S'no Relief

I know. I know. It's all relative.

I went out for a bit yesterday and mounds of snow,

scooped to the curbs by plows, had patches 

and puddles of melted water 

seeping from beneath their massed bottoms.

That water froze overnight, turning my

tiny bit of the universe into a slip'n'slide.

Today's temperatures are 32 degrees colder

than average for this time in February.

My mind and body are preparing to swim

later this afternoon, but my skin is

protesting. In spite of my diligent efforts, 

the dry air whisks the moisture from my skin.

It itches. It itches.

Please, winter, go away.

Waiting for the Ice Storm

I finally crept out of my burrow this afternoon 

to go to the store for some milk, popcorn, and a cheap pizza, 

stuff intended to tide me over until tomorrow, 

when I'll make a more massive assault 

on my grocery budget. A lot of people had the same

notion because the lines at check-out showed

that pre-blizzard frenzy had set in.

For days, it's been miserably cold, with sub-zero

temps and wind chill forcing people, like me,

to dig deep into their larder, until all that was left

was a jar of sauerkraut and a tin of sardines.

The weather was not as cold and people came out

to go get their own provisions before the

icy rain started. Milk, bread, and stick-to-your ribs

goodies were the order of the day.

Then everyone went home to watch the 

football game, Colts vs Broncos.

Frosted Edges

The sun's out. Yippee. 

That's as far as it goes because there 

is a windchill warning for our area, 

in effect until tomorrow.

I don't like being cold, so remain

under my favorite blankie

until I absolutely need to go outside.

I want to go to swim practice

this evening, but with temps expected

to be the equivalent of  -20 F degrees

this evening, I don't want to be

stuck at the bus stop afterward, with no 

place to go if the bus is late. 

My coach had me swim for about 75

minutes last night, a slow, pokey 1800 meters.

 I was so happy to not be stuck swimming 

in circles and look forward to the next session. 

It took forever to get my feet warmed up 

when I got home, though, and I've just 

gotten over a cold. We'll see.

Studies in Cold and Gray

After enjoying a few days wafting with the friendly 

promise of Spring! we were greeted this morning by frigid 

gusts of air thirty degrees colder than they 

were yesterday. Unfortunately, I hadn't worn my warmest

coat, so stood miserably stoic at the bus stop, my nose

warmed by my own breath as it drifted among 

the deep folds of my neck scarf.

Only traces remain of the snow that held us 

in its thrall for weeks, but the island of cold air that 

swept in overnight make it seem as though those

traces of cold have settled permanently 

between my shoulder blades.

I may never stand straight again.

When It Was Pretty

Indy's first major snowfall of the year 

brought chilling temperatures the region 

hadn't encountered for many years, 

effectively closing down the city 

for all but essential services.

After the storm passed, there was some 

relief for the people of the community, then, 

a couple days ago, another wave 

of cold air swept into the area,

with wind chills of about -40 degrees.

Temperatures now are rising, creating the feeling

of a heat wave. Woo hoo! It's a torrid 16 degrees F

outside as I type this. While another snowfall is forecast 

for a couple days from now, I've missed 

my swimming sessions and will return 

to the pool later this afternoon.

For me, the cold has been an inconvenience

while for many others it has been a real

danger. So many have had their furnaces fail

while others have no furnace at all.

As I dress this afternoon, I will keep this in mind.

I am merely cold, while others are

literally freezing.

Too Cold

There's a wind chill warning over much of the country 

tonight, with temps expected to be the equivalent 

of -40 degrees F through early Wednesday. 

At 11:15 PM, the temperature is -2 degrees with 

wind temp of -20. While some people may 

scoff, this is unusual for us as most of us do not have

clothing appropriate for these conditions.

And I miss my swimming. I miss my coach and the

people who join me in the pool for our practice sessions

three or four times a week. My body has become 

accustomed to the exercise and needs to

be moving. Maybe Wednesday.

As police and other workers are patrolling 

the streets, looking for persons with stalled cars

and homeless people to get them to warm shelters,

I am fortunate to have my own warm apartment,

blankets, and food for myself, my cat, 

and my turtle and to only worry about missing
practices instead of lying in the cold streets. 

Murder

Earlier today, I stood on a spot near where I live.

The sun shown bright in a clear, blue sky as a 

strong wind blew snow across the landscape,

very much like sand across barren desert dunes.

