Minnesota got a good dousing of snow this week but not the light dry sparkly snow that inspires jollity but the heavy snow that tangles up air travel and leads to delays and cancellations and you see ordinary sensible well-dressed people sleeping on floors at the airport, their heads on knapsacks, our friends and neighbors turned into homeless refugees.
Enjoyed you story, Garrison. It called several thoughts to mind.
A thought about the trip on the airplane. I am so glad that it is not me. Back many years ago when I was gainfully employed, I would take an airplane flight several times a year and it was nice. I was 18 years old before I ever flew on a plane. I even had some halfway decent meals on planes. But that was back in the day when generally planes were not real crowded and people who were flying dressed up to fly. I think the fact that people do not dressup for anything anymore, tells us a lot about our society. When I started making trips on airplanes it was something new and novel, A little adventure. The last time I flew it was something to endure because flying was quicker that driving. Of course, bad weather only makes it much worse.
The other thought is about New York. Of course, people think that New Yorkers are rude and pushy and so forth. But I went to New York several times in the 1980's and stayed several weeks each time.
Someone told me that when you walk down the street in New York, always walk and act like you are going somewhere and that you know what you are doing. Walk purposely and don't make eye contact with people. That way the panhandlers and street criminals won't know that you are not a native and won't be apt to ask for a handout. And always carry your wallet in your front pants pocket which makes it harder for the pickpockets to get to.
But there were several times when I would stop someone on the street and ask a question and each time the person was friendly and helpful. I found out that everyone else was doing what I was doing -- walking purposefully and avoiding eye contact.
I have spent most of my life in the rural South; but I love big cities, specifically London and New York and Chicago.
I could talk about snow. About how there are many different kinds of snow -- Light and fluffy, damp and wet, and so forth, but other things are calling.
Best wishes, Garrison. May you and everyone have a nice day and a nice life. I hope that Santa will be good to one of us.
Garrison, I forgot. I also feel sorry for Florida for two reasons. One is that DeSantis is their Governor and two, about 60% of Florida voters love DeSantis.
Also in the above post the last sentence should say ". . . . .good to each one of us."
As an unevolved cave man, I have always wondered what is meant by 'dressed up,' and what 'up' implies. 'Up' to a social standard I had no part in establishing? 'Up' to a 'higher' social class of which I am not a member? I just don't understand (whether or not I would subscribe if I did understand, that is another question).
Perhaps 'dressing up' is some sort of shared exercise in status display. I once read that the necktie that spread from Europe traces back to Croatian mercenaries serving in France during the Thirty Years' War (1618–1648). They wore traditional knotted neckerchiefs around their necks as part of their uniform. This held the top of their jackets together and was more practical than stiff collars. The King instantly liked this neckpiece and made these ties a mandatory accessory for Royal Gatherings. And here we are, centuries later, emulating the French Court, although all the gesture can do now is attempt to deliver a message of 'I'm serious and professional and accomplished, in case you were wondering.' Nuts to that. At the same time, when it comes to clothing, to each her/his own.
Well first let me say that I think everyone and anyone has the freedom to dress as they see fit regardless of the occasion. But I also wonder what the way people dress says about them and about our society in general. All I have to go on is my experiences in life and seeing other people.
When I was a youngster I remember a plumber coming to the house. I was not aware of it at the time but looking back I remember that he was dressed in khaki work clothes and they were clean and had been ironed. He and his clothes looked neat and crisp and clean. At other times I recall seeing farmers and country men who dressed in bib overalls. People who watch Hee Haw and television make fun of people wearing bib overalls but many of the men who I saw wearing them looked so neat. Nice clean and ironed overalls with a clean white or blue shirt and these fellows looked as clean as a whistle.
But in recent years I notice that the plumber or electrician or whomever might be wearing a dirty pullover shirt and sweat pants. There is really no telling how they might be dressed.
At funerals and church many years ago everyone was dressed nice. Today if I went to a funeral there will be people there who look as if they were working in the yard mowing the grass or weed eating and did not bother to change clothes. They just came on as they were.
People tell me that typical dress for going to Walmart is pajamas and flipflops.
People definitely dress down nowadays. Dressing down is the opposite of dressing up.
