Ice Storm

 The other day, we had snow, rain, and ice. Thankfully, I didn't have to venture out and could enjoy the ice, captured by the photo on the crepe myrtle.

If It's Spring, It Means Thermostat Wars.

This morning the temperature is in the 50s (13 C for European readers). By afternoon, the temperature will be in the mid to high 70s (24 C). This is the way of spring in the South. I love it. My kids…not so much. Here’s a typical spring day.

Early morning. My children get up. Shivering. I have left the windows open all night to get the house cool and bring in fresh air. (I’m a big believer is fresh air. My kids are big believers in keeping the house shut up—they point to the fine layer of pollen coating everything. I hand them a dust rag and remind them that they aren’t allergic to pollen.)

The children protest. Some do it audibly. Another wears a robe. And another… Let’s just say that I found myself saying, “Turn off the gas fireplace now!”

By late afternoon, the windows are sealed up. The temperature in the house has risen. My children have changed clothes. And they are protesting the heat. There are cries of “turn on the air conditioning.” I give them a cold stare and say, “Absolutely not.” I remind them that in an hour or two, I’ll open the windows and cool air will flood the house. There is grumbling and gnashing of teeth. Protests begin. A male protester takes off his shirt. Apparently, it is “the only way I can survive the heat.” A male sibling follows suit. They say to their sister, “Don’t you wish you could do this?” The sister rolls her eyes.

Late evening comes, the windows have been open for a couple of hours. The house feels blissful. I walk into the living room. The fireplace is on. A child is sitting in front of it, warming his back. I order a child to “turn off the fireplace!”

The current rumor is that mom is too cheap to use the air conditioner. Yep, it’s true. I’m cheap. They can add that to their exit interview.

(BTW, if you don’t remember exit interviews, click here.)

Photo by Vincent de Groot, courtesy of Wikimedia.

Isn't It March?

February is the coldest month of the year. Normally, March and April are spring months with temperatures beginning in the 40s and as the months progress, ending in the 70s. But this year, we’ve jumped with both feet into summer. Yesterday, it was 91 degrees F. The kids wanted the air conditioner turned on. I resisted. But if today’s as hot as yesterday, I’ll cave.

And the heat, which has been unseasonable for a couple of weeks, has my gardens completely confused. Daffodils bloomed before crocuses. I have a bearded iris blooming—the tulips haven’t even started blooming yet. None of the seedlings I ordered have even arrived yet. They’re due tomorrow. But when I put them in the ground, they’re likely to get scorched.  Best case scenario, they’ll go into shock.

And, of course, the chance of frost doesn’t pass until April 18. So most likely, all the tender plants will come up and be frozen. And the weeds are having the most amazing celebration of spring. Normally, I can get them under control before they go crazy, but not this year. But I’ve been out every morning with my trowel in the cool morning wreaking my vengeance on them. I won’t let them mock me for much longer. Unless you consider the lawn (a weed patch that I call a lawn simply because I want to pretend it’s a verdant meadow instead of a rocky, clay slope that destroys everything but clover, chickweed, and dandelions). The lawn will mock me all summer. But I’ve decided to rise above it—that and send the boys out to mow. When the weeds are freshly mown and I squint my eyes, I can pretend it’s grass.

In spite of the weeds and heat, there’s one thing I’m loving. Open windows. (I am thankful that I don’t have pollen allergies. Most people in Chattanooga are bleary eyed and congested. I’ve heard all the Germans who moved here to manage the new VW plant are flooding allergists’ offices.) Last night, I slept with the windows, and the birds woke me this morning. Birds are soooo much better than alarm clocks.  If you aren’t in the frozen tundra of New England (sorry, Kirsten et al.), let the birds wake you tomorrow. It’s bliss.

Autumnal Conspiracies

How do I know that autumn’s here?  (Okay, it’s November, but I live in Tennessee so fall comes late.)  Is it the apple cider that’s mulling on the stove? Is it the leaves that are going from green to crimson? Is it the leaf mold that makes us sneeze 24 hours a day?

No. It’s none of those things. I know it’s autumn because I need two wardrobes.  In the mornings, I need an undershirt, long-sleeve shirt, wool sweater, jeans, and warm socks.  By afternoon, I need a pair of shorts and a tank top.

It freezes during the night and hits the 70s or 80s in the afternoon.  Why is that?  I’m sure there’s a scientific explanation that has something to do with wind patterns and the seasonal movements of the earth around the sun, but that’s hogwash.  I’m pretty sure it’s caused by an under-the-table deal between the detergent companies and the clothing manufacturers.  (Kind of like the deal between greeting card manufacturers and the postal service, which created holidays like Secretary’s Day and National Talk-Like-A-Pirate-Day. Yes, that’s a real day with real cards.)

