In my last post, I described my sense of chaos at the change of seasons, the feeling of not knowing how I'm going to adjust to this new change in life, in my established schedule, in what I cook and eat, even in the clothes I'm going to wear every day. It seems strange that this should happen, to tell the truth, because the regularity with which seasons change in life means that I should know already how things will go; and of course, in America I do know this, because the change of seasons means only a relatively small number of changes. But here, those changes are monumental, and affect most parts of my life in some way in a manner that I'm just not used to.
I describe this feeling as one of chaos, because I know sure how else to describe it. Maybe it's apprehension; maybe it's a bit of fear of the unknown (even though there are expectations even in the unknown) or simply a fear of change. I think apprehension comes closer than fear, but chaos just feels right. I can tell you where I feel it. I feel it in my chest, and sometimes in my throat. Right there in the center of my chest is a big ball of chaos that makes me stop at times. It tells me that things are about to change, but I can't yet do anything different until they do change, and then it tells me that what I'm used to is no longer acceptable at the given moment that it decides to manifest. I can feel its pressure as I try to breathe it out, and its unwillingness to go away until life finally gives in and shifts.
It's not debilitating and it's not frightening and it doesn't stop me from living life. But it's there, and it rolls around, and it pokes at me. It tells me that I'm going to have to give up life in the way I'm used to it by now but it won't tell me just exactly how. It's messing with me, and I know it, so I look forward to the season getting on with its change and letting me go along with it.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
Changing of seasons
It's starting to turn towards spring here in Armenia. The snow is quickly retreating from the mountains--though there wasn't a whole lot to begin with in these parts--the days are lengthening, and it's fitfully getting warmer. There's nothing particular about spring that brings this to mind, but I begin to feel a bit chaotic around this time of a season. The changing of the seasons anywhere that I am and in any season always seems to me to be a small moment of greater chaos in life (more than the usual) because it brings with it different expectations, different activities, different feelings. Here in Armenia I feel that especially strongly, but not just because these are all wrapped up with the knowledge that I'll be going back to America soon. I felt this way this time last year, and in fact feel it strongly on the cusp of every season's change here. I can feel that change happening inside me, as my emotions roll around and try to adjust to the new reality of what my days will start to be like, what sort of new schedule I'll be on. I have to remember at the end of this season that silence in the evenings--outside of the trucks rolling past--is only a function of winter, as I begin to hear kids playing in the courtyard. And I allow myself the pleasure of contributing to this new noise by sitting on my porch with the banjo.
I often find that I can clarify how strongly the change in seasons is for me in Armenia every time I remember "it's almost time for new vegetables and new fruits!" It's hard to describe in some ways, but the irony for me is that in a place where the culture doesn't change that much that it's the change in what I can eat that brings dynamism to my life. At any point in time in America, though things are constantly changing around me and my life is always in flux, I can and do eat a similar diet all year round. But in Armenia, it's gastronomy that changes my life. Spring's coming, and my mind wanders to thoughts of spinach, and spring lettuce, and zucchini. I'm trying to adjust to this new reality that what I'm cooking is about to move farther from what comes from a can, or from the nourishing potato and cabbage and onion.
But it's chaos! Where do I start?! How do I prepare for its arrival?! This coming abundance is simply too much to think about!
Every change in season brings about these feelings of an increase in chaos, even in America, but I feel it so strongly here, because it's among the few things I find that changes quickly here. When all the culture around me goes on in the same way it's gone on since I arrived in the country, it's the seasons that bring dynamism; it's their change that throws me off kilter.
I often find that I can clarify how strongly the change in seasons is for me in Armenia every time I remember "it's almost time for new vegetables and new fruits!" It's hard to describe in some ways, but the irony for me is that in a place where the culture doesn't change that much that it's the change in what I can eat that brings dynamism to my life. At any point in time in America, though things are constantly changing around me and my life is always in flux, I can and do eat a similar diet all year round. But in Armenia, it's gastronomy that changes my life. Spring's coming, and my mind wanders to thoughts of spinach, and spring lettuce, and zucchini. I'm trying to adjust to this new reality that what I'm cooking is about to move farther from what comes from a can, or from the nourishing potato and cabbage and onion.
But it's chaos! Where do I start?! How do I prepare for its arrival?! This coming abundance is simply too much to think about!
