Last snow?

For me, there are few weather events in early spring harder to contend with in terms of morale than the last snow.

Last night, we had to enter my beautiful hanging basket of violas (albeit a little less spectacular now since being munched on by deer after being left overnight on an outside table) because the temperature dropped to the low 20s. Today, my husband brought in the two trays of pansies and put them in his closet (away from salad-bar-loving Darwin and pansy-addicted Magellan) because they had drooped markedly overnight. That was after I covered each of them with a pillow case as protection from the frost, but they were just not doing well in the 30-degree, sun-less weather outside.

Today, it's been flurrying and outright snowing, on and off, the skies have been gray and dismal-looking, and the little bit of color that you can find anywhere is fighting for dear life, like the spring flowers near our apartment that hunkered down against the snow.

Yesterday, I was briefly interviewed for the college faculty newsletter and the interviewer, an erstwhile reporter for the major newspaper in the big city, asked me what was the main difference between San Juan, Puerto Rico, and Gambier, Ohio. I had to laugh out loud at the contrast that came to my mind with his question, and I immediately answered: "Color." And I meant that in more ways than one.

I've noted before how my mother-in-law once told me, when I was still a newbie in Ohio and all bright-eyed-and-bushy-tailed with possibility, that I would eventually find its winters almost unbearably gray. She herself suffers from light deprivation and must actively counteract its effects during the long, dreary months of winter and early spring. Back then, I dismissed her words, younger and foolisher as I was, sure that I certainly would not find Ohio as objectionable as she did over something as silly as the weather.

But among the major lessons the Greeks taught us was that hubris is not a good thing to have, and that the Fates will make sure it is repaid in humbleness. I have been duly humbled again and again each of the eight years we've been in Ohio, and am now among those who bemoan these last days of colorless cold that linger on before spring is fully with us.

I even started wondering what it would be like to live and work in California until my husband reminded me of how far we'd be from Puerto Rico, and how that has been the reason why we've never considered the West Coast as a possibility, even when it would've been easier for my husband to get a job at one of the many motorcycle magazines published there.

While California is not an option at this time, I have had to come to terms with several facts. One of them is that I am almost 50 (I'll be 48 in October), and that aging does bring important changes that required adaptation. I've discovered, for one, that I need a lot more sleep nowadays than I did even a few years ago, and if I get to bed after 11 and get up at 7 (when I must to give Geni her insulin shot), I'm tired and cranky for the entire day.

That means that I must make sure I get to bed at a time that allows me to function productively and happily, something that has turned out to be much more difficult than I thought in a place where there is something to do or attend to practically every minute of the day and night.

The other fact is that I find the often-unremittingly ugly weather in Ohio to be hard to bear, and that I'll have to ponder the effects of that on my psyche in years to come, as I grow older and more needy of color. Today, a much younger friend and colleague, in a conversation with students over lunch, explained how, in re-reading Beloved while now living through Ohio winters, she has finally understood Baby Suggs' hunger for color.

On my part, I do so hope that this was the last snow of the season, as my husband titled these photos that he took today. Like Beloved, my Caribbean soul clamors, if not for a kiss, then most definitely for color.

Squirrel Days

January never fails to earn its place as my least favorite month of the year in Ohio. It is severely, unremittingly cold, and eternally white or gray. By noon tomorrow, another storm is expected to dump up to a foot of snow, so this January is going out like a lion, not a lamb.

And then comes February, which is really just January all dressed up in lamb's clothing, so I'm not a very happy camper, especially because this is also the time of year that I get the pesky colds that make their rounds among those of us who live near our small college on the hill.

This kind of weather also makes everyone outside (and inside!) hungry and restless. That means that the squirrels are at their best in terms of their canny attempts to get seed out of the bird feeders, which are not intended for them. And they've gotten so good at it, I must say, that I'm about to buy a pricey squirrel-proof bird feeder just to try to at least thwart them as best I can.

Geni, for her part, simply adores chasing the squirrels (she just chased 8 or 9 of them away from the feeders in the back of our apartment). She races them all the way to the foot of the tree they all scramble up on, and then she saunters back, quite pleased with herself and expecting her biscuit reward for being such a good squirrel dog even when she's overweight, ancient, diabetic, has Cushing's Disease, and is a cancer survivor. "The Miracle Dog," that's how the vet calls her.

Here's today's record of one squirrel's foray into the feeder, as captured by my husband a few minutes ago.

First, the thief ensures that there are no witnesses to her crime.


Then, she steals the booty, eating it upside down (which must do wonders for her digestion, I'm sure!). Finally, she makes her escape, back whence she came.

