Infinite Dust

 Today I was sweeping the stairs and thought, "How much dust could possibly regenerate itself on my stairs?" The thought pricked at my imagination for a long time. It seemed that dust really was infinite. So I Googled what it was made up of. 

Sorry for bad quality. I had to make the image really big to see what it said. 

So Google said that it was mostly particles, skin cells, hair, and plastics. 

So what? How many particles is the Earth going to generate until it runs out? According to Google, the Earth's crust is already 61 sextillion pounds. So that's 61 sextillion pounds about to crawl its way into my house and my stairs. This is rather scary. But then there's indoor particles. What are "indoor particles?" Couch foam? I didn't want to know any more. But it's also kind of nice to know that I'm sort of saving the environment and reducing landfill use by sweeping my couch foam back into the couch. I'd call that recycling. 

But with the crust thought comes this other scary thought: the human skin cells thought. Humans have 1.6 trillion skin cells. So that's all 1.6 trillion of my skin cells falling off my body and onto the stairs. Pretty soon I'll have no skin cells left. I'll look like Anakin Skywalker after he crawled out from the lava with absolutely no skin left. But then I'll have to put on a Darth Vader suit, which has it's benefits but also its downsides. Because when I have to sneak through the house, all I'll hear will be that extremely loud, mechanical HUFF-HUFF-HUFF-HUFF-HUFF breathing sound coming from the suit. Wait, I am dust. That is equal parts awesome and terrifying. 

I could go on and on with this. For example, when will the factories stop making clothes? When will we all go bald? When will plastic be gone forever? When will my couch run out of foam to spit out? Am I supposed to know how the thermostat works by know? How do they know how many centimeters high the ice dancers jump in the Olympics? Why do bananas count as berries but strawberries don't? Why does Russia get to have a bigger surface area than Pluto? WHY IS NOBODY GONNA ANSWER MY QUESTIONS?! 

Helicopter Molester

 I was loading firewood on the patio a few minutes ago, when I heard a strange noise in the distance. 

It was a helicopter in the distance, but I couldn't see it. It was getting closer and closer. Pretty soon, I assumed that it was already above us. Finally, after what seemed like forever, I could see it--flying unusually low. It was blue and white. 

It was flying extremely low. Unusually low. We live up against a mountain, and it was low on the mountain. Then, it made a sharp turn and went behind the mountain. 

Then, it started circling us. It circled about five times. It felt like the dude who was flying it was stalking us, so I waved to the helicopter with my arms out like one of those balloon-guys you see in store parking lots that flop around it the wind and tell you that there's a sale. The helicopter ignored us. I felt like it was going to land, which was fine. I could use a helicopter ride. 

Mom came outside. "Is that our neighbour?" she asked. Who else would be molesting us in this remote valley. If he was stalking us, he should just land already. 

Our neighbour actually did have a helicopter that he would fly when the weather was good. But this helicopter kept circling. Then, as if it was done it's molesting session, it just turned around and flew away. 

All day I kept hearing helicopters passing over our house, loud and clear sounds, though I couldn't see them. 

This is getting creepy. 

I have a confession.

 I have a confession, something that I did that caused a lot more trouble than if I hadn't. Mostly my fault, but the others blame themselves. None of the fault-ness was theirs. It was all mine. 

It all started on a snowy evening on March 26th. You're probably wondering why were still getting blizzards and still have another foot of snow coming, but it's that stupid coastal storm. I hate coastal storms because they ruin all the fun. 

Mom was doing pottery inside our previous house that we still own, but it's too old to live in. It has mice and stuff. We still use it for storage, and it's also a decent pottery studio. 

It was cold in there. Too cold. I went into the truck and sat down, and turned on an XM radio station to listen to some good 80s music. But I got bored. And I was still cold. So I returned into the pottery studio. 

I sat down and watched Mom make pottery for about 20 minutes. Mom tried making a pot, and then said, "Okay, Marci, we can go now." So we packed up and walked outside to the truck. That's when I noticed something... odd. 

It was a sound that made me stop in my tracks and look at the source of the sound. Uh-oh, I thought. I had done something terrible. Mom seemed to sense my concern and look at the source too after a few seconds. I hoped she wouldn't be mad, but here we were, and here was the terrible, terrible problem that was totally entirely my fault. 

The headlights. They were flickering dimly in a way I hadn't seen before. They flickering came with that odd clicking sound that sounded like a ton of things were causing the clicking. "Wh-what happened?" I asked. Mom froze. She looked at me. "I don't know," she said. "Let's just get home."

We got into the truck and Mom tried to start it. It made a whining sound, just a low and small sound that sounded like an airplane being massaged. I gulped. I knew what had happened: When I was listening to the radio, everything was on. The heated seats, the radio, the screen, everything. When I returned to the studio, I had left it all on and drained the battery. The realization of what I had done fell on me like a heavy block as Mom made confused sounds. 

Mom attempted to start it again. I felt scared. This time, the truck made a sound like an orchestra being massaged. I don't think you're supposed to massage orchestras, though. Like, the instruments would get damaged from the giant masseuse. You're supposed to massage people and dough, not orchestras. 

