#vss: Spring Day

It’s gorgeous out today, so I wrote this very short story.

The Age-Old Question

During a thunderstorm, many people spend time wondering where the birds go while it rains. I was driving past one of my favorite coffee shops the other day, and I noticed that it was undergoing extensive renovations.
It got me to wondering...
Where do baristas go when Starbucks is closed?

Mistrust Not Unfounded

“I don’t trust you,” I told the weather. “The winter has frozen all my hopes of spring.”

It tried hard to thaw my hopes. It was the hottest March 16th in twelve years, beating the previous record by nine whole degrees.

But the next day it was forty degrees cooler; my hopes remained frozen, my mistrust not unfounded.

Changes

The day before yesterday, I was running around outside without a jacket on. I was sitting in the sun in the car with the windows down, sweating.

Today I’m sitting by the window, feet wrapped in thick socks, trying to steal heat from electronics under the desk. I wouldn’t dream of going outside, and even if I did, the “without a jacket” part would not enter my thoughts.

There is nothing I can do but hope that the warm weather returns and melts away the first snow, and that the snow doesn’t return until a more appropriate time, like the new year. Snow is okay, and my kids like to play in it, but I can do without the cold. I’d be happier if winter was one week long. Or maybe two at the most.

It doesn’t have to be cold for long to make me appreciate spring.

Mist in the Morning

My husband drives the same drive every day, back and forth to work: once in the morning, and once in the evening. It’s a lovely drive, but he doesn’t see it anymore. To him, it’s just the commute. Yeah, there are lovely rolling hills and beautiful river views, but he’s become immune to their breathtakingness.

I think we all get that way, sometimes.

This morning I rode along with my husband to work. We discussed normal, everyday things: future plans, what we were planning to give our children for Christmas. Except for when I interrupted everything with remarks about how gorgeous the scenery was. Mist was clinging to the ground, refusing to be chased away by the light of the rising sun. At one point we went down a hill and under a cloud lying low in the valley of a field. It was awesome. “Is it always like this?” I asked my husband as we pushed through a bank of cloud that obliterated the trees, clouds, and river. He shrugged. “Sometimes... A lot of the time, I guess.”

I wondered how often that sort of thing happens to me. Not that I’m often oblivious to lovely scenery, but it made me think about how often I might be failing to recognize and appreciate wonderful things in my life. I’m not the type of person who overexaggerates every disappointing moment that I experience, but I do have those times when I feel like stomping off to shout, “EVERYTHING IS THE WORST.”

But someone else “riding along” with me might be able to more easily point out the wonderful things in my life: my adorable children, my supportive parents, my awesome brothers (and their families), and my hilarious, hardworking husband. When I’m annoyed or stressed or frustrated, it’s easy for me to miss noticing that not every moment, not everything in my life is annoying or stress-inducing or frustrating. When I feel that way, I need to stop, look around, and notice the wonderful things that are always there, things that I might be too distracted or too used to having that I don’t actually see them.

My life will always have its hills and valleys, its good times and bad. But I hope that I never forget the beautiful things about it: the family I have been blessed with, friends who love me, and breathtaking views of mist in the morning.

The Birds Know Whether

The neighborhood birds seem rather subdued. It is a lovely morning, but what they don’t know is that the National Weather Service has issued a severe thunderstorm watch for all of eastern Nebraska until 2 pm. They’re hopping around, zooming from yard to yard, and squawking occasionally.

The possibility of large hail got me wondering how the birds would shelter themselves from it. Maybe they’re not worried because of the several large evergreen trees in the area. They are less shake-able and provide more shelter than other trees, and would be a good place to hide from sky projectiles.

Not to mention that the birds that hang out in my neighborhood are the type that can lock their feet around a perch to prevent being blown away. So maybe they’re not worried because they know they’ll be safe around here. Or maybe we’re not going to have a huge storm.

Perhaps the National Weather Service doesn't know what it’s talking about. Maybe weather prediction is for the birds.

Weather Translators

Last night I sat on the couch watching various local channels track the storm that was heading across the state. I don’t normally watch the news, so it’s been a while since I’ve watched a weather segment. From what I can remember, it’s a little speech about whether or not you’ll need an umbrella tomorrow, professionally delivered by a meteorologist in a suit.

