Snow-mageddon in Seattle

The record snowfall here in Seattle is all over the news, partially because it's just so weird.  Snow is squeal-inducing for kids who get out of school and can spend the whole day making snowmen, sledding hills and sipping hot chocolate, but not so much fun for adults required to get from here to there, either slipping on icy pathways or skidding in circles on streets and freeways.

Our family has endured a nearly comical series of weather-related events that inspire gratitude for the normalities of life.

A few days ago, we learned that our main water line from the meter to our home had sprung a massive leak. In the process of digging a trench for the replacement pipe, a worker clipped our phone line.  Then the snows came.

At first we marveled at the winter wonderland, confectioner's sugar dusting the firs and piling on our patio furniture. But soon it became serious, as five, six inches of snow caused the closing of schools, canceling of classes, curtailing hours at businesses and the gym. Our temporary water pipe was subject to freezing. I could no longer navigate my non-four-wheel-drive Mom-car up the hill to get out; as temperatures cooled and re-froze, dangerous ice accumulated on the ground.

Our son, ticketed for a visit home on his college break, spent five hours in the airport due to plane cancellations into Seattle. My husband, due at an important business meeting near LA, found his 6 am flight cancelled as he drove--five miles per hour--to the airport; I spent 40 minutes on hold with the airline (on my cell phone--our land lines were cut, remember), which never did get to me.

Then, the power went out.  The house chilled colder by the minute with no furnace. I prayed my cell phone would retain enough juice.  But it's almost relaxing to be stuck, even if bundled in many layers of down--can't use the computer (no router)--a good excuse to catch up on reading. Until 4:30, when it gets dark.

When things go wrong, you get grateful for what's right. While without water for days, brushing teeth and cooking meant sparing sips and drips from bottles only. Flushing a toilet was suddenly a wonderful luxury; washing hands afterward, an issue.  Taking a shower was something done at somebody else's house.

No power in freezing weather means wearing enough to mimic the Michelin Man. You put  refrigerator contents outside, where they'll stay cold. Days later you find splotches of wax on counters and floor from the candles you've carried from room to room. You wonder how civilizations managed until the 20th century.

We were very fortunate and, thank God, safe. My husband never went to his meeting, but somehow his boss and colleagues got along without him.  We were able to ride in an all-wheel-drive vehicle to friends who had electricity. Our son's flight eventually made it, and after several hours, our power returned. The yard is decorated by a snowman, and about seven inches of crunchy snow have collected on our driveway.  School's off again tomorrow, and we have a week to remember.

There are Two Seasons in Seattle: August, and The Rainy Season

We've entered "the rains" here in the Northwest, and for the past week or so, with the exception of a few hours Monday afternoon, we've been engulfed in a shroud of showers.

People living here experience SAD (seasonal affective disorder), as many who work in offices drive to work in the dark and leave also in the dark. Add to that the dank, given that the sidewalks grow mold and trees drip moss. Seattleites don't carry umbrellas; instead, we ignore the rain. If we had to open and close umbrellas, we'd waste precious hours.

Seattle joke: What did the Seattleite say to the Pillsbury Doughboy?

--Nice tan.

I have a lightbox. To those of you in southern climes (lucky ducks! Oh wait. We're the ducks...) that's a cringingly bright light that you sit in front of so that you don't go crazy. My desk lamp is a "full spectrum" florescent that ostensibly simulates the soothing rays of sunshine. Doesn't work. My kitchen light is a long "solar" bulb. I nearly wrote "blub." Like I'm underwater.

I remember emerging one afternoon from my office, looking out on the foliage and asking aloud, "what's that white stuff?" It was sunshine. I just didn't recognize it.

However, I do get some practice now and then. We have something known as a "sun break." It's part of the weather forecast, whenever possible. "Rain, then showers." "Drizzles, then rain." "Cloudy, Afternoon rain." Then, our hopes go sky-high: "Rain. Chance of sun-breaks."

Sun-breaks, you would think, are like coffee breaks anywhere else. Here in Seattle, home of Starbucks, we get them together. A "sun-break" means a little space between the clouds when the sun peeps through. If you're in a crowd, you'll hear someone yell "SUNBREAK!" and everyone drops what he's doing and runs outside to turn his face to the "white stuff," craving a mini-dose of Vitamin D. At that welcome word, you hear people formerly with cell to ear saying, "'Callya right back!" and joining the herd heading for the nearest balcony. Even a window will do.