"A-are we walking home?" I asked. My voice was tiny and strained. I didn't want to get in trouble or get accused. I had enough going on: depression, deadlines, bullies, and now this. I was already carrying a heavy load, and this felt like one more thing to collapse under. 

Mom sighed. "I guess so." We got out of the truck, leaving it behind in the snow, and walked up our long, steep driveway to get home. 

The walk home felt awkward. None of us said a word other than to call our dog Cleo to stay close. The snow fell on my coat. Then, near the top of the hill, Mom said, "So, what did you do?" My heart stopped. I felt so guilty at that moment. I tried to reply by shifting the blame away from me. "Uh, maybe an engine problem? It is pretty cold." 

Mom seemed angry at that. "Did you drain the battery?"

"Uh, maybe? I don't know. It's hard to--" 

Mom cut me off. With some sort of sentence. I don't know what. 

Minutes later, her and Dad drove down on a quad to charge the truck. The house felt empty and quiet. I added a log to the fireplace. I played a card game of Crazy 8s with myself. Anything to keep myself from feeling guilty. I did a quick Duolingo lesson to keep my streak. 

Then they were home. Dad was angry, yelling at Mom. He was so mad at me. Super mad. I felt small. Tears blurred my vision. I hid in the bathroom. 

At least I got that confession out. Now we have no vehicle options, because the truck is drained and Dad's truck had been carried out on a barge to a different town, but he was sent home from his job there due to an "atmospheric river" (which sounds utterly terrifying) and they never returned his truck. We're getting another foot of snow. In late March. We might get a big dump in April, too. It's supposed to be spring. My favourite season has been ruined by a seemingly infinite winter. 

Newborn Marshmallow Unicorn Maze

 Today I was in the cereal aisle, looking at the backs of each cereal box to see if they still out mazes on the back. The only one displaying it was Lucky Charms Cereal. Yes, the Leprechaun-themed cereal with the colourful marshmallows "that turns the milk GREEN!" 

When I was a kid, we didn't have TV at our house, so whenever we traveled to the city to stock up on our rations, we would always stay in a hotel with TV. I would enjoy the commercials more than the actual programs, but I especially enjoyed the Lucky Charms commercial: a flood of green milk and marshmallows. I begged my mom to buy me a box, but she said no in a very firm manner every time. "But it turns the milk GREEN!" I would say. And she would say, "Absolutely not. I'm only getting you 'Quaker Boring Bran of Raisins and Fibre' because I want you to be healthy." At the word "healthy," I would nearly cry. I never got a chance to try that cereal anyways. 

I reached for the Lucky Charms cereal box and traced the unicorn-themed maze on the back. It had unicorn facts, such as, "Unicorns always know whether or not you're telling the truth!" and "Unicorns can heal anyone and everyone with their magic powers!" The maze was filled with curving paths. I got to the finish in three seconds. And I was thinking, "Wow, this was easy. A newborn could do this."

Then, the produce restocker came up to me. 

His name was West. I had said hi to him enough when I went to the store that we sort of became friends, and have discussions about various things. "Hellooooooooooo!" he said cheerfully but quietly. "Can I help you with anything?" 

I smiled and showed West the back of the cereal box. "I was looking at the backs of all the cereal boxes to see if they still had puzzles and mazes," I said, "and I found one this this box." I traced my finger along the curving, rainbow paths of the maze and got to the finish in no time. "See how easy it is?" I said. 

West smiled. "Cool!" he clapped his hands. Walking away with a smile on his face, he said, "Have fuuuun! Thank you for sharing that with me!" 

I waved goodbye. 

West is so fun to talk to. 

Book recommendation

 Sorry about all the MIA-ness lately. I've been busy. Less busy now, but I'd thought I'd drop in to give you... A BOOK RECOMMENDATION!!!!!

I found this one at the library at Seeding Saturday party (which is also the world's saddest bachelorette party for plants) called The Astral Library by Kate Quinn. I hid it under my pillow and started reading it, and it's great. I think it was released just last month. 

Bookworms, you need to give it a read. The description: 

Alexandria “Alix” Watson has learned one lesson from her barren childhood in the foster-care system: unlike people, books will never let you down. Working three dead-end jobs to make ends meet and knowing college is a pipe dream, Alix takes nightly refuge in the high-vaulted reading room at the Boston Public Library, escaping into her favorite fantasy novels and dreaming of far-off lands. Until the day she stumbles through a hidden door and meets the Librarian: the ageless, acerbic guardian of a hidden library where the desperate and the lost escape to new lives...inside their favorite books.

The Librarian takes a dazzled Alix under her wing, but before she can escape into the pages of her new life, a shadowy enemy emerges to threaten everyone the Astral Library has ever helped protect. Aided by a dashing costume-shop owner, Alix and the Librarian flee through the Regency drawing rooms of Jane Austen to the back alleys of Sherlock Holmes and the champagne-soaked parties of The Great Gatsby as danger draws inexorably closer. But who does their enemy really wish to destroy—Alix, the Librarian, or the Library itself?

