Winter and Germs and Collard Greens? Oh my, oh my.

Snow has fallen
and stayed fallen
blanketing the mud and green
covering up the cracks
and filling in the potholes
of the roads we crack and curve

Dear winter,
you're here
and so am I.





Thanksgiving break brought snowfall almost everyday. It's not quite enough to make legitimate snowbanks, but it's just a slight blanket over everything. It puts me in a good Christmas mood, which is nice, because there are plenty of seasonal things to do. Friday night will be our annual Classy Christmas Shopping, where we all head downtown to buy presents for each other locally (sneakily, because we all go together...to buy gifts for each other). This year we're making it a ladies night, because we decided not only that it would work better logistically (as in, we can get our gifts for the boys without them being around), but that boys are impatient shoppers. Downtown is not only a great place to shop for Christmas because it tends to be cheaper and much much more unique, as well as local, but because our downtown is so beautiful in the snow. The sun sets super early, so even when we go right after school, the streetlights come up to deter the falling dark and cast everything into a golden orange glow, the snow glistening nearby. Shopowners put up little lights in their windows and wreaths on their doors. The bagel shop puts out a menorah, and there's eggnog and cider enough to make everyone glad.

My beautiful city in the snow

We still haven't picked our collard greens, and I suppose now it's too late. They're a really hardy vegetable, okay to eat after the first frost. But after the first three snows, I'm not so sure.
With winter (which, by the way, is defined by the temperature and snowfall in Maine, not the date) comes a whole 'nother season, one much less pleasant. The season of SICK. Everyone around me has a cold or a flu, so I know that this tickle in the back of my throat has got to be something. Hellooo throatcoat.
I'm of the conviction that all of that crap about using Germ-x or whatever to clear away germs is a load of bullshit. You need germs to live long, and Germ-x doesn't actually kill anything unless you wash your hands right before. There are little hand sanitizer dispensers at places all around my school, and I just want to knock them down with a baseball bat. I mean, some of them make sense, like in the bathroom next to the paper towels. Although, the thought that a lot of girls then bypass actual handwashing for a squirt of alcohol on the palms of their hands is a little nasty. But sometimes, the dispensers are just holstered up in the middle of a hallway. What? Hold up guys, I've just gotta smear a glob of chemicals onto my hands before I walk into Spanish class.

It is time to bid adieu to my lovely bicycle, at least until next spring. Goodbye, dear. It's been a wonderful season.

What's Happening? Well, I'll Tell Ya What's Happening...

I honestly have never been a fan of Thanksgiving. It makes me feel gluttonous, and means we have to clean.

But this year, it's not so bad. Especially since the break from school was well needed (yeah, that whole thing about Junior year being from hell was preeetty much true). Tuesday night, my friends and I partook in what will surely become a great tradition. We settled in together with cocoa and blankets, a wholesome scene, to be sure...and watched Thankskilling. Great choice guys. Really, it was classy. I recommend it to all who don't mind awful acting, bestiality, and profanity.

This was followed up by an extremely chilly game of Turkey Disc. Everyone who showed up gets an intensity medal, just for being there. It was snowing slightly, and the mud was freezing beneath our feet, but we trooped on, if only to preserve our dignity.

Tuesday, my creative writing teacher told us about the Turkey Trek happening in the City Forest. Four miles, at your own pace. Bring food for the food cupboard. Eight AM. I tentatively raised my hand to say I might show up. And for some disgustingly strange reason, I got up this morning at seven, and did it. The only reason I went was because I convinced my friend to do it with me, meaning that I couldn't back out without being a wuss. Speaking of dignity...

So I hopped on my bike, and rode to his house (coldest ride of my entire life, by the way), from where we drove out to the forest. Four miles doesnt seem like much, but I am nothing of a runner. Zilch. No running. Not since I quit track my freshman year. Once or twice a year, I'll convince my gullible self that I can run, and that it will make me a better person, but it ends with me going for a few (slow and taxing) runs, hurting my lungs or my achilles, and then calling it good. Beyond that, I disc. The. End.

So, God only knows what I was doing in the middle of the woods on Thanksgiving day at eight in the morning with running shoes on. We jogged and walked alternately, because my asthma didn't respond well to the weather, but I did it, and that's all that counts, right? [I almost have myself convinced that I'm a runner now. Becca, you champ!]

On a mostly unrelated topic, I have a cat.

Sort of.