What we don’t see, behind the weather puns and the jokes with the news anchors, is a team of sky scientists who devour weather information and present it to non-sky scientists in a way that they can understand.

Meteorologists are weather translators.

When the weather is boring or normal, we don’t pay much attention to that part of the news. When the weather is exciting or dangerous, we are glued to our televisions, craving information. We may not understand how humidity relates to temperature or what it means when the wind is blowing from the northeast in one place and from the southwest five miles away, but meteorologists do, and it’s their job to explain it in a way that lets us know what’s going on (and whether we need to head to the basement).

Watching the weather coverage last night was what I imagine work is like for those sky scientists every day, with the added stress of having the cameras on and the necessity of “translating” on the fly.

Great job last night, Nebraska meteorologists; I appreciated the weather translation.

Fantiquing

Antiquing has gotten very popular lately. I can see the appeal: you get to look at items that were made in the past, sometimes before you were born, and see how they have aged. You can wonder about where they were bought and how they were used and who the people who owned them were. You can look at remarkably lovely and well preserved things, and admire others which were utilized until they were unusable and were placed on a shelf to be handed down to descendants and their shelves. It’s nice that even though their owners may be gone from the world, that the possessions can still be enjoyed by others.

And while antiquing might be fun, I can think of something that might be even more enjoyable and take up much less room. For instance, the collection (that I just made up) of fantiques in my backyard.

What are fantiques, you ask? They are the antiques of the future. The great thing about fantiques is that since they’re from the future and completely imaginary, I can imagine that they’re weather proof. No rain or wind will spoil my fantiques. And I can also imagine that they are stored on a special fantique shelf that will display them for my leisurely perusal and then tuck them away in extradimensional space so that the whole shelf will fit under the back porch.

The lovely fantiques in my collection will range from lavishly decorated tableware that self-washes to gorgeously upholstered chairs and couches that automatically conform to the individual sitter’s sitting needs. There will be future art, both painting, sculpture, and light displays, and everyday things such as a rubbish bin that automatically recycles each piece of garbage into a new item that will make the world a better place.

Perhaps someday all these things will be on shelves being admired in an antique store, and maybe not. But for now I can imagine that they will be, and amuse myself by thinking up so many fantiques that my whole backyard is full.

The Doorknob in the Hall Closet

For most of the year, it hangs on the doorknob on the inside of the hall closet. It keeps me from closing the door after I’ve put clean sheets away or stored snow boots in their proper place for the winter. It swings into view when my children romp across the house and press their faces into the mirror attached to the door. Half the fun of making a silly squishy face is knocking the closet door open accidentally-on-purpose.

I always know where it is.

I never want it until I need it.

I never realize I forgot it until I spot someone who remembered to stop at their own hall closet before they left the house.

So I walk in the rain, and think about the doorknob on the inside of the hall closet.

Lazy Lilacs

Spring was kind of dithering around, deciding whether it wanted to show up or not, until this weekend, when we had some awesome thunderstorms. Now everything is green, everyone’s lawn needs to be mowed, and everyone’s lilacs are blooming.

Lilacs are the best thing about spring. The different hues of purple wave in the breeze in almost every yard as I drive past. And then I get home and glare at the nearest lilac bush, which is in our neighbor’s yard. It has not bloomed yet. “Come on!” I admonished it recently. “Get going! Everybody else has lilacs! Lazy bush.”

I’m excited about spring, and I’m excited about lilacs. And I’ll be even more excited when the lazy lilacs next door decide to start blooming, too!

From the Bottom of the Deep Freeze

March has come in like a frozen leg of lamb.

There were supposed to be storms. There was supposed to be snow. March was supposed to show up like raging, roaring, starving lion.

Instead there was a bit of wind, temperatures in the negative unmentionables, and cold enough to freeze our water pipes. Quietly.

That’s okay with me. I’m not a huge fan of cold, but I like gigantic snowstorms even less. I prefer thunderstorms in warmer weather, which if the old saying is true, we’ll be getting a lot of near the end of this month.

