New appreciation for New England winters

Guest Editors, Jacob Stout and José Cuervo

Walking up the icy hill back to my house just a few minutes ago (just a little bit before 10 PM PST), I had a few thoughts on how I might start this blog entry.  One was acknowledging that it's been almost a month since my last entry, perhaps for lack of inspiration.  One was to comment on the godliness that is long underwear.  Another was to talk about how I figured out why both homeless people and writers drink.  The other was simply to talk about each of the possibilities for starting the entry.  So this is where this has left me.  

But to comment on the first: It has been almost a month, and I have no excuse except that babysitting for an 8-year old and tossing the football in the yard on a daily basis has left little room for inspiration. However, I have been spending my early afternoons volunteering, at least peripherally, at an organization called the Children's Healing Art Project.  As in many situations, the description itself will make it sound like I'm doing a lot more than I actually am.  But the organization seems to do exactly what it says it's doing.  It goes into area hospitals and works with pediatric patients and their families to take the focus off the disease and put it towards creating art.  The venue I've been volunteering at is the Holiday Bazaar which functions as a workshop, retail, and gallery space for people of all ages.  I silk-screen, bead, and decorate ornaments and help kids who come in to the shop do the same. My most interesting experience was when a group for the local school for the blind came in and I realized that without visuals, art was a totally different experience for these kids, as was meeting someone.  Every time I said something to them I had to identify myself by name because my voice was very similar to their teacher, Keri.  So as far as they were concerned, we were wearing the same outfit and looked exactly alike.  We were indistinguishable unless introduced.  

Now the second thing.  Long underwear.  Long underwear is one of those things that your parents tell you to wear when you're younger but you're afraid it will make you look like a loser so you'd prefer to walk around freezing your butt off rather than having an elastic waist band showing above your pants.  Like wearing a hat to school.  I can't tell you the number of times I resisted wearing a hat to school because I thought it looked nerdy.  Well kids, let me tell you something: your parents are on to something.  Looking cool is way overrated and being warm is infinitely better.  I think I finally appreciated the love that is long underwear while spending a particularly frigid winter in Jackson Hole, Wyoming in the winter of 2006.  Yes, it took me 23 years.  Without the synthetic layers, I very well may have been an actual patient during my EMT drills rather than just playing one in stage makeup.  

The third thing--why homeless people and writers often drink.  I realize this might be a bit controversial because I'm about to make a sweeping generalization but it's my blog, my outlet, my stream of consciousness...allow me a LITTLE creative freedom.   Feel free to leave your comments on the matter if you're that outraged.  But I digress, back to the drinking. I was splitting a pitcher of margaritas with a friend and realized that drinking makes you incredibly toasty AND more lucid--two qualities that are beneficial to both people without shelter and those wishing to express their ideas in writing....or perhaps, given the state of the economy, homeless writers. After having a delightful dinner with a friend I hadn't seen in quite some time, I walked up the hill back to my house and couldn't wait to get in the door to start writing.  Granted, if I had had my laptop, I'm sure the piece that I wrote while walking would have been a little more inspired because even a slight lapse in time combined with a little tequila can really put a damper on your writing.  But I credit this surge of inspiration solely to the margaritas.  AND once I reached the top of the hill I was really warm which, again, leads me to infer that homeless people drink, at least in part, to keep warm, and some writers drink, at least in part, for inspiration.  If it wasn't for Acapulco Gold and their delicious margaritas, I would've never felt such bond of solidarity for those wandering homeless writers.  

Ah, but speaking of writing and inspiration, I have two winners.  One is to go grab the book The New Kings of Nonfiction (look at me, I'm kind of like the Apple store and making it just a little toooo easy for you to spend your money this holiday season).  Edited by Ira Glass, this collection of works of non-fiction (after reading the intro, I hesitate to use the word "essay") covers everything from white collar crime to British soccer players.  I think. I just started it.  But it seems like it'll be worth the read.  The second thing I'd like to share with you is that I recently had the opportunity to send a personal email to one of my favorite authors regarding travel advice.  I mean, how often do you get to do that?! Never...but sometimes the literary gods smile upon us. Or maybe it's the email gods? 

But back to long underwear.  And here is where I'll tie in my appreciation for New England winters.  Let me first say that I love the Pacific NW. Many days I feel that it is the place I am most meant to be.  But a couple of days ago the snow fell.  No big deal.  I'm from Upstate New York. We piss on an inch of snow.  Sometimes literally...you filthy homeless writers. But up here?  Roads freeze over, nothing is plowed or salted, and my 4-car family has quickly been demoted (or promoted, depending on how you look at it) to one as the 2-wheel drives (my Prius included) are effectively immobilized, and the Jeep's undercarriage was wrecked on a spin-out on the icy hill getting out of our neighborhood.  That leaves my cousin's car that, luckily, has 4-wheel drive.  My uncle has taken to chauffeuring us around.  And since my cousin worries about scratching so much as the car key, we know that allowing his father to drive his car is a big deal.  So thank you, Alec! (unless you don't read this...then I retract my thank you).

So now I'm ready to sleep.  I know that during my trek up the hill I had grand notions of what else I would write here, but it seems that all that has faded and now I just want to get cozy on this snow day and wait for the next storm (it's supposed to snow again tomorrow and we're expecting an ICE stom on Sunday...I don't have fond memories of ice storms circa 1991, but that's a separate issue that I will spare you, my kind readers).  Sleep well, and if I don't write until I leave the country, then Happy Holidays, and we will meet again in Thailand...Tra Ben!