One of my friends has a cat, who has downsyndrome. Or, at least that's what they presume, because she's really really really stupid and has crossed eyes [thanks very much, siamese inbreeding]. Her name is Squeaky [actually, it's Miko, but she only responds to Squeaky], and we were meant to be.

So, she's on loan. We've taken to calling her Squawky, because that's more what her little "MAOW MAOW"s sound like. Little Squawky thought that five thirty was an excellent time to come into my room and squawk at me for a half an hour. This means war.

Thoughts on the Beginning of Winter, as Snow Drifts Lazily By

I'm in the library, where I am dreading even this two-day week.
Soft, speckly snowflakes are traipsing by the large windows, and I am ready for christmas music.
I like Christmas music, at least in the beginning. It's all so hopeful and charming, and it's all about the times that I love. But, I refuse to start listening to it until after Thanksgiving. Some radio stations begin playing it even before Black Friday, but I won't, won't, won't turn them on. It's got to be properly cold, properly initiated, properly begun.

The world is so beautiful in snow, and I'm wondering if that's because the ugliness of the ground is covered up, and beautified in the glistening, blinding white, or if it's because the cold, hostile winter brings hope of an even more beautiful spring.
I love winter, not just for the snow and the chaos of the season, but also because it means needing to snuggle up inside, and drinking hot cocoa, and it means that we have to find adventure for ourselves and hibernate in each other's company. Maybe that's why it's beautiful.

The Acadia Challenge, or, We'll Just Butt-Slide Down This One

This past Sunday, I went with a few friends to Acadia. Acadia national park is probably the best known park in Maine, besides Baxter (but that's only because of Katahdin). In the summer months, Mount Desert Island (where the park is housed) is swamped with nature-going tourists. It's a really lovely park, mostly wild, with trails and bike paths and natural wonders scattered throughout.

A few weeks ago, I was talking with a friend about how we ought to go hiking more, as we both want to someday thru-hike the Appalachian Trail. But it's getting late in the season for hiking. The air has turned cold and harsh, and mountains will be crusted over with ice. So we took this as our last opportunity for hiking before we'll have to switch to winter gear.

Mission: The Acadia Challenge

-Hike as many mountains in Acadia as we can in one day.

So, the three of us set out wicked wicked early to get to Acadia in time for the daylight. We could see our breath as we began, and I hadn't bothered to take off my pajamas- I just put the fleece pants on over my hiking shorts. We started out on Bald mountain, then, over the course of five hours, peaked at Parkman, Sargent, Penobscot, North and South Bubbles, Pemetic, and the Triad. There was another peak somewhere around Bald, Parkman and Sargent, but it wasn't expected and isn't on the map. Nine mountains, in just under five hours. We only covered about (with finger guesstimation and a map) ten miles total, but a lot of those miles were steep uphill or leaf-covered, cliff-side downhill. Around Sargent and Penobscot, we had to choose between a steep, watery trail, and another one that featured iron rungs down a cliff face ( we opted for the steep one. Iron rungs in cold weather could be disasterous). On another ( Pemetic, maybe?), the choice was between the ravine trail and the ledge, a series of near vertical, smooth granite patches that we had to scramble up. The scariest part though, was going down steep boulder-ridden mountain sides covered in leaves. They've been left, since pretty much no one is going to be out hiking by now, and they'll disintegrate over the winter. But they make it very difficult to know where to put your feet, and it's tricky walking over them, because it's easy to lose your footing.

After our ninth mountain, we went down a side trail towards Jordan Pond House, where we were meeting our ride, and ignoring the signs about wading and swimming and no body contact, we hopped out to a large boulder off the shore of Jordan Pond on smaller rocks, and sat, drinking in the sight of all of the mountains we had just cruised over. It was a good feeling, despite the aches in my ankles and knees, knowing that I had just climbed all that, and been able to keep up with my significantly taller friends.

Next Mission: Winter Hiking in Virginia

Confidence level: Non-existent.

Our path, but on the trails, of course.

Squashing Squirrels, or, My Weird Love For Roadkill Poetry, or, I've Been Too Sarcastic Lately.

In Response to a Comment About My Talent For Reciting Poems About Roadkill, And My Realization That I Would Probably Die If I Ever Ran A Squirrel Over...

On my bicycle one day
whipping through the wilderness
of outer Essex street
I squashed
a squirrel
under my skinny street tire.
I have always wondered
what might happen to
the acorns
stashed in the squirrels
cheeks
when it is flattened along the road.
I found my answer
and with rain dripping from my eyeballs,
I peddled on
with acorn bits on my tires.

