Growing up in the Pacific Northwest, I didn’t have much chance to experience driving in snow and ice.  By the time I got to my driving years, substantial snow was a once every third year kind of thing.  There was one memorable week my senior year of college when we got a crapload of snow during finals.  That wouldn’t have been so bad, except that my roommates and I had to move from one house to another in that same five day period.  The driveway was icy and so packing the cars was nearly impossible, because everytime you tried to slide something into the back, your feet would slip out from underneath you.  My entire body was black and blue when that move was finished.

We got some snow today in the Philadelphia area.  Not a ton, but it was our first snowfall of the year that had any sticking power and by 5 pm the roads were covered in cocktail of grey slush and ice.  All afternoon I kept checking the St. Joe’s website to see if my classes were still on, and kept coming up blank.  At a little after 5 pm I packed up my bag and trudged downstairs to get my car.

The front desk clerk saw me leave and his eyebrows shot up as he asked, “You mean to tell me they didn’t cancel your class tonight?  It’s awful out there!”

“Nope, I’ve got to go.”  I gave him a resigned shoulder-high wave and headed to the garage.

It took 25 minutes to cover the amount of ground that normally takes 5.  As I realized just how messy it was out there, I started calling my classmates, to confirm that we actually did have class and that I wasn’t driving out to school only to have to turn around again.  I kept thinking about how treacherous it was going to be to drive home after class and nearly turned around right then.  At 5:37, just as I had pulled onto West River Drive, Emily and Caitlin both called me back to announce that they had JUST* cancelled the evening classes.

I managed a deeply illegal U-turn and got home fairly easily, grateful that I wasn’t going to have to test my snowy driving skills after 9 pm on dark, frozen roads.  The whole way home I kicked myself, wishing that I had listened to my inner voice a little earlier, when it was telling me that I shouldn’t be driving.  Sometimes I fall into the trap of feeling like I should do certain things, even when I know deeply that it isn’t right for me.   Tonight reminded me of the importance of listening to myself and knowing that my inner is a good guide.

*Who cancels night classes less than 45 minutes before the class starts in a program where nearly everyone commutes to the university?  That seems to me to be a really stupid way of operating, because most of us would have had to already be on the road in order to get to class on time.

Friday night was a two stop evening.  First was a Unitarian happy hour at Bob and Barbara’s, followed by dinner and hanging out at Seth’s apartment.  Because of this, instead of walking down to the bar like I normally would have, I drove there, planning on leaving directly from there to go to Seth’s.  Driving down South Street, I passed a couple of parking spots, thinking I would be able to park closer.  Only, there were no spots closer and when I went back around the block, the spots that had been open a few minutes earlier were gone.

I ended up driving around, cursing my confidence that I’d be able to find a spot on South Street on a Friday night.  Fifteen minutes later, I found myself three blocks south, parking in an uncertain spot in front of gated and chained empty lot.

Climbing out of my car, I tilted my head up to look at the signs, trying to figure out if parking here for an hour was going to get me towed.  I noticed a man walking up the sidewalk towards me, and wondered briefly if I needed to be nervous.

Though he carried a cane, he was walking swiftly and was well bundled.  As he approached my car, he slowed and I shifted my weight to the leg further away from him, in case I needed to run.

“Coexist.  Now that’s a good word.  There’s not enough coexisting in our world these days.”  He said this to me in a strong voice that was threaded with old time Philly.

The back of my car is covered in bumper stickers that endorse either peace, a more loving attitude towards the world or liberal causes.  He was responding to the sticker on my car that looks like this:

I ended walking the length of a block with this man, talking about the importance of being kind to other people and being open to diverse viewpoints.  I felt so grateful to have encountered him.  It gave my search for parking, which had felt so frustrating while I was experiencing it, a new meaning and perspective.

Today I got to spend some time at the hospital, hanging out with the new parents, the thrilled bubbe (grandma) and of course, this very new baby. He’s fairly easy going so far, only crying when his clothes are taken off (he’s very modest) or if he’s hungry. Otherwise, he’s pretty content to just hang out, completely oblivious to the fact that every eye in the room is on him.

