But Sometimes I Still Do
Feb. 7th, 2012 04:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
akirluAh, February in Seattle. The sun is coming back, and now, we can tell. We've been having a wonderful spate of sunny days since the weekend, and yesterday when I left work, The Sun Had Not Set Yet! The sky was bright, and pale blue, and you could believe in the possibility of spring again. Even when I caught my 6:15 train at King Street the western sky was not full dark, but a riot of deep indigo, Maxfield Parrish blue, and sepia-tinged, neon red. This morning the sky was lightening already when my morning train rolled in. Amazing.
What a difference clear skies make. Last night's full moon was so bright it made me think of Larry Niven. The past two days I've actually been having to lower the blinds when I get into the office in the morning because a) the sun is already up and b)it's ridiculously bright riding just over the roofs of the Quad without any softening cloud cover. If this keeps up, I'll have to go back to carrying a camera in my coat pocket instead of just an MP3 player (and gloves, and spare pens, and my transit pass...). January was always a crappy time for photography in Seattle, but doubly so now that I'm taking Chinese in lieu of my lunch hour -- basically, in January it's never light enough before or after work to take pictures, and seldom sunny on the weekends. January is camera hibernation month.
Not that I didn't catch myself wishing I were better with night photography during the Recent Inclemency -- you may have heard about it. I'm told people in Taiwan heard about it. In the end it wasn't the millennium storm that had been bruited before hand, but 'twas enough. In particular, after the first snowfall, down our way south of Seattle the freezing rain and re-freeze left some truly spectacular ice behind. The rooflines were hung with forearm-long icicles, and all the trees were encased each in their own shimmering aura of fresh ice.
Wherein lay the problem. All around the county, branches came down, and whole trees split under the unaccustomed weight. (One night when Hal and I were walking home from a movie he commented to me that he had always thought that the curvaceous droopiness of Dr. Seuss's snow-covered conifers was just fanciful invention but looking at the neighbors' cedars, he could now see where Ted may have just been engaged in factual reportage. They did look very Whovian, those trees.) And with all those falling trees, surely power lines would follow. Which they did. We lost power some time in the night of the 18th. We didn't get it back until the late evening of the 22nd. Let me tell you, living in the 19th century, not actually that much fun.
Luckily, for some values of 'luck', campus was closed except for essential personnel so at least I didn't have to try to get to work. On the other hand, that did mean that I was stuck home alone in the cold and dark when Hal went in to work. And boy howdy did it get cold. Did I mention our heat is electric? Our heat, it is electric. Before the power finally came back on late Sunday night, inside temperatures were down around 48 degrees, even at the end of the day. That's colder than you think, if you never get away from it.
I spent most of my time huddled under the covers with a pile of quadrupeds around me, finishing off reading the dreadfully gripping Luftslottet som sprängdes (The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest if translated into English, which this wasn't) and field testing the heat retentive-properties of various finished knitting projects. The knitted infundibulum turns to be really effective. Proof positive that medieval peasants knew what they were doing. Other medieval pleasures included boiling my tea water on the fire grate (the old copper antique pot from the Royal kitchens worked a treat, standing as it does on its own iron tripod, though it may never recover, looks-wise), skipping baths, having the entire house smell of woodsmoke in exchange for not very many BTUs from the open fireplace, and listening to the hand-crank wireless by candlelight. Okay, obviously not the last bit. I used batteries, instead of cranking, because hey, I'm not killing myself cranking for anything less yummy than home-made ice cream. Certainly not for The Vinyl Cafe.
In the end we coped okay. We had plenty of candles and batteries, and sufficient provender for man and beast. We went out for most meals, since just a few blocks away in the Kent Station area, the power stayed up for many of the merchants, so we could get hot food, charge our cell phones, go see a movie, and take a pee in a bathroom where your ass didn't freeze to the seat when you sat down. Hal eventually started driving down to Auburn and showering at the gym (our water heater, also electric), whereas I couldn't find my gym card (since fixed); if we hadn't got power back by Monday, I was planning to shower at work.
In a way, it was kinda cool and neighborly for a while. We weren't the only ones who found it safer and easier to walk through the slush and snow to get down to the enchanted circle where the power was still on, so we saw more than usual of our neighbors as we trudged up and down the hill. There was an atmosphere of shared hardship and camaraderie at Pat's Bar & Grill where we all huddled over our coffee cups and took turns using the outlets to charge our phones. The winter-wonderland effect of blue-lambent snow and glittering, ice-crusted trees like a crystal fairy garden were pretty magical, and especially where the Christmas lights were still up down in the parks. I envied the guy who had the fortitude to schlepp down a tripod that first night after the ice storm to get decent night shots. But in the end, one night of power-failure, or two, is really pretty much my limit. After that it just gets so very old. I don't understand how the Victorians managed I truly don't.
And I am so, so grateful for the return of the sun. That, and unlimited hot showers makes all the difference.
