Valentine's Day Blizzard

11.5 inches of snow fell on Lakewood from the afternoon of February 13th and continued periodically throughout the next day. There was one school out of hundreds that remained open that day and that school--not the fact that hundreds closed--was the story.

11.5 inches of snow sat in the driveway, drifting in the backyard. Only Jamie was adventurous to attack the long driveway with a shovel. I busied myself with making food and staying warm. My divine retribution for not pitching in?? I shoveled at Habitat for Humanity today because the guy they pay to plow missed a few key spots. (Hello, the garage? The doorway to the ReStore??) And, when we had just finished shoveling and had gotten the van out of the garage, they finally got the Bobcat to work.

11.5 inches of snow and the city was basically at a standstill. The roads, a full day later, are still not completely cleared. It's just getting colder, so the snow is in no danger of melting.

11.5 inches of beautiful, white, powdery, crystalline snow, causing accidents and massive delays. It took me an hour to get to the other side of town today. It usually takes me half that amount of time.

11.5 inches and the drifts are higher than my car. If ever there was a day to pull on a snowsuit and build a fort, the past few days were prime. But sadly, my snow pants were ruined and disposed of in Tahoe in 2005. I'm not brave enough to play in the snow and cold without them.

Today
Current mood: restless

I meet new residents from the halfway house near Habitat for Humanity each week, and sometimes work right along side them. Sometimes they tell me their life stories, or an edited version. Sometimes they're very quiet. I don't ask, I don't pry. As much as I'd like to make some friends in the Cleveland area, something tells me that most of the people I meet at Habitat and I have little in common. However, I do enjoy working with most of them and hearing the stories they deem shareable. Last week, I met a very polite and shy guy who told me he used to clean the windows on the big downtown high rises and described to me what it felt like to be rappelling 80 stories above the street. It sounded scary, and I'd never really given thought to what it must be like to have that job before that conversation.

Sometimes, I'm kept very obviously separate from the guys from the halfway house...today was one of those days. I didn't ask, but I noticed. I actually thought it was odd, because I had met one of them a few weeks previous. The other guy seemed nice enough, from the little I saw him. Regardless, I was kept very closely under the watch of one of the full-time employees at all times. At one point, I discovered that the other guy, not much older than myself, had previously made his living my kicking in the doors of known drug dealers in the middle of the night, putting a gun to their heads, and stealing their money. Not to worry, if they're coming from the halfway house then they're in recovery. We were just cautioned not to talk about how much money the place pulls in on Saturdays. It's interesting to consider though, given my somewhat less destructive and more legal choices, that I could still be standing right next to this person, chatting about where he left his work gloves.

The Chandelier

I've been living in Lakewood, OH for just over three weeks. I started volunteering for Habitat for Humanity within a week from my move. Each Thursday, I drive to the sketchy side of town and do manual labor all day. And I love it.

It's a major departure from the life I've always known. I've never had to worry about having a comfortable place to live. I've never even had to think about non-necessities. My father is skilled at woodworking, even though it's just a hobby for him. From the time I learned to talk up until last month, if I've wanted a shelf for my collectibles or a rack to hang my Hapkido belts, all I've ever had to do was mention it. I wouldn't see my father around the house as much for a few days and suddenly I'd have whatever I asked for, handcrafted specifically for me. We never had to scavenge for furniture (although the three of us kids may or may not have chosen to do so since moving out).

I work at the Greater Cleveland Habitat for Humanity's ReStore. Built in the brick and wooden shell of an old brewery's horse stables, it is a place where donated materials are sold to people who are looking to improve their house. The materials can come from houses about to be demolished, people making major renovations, churches, restaurants, stores...anywhere. They carry plumbing, furniture, carpeting, decorations...anything in usable condition. The store is only open for a few hours each Saturday, but the week is spent collecting donations and preparing for the sale. When I arrive at the ReStore, there is generally a truck to unload and a pair of other volunteers who do most of the heavy lifting, although I help! I spend hours cleaning and arranging cabinet sets in the kitchen section. I've vacuumed carpets, scrubbed sinks, and sorted little pieces of plumbing materials that I can't even identify. But last week was different. Even by Thursday, there were less donations than usual. No truck to unload and not a single cabinet set. I walked around the various storage spaces in the massive brick buildings with the ReStore manager, looking for items that had been stored in busier weeks. We did this until lunchtime. After, I was given a bucket of ammonia water, several soft cloths, q-tips, spare pieces of decorative glass in a ziplock bag, and a chandelier in a box.

We hung the chandelier so it was about shoulder-high. Then, I spent the next two and a half hours cleaning and detailing. Each piece of glass, each curved piece of golden metal needed individual attention. Some of the pieces of glass needed to be repositioned. Some were missing, and replacements had to be found in the ziplock bag of spares, or rebuilt from similar pieces. It was one of the most rewarding projects I've completed in recent memory. A chandelier. I wish I could see where it ends up, whose house it will decorate. I might never know, but I hope they like it. And I hope they like spending hours cleaning it...