Christmas Muck

Dashing through

I have no memory of anything but sunshine in Lilly, PA, though I know it snowed more there than in Chester. We moved to Chester before memory set in for me. We visited each year, July or early August and I truly do not remember a day of rain. We marauded through the woods, mostly, as I remember it, searching for berries. Raspberries, wild blackberries and the amazing field of blueberries, fruit that we took home to my Grandmother, at least what we were able to save from our instantaneous gobbling.

In Chester I certainly remember snow. Every neighborhood we lived in had its designated sled run. Depending on the nature of the snowpack, it was down a sloped field run, or if it was a big dump, we were sailing down the street. There was also the possibility that a parent might take us by car to Chester Park, the best snow runs. There the choice was down the grass based hill toward the crick, or down the cobblestone road to cross the bridge over the crick, Ridley Creek as it were.

What I’m wondering about, though, is rain. Torrential downpours to be exact. Hurricane Hazel hit us in 1954. We hunkered down in our little apartment as we were battered by the winds. But I don’t remember the rain.

It was a storm a few years later where the effects of the rain remain in my brain. Those of you who have been regular readers (and a few of you who knew me way back when) know that I trailed behind my brothers much of the time, including heading home from school. We lived on 18^th Street, coming home from Stetser School. The school was on 18^th Street but we had to cross Edgemont Avenue for us to get home. After Officer Garman, the Truant Officer for the school district, caught us running madly across the busy avenue at the 18^th Street intersection, he directed us to the traffic light at 20^th Street, never to be caught crossing at the other. The walk from there took us past St Roberts Church and the playing field next to it. This day we decided, as usual, to cut across the field to the stone wall where we would jump down just two doors from our front porch. It must have been raining when I left for school in the morning, because I had on a pair of slip on rubber boots, probably ones that I inherited from Johanna, the daughter of my Mother’s friend, because that is where most of my clothes of note came from, unless they were hand me downs from my brother.

We weren’t even to the middle of that field when we started sinking in the mud. The boys managed to keep running, but my boots were stuck with no escape. The boys came back to help me, but my choices turned out to be keep going through the mud in my stocking feet or stay there in my boots. The boys ran home and I stood there in my boots, up to my ankles in the mud, all by my six-year-old self. Surprisingly my mother was home, because there was never a time when she didn’t work. I really don’t remember anything more than standing there, stranded in the mud, unable to move.

On 19^th Street where we relocated with the quarry across the street from our little house, Washinton Park behind us and the crick down past the end of our dead end, Ridley Creek as it were. I remember one flood. I ran it past Mary Jo who lived behind us and she had no memory of it. As I recall, the crick was rising. The houses were all at a height enough that there was no danger to the dwellings. That simply meant fun for us kids. I mainly remember standing at the end of the street (18^th Street, have I completely confused you yet?) just below the last house on that street, standing with a few adults, staring in amazement into a sinkhole full of water. A sink hole that hadn’t been there previously. And trust me, us kids knew every inch of those woods.

What I’m trying to accomplish with this little meander through my memory, is some history of this weird body/brain response I am having to what I am referring to as barometric pressure whiplash. The Atmospheric River is throttling the west coast, though it is mostly hitting our neighbors to the North and to the South. Yes, it’s dark and dreary but our rainfall is not too far out of line with a good wet fall/early winter. The temperature is warmer than normal in my estimation. Though this morning, the fog came in with 30 degrees F but it missed the magic of a crystal fog.

Even as a system is coming in North of us, I can feel it. If the threat is during the day my eyeballs seem to weigh a ton. I have to fight to get off the couch to do anything, which I do, heading out for a neighborhood ramble or some yard work. If the threat of a big dump (rain I’m talking about here) comes at night, I have just recently discovered, it is a sleepless night for me. Not worrying about the weather or anything else, just not falling off to snooze. Recently I had three sleepless nights in four days. Oh man, I’ve been a cheery one to be around.

And now this new thing, the aural migraine. I started getting these when I was first starting in my mental health career. My internship was at a great institution where I got to work with the most wonderful slate of clients, but the administration was set up to ensure the maximum stress. When I started with this weird thing I assumed it was stress related. I may not be wrong. At that time, I would get a heads up, pun intended, that an aura would be coming on. The ache would start at the back of the head, the neck running up to where the skull begins. That followed by a sort of star burst visual affect. Just a small ball, dancing off to the left of my field of vision. It would dance there as it slowly unfolded into a larger ring, then open up to a boomerang shape, decorated in the most stunning colors. The pattern reminded me of Māori art. The visual would dance about disrupting any other thought of seeing what was in front of me, traveling from left to right before finally slipping out of sight.

After the first episode, I started paying attention to what led up to the event, how long it took to complete the cycle and what the aftermath entailed. In the beginning they were debilitating. After a while not so much, then they became rare. With the Atmospheric River events I am suddenly getting them with a forecast of a rain event. For the first time ever, I got several a day and several days in a row. Often time there is no headache or neck ache associated with it, just time out for the light show. Now they are gone, none in several days.

Now people, I’m me, I can’t help it, this is fascinating! Do I have to wait for the next severe weather event to collect more data on this? OK. I’ll wait. But now with this writing, maybe someone else will recognize the symptoms and take note. I can’t possibly be the only one.

All this being said, the crazy weather has settled down a bit. We just had Christmas. My families were elsewhere so I put heads together with a hiking buddy and made a plan for Christmas day. A plan that had nothing to do with Christmas but everything to do with rain. We decided to head to the Sandy River Delta, 1000 Acres off leash dog park. There we got to walk Professor Bently, her dog, delight in all the dogs running wild, and check out the Sandy River in its wilding ways after all the rain. It was the right thing to do. The river, up over its banks forbade us from getting too close. All the trails included puddles to negotiate. Listening to the sounds of our footwear, trying to be pulled off or trying to get us stuck in the muck, besides making us laugh like lunatics, we couldn’t help singing this little song:

Sloshing through the mud…. Can you imagine the rest?

Stay safe, stay dry, watch that mud. Best to you in the new year!

Mary E Joyce