So, how's the weather by you?
What a difference clear skies make. Last night's full moon was so bright it made me think of Larry Niven. The past two days I've actually been having to lower the blinds when I get into the office in the morning because a) the sun is already up and b)it's ridiculously bright riding just over the roofs of the Quad without any softening cloud cover. If this keeps up, I'll have to go back to carrying a camera in my coat pocket instead of just an MP3 player (and gloves, and spare pens, and my transit pass...). January was always a crappy time for photography in Seattle, but doubly so now that I'm taking Chinese in lieu of my lunch hour -- basically, in January it's never light enough before or after work to take pictures, and seldom sunny on the weekends. January is camera hibernation month.
Not that I didn't catch myself wishing I were better with night photography during the Recent Inclemency -- you may have heard about it. I'm told people in Taiwan heard about it. In the end it wasn't the millennium storm that had been bruited before hand, but 'twas enough. In particular, after the first snowfall, down our way south of Seattle the freezing rain and re-freeze left some truly spectacular ice behind. The rooflines were hung with forearm-long icicles, and all the trees were encased each in their own shimmering aura of fresh ice.
Wherein lay the problem. All around the county, branches came down, and whole trees split under the unaccustomed weight. (One night when Hal and I were walking home from a movie he commented to me that he had always thought that the curvaceous droopiness of Dr. Seuss's snow-covered conifers was just fanciful invention but looking at the neighbors' cedars, he could now see where Ted may have just been engaged in factual reportage. They did look very Whovian, those trees.) And with all those falling trees, surely power lines would follow. Which they did. We lost power some time in the night of the 18th. We didn't get it back until the late evening of the 22nd. Let me tell you, living in the 19th century, not actually that much fun.
Luckily, for some values of 'luck', campus was closed except for essential personnel so at least I didn't have to try to get to work. On the other hand, that did mean that I was stuck home alone in the cold and dark when Hal went in to work. And boy howdy did it get cold. Did I mention our heat is electric? Our heat, it is electric. Before the power finally came back on late Sunday night, inside temperatures were down around 48 degrees, even at the end of the day. That's colder than you think, if you never get away from it.
I spent most of my time huddled under the covers with a pile of quadrupeds around me, finishing off reading the dreadfully gripping Luftslottet som sprängdes (The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest if translated into English, which this wasn't) and field testing the heat retentive-properties of various finished knitting projects. The knitted infundibulum turns to be really effective. Proof positive that medieval peasants knew what they were doing. Other medieval pleasures included boiling my tea water on the fire grate (the old copper antique pot from the Royal kitchens worked a treat, standing as it does on its own iron tripod, though it may never recover, looks-wise), skipping baths, having the entire house smell of woodsmoke in exchange for not very many BTUs from the open fireplace, and listening to the hand-crank wireless by candlelight. Okay, obviously not the last bit. I used batteries, instead of cranking, because hey, I'm not killing myself cranking for anything less yummy than home-made ice cream. Certainly not for The Vinyl Cafe.
In the end we coped okay. We had plenty of candles and batteries, and sufficient provender for man and beast. We went out for most meals, since just a few blocks away in the Kent Station area, the power stayed up for many of the merchants, so we could get hot food, charge our cell phones, go see a movie, and take a pee in a bathroom where your ass didn't freeze to the seat when you sat down. Hal eventually started driving down to Auburn and showering at the gym (our water heater, also electric), whereas I couldn't find my gym card (since fixed); if we hadn't got power back by Monday, I was planning to shower at work.
In a way, it was kinda cool and neighborly for a while. We weren't the only ones who found it safer and easier to walk through the slush and snow to get down to the enchanted circle where the power was still on, so we saw more than usual of our neighbors as we trudged up and down the hill. There was an atmosphere of shared hardship and camaraderie at Pat's Bar & Grill where we all huddled over our coffee cups and took turns using the outlets to charge our phones. The winter-wonderland effect of blue-lambent snow and glittering, ice-crusted trees like a crystal fairy garden were pretty magical, and especially where the Christmas lights were still up down in the parks. I envied the guy who had the fortitude to schlepp down a tripod that first night after the ice storm to get decent night shots. But in the end, one night of power-failure, or two, is really pretty much my limit. After that it just gets so very old. I don't understand how the Victorians managed I truly don't.
And I am so, so grateful for the return of the sun. That, and unlimited hot showers makes all the difference.
So, how's the weather by you?
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no subject
Date: 2012-02-08 12:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-08 12:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-08 01:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-08 12:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-08 12:34 am (UTC)WoW!
Date: 2012-02-08 01:24 am (UTC)That all sounds more like something more fun to blog about than to experience.
no subject
Date: 2012-02-08 02:36 am (UTC)In Ohio, I'd be shoveling snow.
no subject
Date: 2012-02-08 10:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-02-08 07:24 am (UTC)Our weather is wet and coincides with my dog-walking duties, so I'm grumpy about it.