Most of the country has been in a heat wave during the first half of March. Our temperatures have been in the mid eighties with relatively high humidity for this time of year.
That wouldn't be a big problem for me ordinarily. But the air conditioning in our building went out two weeks ago. A $25,000 motor for the chiller failed, and we got word late last week that it wouldn't be fixed before spring break.
So we've spent this week searching for ways to get a cross breeze going in our third and fourth floor classrooms and offices. Midweek the physical plant employees, apparently taking pity on us, delivered a truckload of box fans. That works well for rooms that can have more than one window open, or a door opposite the outside wall, but my office only has one window that opens in the far corner, and the air never gets to my desk on the other side of the room, much less the door leading into the student worker's tiny room and out into the rest of the office. If I get up and just stand between my door and the main office door, it seems 10 degrees cooler than when I'm at my desk.
Rather than try to hold class in our penthouse suite -- really an attic, with gable windows that don't open -- on the fourth floor where the building is likely to be most stifling, I've relocated for the week to a large room with ceiling fans and lots of windows. Even so, today I couldn't stand to be in there for the whole fifty minutes, and let the students out early.
It's way to early in the year to be too hot to work, but without any relief, it's difficult for any of us to concentrate and stay awake. Luckily for the students, spring break has begun, and they can broil on their beaches or sip icy drinks in well-chilled watering holes, as they prefer. I have to go back to the office on Monday, but maybe with fewer people and less on the schedule, the heat won't be quite as oppressive.
Showing posts with label weather. Show all posts
Showing posts with label weather. Show all posts
Friday, March 16, 2012
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Waiting for karma
Earlier this week two days of tornados ripped through states to the north and east of us. I'm finding it hard to enjoy our beautiful outdoors, with its intact trees and undemolished houses, as a result. March is the top month for tornados in Arkansas. We are used to the threat, if still anxious about it. Why were these storms out of place? Why did other towns and families have the suffering that usually comes our way?
I've been delinquent on several important responsibilities in the last month of so. People I should have contacted, requests I should have made, organization I should have gotten underway. When I finally stepped up to the plate, very belatedly, I was somewhat dismayed to find out that I was not punished. My correspondants cooperated. Those I asked for help said yes. Schedules meshed. Stuff got covered. I couldn't help feeling guilty. It shouldn't have been that easy for me. I deserved something quite different.
I'm just waiting for the universe to balance itself out. Because truth didn't come with consequences recently, then some unmerited crap will have to fall on my head down the line. Maybe some bad behavior that got thrown my way this past week is the start of it, but to make up for all I should expect, for my sins and the probabilities that govern my life, there's a long way to go. And besides, it's not being wronged that I anticipate -- it's just the cards running cold. Plans falling through, serendipity absent, requests turned down, stuff breaking, inconveniences mounting to the same height as the undeserved conveniences I've shamefacedly enjoyed.
If my only penalty is monetary, I'll breathe a sigh of relief. Until the bill comes due, however, I'm going to have a hard time relaxing.
I've been delinquent on several important responsibilities in the last month of so. People I should have contacted, requests I should have made, organization I should have gotten underway. When I finally stepped up to the plate, very belatedly, I was somewhat dismayed to find out that I was not punished. My correspondants cooperated. Those I asked for help said yes. Schedules meshed. Stuff got covered. I couldn't help feeling guilty. It shouldn't have been that easy for me. I deserved something quite different.
I'm just waiting for the universe to balance itself out. Because truth didn't come with consequences recently, then some unmerited crap will have to fall on my head down the line. Maybe some bad behavior that got thrown my way this past week is the start of it, but to make up for all I should expect, for my sins and the probabilities that govern my life, there's a long way to go. And besides, it's not being wronged that I anticipate -- it's just the cards running cold. Plans falling through, serendipity absent, requests turned down, stuff breaking, inconveniences mounting to the same height as the undeserved conveniences I've shamefacedly enjoyed.
If my only penalty is monetary, I'll breathe a sigh of relief. Until the bill comes due, however, I'm going to have a hard time relaxing.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Ahead of the storm
I slept poorly last night, despite my comfortable hotel room and cozy bed, because I was watching coverage of Hurricane Irene right before going to bed. Whenever I dozed off, my thoughts or dreams were a jumble of wind and rain and maps and crashing waves.
I've never lived in a place that was immediately vulnerable to hurricanes. But even inland, these storms are large enough and powerful enough to have effects. During my stay in Charlottesville, we experienced the remnants of a hurricane that knocked out our power for four days and came through with the only green sky I've ever seen. And in Arkansas, we got the tropical storm that Rita became after its pass through Louisiana and Mississippi, complete with tornado warnings and torrential rain.
My parents have dodged hurricane after hurricane at their home in St. Simons Island on the Georgia coast, and Irene is no exception. The concave indentation of the coastline there means that a storm has to take direct aim at that spot to hit it; any other track takes it across Florida or avoids landfall until South and North Carolina.
I'm in Atlanta meeting with the AAR board, many of whose members come from the spots in Irene's path. Their flights are being cancelled and their airports shut down for tomorrow; they may be stuck here for another day at best.
2011 has been a wild year for weather events, with catastrophic tornados, floods, and now a long lasting hurricane battering nearly the entire east coast. With lots of preparation and the population taking it seriously, one hopes that the human toll will be low. So much rebuilding is needed from all these events. It's a chance to put America to work and make our infrastructure better -- so that next time we're better prepared. Let's hope we take it.
I've never lived in a place that was immediately vulnerable to hurricanes. But even inland, these storms are large enough and powerful enough to have effects. During my stay in Charlottesville, we experienced the remnants of a hurricane that knocked out our power for four days and came through with the only green sky I've ever seen. And in Arkansas, we got the tropical storm that Rita became after its pass through Louisiana and Mississippi, complete with tornado warnings and torrential rain.
