Here, in the arid bowl of the Wasatch Front, it only seems to snow on weekends and holidays. This weekend fails to disprove the statement.
There is fresh snow today to rest on top of the soggy mats of grass that were bared by yesterday's warm spell. "Warm spell" means 45-degree temperatures.
Friday's prelude to today's snow included a wicked wind from the South. All day long, I heard the windows of my office building rattling and creaking. The blinds made the occasional metallic clink. The little sapling trees in the parking lot bent in a graceful sideways arch like ballet dancers stretching. I was safely tucked inside, though.
When I walked out to my car last night, I got a real taste of the wind. Quite literally. I had to walk into the wind to get to where I had parked. I came in a little late, so I had to park in the first available space I could find--a good hike from the building. The wind, though! It was crazy. The long, sustained gusts took my breath. My knee-length coat was whipping behind me like a sail freed from the mast because I never bother to button it. My hair alternated between being draped over my face and flying as if to follow my coat.
A strong gust kicked in when I was about halfway there, and I had to catch my footing and lean into it in order keep forward motion. It tickled me, for some reason, and I started to giggle behind the hand I had cupped over my mouth to let me breathe. I felt like a cartoon of a person, walking in the wind. If only I had been wearing a skirt to make the caricature complete. But I laughed, and thought that only God could blow hard enough to move my massive weight.
Sometimes, when I'm getting ready for work, I test my memory by trying to recall the names of a group of people. It will be people I used to know from work, or the actors in the cast of a Star Trek Series--including frequent extras like Marc Alaimo and Jeffrey Coombs.
What? Did you even doubt that I would have watched Star Trek? For the record, I have never worn the uniform.
Yesterday, I got stumped. I had a really hard time recalling the names of the sales executives, engineers, and managers from my last job. I kept picking at it--I think of this as forcing my way through a maze of memories that would trigger the recall--and I was able to remember all but two people in our department by the time I got to my cubicle. The worst part of that was that it was the last names of my two managers--probably the people I dealt with most.
In my journal, I have referred to them as 6oz and Happy Leprechaun. I remembered that much. Still, I didn't want to cheat and look them up. Little things improved my ability to remember: drinking some water loosened up the names of the sales people; a cup of coffee yielded the remaining engineers.
In the end, I had to search my gmail for references to their first names. I found them both within a few seconds, but I still feel terrible for forgetting. I worry about losing my mind or its sharpness, as I get older.
I think that my memory has created a sort of protective barrier over my recent past. I don't remember many things about the time I spent as a single woman after my divorce from Wes. I know that I was pretty free with my time, and I had many ups and downs with relationships.
I remember how good D made me feel, and how well we got along both inside and out of the bedroom. That was a friendship that would have ended in a happy ending if life were like a movie. As it is, it ended in an occasional email, the frequency of which decreases as time marches on.
I remember a lot of passion--highest highs, lowest lows. I remember being constantly revolted and irritated by one of those relationships, and still wonder why I stayed in it.
The details fade. Perhaps my mind wants to ease the transition into married life. It's better to forget the passion, the sex, and the feeling of being attractive now that I'm a fat old wife. The independence, too. Maybe it's best that I forget the details of that other life so I don't miss them. It becomes a matter of who I was, versus who I am.
It won't go away completely. I remember some intense moments with the staying power of neurochemicals that peaked to form a cement and a red flag that will always help me find the image.
In my mind, I close the door. I hear whispers of urgent, ecstatic voices making declarations and demands; men's breathless and amazed voices. But I forget the feeling. I'm married, now. I'm not disappointed by that; merely disinterested in a manner that matches my spouse's appetites. Again, feeling that creeping dread that I am abnormal in my want.
Abnormal. Such a word. I received a call from my doctor last week, telling me that my test came out "abnormal". He wants to have a look at some cells through a microscope, says the cheery girl on the other end of the line. Based on that, we'll decide if we need a biopsy. She asks me if I've ever had a test that came out "abnormal" before. I haven't.
That damned word could mean so many things, that I don't want to even step out on the vista of possibility. I close that door. When I'm alone, and the silence permits it, I can hear a voice on the other side of that door, hissing a single word like a venomous snake: cansssssseerrrrrr. I wonder what foreign thing is living inside me, turning my flesh into poison. I wonder what it will take to make it go away.
But it could be nothing at all, so it must stay on the other side of that door.
Winter is the hard time for a contractor, when no one wants to construct and you can't poor cement into the frozen ground, anyway. It's the time when money becomes dear. I hate the feeling of being trapped by money. You can't eat out. You can't get coffee. You can't get sick because you can't pay to treat it.
I have switched to getting a small coffee and a cup of soup to get me through my day. I didn't do it for the money, but to cut back on my food intake. I try to taper down when I'm getting ready to go on the big diet--the life change. It makes it easier to be happy with several small meals when you feel full quicker. Saving money is just a side effect that stops that fretting sound coming from my husband.
Either way, it must be working. I've lost about 6 pounds and I am enjoying relative peace where my spending habits are concerned.