This is Just to Say

This Is Just To Say

I have eaten

the plums

that were in

the icebox

and which

you were probably

saving

for breakfast

Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold.

- William Carlos Williams

This is Just to Say

I had injected

those plums,

which you had expected

to delight

your stomach,

with arsenic.

Forgive me,

but my

immunity has been built,

and you should

have known better

to leave someone else's plums

well enough alone.

---

This is just to say

just in case

those plums were a metaphor,

I too have eaten

The Plums.

Your two plums,

to be precise,

which you were

probably hoping

to indulge in

in the near future.

Sorry.

[In case you have failed to understand

the subtleties of my metaphorical sarcasm

in this note to you...]

I must tell you frankly.

Forgive me:

But you should take

better care of your Plums.

They were so rotten

and so bitter.

---

This is Just to Say

I stole your heart

last Friday night

even though

you were probably

trying to keep it

until you could

steal mine.

Forgive me.

It was so warm

and so flattering.

---

This is Just to Say

I stuck a marshmallow

on your back

in second grade.

Your mother was

probably mad

[definitely perplexed]

when the sticky goo

held on tight

to the fibers of your teeshirt.

So sorry.

But the look

on your face

when you found it later that night

was so sweet

and so gooey.

---

This is Just to Say

I redug the hole

in the middle of the park

after you had

filled it up,

probably because

you were scared

of being swallowed in

by its immense girth.

I am

so very sorry.

But forgive me,

because

I like that hole,

and I look at my feet

when I walk.

---

This is Just to Say

I found your note

concerning the plums.

Forgive me.

I cannot marry you.

And They Wonder Why My Hands Are Always Cold, or, Sometimes I Wish I Could Fly. I mean drive.

At some point, biking becomes inconvenient.
Up he'uh in Maine, yahknow, it getsah bit chilleh.
I know I haven't talked too much about biking since this summer, but I assure you, I'm still peddling around like a little girl on training wheels.
My house is conveniently located near, well, everything. I can easily access the grocery store, my thrift store, several outlets and little touristy cafes with just a ten minute bike ride. Which is cool and all. But it means my parents can hold out on my driver's license and not feel guilty.
Because biking around is good for me, right? Sure.
And I like it, right? Welll...
There are definitely times (i.e., this entire week) when I'd rather just have a car, no matter how awesome my bicycle is. It gets cold. Very cold. If any of you are from here, or have been up here, it really does get cold. It's not too bad yet, but it's been storming, and the wind has been enormous. Add onto that preexisting windchill the wind whipping past me as ride downhill to downtown, and it's a bit colder than one might enjoy.
Which is why I'm making a new invention. I'm going to call it the pope-icicle. The Popicle. Nope. The Popsicle.
It's modeled after the pope mobile, and involves a bell of warmth sheilding the bike rider from the outside world, so that one may bike ride in all of the comforts of summer. It comes complete with a synthesized springtime scene portrayed onto the surroundings. Tired of snow? Hop in your Popsicle and your winter woes will be cured!

Oh, I wish. Until then, I'll invest in a set of gloves so that my fingers will stop getting stuck to my frozen brake handles.

Updates on everything:
I am sitting here in my studly hall, the hall of studs (or, not so much. The hall of duds), and I am surrounded here, in the library, by level two science kids doing a project on atomic energy. One of them, two to my right, is incessantly smack, smack, smacking his gum, his lips, his mouth, his keyboard, and I just want to smack smack smack him in the head. CUT IT OUT!

Okay. Now that that's done with. I had my meeting with the superintendent last week. The issue about fundraising was a...misunderstanding. If I understood. As far as having our coach attend nationals, I got shut down. She basically just said no, because it's taxpayer money. Even if we paid for the substitute teacher. She said no.
Witch.
But not really. It's a difficult situation to be in as an administrator, and I get that. I'm just being a big baby, because I didn't get the answer I wanted, and want to just pound my fists on the floor.

Mr. Thirsty, or, why I hate the Dentist's Office.

Today, I went to the dentist. Now, let me start out by telling you that I pretty much detest going to the dentist. I hate having someone tug around the bottom of my teeth for an hour, poking and prodding and making my gums bleed. I abhor the way hygienists ask questions about school and life, and you either have to talk around their hands and tools, or hold up the proceedings to say, "I'm taking French four, Honors English, the lowest math class possible, chem-friggingstry, acting, music, and everything else". Yeah. The dentist's stopped being awesome after the treasure chest was closed to me, when I turned thirteen.

