Wind

I wonder if I can manage to consistently post every Saturday? Begin speculation...

A couple nights ago, it stormed here. Unfortunately, it didn't blizzard (unlike farther south, where they are buried). There was rain, and the winds blasted against our cheap house, making strange noises as they swooshed through the cracks around the windows, and shaking the entire building with their violence. Growing up in a place where wind-and-rain storms were a normal part of winter, I LOVED it. Prayed that no trees would fall on our house or our cars, then sat in my room relishing the sound of the rain and the noise of the wind. Some of my housemates were frantic, scared to be alone, worried that terrible things would happen. The lights started flicking in and out around 11pm. I lit a candle in my room, unplugged my clock so it wouldn't blink at me, and waited for the power to disappear for good. It didn't. It's been strange to spend an entire (so far) winter with power; back home, we'd lose it at least a couple times. I love the silence, the change in rhythm, carrying around candles, heating food on the wood-stove... but we don't have wood-stove here, and the lights never went out for more than a few seconds. The house never shook so hard it cracked or screamed. Mild, powerful, wonderful, relaxing. I slept better that night than I have in a long time.

Of course, some houses in the area were broken by trees. Branches lay all over the roads the next morning. Many places lost power. I drove through an unlit traffic light.People were freaked out. But no floods, no blankets of snow, no tragedies.

Chile suffered an earthquake. Tsunamis wave their way through the Pacific. New York lies buried in white. Los Angeles dog-paddles through the water. But Boston? A few downed trees, and that's it. Why do I have to be in the most boring geographical and meteorological place? I know death and destruction are not desirable; I don't actually want to live in such tragedies. But I like crazy weather. I love racing winds, heavy rain, piles of snow, noisy hail; I relish cozying under blankets while the storm rages outside; I enjoy splashes through the puddles after, playing in the snow, smelling the freshness in the air. We often talk about how unpredictable Boston's weather is, and that's true: it is spastic. Wait a minute and it'll change... but it's not extreme enough for me.

Maybe I just feel this way because it's the end of February - and no matter how many times they predicted "heavy snow" this month, we've gotten very little. In fact, February's primary weather characteristics have been simply freezing with a windchill of somewhere in the teens or twenties (F). This I do not like. It is just not interesting. Not to mention miserable any time you aren't inside. What's the point of being outdoors if you'll just freeze? At least with snow or rain there's an excuse. Sigh.

At least Thursday night was interesting.

(So, Zeus is the storm-bringer, right? And Poseidon controls the earth and sea? I'd rather make Zeus angry, and keep Poseidon happy. Earthquakes and tsunamis are much more frightening than mere wind and rain. Of course, I've never been in a hurrican or tornado, but the sky isn't ever stable to begin with. The earth is - when what is supposed to be solid shakes beneath you, what can you trust? The winds are always roving, pushing, pulling; that's what they do, and I don't mind. Maybe if I had wings and could fly I'd be more concerned. Granted, lightning can start fires, but only if things are dry enough... Perhaps this deserves more thought, perhaps not. But my first thought is that they were silly to think Zeus is more powerful...)

A Cry in the Night

After being sick most of the week, I am still too drained to stand and clean, but I'm not tired enough to sleep. So, rather than help everyone cook and clean in preparation for the fundraiser tonight, I have retreated to my room.

Last night, I was awakened around 5am by a child crying. And crying. The sound tore my heart. I think I know who it was, too, and there's really nothing I can do for him or his family. I couldn't go back to sleep without processing it. It was loud, and consistent, but not the cry of physical pain or fear. It had an edge of anger. A child, determinedly crying, probably without tears, making a statement. But saying what? Maybe "I hate my life, and you've made it this way, so I hate you, so hear this. This is my bitterness and pain, in your face, ruining your sleep." Or it could have been desperation "I can't think of anything else that will get your attention, maybe make you listen to me, than this, so hear me crying and realize, please, that I'm miserable and need to to understand me and support me." Despair, desperation, anger.