Does that say anything about us and society? Does the way that you dress say anthing about how you feel about yourself?
If you go to a Dollar General store or a Walmart around here, your overall impression will be that most of the people there are poor because of the way that they are dressed. Whether that is true or not I don't know.
In any case, best wishes for a nice day and a nice life.
Florida as inspiration for storytelling just ain’t happening. Other than Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, Randy Wayne White, Carl Hiaasen, and Zora Neale Hurston, who is there? And only one of the four writes funny stuff. The governor of Florida seems to think burning books is a good idea. Kinda puts a damper on spinning yarns for publication.
When I lived in Montana, there would come a time every winter when the cabins called for Valium, so a bunch of us ladies would mush to Billings, 2 1/2 hours away, for a cure. The antidote was two or three used book shops, the quilt shop, and a splurgey lunch. The ride back usually included sudden high drama, with an 18-wheeler passing us at 65 mph on I-90, kicking up a cloud of dry snow. It made us feel like terrified angels, sure we were heading for automotive oblivion.
But we always made it home, clutching our books and fabric, knowing we could make it through till spring. You just don’t get the same experience strolling through an air conditioned mall in shorts and sandals in February.
As a USAF rookie in 1950 I hitched a ride in a B25 bomber and was lectured by an angry flight sgt when he caught me lounging near the bomb bay. "Never, ever, take off your parachute in a B25!" Talk about telling it like it is.
You gave my husband and I a chuckle this morning. You’re such a wonderful, wonderful writer. How does one know whether a person is a good writer? Because they touch your heart. And you do.
Thanks Garrison, your mention of these three cities, are all within our own experiences. We too are heading to Florida from Nebraska in a couple days. A week's stay in Key West will be a change of sight and temp which will make returning a downer.
Just think of all the modernism and invention that went into your going from MSP to NYC, turbulence and all. In the good old stagecoach days, the backboard bounced and the cactus and snow drifts hurt their toes....Yes, we're stuffed in there, too....but they do offer a beverage, some with relaxing qualities. Avoid Florida for now....warm sites are better in Arizona's Tucson.
I live in Ft. Lauderdale, and our hurricanes promote plenty of fellowship. Also, unless you're drunk and swimming in a canal or lake at night, you don't need to worry about the alligators. But you should keep dogs away from the water's edge at all times. And small children.
Sweet Encounters, serendipity, a willingness to talk to others about 'important' things. I love the noticing this requires and thanks for sharing with me and all of us...it is your superpower! To notice one's connections and humanity...regardless. I read a book, once, about Steve Jobs...in this otherwise unremarkable book I noticed that his superpower was he noticed things that others didn't, made connections other missed, and then took action (he told others to do so too.) It all matters and yet we often don't "notice" and then we can't honor by our presence in our world.
At lunch a favorite cafe with my wife, I noticed woman was watching me from across, a rare occurrence...I wondered if I knew her, so I smiled and nodded my head, she smiled back, and then went back to eating her lunch. No great mystery, we 'connected' for that brief moment...was it significant? Did it matter in the grand scheme? You bet!
Enjoyed every line here! One of the best you've written in some time, I think. Bummer being taken for a New Yorker, though. If they thought you were a Bostonian, well, now, that would have been something.
What is it about planes and airports (buses and trains, too) that free people tell their most intimate stories to total strangers? Perhaps it's a form of therapy; perhaps we know we'll never see that person again. But we become soul mates for a time. At the end of the journey, the plane arrives at the gate, we get off, (I'm not using the term "deplane") smile and nod goodbye and melt into the crowd, total strangers again.
Oh, good lord. We sent both of Okie children to Northfield to college, one to Carleton and the other to St. Olaf. Lovely town until sometime in October. It was the couple of times we were there in the actual winter, that I realized that one had to be constructed of sterner stuff that I in order to actually live there. The last time, I practically grabbed the manager of the now burned down Archer House by the lapels to ask for his assurance that we could actually fly in conditions that would have had our entire state shut down. He told me not to worry. When we got to the airport there was a delay due to paperwork and I got to worry about the tough looking young Russian men who were about to fly with us, imagining that I was flying home with members of the Russain mafia. It wasn't until I was safely aboard the plane that I saw their genuinely sweet smiles and realized that they were members of the Oklahoma City hockey team.
