Day: January 11, 2011

Getting ready for the storm in Bedlam. Our own severe weather warning –

1. Took Rose for a long walk up the hill. Took the Ipod. To the discomfort of some neighbors, and sometimes, to her, I sang “Lost In The World”

by Kanye West as we walked, my new theme song. Mostly, Rose ignored me. Nothing I do really surprises her anymore:

“I’m up in the woods, I’m down on my mind

I’m building a still,

To slow down time

I’m lost in the world

I’m new in the city,

And I’m down for the night

Down for the night

Said she’s down for the night.”

2. Put hay in the barn, in preparation for the donkeys going in tomorrow, when the story is at its windy height.

3. Obsessed on the colorful moving weather map, moving in real time across the country, as shown on my Ipad. Had to turn it off after the 50th or so time. I was no longer sure if it was moving or not.

4. Drove Maria to her yoga class. Walked around Glens Falls. Went to an At&T store to see what people were buying.Lots of talk about Iphones, data plans (another new term to enter the lexicon.)

5. Went to Hannaford’s Supermarket. Bought Paul Newman microwave popcorn, Progresso Tomato Basic and Vegetable soup (wonderous storm nourishment), Clementines and Pomegranate Tea. And an onion. Picked her up and drove home.

6. Checked the water to the barn. Animals come first. Put out candles, always in highwind storms.

7. Put the truck in one of the barns. Maria moved her cow out of the way of the estimable plowman Chris Barrett, who called to say he was coming. He always comes. Paused to read an Inspector Rutledge mystery, dark and evocative. Storm reading, if it comes to that.

8. Walked the dogs down the path in the dark. They won’t be moving around much tomorrow.

9. Put a fresh battery in the Canon. Plotted some photos. Got out the right lenses. Took out my storm boots.

10.Fed Buddy, my solitary tropical fish and writing companion, a Beta. Cuddled with Lenore, then Frieda.

11. Put some extra food out in the barn for the barn cats.

12. Put out shovels, brushes for the cars.

13. Gave the donkeys some grain.

14. Drank some wine with Maria.

15. Brought in extra firewood for the wood stove.

We are ready. Time for bed. Bedlam Storm Center Advice: Go out. Drink Hot Chocolate. Eat popcorn. Drink wine. Sing songs. Listen to the sweet and soothing silence of the snow whispering as it falls to the ground.

Maria is working on the second of her “Rita” series quilts, this one aptly called “Rita Howling At The Moon.” These story quilts, starting with “Apron of Silence,” are creating a bit of buzz for my former girlfriend. I haven’t seen themed or story quilts before, although I’m sure they exist. This one now under construction, says a lot. I love the dog and the moon.

Here is a report from the new Bedlam Storm Center: A big and beautiful storm is rushing towards the East Coast.  Take off from work. Take off from school. Go outside and walk in it. Take a photo.  Play with your dogs. Snuggle in bed with your lover while the wind blows. Eat by candlelight. Read some books. Drink wine and talk into the night. Text your mother. We will keep you posted on all the beautiful sounds, sights and opportunities a storm presents. Oh, yeah and go out and get some popcorn.

Rose and I went for our walk this afternoon, and she ran up ahead and stopped at this birds nest that had fallen out of a tree and onto the road. I picked it up – carefully – and brought it back to Maria. I can’t imagine giving her a gift she will love more.

Another storm headed our way. Storm Center, a great metaphor for our times, is sending out warnings and alerts. Stay inside. Stay warm. Don’t travel. Don’t drive. My neighbor Carr the farmer came by in his truck.

“Hey, Carr. Did you hear the weather?

He looks up at the sky.

“Nope.”

“They say it’s going to snow tomorrow.”

“That so?”

“Yup. Storm warning.”

Yessir, he said. Tends to do that in January.

I don’t think Carr listens to Storm Center.

In our life, the information culture makes itself useful  not by informing or educating us, but by warning and alarming us. All of life, it seems, is a warming to be discovered or delivered. It would be nice if there was a a Life Center, issuing warnings and alerts like this: “Hey, great news. It will snow tonight and tomorrow, and be incredibly beautiful in the morning, and great for walks, games and beautiful scenes. And lucky kids will get off of school and lucky people will get off of work.”