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Snow Day, Redux

Monday 02 March 2009 | 4 Comments

Sunrise on a snow day.

The trees all sag under the load. Local news reports tell of many downed trees; through the morning, I hear chainsaws in the not-so-distant distance: the city already clearing up last night's mess.

There's ice and snow on the early blossoms

and those that chose not to rush the season.

The Girl's swing really stands out on the blue-white snow.

The snow certainly has confused the animals. Our cat is fascinated and annoyed with the snow. She had it easy, though: she didn't have to look for food. Do squirrels in warm climates horde? Are they as unprepared as the locals (like the one who found a novel snow scraper).

Our neighbors made a snow individual last night. Today, it's obvious that a snow Dolly Parton would be more descriptive. They're young, our neighbors.

It's difficult not to look up.

Looking up all the time would be a mistake, though, because the roads are covered with ice in the early morning.

Black ice, they call it. It'll be gone before lunch, turned to a slushy mess. Yet that probably means it will re-freeze overnight and we'll have another day off tomorrow. Two of three built-in snow days gone.

The trees in the backyard made it through the night. It must have been paranoia on my part. After all, how often do trees come down and damage homes? How often does it really happen? Well, truth be told, we have friends in Asheville who had the corner of their house crushed by a large limb from an oak, poplar, or some such tree.

The Girl is excited, running about, looking out the windows. Sadly, it's too slushy to take her out. She's still sick, and without any decent shows or water-resistant clothes, she'd be soaked in minutes.

Update

From the Greenville Times:

Greenville County Schools' offices and schools will be closed Tuesday, the second consecutive day since a snow storm walloped the Upstate, said spokesman Oby Lyles.

Eight schools throughout the county don't have power and school officials don't know when it will come back on, he said. Roads are icy and some secondary roads remain blocked, Lyles said. (Source)

And so tomorrow, more fun with the Girl.

Snow Day

Monday 02 March 2009 | 0 Comments

Who knew? The forecast was there, but who trusts forecasters when they say Upstate South Carolina is to get snow? It's like hearing a forecast of rain in Death Valley: seems intriguing, but one assumes the meteorologist is drunk.

It's every child's fantasy. Around Christmas, I show kids pictures from Poland, pictures of kids walking to school with two feet of snow blanketing all but the walk way and kids say, "Mr. S, if it snowed like that, we'd be out of school for a week!" One gets more excited: "For a month!"

Still, it doesn't take much to get officials to call off school here. Indeed, two years ago, officials canceled school on the forecast of a huge storm -- "due to dump tons of snow" -- only to awaken to a light drizzle that never intensified.

By mid-afternoon, it begins; soon there is noticeable accumulation on the deck.

Within an hour, it's snowing heavily -- the kind of snow we haven't seen in over a year. Winters in Polska brought virtually innumerable snowfalls like this. Here, we're discovering, it an once-a-year there.

With this kind of snow, living in the south, there's only one thing a Polish girl can do.

Sit down with a cup of tea and sliwowica (plum brandy that is approximately 140 proof -- a shot of it in hot tea fills the whole house with the fragrance of plums),

with Bida on her lap, watching the snow.

1/30, f/6.3, 110 mm, flash reflected off ceiling

So rare. We miss the snow of Poland -- a real winter -- but the infrequency transforms a sometimes-burden into a jewel.

The snow fall turns to ice, transfiguring limbs to crystal.

We sit and look out our new picture window. "It's the most beautiful picture we'll ever see out this window," K says.

Finally, at half past six, everyone gets their wish: Greenville County Schools will be closed tomorrow. I'm relieved and disappointed: we had a snow-make-up day coming in three weeks. That's gone now. It's about six weeks until our next break. Not only that, but it puts me two full weeks behind schedule with my English I Honors class: Monday we're supposed to be finishing Antigone. We'll be starting it, in earnest, Tuesday.

But still, who can complain?

Late Winter Storm, Front Yard II — 39.7 seconds, f/11.0, 18 mm

With all the heavy, wet snow in the trees, I become worried about the damage so much weight can do to trees not accustomed to a winter workout. Since no tree shakers are available, I go out and do the job myself. I knock the ice from some of the trees immediately next to the house, but the big trees -- the ones that can really do the damage, sit in the back yard, out of reach.

Late Winter Storm, Backyard I — 70.2 seconds, f/11.0, 18 mm

As I stand there, I hear limbs cracking, falling, and it takes me just a moment to realize that it's not whole trees falling (it's not that loud). For a moment, though, I'm worried. "Surely our insurance would cover it," I mumble, trudging back into the house.

"Tomorrow," I say before bed, "for a few minutes (for she's sick), we'll introduce the Girl to snow."

Rainy Day

Sunday 01 March 2009 | 0 Comments

It's a day worthy of the cat in the hat, a day to sit and look out the window, remorseful.

In Poland, it would be called a dzien barowy: "bar day." All the years I was in Poland, though, I don't think I ever spent a dzien barowy actually in a bar. It struck me as somehow, I don't know, reeking of alcoholism (literally and figuratively) to go to a bar in the late morning and spend the entire day there (which, in the area of Polish where I resided, was the definition of a dzien barowy).

Nothing but rain.

Rain and wind -- and worry that the soil has loosened up enough with all the moisture to let a tree reach all the way down and touch its toes. Or our house.

The sun is not shining; it's too wet to play, and even if it weren't so soaking wet, playing outside would be out of the question: the Girl is sick with a massive congestion-producing cold. That has left us figuring out things to do to keep everyone happy, engaged, warm, and dry.

