Tuesday: Thunder showers and lightning, that reportedly jumped out of the wall in one of the classrooms, and hail. The kind of weather that stops a meeting of science teachers to run to the windows. You can only imagine what that weather does to the kids.
Wednesday: More rain. We are officially on record as the wettest month EVER recorded in Seattle.
Thursday: I'm giving thanks to the rain, as it is dumping SNOW in the mountains. I hope the roads are clearer for the drive over the passes next weekend with the east coast guest.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Snow Science in Action
Justin invited me to play around in the snow. We left Seattle at 8 am. The drive to Stevens Pass revealed the landslides and damage to the roads from the last week's deluge. We were delighted by sun and slathered on the sunscreen. We were off to do some snow science. Justin opted for his skis, despite reports of the dust on crust conditions. My snowshoes (a great introduction to back country post accident) punched the crud. Wednesday's rain layer was obvious even before we dug a pit. Check out the photos here to see the snow science in action.
Monday, November 13, 2006
Free Diving
Tonight when I stumble into the locker room at the community pool after a tiring workout, I notice a woman standing there in a thick wet suit. "Training?" I asked her. "I'm a free diver," she says in an accent. The pool has introduced me to many new sports and athletes than my typical outdoor sports: swiming, water polo, triathletes, etc. This, by far, is the most extreme. Free diving is a competitive sport with three disciplines: time, distance, and depth. She's practicing today for time. She'll float with her head in the water for a l o n g time. Her record is 6 mins 2 second. She told me the reason she wears a wet suit is to keep warm, as her metabolism will slow so much in that time, she'll have trouble keeping warm. Remember the movie The Big Blue? That's a pretty good example of the depth division. Hold your breath and dive deep, pull a tag off the line and swim back up, hopefully without brain damage. Her name is Jade, she's from Switzerland originally. She heads off soon to the Free Divers World Championship in Egypt. Cool huh?
Sunday, November 12, 2006
nostalgia in the midwest
The twig season arrived
before I landed.
I learned botany nearby,
becoming friends with hardwood
and humans.
This weekend, we've fallen together
on the open forest floor,
laughing and kicking up songs
made by dragging feet.
The melody is mixed with sycamore,
burnt potato chip bark of black cherry
and the memorable tangled
chartruese brain of osage orange.
The newest naturalist
has the largest eyes.
We're here to make sure
he won't be
the last child in the woods.
before I landed.
I learned botany nearby,
becoming friends with hardwood
and humans.
This weekend, we've fallen together
on the open forest floor,
laughing and kicking up songs
made by dragging feet.
The melody is mixed with sycamore,
burnt potato chip bark of black cherry
and the memorable tangled
chartruese brain of osage orange.
The newest naturalist
has the largest eyes.
We're here to make sure
he won't be
the last child in the woods.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Driving you crazy?
This morning I heard a talk on the radio that is worth sharing.
My friends and family might recall Dr. Bezruchka as the author of Trekking in Nepal. He is a medical professional here in Seattle and had done work in Nepal.
To access this talk online for up to two weeks in the KEXP archives, visit the link below and then click on the program menu to access mind over matters. Then select Sunday, November 5, 2006, 7 am.
enjoy.
http://www.kexp.org/streamarchive/streamarchive.asp
| Dr. Steven Bezruchka's talk on "Is America Driving You Crazy?" was given October 16, 2006 at Kane Hall on the University of Washington campus in Seattle. I heard it aired on KEXP's Mind over Matters radio program on Sunday 11.05.06 at 7 am. | |||||||
My friends and family might recall Dr. Bezruchka as the author of Trekking in Nepal. He is a medical professional here in Seattle and had done work in Nepal.
To access this talk online for up to two weeks in the KEXP archives, visit the link below and then click on the program menu to access mind over matters. Then select Sunday, November 5, 2006, 7 am.
enjoy.
http://www.kexp.org/streamarchive/streamarchive.asp
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Spooky Weather
This week has been surprisingly similar to the way I remember fall in New England.
Monday mornings sunrise, thanks to the daylight savings changes, set a fire over the North Cascades. I watched it warm through the windsheild.
Tuesday, I flew to school on my broomstick and the two wheeled bicycle beneath it. It was 33 degrees when I pushed off. The entire route red with street trees. A large oak tree has laughed off most of its toothed sharp leaves and left a large pile at the Northeast corner of the school. They rustle as I ride through them. A day of dry ice and mad science. Spooktacular!
Wednesday I rode with Robin, a student teacher who lives nearby. We paused on the Montlake Bridge to see the sillouhettes of skulls and crew teams draw ripples in the sunrise reflection. We rode home together, too, the dusk drawing its own magic on the new snows in the Olympics. Clouds gathered to warm the evening so much I pulled at the long legs of my cycling pants and Robin removed her jacket before the final hill.
Thursday morning pitter patted into my bedroom through the windows. Loud raindrops can't come quietly. I put on my super rain jacket and slipped down the driveway; yes, on the bike. Fenders protect me from the excess splashing, and the visor of my helmet keeps most of the drips off my glasses. I could ring my gloves out in the sink when I arrived, smiling. Robin and I rode home again, today. Large thwaps hitting me on the scalp through holes in the helmet. Deep puddles at the corners, and pocketed patterns on the Montlake cut. I hope it's snowing in the mountains.
Monday mornings sunrise, thanks to the daylight savings changes, set a fire over the North Cascades. I watched it warm through the windsheild.
Tuesday, I flew to school on my broomstick and the two wheeled bicycle beneath it. It was 33 degrees when I pushed off. The entire route red with street trees. A large oak tree has laughed off most of its toothed sharp leaves and left a large pile at the Northeast corner of the school. They rustle as I ride through them. A day of dry ice and mad science. Spooktacular!
Wednesday I rode with Robin, a student teacher who lives nearby. We paused on the Montlake Bridge to see the sillouhettes of skulls and crew teams draw ripples in the sunrise reflection. We rode home together, too, the dusk drawing its own magic on the new snows in the Olympics. Clouds gathered to warm the evening so much I pulled at the long legs of my cycling pants and Robin removed her jacket before the final hill.
Thursday morning pitter patted into my bedroom through the windows. Loud raindrops can't come quietly. I put on my super rain jacket and slipped down the driveway; yes, on the bike. Fenders protect me from the excess splashing, and the visor of my helmet keeps most of the drips off my glasses. I could ring my gloves out in the sink when I arrived, smiling. Robin and I rode home again, today. Large thwaps hitting me on the scalp through holes in the helmet. Deep puddles at the corners, and pocketed patterns on the Montlake cut. I hope it's snowing in the mountains.
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