Anyway, the temperature swings are clearly a result of weather altering satellites owned by Proctor and Gamble and the Gap. In a bid to make up lost revenue due to the recession, they’ve messed with the weather and engineered these multiple clothing changes. Instead of tossing shorts and tank top in the wash, I also have to wash jeans, an undershirt, a tee-shirt and heavy socks.  Now multiply this by the six people in the house. (thankfully, we have only one girl or you could be multiplying this by twelve to include outfits that were tried on and discarded).  Yep, that’s a lot of laundry.

So I’m going through lots of detergent. (BTW, in an effort to save money and not pay for any more satellites purchased by P&G, I bought the Costco version of Tide.  Don’t do it.  It doesn’t dissolve properly, even in warm water, and leaves little bits of detergent on your clothes.)  However, I’ve outsmarted Gap as well as Target and Kohls, who are no doubt involved in this conspiracy, by buying at a thrift store, sewing, and remaking hand-me-downs.

Thankfully, winter’s just around the corner, although then I’ll have to face the gas company/heating oil conspiracy. I have no idea how to get around that.  Last winter, I tried turning the heater down very low. But when the kids “saw” their breath, mutinous rumors abounded. Their eagle eyes have already been watching the thermostat. I must come up with new ways to thwart the heating company. Or my kids.  Hmm. The heating company is easier.

N.B. For some reason, Blogger insists on putting my final paragraphs in a different font.  What's up with that? I've tried every remedy.  It must be a Microsoft/Blogger conspiracy formulated by the computer imps who really run the companies.

One Last Party

As I was driving home this morning from dropping off Ariel, I saw a tree whose leaves had begun to color. Though I know it’s early and this means that the tree is under stress, it also reminds me that autumn is around the corner.


Soon the hills and mountains that surround Chattanooga will be painted yellow, scarlet, and maroon. It’s like the trees are having one last party before they go to sleep for the winter. It means soon I’ll be sipping hot apple cider at night, snuggling under wool blankets, and enjoying chrysanthemum blooms. And it means I begin the wait to see snowflakes dancing in the air.

We don’t get much snow here in southeastern Tennessee, but just enough to have spontaneous city-wide holidays that make the wait for Thanksgiving and Christmas seem shorter.

But it’s still 90 degrees during the days, and I’m soaking in the warmth and telling myself that I’ll miss it in January. I looked out the window and saw a yellow leaf fluttering in the breeze. Sigh. Maybe fall is closer than I think.

Chemical Dependency

It’s the time of year where I have to admit that I am chemically dependent on...Round up. Any other time of year, I’m willing to put on my hat and gloves, grab my gardening bag, and hit the flower beds. But once the heat shatters the 90 degree, massive humidity mark, I break out the Round up. (Maybe it’s the evil dictator intent on world domination in me, I tested out as Sauron in the LOTR personality test, but I love killing weeds.) Nothing’s more fulfilling than spraying unsuspecting healthy green weeds with Round-up and knowing they’ll be toast within a few days. Bwa-ha-ha!

I sprayed weeds on Saturday, and when I went running this morning I had satisfaction of seeing the weeds had already started to turn brown. Of course, if my neighbors actually cut their “grass” (read weed patches) on a regular basis I might not have such weed problems, but that’s another story.

In the meantime, die, weeds, die!

The Weather Won

I’m not sure why people chose to live in Florida. Don’t get me wrong, I have friends and relatives that have lived or live in Florida. I just don’t get it.

Here in Tennessee we’re having late summer weather in June. (Florida’s normal weather this time of year), which means it’s like living in a pressure cooker. You walk outside and you begin to feel the fluid temperature in your body start to rise as the humidity steams you.

Of course, I could stay in my air conditioned house. (I’m trying not to think about what the electric bill will look like when the ac is running almost 24/7.) But that would be to let the weather dictate my plans.

So I got up this morning nice and early and went for a run. I ran the hills. Up and down. I put my brain in neutral—if I don’t think about the heat maybe I won’t notice it. Yeah, okay, I get a bit delusional at times.

We just finished our run, and Jezebel and I are panting. I’ve downed a massive glass of ice water, but Jez is panting too hard to drink. It’s too hot and way too humid. And in our 30+ minute run the temperature went up five degrees. Ugh. In the time it’s taken me to write this blog post it’s risen another five degrees. I think the weather’s won.