My parents have dodged hurricane after hurricane at their home in St. Simons Island on the Georgia coast, and Irene is no exception. The concave indentation of the coastline there means that a storm has to take direct aim at that spot to hit it; any other track takes it across Florida or avoids landfall until South and North Carolina.
I'm in Atlanta meeting with the AAR board, many of whose members come from the spots in Irene's path. Their flights are being cancelled and their airports shut down for tomorrow; they may be stuck here for another day at best.
2011 has been a wild year for weather events, with catastrophic tornados, floods, and now a long lasting hurricane battering nearly the entire east coast. With lots of preparation and the population taking it seriously, one hopes that the human toll will be low. So much rebuilding is needed from all these events. It's a chance to put America to work and make our infrastructure better -- so that next time we're better prepared. Let's hope we take it.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
No, thank YOU
It was a beautiful day today. After a week of triple-digit temperatures and what seems like months of triple-digit heat index readings, it rained last night for hours on end. We woke up in the morning to cool air and green everywhere. It felt like the long summer of doom and conflict was finally over.
And then today featured the bittersweet appearance of my final writeup of NewsRadio for The A.V. Club. I received so many wonderful expressions of thanks for the series, and was able to thank many of the commenters who have shown up week after week and summer after summer for their companionship and contributions. It was a lovefest.
Today, in other words, was the perfect remedy for plunging stock markets and general worldwide worrisomeness. Everyone was generous and kind; the world was full of light and life. I came home to a delicious home-cooked meal and hugs from my intelligent, happy children. Tomorrow's troubles can wait until tomorrow. Today was a beautiful day.
And then today featured the bittersweet appearance of my final writeup of NewsRadio for The A.V. Club. I received so many wonderful expressions of thanks for the series, and was able to thank many of the commenters who have shown up week after week and summer after summer for their companionship and contributions. It was a lovefest.
Today, in other words, was the perfect remedy for plunging stock markets and general worldwide worrisomeness. Everyone was generous and kind; the world was full of light and life. I came home to a delicious home-cooked meal and hugs from my intelligent, happy children. Tomorrow's troubles can wait until tomorrow. Today was a beautiful day.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
What's beyond severe?
Another day, another outbreak of tornadoes all over the general region where we live. Last night they tracked to our northwest; today the reports pinpointed their development right in our general vicinity. As the high-risk forecast extended over a larger area throughout the morning, I asked Noel to bring the kids to my office after picking them up from school so we could wait out the threat in a safer structure.
He arrived right after the first storm of the day formed just to our southeast and came through in a hurry. Bearing some bags of food (in case we needed to stay past dinnertime, Noel put together a version of our soup-and-wraps supper that could be made in the office kitchen) and everything Noel needed to keep working for the next few hours, the family made its way back upstairs to watch the radar and wait. Moments earlier the first tornado warning of the day had been issued for a storm that was tracking ten or fifteen miles south of us. Turns out we were almost exactly on the line of storm genesis, which was moving east along with the storms it was spawning.
It didn't take long before the whole burgeoning complex was erupting to our east. Soon the map filled with thunderstorm and tornado warning polygons stretching along I-30 and up to the northeast. But we were in the clear. The system had passed us by only moments before producing any severe weather.
We waited an extra 45 minutes just to be sure there wouldn't be any more storms firing in our area, then headed home with our food in tow to make dinner in our own kitchen. From north to south, Missouri to Louisiana, the line of dangerous weather all the forecasts were warning about continues to march east. This time we were lucky enough to be out of the zone where a safe place was necessary. Others not so fortunate are, I hope, in a place where they can preserve life and limb. This extraordinary tornado season should have alerted all of us that even though we can't steer a storm away from our property, we can be prepared to minimize our dangers.
Everyone in this region is ready for tornado time to be over. The destruction has been horrific, unprecedented, dispiriting, and relentless. Let's hope we don't see another year like this for another generation.
He arrived right after the first storm of the day formed just to our southeast and came through in a hurry. Bearing some bags of food (in case we needed to stay past dinnertime, Noel put together a version of our soup-and-wraps supper that could be made in the office kitchen) and everything Noel needed to keep working for the next few hours, the family made its way back upstairs to watch the radar and wait. Moments earlier the first tornado warning of the day had been issued for a storm that was tracking ten or fifteen miles south of us. Turns out we were almost exactly on the line of storm genesis, which was moving east along with the storms it was spawning.
It didn't take long before the whole burgeoning complex was erupting to our east. Soon the map filled with thunderstorm and tornado warning polygons stretching along I-30 and up to the northeast. But we were in the clear. The system had passed us by only moments before producing any severe weather.
We waited an extra 45 minutes just to be sure there wouldn't be any more storms firing in our area, then headed home with our food in tow to make dinner in our own kitchen. From north to south, Missouri to Louisiana, the line of dangerous weather all the forecasts were warning about continues to march east. This time we were lucky enough to be out of the zone where a safe place was necessary. Others not so fortunate are, I hope, in a place where they can preserve life and limb. This extraordinary tornado season should have alerted all of us that even though we can't steer a storm away from our property, we can be prepared to minimize our dangers.
