That Four Letter Word S--W

I had a good day yesterday.  That's odd for South Dakota.  Although perhaps it's not as odd as I make it out to be on this blog.  The problem never has been really South Dakota, the problem was always me.  South Dakota does make me crazy.  South Dakota does make me sad.  South Dakota has drug me to the pits of depression. However, it's really not because South Dakota is some how inherently evil.  It just is like oil and vinegar, or any other two elements that can never fully integrate, I am not a good in South Dakota.

It's fine to say that South Dakota can't change for me, to say that it is me who has to change to accommodates it's ways, it's weather, it's idiosyncrasies, it's people.  But I can't.  I've tried. I can however, learn to navigate this hostile terrain safely.

There was a bit of rain yesterday that was a harbinger of the snow to come.  I've been checking weather.com, accuweather.com, weatherbug and the national weather service.  All with the anticipation of the dreaded four letter word, snow.

When I was a kid, I think I loved snow.  I remember building snow forts.  While I pine away with romanticized visions of life in Brooklyn, Brooklyn has changed perhaps even more than I have.  There are but scan few Norwegians left in my old neighborhood.  8th Avenue is a China Town.  The 17 of May parade, still held in Brooklyn, now marches in a different direction on a different Avenue. Salem Gospel Tabernacle is no longer Salem, it is Sunset Park Community church.  There are no string bands or Smörgåsbord or Juletree Fests.  But it still snows in Brooklyn.  Snow seems to be a constant in my life.

I had a conversation about snow today with my husband.  It really wasn't about snow.  It was about me and snow.  I've been doing all this weather checking because I have to head south again for class on Saturday.  I was contemplating do I leave tomorrow or Thursday.  Two days of driving in a little 2003 Chevy Cavalier that like me, is feeling her age.  I've driven in extreme snow many times and survived.  But I'd rather not do it again.

Cows, South Dakota and Snow - all synonymous

Oh I signed on for this so I supposed I shouldn't complain.  But here is where this all comes together.  Snow can be predicted but is always unpredictable.  A slight change can dump more snow or less snow.  Today's snow will not be like tomorrow's snow.  The snow in Brooklyn is a different experience than the snow in Missouri.  The trace snow in Tennessee does not compare to the mountains of snow in Connecticut. And of course nothing is like the powdery whiteout blizzards of South Dakota.

I want predictable.  Oh not that I'm not fun loving and like adventure and new experiences, I do... but when they are done, I want predictable.  I want to know that if I plan to go to Tennessee on this day, that's the day I'll go.  I want to know that if I plan to get up in the morning and do this or that, that by the time the day is over I've done this or that.  I want only occasional changes in my life-not constant the every day something changes patterns of my life here.

Thats the problem here in South Dakota -- besides the cows and the rudeness and all the other things I complain about, the real problem is me.  I want some stability.  I want to know where home is.  I want to not have my life reordered and changed.  Like the rapid changing weather patterns here in this Storehouse of Snow, I find the changes paralyzing and depressing.  If the weather has to change, can it not change so fast? Can I have a warning that it's changing?

My husband's job makes extreme demands on him.  He's become a soldier - no I don't mean he's joined the military, I mean he is a soldier.  He's always ready for the changes and demands. He sets aside his emotions and just does it. He never checks the weather reports.  He never considers whether the weather might change.  He just packs up and goes.  I can't do that - that's why he's adjusted to South Dakota and all the places we've lived so much faster than I have.

Snow is coming - change is coming - and it keeps coming - the cold dark depression of winter is setting in to South Dakota.  I'm not ready for it.  I don't think I will ever be ready for it.  But it will come nonetheless.  I will drive tomorrow, or the next day and go south.  I will have Thanksgiving at "home" - if it is home? in Tennessee.  Then I'll return to the snow and leave again in a few days.  Such is life right now -- constant change impinging on a life that wants stability.

Until then, I guess I need to lace up my boots, button my coat, tie my scarf and navigate through another South Dakota winter.

