Hello again, world! I have once again been reminded I have a blog. Riiiight. Well, a blog that needs the name changed. I'm no longer in Yellowstone, and I'm doing a winter season for once. But the blog must go on (Thank you Queen). It's still the life and times and adventures and thoughts and ramblings of a potentially certifiably insane woman, but now she's been let loose. :D I don't want to delve too much in without first posting the one I wrote up a few months ago back when all this winter-stuff was newer to me. What I will do, then, is post the old one with this intro and then hop back on and post a new one fresh from today. They might sound a little... out of sorts with each other, but I have a feeling most of mine do anyways. Enjoy, I hate the snow. But… Let me rephrase. A bit more forgiving, perhaps? I have not learned yet to love the snow. That sounds better. More positive, and we all know I love pretending I’m positive. Willamette Valley. Salem…. And more, of course. Other than one BIG snow storm that left us with six inches (if) on the valley floor and shut down half the town, we get a rough estimate of a half inch a year that melts by noon. Still, even then, even if it’s just coming down and not sticking to the streets, these white flakes of frozen water wafting oh so casually through the air will succeed in shutting down half the town. Including schools. I was raised, it seems, with this socially provided stigma against snow. It stops the world. It is cold and wet and keeps you in doors. Not enough to play or build snowmen, it just ruins your day. Now, at 23, this stigma is deeper rooted than I would have believed. Goaded by many friends who live all four seasons, including a winter with snow, I finally decided maybe I don’t hate the snow. How would I know? I’ve never REALLY experienced it. A measly half inch that shuts down a ditsy town, that’s not experiencing anything. Thus, I find myself on the mountain. Above the snowline. And I just tried to uncover my car. My car is not uncovered completely. However I did knock off enough snow that I can stand on the banks now leaning against the car and the top of the car comes only to my waist. I broke the broom I was trying to use. My fingers went painful then numb. And finally I could really do no more. So I came back inside. Frustrated. And back to the thought that occurs to me at least once a week and usually closer to once a day. I hate the snow. But this entrance is startling. It’s mid-experience. Not even! It’s only been ALMOST a month. Unfortunately we all know I wander off from my blogging. I don’t realize people read it. They do! And this information quite pleases me. I am used to my ramblings going unheard, and typically I believe they should be. To share my experience, however, is totally different. I am quite thrilled I am able to share my experiences and people not only DO read my sharing, but WANT to. So I shall attempt to pick back up my blogging. I believe it’ll be good for me. Channel my frustrations into something more coherent. So shall I recap? My old job at EP was awful. I got my friend to replace me and I am quite frankly bemused that he can’t keep up with a pace I found gruelingly slow. He’ll learn. He says he enjoys kitchen work - I can’t wait until he actually tries REAL kitchen work. It’s not easy and he likes a challenge. I think it’ll be good. Anyway! I got a new job. Decided setting down anywhere really wasn’t going to work for me. 3 months in and I was already restless. Winter, however, means winter jobs. Means snow. What the hell, right? Who knows! I might like the snow after all. Just give it a shot, Charlie Brown! It’s pretty, after all. Meadows takes me on. Deli cook is not an experience I’ve ever had so I’m down. A small chance to work on my management skills as a lead. A chance to work on my customer service skills since it’s an open “kitchen.” I find a place to live, as I said, above the snow line in a town small enough to make my last place of residence big. Small enough to be comparable to Lake area - or most areas in Yellowstone. One or two bars/restaurants, coffee shop, general store, a few inns and hotels, and a few sport stores. For good prices or selection you drive about thirty minutes down the hill - out of the snow zone. I like small towns, believe it or not, so it works. Oh - and I bring a boy with me. Of course. As most of my great follies start. At first it was cold, but it was pretty and as long as the stinging cold didn’t fall in my face it was ok. Not much on the ground but ice in the morning. As it came down thicker I tried my hardest to find it charming. For a while I even succeeded. It can still be walked through, and the quarter-mile trip to town was nice. I like the chance to walk and even through the snow I COULD walk to town. Now? Now after trying to clear over a foot, probably over two feet of snow off my car, snow built up so high around the stairs that I cannot FIND the bottom stair and there is only one way to walk to get to the road, and stingingly cold flakes of blinding frozen water never ceasing to fall from the constantly grey skies I find optimism hard to maintain. Walking to town - or anywhere - now requires putting on what Chris calls “Crampons” which are snow chains for my shoes. Walking to town is so much a chore that I have to force myself to go. I only manage trips to town keeping in mind a firm idea that I WILL have fun when we reach town. With the optimism that the amount of fun will be enough to counterbalance walking carefully in chains through piled up snow. Bundling up like a child to keep from freezing and being all too aware that even if I’m warm once inside a building the snow on my shoulders, arms, and legs will melt and I will be wet and then inevitably cold. It’s seasonal. I LOVE seasonal. I LOVE the people you find in seasonal places. And truly when I am warm or forced to admit it I will confess I am happy for the experience. You know, in the same way you’re happy for the experience of chopping off your fingertip with the meat slicer. Now you know. You know what it feels like, you know how to properly deal with it in the future, you know what you did wrong to GET it, and you know you don’t like the feeling. But you wouldn’t know if you hadn’t done it, would you? Chris, bless his heart, is trying to teach me that snow isn’t bad. He gets so excited. Look at that car all piled in! Look at that beautiful powder! It’s so pretty, lets go for a walk. At the very least he is slowly but surely teaching me that snow doesn’t necessarily mean I’m trapped. One of my biggest dislikes about snow is that I feel so trapped it’s scary. I’m a restless soul. Gypsies soul. However you’d like to phrase it. I’ve never done well being chained to one place. Ask my Mom - I get restless fast. Have to go somewhere, do something, SOMETHING. With that knowledge of my personality, it shouldn’t be hard to imagine that feeling trapped is one of the worst feelings in the world for me. I end up shrinking into myself fighting urges to cry in frustration and desolate desperation and depression. I end up lashing out and being more bitchy than I even realize. It’s not good. And even though he doesn’t know it’s that bad for me. Even though he doesn’t know he’s even doing it, by forcing me out of the house and by maintaining so much enthusiasm he is helping me realize snow doesn’t mean trapped. Necessarily. I do need to be better equipped. Better prepared. Having never needed anything for this kind of harsh weather I never acquired anything for it. I’m making do, as I usually do, but if I/we do a snow winter ever again I will be ready. So that’s my rant and ramble. Hopefully ending on something that sounds cheerier than I feel. Something that sounds more optimistic than I can actually manage at the moment. If nothing else, I think, I can at least hibernate. I can learn how to hibernate winters in books and craft and work… We shall see. Wish me luck! And thanks for listening. ~Cat