The Natural Drug

I've recently moved someplace renowned for its bad weather. Or rather, for its lack of boring, pleasantly mild, nondescript indistinguishable weather.

During the summer it got hot enough to make you avoid the outdoors. Not unusual.

But the winter...

The winter weather is boisterous, playful, changing, vivid, and challenging. It gets cold enough for your fingers to hurt simply walking from the car to the apartment; winds howl down the plains, sliding along the ice; the snow piles up so rapidly that they don't even try to clear the roads down to pavement, and you have to learn to include sliding as part of turning corners; any ventilation crack is enough to make ice build up inside your window where the temperatures meet.

It isn't easy.

It's challenging.

It's invigorating.

I love being outside in weather like this. It gets my heart beating to be buffeted by winds, where I have to turn my back to the wind to catch my breath. It lifts my spirits to see the sky clogged with fat, fluffy flakes that keep coming, hour after hour, and the wind curls them into graceful drifts. I like seeing the dark, crystalline sky full of sparkling stars. I welcome the prickling in my nose as the hairs freeze, and my cheeks getting stiff and hard to move.

I enjoy nature. Give me a good hike in the woods, an outcropping over a lake to look from, the view from a mountain, a meandering day in a National Park. Now add in the danger that if you lay down, you could die. I've been on ski mountains, cold wind pulling at my clothes. But this is even better; despite being within walking distance of houses and civilization, there is a closer connection to nature. You are more directly involved than a minute or two sliding down the ski run.

With all the ways humans have tried to tame, eliminate, curb, and derail weather, it is refreshing to be in a place where they build tunnels between buildings, and raises bridges to allow ice floes to pass underneath. It makes you feel more alive than an illicit drug.

Cuckoo

I recently upended my life, and made a big move across country, finding much satisfaction and contentment in my new home.

I didn't go alone. I went with a friend, and at first it was just the two of us, and we were well matched and balanced. Then came the straggler.

She moved her son in with us, a thirteen year old boy. I had an instant family that I hadn't been counting on. It is a surreal way to get a family; no nine-month pregnancy, no lengthy adoption process, no prolonged court case. He wasn't here; and then he was.

And not happy about it.

I wish he would understand that there is an adjustment for both of us. No matter how much he curses, insults, and disobeys, it is still my job to get him to school healthy, clean, and prepared.

Why should I? Why should I care enough to bother? It wasn't what I signed up for. i could just as easily sit back and let the mother be the involved one, do the hard work and be the enforcer. Why am I even involved?

The irony comes from the fact that I wasn't allowed to do this for my own kid, wasn't allowed to be a daily parent, explore the joys and pitfalls of childhood, and watch him grow. I had a few hours on weekends. Now I'm helping keep another father away from his kid.

And it isn't even for someone grateful. It would be different if the child were happy to be here, but those insults...

I wonder what he will leave behind when he finally leaves the nest. Beautiful, lustrous feathers to keep us warm? Or a hard white mound of bird crap?

Autumn

Another autumn, and I can feel the tug on my soul. Much is made of spring, with its affirmation of life, but I find the closing down of summer to be more poignant.

It is a season with rich, vibrant hallmarks. A delicate lilac scent may call spring to your mind- but how does that compare to that sharp breath of cold air when you step out of the house on that first morning with frost? Or how well that blends with the smoke from someone's fireplace, knowing that they are warm and comfortable, snug in their house? The cracking, crackling, snapping leaves at your feet make every step a song, if you can catch them in between their game of tag on the swirling wind. An unexpected, gossamer layer of snow nuzzling bushes and yards, or the delicate, condensed spiderwebs of frozen fog between blades of grass. Or that warm rush to your skin when you step back inside a warm house after a brisk, invigorating walk, only turning back when the cold starts to seep into your clothes.

Fall foods are hearty: deep orange squashes, thick hot chocolate, roasts, warm apple pies, chili that has been simmering in the crockpot all day, filling the house with delicious memories.

Spring pulls you to wander away from home. Autumn encourages you to snuggle beneath the blankets with someone. Is it any surprise that the holiday that celebrates family and food is now?

Compare the excitement of seeing the first shoot of green in your yard, knowing that soon you'll be weeding and mowing, with the wondrous joy of those first flakes of snow, knowing that it is too early to last, and this first taste will soon melt away.

If Spring is about Hope, or Life, then Autumn is about Time. The warm weather arrives slowly, in fits and starts. The cold arrives suddenly, often before you are ready. It is a reminder that the universe is moving, always moving. Soon it will be winter, and metaphorical death. In Spring you can live in the moment; in Autumn you must plan how you will survive. It warns of the culling of the herd.