Everyone in this region is ready for tornado time to be over. The destruction has been horrific, unprecedented, dispiriting, and relentless. Let's hope we don't see another year like this for another generation.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
On the front lines
We have had apocalyptic weather forecasts this week. My awareness of it is heightened by the #arwx hasthag on Twitter and the availability of moment-by-moment weather news via mobile apps. But even if I were only watching the Weather Channel, I would know that this wasn't business as usual; the usual "a few storms may be severe" phrases have been regularly replaced by "strong to severe ... may contain heavy rain, large hail and tornadoes" and "flooding in likely in flood-prone areas." Today the National Weather Service issued its third PDS -- "particularly dangerous situation" -- alert of the week for my region: one for tornados on Tuesday night, one for flash flooding during that same storm system, and then another one for flash flooding tonight.
Tonight finds us at the apex of an epic three-day rain event that's seen almost six inches fall just south of us, with more on the way. We've gotten a couple of inches so far, mostly in one big go early this afternoon that nearly swamped our street. Then, thankfully, a respite of several hours, but the next round is on our doorstep. The problem is that we had heavy rain Monday through Wednesday as well; our ground is saturated and the waterways are full.
So once again, I'm on high alert. Noel is no doubt a little tired of me packing the car with sleeping bags and changes of clothes, in case we need to head to safety quickly. It makes me feel better, though, to have a plan. The water rises quickly and relentlessly at the little intersection where our house is located -- the lowest point on the block, and the location of the storm drain that collects from both directions. If it ever got near our front door, the depth on the street where our driveway meets it would be up to the windows on our car. During Monday's heavy rain event, the water came about halfway up our driveway, and two cars stalled in the street right in front of us, with water halfway up the doors.
Tonight's storms will be here within the hour, and I'll be watching the street until the heaviest rain has passed, however long it . If we have to go, we'll cut across our neighbor's yard to a slightly higher part of the street, and try to get to my office again. More rain is in the forecast for tomorrow, but the downpours should be over, and it's the downpours that pose the biggest threat.
If I thought we were stuck here with the water rising, I'd be very nervous. But knowing that we can get out if we need to, water in the house (if it comes) shouldn't be devastating. If there's one thing this week has taught us, it's that we can let go of our possessions a lot easier than we might have imagined, taking care of our lives, safety, and health first -- and solely, if it comes to that.
Tonight finds us at the apex of an epic three-day rain event that's seen almost six inches fall just south of us, with more on the way. We've gotten a couple of inches so far, mostly in one big go early this afternoon that nearly swamped our street. Then, thankfully, a respite of several hours, but the next round is on our doorstep. The problem is that we had heavy rain Monday through Wednesday as well; our ground is saturated and the waterways are full.
So once again, I'm on high alert. Noel is no doubt a little tired of me packing the car with sleeping bags and changes of clothes, in case we need to head to safety quickly. It makes me feel better, though, to have a plan. The water rises quickly and relentlessly at the little intersection where our house is located -- the lowest point on the block, and the location of the storm drain that collects from both directions. If it ever got near our front door, the depth on the street where our driveway meets it would be up to the windows on our car. During Monday's heavy rain event, the water came about halfway up our driveway, and two cars stalled in the street right in front of us, with water halfway up the doors.
Tonight's storms will be here within the hour, and I'll be watching the street until the heaviest rain has passed, however long it . If we have to go, we'll cut across our neighbor's yard to a slightly higher part of the street, and try to get to my office again. More rain is in the forecast for tomorrow, but the downpours should be over, and it's the downpours that pose the biggest threat.
If I thought we were stuck here with the water rising, I'd be very nervous. But knowing that we can get out if we need to, water in the house (if it comes) shouldn't be devastating. If there's one thing this week has taught us, it's that we can let go of our possessions a lot easier than we might have imagined, taking care of our lives, safety, and health first -- and solely, if it comes to that.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Safety first
Day two of the epic severe weather outbreak in Arkansas. We rode out last night's storms at home, but it was undeniably frightening when multiple tornadoes are passing just to the east and south. With an even bigger and more dangerous threat tonight, we've decamped to my office for the duration.
A couple of weeks ago, after tornadoes hit Raleigh, North Carolina, I saw a televised report from Shaw University. Windows had shattered, trees were down, and roofs and outbuildings were damaged. But the buildings were all standing. Mike Bettes commented, "University buildings like this are good places to be during a tornado; they're well built to withstand all but the strongest winds."
I took that to heart. Tonight we are trying to take life-threatening out of the equation by hunkering down in a building that will protect us a lot better than our house. We can deal with our property bearing the brunt. And we're lucky to have a shelter like this that we can go to, and the foresight to head there ahead of the storm. Here's hoping everyone stays safe and the clouds stay up in the sky where they belong.
A couple of weeks ago, after tornadoes hit Raleigh, North Carolina, I saw a televised report from Shaw University. Windows had shattered, trees were down, and roofs and outbuildings were damaged. But the buildings were all standing. Mike Bettes commented, "University buildings like this are good places to be during a tornado; they're well built to withstand all but the strongest winds."
I took that to heart. Tonight we are trying to take life-threatening out of the equation by hunkering down in a building that will protect us a lot better than our house. We can deal with our property bearing the brunt. And we're lucky to have a shelter like this that we can go to, and the foresight to head there ahead of the storm. Here's hoping everyone stays safe and the clouds stay up in the sky where they belong.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Another kind of vigil
We've been hearing for the last few days about a big severe weather outbreak early this week. Tonight we got the first wave of it. Sirens went off in Conway four times; we spent about an hour total in our "safe place" interior bathroom.
Elsewhere in our county a big tornado tore through a town, it appears. I find it strange that I now look at tornado forecast tracks that go within ten or fifteen miles of my location and feel quite reassured. And while I spent a total of three hours refreshing the #arwx Twitter stream and carefully parsing the National Weather Service's warning language, I felt less panicked than I used to at these moments.