I've also had general bad luck when it comes to my dentists, as in the people. Multiple, because they tend to die or succumb to a similar fate. Maybe I'm being dramatic, but the first one did die, of being ancient, and the last one just had a stroke, so couldn't be a dentist anymore.
The situation is actually very tragic. He was a very sweet old man with big glasses and a balding head. At the end of every visit, he would shuffle into the room, and peer down into my mouth. I always liked the fact that I was able to see a clear reflection of the inside of my mouth in his glasses. It is far more entertaining to actually watch someone prodding and poking and stabbing around in your mouth than to just experience it. "Bite and smile", he would command. I chomped my teeth together and grinned for him. "Perfect. Beautiful teeth. You're so lucky." He said the same thing every time, unfailingly finding my dentures perfect and beautiful.
Well, then he stroked, and now I have a new dentist. Two new dentists actually. As opposed to my old dentist's office, which was just a team of one dentist and four hygienists, located in a little house, now I go to an office, with two dentists and God knows how many hygienists.
The first thing I noticed walking in was the smell of the office, sterile and rubbery, like latex lathered in hand sanitizer. The waiting room was uniform and neat. I filled out my forms, waited, and was scooted into a room.
I almost wish I could be a dentist someday so that I could fix one of the biggest issues present to mankind: Decor in doctor's and dentist's offices. Without fail, there's always one of the following:
-A mass produced Georgia O'Keefe print. Of a flower, obviously.
- Norman Rockwell. Clever and mildly entertaining.
-Other floral/scenic/quaint paintings. Always stomach-innards wretchingly boring.

My point is this: When you're sitting in the dentist or doctor's office for an hour, an hour and a half, there's never anything interesting to look at. This problem must be fixed, because I think it clearly causes depression (Fun fact: Dentists have the highest suicide rate of any occupation, closely followed by psychiatrists). The hygienist gave me a pair of HUGE, ugly sunglasses as I sat in the big victim's chair, telling me that they were for my eyes, so they didn't hurt in the bright light. Oh. Okay. The last time I had been handed sunglasses in the dentists office, I was eleven. Great.
But there was nowhere to put the sunglasses to reject them, and no polite way to put them aside without betraying what I was thinking, which was something along the lines of "I'm sixteen. I don't want these. I don't even want to be here. Please don't poke and prod, metaphorically and literally. Kay, thanks, bye."
She poked and prodded and scraped my teeth and gums for about thirty minutes. It was unbearable. By far, this is one of the most uncomfortable feelings in the world. I especially hate it when they take that little hook and get it between your two middle bottom teeth, and tug. I'm always scared that they'll pull it out.
This new hygienist also didn't tell me to rinse when she polished my teeth. Instead, she used that sucky thing that pretty much sucks out your soul, and all the moisture in your mouth. It got me thinking- When you're younger, they tell you that it's called Mr. Thirsty. Obviously that's not actually what it's called. You're supposed to use it or ask for it for different procedures in the dentists office, but they never tell you it's real name, and no adult is going to say, "Can I use Mr. thirsty?"
I hate the dentists.

Halloween! BOO!

I thought I'd be waiting a lot longer to say this. Hoooboy, here it goes...

It snowed yesterday. That's right, a snowy halloween! I woke up, and looking out my window, the first thingI saw was slanted white flakes drilling by. I was so confused that I had to open up the window and stick my head out to make myself believe and understand it.
I was expecting it to continue snowing for about a half an hour, but it just snowed..and snowed and snowed and snowed.
Not much of it stuck, and it stopped snowing around twelve thirty. The aftermath was a wet, muddy ground and a chill in the air.
But did that stop us? Of course not!

Halloween was met with a day full of costume disc (frisbee, but in ridiculous costumes. Most of us opted to keep our shoes on today, considering the risks of hypothermia) and (sort of) scary movies.
When I was growing up, I had a friend whose family didn't celebrate halloween. I think we all know a family like this, someone who's religious and believes that participating in the traditions of such a pagan holiday would be sacreligious. I always felt sort of bad for her, because while we were out getting candy, they were out at the bowling alley, in normal clothes instead of costumes. And the costumes are the best part. Sometimes, I wish I could just dress in weird clothes whenever I feel like it. I should.
I'm pretty sure I'd just look like a freak every day.

On a completely separate note: Nanowrimo has begun. No more blogging, no more fun.
I'll probably be gone for awhile, because I'll be using this study hall for my nanowrimo project, which will hopefully go over better than last year.

On another completely different note, today is my dad's birthday! Happy...47th? Dad!