Wednesday 30 December 2008

I’m heartened. We’ve hit rock bottom.

Vernal Equinox + Mar 20 2008
Summer Solstice + Jun 20 2008
Autumnal Equinox + Sep 22 2008
Winter Solstice + Dec 21 2008

Vernal Equinox + Mar 20 2009
Sumer Solstices + Jun 21 2009
Autumnal Equinox + Sep 22 2009
Winter Solstice + Dec 21 2009

Vernal Equinox + Mar 20 2010
Summer Solstice + Jun 21 2010
Autumnal Equinox + Sep 22 2010
Winter Solstice + Dec 21 2010

We’ve gaining one more minute of light from now until March 20, when we gain two minutes of light until summer solstice. Honest-to-goodness, I can already tell a difference.

Monday 29 December 2008

Cliff Mass, my favorite-ever weather blogger, says we might be in store for another round of wind and snow at the end of the week. Apparently if severe weather like the stuff we’ve been seeing is going to happen, this is the year for it:

Remember…this is a neutral year…neither El Nino nor La Nina…and the most severe snow and wind events…when they do happen…do so in such years.

Friday 26 December 2008

There was a huge blizzard in Indiana the winter before I was born. My mom talks about the storm in this mythic way–she remembers being very pregnant, gearing up in a snowmobile suit and trekking to the grocery for bread and liters of water. The pipes were in danger of bursting and everyone was stuck in our subdivision for days.

After hearing that story as a kid and thrilled at the notion of a real adventure , I was always prepared for some week-long whiteout that would trap us inside. In anticipation, I used to pull every blanket we owned in the tub of our extra bathroom along with water, Cheerios, a flashlight, battery-powered radio, stuffed bear, and the Bible.

Seattle has had more snow and ice and slush this last week than any time in recent memory and I found myself wanting to bring an updated emergency kit into the bathroom in case–the Bible could stay, but we’d add bourbon, marzipan fruits, and cards for gin rummy to the mix.

Thursday 25 December 2008: Merry Christmas!

Mustard greens and gloves.

Wednesday 24 December 2008

Tonight we’re making peppermint bark in anticipation for Christmas Day. Molly from Orangette is crazy about Bon Appetit’s version, and I’m taking a break from smashing up candy canes to post. It will be dark in an hour, and later we’ll sit down to cider-braised pork and cumin sweet potatoes and persimmon pudding.

Something about the holidays makes me want to write about food instead of weather, which has been so exciting lately it’s surprisingly hard to choose where to begin. Cross your fingers for a white Christmas.

Tuesday 23 December 2008

The Seattle Times didn’t have to tell anyone living in Capitol Hill that bad weather’s good news for neighborhood shops and restaurants.

I spent the weekend eating and shopping at neighborhood favorites, and it was a treat to see so many people doing exactly the same. Poppy for dinner Saturday was festive–the thali for the night was called “for a winter storm” and featured chestnut soup and coconut sweet potatoes and this baked vidalia onion with wilty kale that nearly killed me with kindness.

We kicked through the snow and took photos on our way to Stitches, where D bought a couple of yards of wool and started making me a Christmas skirt that afternoon.

And thank you, Joe Bar, for being exactly three minutes from my door.

Monday 22 December 2008

Took a long walk around Capitol Hill Sunday, to Oddfellows and back, and caught up with some sledders on Denny.

Friday 19 December 2008

Vintage Mt. Rainier postcard, circa 1950

Thursday 18 December 2008

Thundersnow hit the city around 5:30 this morning, which was about the same time I realized this thing about being family.

D has a chest cold. He’s all coughs and sighs, and I was up and down with him all night. At one point in the early morning, I thought about how as a kid my mom would sit with me all night when I was sick. I’d always felt a mix of love and chagrin back then, when I was the taker.

And now I’m understanding, being in that role of caregiver to D, that sitting up through the night is such a simple, even good, practice. I know someone well enough to tell you when he’s asleep and breathing clouds or kicking through water. It’s a pleasure.

While I was thinking about this, I jumped. A huge clash of thunder shook the bed. I went to the window to look out and all at once I was a wounder, a wanderer, and a healer.

Wednesday 17 December 2008

We live on the tip of Denny, one of the biggest hills in one of the hilliest cities on the planet. In my worrying head, a forecast of flurries overnight means that, while on his way to work, my husband will surely loose control of the wheel and chute-and-ladder from the top of Capitol Hill into Elliott Bay a mile down the road.

D drives to work very early, so before bed last night, I pulled out my pink stationary pad shaped like a hot dog and left him a note on our car: “DRIVE SAFELY & SLOWLY! I love you. See you tonight for grilled cheese.”