I have contingency plans, so I don't worry about what I'm going to do if various dangers threaten. (Instead I worry that I've waited too long and it's do late to put the plan into effect.) I have flood insurance and good homeowners and even earthquake insurance that won't do me a bit of good unless the New Madrid fires up for the big one. I know where I'm going to take the kids if the waters rise, and how I'm going to get to the unflooded part of the street (cut across the neighbor's lawn). There's a first aid kit in the car, along with a change of clothes and toothbrushes for everyone.
But I hate having to be on alert and wish that I could rest easy under the mistaken assumption that there's no danger. I remember when I believed that tornados couldn't touch us because our hometown had magical geographic properties. Part of me wants to move back to a place where I could pretend that was the case. And would the outcome be any different? Only if I'm unlucky enough to be in the path of a storm that destroys my house and threatens my life. If I'm part of the other 95% of the population and aren't in that path, I end up with the same result whether I take precautions and stay alert or whether I don't.
Not that I'm going to stop taking precautions. I'm too much of a control freak for that. But it disturbs me that none of my exercise of control really matters, most of the time, when it comes to these massive acts of nature.
Elsewhere in our county a big tornado tore through a town, it appears. I find it strange that I now look at tornado forecast tracks that go within ten or fifteen miles of my location and feel quite reassured. And while I spent a total of three hours refreshing the #arwx Twitter stream and carefully parsing the National Weather Service's warning language, I felt less panicked than I used to at these moments.
I have contingency plans, so I don't worry about what I'm going to do if various dangers threaten. (Instead I worry that I've waited too long and it's do late to put the plan into effect.) I have flood insurance and good homeowners and even earthquake insurance that won't do me a bit of good unless the New Madrid fires up for the big one. I know where I'm going to take the kids if the waters rise, and how I'm going to get to the unflooded part of the street (cut across the neighbor's lawn). There's a first aid kit in the car, along with a change of clothes and toothbrushes for everyone.
But I hate having to be on alert and wish that I could rest easy under the mistaken assumption that there's no danger. I remember when I believed that tornados couldn't touch us because our hometown had magical geographic properties. Part of me wants to move back to a place where I could pretend that was the case. And would the outcome be any different? Only if I'm unlucky enough to be in the path of a storm that destroys my house and threatens my life. If I'm part of the other 95% of the population and aren't in that path, I end up with the same result whether I take precautions and stay alert or whether I don't.
Not that I'm going to stop taking precautions. I'm too much of a control freak for that. But it disturbs me that none of my exercise of control really matters, most of the time, when it comes to these massive acts of nature.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Blackberry winter
As I walked to my office this morning in near-freezing temperatures, bundled in hat, scarf and gloves, I met a colleague going in the opposite direction with head down and hands in pockets. "Blackberry winter," he opined in response to my greeting.
Even though it's not a phrase with which I'm familiar, I knew instantly what he meant. The opposite of Indian summer -- a cold snap after spring has seemed well underway.
A little blackberry winter is not unwelcome. Scarves and other warm woolies can come back out for a day or two. I even managed to use it for an object lesson at the Brave New Media conference yesterday. I used the Ravelry notebook page for my Helleborus Yoke as a case study, and wore the sweater to the presentation, causing several double-takes as the audience realized that my cardigan was my own work.
Nippy temperatures also make it easier to work on those leftover projects from winter, like the socks I'm in the middle of. And when I finish a scarf, I can head outside to model it and feel appropriately dressed, while my photographer shivers.
This afternoon the sun came out and made us think again of spring, after days of cold, fog, and rain. I was not at all uncomfortably warm in my alpaca neck wrap and fleece hoodie, but as I walked through campus I saw that others had shed layers at the first sign of blue sky. In my wintry garb I walked for a few minutes behind a student in a sundress, with bare shoulders, exuberantly flinging out her arms as if to collect as much vitamin D as was on offer this chilly blackberry-winter day.
Even though it's not a phrase with which I'm familiar, I knew instantly what he meant. The opposite of Indian summer -- a cold snap after spring has seemed well underway.
A little blackberry winter is not unwelcome. Scarves and other warm woolies can come back out for a day or two. I even managed to use it for an object lesson at the Brave New Media conference yesterday. I used the Ravelry notebook page for my Helleborus Yoke as a case study, and wore the sweater to the presentation, causing several double-takes as the audience realized that my cardigan was my own work.
Nippy temperatures also make it easier to work on those leftover projects from winter, like the socks I'm in the middle of. And when I finish a scarf, I can head outside to model it and feel appropriately dressed, while my photographer shivers.
This afternoon the sun came out and made us think again of spring, after days of cold, fog, and rain. I was not at all uncomfortably warm in my alpaca neck wrap and fleece hoodie, but as I walked through campus I saw that others had shed layers at the first sign of blue sky. In my wintry garb I walked for a few minutes behind a student in a sundress, with bare shoulders, exuberantly flinging out her arms as if to collect as much vitamin D as was on offer this chilly blackberry-winter day.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Spring is here
The calendar may not make it official yet, but spring has arrived here in central Arkansas. The Bradford pears and tulip trees have been in full bloom for a week, and what was at first a slight scribble of green on the deciduous trees has turned into a definite halo.
More importantly, spring break has arrived. And after this week of interviews, petition drives, admissions huddles, and road races, it's none too soon. Many years, spring break is just a scheduled hiatus in the midst of business as usual. This year, it feels like I've earned a vacation. To borrow a metaphor from March Madness, it's been a full-court press both here at the university and in my other leadership position in my scholarly organization. A week with no appointments, no classes, and only self-imposed deadlines? Sounds like exactly the break I needed.