You've got to give it to them. They're brilliant! Just now my husband said that the red feeder was knocked down by the squirrel and is on the ground. If at first you don't succeed...

When, oh when, will winter end?

The first snow

Flurries falling, quiet and fast.

Dreaded, gray winter arrives.

Fall, its shades of orange, was short.

Winter draws first snow in white.

The wettest June

This June, the weatherman said, has been the wettest on record for our area. And I believe it. Everything around me is soaked and humid and muddy. Ugh.

According to the newscast, it's rained for 18 days this June, and so far this year has dumped more than 28 inches of water on us. Of course, we have nothing to complain about compared to all those other areas here in Ohio and beyond where there has been severe and tragic flooding. But both my husband and I are rather tired of this gringo version of Macondo.

In our house in the tiny city, the rain has meant a lot of corre corre to prevent a leak that we can't seem to plug up in the basement. It's not a major problem except when the rains become tropical storm-like (which has been the case with the recent storms that have passed by), and then we have a small catarata.

I called a basement water-proofing service and they said they don't deal with those kinds of leaks and that the only thing we could do was caulk the hell out of it and, if that didn't work, pour a new set of concrete stairs outside the house (from where the leak originates). That was helpful (can you hear the sarcasm dripping?).

Here at the little apartment in the woods at my small college on the hill, wetness means more creepy creatures trying to make their home inside my home. Tonight I evicted the fifth or sixth "house centipede," a tiny monster whose looks are pretty awful but which (thankfully) doesn't fly.


Still, I keep my Buddhist pledge, and despite being the bug psycho that I am, I manage to get them into my insect-eviction jar and out of the apartment as soon as I catch them. Recently, I also evicted an insect that looked like a cross between a wasp and a fly, which appeared to be carrying something in its jaws. When I got it into the trusty jar, it dropped its baggage and I saw that it was a dead spider. I felt bad about depriving it of its hard-won meal but it shouldn't have thought about making a life here in my apartment in the first place.

So far I haven't had to kill anything but that doesn't mean I won't. There was a huge (about an inch and a half big) mosquito-looking thing (except it was brown, not black) flying around a few nights ago and I chased it with the escoba until I lost it. I found it a few days later cowering on one of the legs of the kitchen table and, deciding to spare it, got it into my trusty jar and out of the apartment.

It's been hard keeping to my Buddhist creed, especially when every morning some type of spider falls on my head when I open the back or the front doors. The feeling of having something alive and multi-limbed scrambling around in my curly hair is pretty disgusting so you can imagine my alarm each and every morning this happens. I'm guessing the spiders (mostly "Daddy Longlegs") are seeking refuge from the wetness and are going to the top of the door frames for warmth.

I'm sure hoping this wet spell ends soon and we get some real summer, except I hesitate to wish for that since in Ohio that means we'll go from floods to drought in a matter of minutes. Like Toni Morrison says, seasons in Ohio are "theatrical." Each one is decidedly a prima donna.

This is the last week of the summer program and the weatherman is forecasting rain again for the weekend. I hope July doesn't become a carbon copy of June, and that summer finally decides to grace us with its presence.

(Tonight I have the heat on -- yes, the heat -- because the temperature is expected to plummet to the low 50s).

Sigh. That's all I have to say about that.

Blizzarded out

The snow started, fast and furious, last night and it's still going strong as I write. So strong, indeed, that this is now being referred to as "The Blizzard of 2008." Blizzards are unusual in this part of the country, and people are already debating whether this is as bad as the one in 1978, which my husband experienced here.

My first blizzard (I believe this is my second) was in the 1980s, when I was at Harvard. I remember that on the day the blizzard hit I was sick with some nasty cold. Feverish and all I had to trudge out and wade through the dunes of snow to the corner store in search of cough medicine. The store was, of course, thankfully open, since that being Massachusetts, blizzards are very much a part of the winter culture.

Even more thankfully, today is Saturday, there is nowhere to go and nothing to be done outside the house, so we're warm and safe and all together, just awed at the amounts of snow that keep dropping from the sky.

The newspaper man braved it and brought us our paper, for which I thanked him. This was the view from the front door at around 7 a.m. this morning, and it's much worse now.

The deck looks like it has been "frosting-ed" by the snow, and the swing is now cushioned in white, and in peril of being swallowed up.


This morning, when I awoke and started my daily tasks of feeding dogs, cats and wild birds, there were several black birds at the feeder that hangs from the tree in front of the deck. Initially I thought they were Starlings and was preparing to shoo them away, when a second look revealed that they were gorgeous red-winged blackbirds, which aren't frequent visitors here.

