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plonqWhen I was in grade twelve we set a record for consecutive days without sun - forty-three days, or some ridiculous number like that. It was a stretch through January and February if I remember right. Every day it was cloudy and raining, either steadily, or in fits. When it wasn't raining, it was foggy or drizzling, but above all it was unceasingly grey. It was a world of permanent puddles and mud, mushrooms and moss and humidity that never dropped below 80%. I remember Dad fighting with condensation running down the windows inside the house; he lay towels along the window sills, and he'd bought a dehumidifier and had to empty it several times a day.
It was a cold, dark, wet trip to school and it was cold, dark and wet for the trip home again. When I went to get dressed in the morning for school, as often as not my shoes and the cuffs of my pants would still be wet from the previous day.
When I describe our west coast winters to the people out here, they recoil a bit in horror. "Forty days without sun? How on earth could you stand it? I'd go mad!" It's really hard to explain to them how I can miss it so. There are times when I appreciate the crisp winter days out here, like when blue sky breaks over a fresh fall of snow, or a hoar frost settles over the city. I can almost forgive the bitter cold in those moments. Still, I would trade this for the fog and rain in a heartbeat. I have a hard time explaining to people why I miss what they see as depressing, miserable weather. I grew up with it, and it became a part of me that I was not happy to leave behind when I went away. To folks out here it may sound like misery, to me it's home.
I shot this out the window of the car on our way home from work today. The little camera in this iPod is almost artistic in the way that it mangles pictures at times. The camera's combination of over compression, overly aggressive noise suppression and low resolution really did a number on this shot, but I kind of like the effect. It makes it look vaguely like an oil painting. I find myself taking pictures with it just to see how they will turn out. It's almost like dabbling in Lomography.
It was a cold, dark, wet trip to school and it was cold, dark and wet for the trip home again. When I went to get dressed in the morning for school, as often as not my shoes and the cuffs of my pants would still be wet from the previous day.
When I describe our west coast winters to the people out here, they recoil a bit in horror. "Forty days without sun? How on earth could you stand it? I'd go mad!" It's really hard to explain to them how I can miss it so. There are times when I appreciate the crisp winter days out here, like when blue sky breaks over a fresh fall of snow, or a hoar frost settles over the city. I can almost forgive the bitter cold in those moments. Still, I would trade this for the fog and rain in a heartbeat. I have a hard time explaining to people why I miss what they see as depressing, miserable weather. I grew up with it, and it became a part of me that I was not happy to leave behind when I went away. To folks out here it may sound like misery, to me it's home.
I shot this out the window of the car on our way home from work today. The little camera in this iPod is almost artistic in the way that it mangles pictures at times. The camera's combination of over compression, overly aggressive noise suppression and low resolution really did a number on this shot, but I kind of like the effect. It makes it look vaguely like an oil painting. I find myself taking pictures with it just to see how they will turn out. It's almost like dabbling in Lomography.
