Here in New England we have decided to skip winter
Unlike the folks I have overheard at the café/bus stop/grocery check-out/Laundromat, I do not believe that the balmy winter we are enjoying here in New England is proof that global warming is going to fry us all to a crisp by March. I do believe that our planet is getting toastier faster than is should, but this winter I'm givin' global warming credit for one degree, tops. The remaining 19 degrees above average is thanks to what they say is a mild El Nino. Mild, my foot.
Despite my confidence in that we will not all evaporate by early spring, I still find myself slightly unnerved by the warm sun beaming through my window. And without realizing it, I seem to have compiled a mental list of things that are really surreal and really scary to see in January in Connecticut:
1. Tulip bulbs poking up above bright green ivy at the Medical School.
2. Runners in shorts and tank tops. At 6:30 in the morning.
3. A line out the door at Ciao Bella, our local gelato happy place.
4. A traffic jam on I-95N at the Hammonaset State Park exit. That the exit for the beach.
5. Morbidly obese squirrels gorging themselves on an ample supply of acorns left uncovered by the absence of snow and ice.
6. Me, wearing flip flops, sitting outside at a picnic bench at Paul’s Hamburgers enjoying a milkshake. (Well, this is more surreal/yummy than surreal/scary.)
Now for the Californians in the audience, I should explain that it isn’t, like, 85 degrees outside. The mercury topped out at 65F on Saturday. Most days are in the mid-50’s, nights in the mid-30’s – temperatures that have Bay Area residents running for their capilene. But this is New England! This is the time of slush-clogged gutters, black ice on the sidewalks and $200 gas bills. Oh yeah:
7. December bill from Southern Connecticut Gas: $65.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaah!
In other news...
I am finding it very difficult not to clean everything in my apartment. This is probably not the worst vice to wrestle with, I could be caught up by internet gambling or compulsive hand washing, but as a time sucking distraction from The Task At Hand, it is just as effective.
My bedroom is immaculate, my laundry is done and two large bags of clothes have been dropped at Goodwill. After a year of furtive glances at its teetering height, I have finally recycled the towering stack of graded but never retrieved term papers and lab reports saved from four semesters of teaching. I was saving them ‘just in case.’ In case of what? In case that pre-med finally materializes who sent me three panicked e-mails asking when she could get her paper back? The one who stopped caring entirely and never came by paper pick-up office hours once she found out she’d gotten an A in the class? Well I’ll show her!!
In addition to tackling long-delayed clutter reduction campaigns, I have become a master bucket food chef, with glorious tuppers of chicken curry, spicy corn chowder and porcini risotto making the menu since I returned from winter break.
I am clean, organized and well-fed. Now I just need to turn off NPR, stop staring out the window at the fat squirrels on my porch, and write. My Thesis, that is. In Capitals. Like in Winnie the Pooh.
So as to avoid being overly self-critical, an accusation frequently leveled at me by just about everyone, I should mention some moderate successes. I have managed to write the outline for My Thesis and I grudgingly held a meeting with my advisor to discuss (read: listen to him hold forth about) this outline. And as of noon today I have secured approval of the content and structure of this outline from two thirds of my thesis committee members . The last third is gallivanting about in Europe giving speeches on Salmonella and is ignoring me.
I have also managed to bang out ten whole pages of my introduction in the past day or so. But since I cannot put off self-critical shmoo-ishness forever, I will nowdowngrade that feat since those ten pages are simply a clever reworking of a book chapter I wrote and my dissertation prospectus.
‘Hmph,’ said Eor.
Proud or not of these small victories, I awoke this morning completely tuckered out and I decided to take a Wednesturday. (Which is when you pretend that Wednesday is Saturday, for those unfamiliar with the concept of Wednesturday.) I haven’t had a Wednesturday in over a year and so I thought I’d really go all out. The usual full afternoon in lab was reduced to an efficient hour and the rest of the day was spent under my covers watching Netflix with a short break to go to IKEA for the 10 meatball lunch special.
