theology&geometry

The colder and nastier the winter, the more hope I have for a summer that isn’t defined by the number of mosquito bites on my legs.

[Project 365]

Oh, man. It’s weird having so many weather events lately. I feel like I have to make a funny face when I say that: weather events.

The snow was so pretty and peaceful coming down today and then I had to leave the house. That’ll make a person real grumpy real fast.

Snow days are okay though, because we try to get done with work early and get the heck outta dodge before midnight, when the water on the roads INSTANTLY turns to ice. Not one second before. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. That way it makes it okay to leave my comfortably (most of the time) heated office and come to my frigid-ass house, where the hundreds of dollars of natural gas I pump into this place every month say “poof” unceremoniously and escape out every possible crevice. Yes, even that one. All of them.

Anyway, that was the worst segue ever to what I really wanted to talk about (and what I always want to talk about): CATS. A cat, technically. Singular.

Mr. Kitty.

Er, Sir Kitty of Litterpaw, just went on an epic quest from the back of the house to the front, and then up a barnacle-caked cliff (the door jamb) to try and rescue the Scroll of the Ancient Catgrassians (something invisible that only he can see), after which he triumphantly leapt over The Hills of Ottoman (the ottoman) and stuck a pretty bitchin’ sliding landing on Her Majesty’s Golden Throne (a gold-colored chair; do I really need to annotate this story?). Then he sat quietly for ten minutes near Mt. Entertainment Center, blinking slowly and methodically and — if I may say — hypnotically. Then, when Her Majesty the Sallybug had pranced her way over to the gold chair and perched at its peak to survey her kingdom, Sir Kitty sneaked up on her and tried to wrestle her down off the throne. That’s right, that knight had the audacity to overthrow the Queen! And it worked, and now there is serious political upheaval in the hallway.

Okay, so, all of that was just to say that my cats are LARPers and I’m okay with that.

Also, this post did not start out as a cat post and I had no intention of it being a cat post. I solemnly swear.

[Project 365]

Took a walk around the block to see the snow before it all melted and use the lens I’m renting this week. Had fun imagining what goes on in all the houses that sit around mine.

Bonus pictures!

[Project 365]

I utterly wasted my entire day today. I missed brunch (a grave mistake I will not forgive myself for anytime soon) and tried my best to nurse a hypochondriac (AKA MAN) back to health. I made a bitchin’ pot roast and we spent the evening peeking out the window at the snow, stuffing ourselves with wine and comfort food, and singing karaoke with the aid of YouTube. Please enjoy the following butchering of some classic rock:

Sugar Me. Ye-eah! from Lindsey Turner on Vimeo.

The U of M’s first day of the semester tomorrow has been canceled, and all the little errands I had planned on running are looking more and more treacherous. So it’s looking like tomorrow we’re going to be snowed in. And nothing good can come of that, my friends. Nothing good. [Evil smirk.]

More snow pics are here.

[Project 365]

It could be a thousand degrees every day during July, and I will forget about it and forgive you, weather, every single year, when you give me this kind of October. You co-dependent bastard, you.

I’m having a hard time really wrapping my brain around exactly what is happening in Nashville right now, but I know that a lot of people I care very much about are having a really hard time. And they are scared. And I feel so helpless out here in Shelby County, offering small bits of moral support in tweets and texts and blog posts, but I don’t know what to do. I just don’t know what to do.

I just hope that our rain-free day today will be good news for our friends to the east tomorrow.

Stay safe, everyone. This, like all things, will pass.

And if there is anything I can do to help, please do not hesitate to ask.

There comes a time every spring in the Mid-South when the outdoors just gets damned hostile. We had such a beautiful and mild and relatively dry April. Then here comes May, thrashing like an atmospheric adolescent, tantrum after tantrum after tantrum.

It feels like we’ve been under siege from the outside for days, but it’s only been about 24 hours. Still, those 24 hours have brought, what, half a dozen tornado warnings in my ‘hood? Flash flooding all over Memphis and Middle Tennessee and in my back bedroom?

Leak. :( from Lindsey Turner on Vimeo.

Apparently the limb that fell this past weekend did major damage to my roof. Who knew?! So Saturday morning at about 4 a.m. when I woke up to the eerie soundtrack of a tornado siren, the sky opened up and dumped lots and lots of rain into what are apparently two holes in my roof. And that resulted in water dripping down through my air register and, as I can tell from the damage now becoming visible, settling on top of the ceiling and just seeping into the drywall all around the room. Gross, gross, goddamned gross.

Pots contained the drips as best they could (had to empty the bigger one once), but I can’t even describe how it felt to stand there alone in that room with tornado sirens blaring and water pouring into my house and no idea what to do to make it all go away. It felt like part failure, part invasion, all terrifying. Living alone has its benefits, but when the atmosphere starts to collapse in on me like that, I sure do pine for a housemate to help me stave off crippling panic.

I snoozed off and on for a couple of hours. The leaking slowed to an occasional drip and the sun finally came up, at which point the entire city seemed to be underwater. My mom called to check on me and when I described what was going on in my back bedroom, my dad insisted, in no uncertain terms, that I better get my ass to Home Depot and get a ladder and some plastic and get up there and cover the damage ASAP. Or else that sheet rock ceiling was going to come down.

Sometimes it takes a dad to get one’s ass in gear.

