I've had a few moments lately where I am overwhelmed at the relief that it really is summer. And I therefore realize that I truly speculated - rather subconsciously - that I'd moved to a perpetually-frigid and terrible place. I think that lack of logic (considering I moved here during the summer and experienced the sweat that came with it) might indicate that winter was just a tad traumatic for me.
It happened first last Saturday at the farmer's market. I bussed to downtown St Paul and bought cucumbers, spinach, herbs, and a bouquet of red peonies. The moment I entered the bustling market and saw the green spread on tables everywhere - a site I took for granted every Saturday of every month in Oakland - I almost cried. I said under my breath, "It really happened." It really got warm enough to sprout anything and it stayed warm enough to grow it.
The second time was two days ago when I walked outside in a t-shirt and decided to leave a long-sleeved shirt at home rather than tote it around in case it got cold. I realized, "it really did warm up. It really is summer." I choked up - seriously!
Today it also happened. L. and I joined a CSA and tonight picked up our first share of produce of the season. It now really is summer! Proof exists in my fridge: these beauties of kale, spinach, radishes, strawberries and lettuce were not shipped in from California or Mexico or Chile! They were grown and picked within an hour's drive. Such relief.
I will live this summer unlike I've lived any other summer before.
Showing posts with label California. Show all posts
Showing posts with label California. Show all posts
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
lost momentum... and upcoming vacation!
K, so I got no new ideas for TB stories now that I got myself into the commitment of coming up with a week-and-a-half's worth. Oh well.
I'm going on vacation. That's right. Me and my woman are heading west. This'll be the last financial hurrah before we're both graduate students and living in shitty & CHEAP graduate student housing.
We're driving from LA to Seattle and camping along the coast the whole way. That's right, stimulus check: we're taking you to Cali. If you want some of that great roadtrip mail art we're famous for, just let us know where you live and we'll send off something rad from the road.
It'll be a good way to say a final goodbye to Minnesota winter cuz' by the time we get back, the garden should be greener and the temperature should be quite warm. I am so ready!
I'm going on vacation. That's right. Me and my woman are heading west. This'll be the last financial hurrah before we're both graduate students and living in shitty & CHEAP graduate student housing.
We're driving from LA to Seattle and camping along the coast the whole way. That's right, stimulus check: we're taking you to Cali. If you want some of that great roadtrip mail art we're famous for, just let us know where you live and we'll send off something rad from the road.
It'll be a good way to say a final goodbye to Minnesota winter cuz' by the time we get back, the garden should be greener and the temperature should be quite warm. I am so ready!
Friday, May 9, 2008
8 days
Having latent TB in Minnesota versus having latent TB in California (which is where it was first detected) were distinct experiences. Wouldn't have guessed that, would you have?
I believe four different nurses in California read my skin test results. Three of the four were nurses whose sole job was to work with TB patients. They knew what they were doing and they did it like it was the most important thing in the world.
I imagine them going to happy hour together once in awhile and sitting back to talk about all the TB cases they'd had that week. "Ooh, that blood and septum case, goodness!" One would say, needing catharsis about the most advanced patient of the week. "It's a good thing we can drink 'cuz that guy has enough antibiotics to shut down his liver in a week if given alcohol! We have to call him every day and make sure he's complying with his meds!"
When I did my own research and got scared of the side effects of the prophylactic antibiotics those nurses tried very hard to convince me to start immediately, I stopped talking to that clinic. Then, another county nurse started to call me. About once every two months for a year I got a call from her. She was calling to see if I'd started my meds yet and if not, did I need more information? Was I sure?
The thing about taking the latent TB meds is that it's not required, but due to a worldwide public health campaign to deal with the current TB epidemic, there are all these TB police out there calling people like me. Pimping out their meds. Losing sleep at night over the ones who refuse. Sigh.
In Minnesota: I got a primary doctor, walked in, said, "I have latent TB. I think I want to take the meds." He said, "Oh. I'll get you a prescription after we do another skin test. And, well, since you're not quite 30, we don't have to do any routine blood tests. You'll be fine. Just take it." I had to educate him about the side effects. I speculated that I was the first patient he'd seen with TB exposure. He was scarily laid back about it. Then, I get meds, and nothing more from him or the clinic.