Thirty five years ago when I was enjoying a brisk 25 degree day I asked an old guy how he could live in Mississippi. I've never forgotten his simple reply- "Old people like it warm."
Always love the snow. When we lived in Northern BC we could have it around for over 6 months. The last year we were there it was there from Oct 27th to May 6th. For about a week a year it would reach -25 F and the snow would squeak under our feet.
When we lived in the Vancouver area we would occasionally have snow days; kids couldn't go to school and a lot of streets were simply given over to play.
“When I was about four, one of the many adventures my father took me on was to the airport. We would sit and watch people waiting for their flights and my father would suppose who they were and where they were going.
“She’s going to visit a friend in California and she’s excited because they haven’t seen each other in a long time and she’s never been there before. And he’s flying to Chicago on a business trip. And her? The one in the blue wool suit and the white gloves in the hat (people dressed up to fly in those days) with the small, red plaid suitcase? She’s on her way to see her sister in Ohio. Someone they were close to all their lives just died.”
His assessments were invariably specific and plausible and never unkind.
It stayed with me. Whenever I am in a public place or a waiting room I entertain myself by assigning lives and circumstances to the people around me. It makes me feel connected to my father and the human race.
I was returning home from the Middle East Cafe in Cambridge. I headed for the Red Line. I pushed my hands deeper in my pockets and sank deeper into my coat. Three crisp winter air felt good on my face.
When the train doors opened it exhaled a warm breath. I stepped on and found a seat. The car was fairly empty. A guy with headphones was staring at his reflection in a dark window. I wondered what he was listening to. A group of teenagers toward the back of the car were huddled over a subway map. One of them kept looking at his watch. Out of towners. A beautiful woman with her coat opened revealing a sparkling black dress. She was holding a beaded clutch on her lap with a pair of black leather gloves.
People who ride the T regularly are robotically aware of where they are and when they are coming up on their station. Their heads are buried in their reading material and the only time they look up is when the train comes up out of the tunnel and goes over The Longfellow Bridge overlooking the Charles River and the Boston skyline. In spring and summer rented sailboats skim across the water with the wind filling their sails that look like tiny white envelope flaps.
The train screeched to a slow stop and the doors whooshed open. As I glided up to the street on the escalator, I wondered what I would imagine if I saw myself on the train.”
From my book, “Rearview Mirror” available on Amazon.
The woman in the sparkly dress was probably going to a BSO concert. When my husband and I take the T to Symphony Hall, we always seem to be able to spot other people who are also going there. Most of them are our ages or older.
I was going to say: "Lots of Kisses! I'd like to smother you in kisses!"
But then, immediately, in my mind's eye, I was at a ski resort in the high Sierra Nevada Mountains. I was "taking a shortcut" between one groomed area and another. What a Neophyte! Anyone who has skied at public ski resorts knows that they should stay where the snow has been "prepared" for them. Not 5 feet into the pristine, tempting, blanketed white snow, I sank, willy-nilly, into a deep gulch that had been completely filled over.
Luckily for me, I had taken a Red Cross Lifesavers' training class just the year before. That class was in wet water, but, so what? I remembered the exercise we had done by tipping over our canoe, ending up in the water, then hanging on to the side of the inverted craft. After that, two of us had flipped the canoe right side up, then we provided counterbalance from either side while we crawled back in.
My first reaction to sinking into the snow was to gulp, and then, mouth full, I recognized that H2O was H2O, liquid or solid. I reached down, unsnapped my skis, put them flat out, perpendicular to me on the surface so that my arms could hang over and my head could stay up. Using those skis as my "canoe", I kicked with my feet and moved to one side until I could stand up on the ground underneath!
There can be such a thing as "too much smothering!" So, instead of my first impulse, I'll offer a "well regulated amount of kissing" with the intent that the experience is pleasurable to both of us!
Thank you! What a delightful story 🤗
Enjoyed you story, Garrison. It called several thoughts to mind.
