Doubly dark

Sorry for the long spell between postings. Rest assured, this will be insanely long. See, it's not that I haven't been thinking about blogging, it's just that I haven't been blogging.

I had forgotten how much difference a few hundred miles can make. At 4:30, it's so dark here I can't read a book in my sunroom without extra light, and my sunroom still needs a lamp in it. In fact, it's pretty much pitch black. In fact, even with the glow from my screen, I can't really see to type. Time to go buy some more lamps, clearly. My neighbors, whose house I can see out the sunroom windows, have the Christmas lights up, and they are very pretty. But they are not giving me a lot of light.

People told me, when they heard I was coming up here, that it would be a lot cheaper. I thought it would be cheaper to buy a house, that kind of thing, but I did not expect other things to be a lot cheaper. I mean, aren't some prices just fixed, no matter where you are?
Here's what's cheaper:

• Practically everything, because there's no sales tax here.

And also:

• Food. I know, I should get in the habit of bringing my lunch, but I have not yet. So I buy lunch close by. In the student center, a sandwich, pickle, and side of chips or potato salad or an apple costs $3.25. If I feel like going to the dining commons, it's all I can eat for $5.95.
• Beer. Yeah, you have to shop the specials, but my local bar has a lot of them. A pint of whatever I drink is 50¢ from 8-8:30 on Tuesday nights, with prices going up 25¢ every half-hour from then on. Since I am both old and boring, that means I am generally getting about two pints for about $1.50 or less.
• Liquor. Maybe. Just like in Virginia, you can only buy liquor here from state-run liquor stores. But up here, they have, over years, developed a reputation for being much cheaper than the commercial liquor stores in other states, often with better selection. I don't buy enough liquor to know how much I'm saving, but maybe it's a lot. Or maybe it's an excellent long-term marketing strategy, with little basis in fact.
• Entertainment. There are political candidates, and pseudo-candidates, of course. They're pretty thick on the ground and also free. But there is also Monday night contra dancing, which, I'm told, is super-fun. And people drop by all the time, especially if by "people" you mean my parents, and by "drop by" you mean come over to tell me I need curtains. That is also free, and sometimes comes with dinner or firewood. People who are not my parents also sometimes drop by with no mention of curtains. But they rarely give me food or firewood.

In other news, my city-based sister is getting married in May, which is very, very soon. Her own little city-mouse-country moment seems to be the observation that everything about a wedding is easier to accomplish up here than in her city, so this is where she's getting married, and if she also has to drive two hours each way to find a ring and a dress and so forth, that's just what she'll do.

I saw a hawk this morning. It's been hanging around campus, eating squirrels, apparently, but I hadn't seen it until this morning, when it perched on the roof across from my office window. Cool. My old apartment complex should get some hawks to eat all the squirrels.

Cold enough fah yah?

I promise, I won't only talk about the weather for the rest of my life.
But today, I will, a little.
I woke up this morning in my bedroom, blinds down. Took a shower in my windowless bathroom. Got dressed in my bedroom, blinds still down, naturally.
And then I went to the kitchen to make myself some chai and oatmeal for breakfast, and I looked out at my back deck from the window over the kitchen sink.
And there was snow.
Not snow like the few little pelting iceballs of my walk to lunch the other day, which made their presence felt but did not amount to anything.
And not giant flakes that stay on your nose and eyelashes, but still, real, White-Christmas-type snow. Real snow that was already sticking to the ground pretty good at 7:30 this morning.
Now, there are some complications with all that for me: My car is broken, so I am walking a mile or two to work, and I do not own snow boots, as I have not really needed them for about 8 years.
But I was smiley, grinny, jump-on-the-bed happy. And I still was, when I got to work, covered in snow that melted all over everything. I will also say that I would much rather walk the streets of my little northern town than Arlington, VA, in a snowstorm, both because the streets are less busy and because people here experience enough snow that they know how to drive in it. I was the first one in to work, because everyone else had a slow, slow commute, but no one here is complaining about accidents or about the maniacs on the road.
It is your job to remind me how fun this was in March, when there is even more snow and it's dirty and slushy and I can't stand it for one more second because WTF WILL WINTER NEVER END?!?!. But when I wrote this at 10 this morning, I was watching that white stuff still falling, and I was still grinny.

In a slightly more look-how-citified-I-am story from this morning, I had a friend spending the night at my house last night. And after I left, she realized she'd left a Nalgene bottle in my car, back when my car was still working. So at 10 this morning, I had this text message: "Who locks their broken car inside their own garage?"
Who, indeed.
My text back: "A city mouse who is unused to her own garage and her broken car."
Seriously, I have my own garage? Really? Guess so.

Who's got a better word for "citified"?

Welcome home

Here's the thing:
When I live in the Big City (not even so big; lately, it's Washington, D.C.), I am annoyed. I am cynical and aggressive and very, very citified. I wear a lot of black. And also, inside, I sometimes feel like a little bit of a rube. I do like the stuff to do and all the people watching, but it wears me out.
When I live in the Rural Places, I feel overdressed, a little awkward. A little stupidly slick, even prissy, and you country folks know what I mean because you look at me like I'm crazy. A former farmer who knew me only from the city once expressed surprise that I knew where mules came from. The more time I spend away from the city, the more that wears off, which is good, and the serener I get, but won't I eventually get bored?
So I waffle.
And my latest waffling has brought me to a small-but-not-tiny Northern Town I lived in before I went to Washington for 8 years. I am back home, in some senses, and a fish out of water, all at the same time. Been here a week. Wowza.
I left some wonderful city friends behind, who wanted to hear about the transition, and I was inclined to send e-mails, telling them all about it.
But what is the World Wide Web for, if not to tell the Wide World about things only your close friends could care about at all?