. . . . not too far from where I live

Buffalo, New York

gets a bad rap.

But after all the travels I've done,

and the places I've lived,

this is where I've ended up.

And sometimes they do things here that are just

too right.

Like this:

This is called a "Little Library."

Anyone is welcome to take a book, and to leave one.

they're just out there, on the streets (in the snow!)

And yes, if you're thinking:

isn't that a Frank Lloyd Wright house in the background?

Well, yes,

you're right.

That's the Darwin Martin House, one of the few multiple structure residential complexes 

designed by Wright,

and one of the biggest reconstruction projects of a Wright work.

Yes, I volunteer there, too.

I can't live in a city with something like that going on

and not try to help, even in 

the smallest way.

~ ~ ~

I'd like to say I'm hibernating, by the way,

and that is why I've not been here.

But that's not really true:

I am working like a dog.

I am tired,

and I am also writing~ ~ 

other things,

not this blog.

But I miss this blog,

and love its readers,

and I promise to return,

if only intermittently.

I'll be trying to return more and more

in the next few months

because this blog

helps me stay in touch with me.

'Til next time,

and

I hope it's soon,

here are a few photos

of Buffalo snow

:

stay warm, 

my dears ~ ~

On Parking Tickets

( lottery_tickets )

Are you one of those people

who will get a ticket even when

you're parked right in front of your house?

Are you one of them?

I am.

a lot -

But this morning I had

the most extraordinary experience.

Where I live, we have these insane

alternate street parking laws.

I mean:

they are insane. 

I've lived in a lot of places,

including in cities where alternate street parking laws

actually made sense:

you moved your car on garbage night; 

and in the winter, 

you moved your car every other night

so they could keep both sides of the street clean.

Well, here, I'll tell ya:

there's no rhyme or reason.

You don't move it on garbage day

until after the garbage truck comes through,

and when the snow is so high

you need cross-countries skis to get your mail,

you only move your car once a week.

Now, go figure.

~ ~ ~

Well, anyway,

there was my car

sitting in front of my house,

required by law to be moved 

by ?:00 am, and I didn't leave

the house til later than that. 

How late?

Let me just say this:

I was late enough that I met the ticket cop

just as he was walking up to my car.

I should say:

I was just walking out my door

when he was walking up to my car.

And I called out:

Hey officer!  That's my car!

Fully expecting him to say:

That's your tough luck, sweetie, you didn't move it.

But, he didn't.

Instead he acted like he'd just gotten caught

with his hand in the cookie jar, and he said,

Oh, OK.  Sorry.

And he walked away.

Now was this a random act of kindness?

Or could it be

that that dear officer knew

that if he gave me a ticket,

he'd make $35 

for the city that day.

How would he know that?

Because I always pay my tickets, and

I'll bet you

they can access that information

by running my license.

Silly me.

I pay those fuckers,

generally the next day.

So guess who gets tickets?

Me.

Perhaps I need to change my M.O.

So of course,

this rather simple but extraordinary

experience got me thinking:

was this just a random act of kindness

(which is what I decided at the moment,

and I went to work,

feeling so happy)

? 

Or did that officer run my license

and see the notation

TSCPHT

("This Stupid Chick Pays Her Tickets")

and then jump out of his car

for a little extra revenue?

Perhaps they have a quota

of people like me

that they're supposed to ticket

every month.

I remember once,

I got three tickets on my windshield

in this one night 

when my car didn't get moved

because I was inside sick.

Three tickets on my window

for one night

of being too sick

to go out and move my car.

Now isn't that a little overkill?

You do begin to wonder

why they just like to pick on

me.

But the officer this morning kind of made

my day.

I hope he remembers that I live here

the next time

I sleep in a little.

( marketplace.publicradio )

Living in Ice-Land

I've only been to Iceland

once, around the year 1992.

But the exact day was certain:

it was June 21: the longest day of the year.

And in Iceland that means the sun

never leaves the sky.

In Iceland in June,

many fields are green, but

you can also find ice, for sure,

and geysers,

and the 

omnipresent smell of

sulfur,

and the pale blond Icelanders

smile at you and dance

in the sun, determined to celebrate

their endless day.

The man who was my husband at that time

was mad at me,

when I slid between the sheets

and fell asleep

around 1:00 a.m.

He wanted to stay up through a night

with no night

(I believe he actually did, too),

and now I understand why:

It was a rare occasion,

it was why one would be

in Iceland on June 21,

and I, with my usual

naivete

fell asleep.

( thepunkguy )

The people of Iceland

drink a lot,

sincerely and matter-of-factly:

it's what one must do to weather

those long, cold, dark nights.

The people of Iceland

read a lot too,

and their eyes burn like

smoldering coals,

turned inside out by months of

darkness.  

One of their great national poets was a guy

named Snorri Sturluson;

I visited what is reported to be his home,

but it looked like a mound of sod with a door:

the people of Iceland know

that when it's really cold

true warmth can be found

underground.

( mangabay )

When you look through the Icelandic phonebook,

(and if I recall correctly, there was only one

for the whole country)

you will find the names are alphabetized

by first names,

not by last;

even last names are spawned 

by first names;

I interpreted this to suggest

that these people accept and acknowledge

they're all in this together,

so they might as well not try to mask anything

with the false veneer of 

formality.

In fact, reportedly,

there is not much crime in Iceland.

One would be foolish to alienate one's self so

in such an alien land.

( icelandweatherreport )

I remembered that trip to Iceland

today, as the sun glinted off the deep, hard packed snow

in the quadrangle of the college where I work,

and then again, as I shoveled over a foot of the heavy stuff

off the second story porch roof

connected to the place

where I live --

We are, so many of us,  living in Ice Land right now.

And I believe

we have a lot to learn

from the people of Iceland

in this chilly season,

as our wounded earth pulls round herself

this deep white blanket,

a death-like blanket to us,

but really intended to restore.

We struggle across the surface of it,

insistently trudging

through our self-important, self-destructive

lives as we know them,

but what we really know,

if we listen to our bones,

is that we should be sleeping right now,

gently resting inside the womb

of our slumbering mother,

Earth.

Iceland, they say, 

is the youngest landmass on earth, and under her surface

bubbles the cauldron 

of new life.

The ice and snow protect the budding rebirth,

and heals the wounds inflected

by her heedless inhabitants.

~ ~ ~

I've decided to become

an Ice-Lander today,

tomorrow,

and always,

and the next time I get the chance

to experience endless day,

I'll stay awake,

and bask in it.

( theodora.com )

. . . on snow

 ( global-greenhouse-warming )

. . . in the chill

of mid winter

the mind stills

,

the spirit too

--

has anyone ever heard

of the spirit being frozen

out

of a sentient being?

no

The spirit exits on a 

burning

;

cold

brings stasis

a numbed waiting

for rebirth.

( guy-sports )