Last week it snowed, again, and then ice fell on top of it. The ground was still soft enough that the hard, crunchy snow hid the soft mud puddles underneath, so that you found them when you were suddenly ankle deep, or dog belly deep, in muck. Two mornings ago, when I woke up to find that all that crap had melted, I did a little dance of joy without getting all covered in slop.

This morning I woke up to find that the cycle had repeated, except that this time, the muck puddles are nicely frozen solid. I’m sure all you experienced winter folk are saying, yeah, so, what do you expect this time of year? Well excuse me for spending so many winters in the tropics that it’s freaking me out. And was it my idea to get a young dog at this time of year, who absolutely has to go out to run around, or parts of the house inside end up covered in teeth marks? Don’t answer that. When I decided to stay through the cold part of the year, I wasn’t planning to actually go outside. Leaving the house was not on my list of things to do this winter, except to venture to the mailbox for Netflix.

Right now the dog is plastered to the side of the woodstove after our most recent trip out, trying to melt the snow off herself, and I’m having dark fantasies about picking up a hurricane damaged boat in Texas, patching it up enough to float it, and sailing to the Yucatan peninsula, or somewhere, anywhere, where I can snuggle up to a nice toasty warm volcano until I thaw out. Watching documentaries about warm places is no longer doing it for me.

As soon as I tie up some loose ends here, like actually doing some work so I have a bit of travel money, and getting the car properly serviced, since all I’ve done since I bought it last year was to change the oil, put 35,000 miles on it, and flatten some tires, we’re off to the warmth of boring old Florida. Provided I can get the car unstuck from the driveway.

Save the Beer!

This is the rallying cry when the sh*t hits the fan during an afternoon sail. Sailing the Chesapeake, screaming thunderstorms would often appear quickly almost out of nowhere. The boat would heel over, sometimes knocked down or nearly so, and beer would fly everywhere.
“Spilling beer is a flogging offense!” the captain would shout.
Ignore the sails shredding in howling wind, forget the hail smashing the hatches, don’t worry about that guy overboard, SAVE THE BEER, and we’ll toss him a couple to hold onto until we can come back for him.
A friend who had been sailing a particular bay in New England for well over 20 years, once encountered a rock while sailing merrily along at five knots. His comment on the collision: “We spilled beer!”

Where am I going with this? Absolutely nowhere, just like I’m not going ‘out there’, where my yard is an interesting blend of mud and ice, hard to balance upon in the 40 knot winds. Which makes me miss those lovely summer squalls that only lasted minutes, instead of days and weeks and months like this crappy weather. And if there was beer on deck right now, it would freeze solid!

Recession, recession, recession

I keep hearing about how terrible it is. But despite living in the state with the highest unemployment rate, I simply do not see it. I don’t see long bread lines, masses of homeless lining the streets with begging signs, increased theft and looting. No long gas lines, no bare supermarket shelves, no empty mega stores. Maybe I’m lucky enough to live in a wealthy enough area that it’s simply not an issue. Or maybe, for the many, this recession simply means it’s finally time to accept that living in a five bedroom, four bath house full of gadgets, with an attached three car garage full of giant SUVs to cart around the two kids and all their toys, all of it mortgaged to the hilt on a factory worker’s salary, is simply too much stuff. Twenty years ago, the average working couple with two kids had a three bedroom house with a bathroom and a half. Everyone shared, sitting together around one TV, instead of isolated within the home, all staring at their own box and never coming out of their own bathrooms.

For quite a while now, I have wondered how long this pricey kite could stay in the air before crashing onto the sand in front of the expensive beach house. Didn’t anyone pay attention in history class? That the sure sign of a civilization about to tumble is rapid inflation along with an outward sign of increased wealth?

Everything goes in cycles. Maybe we’ve had our heyday; maybe it’s time to follow the Mayan history into obscurity, leaving behind symbols no one will understand for centuries, until someone finally decodes and reconstructs the language of text messaging.

Or maybe, if we’re really lucky, we’ll wake up and realize that the one with the most toys does not necessarily win. Those who come out ahead in the great game of life are the ones who can appreciate that time spent enjoying life's simple pleasures, such as taking a walk with the dog or your annoying little brother, far outweighs any material frivolity.

Having spent Christmas with family, which included lots of dog walking in lovely mild weather, I returned to New England just in time to be attacked full force by that white crap. I feel sorry for all the drunks who were planning to drive tonight. Me, I’m going to cancel my 'outside plans' to sit home all cozy with my dog, trying to convince myself that I really don’t mind heaps of snow all over my recently melted world. Tonight I’ll contemplate my new year’s resolution, which is to make a road trip south very soon. If my dog is to be a boat dog, even if it’s simply to day sail or to kayak the bay this summer, she must learn to swim before she gets too old to like it. Since ice is not a great medium in which to teach a dog to paddle, and since it will remain way too cold to toss a small puppy into New England’s frigid waters any time within the next six months, I will be forced to drive my dog to Florida, where we can both splash around in warm, alligator infested waters. Honestly, that’s the only reason for heading south. It has nothing to do with wanting a break from winter or any such thing. I simply have to drive to Florida to teach my dog to swim. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

Holiday Cheer

It’s almost Christmas, and for some strange reason I’m not as grinchy as usual. I’ve made my gifts, played barefoot in the snow, looked at the pretty Christmas lights, and watched the seagulls rip apart the luminaria bags that had been carefully placed along the seawall, spilling sand and wax all over the place.

Maybe it’s having a puppy, maybe it’s having such great friends, maybe it’s knowing that day after tomorrow I get on the road to see my family, maybe it’s simply sheer happiness at knowing that all that white stuff out there is going to melt in the next couple of days. Whatever it is, I’m not arguing with it. I’m just enjoying it, frozen toes and all.