snow showers

You kind of expect it here in November – that wet, miserable dump of rain mixed with snow. But somehow, last year’s winter left everyone weakened. And so today, we complain. Seen what’s going on outside? Awful stuff…

I watch a flock of blackbirds raid the fields just at the edge of the city. Do you think birds even notice when it snows?



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I’m warning you: between now and May 1st, the weather will creep into the Ocean blog in the same way that the news will be filled with Obama trivia. It’s what you do when you live through difficult days: for six months out of the year, you spend a lot of time talking about the weather. And, for balance, the White House pooch. To perk things up a bit until spring's here again.

today

A day of work.

And not only. There was the coffee break. And the time spent on helping a friend make sense of his court transcripts.

And the time when I looked out my office window and saw the sun do its thing.



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And the big grin I got from looking at these post election cartoons...

A day of work is not necessarily a bad thing. Ask our president-elect.

speech

The road ahead will be long, our climb will be steep…
[Barack Obama, President-Elect]





So why are these two women not wearing helmets? Admittedly, it’s great weather once again and shorts are all part of the gig, but your head needs protection. One out of three with helmet is not good enough. One out of three does not win races. That’s my speech to the women I passed today (I was on a motorbike with Ed; we were heading back to last nights’ election hosts so that I could retrieve the vehicle I had driven there.)


I listen to the analysis of Obama’s acceptance speech. When was the last time that I listened carefully to acceptance speeches?

The morning after feels very good indeed.

election!

I woke up and thought – election!

But, it was only 4 and the polls were not yet open.

I went back to sleep.

By 6 a.m. I’m up again. Still too early to vote. I prepare for class and talk elections with various persons by phone. Including with someone who is hiding in England, waiting for this to be over. I feed her some horror scenarios, just to keep her on the toes and awake for the night ahead.


I don’t expect long lines at my polling place. Not at the time that I vote (after 9). It’s mostly seniors. The young working people (and students) are gone. Working.

Oh oh. My bike has a flat. No time to change it. I need to vote and get to class. I borrow a car.

At the polling place, the ones handing out ballots cannot spell my name even though I repeat it slowly six times. Then they can’t find my name at all. Even though I have already voted here once. Thankfully we can register on the day of elections. So I register AGAIN and wonder if next year there will be TWO Nina Camics on the log.







I vote, but not with one straight arrow – along my party line. That’s too fast. I need to savor the pleasure of connecting the arrow for my candidate.

I’m done.







On campus, it is a day of such exuberance! Of course. We are experiencing record highs. Temperature-wise (record breaking). Election-wise.









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I get stickers slapped onto my shirt saying that I voted. I wear them happily – it is the unison of us voters that creates a winner. One act of voting doesn’t do it, but united in our voting effort we produce a winner. And so it is this moment of recognizing that our solitary act of casting a vote isn’t so solitary after all, we all did it, we with stickers saying so – I voted! – that gives the pleasure of accomplishing something as a group – of campus people, Madison people, Wisconsin people, Americans.



















(No, I see no McCain supporters openly pushing their team today. Naderites - yes, though I found them to be, well, not really photogenic.)


I settle in for a long coffee and work my way through the rest of the afternoon until it’s time for class.

After, I hurry home, pick up some champagne and head over to the Sad Libs – a group with which I watched elections four years ago.


Today, young and old, we were on the hopeful end of things.




Not so sad right now. Hopeful and proud.

transition

An early morning ride on the Red Line, from Cambridge to Boston, then onto the Gray Line from South Station to the airport.

I always toy with the idea of taking my camera out one last time as we cross the Charles River. River crossings are invariably pretty. But usually I don’t bother. River crossings on a subway with dirty windows, zipping alongside a highway, facing the uninteresting part of Boston are not worth it.

Today, however, I just want to take a photo already and put the camera away. I’m tired. I have long layovers between flights. And I have work to do. Take the photo and be done with it.

And I do that. And, as expected, it is an unremarkable photo.





Except that as I take it, an older woman across the car leans over and tells me – you captured a good one. I’m about to protest and say that it is a boring side of Boston and the window is dirty and there is nothing that needs to be said about this place, this day, this minute, but as I look at the woman more closely, I think – wow. She is someone who knows how to engage her world. She does not run and hide.

And so I smile and shrug all at the same time and I agree that the colors are neat, what with autumn and the sleet gray of the day. As I leave the subway several stops later, I want to say something more to her. An offhand remark maybe. Like – don’t forget to vote! But in the end I don't say anything. She’s the last person I would want to insult with the suggestion that she may, indeed, forget to vote.