Today, walking across campus in the pleasant seventy-degree weather, a breeze ruffled my halr (which I've been growing long as a last-ditch protest against the gray that's starting to appear. It occurred to me how different the wind can be from one season to the next. Four months ago, the wind was my enemy; I fortified myself against it with my warmest scarves and hats, put my head down and tried to duck from building to building as quickly as I could before its icy fingers penetrated my defenses. Today the breeze was warm and welcome. I could hardly stop myself from lifting my head and inviting the wind to lift my hair off my neck and shoulders, letting it spread out and away from me. What a change -- to welcome the wind rather than warding it off.
More importantly, spring break has arrived. And after this week of interviews, petition drives, admissions huddles, and road races, it's none too soon. Many years, spring break is just a scheduled hiatus in the midst of business as usual. This year, it feels like I've earned a vacation. To borrow a metaphor from March Madness, it's been a full-court press both here at the university and in my other leadership position in my scholarly organization. A week with no appointments, no classes, and only self-imposed deadlines? Sounds like exactly the break I needed.
Today, walking across campus in the pleasant seventy-degree weather, a breeze ruffled my halr (which I've been growing long as a last-ditch protest against the gray that's starting to appear. It occurred to me how different the wind can be from one season to the next. Four months ago, the wind was my enemy; I fortified myself against it with my warmest scarves and hats, put my head down and tried to duck from building to building as quickly as I could before its icy fingers penetrated my defenses. Today the breeze was warm and welcome. I could hardly stop myself from lifting my head and inviting the wind to lift my hair off my neck and shoulders, letting it spread out and away from me. What a change -- to welcome the wind rather than warding it off.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Storm season
It's the beginning of one of the toughest seasons in Arkansas -- late winter and early spring. This is the time of year when strong storms can spawn tornados across the state.
Essential equipment for an Arkansas tornado season is a NOAA weather radio with S.A.M.E. encoding. Almost any day with active weather, severe thunderstorm and flash flood warnings are going to crop up around the state, and watches will proliferate for hours. If you have the basic weather radio, it will go off over and over and over. The S.A.M.E. codes allow you to specify your county, so that you only receive alerts that apply to your area. In addition, I've set our weather radio to sound the siren only for tornado warnings. Nothing is more disconcerting, and at the same time more desensitizing, than having the siren go off constantly in the middle of a thunderstorm cluster.
Tornados ... I don't like 'em. Last year a funnel cloud starting descending within a couple of miles of our house, and we spent some time in our safe room (an interior bathroom). I could do without that stress. Every severe thunderstorm I ride out with heightened anxiety because of such threats. But I'm calmer than I used to be. Nothing can stop the weather, if it comes. But I've beefed up our insurance because of the tendency of our street to flood and the proximity of earthquake-producing faultlines. Our new landscaping and improved drainage gives me confidence that we can handle a greater variety of rainfall rates.
In the end, all you can do about storm season is wait it out and breathe a deep sigh of relief when the unsettled pattern smooths out. At least spring brings color and sunlight and warmth along with the occasional violence of the atmosphere.
Essential equipment for an Arkansas tornado season is a NOAA weather radio with S.A.M.E. encoding. Almost any day with active weather, severe thunderstorm and flash flood warnings are going to crop up around the state, and watches will proliferate for hours. If you have the basic weather radio, it will go off over and over and over. The S.A.M.E. codes allow you to specify your county, so that you only receive alerts that apply to your area. In addition, I've set our weather radio to sound the siren only for tornado warnings. Nothing is more disconcerting, and at the same time more desensitizing, than having the siren go off constantly in the middle of a thunderstorm cluster.
Tornados ... I don't like 'em. Last year a funnel cloud starting descending within a couple of miles of our house, and we spent some time in our safe room (an interior bathroom). I could do without that stress. Every severe thunderstorm I ride out with heightened anxiety because of such threats. But I'm calmer than I used to be. Nothing can stop the weather, if it comes. But I've beefed up our insurance because of the tendency of our street to flood and the proximity of earthquake-producing faultlines. Our new landscaping and improved drainage gives me confidence that we can handle a greater variety of rainfall rates.
In the end, all you can do about storm season is wait it out and breathe a deep sigh of relief when the unsettled pattern smooths out. At least spring brings color and sunlight and warmth along with the occasional violence of the atmosphere.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Change in the air
The contrast couldn't be more pointed. Last week the streets were covered with snow and ice for three days, and freezing temperatures kept everyone inside. Today it was more than sixty degrees, the last of the snow piles was reduced to the occasional incongruous patch of slush, and students appeared in shorts and sandals.
Back in the office, I plowed through my to-do list in a frenzy of productivity. Read daily student work: check. Prep an outline for class: check. Write an proposal to submit to an international conference: check. E-mail faculty about their fall class schedules: check. Talk to students during office hours: check
It was my first day in the office in almost a week, and it felt like I should make the most of it. But the sunshine and balmy temperatures made going to work seem like a privilege. I walked the length of the campus four times -- from home to office, to class and back, and back home -- and the whole experience was transformed. For months, it seems, I've been huddled inside thick coats and woolens, dreading any time I had to venture outside to go to another building or, heaven forbid, the other side of campus. Wind, rain, snow, and frigid temperatures made me want to drive to work even when I didn't need a car during the day for any errands of off-campus appointments, just so I wouldn't have to spend fifteen minutes outside of a heated environment.
Today I picked up my lunch in the student center and strolled to the fountain to dine al fresco for the first time in 2011. I lingered with my book and my meal, and by the time I needed to pack up and cross campus to my class, I didn't need my hoodie anymore. Normally I resist student pressure to have class outside -- the distractions are too many, and it's difficult to have a productive discussion -- but today I suggested it, reasoning that our project about the campus environment made it a good idea. We soaked up the unexpected rays and replenished our stores of vitamin D.
