Journal of a Sabbatical

March 10, 2001

no place to put it

Today's Reading: My Generation by Sarah Anna Emery

When I woke up this morning, it was still snowing. I now officially, at least today, hate winter. I called Nancy to whine about it. It wasn't snowing in Providence. Nancy asked: "So how much do you hate winter?" After a short pause I replied: "More than the Yankees!" Nancy, surprised, responds: "I have never heard you say you hated anything more than the Yankees." Me: "I'd like to send the Yankees some of this snow."

When the snow stopped I started shoveling. Pajama Woman was out there digging her car out. We compared notes. We agreed there's no place left to put it. I mean at any other time, this measly 8 inches or so would be a minor inconvenience, but when you already have 30 inches (on top of whatever hadn't melted from previous storms) it presents logistical problems. Maybe school kids can learn math by calculating the volume of the snow mountain behind my house. Maybe they can learn engineering by calculating how high you can stack the snow before the mountain generates avalanches. Wait, it's already generating avalanches.

Anyway, in the course of chitchat, I mentioned to Pajama Woman how upset I was by Busy Body's yelling at the kids on my behalf. This unleashed a litany of harassment that Pajama Woman has received from Busy Body recently, far worse than her mere stalking and threatening of me. She called Pajama Woman in the wee hours of the morning the other day when the power went off - to tell her the power went off. Pajama Woman now screens her calls because Busy Body calls her constantly. I also gleaned from this conversation that the Russian Parking Space Blockers' matriarch will not speak to Busy Body any more and that a nice woman who lives directly across from Busy Body goes back inside her unit whenever she sees Busy Body. The gist of the rest of the conversation was that Busy Body watches everybody all the time. I feel relieved that it's not just me and it's definitely not something I'm doing to trigger it. Yikes! Can we send her to New York along with the snow?

How long before I become as insane as Busy Body? Am I already that insane and just don't know it yet? I mean I have been known to scream at the Russian Parking Space Blockers and the kids in the band. On the other hand, the Russian Parking Space Blocker in Chief yells at the boy who leaves his car in my space and at the kids in the band louder and oftener than I do.

I do feel like I'm going insane though. The rest of the world is going about its normal business. Governments are falling or forming or repealing ergonomics rules. Rivers are overflowing: the Tisza River floods Hungary and Romania (fortunately this river is nowhere near our herbarium). Petty crimes are being committed: vandals in Newburyport stole a feral cat feeding station, a coke machine, and some fire extinguishers. Commerce is being conducted. Coffee is being roasted. Books are being written and read. And yet ... and yet... here in this tiny corner of the benighted Merrimack Valley, all anybody can think about is snow removal.