fake higher cosmic being to give their lives meaning. I gave god away like everything else I'd outgrown.
I've been comfortable in my adult life vacillating between Atheism and Agnosticism. I've been confronted many times by people who believe that I must be without hope or inner peace as an Atheist, but I feel quite the contrary. When I, or others without organized religion, do good deeds, it's not because of Church doctrine or to get into an afterlife. It's a purely altruistic gesture. The more good I see done by Atheists, the more I can believe in the inherent goodness of humanity. I see people who choose a positive path because they want to, not out of fear of religious retribution. And that makes me happy and hopeful.
But I do miss the community that church provided. I miss singing on Sundays and smelling the lilies at Easter. I miss little kids dressed up for Christmas and bad pageants. I miss celebrating life with a room full of joyful people. I but I just can't consider myself Christian. I don't have those beliefs of the supernatural aspects in my heart and I would feel hypocritical and disrespectful to the congregation if I went to a service for the fun of it. I just don't believe in the idea of Jesus as anything other than a really good guy and grass roots organizer who made some pretty incredible changes in a corrupt society. And that supernatural belief in Jesus as the son of god seems to be a pretty fundamental Christian concept. It's non-negotiable to believers.
So today is the first day of Hanukkah, the Winter Solstice, and in a few days Christmas will come. I tend to celebrate all equally since I have friends of those faiths. Truth be told, I love Hanukkah. It's such a wonderful concept and the candles and latkes can't be beat. But again, I'm not about to call myself Jewish because I enjoy the ceremony of the holidays.
But this Christmas Eve, I believe I will attend a service at the local Unitarian Universalist Church. I've done a lot of research and I think it will be a good fit for me. Many people I've met who share my views of religion feel quite at home as UUers, and I'm excited to see what it's all about. It may be great, it may be uncomfortable. I don't know. but I'm looking forward to finding out.
So to all of my friends and families, no matter what you celebrate at this time of year, have a very happy holiday season. I wish you all love, laughter and light.
When I was child, I remember talking often with God. God was like an imaginary friend - someone you just talked to that no one else could see. I didn't pray to God, I conversed. I talked about my day, had one way discussions on why world events were as they were, asked a couple of questions about Jesus, occasionally requested peace among family members. I played My Little Ponies with God sometimes. God was the only person I told about my secret metal box of treasures I kept in my closet in case the house burned down so I could grab it when I had to evacuate. I figured if anyone would remind me to take it, God would.
But I outgrew talking to God. At some point I started talking to myself instead. Not surprisingly, people react much more positively to children talking to themselves instead of "God". Too reminiscent of Joan of Arc, I guess. Also, God never talked back and I got a bit impatient with the one-sided nature of the relationship. God became this ridiculous part of my past - a figment of my imagination that I was foolish enough to believe in with my childhood naivete. By the time I was 15 I was a full fledged Atheist. The idea of a god or an afterlife seemed like the most ludicrous, arcane idea born of weak people who needed a fake higher cosmic being to give their lives meaning. I gave god away like everything else I'd outgrown.
I've been comfortable in my adult life vacillating between Atheism and Agnosticism. I've been confronted many times by people who believe that I must be without hope or inner peace as an Atheist, but I feel quite the contrary. When I, or others without organized religion, do good deeds, it's not because of Church doctrine or to get into an afterlife. It's a purely altruistic gesture. The more good I see done by Atheists, the more I can believe in the inherent goodness of humanity. I see people who choose a positive path because they want to, not out of fear of religious retribution. And that makes me happy and hopeful.
But I do miss the community that church provided. I miss singing on Sundays and smelling the lilies at Easter. I miss little kids dressed up for Christmas and bad pageants. I miss celebrating life with a room full of joyful people. I but I just can't consider myself Christian. I don't have those beliefs of the supernatural aspects in my heart and I would feel hypocritical and disrespectful to the congregation if I went to a service for the fun of it. I just don't believe in the idea of Jesus as anything other than a really good guy and grass roots organizer who made some pretty incredible changes in a corrupt society. And that supernatural belief in Jesus as the son of god seems to be a pretty fundamental Christian concept. It's non-negotiable to believers.
So today is the first day of Hanukkah, the Winter Solstice, and in a few days Christmas will come. I tend to celebrate all equally since I have friends of those faiths. Truth be told, I love Hanukkah. It's such a wonderful concept and the candles and latkes can't be beat. But again, I'm not about to call myself Jewish because I enjoy the ceremony of the holidays.
But this Christmas Eve, I believe I will attend a service at the local Unitarian Universalist Church. I've done a lot of research and I think it will be a good fit for me. Many people I've met who share my views of religion feel quite at home as UUers, and I'm excited to see what it's all about. It may be great, it may be uncomfortable. I don't know. but I'm looking forward to finding out.