It's supposed to be beautiful weather all week. I suspect we'll have more winter to come before spring really arrives, but right now we'll singing the groundhog's praises and relishing the sweet comparison while it's still in our short-term memories.
Back in the office, I plowed through my to-do list in a frenzy of productivity. Read daily student work: check. Prep an outline for class: check. Write an proposal to submit to an international conference: check. E-mail faculty about their fall class schedules: check. Talk to students during office hours: check
It was my first day in the office in almost a week, and it felt like I should make the most of it. But the sunshine and balmy temperatures made going to work seem like a privilege. I walked the length of the campus four times -- from home to office, to class and back, and back home -- and the whole experience was transformed. For months, it seems, I've been huddled inside thick coats and woolens, dreading any time I had to venture outside to go to another building or, heaven forbid, the other side of campus. Wind, rain, snow, and frigid temperatures made me want to drive to work even when I didn't need a car during the day for any errands of off-campus appointments, just so I wouldn't have to spend fifteen minutes outside of a heated environment.
Today I picked up my lunch in the student center and strolled to the fountain to dine al fresco for the first time in 2011. I lingered with my book and my meal, and by the time I needed to pack up and cross campus to my class, I didn't need my hoodie anymore. Normally I resist student pressure to have class outside -- the distractions are too many, and it's difficult to have a productive discussion -- but today I suggested it, reasoning that our project about the campus environment made it a good idea. We soaked up the unexpected rays and replenished our stores of vitamin D.
It's supposed to be beautiful weather all week. I suspect we'll have more winter to come before spring really arrives, but right now we'll singing the groundhog's praises and relishing the sweet comparison while it's still in our short-term memories.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Awaiting the onslaught
Last weekend, as we waited for a couple of inches of ice and snow to melt off the streets, we were told that a bigger storm was on the way for the middle of the following week. Now it's almost here, and the projected snow accumulations have been rising the closer the storm gets.
Everyone is hunkered down and expecting complete official cancelation action for at least the next two days. Some government agencies in Little Rock have already announced they will be closed tomorrow. Snow is supposed to start around dawn, continue all day, and then persist on the ground through a cold day Thursday.
Enjoying a snow day is all about mental preparation. You get your ducks in a row, figure out what you can bring home and how much you need to be productive. Then you line up home-based projects: kids making their Valentines for school, baking or cooking, crafts, games, whatever has been waiting for a rainy (or snowy) day.
One snow day is something to look forward to. Two snow days we can definitely handle. Let's hope things don't stretch to three, or our mental preparations may fray at the edges.
Everyone is hunkered down and expecting complete official cancelation action for at least the next two days. Some government agencies in Little Rock have already announced they will be closed tomorrow. Snow is supposed to start around dawn, continue all day, and then persist on the ground through a cold day Thursday.
Enjoying a snow day is all about mental preparation. You get your ducks in a row, figure out what you can bring home and how much you need to be productive. Then you line up home-based projects: kids making their Valentines for school, baking or cooking, crafts, games, whatever has been waiting for a rainy (or snowy) day.
One snow day is something to look forward to. Two snow days we can definitely handle. Let's hope things don't stretch to three, or our mental preparations may fray at the edges.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Ready dot us
More winter weather is headed our way, we're told -- and in a larger package than we've had so far. The forecast calls for accumulating snow all day on Wednesday, and bitter cold Wednesday night into Thursday.
Best guess, then, is that we'll be home some part of both days, with our various schools canceled. We've laid in supplies and made mental preparations. The difficulty, for me, is making contingency plans at work. Big projects are just starting to be underway in both my classes, and on the schedule for Wednesday and Thursday, respectively, are important class periods devoted to moving those projects forward. Our first day-long interview process with recruits is next Friday, and this week we're scrambling to evaluate applications and extend invitations. It's a critical time in my role as an officer of regional and national scholarly organizations as well, with meetings coming up, registration numbers looming large, and budgets to be scrutinized.
The latter two projects are something I can work on from home. The class projects, though, are a different matter. At this critical stage, the groups of students have formulated general directions and the germs of concrete activities. We need to divide up labor and start finding out which aspects of our brainstorming are going to be fruitful and which are going to be duds. It's hard to do that in any non-authoritarian way without meeting in a group. Sure, I could make group assignments myself, but in order to see what people are interested in and what, therefore, is likely to attract enough laborers to make it a going concern, there's no substitute for meeting face to face.
Knowing that one or both of those class meetings is likely to fall victim to the snow, I'm trying to imagine ways of doing this work online. If you have any experience in asynchronous brainstorming and project organization, I'd love to benefit from your advice.
Best guess, then, is that we'll be home some part of both days, with our various schools canceled. We've laid in supplies and made mental preparations. The difficulty, for me, is making contingency plans at work. Big projects are just starting to be underway in both my classes, and on the schedule for Wednesday and Thursday, respectively, are important class periods devoted to moving those projects forward. Our first day-long interview process with recruits is next Friday, and this week we're scrambling to evaluate applications and extend invitations. It's a critical time in my role as an officer of regional and national scholarly organizations as well, with meetings coming up, registration numbers looming large, and budgets to be scrutinized.
The latter two projects are something I can work on from home. The class projects, though, are a different matter. At this critical stage, the groups of students have formulated general directions and the germs of concrete activities. We need to divide up labor and start finding out which aspects of our brainstorming are going to be fruitful and which are going to be duds. It's hard to do that in any non-authoritarian way without meeting in a group. Sure, I could make group assignments myself, but in order to see what people are interested in and what, therefore, is likely to attract enough laborers to make it a going concern, there's no substitute for meeting face to face.
