I wonder as I wander

I've lived in cold climates before, but this winter seems different. Perhaps it's because the current spread of snow and ice has taught me more about myself than just how unbalanced and clumsy I am (which I already knew, thank you very much).

It's remarkable how quickly employment turns you off of snow. Less than a year ago, I was still overjoyed at the transformative nature of 6 inches of the stuff: overnight, your boring patch of lawn became a foreign expanse of Siberian wilderness, just begging you to trod over its untouched surface and explore its icy magic. Last winter, at age 22 I insisted on attempting to climb the ice-covered hill in my lawn as if it were Everest for the sheer thrill of it (and of course, for the amusement of my roommates). This month brought me a new snow season, but there will be no playtime for the 23-year-old Allison. It was hard enough to accostume myself to a new daily schedule--semester after college semester, my body took extra hours of morning comfort with first period starting at noon; it was torture to have to learn how to get up in time to punch in at 9 a.m. But now, I have to build an extra half hour into my morning ritual for both dressing (long underwear, extra sweater, find gloves, scarf, where'd my hat go?) and for exhuming my car from its icy and/or snowy grave. After sludging through my snow-covered parking lot for the first time in work-appropriate pumps, I suddenly realized that there is a major problem in not wearing socks to work.

I'm not the only one suffering from lack of footwear. My sister's pug Tugg is clearly also over his childlike enjoyment of the snow. I really shouldn't complain, because I get to use the bathroom indoors in the winter. I was walking Tugg one afternoon some time after the latest ice storm hit, and after a few minutes of typical putsing around, Tugg started holding his little paws up to keep them off the freezing concrete. Then he started shivering to the point where I was nearly in tears. Here are the options I considered:
1. holding two of his paws off the ground while he did his business;

2. holding his entire body off the ground while he did his business;

3. running inside and bringing out a warm towel for him to do his business on;

4. putting him inside my car to do his business.

I tried all but number 3. Tugg apparently does not like to be in someone's arms or vehicle while he relieves himself. He finally got it done, but it was torture for both of us.

I do really pity Tugg during this time of year, but when I compare him to wild animals, I suppose he does seem like a spoiled wimp. After scraping my car's windshield clear of ice, I was about to enter and go, when I noticed that there appeared to be fresh flakes falling on my car and nowhere else. At the sound of icy scratching, I looked up at the branches hanging over my parking spot, and saw the underside of a large nest, which appeared to be blowing ice bits out of the top. I cocked my head in curiosity until a squirrel's head popped out of the nest with a mildly annoyed "May I help you?" look. Then he went back to scraping out his nest. I smiled. Apparently everyone shares a similar battle with the winter. I just wonder if Menard's sells tiny scrapers...

Nesting

For me, a new job typically means anxiety, nervous laughter, and of course, utter bewilderment. I would never have expected the current source of my perplexity before coming into the new and exciting world of the ADMINISTRATIVE OFFICE...

Despite my humble assistant position, I have been granted an office of my own. For most, I suspect having four walls and a door that locks is an advantage, a representation of privacy and the ability to avoid mindless watercooler chitchat. I, on the other hand, took one look at my enormous space, MY office, with floor-to-ceiling shelves that screamed their emptiness at me, painfully blank white walls forcing my eyes into a squint, and enough desktop room for my boss and I to tango upon, and I felt queasy. Left alone to "settle in," I felt myself plagued by the absolute lack of things. I had a computer in front of me, a boring telephone to one side, and a chair. The abundance of desk space was what really troubled me, not only because of the absurd amount of room I had, but because the shape of the desk actually curved around me -- surely designed with the intent of ease in your reaching, but I felt imprisoned. Suddenly I felt beaten down by hundreds of cubic feet of oxygen and florescent lighting. My boss popped in to whisk me away at just the right time.

"Feel free to spruce your office up however you'd like," she said kindly, surely noticing the grimmace I gave the 8x8 cell of an office as we headed down the hall. Her office was myseriously warm. Cozy, really. Her shelves were completely stocked with books. Pictures of beloved children were everywhere. Lovely greeting cards with flowers on them stood up on her desk. But I was just a new assistant; I had no texts relevant to my position. No one had sent me a thank-you card (yet). Short of bringing in curtains, movie posters, or rope light, I had no clue how I would fill my space. I suppose I could bring in a picture or two...

Later, I met the other administrative assistants, older women lucky enough to inhabit the same common space, who assured me in a knowingly exasperated way that "If there's anything you don't know, just ask." Marilyn, the alpha assistant, gave me a formal tour, which included both sets of bathrooms and the "conservatory": the many-windowed hallway that connected my office with the main reception area. "This is where we keep our plants," she said, "so if you ever would like to put a plant in your office, just grab one." A plant? Perhaps... but I was hesitant to grab one immediately.

In the supply closet, Marilyn handed me pens, sticky pads, white-out, index cards, highlighters, even a stapler and tape dispenser. Yes! Things! I gathered them up and scattered them across my desk. Still, it seemed wrong. Only slightly less empty and considerably more messy. What did Marilyn have on her desk? I couldn't remember, except that it looked pleasantly full and interesting. What does anyone have on their desk?

An hour or so later, another assistant stopped by, carrying what looked to me like the filter from a giant coffee machine. "Allison...I brought you a present..." I don't think she really expected me to respond like she had brought me a treasured gift, but when I realized she was holding an oversized pencil cup, I nearly wept with joy.

The next day I proudly marched into work, pulled from my purse a small picture frame displaying my boyfriend and I looking happy, and plunked it down determinedly beside my computer. Then, before even logging into my timesheet, I snatched a plant from the hallway (an aloe plant, the least leafy and therefore least friendly-looking selection, I guess) and set it down in my empty space as well. It's not yet me, but it's coming along. I wonder if rope light would be inappropriate...or a fire hazard...