Every change in season brings about these feelings of an increase in chaos, even in America, but I feel it so strongly here, because it's among the few things I find that changes quickly here. When all the culture around me goes on in the same way it's gone on since I arrived in the country, it's the seasons that bring dynamism; it's their change that throws me off kilter.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Thinking about war and conflict
It's something I do a lot in my work here, seeing as I work at a peace NGO. There's a disturbing amount of it in this region, most of which never comes up outside of the few circles in which it's a concern. Ask yourself this: had you ever heard of South Ossetia or Abkhazia before last August? When I ask myself that question, the answer is no, but it's a conflict that's been seething to different degrees since the end of the Cold War. As is the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict; as is the Chechnya conflict (at least a lot more people know about this one); as is the Dagestan conflict; as are several other conflicts in the Caucasus. These conflicts have just been roiling under and sometimes above the surface for 20 years now, and so there's a lot for my NGO to do, and a lot to keep my mind occupied when I'm at work.
One of the primary ways that my NGO tries to conceive of conflict is through an individual lens, focusing on histories and memories. Conflict isn't something that we can really talk about in one way, because outside of statistics--number of bombs dropped, number of people killed, amount of territory taken or lost, dates of events--there's very little about the history of any war that's set in stone, because everyone experiences war in a different way; everyone develops unique and individual memories of a conflict that inform their own personal histories of a conflict. This can be, and often is, problematic for anyone working in the sphere of peace building, because how can you start to build peace in a conflict if you don't address the places that each individual is coming from? More than that, how can individuals understand the way towards peace if they don't understand the experiences of each other? It's this fundamental issue that we grapple with in our work, and so its the basis of much of what we've done so far; if we were historians (well, I'll call myself a historian) we'd probably call it a hermeneutic approach
I say all this above as a pretext for the rest of my post, just to set out where I'm coming from. I realized the other day that I had never really thought of this outside of the context of the society I find myself in. As absurd as it sounds, up until now I had thought of all the work we were doing, all the methods we were applying, as something that was applicable only to developing countries--surely, after all, my own country doesn't have the problems that Armenia has when it comes to war and conflict, right? And then, my director and I were talking the other day about how peace organizations often encounter so much resistance in their own societies for daring to work for peace; it suddenly struck me how negatively I view peace movements in my own country, and how often I dismiss them as absurd and ridiculous. I don't dismiss the idea of creating a more peaceful society as absurd, but so often I see the efforts of peace organizations and my first instinct is to look down on them as naive or counterproductive.
What I find myself constantly doing is thinking that somehow America can't benefit from the kinds of work that we do at my NGO, because we're so far "above" that--yes, we are a nation at war, but surely we're at a more advanced stage of war, one that demands different ideas about how to achieve peace, no?
Well, no.
If anything, I've come to think of this idea of histories and memories as among the most important methodologies for moving towards peace, especially because when I think of peace movements in the US the word "dialogue" is not in any way associated with them. I don't think of peace organizations in the US as trying to understand the histories and memories of broad swaths of people, nor as trying to bring society together to understand our individual histories together. And maybe it's because I've dismissed many of these organizations (Code Pink consistently comes to mind) for so long and so never see them doing these things, but I wonder how much we try to understand each other in America, and how much either peace organizations or organizations more accepting of war really try to understand each other. We're all operating on our own histories and our own memories, without going to too many lengths to understand those of others.
I feel that if there's anything I need to do better--and there's a great deal in my life that I need to do better--it's to start to broaden my understanding of my own memories and histories of war and conflict in America and to hear out those of others. Most of us are so insulated from it that that's hard to do, but the beauty of Peace Corps is that I'm constantly forced to reflect on my own country and I get to view it as somewhat of an outsider during these two years. So I'll keep thinking about war and conflict, but I'll stop believing that it's only something that touches the developing world, because my own country bears its scars in ways that too often remain invisible.
