It rains. And it rains. Soon, the weatherman tells us, the snow will be gone from our yards and gardens, slowly whittled away by pelting water that falls steadily from the bleak skies.
The river roils with energy, its power unleashed and clearly visible.
The water pushes its way through town, tumbling toward the lower (but truly higher) falls where it hurtles over the edge and drops to a wider and more peaceful valley flow.
This is not the highest it has been in the past five years; there have been times when to stand on the suspension bridge meant getting soaked from the spray. However, more rain is expected over the next two days, with temperatures that will encourage continued snowmelt.
Downtown was quiet this afternoon compared to the noise of Saturday’s St. Patrick’s Day parade. We avoided the crowds and noise then (sorry, no parade pictures due to our 5th year of not going) but today SuperDad and I had a late lunch/early supper of corned beef sandwiches at the Irish pub. The taste was so rich and flavorful that I had to close my eyes and focus on each bite. As I write this, four hours have passed and I’m still smiling — this is what good food can do to a person.
The view across the street from the restaurant, however, is different story.
I’m not smiling over this scene, despite it being positive progress; this structure that was erected for Expo ’74 — and has housed the 1909 Looff Carrousel since 1975 — is being dismantled, torn down after 42 years. The carrousel itself, with its band organ and wonderful painted horses and other animals, is safely in storage (and/or being restored) during the time needed to take down the old building and put up a new one. The park feels achingly empty without the carrousel. I’ll have to wait another year to have that space filled once again.
It is still winter here where the snow falls like powdered sugar.
Little Foot arrived at our house on Saturday evening. His mama and daddy both caught the stomach bug he’d just gotten over, and Oma and Opa were happy to have him here so his parents could rest.
The resident uncles pretend it’s not a big deal to have Little Foot here for a visit but given the opportunity, they are happy to interact with their nephew.
It’s hard to focus the lens on a moving toddler!
This boy is amazingly mellow. This is the first time he has spent extended hours in our house without his parents here with him. He has asked, “Mama, where you? Dada?” a few times. However, most of the time he is content to play. Opa’s meatloaf, Oma’s pumpkin pie, bananas and peanut butter toast have been the favorite foods for the past day, along with muffins and breakfast breads at church on Sunday morning. Green beans were decidedly “meh.”
Oma, why is there only a tiny bit of sparkles on this toenail?
I’ve been taking advantage of his nap times to get some rest myself, even if it’s just reading a book. And really, who could resist just watching him sleep?
This nap, however, is coming to an end. Time to get back down on the floor and play!
We’ll be heading home to his mama and daddy this afternoon. They are feeling better and I have work tomorrow.
Rain has been a near-constant companion for the past week, helping to thaw two months worth of icy, dirty accumulations of snow.
It’s not pretty — and not just because it is a cheap cell phone picture.
All that rain is also raising the level of the river, which has been running three times above normal at 16,000 ft. per second. I’d share a picture but this weather has also affected my ankle; the hardware (or maybe it’s arthritis?) does not let me get out-and-about easily when it is damp and cold.
We’re down to 8 inches of soggy snow in the front yard, although it’s much higher wherever the shovelfuls landed or the snowblower blew it. The dirty snow at the edges of the street is ugly, but it’s nowhere near the danger level of the many potholes that have become evident now that the streets are no longer covered with several inches of compact snow and ice. Commuting to and from my exercise class (and yes, I know that is a silly thing: driving in order to workout elsewhere) I’m one of many drivers zig-zagging in and out of the lanes to avoid becoming a pothole victim.
Days like this are good reminders to “unplug” so I went to the public library after church and returned home with a stack of books.
The two items on top are DVDs about Ellis Island: one is an overview from the History Channel and the other is a PBS documentary about the hospital on Ellis Island. Three out of the five books are stories of immigrants. I may be unplugging for a bit, but I am not ignoring what is happening all around us.
On Thursday evening, my friend ~A~ invited me to join her at a small concert in a privately owned historic home. We met there after work, shedding warm coats and settling into a row of dining room chairs to enjoy the dulcet sounds of oboe and piano and a soprano.
This was my view straight ahead, with the large reddish-orange star hanging from the eaves on the front porch and the lights from indoors reflected in the window.
The home was built in 1909 and has been beautifully preserved. The current owners pointed out the recurring theme of the Maltese crosses, the original lighting fixtures and told us that the beautiful woodwork had never been painted over (unlike some fixer-upper historic era homes).
It was such a lovely evening that I did not notice that my ankle was badly swollen until I was leaving to go home. I’d brought my cane with me to help me manage the many stairs from street level to the house, and it was definitely needed for the trek back down to the car.
At home I attempted to massage out the swelling while sharing with my husband how beautifully perfect the evening had been; a few hours later, I was using his foam roller to release tension in my calves and feet — an the effort to achieve sleep. In the morning I headed off to my regular water exercise class but once that was over, I was done for the day. A full day of work plus the evening concert on Thursday caused me to be overdrawn on my Pain & Abilities account. It’s been over a year since my surgery and apparently this is my “new normal.” The things I was able to do just 13 months ago are no longer possible. I know this — I’ve experienced it before — and yet I continue to forget or else stubbornly try to do things. I can attend a concert in the evening orhave a busy day, but I cannot do both without paying the consequences in overdraft fees for that Pain & Abilities account. After my class at the YMCA on Friday morning, my kind husband assisted me into stranded turtle position (ankle on pillow on overturned laundry basket) and massaged out some of the swelling. I spent the afternoon looking out the window at the falling snow, much as I did one year ago.
The boardwalk is a new addition but the view remains the same glorious sight it has been for centuries.
We’re in a small window of warm weather right now and everything is gorgeous — the trees, the river, the sky. I was in my old neighborhood, where we lived 27 years ago, and stopped to snap this picture. It isn’t the best part of town when it comes to socioeconomic standing but it does have some fabulous view of the river within walking distance. When we lived there we often took walks and enjoyed the peacefulness of our surroundings away from the noisy street.
When we moved back to this city a little over 5 years ago, one of the first things we did (after unpacking and setting up the house) was to raft the river. In late summer and early fall, the water is low and it’s easy to get hung up on the rocks in some places but it is always lovely. I wasn’t able to float on the river this summer and I miss it. I fondly remember kayaking in the calmer sections and getting soaked with near-icy water in the small rapids.
In this older part of town there are huge trees that create a canopy over the streets. Sometimes I return to reminisce over our days as a young couple when we were too poor to turn up the furnace, so we wore jackets and hats in the living room each winter evening. The old rental house still has the same faded red siding, the neighboring houses are just as dilapidated as they were a quarter-century ago, but the view from the bluff over the river is free and remains as beautiful as ever.