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runswithscissors


Saturday, August 23, 2003

Within the last few days, the local weatherfolk have lain predictions of extreme temperatures on us up in these parts. Thursday was supposed to be torrid, driving the mercury well up into the 90s. Didn't happen. Last night, we were warned, would be a cold bugger, reaching down past 40 F, well into the 30s. Didn't happen. At least not around here. When I raised the dining room shades this morning at the hideous hour of 5:50 a.m. and trained my bleary eyes on the thermometer, its little needle pointed casually at the 48 degree mark. Chilly, yes, but not out of line for this time of year. Not chilly enough to affect the temperature in the house, at least with the windows prudently closed. On impulse, I stepped outside into the fresh early a.m. air and attempted to drag myself up to something approximating functional consciousness. Still air; soft, swelling sunlight; air cool, but not unpleasantly so. Not enough to need more than a t-shirt beneath a long-sleeve shirt, certainly not enough to produce breathmist. A pair of hummingbirds were already partying at the sugarwater dispenser over the in the big, hulking lilac bush. Finches were ranged around the fir trees that make up the wind break at the end of the house, subdued but gamely pretending they were actually awake. The sky looked autumnal, and why not? August is in the home stretch, the days are sprinting toward September and the de facto end of the summer season of Labor Day weekend.

I was up at that unspeakable hour because I'd passed on going to the gym yesterday afternoon, which meant I had to drag myself there today. I'd decided to get it out of the way early, pre-Sat.-a.m. rush, then take care of errands and get myself home by mid-morning. I'd prefer to be in bed at that hour, so I'm always a bit stunned when I find myself instead putting my bod through what some might consider to be strenuous exercise. And stunned is the word. There are moments between sets when I stare around in half-awake disbelief, remembering all over again why I don't inflict this kind of early-morning punishment on my little body very often. It's not civilized. It's not humane. And, damn, it feels good to walk out of there into the rest of the day, morning shadows stretching across the parking lot, the first few early, early autumn leaves being lightly driven across asphalt by a light, cool breeze.

And yeah, leaves are just beginning to turn around here. At certain sections of the drive between here and Montpelier, yellow leaves are becoming clearly visible in the summer greenery, starting to blow through the air when the wind finds its way through the trees. A reminder of where we are: Vermont, just outside the sprawling, open-air refrigerator called the Northeast Kingdom.

Montpelier is in its August mode, folks away on vacation, the streets quieter than they were in July, quieter than they'll be in September. It was a lowkey version of the Saturday morning bustle thing, more like early-Sat.-morning Madrid than Montpelier's usual Sat.-a.m. self. When I walked down the steps from the gym, a UPS delivery guy hopped out from his truck, a box under one arm -- the only other person in view. Out on Main Street, a few more people could be seen, a few cars drove by. Two extremely obese women, appearing to be mother and daughter, sat side by side in wheelchairs in front of Brooks pharmacy, apparently soaking up some sun. Quiet, one occasionally making a murmured comment to the other. Other folks walked about in shorts and sandals, ignoring the by cool temperature, by then up into the low 60s.

Post-errands, back in my car, the laughter of the knuckleheads from Car Talk spilling out from the radio, I made the drive back here, parking the car out in front of the garage (leaving the garage door open, the concrete floor still drying out from seepage left by the four weeks of intense rain that ended eight or nine days ago) beneath a blue, cloud-dappled sky.

The temperature has worked its way up to the 70 mark, the trees rustling in the cool breeze that continues to blow. Mourning doves call out now and then, finches come and go at the window feeders. Crickets sing in the grass. Otherwise it's quiet.

Late summer tilting toward fall, the green hills of Vermont spread out all around, life moving placidly on.

rws 1:16 PM [+]
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BLATHERINGS

August 2001
September 2001
October 2001
November 2001
December 2001
January 2002
February 2002
March 2002
April 2002
May 2002
June 2002
July 2002
August 2002
September 2002
October 2002
November 2002
December 2002
January 2003
February 2003
March 2003
April 2003
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June 2003
July 2003
August 2003
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November 2003
December 2003
January 2004
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October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
June 2009
July 2009

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MORE FOCUSED BLATHERINGS


Travels:
London '01
Pamplona
Italy '03
U.K. '03
Sevilla
Casablanca
Stoke-on-Trent
Barcelona
Québec/Ottawa
Boston/Lisbon/Madrid
Italy '04
Montréal
La Sierra

Events:
Madrid -- arrival
9/11
Emergency Room I
Holidays 2001
Holidays 2002
Holidays 2003
Holidays 2004
Holidays 2005
A neighbor's passing
Madrid -- March 11 bombings
  and aftermath
Emergency Room II
Israeli friend/Madrid Marathon
Madrid -- Royal Wedding
The DELE exam

GONE, a novel:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10

THE BASTARD CHILDREN OF
JOE ROCCO, a novella:
-- Part 1
-- Part 2
-- Part 3

BURBANK SHRUGGED,
a screenplay:
-- Part 1
-- Part 2
-- Part 3
-- Part 4

Short stories:
Murphy's Wife
Another Autumn
La Queja de Una
  Hermanastra Muy Conocida

Autobiography
-- Personal History
-- Hormones On Parade
-- Accidents, Random Mishaps,
    Personal Problems

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


OTHER SOURCES OF WHOLESOME ENTERTAINMENT

People/Weblogs:
dooce
foxvox
fudge it
fear not
rebekka
bookslut
802online
idle words
madhaiku
wockerjabby
grow-a-brain
rebel market
letting me be
out and about
kung fu grippe
fanatical apathy
baghdad burning
wfuv's music blog
kexp's music blog
mimi smartypants
between the miles
just a hippie gypsy
the impossible cool
tomato can brushes
vermont homestead
sugar mountain farm

Good Clean Fun:
gizmodo
futurismic
postsecret
dave barry
human clock
mcsweeney's
spaceweather
book-a-minute
internet archive
self-portrait day
my cat hates you
out of context quotes
surrealist compliment
  generator
strindberg and helium

Makin' Musical Whoopee:
last fm
stereo8
pandora
soma fm

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ABOUT RWS/CONTACT





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