And for you, I keep my legs apart and forget about my tainted heart.
3. "Little Bit," Lykke Li, 2007.
And then everything, everything froze.
My work had its first snow day in eight years, but there wasn't much snow to it, just ice coating everything in sight. Some time mid-morning, I bundled up and ventured outside. Slowly.
Nearly bit it on the second step down.
It was silent outside, no one else out in the gleaming white. You could smell the cold. The long-forgotten creak of ice under my feet made me feel warm with nostalgia.
When I was little, I listened for that sound when I couldn't sleep at night, the groans of a car slowly making its way over the frozen road. It was simultaneously lonely and comforting. I would wonder to myself what they were doing out so late, imagine that only desperate circumstances would lead a person to that. I'd imagine that I was sending a thought their way that someone else was awake with them and wished them well, hoping they'd at least sense it, and hold my breath until the noise from the engine faded into the distance with no trace of a crashing sound.
Old Focus. :( Old Focus with an unfamiliar skirt of icicles. Not quite its first, I know, because I remember a few years ago when it snowed on Valentine's Day and I accidentally broke the antenna off as I was trying to clear snow off the roof. I'd never had a car with a roof antenna before, completely forgot it was there, blanketed with snow. Karate chopped the damn thing across the yard.
I have an unaccountable affection for lawn ornaments. Not jockeys so much, but other little statues. I didn't realize this until about 10 years ago, when I found myself browsing a lawn care site for bird baths even though I lived in a second-story apartment. Seeing them out of their usual element and full of ice fascinated me that day in January, so I took look lots of pictures. Incidentally, I never realized how many bird baths are in the front yard of the house I live in now. By which I mean that I never realized until this moment, looking through my January pictures. The one pictured above is near the side door and now has an angel fountain perched on top, courtesy of my mother. A few months ago, though, it had this little gnome in it. If I could see his base, I'm guessing it would look like he was just perched in the middle of the bath, but I loved that he appeared here to be groveling in the snow.
A cherub in a bird bath. Reading, for some reason. Probably a bible. You're going to get that thing all wet, cherub! Why do you hate books?
A bird...bird bath. Probably my favorite in the yard. Now I'd just like to catch a real bird attempting to interact with the stone one. "Huh huh, heh heh heh...hey, baby."
The lawn donkey has been removed from the yard since then. Or moved to some corner I never wander to. I pretty much never go into the front yard, come to think of it. We use the side door exclusively, so I don't even cross the yard to walk to my car. Anyway, this donkey. I loved this thing. He was missing one ear. I'm not sure if the tiny ear was introduced onto his head to hide that fact. He didn't always wear the hat, but I liked it when he did.
The next day, I had to go to work. Since this part of the country isn't really equipped to handle this kind of weather, most roads were still coated in a layer of ice several inches deep. I drove holding the wheel in a white-knuckled death grip, going well below the speed limit. Some creeped even more slowly than I did. Others blew by, confident from either stupidity or experience. We have a lot of New England transplants in the area. I saw several people in ditches and my heart went out to them. That won't be me, I swore to myself and it wasn't...not then.
One thing that has always comforted me while driving in stressful situations is to play something familiar at a low volume. This Lykke Li song, playing on repeat at least five times as I crawled along the four miles to work, was the perfect companion. I sang along quietly, absentmindedly, struggling to keep my shaking under control.
When Amanté was here in March, I remember hearing this song as we drove along a cold mountain road. He sang along in an unselfconscious falsetto. At the hotel the night before we left, he pulled out a well-worn Lykke Li tee and gave it to me to keep. I wore it as we sneaked to the ice machine at 2 A.M. It smelled faintly of him. I was feeling very sad at his impending departure and he was clowning around to cheer me up and pretending that wasn't what he was doing. He raised the full ice bucket above his head as if displaying a holy relic. We silently walked back to our room, making a silent, over-the-top procession, us and the ice bucket we worshiped, stifling giggles because the hour was late and we were together. And it was good.