The only drawback of Wednesturday is that it always manages to be followed by Thursday, my least favorite day. Maybe as a little present to myself, to soften blow, I’ll let myself clean out the linen closet before I start writing...
Despite my confidence in that we will not all evaporate by early spring, I still find myself slightly unnerved by the warm sun beaming through my window. And without realizing it, I seem to have compiled a mental list of things that are really surreal and really scary to see in January in Connecticut:
1. Tulip bulbs poking up above bright green ivy at the Medical School.
2. Runners in shorts and tank tops. At 6:30 in the morning.
3. A line out the door at Ciao Bella, our local gelato happy place.
4. A traffic jam on I-95N at the Hammonaset State Park exit. That the exit for the beach.
5. Morbidly obese squirrels gorging themselves on an ample supply of acorns left uncovered by the absence of snow and ice.
6. Me, wearing flip flops, sitting outside at a picnic bench at Paul’s Hamburgers enjoying a milkshake. (Well, this is more surreal/yummy than surreal/scary.)
Now for the Californians in the audience, I should explain that it isn’t, like, 85 degrees outside. The mercury topped out at 65F on Saturday. Most days are in the mid-50’s, nights in the mid-30’s – temperatures that have Bay Area residents running for their capilene. But this is New England! This is the time of slush-clogged gutters, black ice on the sidewalks and $200 gas bills. Oh yeah:
7. December bill from Southern Connecticut Gas: $65.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaah!
In other news...
I am finding it very difficult not to clean everything in my apartment. This is probably not the worst vice to wrestle with, I could be caught up by internet gambling or compulsive hand washing, but as a time sucking distraction from The Task At Hand, it is just as effective.
My bedroom is immaculate, my laundry is done and two large bags of clothes have been dropped at Goodwill. After a year of furtive glances at its teetering height, I have finally recycled the towering stack of graded but never retrieved term papers and lab reports saved from four semesters of teaching. I was saving them ‘just in case.’ In case of what? In case that pre-med finally materializes who sent me three panicked e-mails asking when she could get her paper back? The one who stopped caring entirely and never came by paper pick-up office hours once she found out she’d gotten an A in the class? Well I’ll show her!!
In addition to tackling long-delayed clutter reduction campaigns, I have become a master bucket food chef, with glorious tuppers of chicken curry, spicy corn chowder and porcini risotto making the menu since I returned from winter break.
I am clean, organized and well-fed. Now I just need to turn off NPR, stop staring out the window at the fat squirrels on my porch, and write. My Thesis, that is. In Capitals. Like in Winnie the Pooh.
So as to avoid being overly self-critical, an accusation frequently leveled at me by just about everyone, I should mention some moderate successes. I have managed to write the outline for My Thesis and I grudgingly held a meeting with my advisor to discuss (read: listen to him hold forth about) this outline. And as of noon today I have secured approval of the content and structure of this outline from two thirds of my thesis committee members . The last third is gallivanting about in Europe giving speeches on Salmonella and is ignoring me.
I have also managed to bang out ten whole pages of my introduction in the past day or so. But since I cannot put off self-critical shmoo-ishness forever, I will nowdowngrade that feat since those ten pages are simply a clever reworking of a book chapter I wrote and my dissertation prospectus.
‘Hmph,’ said Eor.
Proud or not of these small victories, I awoke this morning completely tuckered out and I decided to take a Wednesturday. (Which is when you pretend that Wednesday is Saturday, for those unfamiliar with the concept of Wednesturday.) I haven’t had a Wednesturday in over a year and so I thought I’d really go all out. The usual full afternoon in lab was reduced to an efficient hour and the rest of the day was spent under my covers watching Netflix with a short break to go to IKEA for the 10 meatball lunch special.
The only drawback of Wednesturday is that it always manages to be followed by Thursday, my least favorite day. Maybe as a little present to myself, to soften blow, I’ll let myself clean out the linen closet before I start writing...
posted by Eva Marie at 8:59 PM
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