I get off and proceed to the next train and then the many flights home and I do work and put away my suitcase and eventually sit down and think about how cool it is when in the course of a day you come across someone who says something nice to you for no reason except to acknowledge our common humanity.

I hope she does vote. Somehow I think she’s likely to pick the better candidate out there. The one who is more likely to act out of a belief in our common humanity.

I wish I had at least waved before stepping out onto the platform.

new england

What do you do with an extra hour? Save it? Ignore it? Sleep it away?

We’re in Woodstock, Vermont. I look at my travel clock and mentally push it forward, because I’m out east, then push it back, because of the time change. So it is as I had it two days ago.

It’s early. Before sunrise. A good time to go out hiking, no? To watch the sun come up over the mountains, see the village wake up…

I set out.

How did it get so cold so quickly?

There’s a small mountain behind the b&b. I think the Rockefellers bought it and donated it to the National Forest Service. Surely there must be a path up to the top?

There is. As I climb, the sun pushes up over the mountain crest. Good morning, sun. It climbs, I climb. We are in step with each other.



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At the summit of my small mountain, I am handed a view. Hoarfrost has spread over the valley.


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And now I want to share it. Why didn’t I wake my daughter for this? I turn around and prance down. But not so quickly as to miss these:



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Yesterday, at a local shop, the seller told me that there were few deer around these years. Really? Do I have a scent that attracts deer? I see them all the time outside Madison. I saw them on the Civil War battlefields of Virginia. And now here, on the small mountain behind my Vermont inn.

And they’re not easily spooked. I inch closer with my camera. They look up, listen to the click of my Sony and go back to grazing. Until finally one takes flight…



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… and the other eventually follows.. Looking back one more time, to see if my camera will again make that clicky sound. It does.



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And now the forest is quiet again.



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At the b&b, our British hosts serve us porridge, and eggs with roasted tomatoes.











Why are they here, in Woodstock, running an inn?
We were both in book publishing in London and several years ago, we decided to try something new.

(This is the b&b on the outside, but it’s the whimsy, the satire inside that makes it so completely charming as to place it among the beloved.)





Book publishing, book writing, inn keeping – why the overlap? In Brooklyn, our b&b hosts were also book and media people.

Should I open an inn? Where? (A purely hypothetical question. No resources to spiff up anything anywhere.)

My daughter and I set out up the mountain. No deer now, in the bright sun of daylight. But it's still so pretty!



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And now it’s time to head back. The car is due by 2:25, or else I’ll be charged another day for it. We barely make it.


In Cambridge, I walk to the grocery store. The distant one. I take the long way, by the Charles River. A man sits on the bridge looking sort of lonely up there.



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I’m really feeling the cold air now. On the way back, the branches of basil in my bag wilt in the frost. I know, it’s to be expected. It’s November.

Tomorrow I head back home. Where the deer and the antelope play… More like deer and prairie dogs.

new england

Leaving Cambridge (MA) this week-end means saying so long to the colors of ivy and maple.



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Going north. I'm looking good and hard at this part of the country. I remember it. My first American winter escapes. I have plenty of childhood memories of New England. It's a mixed bag. I'm more than happy to make substitutions and changes so that my final take on this places comes off as a positive.




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As we cross from Massachusetts to New Hampshire to Vermont, we lose the leaves. The air gets colder too. We stop for a cup of coffee and comment on the chill. They’re making snow at nearby Killington tonight.

Killington. I skied there thirty five years ago! I remember the week-end: I briefly contemplated downhill racing then (my ambitions were often out of line with my skills). I was fast! And afterwards, I kissed a man with complete infatuation and abandon. Even though we never really exchanged more than a dozen words. He was from Canada, I was from New York and I never saw him again after. We truly had nothing in common.


My daughter and I pass the village of Quechee, Vermont. We’ll be back here for dinner. Right here, in this room hanging over the river and the dam. Right next to the covered bridge.



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The sun is pretty much done with the day by the time we get to Woodstock, our place for the night.



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That’s okay. We’re tired from the drive. We stop at the Woodstocker, an inn just off the road.



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It’s a good time to be here. Off season. The stars outside are just as dense now. More so, I should think.

I pick up a bottle of Vermont wine for later at the butcher’s. Vermont wine. With a cow on the label. Weird confluence of symbols, no? Life’s funny.

new england

Can you tell what's down there?



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Boston. I'm following the steps of my younger daughter who lives here. For now.

Late, I walk through her campus, liking the leaves and light that hit her law buildings, in much the same way that I like it when the sun hits the trees outside my own law school office.



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New England. It conjures up a wealth of pretty images.