If Spring encourages you to start over, then Autumn warns that your time is short. Do not wait for the Spring; now is the time to get moving. Because if you don’t, the universe will move on without you.

The Weather Ghost

I recently got out of a troubled relationship. I moved far away, half way across the country, to regroup, reset, and reboot. The large distance, I figured, would be a good way to make a new start.

There is only one small problem. We had a pet name for this other person. It was a nick-name, a lightly-teasing comment that was an in-joke to us. Unusual, but not unique. Nothing odd about that; plenty of long-term relationships have these touchstones that are only significant to the people themselves.

I didn't realize until I got here that a town has that same name that I used for this person. I've had minimal contact with them since I moved, and that's good. But every time I watch the weather report on the news, there is that town, reminding me.

The town apparently doesn't have anything else going on in it; it isn't in the news for any reason, nothing transpires there. It just happens to be in the middle of a blank spot on the map, so they fill it in with this town. Its entire purpose seems to be to prevent me from simply watching the weather.

For the most part I've managed to move on, start over. Unless I watch the weather. Then the ghosts of the past come howling down from the arctic, and the day feels a little colder and darker.

The Price of Altruism

I'm selling my body.

Well, not really.

Just part of it.

I've recently moved, and until I get my finances solid, I've been selling my plasma to a pharmaceutical company. I didn't even know you could still do that; it seems the only time it comes up is when somebody is telling an inspirational story, and they tell about when they were so down they had to sell their blood. But those were in the past; surely in the time of bar codes, AIDS, and genetic engineering that wasn't necessary any more!

Apparently it is still necessary and popular. The money is decent enough, considering that all you really have to do is sit there.

But still, I feel a little creepy. Money isn't why I want to do it. I came from a place where it was strictly voluntary; the female phlebotomists were uniformly nice, since they knew you didn't have to be there. I got to feel good about helping strangers. When people questioned why I went so often (I gave 30 gallons before moving out of the area) I would say that I gave when I could so that when I needed it somebody else would give.

There is a difference; I donated platelets, and I'm selling plasma.

But still.

I lived across from an elder gentleman and when it snowed I would make sure to get out there early and shovel his driveway for him. I didn't want him getting hurt doing it, and I appreciated the exercise. It seemed like a great combination.

Until he started feeling guilty, and started running out to shove money in my hand. I tried to dissuade him, and suggested that a bottle of wine at the solstice was enough payment for the season. It didn't take; he continued with the money.

And as he did, I enjoyed the snow shoveling less and less.

When it was free, it was a good deed; when I got paid, it was a chore.

I hope that I can my finances strong enough that I can stop selling my blood, and find a place where I can give it away. Because as the slogan says, giving the gift of life is unbeatable.

Too Much or Too Little?

I recently told a close friend that I had been harboring romantic feelings for her, and wished that we had gotten closer. We had known each other for years, although we had never done anything social with just the two of us. For a while we were each in relationships with other people, and occasionally the four of us would do stuff. After that, I put out feelers, but they were never enacted on. This went on for years, warm and friendly but no closer than before.

I recently moved, and took the opportunity to let her know what had been going through my head: regret that we hadn't been closer.

I never heard back from her.

Admittedly, email probably wasn't the best medium for such a confession. Unfortunately, that was how we were communicating, and it naturally flowed in the conversation. I know, I know: I should have called her. Next time.

Without a response, I'm left wondering at how it was taken. Was she offended? Disgusted? Amused that I thought I might have had a chance? Angry that I hadn't said anything years ago?

Maybe she didn't even get the email. Or maybe she is having a medical emergency. Heck, she might even be dead.

Maybe she is just busy.

Either way, I'd like to know if it was too much, too late, or merely too optimistic. Even if it's painful, I'd like to know the truth.

False Path to Peace and Prosperity

I didn't get the job.

That isn't unusual in this economy; most people aren't getting the job. Why am I complaining?

Because I was an excellent candidate. My skills matched exactly what they were looking for, my aptitude was appropriate, and the interview went well, lasting half an hour. The only boggle was that I wasn't super-experienced with a particular software program that was marginally related to the job. I was honest and told them that I wasn't as slick as I could be, but eager to learn.

Afterwards I even sent the recommended thank-you note. I didn't get the job.

I can't help but think that this desperately-needed job would have been mine if only I had lied a little, but I thought it was better to be honest. Was I foolish? Is that what it takes nowadays to get ahead? Heck, forget that- I was merely trying to not go under.

I recently broke up with a girl after eight years; one of the reasons was that I won't say that I loved her, because I didn't think I did, although it would have made her much happier if I had fibbed and fudged a bit.

I understand the little white lie (what a beautiful baby!) that doesn't do any harm. But more and more it seems that it is necessary to lie to just to keep even.

And that isn't the kind of society I want to live in.