If those nurses in California had ever heard a yes from me they'd probably have thrown a party, in the bar. They'd have had a drink for/over me and reinforced their clout with each other. "See? We just have to believe in this work. It's so important. We can eradicate TB, one person at a time!" I imagine they'd have no fights with their spouses for a good, long week after that.
Instead, I'm in Minnesota. Not California, the land of immigration where "foreign" communicable diseases drift in like pollen pods. Minnesota doesn't have as much TB. So, the doctors and nurses who don't work with many refugee/immigrant populations don't see many TB cases. I know, we have refugees and immigrants here; we have a lot of them. But nothing compares to places like California and New York for immigration, and the nurses there have a whole different job cut out for them.
So, in Minnesota, I get major patient autonomy and I get to take my meds in peace. I get to schedule my own blood work at the end of my treatment when I please. Hell, I think they'd just forget about me if I never mentioned anything about ending. I really liked having ease, privacy and complete control over this decision.
I believe four different nurses in California read my skin test results. Three of the four were nurses whose sole job was to work with TB patients. They knew what they were doing and they did it like it was the most important thing in the world.
I imagine them going to happy hour together once in awhile and sitting back to talk about all the TB cases they'd had that week. "Ooh, that blood and septum case, goodness!" One would say, needing catharsis about the most advanced patient of the week. "It's a good thing we can drink 'cuz that guy has enough antibiotics to shut down his liver in a week if given alcohol! We have to call him every day and make sure he's complying with his meds!"
When I did my own research and got scared of the side effects of the prophylactic antibiotics those nurses tried very hard to convince me to start immediately, I stopped talking to that clinic. Then, another county nurse started to call me. About once every two months for a year I got a call from her. She was calling to see if I'd started my meds yet and if not, did I need more information? Was I sure?
The thing about taking the latent TB meds is that it's not required, but due to a worldwide public health campaign to deal with the current TB epidemic, there are all these TB police out there calling people like me. Pimping out their meds. Losing sleep at night over the ones who refuse. Sigh.
In Minnesota: I got a primary doctor, walked in, said, "I have latent TB. I think I want to take the meds." He said, "Oh. I'll get you a prescription after we do another skin test. And, well, since you're not quite 30, we don't have to do any routine blood tests. You'll be fine. Just take it." I had to educate him about the side effects. I speculated that I was the first patient he'd seen with TB exposure. He was scarily laid back about it. Then, I get meds, and nothing more from him or the clinic.
If those nurses in California had ever heard a yes from me they'd probably have thrown a party, in the bar. They'd have had a drink for/over me and reinforced their clout with each other. "See? We just have to believe in this work. It's so important. We can eradicate TB, one person at a time!" I imagine they'd have no fights with their spouses for a good, long week after that.
Instead, I'm in Minnesota. Not California, the land of immigration where "foreign" communicable diseases drift in like pollen pods. Minnesota doesn't have as much TB. So, the doctors and nurses who don't work with many refugee/immigrant populations don't see many TB cases. I know, we have refugees and immigrants here; we have a lot of them. But nothing compares to places like California and New York for immigration, and the nurses there have a whole different job cut out for them.
So, in Minnesota, I get major patient autonomy and I get to take my meds in peace. I get to schedule my own blood work at the end of my treatment when I please. Hell, I think they'd just forget about me if I never mentioned anything about ending. I really liked having ease, privacy and complete control over this decision.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Pinch me.
On the continuum of how much regular human interaction people need, I'd always veered toward the end of "minimal." Imagine why I didn't much enjoy being a reporter. Newsrooms were nightmares.
I lived in Oakland for four years and commuted into San Francisco nearly every day. It's a wonderful place to live and lots of people think so, and it's much too crowded. I never felt alone, even when I was alone. You get crammed into carpools, buses, trains, sidewalks, tiny apartments, cubicles, restaurants. And after living in excessively overpopulated El Salvador, San Francisco was doable - but still consistently irritable - in the amount of energy drained out of me daily from just being around a whole lotta people.