One of the primary ways that my NGO tries to conceive of conflict is through an individual lens, focusing on histories and memories. Conflict isn't something that we can really talk about in one way, because outside of statistics--number of bombs dropped, number of people killed, amount of territory taken or lost, dates of events--there's very little about the history of any war that's set in stone, because everyone experiences war in a different way; everyone develops unique and individual memories of a conflict that inform their own personal histories of a conflict. This can be, and often is, problematic for anyone working in the sphere of peace building, because how can you start to build peace in a conflict if you don't address the places that each individual is coming from? More than that, how can individuals understand the way towards peace if they don't understand the experiences of each other? It's this fundamental issue that we grapple with in our work, and so its the basis of much of what we've done so far; if we were historians (well, I'll call myself a historian) we'd probably call it a hermeneutic approach
I say all this above as a pretext for the rest of my post, just to set out where I'm coming from. I realized the other day that I had never really thought of this outside of the context of the society I find myself in. As absurd as it sounds, up until now I had thought of all the work we were doing, all the methods we were applying, as something that was applicable only to developing countries--surely, after all, my own country doesn't have the problems that Armenia has when it comes to war and conflict, right? And then, my director and I were talking the other day about how peace organizations often encounter so much resistance in their own societies for daring to work for peace; it suddenly struck me how negatively I view peace movements in my own country, and how often I dismiss them as absurd and ridiculous. I don't dismiss the idea of creating a more peaceful society as absurd, but so often I see the efforts of peace organizations and my first instinct is to look down on them as naive or counterproductive.
What I find myself constantly doing is thinking that somehow America can't benefit from the kinds of work that we do at my NGO, because we're so far "above" that--yes, we are a nation at war, but surely we're at a more advanced stage of war, one that demands different ideas about how to achieve peace, no?
Well, no.
If anything, I've come to think of this idea of histories and memories as among the most important methodologies for moving towards peace, especially because when I think of peace movements in the US the word "dialogue" is not in any way associated with them. I don't think of peace organizations in the US as trying to understand the histories and memories of broad swaths of people, nor as trying to bring society together to understand our individual histories together. And maybe it's because I've dismissed many of these organizations (Code Pink consistently comes to mind) for so long and so never see them doing these things, but I wonder how much we try to understand each other in America, and how much either peace organizations or organizations more accepting of war really try to understand each other. We're all operating on our own histories and our own memories, without going to too many lengths to understand those of others.
I feel that if there's anything I need to do better--and there's a great deal in my life that I need to do better--it's to start to broaden my understanding of my own memories and histories of war and conflict in America and to hear out those of others. Most of us are so insulated from it that that's hard to do, but the beauty of Peace Corps is that I'm constantly forced to reflect on my own country and I get to view it as somewhat of an outsider during these two years. So I'll keep thinking about war and conflict, but I'll stop believing that it's only something that touches the developing world, because my own country bears its scars in ways that too often remain invisible.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Things I will rarely buy again in the US
One of the good and bad things about living in a developing country is the lack of premade products that can be bought for ease of use. In terms of health, it's obvious why this is a good thing, since we eat far too much manufactured/processed foods in the US, to an absurd level that I don't think I fully realized until I got here. But I think less obvious in terms of bad is that that means that more time must be spent on creating meals or even preserving foods yourself for the winter time, which is a clear drain on time for people. Of course, in a country in which most people don't have jobs it's not so much a concern that people (women) could be using their time more productively, because if they weren't spending time preparing things and preserving things it's not like most would be in a job.
But that lack of manufactured/processed foods has had an enormous effect on my own ability to cook. I've long been a good cook, something imparted on me by my mom. I spent a lot of time with my mom in or around the kitchen when I was young. For many years my parents managed a fishing resort in Canada, and my mom was the head chef at the resort. Because of this, I learned a great deal about how to cook from her and gained my love of and passion for cooking by her influence. But the number of things that I've learned to cook since I've been here has vastly increased largely because I've been forced to learn how to cook things that I simply can't buy here. Over the years the PCVs here have collected a large amount of recipes based on the locally available ingredients (and in some cases a few things we'd have to get from either America or Yerevan). So here are the things that I've learned to make that I will likely never buy again pre-packaged in America:
1. Applesauce
2. Granola
3. Granola bars
4. Pie, entirely from scratch, including crust and filling
5. Roasted pumpkin for either bread or pie or soup
6. Chicken noodle soup
7. Salsa
8. Pancakes
9. Hummus
10. Sorting and soaking my own beans from dried beans
This list just happens to top out at 10 right now as that's all I can think of. I mean, I made a lot of stuff in America from scratch anyway, so there's a significant amount that I make here that I already made in America. But a lot of the things above I feel are real basics that I always just bought instead of making. But let me tell you, every one of the things that I listed (excluding the beans--I mean, soaked beans are soaked beans) is twice or more as good homemade as when bought from a store. This is another thing that I can think Armenia for, among the long list of ways that it's changed my life.
