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Wow, long time with no posts. I have no explanation really except to say that after a particularly brutal school term, I needed to a serious mental reboot. While I am working on school project this summer, I am also getting in my fair share of trashy novels and summer sun.
So Sailor actually has most of the summer off, but since he needs to update his Coast Guard license, he is still not in town as he needs to attend classes all over Hell’s Half Acre and take various exams as far away as Virginia.
What this means to me is that not only is Sailor gone, again, but I now have the added benefit of being car-less. As a one car family, Sailor needs it to travel so I am walking or biking my way around Erie…which fairly sucks by the way…
Mostly this is because Erie has, possibly, the worst population of drivers outside of Boston. Pedestrian signals are merely an annoyance and my mere existence in a crosswalk is apparently cause for vehicular manslaughter. A woman actually jumped the curb in her car on 38th street yesterday and nearly took me out in the process. This is because she was texting while driving. After the car came to a stop, she didn’t even bother to look to see if she had struck anyone or anything, she merely resumed texting until I started banging on the hood of her car demanding for her to step out.
There’s also a ass-hat that works at the Veterans Hospital that somehow has the idea that my bike is required to stop and let him turn into the hospital when I have the mother-effin right of way. So everyday has become a game of chicken where I am rushing ahead to avoid getting hit by this jerk-off.
My favorite people are the car load of reprobate teens who thought it amusing to lean out the window and try to push me off my bike. I guess it didn’t occur to them that such an act could quite conceivably kill me, so I didn’t feel too badly about grabbing the kid by the hair and half pulling him out the car window…little bastard…he screamed like a little boy.
But the strangest reaction I receive is from my co-workers. If I bike to work, this is somehow all right, but if I walk, then this is cause for concern. Why didn’t you just call me??
But whether I bike or walk, I encounter the same issues: hostile motorists who do not respect the law or my right of way. Barring that, when I just don’t feel like possibly getting killed and decide on traversing the sidewalk, there’s also the people who leave their kid’s toys everywhere, or who have spectacularly decrepit cement, or terrifically overgrown bushes and trees, or cars who block the sidewalk thus forcing one back into traffic.
So this interesting little experiment continues for the foreseeable future. Sailor return this week, but I am going to continue to walk and ride to work. I like the exercise, I like the time to myself, and maybe I just like the thrill of the evident danger that is cruising the streets of Erie.
Tally to date: Cars – 0, Inmate – 6.
A momentary pause from the poetry to comment on the hellacious movement of winds through area in the last 24 hours…
Da-yamn! I lived on a coastal Maine island and experienced less wind than the likes I have come to expect living here.
This has gotten my mind going on the various winds of the world: The life-sucking Santa Anas of California, the mythical Mistrals of France, the insomnia-inducing Siroccos of Italy, or the sweet Zephyrs of Greece. I really love that people of old bothered to name their regional fare of wind.
It’s sad in modern times when we receive a “southeasterly breeze” or an “arctic blast” by comparison. It’s become all science and no art or philosophy. Even a Nor’ Easter sounds lame next to the Chocolateros of Mexico (the accumulated dust turns the air to “cocoa”), or the Blue Northers of Texas, which sounds pretty and romantic, but is the name of some of the most destructive winds in the world.
Given the frequency with which Erie has windstorms tearing through here (I can think of at least four in the last year alone), isn’t it high time we named these suckers?
As I was dressing for school today, I pulled on a thermal long sleeve shirt followed by a sweater, scarf, sock liners under my wool socks, jeans, my winter coat and hat. Since it is expected to only reach the mid-teens termperature wise, and since I would be walking all over campus today, I am wearing glove liners under my winter gloves.
I was raised in Detroit, lived in Northern Michigan for a numbers of years, headed south for while, back up north to the great state of Maine and now I’m back in the Great Lakes region. Basically this means is that I know how to dress for winter.
I try not to look like a schlub in the process. I have a cute hat and a decent coat. But really, at my age, style can be damned when it comes to keeping warm and dry. This point has been particularly driven home with the severity of this winter.
So I’m sitting in my Math class next a fellow student, one who hails from the Erie area, and we’re dicsussing our future plans. I am unsure of mine as of yet, but my classmate is bound and determined to head south.
“I can’t handle the cold anymore.” Is what she tells me.
