On Ice

I didn't ride my bike to work today. In fact, I'm not riding at all.

Blasphemy, you say.

Well, I took one look out my window and saw ice everywhere. Not just patches; I think the sidewalk in front of my place was the beginning of the Great Queens Glacier. At least the light was interesting:

Forgetful Snow

Snow is falling.  At least, that's what the official weather reports say.

It's really more like white slush.  But, I'll admit it looks pretty until it hits the ground.  

Interestingly, it looks more snow-like when it clings to tree branches.

In The Waste Land, T.S. Eliot wrote, "Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow."  It's not hard to see what he meant:  For a moment, I can actually forget that leaves have died and fallen from that tree.

I also can forget, for a moment, that one day this tree, and the one in the first photo, will be green again.  Or, at any rate, I have--however temporarily--no need to remember that. 

The Day After (The Snowstorm)

Today the college felt like a ghost town, at least in comparison to how it normally feels. About half of my students didn't come to my morning classes. However, I had nearly a full house for my final class, late in the afternoon. Still, the halls seemed emptier. And I know a number of professors didn't come in: I saw the signs announcing the cancellation of their classes.

And I did something that piqued the curiosity of a few of my co-workers: I wore my red pumps. No, I didn't wear them outdoors: The soles are too slippery for that, and I don't want to ruin the shoes (and possibly my feet!) by stepping into a slush puddle. I changed into them when I got to my office. It just happens that they complement what I was wearing today: a jewel-necked knitted top with black, bronze, white, gray and red stipes; a black cardigan (actually, half of a twinset) over it, a tan corduroy skirt and brown tights.

Some people think you're supposed to wear drab colors on drab days. That seems counterintuitive, or at least counter to my intuition.

I wouldn't mind the cold and the snow at all if the aftermath of them wasn't slush. Actually, the scene was quite lovely yesterday: Somehow, snow swirling over brick houses makes the glow of those sunset-orange bricks seem even warmer. And I just happen to live in one of those houses. Small things make me happy.

I wish we'd had today, rather than yesterday, off. Getting around in the aftermath of a snowstorm is actually more treacherous, at least sometimes, than getting around in the storm itself. When the snow is falling or being driven by the wind, it's still that: snow. But now some of what's on the ground has turned to ice and slush.

And it really feels cold. I know I've been out--for hours, on my bike--on days much colder than today was. But I really felt it today. Perhaps it has to do with my relative lack of physical activity. Or it could just be that I'm getting older. Still, I wonder if the operation has heightened the sensitivity to cold I seemed to have developed while taking hormones. I can remember going outside in shorts on days colder than today. There was no way I would've done that today, even if I didn't have to make myself halfway presentable so I could go to work.

At least I know one thing: Charlie and Max are happy to see me. The feeling is mutual; and they feel especially cozy and comfortable when they curl up with me on nights like this!

Under The Snow

Well, we did get a snowstorm. It wasn't quite as bad as predicted. At least, there doesn't seem to be as much snow as we were told to expect. But it has been very windy, so that puffy snowflakes feel like needles against your face.

The college and other schools will be open tomorrow. I expected that; I didn't think the mayor or the administration of the college wanted the schools to be closed again: Tomorrow is Thursday, and I don't think they want to open only for Friday when they'll be closed again on Monday for Presidents' Day.


Now that everything is covered with snow, the neighborhood looks like a kind of urban-industrial wedding cake. Everything is in white layers, and the cars and buildings look, in some weird way, like the tiers on the base. But I find it rather more charming than a wedding cake or almost anything that goes along with it.


Yesterday, when I saw Lara in the ladies' room of the West Wing, I also saw Rashnie for the first time since at least June. She works in the Provost's office and made me promise her that I'd take her shopping. She always wants to know where I got my shoes, brooch or something else that I'm wearing. Yesterday, she asked when I'm getting married.


"When I can do it right."


She liked that. And Lara asked whether I'm dating a man. I told her I'm not, but I'm not in a hurry: After all, I'm starting a whole new life, really.


What I didn't tell her that I can just as easily get involved with a woman as with a man. After all, I've had attractions to both, if to some unusual examples of each. Unusual in what way?, you ask. Well....


This isn't to say that I'm renouncing men. Far from it. One thing I've learned is that a satisfying sexual life with someone follows from a connection on a spiritual and intellectual level, or at least an emotional one. I'm not talking about one or two nights of wild sex: All you need for that is someone who's crazier than you are. (Believe it or not, I actually can find such people! ;-)) I'm not boasting when I say I've had enough of that to last a couple of lifetimes, at least. I'm past wanting sex for its own sake, much less as a form of conquest, and I've never had sex for reproductive purposes. So how could sex be anything but icing on the cake of some sort of connection--for me, at this point in my life, anyway?


I found that I really thought less--a lot less--about sex after I was on hormones for a few months. I didn't lose my drive; it just didn't preoccupy me as it once did. (At least, now I feel that I was preoccupied with it, at least when I compare how I was to how I am now.) I used to tell other women I know that I couldn't believe how horny men are, and I wondered aloud whether I was like them. Now I have no less desire than I did back in the day, but I now realize that what I really want are the things that go along with sex, at least the kind of sex I'd want to have. I'm not talking about toys or devices, although some of those things can be fun; rather, I'm talking about the feelings and the kind of time I'd want to spend with a lover.


