A lovely heavy snow turned to rain. More snow was on the way.
Most of the scallop draggers, having already caught their limit, were already back for the day.
Tag: Winter
Here’s why we celebrate the arrival of each New Year twice
Every New Year’s Eve where I now live, folks gather in front of the Tides Institute – also known for the occasion as Tides Square – for the drop of a festive maple leaf emblem at 11 pm and then convene again for a giant sardine sculpture at midnight.
Forget crowded Manhattan. This is the kind of homegrown affair where you can actually run into people you know, as well as others you’ll be hoping to see more of.
With New Brunswick just a mile or two across the channel and very much a part of our community, Eastport can’t help but mark the one-hour time difference between the two shores. Your cell phone certainly reminds you, shifting from one to the other. And so, at midnight Atlantic Time, we drop the lighted red maple leaf while a small brass band plays “Oh, Canada,” with many of the observers singing along. And then there’s the first burst of pyrotechnics overhead. Yay! Wow! Grins!
Time for a break, perhaps for hot chocolate down the street or a stop at several diners open uncommonly late, or even a dash home.
An hour later, reflecting the fact that Eastport was once the sardine capital of the world, everyone’s back, awaiting a giant sardine sculpture to descend at midnight Eastern Time from the former bank building that now houses a museum. This round, we all cheer to “Old Lang Syne” and then a festive outburst of fireworks.
Here’s what we’re looking forward tonight!
All a-glitter
I should add, now that electricity has been restored to the island and the gale winds are dying down.
How’s Christmas shaping up where you are?
Right around the corner from us
Cold reality
In an effort to keep the fuel oil bill down, the family decided to set the furnace thermostat no higher than 57 degrees.
But I’m freezing.
I’m threatening to turn the air conditioner on, hoping for 65.
~*~
Bunchberry or, if you prefer, creeping dogwood, I still love seeing it
We’ve become fond of this groundcover along many of our trails, with its white blossoms in the spring and red berries well into summer. Here the foliage is fringed with red, set here against moss and a touch of snow in a stretch of what may be a peat bog.
For the record, Cornus canadensis is also known as Canadian dwarf cornel, quatre-temps, even crackerberry,
Wonder how it would work in our home garden.
Not a bad way to spend a dark Saturday afternoon
This has the makings of a fine Saturday afternoon tradition through gloomy winter around here. Not that it won’t work on a sparkling day, either.
The local contradance band has another monthly performance at the Old Sow grill coming up, and the previous one, as you can see, was a hoot.
It attracted a handful of sit-in musicians in addition to an appreciative audience that packed the house.
Plus, monthly dances at the arts center are set to resume at the end of January after a long Covid hiatus.
Living in sweats
The thought had once appalled me. Like was this the epitome of laziness, that you really didn’t bother to get dressed for the day? Or that perhaps you’d gained so much weight you wanted something that would hang loose rather than accentuate anything?
Skip ahead to retirement and then the Covid shutdown, and I’m having to admit there have been days when I’m living happily in sweats, especially in the depth of a northern New England winter.
Sometimes I even think of it as luxury, not having to venture outdoors.
Oh, what a bum I’ve become kind of feeling!
How do you dress for everyday comfort?
Brisket and a hunk of binge viewing
Somehow, this past winter I got struck by a sustained sense of cabin fever. Should that be “stuck”? To my thinking, that’s not necessarily a “bad” thing and was not unexpected, given my relatively isolated situation combined with the continuing Covid precautions and the usual northern New England long nights and winter snow, ice, sleet, and unassisted general deep cold. I do believe there’s value in periodically clearing some of the clutter from one’s life and regaining a sense of direction, and I have found a huge difference between solitude and loneliness, so here I was.
Mostly, I was feeling a bit directionless, having completed a big revision of the Dover history and wanting to move forward with its publication but not yet having clarity on exactly how that would go. I mean, as books go, this was one more niche item, not likely to hit the bonanza list, no matter how original the findings. Emotionally, then, I was feeling stuck, not my best mental state. It even leads to fidgetiness.
Breaking that up was a visit by family – or should I say invasion – that included time with movies and TV series on the 40-inch screen I usually leave dark. Me? I’d usually read and listen to the radio. I’ve tried to avoid television series, seeing them as addictive couch-potato time-sucks.
A year ago, though, they hooked me on the first season of Mad Men, which we had on DVD. Whew! I was free only after admitting there is some quality writing and performing available and losing a full weekend in full immersion.
This Christmas, they hooked me with Murders Only in the Building, which again fortunately had only one season.
But during a return visit a few weeks later, we shared a phone conversation with the daughter in California who had just made our son-in-law his favorite meal for his birthday, and that mention of brisket led to my memories of being introduced to the cut as a Jewish tradition by my almost parents-in-law, if only, and those stories now had us sitting down in front of streamed episodes of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. The fam scooted off, leaving me to catch up on all of the available seasons, and I’m now miffed I have to wait for more on the way. I hate being left dangling. Worse yet, I was told Prime had the remaining Mad Men episodes – so I caught the final six seasons in a bit over a week, how many hours did I squander there? And the last two of Mozart in the Jungle plus all but one season of the Secret Diary of a Call Girl, which was quite sassy but not nearly as hot as touted. There may have been another series I’m overlooking.
Said family was highly amused by my engagement with works they deeply appreciate, but I am still appalled the hours I lost and by one more manifestation of my obsessive side.
For the record, I’m blaming the younger daughter and her brisket for this latest outbreak. Now, just when is the last time I’ve had a slice of one?
What do you suggest I stream next?
It was a snowball winter
Whatever that means.
Somehow, the description I scribbled on a slip of paper still hits the mark for me.
So how was yours?
Jnana's Red Barn 