Knowing that one or both of those class meetings is likely to fall victim to the snow, I'm trying to imagine ways of doing this work online. If you have any experience in asynchronous brainstorming and project organization, I'd love to benefit from your advice.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Troublesome enough
People from the north often ridicule us Southerners for the way winter weather paralyzes us. A little snow and we panic; some slippery roads and we flail impotently behind the wheel. They say that we just don't know how to drive in it. They say that we're wimps.
What they don't understand is that winter weather is different down here. We don't have fleets of snowplows and warehouses of salt, brine, and sand at the ready to clear the roads. We can't; storms that justify such preparations don't occur every year, and what local government can stockpile equipment and supplies that go unused for years at a time? It's not that we're incompetent drivers in slippery weather -- it's that the roads haven't been made fit to drive on.
And Northerners have little idea of the kind of winter weather we typically get. It's not the snow that piles up that ruins our commutes. It's ice. We have ice storms. Rain falls and freezes, coating everything. You can't shovel it. We aren't running around our houses unable to make our way through the drifts. We're huddling in the dark because the ice knocked down our power lines, and spinning out because the roads are skating rinks. Ice storms are as rare in Minnesota as snowstorms are here. You folks just don't know what we're dealing with, any more than we know what it's like to use a snowblower.
Maybe the recent massive snowstorm that dumped nearly two feet of snow on Chicago and caused roads to close, drivers to abandon their cars on major roads, and public transit to grind to a halt will remind my friends to the north that they aren't quite immune from paralyzing winter weather themselves. When events are within the normal range of variation, neither of us have any problems. When things get out of hand, both of us end up stuck in a ditch and stockpiling bread. Just because "out of hand" means something different here than there, doesn't mean we're not both vulnerable and competent in equal measure, depending on the circumstances.
What they don't understand is that winter weather is different down here. We don't have fleets of snowplows and warehouses of salt, brine, and sand at the ready to clear the roads. We can't; storms that justify such preparations don't occur every year, and what local government can stockpile equipment and supplies that go unused for years at a time? It's not that we're incompetent drivers in slippery weather -- it's that the roads haven't been made fit to drive on.
And Northerners have little idea of the kind of winter weather we typically get. It's not the snow that piles up that ruins our commutes. It's ice. We have ice storms. Rain falls and freezes, coating everything. You can't shovel it. We aren't running around our houses unable to make our way through the drifts. We're huddling in the dark because the ice knocked down our power lines, and spinning out because the roads are skating rinks. Ice storms are as rare in Minnesota as snowstorms are here. You folks just don't know what we're dealing with, any more than we know what it's like to use a snowblower.
Maybe the recent massive snowstorm that dumped nearly two feet of snow on Chicago and caused roads to close, drivers to abandon their cars on major roads, and public transit to grind to a halt will remind my friends to the north that they aren't quite immune from paralyzing winter weather themselves. When events are within the normal range of variation, neither of us have any problems. When things get out of hand, both of us end up stuck in a ditch and stockpiling bread. Just because "out of hand" means something different here than there, doesn't mean we're not both vulnerable and competent in equal measure, depending on the circumstances.
Monday, January 31, 2011
And give it all right back to you
Today's post about a genre of yarn and a scarf that's become its default is at Toxophily.
Another week, another winter storm that has millions of people hunkering down. Currently the track has rain and wind in our region -- snow and ice staying north of us. By the end of the day tomorrow we should know whether that prediction will hold true. Tune in to see!
Another week, another winter storm that has millions of people hunkering down. Currently the track has rain and wind in our region -- snow and ice staying north of us. By the end of the day tomorrow we should know whether that prediction will hold true. Tune in to see!
Saturday, January 29, 2011
We all shine on
I tend to think that everything balances out. Even-steven, as a famous Seinfeldism puts it. If something good happens, then it will be matched later by something bad. If I'm way down, then before long I'll be just as far up.
Today was the day I've been dreaming of for two weeks. And it was way better than I could have imagined. Not only did I get to sleep in while Noel got up with the kids, not only did he take them to the playground for an hour and a half this afternoon and leave me to do anything I wanted ... but a bunch of unexpected goodness sweetened the pot.
Today was the day I've been dreaming of for two weeks. And it was way better than I could have imagined. Not only did I get to sleep in while Noel got up with the kids, not only did he take them to the playground for an hour and a half this afternoon and leave me to do anything I wanted ... but a bunch of unexpected goodness sweetened the pot.
- The baby blanket I'm knitting -- a bit of a gamble with yarn that one might not ordinarily consider suitable for such -- is turning out beautifully, beyond my wildest hope.
- Cady Gray decided she wanted to paint this afternoon, and created rainbows while wearing one of her dad's old shirts backwards as a delightfully oversized smock, while Archer swiftly checkmated me.
- It was in the low seventies outside. In January.
How quickly will the universe take it all back? I'm already peering fearfully at the weather map for early next week. Right now the forecast for our area is rain, with the temps staying too high during the precipitation to put us in any danger. But just a bit of adjustment to that jet stream path, and we'll be smack in the middle of an accumulating-ice "event," as they say.
This past week was actually the first of the semester that my university was in session Monday through Friday. Holidays and winter weather closures shortened both previous weeks. "How do you like your five-day work week?" a colleague joked as we passed on campus yesterday. If the alternative is being frozen in the house and worrying about power outages, Tony, I like it just fine -- and hope the balancing act of the universe lets the scales stay tipped a little bit in my favor this time.
Friday, January 21, 2011
On a cold night
On a cold night, I like one of those microwaveable bean bags nestled around my neck, and someone to throw it back in the microwave for me after it cools down.
