October 31, 2013
I’m glad to see Halloween end. I adore little children in costumes, and I’m often amused by big kids and adults in costumes. I’m fine with pumpkins and candy. But I do not like all of the scary stuff. I don’t like the scary movies on TV and in theaters all month, I don’t like the death-themed decorations, I really don’t like the horrifying costumes. Last year, two different trick-or-treaters who came to our door were so scary that they made Burrito cry (out of more than a hundred, so the odds were small, but still). I abhor haunted houses. Few things in life sound less appealing than someone jumping out at me or, worse, grabbing me in a dark room.
Burrito and Tamale are consistently confused by all of the scary Halloween stuff. Why would someone make their lawn into a graveyard? Why do so many big kids choose to dress in scary costumes? Why does our neighbor’s door have a ghost that makes scary noises when you walk by? Why would people want to be scared?
Beyond Halloween, they both don’t understand the drive for being scared. One of their favorite activities is adjacent to an amusement park, and they can hear the people on the roller coasters screaming. They are so perplexed by people voluntarily putting themselves in a situation where they would be so afraid. Burrito in particular has no plans to ever, ever go on a roller coaster. Tamale at this point wouldn’t particularly seek it out, but she’s game for pretty much anything, so I predict that in a few years I’ll be sitting next to her on roller coasters while Burrito and his dad watch from the ground. I’m fine with roller coasters, not because I like to be scared but because they don’t particularly scare me. I’m not seeking thrills because I don’t experience a thrill. Sometimes they’re whatever, and sometimes I enjoy the weightless feeling of coasting and flying, but it’s not exciting for me. Based on the number of people lining up for roller coasters and haunted houses, I am clearly in the minority.
Do you enjoy being frightened?
October 24, 2013
There are a lot of things I like about the house I now live in, but this red maple tree in my front yard may be my favorite.
(The color of the sky is accurate, but the leaves are even more vibrant in person.)
Before I lived in this city, I lived in the epicenter of foliage, the kind of destination to which leaf peepers make pilgrimages. And my house was surrounded by trees on all sides. It was glorious. There are a lot of things I don’t miss about that place, but at this time of year, I do miss the leaves.
I grew up in a place with no foliage whatsoever. Many trees weren’t deciduous, and the ones that did lose their leaves in autumn just seemed to turn brown. In high school biology class when we were learning about the leaf cycle, the teacher pointed out that the new girl had just moved from New Jersey. We all clamored around her, bombarding her with questions about the foliage. It was as if she’d just moved from Jupiter.
There are two things I really love about winter. #1: Walking outside in the morning after a big snowfall and trying to identify the animal tracks. In my previous locale, I did not love the snow that stuck around for months and months, and mostly I vastly prefer winter in my current city where the snow almost always melts instantly (and where we sometimes get days in the 60s or 70s). But, it was wondrous when I lived in the forest and tried to track all of the visitors who’d passed through my driveway that morning. Deer, rabbits, birds, squirrels, mice, beavers, woodchucks. There were some animals that I almost never saw, but they all left their mark. I loved solving the puzzle of the footprints, and I loved imagining them walking/running/hopping around my driveway while I was asleep.
#2: Super giant snowflakes. I’ve never seen them in this city, and only a couple of times in my last home; really only a handful of times in my life. My first time was during my first year of college, when I moved from a place where it never snows to a place where it snows plenty. One January day I was sitting in sociology class, and I looked out the window and there were marvelous, enormous snowflakes. Really enormous — some were as large as an inch in diameter. They danced through the air. It was like a cartoon version of snow. Everyone kept watching them dance. Even the students who came from snowy places were mesmerized. Our poor professor and Durkheim just couldn’t compete.
In the spring, daffodils are my absolute favorite. My appreciation largely stems from learning Wordworth’s poem as a child. When Burrito and Tamale were small, instead of telling them nursery rhymes, I’d recite poetry. When I was pushing them in the stroller in the spring, any time we’d pass daffodils, I was compelled to recite the whole poem. There are other flowers I enjoy too, but there’s something unique about daffodils that “my heart with pleasure fills.”
And in the summer, even though I grew up very close to the ocean, I don’t particularly care for the beach. I don’t like sand, I don’t like hot weather, I don’t like bathing suits, and I am unimpressed by flat coastlines. I do like the sounds of the waves, and I enjoy watching the surfers, but what really floats my boat are the hills and lakes of the Pacific NW. I shot the photo below just a few blocks from my house at the time; when I would come around a bend, or over the crest of the hill, and be confronted by a view like this, it got me every time.
What are your favorite aspects of nature?
October 10, 2013
Welcome to the October Intelligentsia.
The first of my husband’s high school friends turned 40 today. Exactly eighteen years ago today, I teased that friend that since he’d turned 22, he was now in his mid-20s. He protested, “No, I’m still in my early 20s!”
I’ve seen people freak out about turning 30, 40, 45, 50, 60… And even some of the non-round numbers.
My mother objected to every age. She always looked much younger than her age, and her lies continued that illusion. She would even try to get me to lie to her friends, acquaintances, manicurists, baristas, et al., since “I don’t want to be old enough to have a 25 year old” (or any other age).
I’m the opposite, at least so far. With each new birthday, I’m happy to announce my age (38 coming up shortly!). As my husband always says when someone laments getting another year older, it beats the alternative.
Are there any ages, future or past, that freak you out? How do you react to getting older?