Last winter, an entire section of townhomes was burned 

to the ground due to the carelessness of a tenant.

The remains were recently torn down, leaving

an empty scar in this poor neighborhood.

I've walked that stretch of the neighborhood 

too many times to count over the years and, 

seeing the chain link fence surrounding 

the site is disappointing, to say the least.

Most disheartening, though, was to know that 

on Wednesday night, a sixteen-year-old boy had been 

shot twice in the chest, and left to die in the dirty, 

frozen slush in the gutter across the street 

from the barren lot. Sayyid Abdul-Haqq was a

sophomore at Speedway High School. He took his 

schoolwork seriously and, when not in the

SHS library, could most often be found at the

town's library. His young nephew looked up to him,

saying he wanted to be like his uncle, to go to

school. Here was a boy with a goal, 

who inspired his family, but who met 

his death alone in the cold gutter.

He was on his way home from the store.

Given the weather, he was probably returning from 

the convenience store a couple blocks away.

This is a poor neighborhood, where people often 

have to juggle between which bills will be

paid - heat? Phone? Electric? Will there be money

for food? Gas for the car? If he went to the store

for milk, did the person who shot him see

he got change from a $10 bill?

Indeed, did he even have that much?

This is not a neighborhood of people who have

money, but one where a bit of small change

can seem like a windfall.

Nor is this a unique story, but it sure as hell

is new to Sayyid's family, whose hearts are broken.

The temperatures are dropping and it will be very cold

during the coming week, but right now

 the only colder place on Earth is the heart 

of whoever pulled the trigger.

***
Anyone with information related
to the murder of Sayyid Abdul-Haqq
can contact Crime Stoppers at 262-TIPS, 
or text INDYCS with their tip. 
You may also contact the 
Speedway Police Department 
directly at 246-4300. 
All information will remain anonymous.

Snow in Her Bedroom

I hate being cold. 

I grew up in a house that was never warm in winter. 

At night, I huddled under a blanket, 

waiting for my body heat to warm my little cocoon. 

In the mornings, I dreaded getting up for school because

there was that run between the cold air in my

bedroom to the aura of heat radiating from the coal

stove downstairs in our dining room.

School, the site of other tortures, was still a haven

from the cold. I shivered my way to school where 

I experienced warmth that was, at times, 

almost suffocating. My goal in life has never been to 

be famous or successful in the most commonly 

recognized meanings of the word; 

I've only wanted to be warm in winter.

On the edge of the recent cold wave, I was on my way 

to the Circle Theatre, huddled in my own misery,

when I was brought up short by the sight of a person 

curled up just a few feet away, asleep beneath a tan comforter.

I was afraid. Should I try to wake her, to see

whether she was OK, or leave her to sleep, without

bringing her into the reality of the cold -

the cold air, the cold concrete, the cold bricks?

Police were nearby, virtually always aware of the stress

around them, so I went on, ashamed of my fear.

I went back the next day and found the woman's pillow 

and the blanket on which she slept covered with snow. 

She had gone, but her possessions, the furnishings

that made up her sidewalk home, were piled nearby.

She expected to return. 

As I write this, the temperatures are again 

plummeting into the single digits and below zero. 

While I try to make sure I will be warm, 

there are so many who are not.

And, damn, I do not know how to end this,

just as I do not know how to fix 

the problem of homelessness.

Warm Notes in the Frigid Air

The young woman in the silver gown is Jennifer Christen, 

principal oboist with the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra. 

Last night was her night in the spotlight, as soloist for Mozart's 

Concerto in C Major for Oboe and Orchestra, 

K. 285d (314). She performed beautifully, 

the notes rising and falling through the night air, distracting 

the audience away from the cold breezes they would 

face as they returned to their homes later that evening.

In the video below, she is giving a short explanation

about the preparation of reeds for her oboe and,

in the process, plays a few bars of the Mozart piece

she performed Friday night.  

Last night, I joined the ISO's Assistant Principal Percussionist,

Craig Hetrick, to promote upcoming ISO concerts 

and community activities. Among the people who stopped

to chat was a woman and her three daughters, 

one of whom plays oboe. The mother talked with Mr. Hetrick

about wanting to find suitable instruments to accommodate

her daughter's talent as her skills improved and grew.

