Buried

35/365

Alright, that's enough snow.

I am not one of those faux-Mainers who complains about winter—all winter. I seek out the cold, track storms, hike in the snow, camp in it. I'll move to the South Pole if given the chance. If it is going to be winter, I want winter. Tall snowbanks, white fields and those cool, crisp, dry, blue sky days that wake you up the second your head's out the door.

I hate January thaws, brown snowbanks, mud, slush. There's a grime and a grind to it.

This, however, is getting to be a bit much. I shoveled snow Oct. 15 at the Madison Hut (click the links), and I've been doing it ever since. That's almost four months, a third of a year, and counting. And there's no end in site. Come April, when spring begins to hit southern Maine, I'll be heading north. Back to Madison, and back to winter. Two more bonus months, shoveling a winter's worth of snow out from around the hut. In total, that will equal six months of non-stop winter.

My back is sore, my arms hurt, my Limmer Boots are perpetually wet. I've broken two shovels. My snowblower doesn't want to blow snow anymore. And with all the shoveling I've been doing at work, my driveway hasn't been cleared from the last two storms.

Update 4:15 p.m. - Stacey and I borrowed Alex's snowblower this afternoon (Thank you Alex!!) and scratched and clawed our way to a clean compound. We came inside. Showered and made some coffee. 


Now it's snowing again... 

Game Story Tools

34/365

Another night of covering hockey—so many tools to hack out 500 words of dribble-drabble. More of the left (notes) and less of the right (stats and quotes) will make me a better writer.

Stormy Snowy and Peaceful

33/365

My favorite pictures are the ones that capture the moment as I saw it or with the best ones, felt it. 

I look at memory as a fast-moving flip book. I don't remember in fluid thought. I remember snapshots, smells, a sound. A picture can bring the other senses back. Its why I chose this shot for yesterday. Stormy, snowy and peaceful. Exactly where you'd want to be. 

Capturing moments the way you remember them is particularly hard with people; it's what makes portraits so difficult. Sometimes I cheat and use series of shots, like these three of Stacey yesterday, but still capturing the way I see a person, in a frozen instant, can rarely do them justice. 

Doggy Adultery

32/365

I am in love with another dog. Now now, I still love Espresso, but this little Charlotte is quite the pooch herself.

The fun part about them being together, is how different they are. First there's the obvious—boy vs. girl.

Espresso rolls over. Charlotte does stretches on command. "Char Char, stretchy. Streeeetchy," and she'll stretch to the front, then stretch to the back. Doggy Yoga.

Espresso waits for "Ok" to get a treat. Char Char balances them are on her nose. Espresso has upward-attentive ears. Charlottes flop. Espresso wants a his head on the pillows. Charlotte wants to be buried under the covers.

One barks.

The other howls.

One has a whip for a tail. It thumps the leather chair and slaps Espresso across the face as he winces, his feather-duster tail whisping back and forth.

Opposites. And they love each other.

Today I put them both in the back of my pickup on the dog platform with the dog bed. Charlotte was nervous, and hesitant to get in the back. She shook a bit, a combination of nerves and the cold. Still, I got them settled for the drive and went. Stopping at a light I looked back. There was Charlotte, curled comfortably on the dog bed—the dog bed with Espresso's name on it. And there was the gentleman, curled beside her, laying on the plywood. Proud.

Playing With Dolls

31/365

Lately work hasn't been all puppy dogs and snowflakes like this blog. I finally had enough. I snapped (a photo). 

It's hard to put the difficulties into words. They sound petty. Sometimes my boss doesn't answer my phone calls. Plans change. Things seem inconsistent. Disorganized.  It cuts into my pay check— a 33 hour week here. A 36 hour week there. Dollars. Stupid dollars. 

I should know better then to complain. I am lucky to have a job. A paycheck. Maybe lucky isn't the word though. Fortunate?

The real problem isn't the petty ones. Its that I need something more rewarding. A purpose. 

I love being a carpenter. I'd rather do it for free.—if I could afford it.  If a neighbor has a leaky roof and needs it fixed, I'd do it (Brendan and Betsy). If a friend is having a baby and needs more space, I'd do it (Kevin and Jen). If a pretty girl needs her apartment finished, I'd certainly do it (Stacey). 

That's the answer I guess. Quit my job. Profit. Work for free. No?

Or I'll just play with Dolls.