In like a lamb, out like a lion.

The Arrival of Spring

Spring is that girl you have a crush on in Math class.

She doesn’t even know you exist. It’s a very cold feeling.

But suddenly she turns around in her chair and asks you to explain the equation the teacher just went over, and it’s a beautiful day. She frowns after your lesson recap and turns away, and freezing winds chill your bones.

A week later, she’s asking for help again. The sun is shining. You point out why her answers were wrong on the quiz, and she says she understands better when you show her how to get through the problem than when the teacher does. And she smiles at you. The snow melts, and warm breezes blow.

Two weeks later, standing in slush, you pluck up the courage to ask her to the dance. She says, “sure, um… what was your name again?” The world freezes overnight.

You wait patiently, shivering outside the gym as everyone else goes inside, a box containing a wrist corsage clutched in your hands. Will she ever come? Or will she stay away, leaving you frozen and miserable? It feels like an eternity before that minivan pulls up and her dad gets out to open the sliding door.

She emerges in a rush of warm air, shaking a curl out of her eyes, wearing a gorgeous light green dress and flowers in her hair. She holds out her hand while you slip the corsage onto it, and waves to her father as she takes your arm and lets you lead her inside.

There are lots of people dancing already, and a slow song begins as you reach the edge of the dance floor. She says, "Come on!" and grabs your hand, grinning as she pulls you into the crowd. Nervously, awkwardly, you put your hand around her waist as she loops an arm around your neck. You suddenly realize that you don’t know how to dance, but that’s okay.

She puts her head on your shoulder, and you are warmed from head to toe.

Spring has finally arrived.

Writing Prompt: Positively Perilous

Rosemarie Keough almost died taking a penguin’s picture.

Nature photographers live in danger. Lions on the savannah, bald eagles cliff-side in California, and diving to capture the underwater habits of adorable penguins are all a part of the job. The danger just makes it a little more interesting.

But this particular day, Rosemarie wasn’t in danger. It wasn’t even particularly cold out. It was slippery and there happened to be a steep hill nearby, but neither Rosemarie nor her companions were worried.

She crouched down to get a shot of her favorite little troublemaker. He hadn’t let her get in close, and always turned away right when her finger touched the shutter release. She adjusted the focus, and took the picture.

She got it!

She was sure she’d gotten it. She tilted the camera up to check the preview. Just then, the wind rose up and shifted her balance. She wobbled in her squatting position, readjusting so she wouldn’t end up on her rear.

She slipped.

Her companions watched as she tumbled down the hill toward the water and some nearby leopard seals. They were after her almost as quickly as she fell, and rushed her to the hospital for stitches and rest for her cracked skull.

But Rosemarie didn’t care about any of that. When she woke up, the first thing she said was, “How’s my camera?!” Unlike her, the camera was fine.

The even better news was that she got the picture.

Writing Prompt #798
To read the true story of how wildlife photographer Rosemarie Keough nearly lost her life, click here.

Shortage

Yesterday I bought a $3 bottle of water at the Pinnacle Bank Arena. “Three bucks for a bottle of water?!” I thought. “What a ripoff! If I'd remembered to bring my own bottle, I could get it out of the water fountain for free!”

This morning I was woken by my husband’s voice saying, “We don’t have any water.”

Today, I’m washing my hands with three dollar bottled water.

You don’t really appreciate something until it’s gone.

Writing Prompt: Caution: Distracting Signs Ahead

I’m not the only one in the world who has to deal with a daily commute, or the only one who hates it. Actually, I think everyone hates it. It’s a given that if you have a commute, you dread that part of your day.

It’s worse when the weather interferes: fog, snow, even sunny skies are enemies of the commuter. The drive is best when it’s nice and cloudy. Rain is my personal least favorite. High speeds, wet roads, and poor visibility make for a dismal commute home. There are many things that can make you wish for teleporters even more, however: a bad day at work, road construction, and lots of traffic.

I dream about teleporters a lot on the way home from work.

That day, there was a wet umbrella on the floor in front of the passenger’s seat as I replayed the argument I’d just had with my supervisor in my head. The windshield wipers were making a ‘clack, clack’ sound as they labored to ensure that I could see the road.