But that lack of manufactured/processed foods has had an enormous effect on my own ability to cook. I've long been a good cook, something imparted on me by my mom. I spent a lot of time with my mom in or around the kitchen when I was young. For many years my parents managed a fishing resort in Canada, and my mom was the head chef at the resort. Because of this, I learned a great deal about how to cook from her and gained my love of and passion for cooking by her influence. But the number of things that I've learned to cook since I've been here has vastly increased largely because I've been forced to learn how to cook things that I simply can't buy here. Over the years the PCVs here have collected a large amount of recipes based on the locally available ingredients (and in some cases a few things we'd have to get from either America or Yerevan). So here are the things that I've learned to make that I will likely never buy again pre-packaged in America:
1. Applesauce
2. Granola
3. Granola bars
4. Pie, entirely from scratch, including crust and filling
5. Roasted pumpkin for either bread or pie or soup
6. Chicken noodle soup
7. Salsa
8. Pancakes
9. Hummus
10. Sorting and soaking my own beans from dried beans
This list just happens to top out at 10 right now as that's all I can think of. I mean, I made a lot of stuff in America from scratch anyway, so there's a significant amount that I make here that I already made in America. But a lot of the things above I feel are real basics that I always just bought instead of making. But let me tell you, every one of the things that I listed (excluding the beans--I mean, soaked beans are soaked beans) is twice or more as good homemade as when bought from a store. This is another thing that I can think Armenia for, among the long list of ways that it's changed my life.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
The Illogic of Narrow Thinking
I want to relate a story that is occurring in an area of Armenia that I think is rather indicative of how things often tend to operate in this country.
During Soviet times, Lake Sevan was planned to be drained in order to provide a greater area for farming, an idiotic notion in and of itself. Though the plan was never carried out, the lake was at least partially drained. You can still clearly see where the banks of the lake used to be, and it's not an insignificant level. It was drained so much that a small island with a church on it near the shore became a peninsula.
Now, 20 years after the collapse of the Soviet Union, Armenia has decided that it wants to raise the level of the lake in an attempt to both restore its former glory and solve some of the massive ecological problems the lake faces (regardless of the fact that raising the lake isn't going to really do much to solve those problems, whereas cleaning it would). Actually, this has been going on for a few years now, and one of the primary roads around the lake that connects the surrounding towns and villages has finally been nearly overtaken by the lake. So, of course, they've decided to raise the level of the road, a seemingly worthy goal right? Guess how long this road is expected to last before the lake overtakes it again?
5 years.
When asked what will happen after 5 years, people will simply answer that they'll just raise the road again. Instead of, you know, nipping the problem in the bud and changing the road's route or building it high enough to begin with.
But that's not all. During Soviet times, and even after the end of the USSR, many businesses were built up around the lake at its lowered level, from small restaurants to a large Best Western hotel. As of this point, there's no plan that I've been able to discern as to what will happen to these businesses except that they'll be swallowed up by the lake, displacing the owners (I'm sure the Best Western has enough pull to prevent this happening to it, or may simply not be in danger as much as I think it is). But that's irrelevant, right? Because now the glorious Lake Sevan will be back!
*sigh*
Oh Armenia, I love you but you're so silly sometimes.
During Soviet times, Lake Sevan was planned to be drained in order to provide a greater area for farming, an idiotic notion in and of itself. Though the plan was never carried out, the lake was at least partially drained. You can still clearly see where the banks of the lake used to be, and it's not an insignificant level. It was drained so much that a small island with a church on it near the shore became a peninsula.
Now, 20 years after the collapse of the Soviet Union, Armenia has decided that it wants to raise the level of the lake in an attempt to both restore its former glory and solve some of the massive ecological problems the lake faces (regardless of the fact that raising the lake isn't going to really do much to solve those problems, whereas cleaning it would). Actually, this has been going on for a few years now, and one of the primary roads around the lake that connects the surrounding towns and villages has finally been nearly overtaken by the lake. So, of course, they've decided to raise the level of the road, a seemingly worthy goal right? Guess how long this road is expected to last before the lake overtakes it again?
