Finally. It's snowed three of the past five days. Sunday night's accumulation was the heaviest at four inches, and mostly gone with Monday's sun, but we've had another two inches Tuesday and Wednesday night. Praise be. I want it to snow every day until the last frost date. I want lots of spring snow, wet enough to build snowfolk. I want lots and lots of snow so I can stockpile it--maybe I should shovel my neighbors' walks and bring the snow home in a tarp or wheelbarrow--for that much more moisture in the ground.
I miss icicles. I took my camera along in my woodsy walk in Connecticut. I noticed two things: the "cliff" the Indian shelters are in (or are) is not nearly as tall as it was when I was six (nor as far away), and icicles make a lovely fringe for a cliff face.
Ack. When I told my mother about my walk, about how close the shelters really are and how easy the trail was to find despite house-building by people who then don't walk in the woods as much as they ought, and how beautiful it was (I saw an ironwood tree, along a trail I can never have walked before. I am sure I never saw such a thing before I went to UConn, which, being inland, is higher and colder.)
Her husband told me that he just, after 5.5 years, finally went all the way down the road to the turnpike. I was agog that he had lived here so long and not bothered to go for such a simple, short, pretty walk before. Even if it's not quite so pretty anymore, with the new houses, and also gloomy in a different way: the gloaming under the hemlocks has given way to a false brightness, since they're all dead after the blight. But he didn't even walk it--it took him five and a half years to drive it. Damn, it makes me crazy that people can live there and not appreciate it.
Which I suppose people could say of me living in Denver. I heard someone say recently how much Denver is like Phoenix, and that's truer than I would like for anywhere that I live. Sunny and dry. Now, sunnier and drier. Having to import its water.
I appreciate some stuff, really. I like being able to walk to a lot of things (though I wish I could walk to more). I love our bungalow neighborhoods. I suppose I'd have to lock my bike almost anywhere I lived, though I believe libraries should serve as sanctuary as churches once did. And it's not as if I wouldn't feel guilty about being a civilized human living anywhere else in the county.
I was going to say that there was only one thing, but that's not true, and I'm superstitious enough, or too well taught by the Island of Conclusions in The Phantom Tollbooth, to say there's only one thing. The fact is, only one book thing could stop my reading more Michael Chabon today. I finished Summerland over lunch, leaving myself bookless, so scarpered early to go to the 'brary before my bus. I got another José Saramago, The Gospel According to Jesus Christ, and two more Chabons, The Mysteries of Pittsburgh and Wonder Boys, which last I began on the bus.
Eschewing mittens despite the 15-degree cold so I could turn pages at the stop and walking home, I read its first chapter. Shades of Straight Man, and his referring to Three Rivers Stadium reminds me of Wally Lamb (his thinly-disguised Norwich in I Know This Much Is True is called Three Rivers), even though I know that that's Pittsburgh's thing, the three rivers.
I babbled at RDC about Summerland and Chabon and Wonder Boys and my new trove of books without particularly noticing the Amazon box on the table until RDC said, "Plus you have another book." I had forgotten what I had ordered.
A.S. Byatt, A Whistling Woman. The one book thing that could make me stop reading Chabon.
The pity is that currently my two workout discs are that ACSS (with Peter Gabriel, natch, "When You're Falling") and my old standby Pearl Jam (most of Ten, with a couple of songs from Stone Free and then some Deadicated. Quiz for whoever's paying attention: who made that disc, me or RDC?)
But several of the tracks on ACSS are really good for cardio work. I always do the elliptical blind now. That's one thing. I couldn't do the stair- or treadmill blind, though. I don't think. Nothing that required me to move my feet.
And I need to have my glasses on for weights, not least because there's nowhere to put them, also because I need to be able to select the different weights. (Half of my weights are on HammerStrength machines, to which you add disks of whatever weight. These are supposed to be better than the other half, Cybex machines with weight stacks. I say, they're both machines so I don't see how HammerStrength gives you a wider range of motion than Cybex, and it takes longer to track down and carry over two 45-pound disks (in two trips, yep) and another two 10s.) This was the first time I did hack squats in glasses, and, since my head is facing straight out and only my eyes look down, I couldn't easily see when my thighs were parallel to the footboard. I suppose I should be able to feel it.
However, I was proud of me because this was the first time I did 110 pounds of hack squat without Natethetrainer coaching me. Before Monday I did 90. I would be glad to perform as well elsewhere without coaching. Because seriously, the man needs to be a Lamaze coach: "Push! You can do it! Breathe! You're doing awesome!"
Two lengths and a side of the gym in lunges, big steps with the back knee an inch off the ground, just don't seem as difficult as they do with him--I need to remind myself to keep my belly tight--even interspersed with wall squats.
Then I came home and did more leg and abdominal and back exercises on the fitball while watching "That '70s Show" and "ER." There is enough room between the couch and tv for this to happen if I get the ottoman out of the way, but using the fitball with television means Blake can't be with me. RDC came down for something or other with Blake on his shoulder; when he spotted the ball Blake got all attenuated and hid behind RDC's head (which entails perching on his shirt collar). I don't think he could manage even being up on his shelf with the ball on the floor: too close, especially with me in mortal peril by actually touching it.