To avoid hypothermia

It is officially cold outside. Last night the temperature hit the thirties. Today it is slightly above 60. I am officially freezing. As I have aged I have noticed distinct leanings toward low body temperature, or at least the inner certainty that I am slowly, as November creeps nearer, becoming a block of ice, only to be thawed out somewhere in late May.

This conclusion has now been reached, and along with it comes a considerable number of possible solutions to the permafrost that is slowly consuming me. For instance, I can simply turn up the heat in my house. This is deceptively simple, as my husband has now discovered his inner core of estrogen, and is too warm most of the time. Every time he walks past the thermostat he turns it down a couple of degrees. Actually this serves a dual purpose for him, as he also is what you might call thrifty.

This is the other problem with trying to depend on the furnace. It means depending on a reliable supply of heating oil, at approximately $4 per gallon. Our oil tank holds 250 gallons. That comes to $1,000 per fill. When I do the calculations, I also come to the conclusion that the thermostat needs to be turned down, maybe even off.

That leads me to the second option. Staying in bed. Last night I added a second blanket to the pile of heat-retaining covers that grace my bed. Should someone come looking for me late at night, I guarantee they would have a problem finding me among the layers of flannel and feathers. You would never know that in my daily life I am quite claustrophobic, as my nighttime regimen involves burying everything from the nose down. Staying under this batch of insulation is lovely, except for one thing. No, two things: I have to eat, and I have needs that take me to the family restroom. Neither is close by to the warmth of my bedclothes.

The third answer to my dilemma comes in the form of a sturdy old wood stove that sits in my living room fireplace. It cranks out an amazing level of heat, but takes maintenance and wood. The wood is kept outside; the stove in inside. Do you see a problem developing here? Once I have frozen all of my extremities during the trip to the woodpile, I can finally light the stove and curl up in a close-by chair, wrapped in yet another blanket and clutching a good book. All is well with the world until the inevitable calls of the wild show up - woodpile, kitchen or bathroom?

The necessary trips to the kitchen or bath bring me to the realization that I cannot carry twenty pounds or more of blanket along with me. Therefore, option number four. The exact moment that the calendar says October I happily bring out my collection of turtlenecks and sweaters. The bottom half of my anatomy is clad in jeans of various types all year, so I remain  fairly comfortable up to the waist. The top half of me, however, is sorely in need of extra padding come late fall, so the turtleneck supply must be accessed.

Even the pile of turtlenecks and matching sweaters is not enough, sometimes, to counteract the icy temperatures of Thanksgiving through Easter, so the final solution has to rear its ugly head. I have thence chosen to share my secret with the world of blog readers. I wear long underwear.

It's ugly, it fits funny, and I sincerely hope I don't get into an accident so emergency room personnel will bear witness to my choice of fashion. It does, however, keep me warm. Inside, outside, getting wood, getting groceries. Everywhere I am invited I can show up unchilled and not in need of a quick thaw. No matter what the fashion police and Joan Rivers have to say about my choices, I will be cozy and comfortable instead of goose-bumped and shivering. Come on, winter, do your worst. I'm ready!

By the way, don't be surprised if you come to visit and find me wearing my extra layers, curled up next to the wood stove, and wrapped in a blanket. The only time I will complain about being too warm is in August.

On Writer's Block

It's been a little more than a week since I announced to the universe that I was going to try to write something here every week. My intentions were good, but my will power is in crummy shape. I am blaming it on what we folks in the business like to call writers' block.

As is the case with any creative project that involves a piece of paper (or a computer screen), the sight of one of these blank areas is guaranteed to induce brain-freezing terror in the individual responsible for bringing it's planned contents to life. Just coming up with the first word is a panic-producing moment, especially if you have a tendency toward perfectionism. Let's see, should I start with "The" or "Those" or even "What?" Maybe "Where" or "When" would be more appropriate.

That seemed daunting until I realized that I had no idea at all what I used as the first word in this little piece. I could have started off with "Lightning" and I would have just as easily have forgotten it. That, of course, means I have to find a word with such power and presence that I couldn't possibly forget it. Maybe something unexpected like "Maudlin" or "Execrable." Even a shocker like "Death-defying" or "Oozing" might work. The problem inherent in those is figuring out what on earth to follow them with.

I keep being told by experts (in print, of course) that I should simply start writing about anything and the prose would start to flow naturally, creating a memorable piece with little effort after the first sentence. If I were to write something like that, the first word would absolutely have to be "Bull****."

I am also told that writers' block has little to do with the piece being written, but has much to do with the general well-being of the author. That may hold a bit of water, as I find when I have too much time on my hands I get stuck between projects, unable to move much on any of them. I have some crocheting to finish. There is a half-finished painting sitting on my easel. The vacuum cleaner has been plugged in to the dining room wall socket for about a week, and the spider web still sits in the corner of a close-by window. The hope is that by writing this little ditty, I can kick my behind into gear to get moving on the rest of my endeavors.

I'll let you know if that works. Right now I am doing something decisive. I'm going to bed. See you next week!

Has someone forgotten it's October?

