16 Apr 2017

cimorene: A black-and-white vintage photograph of 1920s singer Helen Kane in profile, with a dubious, side-eye expression (Default)
My mother-in-law finally got a tenant for the home she moved out of a year ago & we went on a flat-emptying roadtrip yesterday (because it's an hour and a half away from us in Ekenäs, halfway to Helsinki). It was really almost empty already, with just a washing machine, a bookcase and tv/media shelves, the light fixtures and the odd plastic bin remaining. In <2 hrs, mop & rubber gloves were being wedged into the van and I was done sweeping up the dust bunnies. We didn't have to pry anything out of the walls because they're being professionally redone.

Coming back to Pargas (20 minutes away from us in Turku, [personal profile] waxjism's childhood home and MIL's new digs), we drove right through an intense blizzard of big, fat, fake-looking snowflakes that hung swirling in the air over a surprisingly large area encompassing most of the town, both the bridges and a big chunk of rural mainland. It was two degrees below freezing when we got dressed in the morning, but with glaring sunshine all day, most of our work was done above the freezing point, with the furniture-carrying members of the party (including [personal profile] waxjism) leaving their jackets indoors. So while the temperature may have dipped a degree or two in the storm area, the flakes were vanishing as they hit the ground like soap bubbles, but sticking to the noses of the cars driving out of the gale in little white patches like they'd been pranked with a towelful of shaving cream.

While driving in the middle of the blizzard, there was a clear sense of moving through the inside of a cloud, which is of course literally true, but not usually so visibly so. At the treeline it looked like fog; up close the flakes were streaking past like the stars past the windows of the Enterprise; and in the middle distance you could clearly catch individual big flakes in isolated moments, making out the size and shape and he weird little giddy swirling trajectories they made coming down.

We watched the storm die down out the window of MIL's new flat while drinking tea, with the last snowflakes literally steaming off the roof of the house next door.

There's isolated snowflakes falling outside our livingroom window today too (currently -1° C), though nothing like a blizzard. They look like dandruff falling from a bright blue-gray sky. Or ash, as [personal profile] waxjism observed.

So, Happy Easter, as the Finns are all saying ironically.

It snowed after Easter last year too. I maintain that Easter is too premature for spring in this climate. May Day is more legitimate, or the traditional pagan spring carnival of Walpurgis, but they're still on the chilly side and not really showing enough new growth from nature to inspire the proper springy feeling yet.

The vibe is less the joyous verdant carpets of new grass and daffodils in bloom and heaps of blooming flowers and buds on all the trees which one pictures, and more a sort of cautiously hopeful donning of sneakers instead of insulated boots, sweeping mud and gravel off the streets and waiting for the grass to come back to life. (To be fair, there are buds - the little furry ones - on the trees. But not baby leafs yet. The bunnies weren't very keen on the twigs we brought home last weekend.) Spring clothes and sunglasses and sunhats and thin cotton scarves are selling briskly at the Red Cross, but the customers are still all coming in bundled up.

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cimorene: A black-and-white vintage photograph of 1920s singer Helen Kane in profile, with a dubious, side-eye expression (Default)
Cimorene

April 2017

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