So to all of my friends and families, no matter what you celebrate at this time of year, have a very happy holiday season. I wish you all love, laughter and light.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Farewell my Fish
It's a sad day here. This morning, Thomas the betta passed away. I tried to give him an extravagantly large home, top of the line bloodworm food, a cat to sit on top of his tank, but ultimately it wasn't enough. I've had one of my turtles for 24 years, but I couldn't manage to keep a betta alive. Thomas, I failed you. And I'm sorry.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Fun with Coffee
It's early in the morning, I'm about to go into a Board meeting, and I haven't had coffee yet. I hurt. But, thanks to the good folks at ThinkGeek.com, at least I'm smiling. I give you good folks:
Weasel Coffee
Excerpt: There's a little animal in Vietnam which has magical properties. Locally, it's called a weasel (though technically, it's a type of civet, but let's call it a weasel like the locals) and it sure likes to eat the fruit of the coffee plant. But the seeds don't sit well in its tummy, so it vomits them up. And that's where the fun comes in - for local coffee folks gather up the beans and lightly roast them. The stomach acids seem to wear away the bitter taste of the coffee beans, and the resulting coffee is delicious and smooth.
Weasel Coffee
Excerpt: There's a little animal in Vietnam which has magical properties. Locally, it's called a weasel (though technically, it's a type of civet, but let's call it a weasel like the locals) and it sure likes to eat the fruit of the coffee plant. But the seeds don't sit well in its tummy, so it vomits them up. And that's where the fun comes in - for local coffee folks gather up the beans and lightly roast them. The stomach acids seem to wear away the bitter taste of the coffee beans, and the resulting coffee is delicious and smooth.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Welcome Back to Reality
This morning I returned to work after a fabulous Thanksgiving and post Thanksgiving Chicago trip. For the record, I believe my niece is the current title holder for "World's Most Awesome Baby". Five days of non-work fun have left me exhausted and refreshed at the same time.
However, now back at work, I believe I myself am the current title holder of "World's Biggest Idiot". Let me explain. The morning began with me waking up for the first time in five days at 6:45am, as per my usual work schedule. It was tired, I was groggy, I was annoyed. But I was up. And I managed to get myself into the shower. While drying off from a shower that included several moments of trying to figure out exactly what I was doing in there (shampooing? washing? standing blankly and looking at the shower head?), I heard someone enter my apartment. Blind panic set in. What the hell was going on? As the steps came closer to the bathroom door, I weighed the pros and cons of jumping out my bathroom window naked. Pro - survival. Con - death by embarrassment. Then I heard a quick knock and a "good morning". Josh was there, kindly helping me drop my car off at the mechanic's today. Within a span of 7 hours, I had completely spaced on this agenda item. Crisis averted and eventually, car deposited.
Arriving at work 15 minutes late to find my executive director already in the building, I figured the day wasn't going in a positive direction. She informed me that we had finally gotten a call about our federal funding and we would be down $40,000. Poop. I sulked back to my office. What to do? When in time of crisis, go back to the basics. No coffee, no breakfast yet. Must fix these issues. So off to the kitchen. No coffee filters. Poop. Solution? Reworking a filter from another machine. Solved. Next up - breakfast. Two pieces of bread inserted into toaster. Solved. Back to my office to check email while food cooks. Checking email...checking email...checking email...what's that smell...checking email...no, seriously, what's that smell? Off to kitchen to investigate.
FIRE!!!!!! Room full of smoke, and FIRE! The toaster was on fire! Blow it out! Blow it out! It's not working! Unplug it! It's hot! It's STILL ON FIRE! Bowl by the sink - fill with water and douse flames! Done. No more fire. But lots of smoke. Open door to fan out smoke.
FIRE ALARM GOES OFF! Sirens - lights - fire marshals! Threats of sprinkler systems! Firemen arrive and turn off the alarm, after laughing profusely at me.
Back at my desk. To summarize, my first day back I not only didn't get the full federal grant amount we needed (a major failure) but I also set the toaster on fire and set off the alarm system, and had to get the fire department on site to turn it off. Since on Tuesdays we have homeschoolers using our building, I've had the fun task of explaining to 20 people why our building smells like smoke. Oh, and there are a whole slate of other people scheduled to come in today who will also, I'm sure, require the detailed story of how I became the world's biggest idiot on a Tuesday morning.