It's my favorite time of year, when the leaves are turning to brilliant shades of red, orange and yellow, the air has a cool snap to it, and the frost is on the pumpkins. Now I must qualify that statement. It is fall, which I love, but it's currently in the 80's, the leaves aren't doing a doggone thing, and the only item in the air is record levels of fall pollen and mold. I have a cough that sounds like it's coming from a rhinoceros, and it is accompanied by a constant runny nose and the occasional bout of uncontrollable sneezing. What has happened to October?

By the time Halloween rolls around, I fully expect too see trick-or treaters dressed as California beach bums, carrying their surfboards and wearing the latest in swimwear. No heavy Darth Vader costumes this year; it's way too warm. As for the obligatory pumpkins, many of them were decimated by the monsoon season we had during late August and early September. We had over 23 inches of rain, and pumpkins do not float well.

Any blooms that remain on my personal pumpkin vine are now being eaten by an extra-hungry woodchuck. He took up residence in my yard last year, and I never get to see him at a time when I can run out and scare him away from the blossoms. The result?  I have one fake pumpkin to put on my porch this year, and it killed me to spend $15 on the dumb thing. The woodchuck will someday go into hibernation for the winter, but it is not happening any time soon.  A thermometer that says 81 degrees does not signal "Time for snuggling up and sleeping." Rather it tells me, and evidently the local vermin, that it's time for a protracted last hurrah at the expense of my gardens.

At the expense of my physical comfort, there is a bumper crop of mosquitoes this fall, another leftover from the monsoons. One trip to the recycling bin (about ten feet from the back door) and I return to the house trailing a line of buzzing buddies, and sporting a minimum of a half-dozen itchy welts.

I recently got within a couple of feet of an extremely brazen rabbit, who looked at me carefully for a full minute, then ate a petunia. I admit it made me laugh, which only, I am sure, encouraged him further. Next it will be the zinnias. Oh, and speaking of zinnias, the combination of the rain, heat, and now unrelenting sunshine has created a monster in my zinnia patch. I have some sort of zinnia-beast which has grown to a height of about seven feet, and is hiding my beautiful new blue spruce from the passers-by. I am sure the radioactive spiders are next.

All I have to say is that when the month of October arrives, I am ready to stock the wood pile, rake up leaves, bring out the blankets, and get my stock of houseplants in off of my deck. Instead, this year, the houseplants will be enjoying the great outdoors for a while longer, growing more blooms and housing plenty of spiders. The blankets are still in the closet. I am resetting the air conditioning and wearing shorts. 

Why we have a city of animals

I'm glad I don't live in inner city Philadelphia. It's a beautiful place, but right now it's in big trouble. The level of violence, particularly shootings, is skyrocketing. In the last week, there have been eleven people shot in different parts of the city, including a two-year-old and a ten-year-old, and their 58-year-old grandmother. Those three were shot because some girls had a fight over a boy. The baby is still in the hospital, and still critical. The others have survived (some did not in other shootings), but at what cost?

I'm sure that lots of people in city government are having long conversations about the complex reasons why this is happening, but I can tell them one good solid way to stop it from continuing:

Put more effort into your schools, and do everything you can to lower the drop-out rate!


Philadelphia schools have had a drop-out rate of close to 50% for a long, long time, and the unemployment rate of young people who have dropped out is astronomical. When teens have no knowledge to use toward bettering their lives, and no income, the result is a desperate race to get what they can through any means possible. This includes stealing, dealing, and shooting people. When young males have no education to give them a sense of self-worth, they may decide that having a gun will make them feel powerful, manly. Using that gun becomes far too easy when there is no knowledge of other paths to manliness.

Having said that, the rate of pregnancies in the poorly-educated groups of teens is always high, as another way the boys in the crowd can feel like men is to be a father. Again, with no education to give them the knowledge of the responsibilities that fatherhood brings, they soon become absentee fathers, unsupporting mates, and at best poor role models. This can all be avoided, or at least diminished, when quality education is demanded for these children.

Philadelphia recently got taken to the cleaners by a woman who was charged with fixing whatever was wrong in the district's schools. She did, by most accounts, a terrible job. It cost the taxpayers nearly a million dollars to get rid of her, a million dollars that could have purchased books, art supplies, musical instruments, and more than a few teachers' salaries. I sincerely hope that an audit will be done of the district, so that whoever agreed to her hiring and then paying-off will be held accountable. Meanwhile, our school buildings are old and crumbling, there are no books in some classrooms, and teachers are afraid for their safety.

By the way, our new governor cut a huge amount from the money allocated for city schools, as well as slashing funds for state colleges. I can't help but feel like nobody gets it.

Gets what? The connection between successful education, for a minimum of 12 years, and an adult population that is able to find work, take care of themselves and their families, and who feel the need to be good citizens. When that education is lacking to the level it is in many inner city environments, we end up with a population of feral teens and young adults, existing on poor interpretations of animal instinct. If no one ever teaches peace, our only choices are different levels of war.

Please, Philadelphia, treat your children like your most important resource. Make sure they stay in school, and make absolutely sure that your schools are worth attending. It's very nice that we have a fifty-foot Claus Oldenburg paint brush statue on our Avenue of the Arts, but I'd rather see pencils and books and art supplies for the city's under served and under educated kids.