I took nearly 150 pictures of him in the first half hour I was there, all the while being grateful that I don’t live in the days when I’m constrained by the cost of film and can keep on snapping until I get some good shots. After that I held him. For an hour. I don’t know if I can properly convey the magic that is having such a new person in my arms for that length of time. I couldn’t stop smiling. It was almost as if I had a contact high from that inarticulable connection to the unknown that all new babies have.

Standing at the foot of Sabrina’s bed, I unconsciously fell into the rhythm and bounce of the baby waltz. I don’t remember learning the gentle swaying and rocking that can sometimes calm babies and keep them sleeping. It just springs from someplace deep within me when I have a baby in my arms.

Finally, around 4:30, I handed him over to his dad, heading home to make an apple crisp for dinner with friends. I can’t wait to see this little person again.

I’ve been a little spotty in my Random Friday participation of late, but I’m trying to get back on track, because it is fun. You know the drill: 1. set iPod to shuffle, 2. report back the first ten songs.

1. Walking Blues, Bonnie Raitt (Bonnie Raitt)
2. Old Dan Tucker, Bruce Springsteen (We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Sessions)
3. Wild Horse, Deb Talen (Something Burning)
4. The Belly and the Beast, Anais Mitchell (Hymns for the Exiled)
5. And For This, Rachel Ries (For You Only)
6. This Kind of Happy, Iris Dement (The Way I Should Be)
7. November, Duncan Sheik (Duncan Sheik)
8. I Won’t Be Your Yoko Ono, Dar Williams (The Green World)
9. Nettie Moore, Bob Dylan (Modern Times)
10. Daybreaker, Beth Orton (Daybreaker)

Favorite Song: I Won’t Be Your Yoko Ono by Dar Williams. I love the introduction she gives this one on her live album, because she talks about how she feels that Yoko gave up a lot of her artistic energy to John Lennon when she married him. It’s a call to never surrender your ability to create, and I respect that.

Favorite Album: Bonnie Raitt. This was her first album and my favorite out of all she’s done. It is raw and rough and deeply bluesy and love it.

Seen Live: Dar Williams is the only one this time around, although I have seen her with both a full band and by her lonesome. She’s great either way. I’d really love to see Iris Dement sometime as she’s a quirky and creative songwriter with a great voice.

Other Random Friday players:

Andrea
Ben
Ellen
Howard
Lauren

A new member of my extended family arrived today and we are all thrilled to welcome him to our wacky, loud, but always loving clan.  Derek Elliott (first and middle names) was born this afternoon by C-section to a mom who after nearly a day of labor just couldn’t push anymore.  He weighs 7 pounds, 4 ounces and while I haven’t seen him yet, word on the street is that he’s quite the looker.  I’m picking up his bubbe and her partner at the airport tonight, and from there we will head straight to the hospital.  I will have my camera in tow and will take lots of pictures of his gorgeousness.

I recently met a Unitarian minister who said that most ministers tend to give the same sermon over and over again. It might be called different things, and might come at the topic in hundreds of ways, but essentially there is one area that is most near to each minister’s heart and so they continue to share that message for most of their career. He said that his was “Use Your Life,” and after hearing him preach, I could see how this was true, even though that wasn’t the title or theme of the sermon I saw him give.

I’m not a Unitarian minister and chances are I will never become one (although I haven’t entirely ruled out the possibility yet) but I’ve come to realize that I have a personal theme that is akin to this minister’s single sermon topic.

I believe deeply, strongly and with the conviction of my entire person that it is vital to treat other people lovingly. All the time. It doesn’t matter whether you know them or they are a complete stranger. There is never any reason to treat others in a manner that is cruel, dismissive or lacking in basic respect.

I spent most of today working on a paper and at about 2 pm started to hit a wall. Always protective of my personal sanity, I decided to combine a few errands and get out of my apartment and away from my computer for a little while. What I experience while out in the world was a series of events where it was clearly demonstrated how choosing to be loving makes life more enjoyable.
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When my mom was a little girl, she would play outside in the winter until her cheeks were numb and her fingers ached inside her gloves. She would come back into the house, weeping from the pins and needles that ran through her fingers. Elizabeth, the maid/babysitter who worked for my mom’s family for many years, until the night she experienced a mental break and served dinner upside down, would wipe her face, and warm up her icy fingers in a bowl of cold water.