A thought about the trip on the airplane. I am so glad that it is not me. Back many years ago when I was gainfully employed, I would take an airplane flight several times a year and it was nice. I was 18 years old before I ever flew on a plane. I even had some halfway decent meals on planes. But that was back in the day when generally planes were not real crowded and people who were flying dressed up to fly. I think the fact that people do not dressup for anything anymore, tells us a lot about our society. When I started making trips on airplanes it was something new and novel, A little adventure. The last time I flew it was something to endure because flying was quicker that driving. Of course, bad weather only makes it much worse.
The other thought is about New York. Of course, people think that New Yorkers are rude and pushy and so forth. But I went to New York several times in the 1980's and stayed several weeks each time.
Someone told me that when you walk down the street in New York, always walk and act like you are going somewhere and that you know what you are doing. Walk purposely and don't make eye contact with people. That way the panhandlers and street criminals won't know that you are not a native and won't be apt to ask for a handout. And always carry your wallet in your front pants pocket which makes it harder for the pickpockets to get to.
But there were several times when I would stop someone on the street and ask a question and each time the person was friendly and helpful. I found out that everyone else was doing what I was doing -- walking purposefully and avoiding eye contact.
I have spent most of my life in the rural South; but I love big cities, specifically London and New York and Chicago.
I could talk about snow. About how there are many different kinds of snow -- Light and fluffy, damp and wet, and so forth, but other things are calling.
Best wishes, Garrison. May you and everyone have a nice day and a nice life. I hope that Santa will be good to one of us.
Garrison, I forgot. I also feel sorry for Florida for two reasons. One is that DeSantis is their Governor and two, about 60% of Florida voters love DeSantis.
Also in the above post the last sentence should say ". . . . .good to each one of us."
Regards.
As an unevolved cave man, I have always wondered what is meant by 'dressed up,' and what 'up' implies. 'Up' to a social standard I had no part in establishing? 'Up' to a 'higher' social class of which I am not a member? I just don't understand (whether or not I would subscribe if I did understand, that is another question).
Perhaps 'dressing up' is some sort of shared exercise in status display. I once read that the necktie that spread from Europe traces back to Croatian mercenaries serving in France during the Thirty Years' War (1618–1648). They wore traditional knotted neckerchiefs around their necks as part of their uniform. This held the top of their jackets together and was more practical than stiff collars. The King instantly liked this neckpiece and made these ties a mandatory accessory for Royal Gatherings. And here we are, centuries later, emulating the French Court, although all the gesture can do now is attempt to deliver a message of 'I'm serious and professional and accomplished, in case you were wondering.' Nuts to that. At the same time, when it comes to clothing, to each her/his own.
Well first let me say that I think everyone and anyone has the freedom to dress as they see fit regardless of the occasion. But I also wonder what the way people dress says about them and about our society in general. All I have to go on is my experiences in life and seeing other people.
When I was a youngster I remember a plumber coming to the house. I was not aware of it at the time but looking back I remember that he was dressed in khaki work clothes and they were clean and had been ironed. He and his clothes looked neat and crisp and clean. At other times I recall seeing farmers and country men who dressed in bib overalls. People who watch Hee Haw and television make fun of people wearing bib overalls but many of the men who I saw wearing them looked so neat. Nice clean and ironed overalls with a clean white or blue shirt and these fellows looked as clean as a whistle.
But in recent years I notice that the plumber or electrician or whomever might be wearing a dirty pullover shirt and sweat pants. There is really no telling how they might be dressed.
At funerals and church many years ago everyone was dressed nice. Today if I went to a funeral there will be people there who look as if they were working in the yard mowing the grass or weed eating and did not bother to change clothes. They just came on as they were.
People tell me that typical dress for going to Walmart is pajamas and flipflops.
People definitely dress down nowadays. Dressing down is the opposite of dressing up.
Does that say anything about us and society? Does the way that you dress say anthing about how you feel about yourself?
If you go to a Dollar General store or a Walmart around here, your overall impression will be that most of the people there are poor because of the way that they are dressed. Whether that is true or not I don't know.
In any case, best wishes for a nice day and a nice life.
"I feel sorry for Florida, which is devoid of snowstorms that promote fellowship."
love this.
