Volume 3, No. 10: Snow Days

Greetings, book people!

I had an essay planned for today about Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, queer subtext, and what it means to read the past. I still plan to write it, but not today.

It snowed about 30” at my house on Monday night and Tuesday. I live in the woods at the top of a hill. The power went out sometime early Tuesday morning, and it’s still out. I’ve spent the last day and a half curled up in my bed under two comforters, snuggling with my doggo to stay warm.

I love winter, and a bad storm isn’t going to change that. Being without heat, water, a way to cook, internet, and cell service isn’t that much fun. But I’m okay. Thanks to my neighbor (he’s plowed four times in this storm alone), I finally got my little car down the long dirt driveway, and I’m settled into a cafe for the afternoon to get some work done.

I love living where I do, nestled among beech and hemlock woods, up in the hills. I don’t mind the weather we get, even though the past few days have been rough, on top of everything else going on in my life. Without the internet, and with all my technology uncharged, I spent most of yesterday reading. I finished 1,000 Coils of Fear by Olivia Wenzel, translated by Priscilla Layne. It’s weird and brilliant and experimental, a back-and-forth between a Black queer German woman and herself, or some other version of her. It ranges all over the place. It’s funny and smart. Last night, by headlamp, I read They Called Us Enemy by George Takei, which is also very good. I’m most of the way through After Sappho by Selby Wynn Schwartz, which is boring with occasional, fleeting instances of beauty. I plan to finish it mostly out of spite, because, even though I don’t care about book awards, the fact that it was nominated for the Booker and Lote was not is a travesty.

I did my best to treat this storm like a break. I couldn’t go anywhere yesterday. I couldn’t work. All I could do was put on a lot of sweaters, watch the birds, read, and marvel over my doggo’s silky ears. I did manage to enjoy a few sweet moments—a red-bellied woodpecker at the feeder, Nessa scrambling happily over a snowbank. It was a gorgeous, still day, with the snow and the trees and the quiet.

But as much as I tried to revel in a day outside of the usual bustle, I couldn’t turn off my stress. I was worried about all the work I wasn’t doing. I was annoyed I couldn’t take a hot shower after spending an hour shoveling. I missed my morning tea. I let the worries build up alongside the emails in my inbox. I slept terribly two nights in a row, and now it’s Wednesday and my to-do list is just as long as it was on Monday, and the world is still right here, is what I’m saying, with all its horrors and demands.

My very sweet parents showed up at my house this morning, unannounced, with a few gallons of water and a hot chocolate, and took me for breakfast at my favorite bakery. As soon as we got down the hill, my now-in-service phone filled up with messages from dear ones checking in about the snow. I am safe and surrounded by love and I am lonely and my back hurts. All of this is true.

After a day spent completely cut off from the world, it’s a bit jarring to be down here in the valley, where there’s maybe 5” of snow on the ground. The coffeeshop is busy, cars are bustling up and down the streets. Everything is loud and normal. Up on the hill, things still feel hushed. I like this, too, these changing microclimates, the way the world shifts as I drive up or down the hill. It’s not always easy, but it reminds me to pay attention. It reminds me where I am, how specific these places are.

I’m not writing this toward any kind of resolution. There was a snowstorm, and I couldn’t write the newsletter I intended to. This is the newsletter I could write. This is the reality of life as it unfolds: unexpected, exhausting, beautiful, cold, and resistant to plans, spreadsheets, checklists, and set-in-stone calendars.

I’m hoping the power will be back on when I get home. If not, I have my two comforters, my headlamp, and a stack of graphic novels I’m about to pick up from the library.

Thanks for being here with me!