Clink

My grandmother loved ice. She used to have me go into the kitchen and add cubes to her already full glass just so she could hear the clink clink the ice would make when she picked her drink up and set it down.

I once asked her why she liked it so much, and she explained how she grew up without an icebox and how the ice man used to come by with a huge block, chipping off chunks for lucky families able to buy some, and handing out shavings to children lucky enough to find him at the right time in the right mood (willing to share).

Ice was a luxury as she grew up... and as she got older and the world became more technologically savvy, she embraced her ability to make and enjoy ice at her whim in the fullest way possible.

Days like today (with a heat index of 105) remind me of this penchant of hers. The kind of day where you step outside and immediately feel your body lose a pint of water. Where you step back into the house after being out and all you can think about it sitting down, turning on a fan, and drinking a tall, ice cold glass of water--secretly wishing you could pour it over your head and face without ruining the furniture or giving your 2 year old daughter free reign to follow suit.

I have a tall tumbler of water waiting for me to finish this post. I will sit upon the couch, put my tired feet up, drink my lovely water, and think of my grandmother every time I hear the ice clink within the glass.

RED

There is a small group of die-hard, star-hungry, space fanatics who have been following the Mars lander expedition. I may be wrong, but it seems we must be a relatively tiny group because there has been so little press on the whole thing... even though the Phoenix's mission is unlike anything every done on Mars before.

I'm not sure Andy and I qualify as space fanatics, but we do have a vested interest in this particular trip. One of our creative brain children has to do with Mars in the future, and so we are very interested to see what more we can learn about the planet and its history.

The latest news (which is very exciting) is the lander may have discovered ice, which means the hoped-for plan to drill for ice cores on the surface and to test the frozen water for organic materials and gases may be a go.

This could change everything we know about Mars. Which is huge. Yet, NASA has still struggled to capture the nation's interest; our collective consciousness seems to be focused on much more pressing issues like gas prices, grocery bills, and natural diasters. All more than understandable.

But a tiny little part of me still hopes for something immense and exciting - proof of water, the possibility of life, the chance of a reimagined history. Every now and then I check in to see how things are going... see what we've found out.

I find it equally comforting, humbling, and inpsiring to think about what an amazingly immense and complex universe we live in - how vast and miraculous it is. Mysterious... beautiful... and evolving. I can't wait to see what we discover next.

Winter transmogrifies

I think sometimes we get so caught up with the down side of bad weather (delays, discomfort, disruption, and safety issues) we forget to notice its potentially beautiful and unique consequences. I'm not talking about disasters or acts of God, but rather bad weather - the stuff we sigh about when looking out the window because it's cold or wet or simply the opposite of sunny, temperate, or calm.

One of the beneficial outcomes of the many ice storms we've had this year has been the way in which it transforms the landscape. From rural, Midwestern, small town to twinkling, Utopian, faerie land... the trees become glass sculptures that look like frozen lollipops begging to be licked or delicate sugar candy aching to be crunched between teeth. The grass becomes spikey, mini-explosions scattered across the ground, jagged and reaching outward like wild toy horses straining to move out and charge into the world.

For a few hours, or even a few days, our environment shifts, taking on a magical, otherworldly appearance, and we are allowed to envision ourselves in new and unusual ways, mirroring the metamorphosis surrounding us.

Ice. Ice. Baby.

We had our second ice storm today within a little over a week. SIUC was closed, again, which is a very rare occurence (prior to last week's storm, they had not canceled classes for 20 years). The plus side of this was I got to spend a day with my daughter - instead of teaching, working, and attending supervision.

However, we were stuck inside - and that can be a major challenge for Ariana, who tends to get a bit cabin-feverish when trapped indoors too long. Ice and sleet means you can't even play outside. What to do?

Macaroni necklaces! A little bit of twine, a bag full of ziti previously used for children's crafting projects with the LEAF program through Asian Human Services in Chicago, and some crayons for color. Simple... a wee bit fragile... but thoroughly entertaining for a child of almost 2. Seemingly magical even.

It became the anchor around which our day was centered. We returned to it multiple times to ooo and ahh and giggle and display. Her delight in such tiny things is astounding and inspirational - a good reminder in the middle of stressful weeks with wintry weather.

She is my angel, my elf, my muse. My little baby girl who is equal parts challenge and insight. (And the brand new owner of a green, blue, pink, and purple crayon-colored ziti necklace approximately 26 inches long.)

Attempted haiku in celebration of less snow and ice

Snow and ice have gone
Water fills the basement still
Spring is coming near