Friday, February 27, 2015

In Search of ...

     I was going to continue my thoughts on this afternoon's post, until I learned of Leonard Nimoy's death today.  I know that he was 83 years old and in poor health, but it saddened me none the less.  I do very much enjoy the Star Trek oeuvre, but that's not how I was first introduced to Mr. Nimoy's work.
     When I was very little, I can very clearly remember watching the "In Search of ..." series on T.V.  It ran from 1977-1982 and covered all those mysterious and marvelous topics that are commonplace on the History channel now - Bigfoot, aliens, Mayans, monsters, etc.  But they also discussed cloning, Amelia Earhart, the shroud of Turin and Pompeii.  So many awesome and diverse ideas getting their moment in the sun, and allowing a very little girl to become wide eyed with curiosity.  I didn't care about princesses and unicorns, I wanted to learn about spontaneous human combustion and whether or not Vincent Van Gogh was mad, and even more than that I fell in love with Amelia Earhart.  I think I was 5 when that episode first broadcast, so my memories must come from reruns, but I came away needing to understand what made her tick and what drove her to accomplish so much in a man's world.  And secretly I prayed she was still alive, living in anonymity on a tiny pacific island. 
     Throughout these weekly forays, the melodic voice of Leonard Nimoy egged me on to learn more.  Years later, I discovered the Time Life book series "Mysteries of the Unknown" at my local library.  I devoured them, sometimes checking the same ones out week after week.  A decade ago, I was poking through a tiny "antique" store near my husband's hometown when I discovered a bunch of them.  I bought every single one ... just to be able to remember hours spent pouring over the mysteries that I needed to know more about.
     When I was a teenager, I got a better appreciation of Mr. Nimoy's acting skills and fell in love with Star Trek in general, meandering through all its permutations over the years (minus the Scott Bakula one - it just didn't do anything for me).  Thank you, Mr. Nimoy.  Thank you for your voice that intrigued me week after week, that allowed me to escape into a world of endless things to discover which were cool and mysterious and not my father screaming at my mother.  Thank you, sir.  

Food for Thought

My dear friend sent this to me today.  She has no idea that I was just discussing many of these things with someone else I love.  I'll write more later on topic, but I thought I'd share now.

Friday, February 13, 2015


     Fair warning, this isn't going to be a happy post.  If you don't live in Massachusetts right now, it's very hard to understand how shitty this weather is and its effect on every aspect of our lives.  We've received more snow in the last 30 days than ever. Like ever.  This is what it looks like out my front door:

     That's a tiny path towards my car.  This is a look down the street:

     Our street is mostly two lanes where people can park on either side.  You have to give fellow drivers room to get around, but otherwise it's not bad.  Or rather it wasn't bad.  It's one car width wide now.  When I leave and come home, my stomach is in knots hoping that no one will be coming the other way.  Whenever this happens, one of us has to put it in reverse and thread backwards between the snow mounds until you can get to a spot that's big enough to squeeze past.  Aside from the main roads, it's like this everywhere.  Further into Boston, it's much worse.  There's just nowhere to put the snow.
     I've been having issues with a part of my roof due to a huge ice dam.  (Everyone is struggling with ice dams.)  Our eldest found a leak in the ceiling in a downstairs room.  Thanks to suggestions from my wonderful next door neighbor, we found a way to make a divot in the ice so the water has an escape route now.  But it has been very stressful after work each day spending hours out our son's window scrapping the roof, salting the roof, beating the crap out of the ice on the roof, talking about the roof, worrying about the roof.  It's been very upsetting to my husband, as his health hasn't been good recently and it kills him as a man to watch me do this stuff.

     Here's a look out that upstairs window:

     Everyone I meet is either frustrated or exhausted, and it's coming out in anger.  Tonight I had to stop at a local CVS.  There's a mountain of snow in the lot that must be 40' high and 30' wide.  It literally blocks the end of two rows.  When I tried to exit, no one had left a space at the end for us to get through.  When I put the car in reverse, there were already three cars behind me.  We came to a stand still, and then a car pulled out in front of me.  I got out, gesturing like a flight attendant and yelled to the ones behind me, "You have to back up.  There's no way through."  No one moved.  So I did it again.  Then a guy walking towards the CVS yelled at me, "You're going the wrong way, moron!"  So I yelled back, "I know that, but there's no way out."  Then he screamed, "You're going the wrong way, STUPID!!"  And I yelled, "I KNOW THAT! THERE'S NO WAY OUT!"  Then finally the farthest car moved, and we eventually all got out.
    I am tired of shoveling, tired of the cold and tired of worrying.  I'm tired of the pain in my back that I know means one of those pesky discs has slipped again.  I'm tired of the impending doom feeling that comes from knowing days in advance that the snow is coming.  I'm tired of pretending to my children that everything is hunky dory.  I'm very tired.