A Lovely, Ugly Day

For various reasons, this kind of day has been rare lately: entirely devoted to writing fiction, with just a dollop of skiing for starters. It's the best kind of day I know.

We're having Weather, so school was cancelled and with it my junior high writers workshop. Then the lady I was supposed to interview this morning turned out to have the flu (just as well--for me, not for her--since it's NASTY out there).

So, nothing to do but write.

First, I took advantage of the five-point-three seconds of decent snow out there and skied in the woods for an hour--my favorite kind of woods, too, lovely, dark, and deep. Snow coming down in a mist, sticking to the branches and sides of the trees. Silence. Tiny critter footprints, filling up with snow.

Got home about an hour before it all turned to rain. (Note to self: Remember, there are good things about living by the ocean. OK, snow may not be one of them. But try kayaking on a wheat field.)

And then I worked on the last chapter of The Filioli. I'm so close to finishing the first, rough-rough-rough draft that I can see the last sentence lying on the ground under that tree over there. Lots more to do after I get there--LOTS more to do, thanks to character work I did last week. (I write "journal" entries in the voices of various characters, and haul surprises out of their brainstems every time.) But still, it's progress.

Now the wind's coming up. If the power goes out we'll spend the evening staring at the fire instead of Jim Lehrer. Nothing against ol' Jim but...

January Thaw

Turns out I'm living in the past, or possibly some parallel dimension.

There I was, out in the unfeeling world looking for an after-Christmas sale on cross-country ski equipment.

And there was everyone else, looking for exactly the same thing.

Elementary marketing: When there's a ton of lovely snow, people rush around buying skis even before Christmas. Even after Christmas, supply is low and demand is high. Sale, schmale.

It wasn't just that nothing was on sale. Nothing existed. I couldn't find anything in my size in Ellsworth, so I went to Bangor. I found one pair of boots in my size (well, maybe a tad too big but OK with thick socks). Fortunately they and the skis were gently used. Almost like being on sale.

I went skiing once (gorgeous). Then the temperature shot up to 50 degrees and the rain started. It's been in the 40s and 50s for three days now. The ground is bare in places.

I am not responsible for the January thaw. I am NOT responsible for this! Many, many other people bought skis when I did. This is not my fault. Not.

I'm so sorry.

Snarky Weather

The New Year is coming in snowy here on the Maine coast. One storm just brought us six inches or so, and another's coming in tomorrow with about the same amount.

It's gorgeous out there, but my attitude could be described as "modified rapture." (That's a quote from Gilbert & Sullivan's "Mikado," which means, yes, I am a dork.) Winter on the New England coast can break your heart if you're a snow-lover. For every storm that brings lovely, fluffy, skiable snow, there's another that turns to rain, sleet, or falling slush. It just doesn't do to get your hopes up.

Twenty-three years ago, when we moved here, Rob and I bought each other cross country skis for Christmas. (Actually, we waited for the after-Christmas sales, but we had holly in our hearts so that's what counts.) (That's almost a quote from "A Christmas Carol" by Charles Dickens. Dork, dork, dork.)

We bought cheapo plastic skis because that's what we could afford. This turned out to be a good move for several reasons. Because the skis were nothing to cherish, for the next two decades we could gleefully head off into the woods when there wasn't quite enough snow, and scrape our way across rocks and roots without wincing.

A couple of weeks ago, my cheapo plastic boots finally came apart. I'd been nursing the skis along for several years. They have oddball bindings that probably won't fit any other pair of boots in the world, so the death of the boots means the end of the skis, too. Considering that I paid about $100 twenty-three years ago for skis, boots, and poles, they don't owe me a thing.

I have my mother's skis and boots, but the boots are a full size too big and I don't feel safe wearing them into the wilderness, thanks. So if I want to ski in the woods, I have to buy another set of cheapo skis, boots, and poles. (The poles I'm using now are mismatched-one of them mine, one of them my father's-and close to breaking. Do I know how to pinch a penny or what?)

Here's the big, existential question: Do I live for Myself Alone, or do I sacrifice myself for Others?

It is a fact that New England weather loves to break hearts. It is a fact that the universe has a mischievous streak. Therefore it is a fact that, the minute I spend money on new skis, the snow will melt. And from that point on we will get only rain.

And if I don't buy skis, of course, we will have the best snow we've had in ten years.
So, do I get the skis now and condemn everyone to a lousy winter? Or do I delay the purchase until spring and content myself this winter with skiing around the yard in my too-big boots while everyone else enjoys the snow in the woods?

I'm afraid I know what I'll end up doing. My rational side will say cheerily, "Oh, don't be silly, the universe doesn't care whether you buy skis or not." Which is true. Of course. Right?

Enjoy the snow, coastal Maine. While it lasts.