No Good Pizza In Brookings

You’d think I’d like living in a small town. It seems most people say they do. In some ways, I grew up in a small town. My block, 53^rd Street between 4^th and 5^th Avenue in Brooklyn NY had all the elements of a small town. We had neighbors who looked out for you, knew your name, who your parents were and where you lived. Like other small town inhabitants, they had no problem correcting your behavior and sharing your antics with your parents.

Without crossing the street I could go to the candy store, the drug store, a delicatessen, a clothing store, a bank, a variety store (5 and dime store, remember those?) and more. Also without crossing the street, I could board the bus or descend into the subway. The world was literally steps away.

On our block, we had all manner of people except people of color. Eventually that changed as well. We had a Jewish woman, a single mother, who had the tattoo markings of a German concentration camp. People spoke in whispers about her perhaps fearing her pain.

We even had a bad neighborhood on our block. My mother would hold more tightly to my hand when we walked passed 3-4 apartment houses that she called the “tenements.”  I was admonished to never play with any of the children who lived in these apartments. That always seemed sad to me because there were so many children. Always on the stoop without supervision, they seemed to have lots of fun. They must have been told things about me as well, as they were the ones who made fun of those of us who lived a few doors down in apartments, rather than tenements.

What does this have to do with South Dakota living? Nothing. Today it is colder, grayer and windier than yesterday. Yesterday was beautiful; today it is just dull. We are waiting for rain.

I live in an apartment again. I don’t think they have any tenements to avoid here in Brookings. I am not even sure there are really bad neighborhoods here.  But if I walk out of my door here, there are no friendly faces, no one knows my name. I can’t walk to a corner for a slice of pizza fresh out of the oven dripping with olive oil served by a guy named Sal.

I should be studying but I can’t focus. My heart is somewhere else. I wish I could travel back in time to those days when my world was 53^rd Street.

I'm No Figure Skater

There is still a lot of snow here. There is snow in the forecast for this weekend. The forecast is iffy so maybe it will be rain. Rain will wash away some of the snow.  They are concerned about flooding now that spring is nearing. A friend told me she is praying that the snow melts slowly.

I want the snow to go. It reminds me of the bleakness of my existence here in South Dakota. More than the snow, I want the ice to melt. I am terrified of ice. I have never slipped and fallen on ice that I can remember. I have little balance so I walk cautiously and grab onto my husband at every opportunity.

Even as a little girl I had many fears of falling. I never learned to ride a bicycle because of this fear. My father bought me a tricycle when I was little that was huge. To reach the peddles of the trike, he had to put blocks on them. When my friends graduated to bikes, I was finally able to reach the peddles of my trike.

I must have asked for the bicycle, or perhaps he just thought it was time. He went to a thrift store to buy one for me. Once again, the thing was huge. Way too big for my small body to handle. I remember him walking beside the bicycle to stabilize it while I tried to ride. Both the bike and I were clumsy together. He took it back and got his money back. I never learned to ride.

My dad did take me ice skating. I did ice skate. I think he had visions of me being a great ice skater. I could get around the rink finally without holding on but I never learned to pick both feet up - one foot always clung to the ice, refusing to raise.

I loved the skates my dad bought for me. They were white. They were new, a rarity in my childhood. I saved my allowance money and bought pom-poms for them. Prospect Park had free skating every Saturday morning. I'd take the city bus, transfer to another one and arrive at the park to skate. I was not yet 12 years old because had I  been, I couldn't have skated for free. It didn't cure my fear of ice or my fear of falling.

I used to think I liked new challenges. I think I did. Every move until this one I have welcomed. My brother told me when I first moved to South Dakota that I'd make an adventure out of it. I haven't. I have only tenuously walked out on the ice. I'm afraid.

The ice will melt and for a time I'll be more confident. As surely as it will melt, it will return again. I need to find some ice skates. Like then, I will never be a good skater but perhaps I can drag one foot behind me and get around the rink without holding on. I don't have to be a good skater. I can still cling to the sides of the rink at times. I need to try to skate on the ice once again.