I consider this for a moment as I take in her attire: skinny jeans that barely reach her ankles, ballet slipper-shoes with no socks, a rather flimsy looking jacket that only just reaches her waist and really doesn’t stretch the length of her arms. Lastly, a filmy scarf with no evidence of mittens or hat.
Her hair and make-up is perfect. Her coat probably costs a couple hundred dollars, as does her jeans and probably her shoes. She looks polished. She looks fantastic. She also looks like she’s freezing her butt off. And it’s not as if she is new to winter. She grew up here for Dog sake.
And she is clone of dozens of other girls I see on campus every day.
My classmate goes to say how much she loves the area. She loves the spring, summer, and fall in Erie. She is close to her family. She has a tight circle of friends. She has been dating a boy for a few years (he’s from just over the New York border) and they are discussing marriage. In addition, this girl and her boyfriend have the option of working for family businesses upon graduation.
It sounds like a good life, but she really can’t stand the cold, and hence, must leave.
This puzzles me to no end. Sure, Sailor and I’ve moved around..a lot…but merely because we have been seeking community. Find a community where we belong and a reasonable job and we’ll stay put. I know myself enough to say that I’ll never live down south. I hate the heat. I know myself enough that I’ll not settle down in Erie because this just isn’t my kind of town. I know we will probably head back east eventually, not because we particularly love the harsh winters, we don’t, but because it has what Sailor and I want: a nice life around great people and reasonable employment. As far as the winter goes, well, we own good boots and thick winter coat. Plus, I rock at making a fire.
So I wonder about this classmate of mine. Out of a dozen mentioned criteria for a place to settle down, Erie has 11 things going for it and one against. The winter. 3 months out of 12. Given that, isn’t it simply much easier to, oh, I don’t know, dress appropriately for the damn cold than remove yourself entirely from a place you clearly want to be?
Where’s the sacrifice in buying a sturdy pair of boats and a wool coat when you can have everything else you really want, and let’s be honest, really need in life?
Saturday was spent entirely indoors doing homework and watching the snow fall. Sunday was spent partially digging out and the rest of the day enduring excruciating back pain.
Nothing says “ibuprofen-vicodin-heating-pad-lie-on-the-living-room-floor-repeat” like shovelling a 200 foot long driveway. It’s bad enough to live on a street in the winter with a 30 degree incline, it’s worse when your driveway runs perpendicular to said street at its own 30 degree incline. Only the sweet, sweet relief of pain medications makes this winter bearable right now.
Being the fantastic creatures they are, my neighbors down the hill saved the rest of the day by snow blowing my 125 foot sidewalk and driveway apron thus allowing for the car to escape its wintry prison and procure more drugs.
And where was Sailor Man during all this you ask? Well he spent Saturday on the couch drugged stupid with a special blend of anti-inflammatories and muscle relaxers while developing an undying love of icy-hot patches. He messed up his shoulder having dug us out from the snow a few days before. Sunday he spent relearning basic motor skills.
Our lease is up in March and as much as I hate to move, again, a more level street with a shorter driveway is definitely in order.
I was fairly sure that I was done with all the strange culinary traditions Erie had to offer when I lit upon a new one this New Years.
Seems and that pork and sauerkraut are the order of the day come January 1. Thought it was just and Erie thing and then I discovered it is a German tradition in that pigs are considered lucky and sauerkraut, well, it just goes well with pork chops. I’ve not seen nor heard of this tradition outside of this town.
Though Sailor and I had a beyond tame New Years Eve, it didn’t prevent us from being invited to partake of a local “cure”. We were introduced to “Tom and Jerrys” (yes, no apostrophe, and, no, not the ice cream). An interesting and lethal little mixture to be consumed on New Years Day after a night of debauchery. It is a shot of rum and brandy with a splash of hot water and topped with a frothy eggwhite concoction dusted with nutmeg. I later found a recipe for it in a cookbook of English recipes from the 17th century. The Brits apparently call it “syllabub”. Nearly rivals Mother’s Christmas Coronaries, they’re that deadly. Certainly something you will feel in your root canal.
Ah, Erie…just when I think I have it figured out, yet another curveball is thrown…and another year is upon me…
So I voted this morning. The lines were non existent, the parking was ample, plenty of people were on hand, but yet it still managed to take more time than it should have.
