The Big Freeze

Coldsnap is overstatement. It is a more like a wind break.

It's not really that cold. It's not like when an artic front blows through NH and your cheeks freeze by the end of the driveway, and you know if you slip on an ice sheet it's going to hurt like a punch in the spot, and the dog pees in the street and tugs for the door. It really is not cold, the Dog still wants to walk.

But the motherloving wind makes it a slog to physically get out the door. The hug gusts spook The Dog and then you get pummelled by the inner door, the screen door, then your scarf and unzipped coat, then by The Dog that is worked up because you're staggering around like a buck with a few arrows sticking out.

I checked the weather to see when the wind would let up. Alas, not until the end of the week. Until then... well, damn. Tie on that scarf.

Mother winter is cranky crone.

My brother reports that he's finally ordered shoes. I bet his toenails have blown off.

After winning the battle with the door and my insulating accoutrement, I drug him down the Urban Sterilisation Project for another look. The thing is a profound edifice to something. It's pretty miraculous in a couple of ways. It appears to have appeared overnight. Earlier this fall it went from houses under construction to trees and grass in the span of a work week. Token trees and grass, of course. The condos are huge, three story homes, complete with two and three car garages. They are somewhere north of 2,300 square feet. These things are all over the county. It would be wrong to call them a cancer. Someone has tried very hard to make living with a bunch of people in a small space as outwardly appealing as possible.

Even though there are three fundamental models, (the Dick-, the By-, and the Ding-, whatever...), they all have different combinations of wood, paint, brick, and stucco in the facade to make them appear unique. The paint it tastefully chosen to make them appear professional. The front of them has small shrubs, small trees, and a short strip of grass. There is a 5 foot stretch of grass between the walk and the side walk. You could spit into the middle of a 5 lane street from the doorstep. Hours of fun there. The lack of trees means that the wind is especially harsh, and there is lot of loose trash wedged in odd places, in contrast to the fresh paint, crisp bricks, and white siding.

There is a curious array of vehicles parked in the garages. The garage side makes not attempt at refinement. It's a gaping maw with a warbly landing strip of asphalt that stretches the entire length of the building. Trash cans and a/c condensers stanchion the corners. There are decks over the garages. A mixture of cars ranging from BMW to beaters lull in the morning blue. I hear drums, and look up high, to see a child with a drumset in the top window. He stops when we make eye contact. Yea, windows work both directions. I look away and keep walking. The drums start again.

The conclusions that I can draw about the occupants are many. These people definitely want to seem unique and sophisticated. They either hate being outside, or don't have time to be outside. Or can't afford it. (With a crib that big, why not cut off the back and make a yard?) Are people to busy working to have yards? To busy surfing the web? They clearly ever linger unconfined for long. Perhaps they fear open spaces. The graffiti is also an interesting fixture. Someone has knocked down flag polls and spray painted for-sale signs. Do people look through those big windows and notice? Do they care?

I feel a stupid superiority complex in living in an old house and actually having a yard, and a little piece and quiet. It's not living in the woods miles from the highway quiet, but at least I can't see a stoplight from my front door. Sure, the rent is insane, the foundation is sagging, raking is a drag, and the insects are unwelcome. At least it feels somehow real.