She is now in sixth grade and her present oboe cost about

$3 thousand. One of the things I enjoy about these

evenings is the musicians coming out to meet the people

for whom they play. Overall, those I've met

have been intelligent, funny, and kind people,

just the sort one would want as friends. I saw the young

oboist later, who said she was going to talk

with Ms. Christen about lessons.

It seemed so cool to me that a twelve-year-old girl 

would easily have the opportunity to speak with

a professional about her future.

Right there in the lobby of the Hilbert Circle Theatre, 

on a cold night, over cups of hot cocoa.

One in jeans and the other in a silver gown.

Lethal Beauty

This is when I like winter, when the sun shines 

on the trees, melting globs of snow that 

then freeze into crystalline sparks of light 

on the branches.

People began to emerge from their cocoons this morning, 

to start cars that merely groaned and whined

instead of purring from the pleasure of being started.

One neighbor needs to thaw his poor car;

standing humbled and shrunken in a drift of snow

it had no shelter or barrier from the frozen air.

Why is it we expect a machine to perform

whenever asked, without realizing it, too,

needs some consideration for the way its bits

react to the elements? Shoot, I've neither seen

nor heard a bird in three days. I expect

they are perched beneath the snow-laden

branches of fir trees or building eaves,

their feathers fluffed up against the cold.

Sort of like me, except I will need to go

to the store fairly soon for some seeds 

for myself  and my little family

(my cat and my turtle).

Textured Tuesday: Icy Grass

The time spent outdoors on Monday, my eyes felt as though 

they'd retreated into their sockets. I walked quickly as I could through 

the cold air, darting from one warm spot to another.

My camera was in my pocket, and remained there because

my focus had turned inward, away from the cold,

to search for a spot out of the wind to wait for the bus,

a corner in the coffee shop where I could read in peace,

and remain warm. The best place I found Monday evening

was in the swimming pool, with a hot shower afterward.

I left my books in my bag during that time.

Autumn? Gone. Waiting for the Solstice.

Somewhere, just beyond the bend in the road, the bus should 

be approaching that will take me towards home.

It had rained all night, bringing huge clouds that blocked the sun's rays,

leaving the day cold. Even the sunshine that sneaked through

the cracks in the overcast seemed pale from chill.

A few days ago, a big tree across the street was adorned

with golden yellow leaves, then it rained, leaving

the tree black with its nikkidness, its branches twisted

in supplication as it asks for the return of its leaves.

For now, though, we have to tolerate the dark, waiting for the

days when the sun begins to return to our hemisphere,

bathing us in warmth and light.

Looking for the Warm

I went out today to buy some art supplies. 

After one merchant elected to go out of business last year 

when he retired, there is only one other local store 

where one can go to buy paint, canvas, paper and all the other

wonderful items related to artistic pursuits.

The store itself is an island full of things that someone

like me can explore for hours, but I don't intend to ever return.

I hated going there because it is located in an inconvenient

corner of a congested shopping area. In fact, there was

an automobile accident at the entrance just a few

minutes after I'd left; about a half dozen police cars

swarmed to the scene where a pick-up truck T-boned an SUV.

Spring is slowly edging its way into the area.

It was gray all day, though the sun did manage to peep

around the clouds for a brief moment this afternoon.

These metal flamingos adorn a local store's window,

teasing us with the promise of better weather in a few weeks,

even as snowflakes swirled and darted on the chilly breezes.

Downtown, 7:45 a.m.

Wednesday morning, I left for my part-time job, to work on 

an assignment that may carry me into June.

June seemed to be a polar continent away though,

when I left the home before 6 a.m. to catch

the bus at a stop about a half mile away.

The cold, dry air had no competition from the sun.

Many people stood, shivering, waiting for that moving

zone of warmth, the city bus.

Cold Beauty

Today, the chromed display racks, lined up inside a store

 at the shopping center, looked warmer than I felt. The day started out

with only a blue swash of sky showing through cold gray clouds.

A stiff breeze pushed the cloud cover away, and the late afternoon

was left with streaks of pink and purple against the blue.

Beautiful, just beautiful, but bone-chilling cold. Frost bite cold.

I dragged my groceries and new tea kettle home, then promptly planted

myself on the couch with a blanket over my feet; it's now

midnight and my feet are still cold. I am going to bed to read

and get warm. Some time in March.

What I was watching tonight.