Is Anyone Else Creeped Out?

The scene started off on Sunday afternoon, sometime after my Sunday morning post.

The Maine College of Art runs a wonderful holiday art sale every year.

Well, the vibe is wonderful.  It's always crowded and you run into lot's of interesting people.  There are a lot of groups that intersect in such a place.  Friends from Apple, tango, former students, current acquaintances and old chums - they all tend to collide at such an event.

Which is not to say the art itself was all that great.

I suppose I can see my life getting into a context where colorful useless things are a priority.  My apartment is full of paintings and artwork - I even stole a note from Tom Felicia from Queer Eye and put some Hopi print wrapping paper into some frames.

And scarves.  My inner Doctor Who is served by scarves and tuxedo shirts.  There were a lot of very nice ones in colors I already own.

Still, it was a nice to wander over to the East End School, Portland's latest - B. W. goes there and A. is very fond of the staff - almost as good as the one where she works.

To top it off there was a lovely view from the front of the school - shown above.  It was still gray; a fine, fine snow was falling.  There was some visible evidence of sledding but nothing conclusive.  I think everyone was still getting their body temps up to an ambulatory level.

Come to think of it, what the hell was I doing there?

Oh yes, art.  Or, at least, finely arty crafts.

So here we are on Wednesday and I'm working in my other favorite haunt - the window of JavaNet.

And damn me if it's not 55 degrees outside, with a fine mist falling on the town.

Our snow is gone.  Yesterday there was a refresher snow, just patching up the holes scraped by shovels and brushes and it was a wickedly cold Tuesday at that.

But now it's all well and truly melted away.  The red brick of the sidewalks is all clear; umbrellas rather than mufflers rule the fashion of the streets.

Green anoraks and hoods.  Baseball caps.  Blue and white umbrellas.

Bareheaded people hurry by, preserving their coifs.

It's 55 degrees out there.  On December 10th.

Driving out to the Orchard and not feeling like my life is in my hands - or at least in the path of my steering wheel - is a new thing and I'm not sure what it means.

I will say that it's slightly troubling.  Changes in climate are supposed to happen incrementally, rather like the proverbial frog in the saucepan; you are not supposed to suddenly become aware of the process until the product slams you in the face.

Come to think of it, that's a pretty good metaphor for my life in the last few years.

Still, I'm not quite sure what to make of it.  Most of the time it's enough of a miracle for me to just see the dots, much less connect them together.

No clear ending here folks.  Nothing to see.  Move along.

Move along.