Florida as inspiration for storytelling just ain’t happening. Other than Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, Randy Wayne White, Carl Hiaasen, and Zora Neale Hurston, who is there? And only one of the four writes funny stuff. The governor of Florida seems to think burning books is a good idea. Kinda puts a damper on spinning yarns for publication.
When I lived in Montana, there would come a time every winter when the cabins called for Valium, so a bunch of us ladies would mush to Billings, 2 1/2 hours away, for a cure. The antidote was two or three used book shops, the quilt shop, and a splurgey lunch. The ride back usually included sudden high drama, with an 18-wheeler passing us at 65 mph on I-90, kicking up a cloud of dry snow. It made us feel like terrified angels, sure we were heading for automotive oblivion.
But we always made it home, clutching our books and fabric, knowing we could make it through till spring. You just don’t get the same experience strolling through an air conditioned mall in shorts and sandals in February.
I LOVE winter.
All of my books save two are set in Florida. You just have to know what parts are worth living in.
As a USAF rookie in 1950 I hitched a ride in a B25 bomber and was lectured by an angry flight sgt when he caught me lounging near the bomb bay. "Never, ever, take off your parachute in a B25!" Talk about telling it like it is.
Gene Newman
That was a hot plane.....it was the first plane to bomb Japan after Pearl Harbor.
You gave my husband and I a chuckle this morning. You’re such a wonderful, wonderful writer. How does one know whether a person is a good writer? Because they touch your heart. And you do.
Thank you, Garrison.
Thanks Garrison, your mention of these three cities, are all within our own experiences. We too are heading to Florida from Nebraska in a couple days. A week's stay in Key West will be a change of sight and temp which will make returning a downer.
Just think of all the modernism and invention that went into your going from MSP to NYC, turbulence and all. In the good old stagecoach days, the backboard bounced and the cactus and snow drifts hurt their toes....Yes, we're stuffed in there, too....but they do offer a beverage, some with relaxing qualities. Avoid Florida for now....warm sites are better in Arizona's Tucson.
I live in Ft. Lauderdale, and our hurricanes promote plenty of fellowship. Also, unless you're drunk and swimming in a canal or lake at night, you don't need to worry about the alligators. But you should keep dogs away from the water's edge at all times. And small children.
Sweet Encounters, serendipity, a willingness to talk to others about 'important' things. I love the noticing this requires and thanks for sharing with me and all of us...it is your superpower! To notice one's connections and humanity...regardless. I read a book, once, about Steve Jobs...in this otherwise unremarkable book I noticed that his superpower was he noticed things that others didn't, made connections other missed, and then took action (he told others to do so too.) It all matters and yet we often don't "notice" and then we can't honor by our presence in our world.
At lunch a favorite cafe with my wife, I noticed woman was watching me from across, a rare occurrence...I wondered if I knew her, so I smiled and nodded my head, she smiled back, and then went back to eating her lunch. No great mystery, we 'connected' for that brief moment...was it significant? Did it matter in the grand scheme? You bet!
Enjoyed every line here! One of the best you've written in some time, I think. Bummer being taken for a New Yorker, though. If they thought you were a Bostonian, well, now, that would have been something.
What is it about planes and airports (buses and trains, too) that free people tell their most intimate stories to total strangers? Perhaps it's a form of therapy; perhaps we know we'll never see that person again. But we become soul mates for a time. At the end of the journey, the plane arrives at the gate, we get off, (I'm not using the term "deplane") smile and nod goodbye and melt into the crowd, total strangers again.
Oh, good lord. We sent both of Okie children to Northfield to college, one to Carleton and the other to St. Olaf. Lovely town until sometime in October. It was the couple of times we were there in the actual winter, that I realized that one had to be constructed of sterner stuff that I in order to actually live there. The last time, I practically grabbed the manager of the now burned down Archer House by the lapels to ask for his assurance that we could actually fly in conditions that would have had our entire state shut down. He told me not to worry. When we got to the airport there was a delay due to paperwork and I got to worry about the tough looking young Russian men who were about to fly with us, imagining that I was flying home with members of the Russain mafia. It wasn't until I was safely aboard the plane that I saw their genuinely sweet smiles and realized that they were members of the Oklahoma City hockey team.