My universe twin visited in the fall. He lives LA. I think he was a little unnerved by how unpopulated the Twin Cities felt to him. You just get so used to it, even though it really is hard on us introverts. And oddly enough, we get to missing the crowds. It's so weird to miss it.
I've been feeling something I'VE NEVER FELT BEFORE. I want to be around people. Crowds even. Until now, I've been very crowd averse. I want to talk and be chatty for more than 10 minutes. I figured it out today. Minnesota winters are long, grey, frigid, and make people hibernate as much as they humanly can outside of fulfilling their 40 hour a week obligations on the job.
I'm so ready for summer! Because it means green, warm AND because it means Minnesotans will become happy, social and agreeable again!
Reminds me of something I read or watched about New York City residents getting a fuller amount of human touch than other Americans because they bump into each other on the subway and sidewalk. That there's some kind of health benefit from that.
I've never looked forward to anything social and I can't wait to see people outside again. Pinch me.
I lived in Oakland for four years and commuted into San Francisco nearly every day. It's a wonderful place to live and lots of people think so, and it's much too crowded. I never felt alone, even when I was alone. You get crammed into carpools, buses, trains, sidewalks, tiny apartments, cubicles, restaurants. And after living in excessively overpopulated El Salvador, San Francisco was doable - but still consistently irritable - in the amount of energy drained out of me daily from just being around a whole lotta people.
My universe twin visited in the fall. He lives LA. I think he was a little unnerved by how unpopulated the Twin Cities felt to him. You just get so used to it, even though it really is hard on us introverts. And oddly enough, we get to missing the crowds. It's so weird to miss it.
I've been feeling something I'VE NEVER FELT BEFORE. I want to be around people. Crowds even. Until now, I've been very crowd averse. I want to talk and be chatty for more than 10 minutes. I figured it out today. Minnesota winters are long, grey, frigid, and make people hibernate as much as they humanly can outside of fulfilling their 40 hour a week obligations on the job.
I'm so ready for summer! Because it means green, warm AND because it means Minnesotans will become happy, social and agreeable again!
Reminds me of something I read or watched about New York City residents getting a fuller amount of human touch than other Americans because they bump into each other on the subway and sidewalk. That there's some kind of health benefit from that.
I've never looked forward to anything social and I can't wait to see people outside again. Pinch me.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
WILD HARE RUMPUS
Bust me, Bonnie.
Me and the wife are going west and it sure ain't soon enough.
Just booked one way tickets to LA, a one way car rental to Seattle, and more one way tickets outta WA back home in mid-May. 11 days. Ocean all the way. Redwoods. Mountains. Goddamn right, mountains.
Holy mother, I cannot WAIT.
Me and the wife are going west and it sure ain't soon enough.
Just booked one way tickets to LA, a one way car rental to Seattle, and more one way tickets outta WA back home in mid-May. 11 days. Ocean all the way. Redwoods. Mountains. Goddamn right, mountains.
Holy mother, I cannot WAIT.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Minnesota pretty nice and pretty insular
Minnesota Nice and other cultural nuances baffle me, as we all know by now, and though I've never been the popular kid, I have always been invited to more social occasions than I've initiated by virtue of being an introvert and truly enjoying the dynamic of being pursued (who doesn't?). Here, I've been initiating connections more than ever before. I've been pushing my comfort zone. Yet not getting many results. I just don't know what to make of it.
Yesterday I chatted with a seasoned social worker about my success making friends elsewhere in the world compared to making friends in Minnesota. Her accent indicated to me that she's from here or been here a long time. She said, "you know, you're not the first person to say that to me." She seemed a bit perplexed and a bit intrigued, like she had no idea what the experience would be like, but replied with a tone of hmm, isn't that interesting? It must be, what... cultural?
