Culbert Report

Recently, I've combatted a bit of a split reaction when it comes to reading my friends' Facebook status updates about, of all things, snow days.  Typically when my friends post about an unexpected snow day, it's done with all the finess capable of multiple explanation points and those weird sideways smiley faces.  Of course, I too cherish those memories of turning on the radio early in the morning, waiting calmly and collectedly for "District 20" to be announced, then exploding in a power jump herkie so emotive that sleeping in is no longer possible.  But now that I live in the land of snow, I find myself torn when reading about my friends' good fortune.  It's not that I miss the snow - no, quite the opposite.  From December to April of any given year there is more snow on the ground one day in Moscow than the accumulated 10 years of my childhood in Denver, Colorado.  The problem then?  Russia doesn't do "snow days."   "Wait, w...

I've noticed that one of the quirks of living here in Russia is that I've somewhat acclimated to the celsius temperature scale.  I say somewhat because it seems that I've managed to retain my knowledge of fahrenheit in regards to warmer temperatures, but when it gets cold, I switch to celsius.  Moreover, I've developed my own associations of what these temperatures feel like.  For example, 70 degrees fahrenheit feels like a shorts and t-shirt run down the Boulder Creek Trail complete with sunglasses, chirping birds, and a babbling creek beside you.  As I'm realizing right now as I type this, my colder associations are not nearly as picturesque, but useful nonetheless: 0 C (32 F) - Pre-winter or "cool" some might say.  This doesn't feel quite like cold so you can get by with your fall jacket in this kind of weather, but don't forget your hat!  You should have started wearing a hat 10 degrees ago at least! -10 C (14 F) - Now we're talki...