As a child I would always beg my parents to tell me stories about when they were little. Growing up in Los Angeles, my favorite stories were the ones that involved cold weather and snowpeople and sleds and marshmallows roasted on sticks over a fire burning in a fireplace. I wanted a fireplace so much when I was six years old, that I would pretend that the lowest shelf of the living room bookcase was one, and I would stare at it while popping bubble wrap, trying to will a hearth into being.

Last night, while driving home from class, I noticed a world of ice on the planters and sidewalk in front of the building that used to house the AAA headquarters at 21st and Market. I didn’t have my camera with me then, but the images of that ice niggled at my brain and at about 11 pm last night, I decided I had to walk over there and take some pictures. I bundled myself up in my long, gray down coat that makes it look like I’m wearing a sleeping bag, wrapped a huge scarf around my neck, pulled on a wool hat for extra insulation under my hood and grabbed my gloves as I headed out the door.

I was outside for all of fifteen minutes, but as I walked home, I realized that my gloves had been ridiculously insufficient (the rest of me stayed quite warm). My fingers ached and I ran the last block back to my apartment, trying to warm my fingers while holding a tripod. When I got upstairs, my mind raced back to the stories my mom used to tell me of how Elizabeth would warm up her icy fingers, and I turned the kitchen faucet on cold. Under the water, my fingers started to lose their redness and while it hurt, it was a relief to know that my fingers were still all mine.

To see all the pictures of the ice, go here.

Today is the first Monday of the month, which means that bloggers all across the area post pictures and information about missing persons, in an attempt to raise awareness about their missing status.

Erika Brown has been missing from Philadelphia since last May 16, 2006.  She’s an endangered runaway and is thought to possibly still be in the local area. She has a large birthmark on her left leg. Erika may go by the alias name Ericka Burton. She may use the alias date of birth May 20, 1990.

If you’ve seen Erika or have information that may help find her, please call 1-800-843-5678 (1-800-THE LOST) Click here find out more about her.

For other Missing Monday blog posts from Philly area bloggers, click here.

Just after midnight on Friday evening, I picked up my cell phone and typed in a brief text message.

“It’s February 3rd in Philadelphia! Happy 25th Birthday!”

It seems likes it’s only been a scant year since Raina learned to walk by grasping the waistband of my pants and tugging them down. No more than a few months since I accidently broke her hand by slamming it in the door of an old white Pinto station wagon. And only a couple of weeks since she was last in Philadelphia, camping out in my living room and playing at the church.

When I talked to Raina today, she sounded happy (and a little intoxicated) and was being celebrated by friends. Happy Birthday Rainy, never worry about how old you’re getting, because I will always be just a little bit older.

Walking through Reading Terminal Market this afternoon, I found myself drawn to a table covered in 2 pound bags of ginger, with a sign announcing that each bag was only $.99. I’ve been on something of a ginger kick lately, and so was drawn to these bags of ginger. Admittedly, some of the ginger in the bags looked a little sad, but for the most part it all still looked usable. A bag came home with me.

I decided that I wanted to make a ginger granola, but realized that I would need to candy the ginger before I could use it in granola. I thought briefly of just mincing a bit real fine and throwing it in, but I was afraid that would make the granola inedible, and I hate to do that to good nuts and oats.

I googled candied ginger and discovered that it is really an easy process. You simply peel the ginger and cut it into small bits. You cook it in water for about half an hour until it’s fairly tender (I actually let it go for more like 40 minutes and it still resisted the fork a little. It turned out okay). Drain the water off (I’ve saved it, to sweeten it with some honey and drink like tea) and return the cooked ginger bits to the pan. Add a cup of sugar and 4 tablespoons of water. Stir until the water dissolved and then let cook away, stirring occasionally. I let it cook in the sugar syrup for about twenty minutes, until the candy breaks and it turns back into crystals. Scrap it all out onto a cookie sheet and let it cool.

I’ve put what I didn’t use in the granola into a jar, for another day. I was surprised how simple it was, and how it tastes just like the stuff you buy at Trader Joe’s.

I’ll write about the granola tomorrow, after it cools and I can tell you how it turned out. It’s a recipe my mom has been using for years, so I’m fairly confident it’s going to be good, but I’ve never done it with ginger before, so there’s still a chance that it could be kind of weird.