They're actually marsh birds but I guess they found out through the bird-vine that we're the McDonald's for birds in this neighborhood and came looking for some take out, as did a cackle of grackles and basically every other bird that lives around here.

I don't have pictures of the blackbirds or the grackles, or of Mr. Robin, who has been coming frequently to drink water from my husband's wonderful heated bird bath. But my husband took pictures of the mourning doves, which hunker down together to keep warm.

The birds aren't the only ones in need of food and water on days like this. The squirrels are also appreciative and, better equipped than the birds, can dig into the snow and get to the seeds I had put out earlier but which were quickly covered.

One creature that absolutely hates this weather is Geni. Unlike Rusty, who'll bound out there in the snow like he was a wolf in Minnesota, Geni is a Puerto Rican street dog and she looks at us with that "You've got to be kidding me!" expression every time we suggest she go outside. The snapshot my husband took of Geni says it all, not only about her attitude toward this whole event but also about how deep the snow is out there.

When it's all said and done sometime by this evening, more than 15 inches of snow will have fallen on us. Let's pray that this is, indeed, the very last temper tantrum of winter.

Hail March!

Today, on the first day of March, the temperatures have risen to the high thirties and the sun has been up and burning with that spring light that bodes well for the eventual end of winter.

Also today, after the dogs and I returned this morning to our big house in the little city, and after my husband and I took a leisurely walk to his favorite café for brunch, we busied ourselves with the many to-dos of Saturday.

While we were walking back to the house from the garage, my husband noticed the very first sign of spring: tiny snowdrop shoots coming out of the earth, forecasting that their miniature bell-shaped white flowers will be showing off their petite beauties to us soon.

I also saw another indelible sign of spring and that was our very own Mr. Robin, who stopped in for a drink at the bird bath. My husband isn't convinced that it's the very same Mr. Robin of last year, but there were no other robins with him and he came straight to the same spot where he spent most of last winter getting water. Thus, I say it's definitely the same good old Mr. Robin, who was smarter this time around and spent the worst of the winter in a much warmer place.

As I'm sure you can imagine, I'm not going to miss one iota of winter. To give you a sense of what winter has been around here, I'm sharing with you a few pictures of views from outside my little apartment in the woods in my small college on the hill during the past week.


One recent morning I awoke to find that the entire sidewalk in front of my apartment was a death-defying skating rink. Now, few things make me feel more vulnerable or enervated than trying to walk on ice so this view was particularly mortifying and concerning. I've had a running battle with the maintenance supervisor of my apartment complex precisely because these views are not exceptions, but more the rule.

The view from the ground up is no better, as the stalactites (OK, the icicles) collect not just on the edges of the ceiling but also from the sad silent flutes of my wind chime.

And the nice courtyard in front of the apartment is a graveyard of snow, where everything looks like it gave up the ghost a long, long time ago.

Hail March, indeed!

Springing to spring

My husband says I complain too much about winter, and he's absolutely right. His solution: Let's move back to Puerto Rico. But given that I now have an actual job (and one that I absolutely love) at my small college on the hill, that's not a practicable solution for now.

Perhaps someday I'll be famous enough that I can do half the year in the States and half the year in Puerto Rico, as some renowned professors here do (they don't live the other half of the year in Puerto Rico, of course, but somewhere else). How nice it would be to spend the worst part of the winter (basically all of January and February) admiring the crystalline green waters of the Caribbean Sea, and feeling the warm breezes of my island. Sigh...

For now, alas, that's just wishful thinking. And it's not just the jobs that keep us here. Although both my husband and I would love to go to Puerto Rico right now, and I have two weeks of Spring Break coming up, there's no one to take care of Rusty (who, as most of you know, failed doggy day care at the vet's). It's not that we can't kennel him, but that every time we've done so he's been so depressed and traumatized that we swore we wouldn't do it again.

My mother-in-law used to stay in our house to care for him and the other furry grandchildren, but her health no longer permits her to do so. Thus, the only way for us to travel is to go in the heat of summer when we can drop off the dogs at my in-laws' place in West Virginia, which the dogs see as their personal Doggy Summer Camp.

Thus, for now, I can't escape winter and must put up with it, even if I do so rather ungraciously, especially since the winters in Ohio seem to be endless. Sometimes it feels like winter here is basically a year-long season, except for a few exceptionally hot days in the summers.

While I had hoped for a milder February and had believed in Buckeye Chuck's prediction that spring would come early, the Ohio groundhog was dead wrong and his Pennsylvania cousin nailed it when he said we wouldn't see spring until March was well into its days. Buckeye Chuck, for one, didn't predict the storm we had last week, which forced me to come up early to the little apartment in the woods, and another one this week, which shooed me out of my comfortable house in the small city just last evening.