Thirty five years ago when I was enjoying a brisk 25 degree day I asked an old guy how he could live in Mississippi. I've never forgotten his simple reply- "Old people like it warm."
Always love the snow. When we lived in Northern BC we could have it around for over 6 months. The last year we were there it was there from Oct 27th to May 6th. For about a week a year it would reach -25 F and the snow would squeak under our feet.
When we lived in the Vancouver area we would occasionally have snow days; kids couldn't go to school and a lot of streets were simply given over to play.
“When I was about four, one of the many adventures my father took me on was to the airport. We would sit and watch people waiting for their flights and my father would suppose who they were and where they were going.
“She’s going to visit a friend in California and she’s excited because they haven’t seen each other in a long time and she’s never been there before. And he’s flying to Chicago on a business trip. And her? The one in the blue wool suit and the white gloves in the hat (people dressed up to fly in those days) with the small, red plaid suitcase? She’s on her way to see her sister in Ohio. Someone they were close to all their lives just died.”
His assessments were invariably specific and plausible and never unkind.
It stayed with me. Whenever I am in a public place or a waiting room I entertain myself by assigning lives and circumstances to the people around me. It makes me feel connected to my father and the human race.
I was returning home from the Middle East Cafe in Cambridge. I headed for the Red Line. I pushed my hands deeper in my pockets and sank deeper into my coat. Three crisp winter air felt good on my face.
When the train doors opened it exhaled a warm breath. I stepped on and found a seat. The car was fairly empty. A guy with headphones was staring at his reflection in a dark window. I wondered what he was listening to. A group of teenagers toward the back of the car were huddled over a subway map. One of them kept looking at his watch. Out of towners. A beautiful woman with her coat opened revealing a sparkling black dress. She was holding a beaded clutch on her lap with a pair of black leather gloves.
People who ride the T regularly are robotically aware of where they are and when they are coming up on their station. Their heads are buried in their reading material and the only time they look up is when the train comes up out of the tunnel and goes over The Longfellow Bridge overlooking the Charles River and the Boston skyline. In spring and summer rented sailboats skim across the water with the wind filling their sails that look like tiny white envelope flaps.
The train screeched to a slow stop and the doors whooshed open. As I glided up to the street on the escalator, I wondered what I would imagine if I saw myself on the train.”
From my book, “Rearview Mirror” available on Amazon.
The woman in the sparkly dress was probably going to a BSO concert. When my husband and I take the T to Symphony Hall, we always seem to be able to spot other people who are also going there. Most of them are our ages or older.
Doesn’t the Green Line go to Syymphony Hall?
Yes - the E branch of the Green Line stops there, and then at Northeastern, and then at the MFA.
I was on the Red Line.
We take the Red Line from Quincy Adams to Park Street and switch to the Green Line E train there.
I was going to say: "Lots of Kisses! I'd like to smother you in kisses!"
But then, immediately, in my mind's eye, I was at a ski resort in the high Sierra Nevada Mountains. I was "taking a shortcut" between one groomed area and another. What a Neophyte! Anyone who has skied at public ski resorts knows that they should stay where the snow has been "prepared" for them. Not 5 feet into the pristine, tempting, blanketed white snow, I sank, willy-nilly, into a deep gulch that had been completely filled over.
Luckily for me, I had taken a Red Cross Lifesavers' training class just the year before. That class was in wet water, but, so what? I remembered the exercise we had done by tipping over our canoe, ending up in the water, then hanging on to the side of the inverted craft. After that, two of us had flipped the canoe right side up, then we provided counterbalance from either side while we crawled back in.
My first reaction to sinking into the snow was to gulp, and then, mouth full, I recognized that H2O was H2O, liquid or solid. I reached down, unsnapped my skis, put them flat out, perpendicular to me on the surface so that my arms could hang over and my head could stay up. Using those skis as my "canoe", I kicked with my feet and moved to one side until I could stand up on the ground underneath!
There can be such a thing as "too much smothering!" So, instead of my first impulse, I'll offer a "well regulated amount of kissing" with the intent that the experience is pleasurable to both of us!