Hey, I ain't one of those kids with a roll of quarters in his pants--and it ain't in his pocket!


Speaking of someone with whom I wouldn't want to have sex, I bumped into him today. I'm not talking about the one who called me at work last night; I mean someone who was a neighbor in the place I moved from. I hadn't seen him since last spring: I'd heard that his two roommates went back to India.


Anyway, the guy I saw today used to hit on me when he was drunk, which was often. Today he was sober and friendly toward me; he was eager to talk about the past few months. Turns out, he's about four blocks from where we used to live. It sounds like the place in which he's living is better; at least, the neighborhood's a bit more convenient. And he's living by himself. Maybe getting away from those other guys is doing him good.


At least he wasn't hitting on me. Or, if he was, I wasn't noticing it. We shook hands and I wished him well in whatever he does. I mean, really, what else could I do?

Later, it occured to me that the last time I saw him was a couple of months before my surgery. It made me wonder what he did, didn't, does and doesn't know about me. Even though I have no desire to date, much less have sex, with him, I wonder: Was he hitting on a "real" or transgender woman? I would guess the former, simply because other women in the neighborhood--most of whom look better than I do--said he hit on them, too. And my old landlady said he did the same to her sister.


At least all of that's over and done with--buried, like so much else under today's snow.

Storm Coming

It looks like we're going to get the storm that just missed us on Friday night and Saturday morning--and dumped anywhere from six inches to a foot of snow just a few miles away, in Staten Island--not to mention two feet in Washington, DC. The college will be closed tomorrow. I learned of this early in the evening, when I went to the ladies' room in the college's administrative area (sometimes called "The West Wing"). There I met Lara, whom I hadn't seen in a while and who gave me the news. Turns out that Mayor Bloomberg ordered all of the city's schools and a number of other public institutions closed.

I've heard a few different forecasts: for two feet of snow; for a mixture of snow, slush and torrents of ice; and for a deluge that will make the city's streets run with Diet Pepsi. Do I sound like the stereotypical New York Cynic now? Obama talked about "snow-maggedeon" in the capital; some local forecasters say the end is nigh for us.

Well, the aftermath of a blizzard is what some imagine the world will be after the post-apocalyptic mess is cleaned up: a windswept alabaster landscape.

Oddly enough, thinking about the storm we're supposed to get is making me sleepy. Maybe it's my blankets calling out to me. Or, perhaps, Max and Charlie are sending me subliminal messages to lie down because they want to curl up by me.

It seems like I'm spending longer and longer hours at the college. For one thing, each of my classes is 25 percent bigger than the ones I had last semester. So, there's more of everything to do. Plus, there are profs and administrators who are chasing tenure, grants and "bigger and better things."

Around 8 o'clock, I was waiting for the director of the writing program to call me, as he said he would after setting up a webpage for one of my classes. So, when my desk phone--vintage circa 1988--rang, I picked it up. The phone has no caller ID, so, when I picked up the receiver, I greeted the caller as if he were the director. Instead, he was someone whom I've been avoiding.

"Great! I've got you on your work phone. It can't die, like your cell phone." Just what I wanted to hear--someone I didn't want to talk to, giving himself a carte blanche to my time. That, after advising students almost nonstop between my classes. I don't mind doing that--in fact, I like it. It's just that I did, in essence, 13 nonstop hours of teaching and advising. I've worked longer days doing other kinds of jobs, but when you're talking or listening to people, your attention can't waver. That gets to be tiring, if not in the same way as a more physical job.

So now I'm falling asleep. At least I don't have to set my alarm for tomorrow.

Snowstorm

School's out....for today.

It snowed last night, let up this morning and snowed some more this afternoon. In all, eight or ten inches, depending on which report you believe, covered the streets, cars, houses and the park. It's the biggest snowfall we've had in couple of years, at least.

But the worst part of today's weather was the wind. Of course, it makes cold weather feel frigid. What made things worse today was that it whipped the snow around, turning puffy flakes into needles against the skin. Garbage cans and all sorts of other objects tumbled down the streets and sidewalks. I think that's the real reason why schools closed: Navigating was hazardous, if not dangerous.

So today was a day to curl up with a good book....and catch up on my reading. One thing I'd forgotten about being a student: You're never caught up. Same thing with teaching: There's always a pile of papers and students who wanted them returned yesterday. With an "A," of course.

You're never caught up...on work. On the bills. In love. In...well, you name it. How is that?

If I were to catch up, what would happen to me? I forget who said that when you don't have any more bills to pay, you die. Or is it the other way around? Would I have to find another job if I didn't have a stack of students' papers and exams in front of me?

No work left to do. Nothing to look forward to. What would that be like? I hope that's not what the days after surgery will be like. I mean, after all, I've never looked forward to anything as much for as long as I've anticipated the surgery. I know that there will be other things to do, most of them things I'm already doing.

Well, I know one thing: I won't be shovelling snow. I won't be able to do that. Besides, I don't think there'll be any snow to shovel at that time of year. But, as they say, you never know.

For now, I have a day off, work, hope and anticipation. I guess it's not a bad combination.