Today, a guest lecturer in my bioethics class was talking about the culture of risk. She's from Philadelphia, lived in San Francisco before she moved here, and said she'd never heard more people talking about risk and perceived threats to personal safety than in the Midwest. She's studied this phenomenon. Someone in the class said, "it's because people from Philadelphia and San Francisco move here!" Implying, of course, that newcomers make everything scary. She said she was just joking, but it seemed more like she was saving her ass.
What she was getting at, regardless of how she really feels, regardless of how much of her joke really isn't a joke, is that there really is something cultural here about sticking just to what you know and who you know. Insular = safe = good = Minnesotan. The guest speaker gracefully turned her comment into a talking point without putting her on the spot - an acquired Minnesota nice tactic, if you ask me - and got all academic about how the coasts have a history of trade and immigration, ports and interdependent industry, etc., which creates an environment where non-native doesn't automatically mean scary. Which hasn't happened in the Midwest.
It's kind of rare to find a native San Franciscan. Most everyone living there today has moved there. Seems like half of California speaks Spanish as their first language. Times like this, I miss it. I may, actually, resolve to making friends in Minnesota with people who are not from here. That's strategy one to not set myself up for failure.
Yesterday I chatted with a seasoned social worker about my success making friends elsewhere in the world compared to making friends in Minnesota. Her accent indicated to me that she's from here or been here a long time. She said, "you know, you're not the first person to say that to me." She seemed a bit perplexed and a bit intrigued, like she had no idea what the experience would be like, but replied with a tone of hmm, isn't that interesting? It must be, what... cultural?
Today, a guest lecturer in my bioethics class was talking about the culture of risk. She's from Philadelphia, lived in San Francisco before she moved here, and said she'd never heard more people talking about risk and perceived threats to personal safety than in the Midwest. She's studied this phenomenon. Someone in the class said, "it's because people from Philadelphia and San Francisco move here!" Implying, of course, that newcomers make everything scary. She said she was just joking, but it seemed more like she was saving her ass.
What she was getting at, regardless of how she really feels, regardless of how much of her joke really isn't a joke, is that there really is something cultural here about sticking just to what you know and who you know. Insular = safe = good = Minnesotan. The guest speaker gracefully turned her comment into a talking point without putting her on the spot - an acquired Minnesota nice tactic, if you ask me - and got all academic about how the coasts have a history of trade and immigration, ports and interdependent industry, etc., which creates an environment where non-native doesn't automatically mean scary. Which hasn't happened in the Midwest.
It's kind of rare to find a native San Franciscan. Most everyone living there today has moved there. Seems like half of California speaks Spanish as their first language. Times like this, I miss it. I may, actually, resolve to making friends in Minnesota with people who are not from here. That's strategy one to not set myself up for failure.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
err, um, well... fate?
I don't have a word for it.
Something's definitely been happening in the realm of the supernatural, for over a year now. I could call it fate and have it over with. I'm not too fond of resignation, though. So I'm stuck with the wondering and surprise.
That something that's been happening for over a year has something to do with a magnetic force that's pulling me and my previously wild, un-rooted roots into Minnesota and sucking them under like quicksand. (Previous blog post here alluding to this phenomenon.)
Let me try to help you relate with a benign theoretical construct. Say you're hungry. You go out and look for a place to eat, and not only does it take you a long time to get there because you get lost, you also encounter traffic, have a near-accident, get so hungry you can't think straight, and arrive to learn that your place is closed or the wait time is over a half hour. You know that feeling? Of course you do. You want to give up altogether.
Whatever is opposite to that is happening to me.
Outline:
2006: I endure one of the most agonizing years of my life in CA trying to figure out how to remedy many existential and professional crises. I cry - a lot. (But I'm warm. And go to the beach. And eat lots of fruit.)
Nov 06: I talk to my Chem prof who convinces me that life is not long enough to induce such self-suffering. Essentially she said, "Go. Do what you love, be happy, forget medical school." L. flies into CA, we have second breakfast, where I accidentally cry and proclaim my enduring, undeniable love. L. accepts the proposal. L. returns to MN.
