Sandy Dunkin New York

Right now I imagine a former home of mine is receiving a lot of rain, lightning, and high winds. Many former homes have been part of those circumstances.

I was born during a typhoon in the Philippines. This may be why I don’t really freak out during big rains. My birth versus the storm: I won, but I’ve also always made sure never to get too cocky. Don’t stand in an open field under lightning clouds. Don’t play in puddles and get ringworm.

I lived in Guam. Seems if you live in the Pacific Ocean, you have to expect the whole range of tropical weather. Which would include earthquakes. And if volcanoes were nearby, those, too.

I lived in Key West. Consistently warm weather often compelled my brother and me to stay inside with the air conditioning. But I played a lot outside, too. But I mostly blame Key West for making me break my brother’s arm.

I lived in Jacksonville. Hurricanes mostly miss Jacksonville. The city often catches the fringes of the swirlstorms, and it receives a lot of rain, but Jax has had its share of lucky breaks when hurricanes decide to turn northward toward the Carolinas. And that’s not so lucky for the Carolinas.

I lived in New York City. That damn town greeted me with a blizzard, and it rained when I left it nearly 7 years later. That place brought out my allergies and gave me a true glimpse of depression. Rain, snow, strikes, sweltering and stifling heat. I miss that place.

I live in Utah. The sun is out, I can see the mountains that still hang on to the turned leaves. I walked two blocks through wet and heavy snow the other day, and I felt nostalgic. Today, nary a trace of that white stuff. But the mountains cling to that, too.

New York, I know you’re prepared. Candles, flashlights, water, food, batteries. Board games, radio. Dance parties. Storytime. Quality time. Run to the Hills. Or Washington Heights. I’ll be praying for you.

Let It

Something hit me in the eye today. It would have smacked me straight on my eyeball, but my blinking reflex saved me. I was on my way back to work from stepping out of the office for lunch. It was wet and cold and slid toward my nose. Its slickness spread over the right side of my face as it melted.

If it were anything other than a snowflake, I would have been extremely annoyed.

It was so beautiful. The flakes were as big as silver dollars or Pringles potato chips or maybe vanilla wafers. I wonder why two of those comparisons are edible. Anyway, some people had out their umbrellas, but not me. I turned my head and spun around slowly and walked looking up, and it was no wonder a snowflake landed in my eye. Before I stepped back into work, a passerby said in a thick, New York accent it was like big snowballs falling from the sky. I had that exact thought just moments before.

Then I thought that maybe it was a giant snowball fight, angels on one team against the rest of us. They outnumbered us AND they had all the snow. We lost even before the battle began. I’m not complaining, though.

The snow tasted pretty good, too.

The snow isn’t really sticking, though. It’s really wet, and since it was SIXTY-FOUR degrees yesterday, the air just melts the snow once it hits the ground. I would like for the snow to stick. Ideally, the last scene of our movie requires a nice, thick layer of snow. I haven’t yet thought of a plan B. I guess the snow not sticking is better for you commuters and your cars with the engines and tires and stuff. It sure is pretty, though. Sigh.

Why is the Charlie Brown Christmas special on AGAIN? It was on the same channel last week. Bizarre.

Lots going on in seminary these days. The kids make me think. They make me laugh. As always, they make me want to be a better teacher for them. I read them part of a blog entry today. One of them told me I should write a book.

I love my class, people. We have true respect for each other and we appreciate each other’s personalities. While I’m looking forward to the school break, I’m sure going to miss seeing them for two weeks. Sigh.

We’re gonna have a party, though. It should be fun.