5 years.
When asked what will happen after 5 years, people will simply answer that they'll just raise the road again. Instead of, you know, nipping the problem in the bud and changing the road's route or building it high enough to begin with.
But that's not all. During Soviet times, and even after the end of the USSR, many businesses were built up around the lake at its lowered level, from small restaurants to a large Best Western hotel. As of this point, there's no plan that I've been able to discern as to what will happen to these businesses except that they'll be swallowed up by the lake, displacing the owners (I'm sure the Best Western has enough pull to prevent this happening to it, or may simply not be in danger as much as I think it is). But that's irrelevant, right? Because now the glorious Lake Sevan will be back!
*sigh*
Oh Armenia, I love you but you're so silly sometimes.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Plagiarism
Today was a bit disappointing for me.
A fellow volunteer and I have set up a Model United Nations project as a joint venture between our NGOs. We got the idea from the International Student Forum camp that I participated in this last summer in Armenia, which culminated in a MUN simulation. I figured, why not take that and create a whole program around it that includes a culminating trip to an actual MUN conference, in particular the one held in NYC every year that allows participants a day at the UN building for the General Assembly session?
So, we assembled a group of 8 Armenian students and have spent the last 2 weeks teaching the basics of the UN system, its rules and procedures, and how MUN works. As part of this, the students are expected to each write a position paper on the topic for the country they are representing in the simulation this semester. I realize that it's difficult for them, so the expectation was that it would not have to be particularly long, perhaps a half a page to a page--an actual position paper, in any case, is only a maximum of 2 pages anyway and usually only 1.
I received three of them so far this week (they're due on Monday) and so far every single one of them has been grossly and blatantly plagiarized. A couple were at least from reputable sources (one was from a Wiki page), but they straight up copied and pasted the information from a couple different pages to try to make one whole position paper. I am so incredibly disappointed in them and sent an email to all the group reinforcing the plagiarism policy we had discussed (not singling anyone out, of course) and also sent emails to the individuals noting that this was not an acceptable practice and that they would need to rewrite their papers using their own words and ideas.
It makes me wonder how prevalent this is in Armenian universities. I mean, these are university age students, after all, and they're pulling shit like this. I would guess that this thing happens a lot in Armenia (it rarely if ever happened at my own college in America; I don't know how prevalent it is at other universities) and that the idea of plagiarism is simply not instilled in them. I wonder if that comes along with the fact that the education system here is not focused around critical thinking in the first place, so that this is not an issue for classrooms usually, or if it's just not checked.
I tell you, I was so angry when I saw it. Plagiarism is among the most despicable forms of academic dishonesty and I have no patience for it. I am giving them a bit of leeway in terms of my anger if only because I think this is not something that is instilled in them well here, but I'm certainly not accepting any paper of theirs that has been plagiarized.
A fellow volunteer and I have set up a Model United Nations project as a joint venture between our NGOs. We got the idea from the International Student Forum camp that I participated in this last summer in Armenia, which culminated in a MUN simulation. I figured, why not take that and create a whole program around it that includes a culminating trip to an actual MUN conference, in particular the one held in NYC every year that allows participants a day at the UN building for the General Assembly session?
So, we assembled a group of 8 Armenian students and have spent the last 2 weeks teaching the basics of the UN system, its rules and procedures, and how MUN works. As part of this, the students are expected to each write a position paper on the topic for the country they are representing in the simulation this semester. I realize that it's difficult for them, so the expectation was that it would not have to be particularly long, perhaps a half a page to a page--an actual position paper, in any case, is only a maximum of 2 pages anyway and usually only 1.
I received three of them so far this week (they're due on Monday) and so far every single one of them has been grossly and blatantly plagiarized. A couple were at least from reputable sources (one was from a Wiki page), but they straight up copied and pasted the information from a couple different pages to try to make one whole position paper. I am so incredibly disappointed in them and sent an email to all the group reinforcing the plagiarism policy we had discussed (not singling anyone out, of course) and also sent emails to the individuals noting that this was not an acceptable practice and that they would need to rewrite their papers using their own words and ideas.
It makes me wonder how prevalent this is in Armenian universities. I mean, these are university age students, after all, and they're pulling shit like this. I would guess that this thing happens a lot in Armenia (it rarely if ever happened at my own college in America; I don't know how prevalent it is at other universities) and that the idea of plagiarism is simply not instilled in them. I wonder if that comes along with the fact that the education system here is not focused around critical thinking in the first place, so that this is not an issue for classrooms usually, or if it's just not checked.