Dec 06: I apply to three graduate schools in MN.
Feb 07: I'm accepted to all three schools.
Mar 07: I apply for one summer job. I get it.
May 07: I move from CA to MN - rather effortlessly, actually. I begin to integrate myself into L.'s family, and it's the most un-challenging and rewarding family experience of my life. (My own family sucks, bad.)
Sept 07: I start school. It's great. Really great. I've found my tribe. I feel smart again. I feel purpose, meaning, direction, hope and excitement every week.
Dec 07: I continue to hone my dreams and remember: For years, I have really, really, really, really wanted to focus on transgender health. I still want that. I brainstorm how in relation to social work. I commit to pursuing my next field placement in this area. I have a friend who then said, "oh, I know someone who's interested in accepting an intern for that work." She's not a mind-reader, either.
Jan 08: I begin a required research methods class. I LOVE it, which is weird. I think, "I want to be a assistant to someone doing trans health research."
Feb, 19, 08: I accidentally stumble across a job posting at the U for an Assistant to the Transgender Health Study. I apply, fervently.
Feb 20, 08. I await a phone call for an interview. And think: What the hell is going on? Minnesota WANTS me.
Minnesota: I surrender to you. I give in. I'm yours.
Something's definitely been happening in the realm of the supernatural, for over a year now. I could call it fate and have it over with. I'm not too fond of resignation, though. So I'm stuck with the wondering and surprise.
That something that's been happening for over a year has something to do with a magnetic force that's pulling me and my previously wild, un-rooted roots into Minnesota and sucking them under like quicksand. (Previous blog post here alluding to this phenomenon.)
Let me try to help you relate with a benign theoretical construct. Say you're hungry. You go out and look for a place to eat, and not only does it take you a long time to get there because you get lost, you also encounter traffic, have a near-accident, get so hungry you can't think straight, and arrive to learn that your place is closed or the wait time is over a half hour. You know that feeling? Of course you do. You want to give up altogether.
Whatever is opposite to that is happening to me.
Outline:
2006: I endure one of the most agonizing years of my life in CA trying to figure out how to remedy many existential and professional crises. I cry - a lot. (But I'm warm. And go to the beach. And eat lots of fruit.)
Nov 06: I talk to my Chem prof who convinces me that life is not long enough to induce such self-suffering. Essentially she said, "Go. Do what you love, be happy, forget medical school." L. flies into CA, we have second breakfast, where I accidentally cry and proclaim my enduring, undeniable love. L. accepts the proposal. L. returns to MN.
Dec 06: I apply to three graduate schools in MN.
Feb 07: I'm accepted to all three schools.
Mar 07: I apply for one summer job. I get it.
May 07: I move from CA to MN - rather effortlessly, actually. I begin to integrate myself into L.'s family, and it's the most un-challenging and rewarding family experience of my life. (My own family sucks, bad.)
Sept 07: I start school. It's great. Really great. I've found my tribe. I feel smart again. I feel purpose, meaning, direction, hope and excitement every week.
Dec 07: I continue to hone my dreams and remember: For years, I have really, really, really, really wanted to focus on transgender health. I still want that. I brainstorm how in relation to social work. I commit to pursuing my next field placement in this area. I have a friend who then said, "oh, I know someone who's interested in accepting an intern for that work." She's not a mind-reader, either.
Jan 08: I begin a required research methods class. I LOVE it, which is weird. I think, "I want to be a assistant to someone doing trans health research."
Feb, 19, 08: I accidentally stumble across a job posting at the U for an Assistant to the Transgender Health Study. I apply, fervently.
Feb 20, 08. I await a phone call for an interview. And think: What the hell is going on? Minnesota WANTS me.
Minnesota: I surrender to you. I give in. I'm yours.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
I'm sorry, but I see no hints of spring at -10 degrees
This from MNspeak.com:
"Maybe it's just a more relaxed attitude about work lately, but today I left the office with just a trace of sun left in the sky, and noticed that the east Lake Street Dairy Queen is open. The forecasts see no hints of a thaw any time soon, but meteorology be damned, are there any other signs that winter is about to start its inevitable retreat?"