Seattle is a great place to live. It has the highest per capita book purchasing. It is a movie mecca. It has ubiquitous coffee dens with fireplaces. Reading, movies and hibernating--sounds like winter. Ten months a year.

Oh, there's skiing. But my husband won't let any of us try it. Too dangerous. Remember Sonny Bono...though I heard some suspect he didn't ski into a tree after all. That's another story.

Don't think this is just a soppy k'vetch, though I've done a good job of it. What I wanted to say was how happy I am every morning to be able to see the rain-reflections on my patio, and the sheets of gray outside the window, and hear the pecking raindrops on our metal roof and skylight.

I decided a while ago that depressing as this constant cold, dark and wet is to this Southern California girl, I was going to make the most of it.

It's Jewish tradition to "wake up like a lion to the service of the Lord," and after a few moans in my warm down-comforter sleep-number bed, I force myself. "Modeh ani," I recite, the traditional expression of gratitude for being allowed another day. And then, I look outside.

"And ANOTHER gray day in the grayest region on God's green earth!" I leap out of bed like a lion groping for her slippers.

Truth is, I didn't really see much more than the color outside, because before inserting my contact lenses, the world is fuzzy. But after throwing on my gym clothes, I finally pop in my vision and take a look.

"...Pokayach ivrim." That's part of the morning blessings: Blessed is God...who gives sight to the blind. And that's when I don't mind the rain at all.

On the way into the gym today, leaves fallen from two trees, amber and crimson and gold, mingled on the startlingly green grass to create a collage that sparkled with the rain. I was surprised by its beauty. But I didn't pause too long. Because, without an umbrella, I was getting drenched.

We are Thankful, not Mourning, on this Uniquely American Day

The Seattle Board of Education sent a memo to its staff last week urging they not treat Thanksgiving as a happy holiday, because some students consider it "a day of mourning." This is true. Native American students, the note cautioned, are reminded that day how their ancestors' generosity was "betrayed."

The memo was signed by Caprice D. Hollins, Psy.D., Director of Equity, Race & Learning Support, plus two members of Huchoosedah Indian Education, a federally-funded American Indian support arm of the School District. Huchoosedah Indian Education has six full-time staff to promote the well-being of 800 native American and Islander students (2% of 45,300 total). The staff clearly has too much federally-funded time on its twelve hands.

What is this deconstructing of Thanksgiving????

Thanksgiving is Jewish. I want to set that straight. We call it the mitzvah of "ha karat ha tov," recognizing the good that is done for you. An illustration of it is that Moses did not personally start the plague that turned the Nile to blood, due to his gratitude that the river kept him alive when he was set adrift as an infant in a floating raft. The example may seem a bit extreme, but the fact we even tell that story shows how much gratitude is part of Jewish tradition.

I wanted to clarify the Jewishness of Thansgiving because I was told about an incident last Shabbat where a rabbi, when making his announcements in morning services, said something like, "There will be no class on Thursday. Some people are taking the day off, though I frankly don't understand why."

If he was making a joke, he said it in such a way that listeners believed he was serious. The person who told me about this was a bit upset, because a local pastor had chosen that day to visit the synagogue for the first time, just to be neighborly. The pastor, who lives nearby, is a friend,and honors and reaches out to community Jews. He heard the rabbi's remark about Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving is important not only for ha karat ha tov, but because it is a uniquely American holiday that expresses the essence of our culture as God-fearing. We are thankful to God, not to the Indians. We remember that the first white settlers were able to join with the inhabitants of the land in humble gratitude. A nation that pauses to gather family to thank God and celebrate our bounty and blessings is one set on a straightened path every year. (Jews enjoy this kind of re-focusing every Sabbath as well.)

Thanksgiving is a national group-hug. It joins Americans across religions, across thousands of miles, and across generations. Unlike Halloween with its pagan origins, deathly symbols and crass commercialism, little about Thanksgiving itself is negative, unless you consider its potential for gluttony. The Seattle School District is rightly the subject of snickering derision. In contrast to every other public holiday, on Thanksgiving, as we watch parades and make stuffing and set the table and hear the doorbell and the laughter of those we love-- we look inward, and upward, to realize the parts of life that truly matter, and contemplate their very generous source. Happy Thanksgiving...from one very grateful lady.