It occurred to me to make for L what Nana often created for me: a tent.

The ingredients are simple: three chairs, a kitchen bar, two blankets, and four deck chair seat cushions.

Notice the fine finishing job on the underside of the bar...

Just enough room for a bunny, a seal, and a beloved Dalmatian.

Access by invitation only; no adults allowed.

Portraits

Thursday 26 February 2009 | 1 Comment

A few portraits snapped through the last few days.

Dziemik ("jam") is a new favorite, and she wears it well. It's particularly tasty on a Saturday afternoon when L has been entertaining herself -- quiet well, in fact -- while K and I clean.

We got home Wednesday and L headed straight to her room to rummage through her treasures. The light was perfect, and the camera at hand.

We end each evening with play time in L's room. In fact, we spend a significant amount of our evening in her room, reading, playing, dancing (though only L does the dancing).

Hit or Miss Language

Wednesday 25 February 2009 | 2 Comments

At school, everyone is "Miss." Miss Karen. Miss Cathy. Miss Deborah. Miss Brenda.

Miss Cathy -- L's favorite -- works in Toddler I. L no longer sees her on a daily basis, but her eyes light up when she sees Miss Cathy coming.

Miss Karen, Miss Deborah, and Miss Brenda work in Toddler II, where L spends her days now.

I wondered whether L thinks "Miss" is just part of their name, but it's become obvious that L has separated the "Miss" from the name. She understands it as a prefix, but she still doesn't understand its significance. It's a term she uses with individuals she really likes.

Hence, I am often "Miss Tata" now. K is "Miss Mama." Our cat, "Miss Bida."

Bean Counter

Sunday 22 February 2009 | 0 Comments

In Albert Camus' The Plague, one of the characters -- referred to as "the Spaniard" if I recall correctly -- sat in bed with two bowls, counting peas, moving them from one bowl to another. So many repetitions of this and it was lunch time; so many more, dinner; still more, and it was time for sleep. It was Camus' portrait of nihilism, the notion that all life is meaningless and amounts to little more than waiting for death.

Then there are accountants, known affectionately as bean counters. Is there so kind of connection? Perhaps there is something ultimately nihilistic about spending one's time, counting other people's money. Then again, most accountants do fairly well counting, so perhaps it's not as bad as the Spaniard.

L has taken to counting beans, though she does it literally.

It's something they do in Montessori, something all the kids enjoy: moving dry beans from one container to another and back again. It's wonderful for developing coordination and an understanding of materials.

And when a mis-aimed cup spills beans all over the floor, it's an opportunity to deal with frustration (something L is not very good at without accompanying vocalizations) and patience.

And it keeps her busy long enough for me finish picadillo.

Helping Out

Thursday 19 February 2009 | 0 Comments

The Girl loves to imitate what she sees. This can be quite practical, in our laundry "room" for example.

Eventually, trash night will be her responsibility. For now, it's nice to have someone willing to load and unload the drier.

Fairly far down the list of our house renovations is the finishing of this room. By the time we get to it, I'm sure L will be helping with that as well.

Sunday, Southside Park

Monday 16 February 2009 | 4 Comments

We are slowly creating a late-winter, Sunday afternoon ritual that is focused on swing time for the Girl. We headed to Southside Park Sunday, and as we sat there, K and I realized it was a better choice than our usual one: less crowded and closer.

The Girl was pleased, too.

Such a change from the first time we were at Southside. Still wobbly-footed and wary of being alone, she wouldn't let us out of her sight.

And naturally, we didn't want her out of our reach. Wobbles turning to dangerous tumbles -- the nightmare I continually endured at playgrounds last year. "They're made to bounce," Nana and Papa say, but my gut isn't made to bounce: it dropped every time she fell, filling my head with visions of -- well, no need to go there.

Now, when she's playing, the Girl makes the choice whether or not to play near us, and I'm only moderately paranoid. I'm sure that moderate paranoia will continue until she's in her thirties or so.

Or maybe it is a permanent fixture.

It is the flip side of the joy of seeing her smile, of hearing her laugh. It is the worry that it won't always be so. And why worry about that? Certainly she'll have her share of bruises, emotional and physical, and it's only natural that I want to protect her from them -- at least minimize the impact. Yet we learn from the pain. In theory.

L still doesn't learn from the pain. At least, she's not convinced. She knows the cat doesn't like being tugged and violently hugged, and she knows what the cat's claws are capable of, but every few days, the Girl tests the hypothesis again.

At least now the threats are visible, and the cause and cure clear.

Indeed, this is the only time that K and I can kiss the pain away. Pain floats away, removed with a kiss that is then blown into the empty distance. "Bye bye!" L says after we blow away the kiss that took away the pain.

Broken hearts and disappointment aren't so easily mended.

But with everyone playing on a cool Sunday afternoon, these thoughts drift away.

The guns are still plastic.

Dancing

Sunday 15 February 2009 | 0 Comments

The Girl has always loved dancing. As her coordination grows, so does the intricacy of some of her moves.

Occasionally she'll get a partner.

The partner is often stiff with fear.

70-300 Zoo

Monday 09 February 2009 | 0 Comments

Why are elephants seem so wise? Because it looks as if every experience is etched on their face:

Why do giraffes seem so elegant yet goofy? Lumpy, bumpy heads.

Why do baby orangutans seems so playful?

Because they are, even with empty Folgers containers.

Why does the Girl seem more and more independent? Because she is. She gets her zipper going, hops with joy, then rips off the jacket and cries, "Try 'gain!"