On a cold night, I like to fold clothes just out of the dryer.
On a cold night, I get out my warmest pajamas and slippers.
On a cold night, I long to knit a blanket and have it spill over my lap, growing out of control.
On a cold night, if I must go out, I demand corduroys.
On a cold night, nothing calls to me more loudly than a bed covered with quilts.
On a cold night, there's no place like home.
On a cold night, I like to fold clothes just out of the dryer.
On a cold night, I get out my warmest pajamas and slippers.
On a cold night, I long to knit a blanket and have it spill over my lap, growing out of control.
On a cold night, if I must go out, I demand corduroys.
On a cold night, nothing calls to me more loudly than a bed covered with quilts.
On a cold night, there's no place like home.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Blame me
If the snow in central Arkansas has ruined your plans or stranded your car, blame me.
When winter weather entered our forecast a few days ago, I had qualms. Winter weather sometimes means ice, and ice is bad news. It coats power lines and takes out electricity; it makes streets impassible even on foot for days as it melts and refreezes.
But as the week went on, the forecast models kept pushing the ice line further south. If we got wintery precipitation, it would be snow. And I started to think that a little snow wouldn't be half bad.
Just a little, mind you. Last year when we got snow, it came in rather too large a package, and we didn't leave the house by car for four days. I can take a couple of unplanned vacation days, but that was a bit much. (And even at that, we probably jumped the gun on going out to get dinner; there was an unpleasant slide at our traffic circle on the way home that made me wish we'd waited.)
But a few inches? For the kids to play in? The one accumulating snow event per season that we are owed by nature? When the university's not in session yet and no class schedule can be wrecked by cancellations?
I'm perfectly okay with that. In fact, I started to secretly hope for it earlier today. My anticipation was fixed on the knitting I would do and the hot cocoa I would make for kids coming in from their snowmen and snowballs and snow angels. Imagining that the snow would somehow miss us -- or that it wouldn't pile up enough for school to be canceled -- began to be a disappointing thought.
That scenario is now out of the question; we just got the robocall informing us that the district schools would be closed tomorrow. A couple of inches are on the ground; there are still a few more hours of snow to fall. The only question now is how much we will get, how long it will stay on the roadways making travel treacherous, and when schools will reopen.
If it's more than a day, blame me. I asked for it; I deserve whatever I get.
When winter weather entered our forecast a few days ago, I had qualms. Winter weather sometimes means ice, and ice is bad news. It coats power lines and takes out electricity; it makes streets impassible even on foot for days as it melts and refreezes.
But as the week went on, the forecast models kept pushing the ice line further south. If we got wintery precipitation, it would be snow. And I started to think that a little snow wouldn't be half bad.
Just a little, mind you. Last year when we got snow, it came in rather too large a package, and we didn't leave the house by car for four days. I can take a couple of unplanned vacation days, but that was a bit much. (And even at that, we probably jumped the gun on going out to get dinner; there was an unpleasant slide at our traffic circle on the way home that made me wish we'd waited.)
But a few inches? For the kids to play in? The one accumulating snow event per season that we are owed by nature? When the university's not in session yet and no class schedule can be wrecked by cancellations?
I'm perfectly okay with that. In fact, I started to secretly hope for it earlier today. My anticipation was fixed on the knitting I would do and the hot cocoa I would make for kids coming in from their snowmen and snowballs and snow angels. Imagining that the snow would somehow miss us -- or that it wouldn't pile up enough for school to be canceled -- began to be a disappointing thought.
That scenario is now out of the question; we just got the robocall informing us that the district schools would be closed tomorrow. A couple of inches are on the ground; there are still a few more hours of snow to fall. The only question now is how much we will get, how long it will stay on the roadways making travel treacherous, and when schools will reopen.
If it's more than a day, blame me. I asked for it; I deserve whatever I get.
Friday, October 1, 2010
In the air
Many people associate summer with freedom. When we were children, summer meant school being out, and being master of one's own time and energy.
I find that spring and fall are the times I feel most free. Change is in the air. It feels like something new is on the way. And that's when I have the sense of unfettered motion, of expansiveness, of being exhilaratingly untethered.
Does that say anything about what freedom means to others, and what it means to me? Maybe. I crave security and routine, not adventure. But security and routine are not the place where I find freedom. Throughout my life, it's when I've left behind the known and the familiar that I've found that sense of possibility. They've been frightening moments -- but moments when I could not avoid the realization that I was making my own way.
As the seasons change, the world around us moves toward a new destination. Summer and winter are stable, the zenith and the nadir of the year. They linger, and we wonder if we will ever emerge. It's when the stasis breaks and the seasons are on the move that the future opens me. I don't know where I'm headed, but I know I'm not standing still. Something new is coming, and what I do will determine what it is. That's a risk, but a heady one. It's what freedom feels like to me.
I find that spring and fall are the times I feel most free. Change is in the air. It feels like something new is on the way. And that's when I have the sense of unfettered motion, of expansiveness, of being exhilaratingly untethered.
Does that say anything about what freedom means to others, and what it means to me? Maybe. I crave security and routine, not adventure. But security and routine are not the place where I find freedom. Throughout my life, it's when I've left behind the known and the familiar that I've found that sense of possibility. They've been frightening moments -- but moments when I could not avoid the realization that I was making my own way.
As the seasons change, the world around us moves toward a new destination. Summer and winter are stable, the zenith and the nadir of the year. They linger, and we wonder if we will ever emerge. It's when the stasis breaks and the seasons are on the move that the future opens me. I don't know where I'm headed, but I know I'm not standing still. Something new is coming, and what I do will determine what it is. That's a risk, but a heady one. It's what freedom feels like to me.
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