reading

We interrupt this broadcast. . . .

/ marydpierce / 29 Comments

I live on the southern coast of Rhode Island, so when we heard that a major snow storm was headed our way, we prepared ourselves.  We went to the store two days before Nemo’s arrival, we filled the cars up with gas.  We bought plenty of bread and milk.  And wine – because this woman does not live on bread and milk alone.

Friday morning my husband went into work early so that he could leave early, before little Nemo grew into a bigger, meaner fish.  I made meatloaf with baked potatoes and vegetables, because, if you’re going to be stuck inside for a few days, you want your belly full of comfort food.  And chocolate.  And wine.

Nemo as seen through the window Friday evening. Looks lovely, almost magical, but you can't hear the way the wind was howling, nor the tree branches scratching at the windows.

Nemo as seen through the window Friday evening. Looks lovely, almost magical, though you can’t hear the wind roaring, nor the tree branches scratching at the windows.

The wind began to howl.  There is something about the ferocity of that sound that fills me with anxiety.  The lights flickered.  We were prepared to lose power, though we hoped we wouldn’t.  (Our electrical line taps into the main line on a grid, so that in the past, when we lose power, we’re generally the first ones to get it back.)

But the power stayed on.  Which meant I could watch CSI NY.  The second of a two-parter, AND a crossover from the CSI set in Vegas a few nights earlier, I was really looking forward to watching Mac Taylor and D. B. Russell race together to save Mac’s girlfriend.  A glass of wine, my love beside me, and a favorite TV show.  Blow, Nemo, blow.

Alas.  To paraphrase my birthday pal, Robert Burns:  the best-laid plans of mice and ardent CSI fans are often thwarted.

Do you know what happens when mega storms hit?  Every local TV news station usurps air time with constant blather coverage of the storm (except for insertion of all the usual commercials, naturally).  They tell you obvious important stuff like, it’s really nasty out there, don’t go outside, stay off the roads.  And to prove how nasty it is, they send news teams out to drive the hazardous roads so they can film the wind and the snow.  They point to the banks left by plows.  “See if you can get a shot of that,” one reporter says to the camera person, as the snow swirls furiously, making it impossible to see much of anything.  “Look at how high the snow is there.  I don’t know if you can really tell, but it’s high.”  They tell you how many homes are without power.  That number increases rapidly.

To be fair, there are probably a lot of people who do want to know – constantly – what’s happening during times like this.  It may reassure them that everything is under control.  I am not one of them.

We had options, though:  DVDs and books, board games, candles, flash lights with extra batteries, heat, and running water.  We made it through the night.  We did lose power twice for short periods.  We were fortunate.

Aftermath - shoveling out. Not so fun.

Aftermath – shoveling out. Not so fun.

The snow-shrouded branch pointing at my kitchen window was actually touching the glass. Made me think of a blink angel getting closer and closer. . . .

The snow-shrouded branch pointing at my kitchen window in the morning was actually touching the glass. Made me think of a blink angel getting closer and closer. . . .

My husband has managed, with the help of our kind neighbor and his snow-blower, and an anonymous good Samaritan with a backhoe, to dig us out.  We still have lots of comfort food – I’m making a beef with red wine stew next.  And chocolate chip cookies.  Later, I may go see if I can find the CSI NY episode I missed online.  Even if I don’t, it’s all good.

For those of you who were also in the path of Nemo, how did you fare?  I’d love to know.

Why I gave up gardening

/ marydpierce / 19 Comments

When I was a kid, I found a patch of lady’s slippers growing in the woods.  They looked like fairy shoes, those little pink slippers.  They were the most beautiful flowers I had ever seen.  About the same time, I read The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett and I fell in love with the idea that one day I would have a garden, and it would be magnificent.

I grew up and lived in apartments for a while, so I kept house plants instead.  Now I have a house and a yard.  A good sized yard, in fact.  With lots of trees.  My husband and I began by putting in rhododendron and azaleas and forsythia.  Shortly after that, a gardening friend who was moving gave me clumps of day lilies, lady’s mantle, Japanese irises, shasta daisies, and various herbs: garlic chives, mint, and rosemary.  And it was – if not yet magnificent – at least a lovely start.

Then weeds poked through the wood chips I laid out.  Some were scruffy and sporadic and easy to pull out, but that’s what gardening is about, right?  Being outdoors, getting fresh air and exercise.  I soon found out that there was another kind of weed encroaching on my dream.  It was way more insidious.  Tenacious and woody with roots that spread underground like an alien invasion.  If I didn’t get them soon enough I had to hack the roots apart.  But I persisted.  For several years.  And then, not so much, and the weedy vine took over.  I eventually learned that what our yard was most proficient at producing was Oriental bittersweet, an invasive species that is all but impossible to get rid of short of using napalm.  That was it for me.

Still, throughout this past summer, I occasionally felt pangs of guilt over my poor gone-to-seed garden.  I tried to remember how it used to look.  I think it was because this year I was mostly home-bound without a car, and so many days were sunny and warm.  But, now that October has settled in, and the trees are shedding their leaves all over our lawn, I feel less anxious.  I’m an inside girl, anyways.  There are bugs outside in summer.  And I am fair-skinned and easily burn.

Truth be told, spending time indoors reading, grips my heart more fiercely than the idea of gardening, anyway.  So, when I get a hankering for the serenity of a lovely garden, I will content myself with visiting someone else who is more persistent than myself.

And that will do.

Kensington Gardens in London – perfect example of a far grander garden than mine!

Hostas chewed to nubbins by deer or bunnies. We have wildlife wandering in our yard!

Where my husband likes to park his 1936 Dodge – in the middle of the yard.

Only a couple of stacks of books beside my bed. There are many more stacks in other rooms.

Make a mark!

/ marydpierce / 9 Comments

September 15th is International Dot Day.  This excites me to no end.  Dot Day is all about being creative, and fearless, and thinking outside the box.  It’s about inspiring children to make art, to learn and to connect by sharing their art and their vision with one another.  It’s based on the book The Dot, written and illustrated by Peter H. Reynolds, and published by Candlewick Press in 2003.

You can find out more about Dot Day by clicking here.

Teachers and librarians and children all over the world are participating.  You can watch the video, “Two Libraries, One Voice Dot Day Celebration,” a collaboration by Shannon Miller and the always amazing John Schumacher here.

And for the occasion, I have made my mark, which you can see below:

Dots, lots of dots. This makes me happy.

So, let’s celebrate.  Children – and all those who used to be children – go out and make art.   I think the world could use some dots today.  Don’t you?