Thursday, December 01, 2005
Subconscious adjustments
It poured today in the San Francisco area -- steady, drenching rain whipped sideways by blustery gusts of wind, particularly down near the wharf, where my office is. As I stood outside the office trying to hail a cab to go to a business meeting, I was grumbling as my shoes and pant legs got wet and my big golf-style umbrella nearly turned me into Mary Poppins, drifting off diagonally upward into the sky.
Less than three years ago, such weather would have been no big deal. I lived in Portland, see, where rain is as much a part of the lifestyle as...daylight and nighttime. For about nine months of the year, it rains and/or is gray and gloomy. People always ask about the weather in the Pacific Northwest, and it is a drag. Around May, when you really want steady sun and spring conditions, but it continues to be dreary, you get a bit antsy. Still, you adjust. You get used to it, I swear. You have some type of waterproof jacket with a hood, you have waterproof shoes, and you walk around without an umbrella most of the time, and it's fine.
How do you adjust? I don't know, you just do. It's like asking how your body adjusts to the savage sleeplessness of your baby's first three (six? nine? fortunately for us, it was about five) months on earth. I can't tell you how Nicola got up every two hours to nurse and still managed to get through a day without brushing her coffee and drinking her teeth. Subconciously and I suppose physiologically, your body and mind shift into another gear and you just...live, and make it through. You look back and think, "Man, I was exhausted, but what I really remember was that time Lindsay giggled when I made a funny face." You adjust on the fly, and then your brain doesn't let you remember how much it really sucked. The brain can't recreate a realistic feeling of pain, or of exhaustion, I guess.
So, I don't know the point of all this, other than an insignificant observation. I love the mostly sunny and mild weather in Alameda, and I wonder about moving back to Portland and the rain. I talk of missing snow, but I start bitching about the cold when it dips to 45 degrees. Could I really handle the weather extremes again, the ones that seemed like no big deal in New Jersey as a kid? Yeah, I could, 'cause you do. You adjust.
Not that we're going anywhere....Even the thought of leaving Ella sparks an anxious pounding of my heart, and then she drops stuff like this: "Oh Lindsay, you're so lucky your parents aren't divorced," she says to her 9-month-old sister tonight. GULP. I'm proud of her for expressing her emotions...even if they send stabs of guilt and worry right through me. We did our best to talk to her about what she's feeling, but I'm open to suggestions, if anyone's harboring some.
Less than three years ago, such weather would have been no big deal. I lived in Portland, see, where rain is as much a part of the lifestyle as...daylight and nighttime. For about nine months of the year, it rains and/or is gray and gloomy. People always ask about the weather in the Pacific Northwest, and it is a drag. Around May, when you really want steady sun and spring conditions, but it continues to be dreary, you get a bit antsy. Still, you adjust. You get used to it, I swear. You have some type of waterproof jacket with a hood, you have waterproof shoes, and you walk around without an umbrella most of the time, and it's fine.
How do you adjust? I don't know, you just do. It's like asking how your body adjusts to the savage sleeplessness of your baby's first three (six? nine? fortunately for us, it was about five) months on earth. I can't tell you how Nicola got up every two hours to nurse and still managed to get through a day without brushing her coffee and drinking her teeth. Subconciously and I suppose physiologically, your body and mind shift into another gear and you just...live, and make it through. You look back and think, "Man, I was exhausted, but what I really remember was that time Lindsay giggled when I made a funny face." You adjust on the fly, and then your brain doesn't let you remember how much it really sucked. The brain can't recreate a realistic feeling of pain, or of exhaustion, I guess.
So, I don't know the point of all this, other than an insignificant observation. I love the mostly sunny and mild weather in Alameda, and I wonder about moving back to Portland and the rain. I talk of missing snow, but I start bitching about the cold when it dips to 45 degrees. Could I really handle the weather extremes again, the ones that seemed like no big deal in New Jersey as a kid? Yeah, I could, 'cause you do. You adjust.
Not that we're going anywhere....Even the thought of leaving Ella sparks an anxious pounding of my heart, and then she drops stuff like this: "Oh Lindsay, you're so lucky your parents aren't divorced," she says to her 9-month-old sister tonight. GULP. I'm proud of her for expressing her emotions...even if they send stabs of guilt and worry right through me. We did our best to talk to her about what she's feeling, but I'm open to suggestions, if anyone's harboring some.
// posted by Bill @ 8:28 PM 