I've never given a latest-release book recommendation on my blog before, so this was new and fun to me! I'll give you more recommendations throughout the years so you can find a book that'll prevent boredom in the long months. 

Months that seem long to me: January, February, May, September, October, November. They feel especially long. I'll make sure to give you some great new releases in those months!

With love, 

~ Marci 

Casino Door

 We have doors downstairs that open with coins. 

No, I don't mean a jukebox situation. I mean the locks can be picked with 25¢. They lock from the inside, but the slot on the outside end of the doorknob has a slot shape, where a coin can be inserted and turned to unlock it. It was used frequently by angry moms and desperate lactose-intolerant people who just couldn't hold it anymore. I was a little annoyed by the easy opening, but that's how the doors were. 

I know what you're thinking: "But it sounds like a slot machine!" And maybe in a way it is. But I don't want to pay to pee. 

I don't think anybody wants that. 

And they might really not want doors that encourage gambling. 

Went Snowboarding. Result: Snow Up My Nose.

 Yesterday, I snowmobiled to the ski hill to practice snowboarding. 

For those who don't know what a snowmobile is, it's somewhat like a motorcycle on skis. It's used primarily to get around on trails covered in snow and up mountains. The more advanced riders (like my uncle Jay) can go up to 100 km/h without vomiting from sheer panic and can also do catwalks. Hooray! 

The ride in was a mile, then past a ski cabin, through a (thankfully empty) lake, and through some trails until you would find a warm-up cabin and a decent ski hill. Unfortunately, it was Friday, so the ski lift wasn't in operation--it only operated on Sundays. So what did I do? I just hiked up the ski hill while carrying a very heavy snowboard. 😢

I would've used the snowmobile to get up there, but there was a big fat sign saying, "SNOWMOBILERS WILL PLEASE STAY OFF THE SKI HILL." So I had to hike. For a million gazillion hours. I frequently collapsed into the deep, powdery snow to rest and catch my breath. I only looked at the ground, because if I looked at my destination it would feel longer. 

I reached the top and tried to strap in, but it was too steep to do that at this point of the hill, so the snowboard kept almost-sliding out of my reach and down the hill. I cried. I cursed. I punched the snowboard as if it would fix the sliding problem. I strapped in one more time and managed to get going, but I'm a wobbly beginner and I fell. The snowboard straps escaped, and I watched with a combination of anger and disappointment as the snowboard slid all the way down the hill in a mildly mocking manner. To the very bottom. Couldn't get it now. 

I cried, streams of snot dribbling out of my nose and into the snow so much that I began to appreciate fully how nice a Kleenex was, but that was a luxury out of my reach in this position. Snot was all over my face, and even though no one was there, I felt embarrassed. Should I go back to the warm-up cabin as a furious, snotty and red-faced mess, or stay up here and wait for either a bear to maul me or a good Sunday when the ski lift was in operation? 

Then I saw, through the blizzard, something unexpected. What could it be...?

Two skiers, walking toward the warm-up cabin. What if it was Hans the Balloon Muse and his wife? Nah, couldn't be. They'd only go up on Sundays. Should I go down?

After a very long time, I just sprinted. Down the deep snow. Sometimes falling over. I angrily grabbed my snowboard, which was sitting there looking not nearly as guilty as it should've been, and walked to the cabin. 

Inside, I didn't make eye contact with anyone. I just searched for Kleenex in my backpack, checked on the sausages that were sizzling on the woodstove, and checked my reflection in my sunglasses. At least I was no longer red-faced and covered in, uh, you know. 

Turns out the skiers were a French couple. I sat down and had a conversation with the lady, Gabriela, and felt a little better. Gabriela encouraged me to keep snowboarding and to not give up. Then she peeled an orange and gave me half. She's a good sort. 

We talked about snowboarding, why oranges make mist, painting, dogs, etc. Then Gabriela started talking to her husband Joshua in gentle but very fast French, and I wondered why they had made the sudden language switch. Maybe to talk about how I looked almost-dead lying on that ski hill. Or just random stuff that I would have no interest in. 

We had to leave. I petted their very large dog, and waved goodbye, and I snowmobiled away for a short break at the empty lake/ski cabin place. I found a weird tiny luge thing, but I wasn't so sure it was a luge. It was black plastic, with a place possibly to lay your head on, and two thick bars curving out. I thought that was weird because it was almost impossible to rest my feet on, and it didn't go very fast either. Maybe it was just some kind of... I don't know. I carried on to the parking lot on the snowmobile. 

I walked along the snowbank while my parents and uncle talked to their friend Morse, plus another guy. I fell on the snowbank, making a weird oof sound when I hit the ground. Morse laughed. I felt equal parts happy and offended. After a million gazillion years of cold toes and cold everything and wet gear and zero food, we returned home like a pair of icicles sneaking back into a thawing freezer, grateful to be near anything that wasn't trying to bite our toes.