I did not leave the house all day yesterday because the temp ranged from 4 to -10. It is not close to spring yet, not in the least. This is insane, convoluted thinking! That crazy Minnesotan!
Many people assure me that once the mercury hits 50 degrees, people will go outside in flip-flops, shorts, and t-shirts. There will still be snow on the ground and the trees will still be barren. People call that spring here. I'm sorry, I am in the minority, but that's just crazy.
One of my to-do tasks this week is to buy a plane ticket to San Francisco for sometime in the next 3-4 weeks.
"Maybe it's just a more relaxed attitude about work lately, but today I left the office with just a trace of sun left in the sky, and noticed that the east Lake Street Dairy Queen is open. The forecasts see no hints of a thaw any time soon, but meteorology be damned, are there any other signs that winter is about to start its inevitable retreat?"
I did not leave the house all day yesterday because the temp ranged from 4 to -10. It is not close to spring yet, not in the least. This is insane, convoluted thinking! That crazy Minnesotan!
Many people assure me that once the mercury hits 50 degrees, people will go outside in flip-flops, shorts, and t-shirts. There will still be snow on the ground and the trees will still be barren. People call that spring here. I'm sorry, I am in the minority, but that's just crazy.
One of my to-do tasks this week is to buy a plane ticket to San Francisco for sometime in the next 3-4 weeks.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
It's Sunday and sunny and so we went to San Diego
Since Thursday, I've been incredibly emotionally fragile. As a future mental health practitioner, I see self-awareness of my swings as productive and also terrifying.
L. succinctly summarized what could be going on.
1. I'm taking a medication for six months because I was exposed to TB. One side effect is depression.
2. It's my first February in Minnesota. One side effect is depression.
3. I'm learning how to be a grief/crisis counselor. One side effect - unless you know what the hell you're doing and have vast experience - is depression.
One of the bedrooms gets flooded with sun between 9:30 am and 2:30 pm. If it's sunny out, which it hasn't been in days - until this morning! After breakfast we crawled into the bed in that bedroom, lowered the blinds as much as possible without peep-showing the neighborhood, and raised a yellow blanket up in front of our faces to reflect the sun on us.
It's about -10 degrees outside; wind chill is between -25 and -40. (I still haven't left the house today and don't have a clue as to what that feels like, yet.)
But before we lifted the blanket up, L. said, "you wanna go to San Diego?" I said, "YES!" And then she lifted the blanket up, smiled, closed her eyes and said, "I'm on the beach! In San Diego!"
It was the best part of my morning, hands down.
L. succinctly summarized what could be going on.
1. I'm taking a medication for six months because I was exposed to TB. One side effect is depression.
2. It's my first February in Minnesota. One side effect is depression.
3. I'm learning how to be a grief/crisis counselor. One side effect - unless you know what the hell you're doing and have vast experience - is depression.
One of the bedrooms gets flooded with sun between 9:30 am and 2:30 pm. If it's sunny out, which it hasn't been in days - until this morning! After breakfast we crawled into the bed in that bedroom, lowered the blinds as much as possible without peep-showing the neighborhood, and raised a yellow blanket up in front of our faces to reflect the sun on us.
It's about -10 degrees outside; wind chill is between -25 and -40. (I still haven't left the house today and don't have a clue as to what that feels like, yet.)
But before we lifted the blanket up, L. said, "you wanna go to San Diego?" I said, "YES!" And then she lifted the blanket up, smiled, closed her eyes and said, "I'm on the beach! In San Diego!"
It was the best part of my morning, hands down.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Ocean
Today I saw a picture of a coast on a book cover - one of those perfect pictures, balanced between soft and sharp, crisp and foggy - and it looked just like the Marin Headlands, and I started to cry. I so desperately want to drive less than an hour and reach barren cliffs and cold ocean. And I want it today, and next week, and next month, and whenever I want it.
I really wonder sometimes if I can live so far from that.
