spring snow scenes.

This morning I drove across the valley to have breakfast first thing with my daughter and two granddaughters. Bruiser was a little more anxious than usual--stormy weather makes him feel a little apocalyptic these days. He stopped in every doorway, waiting for me to come with him. Slow progress getting out the door.

As I pulled out of the driveway, the precip (as we like to call it around here) lightly pelted my windshield. Within a few blocks, the rain was sleetish. By the time I got on the freeway it was snow, wet, slushy snow, which only got thicker and whiter the further east I drove.

I walked into the cafe, basically shaking myself off like a dog. Gwen spotted me.

We ordered our usual--me, an omelet; my daughter, the egg white veggie special, no mushrooms; Gwen, pancakes.

'Let's make it a short stack,' my daughter said.

Gwen is wearing my necklace.

'Short stack! Are you a short stack?' I asked Gwen.

'No, you're a short stack,' she said. Working on her retorts.

The snow swirled and eddied, a lesson in chaos theory happening just outside the glass.

Naomi, nibbling on pancakes like
a big girl.

'Gwen's going to have swimming lessons,' her mom reported.

'Are you going to be a swimmer like your brother?' I asked.

'Ummm, yuh,' she said. 'I'm going to swim like a mermaid. Do you swim like a mermaid?'

I hope so, this summer. Whenever this snow and sleet and icy rain stop happening.

- click for commentary -

I wore shoes that were not appropriate to the day. I didn't think the snow was going to be so wet, and

so much.



When I got home from work, and working out, I hustled myself back into my street clothes for caucusing. We motored over to the local elementary school--entirely walkable, but the cold, and the snow. There were already people lined up out the door, along the entire length of the school and the parking lot, onto the street and around the corner.

What is happening, I asked myself.

'What is happening?' I asked the historian.

So we lined up with our neighbors, the Democrats, and waited for an hour to get inside, then almost another hour to get our ballots. While we were waiting, I kept seeing photos on social media from my friends all over the valley, and even into Utah County, that their caucusing places were overflowing. It was like a giant bliss bomb of hopeful politics exploded in flowers and democracy.

smells like hippies + freedom

The sky tonight is full of billowy, light-filled clouds. The sky behind the clouds is lit up. It's not black, it's blue. The moon is hiding in a cloud lair.

On the ground, Bruiser is capering on the snowy lawns. He loves the snow.

National Poetry Month is eating my brains.

I just thought you'd all like to know--you, the reading public--that my lack of posting, or postage, or whatever nominalization you prefer for "where on earth is The Megastore?"--it's all the fault of the cruelest month, April, which is (coincidentally? I think not.) National Poetry Month. So, you know, you can go read some poems over here. I am behind, but just one poem, so I'm feeling pretty good about that. Dr. Write is also posting poems. In conclusion, it is super poetish over there.

In the meanwhile, I do have some recommendations, however.

The Megastore Recommends.

1. Getting your visa application mailed off finally. You guys, do you realize that when you go to China, your passport is like chopped liver? And by "chopped liver," I don't mean "something gross, whoever THOUGHT of that?," I mean "something that is pretty much useless without a visa." AND, the people, getting a visa means a lot of steps that make your head hurt. As in, do you need to have all your hotel reservations and your plane reservations set? or is that a little waffly, and will your basic itinerary do, as long as you have an invitation letter from someone in China, aka your son? How much does it cost? HOW MUCH? omg. And you need pictures. And you need a FedEx office. And so many steps that you think, whoops, too bad I already bought my plane tickets, because I am never going to get this done.

But then you do get it done, step by step, and all your brains are still, mostly, in your head, except the poetry-writing portions. And then you wait.

2. The amazing food you will eat when you are in China. Everyone I read says that the food in China is beyond. My son says so. My friend says, "Make sure you eat Uighur noodles!" I tell my son about the Uighur noodles. He says, via Google Hangout, "They're all right. Tell your friend (shrugs with palms up) 'They're all right.'" With or without the noodles, though, I am going to try as many things as possible. I am looking forward to what China will taste like.

3. Don't think about the crazy toilet situation over there. Just don't.

4. Also, while you're not thinking about things, don't think about that fourteen hour flight. It sounds horrible.

5. Do think about the fact that there are beautiful mountains near and around Chengdu. 
Like these:

The people, I recommend Chinese mountains like these.

Back in black.

Not really. More like, back in nightgown. Which is gray. But that is not my topic. My topic is snow.

I love it. In the wintertime, I am happiest when there is snow--snow falling, snow on the ground, predicted snow, the promise of snow. When people say, it's a beautiful day when it's winter and there's no snow either present or imminent, I feel profoundly alone in that conversation. Because there should be snow in the wintertime.

As I get older, I get that stronger urge to hole up in the dark months. I feel the darkness, and the darkness tells me to find a warm corner and stay there. I have piles and piles of blankets and sweaters and more blankets and coats and more blankets for this very purpose. I feel my bed is approximately the apotheosis of coziness, and I am drawn to it as well in the wintertime. But there is no sleep as blessed as that which takes place in view of a window through which one can see snow falling or fallen.

I particularly love the light snow casts. I know it's not really a source, precisely, of light, but there's probably a physics for why the night seems bright with snow. I could surmise--that the moon reflects more brightly the soft white surface, that the snow itself is comprise of crystals that must have a refractive capability, that the whiteness of the snow itself comprises a brightness--but my dad reads this sometimes, and he's an actual physicist, a physicist of light, to be precise. (Don't laugh, Dad. I'm a poet. I'm allowed.)

Over the course of this prodigious storm, I went out in a car to run an errand or two. On Friday morning, when the snow was wet and new, I drove across the valley for some groceries. On Saturday morning, I drove across the valley for a boutique my daughter and her friends put on to raise money for their charitable project. This morning, I drove across the valley to Millcreek where two of our favorite farmers was selling winter vegetables. When I left the west side, it was intermittently sunny; up on the bench, it was misty and there was still snow falling.

"You made it," one farmer said, handing me my eggs, to go with my red bok choy, chard, carrots, and fistsful of garlic (<< gratuitous vegetable details).

I drove myself and my vegetables home carefully, attentively. No one really loves driving in the snow--in fact, almost everyone I talk to about the snow has the "I hate to drive in it" caveat--and I saw some damage on one of my drives. But the fact of the snow, the fact that winter might really be here, after such a beautiful, warm--maybe a little too warm, but it's wrong to complain about that, I know--autumn: I could not be happier.


Tonight when we took Bruiser out, it was so cold. The sky was clear and starry. I made a note that I need to pull out more layers for walks at night. Bruiser pulled up and lingered at new stops and old, sticking his nose into the snow, his tail high.

June 17, ladies and gentlemen.

I was of three minds.

It was evening all afternoon.

It was snowing

And it was going to snow.  

1.  Today, I loved the way the morning light took its time.  I got up, I made my breakfast, I checked the internet in a desultory way, I articulated my plans to myself in long, slow, lazy, sentence fragments.  I noticed around ten that the light was still silvery.  I looked out to see it snowing.

2.  Bruiser did not rush into his let's take a walk dance.  He drowsed on the bed.  When it started to snow, I considered all the possibilities.  Snow means cold.  On the other hand, the snow was falling almost straight down, unhurried, airy.  Cold but not driving. Wet but not sodden.  Slippery, but only a little.  So we took our walk.  The world smells different when it's snowy.  Ask my dog.

3.  A snowy day is for projects, like soup, or making a little space in your study so you can actually work there, or hanging up all your clothes.  Working on your manuscript. Contemplating the weather.  Thinking about the dark part of the year and how it is so very lovely.