The problems begin with the location. I voted at Trinity Lutheran Church on 38th Street, which just felt wrong. Plain wrong. But aside from issues regarding the separation of Church and State, there were no signs – anywhere – telling you that this was the place, this is where you enter, or this is the room to where you go to vote.
There was ample room for the bake sale the church decided to have, but you could not turn around in the room where the actual voting takes place. The ladies running the show (and don’t get me wrong here, I have the highest respect for poll workers) where at best unorganized and discombobulated.
No matter. I voted. Made my voice heard. And then got the hell out of there.
With regards to the after work voters though, I can see this process getting long and ugly.
The pooch shot out the front door last night, when I forgot to close it fully, and promptly darted across the street to see if the young rapscallion pup was out to play.
I tiptoed into The Neighbors’ backyard to retrieve said pooch when I heard music. Poking my head up enough to peer into the window, I saw it.
My alien neighbor family was singing and laughing around the piano. Executive Polo was leading the singing with what looked like a damn smart cocktail in hand. Skort Mama was knitting-yes knitting- while listening to young Sally and Bobby play a duet while harmonizing with dear old dad.
I never would have believed it had not my other neighbor caught me sneaking out of their yard. I had barely begun trying to explain my voyuerism when she pointed to their window: “Yeah, strange, isn’t it?”
Sister, no truer words have been spoken…
My friend “L” is in town this weekend. And while we haven’t seen each other in 4 years, we can both easily agree this is probably a good thing. See, whenever hanging with L, I have to be very careful with what I say because whenever I utter something remotely predictive around L, it tends to come true.
People’s Exhibit #1:
Me: Hey, what do you want to bet the guy with least amount teeth in this bar tries to by us a shot?
People’s Exhibit #2:
Me: Hey, wouldn’t it be funny if a cop pulled us over while we have the blow-up doll in the car?
People Exhibit #2b (5 minutes later):
Me. Don’t worry, no cop is gonna give you a ticket when you have a blow-up doll in the car.
People’s Exhibit #3:
Me: Hey, what a beautiful day! All we need is for me to get stung by a bee so I can miss it by spending the day in the emergency room.
You get the picture…
So, L is visiting and the magic seems to be off. And I’m not sure what has happened. Of course it’s easy to predict that a bad band will play Rum Runners and that the ear piercing decibels of sound at Molly Brannigans will drive you from the bar, because these things always happened. And betting that 4 Key Lime Martini’s at Scotty’s will be the near death of you is pretty much a no-brainer. Estimative words of probability need not apply.
So what has happened? Where the spontaneity? Where’s the mystery? Is Erie just that predictable? Or have my nights out become predictable?
See, L used to be my wing-man back living on the Eastern Shore of Maryland when while drinking at bars, I would break out an Arkansas accent and become “Candy: The Stripper Who Couldn’t Dance”. She never questioned me, she just went with it and would become “Addfwyn: The Overly Talkative Welsh Woman No One Could Understand Except Her Friend Candy”.
Nights like those tend to lead to a certain amount of unpredictability which made my proclamations all that more remarkable. This weekend, however, not a one. My tuning must be off.
But I have one day. Maybe I can pull a rabbit out of my hat. I hope so. I need an adventure.
I slept with the windows opened last night. The operative word being slept. Puppy dog bounded into the room with energy she hasn’t had in days in wake of this gorgeous weather.
While I made coffee and Puppy dog enjoyed a quiet stretch outside in the morning sun, I listened to the news ramble on about the devastation in China, drought in California, floods in the Midwest, blistering temperatures down south and continued efforts to help those in Burma.
I’m not an “Erieite” nor will I ever consider myself to be one. But I can stand back, look at these brilliant blue skies, feel a cool breeze and at least be thankful to be here.
For now.
All day waiting for the deluge promised by the weather report.
Walked the dog and then bathed the dog in anticipation of it.
Raked the yard and and picked up pine cones figuring it was a task better done in dry conditions.
Frantically ran errands before I saw clouds moving in.
Went to a dollar show in anticipation of the leaving the theatre with a storm brewing.
Took the freshly bathed dog for yet another walk around the school campus, maybe in thought of provoking the rain that was supposed to already be here.
Went to the comic book store.
Did homework on the front porch and then watched the sunset.
All the time, waiting for rain that never showed.
All in all, not a bad day.