And then I saw it.

One of those road construction signs was blinking at me through the gray afternoon. I let out a huge sigh. This was all I needed with my horrible day.

“CAUTION:” it read, “EXOTIC ANIMALS.”

I shook my head and took a second look as I approached it. I hadn’t been mistaken, that was what it said. I wondered what exotic animals could have to do with traffic. Had there been some mass escape from the zoo? Should I be on the lookout for lions, tigers, and bears?

About a mile and a half later, there was another sign.

“THEY’RE PRETTY COOL, GUYS.”

What? Were some road workers feeling bored, or something? It seemed like it would be dangerous to put up distracting signs like that in the pouring rain, especially if there might actually be animals running around on the highway. It wasn’t long before I spotted a third sign.

“RELAX AND ENJOY TIME OFF”

These were some seriously weird road workers. What were they trying to say to everyone on the road? Were they some kind of amateur philosophers? I was on the lookout now, for any more signs. Finally, right before my exit, I saw it.

“AT ZOOSVILLE, EXIT 329.”

Oh. It was a marketing thing. Why hadn’t they used billboards? Those were easy enough to see. Maybe not in the rain, but it wasn’t always raining. In fact, the weather was supposed to be nice the next day.

As I pulled off the highway and turned onto my street, I realized that I wasn’t thinking about work or my horrible commute anymore. Those signs had been distracting, but in a good way. I was gong to relax and enjoy my time off.

And maybe my family would like to go to the zoo on the weekend.

Writing Prompt #285

My Best Laid Plans vs the Cold

The sun is shining on the newly fallen snow, and my daughters’ snowsuits are hanging in the closet.

I need some more materials for a craft project, but the car is covered in ice.

The warmest room in the house is the kids’ bedroom, but I need to work.

It’s cold.

Several of the above things sound fun. My daughters love to play in the snow. I’m excited to get started on a really cool project for my cousin’s Christmas present. But when it’s -DEATH° outside, and the cold is always trying to creep in, staying warm occupies my thoughts and keeps me from doing things that I would normally be happy to do.

Even more unfortunately, the tasks that can’t be completed by untangling the laptop from the mess of cords on the desk and sitting on my daughter’s bed for a while would have to begin with me going outside to scrape the car off. Taking my kids to the craft store after bundling them up isn’t going to be much fun either, but frolicking in the snow followed by a hot lunch and a snuggle read in the warmest room in the house should make up for it.

I will defeat you, cold. I will do everything I want to do and need to do. You can’t stop me… unless I can’t find my boots.

Then it’s an all-day book fest under blankets in front of the heating vent.

Jammies

At Target the other day I saw some footie pajamas. They were cute and fuzzy and looked nice and warm. They were also sized for eight year olds.

Footie pajamas are nice for tiny kids, who are too young to obey commands to leave their socks on at night. They keep the feet of tiny kids warm all night, along with the rest of them.

The big problem with footie pajamas, though, is the same problem you get when you have to get out from under the covers in the morning: without them it's cold!

A little kid is going to fuss when you take those warm jammies off to change their diaper. That sort of thing is necessary, no matter how snuggly you are. But think about how much more cold someone with more heat to lose would feel when having to get out of them for a similar reason. Bathrooms are the coldest rooms in the house in the winter, especially when you’re wearing footie pajamas.

You can stay under the covers for as long as possible, but sooner or later you’re going to have to get up. Two piece flannel pajamas will let you ease into the cold, but will definitely not be as cute as footie pajamas might. The choice is up to you.

Thursday in History: Look Out, London

There are some Thursdays when I find something fun to write about and immediately dig in to the information to learn everything about it. There are some Thursdays when there are so many awesome things to write about that I'm not sure which to pick. And then there are other Thursdays when nothing good has ever happened, and year after year, something horrible occurred. On those days, I can usually pick out a pattern. Today is one of those days.

So, look out, London.

On this day in history in 1091, a freak tornado ripped through the city, taking out a church, flattening everyone’s homes, and demolishing London Bridge. Despite the fact that it was equal in magnitude to an F4 tornado, it only killed two people.