However, now back at work, I believe I myself am the current title holder of "World's Biggest Idiot". Let me explain. The morning began with me waking up for the first time in five days at 6:45am, as per my usual work schedule. It was tired, I was groggy, I was annoyed. But I was up. And I managed to get myself into the shower. While drying off from a shower that included several moments of trying to figure out exactly what I was doing in there (shampooing? washing? standing blankly and looking at the shower head?), I heard someone enter my apartment. Blind panic set in. What the hell was going on? As the steps came closer to the bathroom door, I weighed the pros and cons of jumping out my bathroom window naked. Pro - survival. Con - death by embarrassment. Then I heard a quick knock and a "good morning". Josh was there, kindly helping me drop my car off at the mechanic's today. Within a span of 7 hours, I had completely spaced on this agenda item. Crisis averted and eventually, car deposited.
Arriving at work 15 minutes late to find my executive director already in the building, I figured the day wasn't going in a positive direction. She informed me that we had finally gotten a call about our federal funding and we would be down $40,000. Poop. I sulked back to my office. What to do? When in time of crisis, go back to the basics. No coffee, no breakfast yet. Must fix these issues. So off to the kitchen. No coffee filters. Poop. Solution? Reworking a filter from another machine. Solved. Next up - breakfast. Two pieces of bread inserted into toaster. Solved. Back to my office to check email while food cooks. Checking email...checking email...checking email...what's that smell...checking email...no, seriously, what's that smell? Off to kitchen to investigate.
FIRE!!!!!! Room full of smoke, and FIRE! The toaster was on fire! Blow it out! Blow it out! It's not working! Unplug it! It's hot! It's STILL ON FIRE! Bowl by the sink - fill with water and douse flames! Done. No more fire. But lots of smoke. Open door to fan out smoke.
FIRE ALARM GOES OFF! Sirens - lights - fire marshals! Threats of sprinkler systems! Firemen arrive and turn off the alarm, after laughing profusely at me.
Back at my desk. To summarize, my first day back I not only didn't get the full federal grant amount we needed (a major failure) but I also set the toaster on fire and set off the alarm system, and had to get the fire department on site to turn it off. Since on Tuesdays we have homeschoolers using our building, I've had the fun task of explaining to 20 people why our building smells like smoke. Oh, and there are a whole slate of other people scheduled to come in today who will also, I'm sure, require the detailed story of how I became the world's biggest idiot on a Tuesday morning.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Confidential to J
I'm not in Chicago, I haven't had 2 bottles of champagne and a bad martini today and I still think you're awesome. Hope you're still smiling whilst you wash the dishes and blushing under those big sideburns. I've smiled every day for the last year.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Survival takes Precidence
It is officially winter in Vermont. Whether or not the calendar agrees, the temperature sure as heck does. It's cold, people. Really freaking cold. And I am under-dressed.
I have never been accused of being stylish in my life. But, for better or for worse, I do have my own style. It involves lots of skirts, brightly colored shoes, v-neck shirts, and cardigans. I'm not all together sure how this style evolved, but I feel comfortable in it and wear this uniform regularly. However, it's not what one would call "warm". To wit: it's is less than 20 degrees out these days in the sun and I do not own a hat.
Years ago I should have learned my lesson. One of my first experiences in Burlington involved my ex-boyfriend bringing me up here for First Night in 1999. I'm a Massachusetts native and unaccustomed to walking around in extreme temperatures. There we have the good sense to stay inside when it's cold. But not up here. I distinctly remember one moment as Jessie and I walked out of Memorial Auditorium mid day having picked up special event tickets, and a woman accosted me. I was wearing my traditional garb of the day: long black skirt, black doc martens, v-neck sweater, and olive green wool Burberry dress coat I purchased in London. Note, I had no scarf, hat, or mittens. I owned none of these. The aforementioned woman stopped me in the snow and cried "Cover up your naked chest, young lady! You'll catch your death out here!" I took her to be a nutcase. Little did I know that I would agree with her 100% mere hours from then. While previously it had been just over 32 degrees during the day, the temperature plunged to 5 below once the sun set. Have I mentioned I had no scarf, hat or mittens? While we traipsed from event to event, my ears, eyes, hands and feet began to sting with a ferocity I hadn't previously experienced. By 9:30 I started to cry. I could no longer feel most of my body. Jessie quickly pulled me into a store on Church Street to warm me, but my face and hands were bright red and weren't warming up. We had, much to my chagrin, parked on the waterfront to watch the fireworks and anyone native to this area will understand that the temperature by the lake is not only colder, but amplified by a wind chill that will strip the flesh from your bones. And I had to walk the 8 blocks to get back to the car with ginger steps and tears still streaming from my eyes. Poor Jessie. He didn't realize until that moment what a flatlander I really was. Back at his parents house I soaked in a warm bath for hours while his mother, a biology teacher, checked my limbs for signs of frostbite. I narrowly escaped.