So I swung by Phil’s and drug him to Home Depot with me. $150 later (ladders ain’t cheap!), we were back at the house, trying to psych ourselves into getting up on the roof. It doesn’t look that high from the ground but goddamn, the fall seems long from the roof. Ever the go-getter, Phil got up on the shingles and reported that I had two football-sized indentions to cover. I fed the plastic and tarp up the ladder to him and he methodically and neatly laid out two layers of plastic and covered it with a big blue tarp. I found bits of brick in my shed and flowerbed and handed them up to him. We were lucky that the rain held off so that he could get everything covered in time for the next deluge. And I am lucky that I have such a good friend who will help me out with this kind of shit when I just get so overwhelmed and can’t handle it. He’s been that good friend for me for so long. I am very lucky.

I left a message with a roofer and now I play the waiting game. And the hoping game. Hoping that the tarp stays put, that is. Because it has just kept storming all day and night and it’s supposed to rain tomorrow some more.

Work was insane. Sunday papers are bigger than the rest of the week anyway, but we were dealing with live flooding/weather stories and Beale Street Music Festival coverage. Plus we were down a designer on the desk. Shit got real when we had to head to the basement around 10 or so when a nasty-looking cell headed directly for downtown. Nothing came of it, and when we got back upstairs we busted ass to get our pages out and edited and we did it on deadline. And we put out a damn fine issue, if I may say so myself.

I’m spent. My bones hurt now that I’ve released all the tension I’ve been holding all night.

Tomorrow, I’m slated to go to BSMF to cover it for the paper’s website. Yes, I am batshit insane.

The limb‘s on me, the insurance company says. (I inquired because it appears that I now have a leak in the ceiling in, curiously, the exact spot where that bastard hit the roof.) Just because it fell from a neighbor’s tree doesn’t make the neighbor responsible, seeing as how it was “an act of God” and all. Bokay. So begins my quest to find a roofer who will either come in way under my deductible or slightly above it. Homeowner roulette, round one! Whee!

I guess I shouldn’t bitch. People down in Yazoo City were killed, for God’s sake. Half a dozen crumpled shingles pale in comparison.

My aunt and uncle’s property down in Decatur County was hit, I’m told. My aunt, once the storm had blown over, chronicled the whole affair on Facebook, which is how I was able to keep up with it (welcome to 2010). There’s even video (not hers, but still really interesting). My family has lived through so many tornadoes and bouts with ornery straight-line winds that you’d think we’d be used to it. But every time, it’s uniquely terrifying. This time it scattered my aunt and uncle’s collection of port-a-potties (they own a business) throughout their pasture. I’m really hoping to see a picture of that before all is said and done.

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I reacquainted myself with I-40 Sunday to spend some time with Kristin and Lonnie and Amber, who was in town for the marathon. Lonnie makes a mean steak. And he makes a mean batch of ice cream, which just floors me. Monday I spent some time with Lesley and finally got to meet Cecilia, who was pretty chill and let me hold her without freaking out. Don’t tell Chris, but I think Cecilia is basically Lesley’s clone. I decided to stay in town long enough to go to the Preds-vs.-Blackhawks playoff game six — my first hockey game ever. Chris lent me his lucky jersey. Which means, obviously, that the Preds lost. But shit, I had a great time screaming ridiculous crap at the ice three thousand feet below and booty dancing to the music with Amber. Major props to her dad for the tickets; David Bryant is responsible for pretty much all of my Nashville sporting experiences as well as my first Bonnaroo tent experience.

I decided not to chance trying to sneak the 50D in, so I didn’t get any good photos. I did get some video, however. Check out this rude energy after the Predators scored a goal:

What happens when the Nashville Predators score from Lindsey Turner on Vimeo.

The first period packed the most action and all but one of the goals for the game. I’ll be honest, I don’t know a damn thing about hockey but I could tell the Predators were out-skilled, especially on offense. They reminded me of what a middle-school basketball team looks like in action. All flailing and little actual meaningful contact with the ball (puck). There were no fights, I am sad to report, although there was plenty of chest puffing and near-fighting, which inspired me to scream “KISSSS HIMMM!!!!” at the top of my lungs. Look, people, you can’t take me places.

The loss sure did suck but how encouraging to see the Preds make it into the playoffs for the first time. That paves the way for more playoff action in the future. And you bet your ass I’ll be back to a game. Nasty fans with rude chants? CANADA, DID YOU MAKE THIS GAME FOR ME?

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Beale Street Music Festival is this weekend. For the first time in a couple of years, I won’t be covering it for the paper every night. Just Sunday. Yes, I’m disappointed. But we’ve had lots of layoffs since last year, so we’re super stretched in my department, and there’s no way I can get out of the office Friday and Saturday. Welcome to the brave new world of a night desk run by 15 people. Once I figure out where my dispatches will live (other than on Twitter with the #bsmf hash tag), I’ll let you people know. I’m sure you’re clamoring for my updates. And for me to get trampled again. I hope I don’t disappoint. SANS TRAMPLING.

I had just gotten off the phone with my mom (“So far, so good!” I’d told her) when I saw (well, heard, first) this limb come down with a smack to the roof and a thud on the ground. The impact shook every piece of glass in my house. It fell at a fortunate angle; it could have easily busted through my back bedroom windows.

When the rain let up, I went outside to see if it did any damage to the roof or siding, or even the fence (it’s from my neighbor’s tree). Far as I can tell, all is well, except it landed on and around my central unit, so I’ll need to make sure everything’s kosher with that before the horrible Memphis summer sets in.

Last night as the storm kicked up and the thunder rattled my bones, I was fairly on edge. It’s one thing to fear death by whipped wind and electroshock (which I do), but it is another acutely uncomfortable feeling when you fear financial ruin because Mother Nature likes to break shit during her hissy fits.

It would seem I got off light this time. Phew.

On the bright side, now I totally have an excuse to buy a chainsaw.