Someone intelligent, quick, clever, but unappreciated and unsupported by his family or neighborhood; someone small and on the edges, who survives by wit and bravado and luck and who knows what else. We hear the family yelling sometimes, the parents screaming at each other, at him, and hear his tearful replies - there's nothing he says that ever makes them stop. During the summer, sometimes he'd come over here after, asking for one of the guys (who made friends with him), just looking for someone to affirm him, to hang out, listen, actual treat him like a person instead of an outcast. And it breaks my heart - this kid has so much potential. He's brighter than any of the kids I've met in this neighborhood. He notices things, and puts two and two together.

But. He's miserable. And that crying last night wasn't someone hiding tears in their pillow. It was loud enough and prolonged enough to wake me. I wish I could change that family; teach the parents to stop screaming at their kids and start loving and encouraging them instead; teach the kids to not yell at their parents, but respect (but how to respect parents like that?) and honor and serve them. I wish I could make them understand this kid's got potential, but they're ruining his chances of getting anywhere, of doing anything, of ever becoming whole and confident. He's angry, I know he is. Part of him hates them, but part of him can't stand hating them. He wants - and needs - someone to love and someone to be loved by, and underneath all the layers of wounds, scars, and armor, he knows that, even if he can't or wouldn't actually say that.

And I, living just around the corner, don't know how to respond. I don't understand: I have a wonderful family, loving parents and encouraging siblings. I never felt like I belonged, per se, but I was never actively or vocally shunned or put down. I wasn't consistently told I was stupid or useless, or any of the other names thrown his way. I went to a good elementary school, small, with caring teachers. We never wanted for anything; we ate well, were clothed, had many things we desired but didn't need. I didn't have to become iron-clad and cold just to survive. Looking at his family - at this whole neighborhood - I realize how insignificant my own problems and hurts and insecurities were. And are. I know, at the end of the day, if I screw up beyond repair, my family will take me in and love me. If he screws up too badly, he'll probably get kicked out and/or verbally and physically abused. And, relatively speaking, he's not as badly off as others around here, I'm sure. But I'm around the corner, in a different world, of a different generation and worldview, so all I can do is wish, and dream, and pray.

Maybe someday his life will change, and he won't cry like that in the middle of the night. But not today.

...homesick

I just read Five Little Peppers and How They Grew. I hadn't read it in years, and its effect has been quite simple: now I am homesick.

I miss the trees, the Pacific, the mountains. I miss my house, the yard, the rock walls, my room. I miss my family: my parents, both sisters, brother. I changed my desktop to a picture of the house reflected in the pond Dad made. And, looking at it, I remember the chill and damp and sharpness of the air as I stood at the edge of the yard, taking a picture of the proof that the strange shape Dad made the pond in is brilliance rather than sloppiness or insanity. I remember the thin, bright winter sunlight on the redwoods. The drops of dew on the grass where the sun never burned it off, and the sound my feet made in the damp. I miss the warmth of a fire. The laughter of my family. The seriousness and faith of our prayers. The joy and intelligence of our games. The piano. The thick carpet. The cool marble. The smell of our Douglas fir Christmas tree, and the shimmer of tinsel in the sun. (Oh! the scents of home! Cities reek compared to the spice and depth of that redwood clearing. Even the ocean out there breathes life and refreshing and salt. It makes your nose tingle and your body smile.)

Once a year is not enough to satisfy my love for my family. Yes, they have telephones. But there's something special about us all (or at least most) gathered in one place. I'm sure when we kids were little, it wasn't so beautiful. We argued, there were tensions, of course. But as each year passes, it gets better. We are all growing up, but not growing apart.

It's approaching Valentine's Day. I've never celebrated this holiday; I've expressed my dislike for it many times and to many people. But this year, I wish I could have a Valentine's Day - with my family.

But I can't. I'm here in Massachusetts, my brother's in Indiana, my little sister is in Texas, and my older sister and parents are in California. Too far apart. So I'll try to un-homesick myself by remembering them, being thankful for them, talking to them... and hope this sadness passes.