Given dire predictions of up to 8 inches of snow today, I fixed an early dinner for us and after listening to the weather forecast I rushed to pack my sundry totes and the dogs into the car and drove up. That was after my husband and I agreed that it was better to drive in the dark in good weather than to drive on bad roads during daylight. I was actually surprised that the traffic coming up here at 6:30 last night was relatively heavy, so that I was never the only car on the road (as I was once last year when I drove up, unwittingly, in a snow storm).

While it snowed a bit last night, the storm hasn't hit here yet but the roads are slushy and slippery and basically awash in dirty, thawing snow. When the dogs and I got back from our abbreviated walk (only 1.5 miles today), I had to dry them off and clean all the dirty slush from their undersides. I bet some people marvel that I walk these dogs in almost any kind of weather.

Now we're back inside, warm and cozy in the little apartment in the woods, which needless to say stays much warmer than our large house in the small city. The dogs are already snoozing away in their appointed places and I'm getting ready to do school work and then get back to my dissertation before heading out once more to meetings with colleagues and students.

There's only 3 days left to February, which has basically been an extended mirror of January, and although I continually chastise myself for "wishing my life away," I can't wait for this month to end and am not appreciating this extra day of this leap year.

Still, I remind myself continually that spring is unstoppable, even if it takes so darn long to make it here in Ohio. They say spring, like hope, springs eternal. I just wish it sprung (or sprinted, actually) a little faster here.

The things I do for dogs

Twice in about a week I've realized that the dogs and I are the only living creatures out on the streets of our little city, and I have found that quite revealing. While I'm starting to get the message, I'm not too sure I like what it says.

This past weekend, after I returned from another full week at my small college on the hill, the dogs and I went out for our morning walk although the winds outside were gusting at 50 mph. I had to dress up like the people you see in those documentaries about the polar station located in a glacier in the Antarctic. Not only was I wearing several thermal layers and my trusty minus-20-degrees long parka, the one a friend described as my "personal floating device," but every inch of my body, except my eyes, was covered.

Of course, for those of us who wear glasses, that means that my vision was constantly getting fogged up, which is inordinately annoying when you're trying to avoid running into a flying trash can, or struggling against being whisked away by a wind gust, like Dorothy out of Kansas, dogs and all.

As I gave the dogs the abridged version of our morning walk, I noticed that there was not another human (or animal) soul on the streets. Mad dogs and Englishmen, the 1930s song said about who would step out into the tropical noontime sun. Well, here in Ohio I guess it's Viejo dogs and Puerto Ricans, when it comes to who goes out in near-hurricane-strength winds buffeting our little city.

Today, I had pretty much the same eerie feeling that I was walking the dogs through a ghost town as we found ourselves, once more, the only ones on the streets, braving the five inches of snow on the ground, and the blizzard-like conditions. Once more, I was decked out to the nines in winter gear, like I was ready to scale Everest sans the Sherpa to guide me.

(BTW, does it bother anyone else that it was a white New Zealander, the recently deceased Edmund Hillary, who got most of the fame for scaling Everest first in 1953, although he acknowledged -- at least in an NPR interview I heard recently -- that it was Tenzing Norgay, his Sherpa from India, who actually got there first?)

This isn't Everest, by any means (¡gracias a Dios!) but a snow storm, the worst one yet this winter in Ohio, struck last night and it hasn't stopped snowing yet. When all is said and done, we might be buried under more than eight inches of snow, and that's down here, in the city. I don't even want to think what the streets and fields around the little apartment in my small college on the hill look like today. I'm glad I was here in the warmer south, so to speak, and that my car is safe and dry in our garage, rather than literally buried in snow at the apartment parking lot.

As we trudged through the unplowed and fast accumulating snow, Rusty was positively puppy-like as he bounded and appeared to want to frolic in the snow. Geni, good Puerto Rican sata that she is, kept looking up at me, wanting to gauge how much longer she had to endure this suplicio. Needless to say, this was another abridged walk.

By the time we were back at our door, Geni looked like she was an iced dog-shaped cookie. From the tip of her nose to the end of her freakish-looking tail (multicolored and misshaped as it is), she was covered in white, powdery snow. Rusty, clearly a smarter breed of sato, had shaken off the snow several times and was hardly incommoded.

It's still snowing out there and it's supposedly going to turn into a wintry mix, with snow showers and icy rain later today. That's why I've decided to stay right here in my warm and cozy home, rather than brave the elements. That element-braving thing, that's one of those things I do only for the dogs.