I really wonder sometimes if I can live so far from that.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
To illustrate my point
Here is my car. There is a layer of ice inside the windows from respiration condensation. The jagged lines you see in the ice were my frantic attempt at using a broken ice scraper while still sitting in the driver's seat so I wouldn't hit anyone while backing up.The white stuff behind the car is, of course, a hill of snow.
Poor California car.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Maddening!
I realized on the way to the haircut appointment (study up on part 1 and part 2) that I'm the nutty one living in this environment. It all seems nutty to me, but really, I'm the one who just doesn't quite get it.
Case in point:
I was on my way today somewhere in the car. It was 3 degrees outside. I was early to my destination and needed to return a phone call, which I did in the car while waiting for the time to tick. (Irony: I was calling California.) I knew 15 minutes in a warm-ish car would be ok and that I wouldn't freeze. What happened, though, is that my respiration collected inside the car as condensation. And froze. All of my car windows are covered on the inside with a layer of ice. It's a real bitch. I now have to scrape the ice out from inside my car.
(If you don't live in a cold place: CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT? Eesh.)
I mean, it's got to be common sense for the locals. It never occurred to me to not breathe in my car in the winter while the heat isn't running. Just like it didn't occur to me that accidentally not locking the back door might cause pipes to burst.
While the title of this blog is "Those crazy Minnesotans!" I am quickly coming to admit that half or more of what I need to talk about here has to do with my total lack of intuition for all things northern.
It's so maddening! In social work talk, it's a paradigm shift.
Case in point:
I was on my way today somewhere in the car. It was 3 degrees outside. I was early to my destination and needed to return a phone call, which I did in the car while waiting for the time to tick. (Irony: I was calling California.) I knew 15 minutes in a warm-ish car would be ok and that I wouldn't freeze. What happened, though, is that my respiration collected inside the car as condensation. And froze. All of my car windows are covered on the inside with a layer of ice. It's a real bitch. I now have to scrape the ice out from inside my car.
(If you don't live in a cold place: CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT? Eesh.)
I mean, it's got to be common sense for the locals. It never occurred to me to not breathe in my car in the winter while the heat isn't running. Just like it didn't occur to me that accidentally not locking the back door might cause pipes to burst.
While the title of this blog is "Those crazy Minnesotans!" I am quickly coming to admit that half or more of what I need to talk about here has to do with my total lack of intuition for all things northern.
It's so maddening! In social work talk, it's a paradigm shift.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
This time, it's that crazy Californevadatexan!
This time, I was the crazy one in crazy Minnesota.
Short story to save myself from too much embarrassment: I didn't lock the back door. It blew open in the night. The kitchen froze. The basil plant and an orchid died from ice in its roots.
Poor basil.
The green thumb runs in my family and I usually can't kill a plant if I try. So, this is a major household loss, ya'll.
The pipes didn't freeze (which, I didn't even think about as a possibility, believe it or not) luckily.
I was thinking afterwards - after I'd re-heated the house by noon and partially gotten over my shame for being absentminded - about my porch in Oakland. The door was old and didn't shut well. Oftentimes it would blow open in the night. Even on the coldest of nights when it would get into the low 40s, it just didn't really matter. Because it was a balcony porch I didn't worry too much about being broken into.
Silly me, still thinking like a Californian.
Short story to save myself from too much embarrassment: I didn't lock the back door. It blew open in the night. The kitchen froze. The basil plant and an orchid died from ice in its roots.
Poor basil.
The green thumb runs in my family and I usually can't kill a plant if I try. So, this is a major household loss, ya'll.
The pipes didn't freeze (which, I didn't even think about as a possibility, believe it or not) luckily.
I was thinking afterwards - after I'd re-heated the house by noon and partially gotten over my shame for being absentminded - about my porch in Oakland. The door was old and didn't shut well. Oftentimes it would blow open in the night. Even on the coldest of nights when it would get into the low 40s, it just didn't really matter. Because it was a balcony porch I didn't worry too much about being broken into.
Silly me, still thinking like a Californian.
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