Click to viewAnd then everything, everything froze.
My work had its first snow day in eight years, but there wasn't much snow to it, just ice coating everything in sight. Some time mid-morning, I bundled up and ventured outside. Slowly.
Nearly bit it on the second step down.
It was silent outside, no one else out in the gleaming white. You could smell the cold. The long-forgotten creak of ice under my feet made me feel warm with nostalgia.
When I was little, I listened for that sound when I couldn't sleep at night, the groans of a car slowly making its way over the frozen road. It was simultaneously lonely and comforting. I would wonder to myself what they were doing out so late, imagine that only desperate circumstances would lead a person to that. I'd imagine that I was sending a thought their way that someone else was awake with them and wished them well, hoping they'd at least sense it, and hold my breath until the noise from the engine faded into the distance with no trace of a crashing sound.
Old Focus. :( Old Focus with an unfamiliar skirt of icicles. Not quite its first, I know, because I remember a few years ago when it snowed on Valentine's Day and I accidentally broke the antenna off as I was trying to clear snow off the roof. I'd never had a car with a roof antenna before, completely forgot it was there, blanketed with snow. Karate chopped the damn thing across the yard.
I have an unaccountable affection for lawn ornaments. Not jockeys so much, but other little statues. I didn't realize this until about 10 years ago, when I found myself browsing a lawn care site for bird baths even though I lived in a second-story apartment. Seeing them out of their usual element and full of ice fascinated me that day in January, so I took look lots of pictures. Incidentally, I never realized how many bird baths are in the front yard of the house I live in now. By which I mean that I never realized until this moment, looking through my January pictures. The one pictured above is near the side door and now has an angel fountain perched on top, courtesy of my mother. A few months ago, though, it had this little gnome in it. If I could see his base, I'm guessing it would look like he was just perched in the middle of the bath, but I loved that he appeared here to be groveling in the snow.
A cherub in a bird bath. Reading, for some reason. Probably a bible. You're going to get that thing all wet, cherub! Why do you hate books?
A bird...bird bath. Probably my favorite in the yard. Now I'd just like to catch a real bird attempting to interact with the stone one. "Huh huh, heh heh heh...hey, baby."
The lawn donkey has been removed from the yard since then. Or moved to some corner I never wander to. I pretty much never go into the front yard, come to think of it. We use the side door exclusively, so I don't even cross the yard to walk to my car. Anyway, this donkey. I loved this thing. He was missing one ear. I'm not sure if the tiny ear was introduced onto his head to hide that fact. He didn't always wear the hat, but I liked it when he did.
The next day, I had to go to work. Since this part of the country isn't really equipped to handle this kind of weather, most roads were still coated in a layer of ice several inches deep. I drove holding the wheel in a white-knuckled death grip, going well below the speed limit. Some creeped even more slowly than I did. Others blew by, confident from either stupidity or experience. We have a lot of New England transplants in the area. I saw several people in ditches and my heart went out to them. That won't be me, I swore to myself and it wasn't...not then.
One thing that has always comforted me while driving in stressful situations is to play something familiar at a low volume. This Lykke Li song, playing on repeat at least five times as I crawled along the four miles to work, was the perfect companion. I sang along quietly, absentmindedly, struggling to keep my shaking under control.
When Amanté was here in March, I remember hearing this song as we drove along a cold mountain road. He sang along in an unselfconscious falsetto. At the hotel the night before we left, he pulled out a well-worn Lykke Li tee and gave it to me to keep. I wore it as we sneaked to the ice machine at 2 A.M. It smelled faintly of him. I was feeling very sad at his impending departure and he was clowning around to cheer me up and pretending that wasn't what he was doing. He raised the full ice bucket above his head as if displaying a holy relic. We silently walked back to our room, making a silent, over-the-top procession, us and the ice bucket we worshiped, stifling giggles because the hour was late and we were together. And it was good.