I tell you, I was so angry when I saw it. Plagiarism is among the most despicable forms of academic dishonesty and I have no patience for it. I am giving them a bit of leeway in terms of my anger if only because I think this is not something that is instilled in them well here, but I'm certainly not accepting any paper of theirs that has been plagiarized.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Snow in September
Looking outside this morning seems to bode ill for what's possibly to come this winter. It's only the end of September, and already there's a snow storm blowing outside my apartment here in Vanadzor. Granted, it's clearly a very heavy and wet snow and it's not going to stick at all--especially considering that it rained for a while last night until it got cold enough for snow--but I fear what that means for what this winter's going to be like. The last group of volunteers had told us any number of horror stories about nasty winters here, but they didn't bear out in the mildness of this last winter. The current group has not had to experience the kind of winter we've heard tales about; but then, in conversations with Armenians it seems that particular winter was a bit of an aberration in terms of its extremity. I hope that this early cold snap and snow storm doesn't end up being bringing with it a terrible winter, but I suppose it's possible.
Actually, perhaps I wouldn't mind so much if it meant a lot of snow. One of the problems I had last year--and I why I was so terribly unhappy--was that I wasn't prepared for the depression that would set in with winter. Coming from Idaho I'm quite used to both long winters and extreme cold, and so thought I'd have no problems with any of that here. And it really wasn't either of those things in and of themselves that caused my depression--what I wasn't used to was the extreme inactivity that came along with winter here. I'm used to being very active during the winter. Winter brings with it several of my favorite things: snowboarding and winter camping/snowshoeing. Unfortunately, I could do neither of those things last winter outside of the one time I went up snowboarding at Tsaghadzor, and so I fell into a funk.
This winter, however, I'm hoping to avoid those things. One of the departing volunteers bequeathed on me his snowshoes, and I plan on making good use of them. While I likely won't do any winter camping (it's just not something I want to try here since I don't have some needed equipment) I do plan on doing plenty of snowshoeing on day trips. I've also heard tell that the Marine embassy guards here are willing to let PCVs borrow their snowboards so I'm going to try to get in on that. There are some mountains near me with potential to be really good boarding if the snow gets deep enough. I also plan on taking my kite and a board out on the high plains that get lots of snow near Mt. Aragats, assuming good wind conditions that is.
I'm actually looking forward to winter this year, under the assumption that I'll actually get myself out and about instead of being lazy (always a danger). I've got a comfortable and warm setup in my own apartment so the cold isn't too great a fear for me so long as pipes don't freeze; let's hope this early snow doesn't forebode that.
Actually, perhaps I wouldn't mind so much if it meant a lot of snow. One of the problems I had last year--and I why I was so terribly unhappy--was that I wasn't prepared for the depression that would set in with winter. Coming from Idaho I'm quite used to both long winters and extreme cold, and so thought I'd have no problems with any of that here. And it really wasn't either of those things in and of themselves that caused my depression--what I wasn't used to was the extreme inactivity that came along with winter here. I'm used to being very active during the winter. Winter brings with it several of my favorite things: snowboarding and winter camping/snowshoeing. Unfortunately, I could do neither of those things last winter outside of the one time I went up snowboarding at Tsaghadzor, and so I fell into a funk.
This winter, however, I'm hoping to avoid those things. One of the departing volunteers bequeathed on me his snowshoes, and I plan on making good use of them. While I likely won't do any winter camping (it's just not something I want to try here since I don't have some needed equipment) I do plan on doing plenty of snowshoeing on day trips. I've also heard tell that the Marine embassy guards here are willing to let PCVs borrow their snowboards so I'm going to try to get in on that. There are some mountains near me with potential to be really good boarding if the snow gets deep enough. I also plan on taking my kite and a board out on the high plains that get lots of snow near Mt. Aragats, assuming good wind conditions that is.
I'm actually looking forward to winter this year, under the assumption that I'll actually get myself out and about instead of being lazy (always a danger). I've got a comfortable and warm setup in my own apartment so the cold isn't too great a fear for me so long as pipes don't freeze; let's hope this early snow doesn't forebode that.
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