I fell asleep quickly and dreamt that D was losing control driving down an icy Denny like I feared. But right before the turn where the road ends and water begins, my hot dog note morphed into a giant safety net at the bottom of the hill. A hot dog-shaped barrier popped up from the road and became a meaty pillow, maneuvering our car safely away from the water.

Tuesday 16 December 2008

My wife’s hands are in her lap, and she’s sitting in front of wallpaper with nymphs and satyrs. She’s listening to Edith Piaf, humming a Sam Cooke song, and thinking about a snowy cul-de-sac on the Peninsula. It’s gaudy, hallowed, and such a gorgeous pity.

Monday 15 December 2008

Saturday night, after teeth were brushed and faces were washed, after we got water and put the chain on the door, we turned out all the lights and opened up the curtains in our living room. We watched a million flurries blot out the sidewalk, then laid down under an extra comforter and fell asleep with the back light of the building next door shining into the room.

With the glow from the building still on my face, I woke up when it was still dark and for a second thought that I was in some great incubator. Further west than West, water and trees arched toward a ceremony away from the snow, moving closer to flip-flopped cakes of lemony light.

Friday 12 December 2008

Evergreen Crown

Thursday 11 December 2008

Darkest Night of the Year Mix
for December 21, Winter Solstice

Devendra Banhart: Hey Momma Wolf
Leonard Cohen: Famous Blue Raincoat
Fire on Fire: Three or More
Vince Guaraldi: Christmastime is Here (Instrumental)
PJ Harvey: Missed
Innocence Mission: Lakes of Canada
Low vs. Diamond: Stay Awake
My Brightest Diamond: Ice and Storm
Red House Painters: Katy Song
R.E.M.: Hairshirt
Elliott Smith: Condor Ave.
Under Byen: Palads
Tom Waits: Alice
Yeasayer: 2080

Wednesday 10 December 2008

Moving closer

Tuesday 9 December 2008

Northwest weather is a real shape-shifter. Sometimes she’s green-tumbed and vital. Other times, she’s like a rubber band around a water balloon. A prickly pear.

I heard weather writer Cliff Mass interviewed by Steve Scher on KUOW recently and now I can’t stop reading his blog. I keep scribbling down notes about particular causes and effects of weather in Washington State. He talks about storm watching, predicting the waves and swell. And also about a rare but true green flash that is sometimes visible for a few seconds when cooler air travels over warmer water.

With everything being so unstable across the planet, it’s easy to see why it’s hard to stop reading Mr. Mass. Just last week he said we’re in store for a wetter, cooler pattern in the weeks ahead. And he was spot on.

Monday 8 December 2008

I listen to local radio when I can’t sleep because I know somebody is in the booth at any hour. It’s a good sad, that the “on air” light blinks in a dark hall for nobody’s benefit. There’s a comfort in the very idea third shift, the sound of cars on the state highway I can hear from bed, and all of the trains huffing past the bay.

One summer in New York, D and I were on our roof in the Village at 4 a.m., arms flopped off the side, just watching people walk around. A skateboarder, a firefighter, and a woman in heels walking her dog eating an ice cream cone passed by. Watching people so awake when everyone in the building under us must have been asleep made the city a good enough place to stay put.

At night, to communicate without communicating may be a half-comfort but it’s a comfort all the same. Watching and listening can get you through a heavy winter, re-placing a need to be accounted for with a need to co-exist. It’s an insomniac’s bread and butter.

Friday 5 December 2008

Madrona and the empty trees

Thursday 4 December 2008

I keep telling myself that by December 17th, the sunset will begin a minute later than on the 16th. We’ve almost rock bottomed, and everyone’s still putting on pants, eating soup, and riding the bus. Even if it’s mostly in the dark.

Wednesday 3 December 2008

On the radio today, I heard someone explain how the atmosphere is a chaotic system meant to produce abnormalities. Which seemed heartbreakingly perfect somehow, because the atmosphere is so basic, necessary for existence, and it gets forever permission to do its thing.

There’s this tendency towards disorder when you share a space. One person leaves a sock on the floor, another hangs a bra between two chairs to dry, and each spare object becomes a whole galaxy. All 550 square feet of your place turns towards some strange, corkscrewed constellation. And it’s almost too beautiful to straighten up, because all of a sudden you figure out it was supposed to be that way in the first place.

Tuesday 2 December 2008

Monday 1 December 2008

If you live in Seattle, I best be seeing you at the Triple Door tonight for what’s sure to be an excellent evening of music from Trace Bundy and dear friend Josh Garrels. It’s chilly and almost dark at 4 p.m., but in a few hours the lower lights will be burning.