And food wise? Oh, it's good. I hear on the news that lobster prices are at a twenty year low. Sad for the fishermen. They're hoping that at least people will buy what's brought to shore. We help by eating lobster rolls for dinner.





And we retire. In anticipation of tomorrow’s journey north.

the last ride

Surely I do not need to check the air pressure on my bike tires anymore. It’s the tail end of October. Next week is November. I’m not happy on the bike when it’s cold. The wind cuts through everything. The lake path is murderous. At that point, I prefer the bus.

And yet, this morning, I check the air. Low. I pump it up to 125 where it belongs. And I set out. It may be the last time this year. The last time under this administration. The last time before Spring.

I zip by the playing fields. Onto the lakeshore path. Past the plaid coated figure. So Fall.



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...and past the morning emptiness of the Union Terrace.



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On Bascom Mall – pumpkins. Hi, jack-o-lanterns.



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And then, toward evening, it is the reverse. Bye, jack-o-lanterns. And pink toned sky over the Capitol.



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I pass bikers coming back from band practice. I pass the barns and silos next to our agricultural school.



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Warm. I’m warm. Amazing. Sun’s gone, it’s the end of October and I have to unbutton my coat.


At home, I lock up my bike, thinking that I may not touch it again until 09. Weird, isn’t it?

for hire?

I thought of posting this ad on Craig’s list:

Wanted, part time job.
Qualifications: various.

I am motivated and hardworking. Unfortunately, I already have a full time job and oftentimes I don’t get home until after 7 p.m., so I am available only in the evenings before I fall asleep, or on week-ends (unless I am away – like this coming week-end and several others in the near future). Actually, come to think of it, between work, writing, photos and blogging, and being away, I guess I don’t have a huge amount of time for an additional job, but what time I have to give will be quality time.

I don’t mind boring work, so long as it’s well-paid.
I would like to earn at least $25 per hour – in my head that translates into $100 in four hours, which is pretty cool.

I like children, so long as they don’t have some contagious bug. Children like me, too, which does not mean I am immature, only that I find most kids engaging. We get along.

I can teach languages if you need to learn languages. I realize no one in this country wants to or needs to learn languages, but still, you may consider it, just for the heck of it.

Please send me an email if you think I am qualified to do whatever in the next several weeks.


What do you think?

Are you suggesting that I should do the search rather than just post and wait for attention? Oh, but I did!

The best ad that I came across asked for someone to come and be intelligent around her 12 year old son while she was away on a business trip. $25 per hour. Pay non-negotiable, the ad read. Wow. The pay seemed pretty high to me. I surely could at least fake great wisdom for that amount! But, somehow, I felt the ad was strange.

Almost as strange as the ad I put up on match.com a little more than three years back in which I said I wanted to meet someone who was brilliant at what he does (and I placed no limits on what kind of activities that someone could be engaged in). Ed responded to that one. Amused. At once putting forth the disclaimer that he was not such a person (we’ve argued over that, with me taking positions on both sides, depending on the issue), but still wishing to congratulate me on not simply wanting to walk on beaches at sunset or to eat all dinners by candlelight. Never mind that he himself likes to exist in perpetual dimness and would not mind if lights were off for most everything except reading. And he likes beaches. Though not for reasons of romance.

Ed and I became great pals. Occasional traveling companions even. So perhaps I should be more open minded about the ad on Craig’s list asking for intelligence.

Or, to the ad wanting to hire a chocolate seller at Fannie May. I mean, no one likes the name these days, but their chocolates are alright. Even though I would have to wear a bonnet and what’s the point of getting my hair done if it then has to be concealed by a bonnet.

Yes. There you have it. I decided to visit Jason one more time. Tonight. Hence the search for additional employment. You need to pay as you go in our new economy. I get it already.

A photo for today? How about this, the first that I took with my new camera. Out on the balcony. I wont take it further than that. Too scared of dropping it. I’m titling the photo “still, life.”



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trivial pursuits

If occasionally you can distract yourself with something completely inconsequential, do so. It’s so refreshing to indulge in (one’s own) stupidity.

Today, for example, in between classes, I thought about hair. I began to think that perhaps I should tighten my belt around my scalp. I believe Jason, my hair man, is as talented as they come. But talent is expensive.

So, cut it less? Touch it up not at all? Maybe. If no one in the world cares about the color/length of your hair, why should you?

In the afternoon, between classes, I looked around me. People have interesting hair.




curly hair in café





60s hair on State Street





very blond hair on Bascom Mall




I have to say, it was a cold day. So that very many people, even student type people, covered their scalp. This is odd, given that so many insist on staying with the short pants. I suppose one does lose heat more front the head than from the shins. Still...



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