Into the gray


After the longest, and warmest Indian Summer that I can remember, fall has returned. The temperatures have dropped back to their typical mediocrity, and the woolen clouds have descended over us. It’s a day for wet leaves stuck to the pavement, and a light jacket zipped to your chin.

 

I couldn’t be happier.

 

This is the North Country fall that I remember from my days at Clarkson. The long gray days spent walking back and forth between the Quad, and the cheerless cinder block Science Center where our classes were held. A more industrial, and barren building has never existed. Bare concrete floors, and walls, with heating ducts and piping exposed where the ceiling should have been, all buzzing in the glow of fluorescent lights. It was the kind of place that would have fit right into a Soviet era Moscow suburb, or Karl Marxstadt, East Germany. Exactly the sort of building where you expected 6 months of snow and cloud cover.

 

When you live under the perma-clouds, you learn to develop an imagination. Sometimes the only colors in your life are the ones you see when you close your eyes. My daily routine usually involved an late afternoon nap, in the fading light of my dorm room, with music playing to drown out the voices and footsteps in the hallway.

 

Now whenever the weather turns toward gray November, I can’t help but crave the music of the time. So close your eyes against the weather, and come on a Technicolor journey to 1987… (videos posted in comments)

10 thoughts on “Into the gray

  1. My Catholic grammar school had barren concrete walls, dank dirty floors and soul sucking florescent lighting. Wait, was I in prison and didn’t know it?
    Anyway, just to rub your face in it I’m going to tell you about that Pixies concert I’m going to on October 28. AHEM!

    • I think prisoners have more rights than grade school kids. At least thats what the Nuns said when I asked to speak to my lawyer.

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