It's 9 years later and I still live here while Jessie has smartly moved to Cambridge MA. While I do own a set of fleece mittens and several scarfs, I haven't mastered the art of dressing for the weather. As I mentioned, I still do not own a hat. As Josh will sadly tell you, this is because I can't find one that doesn't make my head look misshapen. Fashion over function. However, I'm reaching the point of desperation. On my way to chorus rehearsal on Saturday, there was a good inch of snow on the ground outside my house. This seems like it would trigger some sort of "hey, I should wear socks" response in any intelligent person. Instead, I wore a summer dress (with cardigan, thank you very much) and slip on polka dot sneakers I just bought. I stood out there, brushing the snow off of my car in my tiny sneakers like an idiot. I was cold. Very cold. And stupid. Very stupid. I was only one at rehearsal not covered from head to toe. And when I returned and began to walk to Josh's, I realized I was coveting the clothing of other girls I would usually laugh at. A woman walked by me with fleece lined jeans, snow boots, a gigantic ski hat, mittens the size of oven mitts, and a down filled jacket that made her look like a purple snow man. But she looked warm. And I envied her. And at that moment, I realized I had learned nothing from the last 9 years. It's winter, it's cold, and I'm under dressed. But I swear that from this moment on, I will wear weather appropriate attire. As long as it doesn't make my head look like a potato.
I have never been accused of being stylish in my life. But, for better or for worse, I do have my own style. It involves lots of skirts, brightly colored shoes, v-neck shirts, and cardigans. I'm not all together sure how this style evolved, but I feel comfortable in it and wear this uniform regularly. However, it's not what one would call "warm". To wit: it's is less than 20 degrees out these days in the sun and I do not own a hat.
Years ago I should have learned my lesson. One of my first experiences in Burlington involved my ex-boyfriend bringing me up here for First Night in 1999. I'm a Massachusetts native and unaccustomed to walking around in extreme temperatures. There we have the good sense to stay inside when it's cold. But not up here. I distinctly remember one moment as Jessie and I walked out of Memorial Auditorium mid day having picked up special event tickets, and a woman accosted me. I was wearing my traditional garb of the day: long black skirt, black doc martens, v-neck sweater, and olive green wool Burberry dress coat I purchased in London. Note, I had no scarf, hat, or mittens. I owned none of these. The aforementioned woman stopped me in the snow and cried "Cover up your naked chest, young lady! You'll catch your death out here!" I took her to be a nutcase. Little did I know that I would agree with her 100% mere hours from then. While previously it had been just over 32 degrees during the day, the temperature plunged to 5 below once the sun set. Have I mentioned I had no scarf, hat or mittens? While we traipsed from event to event, my ears, eyes, hands and feet began to sting with a ferocity I hadn't previously experienced. By 9:30 I started to cry. I could no longer feel most of my body. Jessie quickly pulled me into a store on Church Street to warm me, but my face and hands were bright red and weren't warming up. We had, much to my chagrin, parked on the waterfront to watch the fireworks and anyone native to this area will understand that the temperature by the lake is not only colder, but amplified by a wind chill that will strip the flesh from your bones. And I had to walk the 8 blocks to get back to the car with ginger steps and tears still streaming from my eyes. Poor Jessie. He didn't realize until that moment what a flatlander I really was. Back at his parents house I soaked in a warm bath for hours while his mother, a biology teacher, checked my limbs for signs of frostbite. I narrowly escaped.
It's 9 years later and I still live here while Jessie has smartly moved to Cambridge MA. While I do own a set of fleece mittens and several scarfs, I haven't mastered the art of dressing for the weather. As I mentioned, I still do not own a hat. As Josh will sadly tell you, this is because I can't find one that doesn't make my head look misshapen. Fashion over function. However, I'm reaching the point of desperation. On my way to chorus rehearsal on Saturday, there was a good inch of snow on the ground outside my house. This seems like it would trigger some sort of "hey, I should wear socks" response in any intelligent person. Instead, I wore a summer dress (with cardigan, thank you very much) and slip on polka dot sneakers I just bought. I stood out there, brushing the snow off of my car in my tiny sneakers like an idiot. I was cold. Very cold. And stupid. Very stupid. I was only one at rehearsal not covered from head to toe. And when I returned and began to walk to Josh's, I realized I was coveting the clothing of other girls I would usually laugh at. A woman walked by me with fleece lined jeans, snow boots, a gigantic ski hat, mittens the size of oven mitts, and a down filled jacket that made her look like a purple snow man. But she looked warm. And I envied her. And at that moment, I realized I had learned nothing from the last 9 years. It's winter, it's cold, and I'm under dressed. But I swear that from this moment on, I will wear weather appropriate attire. As long as it doesn't make my head look like a potato.
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