On this day in history in 1814, a floor gave way in a brewery that was located in the midst of some tenements. A huge vat fell to the basement below, crashing into more large beer-filled containers. The resulting flood washed into the lower levels of surrounding buildings, and at least seven people were killed.

But it’s not all “centuries past” havoc. On this day in history in 2000, a train careened off of the tracks just north of London in the town of Hatfield. Railtrack, the company responsible for railway infrastructure, had been at odds with government safety regulators about their slacking.

October 17th has historically been a day of disasters in and around London, both by natural means and because of negligence. So if you’re in or near the capital of the United Kingdom today, be on your guard.

I suppose that it also bears mentioning that today is the anniversary of the opening of the first commercial nuclear power station in England in 1956, but it’s far to the north in Cumbria. Although, depending on the fallout, that could still be disastrous. Don’t forget that on this day in history in 1860, the first British Open was held, and if that’s not sinister, I don’t know what is.

Writing Prompt: Control

The day started off well enough. She woke up. That's where the good times ended.

The toilet was broken. There was a huge mess in the bathroom. A plumber wasn't going to be available for several days.

There was nothing to eat. Stale cereal and expired yogurt. A glass of water for breakfast.

The comfort of a favorite shirt and pair of jeans would have been nice, but they were both packed neatly in the one bag the airline had lost on her recent trip.

A text sent sometime during the night canceled their planned walk in the park, and that was before it started raining.

The sympathetic ear of her best friend turned out not to be so. Everyone has an occasional bad day, but when yours falls on the same day of the one whose shoulder you cry on, it produces exasperated responses like, "You never shut up about this. If you're so sure that he's about to break up with you, then do us all a favor and just get it over with!"

Holding back angry tears, she went out to kick boxes in the garage. The automatic door opener didn't do its job when she hit the button. She sighed and wondered how she could have expected anything else.

She wrenched the door up and watched it roll back and settle into place. She eyed it suspiciously, knowing that today, with her luck, it was probably going to roll back down when she wasn't prepared and knock her unconscious. First she’d miss the delivery of her lost bag, and afterwards drown in the rain. Instead, all that happened was that because of the force she used to open the garage door, a box of Christmas decorations was knocked off the shelf it had been balanced precariously upon.

Shiny red and green glass balls rolled everywhere. A few broke. Thankfully, the heirloom decorations had been packed properly, but there was one long strand of lights in a huge snarl right in the middle of everything else.

She stood there, taking deep breaths. She would not cry. She would not give this terrible day the satisfaction. It was the one thing she could control.

She looked at the mess on the floor of the garage, wiped a hand across her eyes, and decided that maybe it wasn't the only thing. Could something a simple as tidying up make her day better? There was no harm in trying. She felt a sense of calm purpose in sweeping the floor. And if she wasn't going to let a tangled mess of Christmas lights bother her, then she shouldn't let any of the rest of the day’s little disappointments get to her either.

The box was back on the shelf and the rain seemed to be letting up when the delivery truck arrived with her bag. She went inside to unpack, then opened a bottle of wine and sat down to watch a movie. A text from her friend later that evening extended an olive branch of tentative apology: “has he called yet?” He hadn't, but maybe he would.

Maybe tomorrow.

Writing Prompt #777

Autumnal Darkness

How do I know it’s fall?

It’s dark.

During the summer I don’t use the lights in my house until late in the evening: 7, 8 pm sometimes. I can get away with leaving the blinds down, there’s no need to open them when there’s plenty of light to see by just filtering through them (also, by not letting in that light, it keeps the house cooler).

This morning my husband turned on the light above the sink in the kitchen because there wasn’t enough light outside to let him see the coffee he was making. I had to turn the brightness on the laptop screen down to the lowest setting after I opened the curtains to let in as much light from outside as possible, because the screen was still too bright.

For some people it’s back to school, leaves changing color and falling, or cooler weather. I finished school, and my kids haven’t started yet. The trees outside my house have green leaves fluttering in the wind. And I don’t trust the forecast when it says it’s going to be 90 degrees tomorrow.

It’s dark.

It’s fall.