Wednesday 30 January 2013
There's a fairly gentle but thick fall
of snow accumulating outside my office window, covering the tree
limbs with a soft white coating and beginning to pile up on railings
and deck. And, after our spell of cold, cold mornings (the coldest
was -32ºC = approx - 25ºF), it is fairly mild and windless. The
birds are back at the feeders; during the cold spell we had a few
spherical chickadees, but not much more. And I am contemplating a
list of tasks that I should be doing but none of which seem urgent
enough to cause me to stop typing and go and actually do them.
In truth, very little seems urgent to
me today. Maybe it is having reached my three score and ten, or maybe
it is only winter torpor, but I find that I am feeling accepting
rather than caring, disengaged, distanced, from the alarums and
excursions ?
of this weird and wifi world. It's rather a nice feeling, as if
hearing bagpipes from far away, echoing through fog. (We went to a
Robbie Burns Dinner on Saturday and they piped the haggis into a hall
with poor acoustics, right behind our table. Oy!)
Those two paragraphs were written
earlier this week, but when I tried to go on with it from the bagpipe
interjection, the post took off and went in an entirely different
direction than I had wanted to send it. In fact, I have the start of
several posts that have done this to me lately, ripping the reins out
of my (admittedly loose) grasp and galloping off in all directions.
Although I end up in intricate discussions with myself when this
happens, I usually have no idea how to get back to anything coherent.
And so - today we have real fog. We
also have a 'temperature inversion' that is causing the fog and
melting the snow into slush that will freeze into slippery lumps when
the weather inverts itself back to winter tomorrow. I keep hearing
thumps as ice breaks off the roof and falls or is carried into the
newly thawed down spouts. It is also windy and since this type of
weather can cause a tree to fall onto the power lines, I am saving
text almost as I type it, lest the power suddenly fail, and my
computer noiselessly die.
I am rotating between watching the wood
stove, pouring melt water from a pail under the down spout into my
plant water containers and looking at the weather radar. A storm with
cold green and blue arms and an orange heart is heading straight for
here. I suspect that in a short time it will be pouring rain onto the
slush that the warm wind has made of our snow. Am I obsessing about
the weather? I'm Canadian - of course I am.
Did you know that when there's a
weather inversion, it is very hard to make the wood stove draw
properly? If you didn't, I think I envy you. And my feet are now wet
because I was pouring ice cold water while wearing Birkenstocks and
socks.
And there went my morning. Does anyone
have any good advice as to how to get the most out of Kijiji?
Wednesday 9 January 2013
Post Holiday Feeble Musings
There was a watercolour dawn this
morning - faint pink wisps of cloud against a sky washed with pale,
pale blue. Later, as the sun cleared the horizon (and I trekked down
the lane way for the newspapers), all the trees wore glitter and
gold, the gold reflecting from ice rime covering even the tiniest
twigs. Unfortunately there is some (more!) snow forecast, and the sky
is now a murky white and the snow is shadowless. The only colours are
the dark green of the pines (where the needles show through puffs of
snow) and some golden brown leaves that have clung to their parent
tree through all of the storms of the last few weeks. I suppose it is
truly a winter wonderland, but it would be fine with me if the heavy
snow came off the trees and our electricity stopped flickering every
time there is some wind.
Last winter we had ice, the walking was
terrible, and I longed for big falls of snow. This winter we have had
several heavy, heavy falls and, although I am not longing for ice, I
am quite happy with what we have and (weather gods, are you paying
attention?) would like some clear, snowless days, thank you very
much. Poor JG is clearing the roofs with a snow rake and shovel and
he has had to take the tractor loader to scrape compacted snow away
from the garage. And there are a lot of trees and limbs of trees down
everywhere.
I think I was muttering a while back
that I did not want a Christmas tree and sounding like Scrooge
incarnate. Then in came JG with the news that he had cut a tree and
would I determine the height I wanted. It wasn't a bad shape as Chez
G trees go, but I messed up a bit with the height, and we ended up
with the angel ten feet in the air. I also ended up with two
poinsettias (I am a certificated poinsettia killer), a Christmas
bouquet from my darling godson, and lots of decorations everywhere.
Plus the YD's ménage between Christmas and New Year's. Now this is
mostly all cleaned up and packed away, I have removed dog spit and
cat skid marks from the hardwood and the only ghosts of Christmas
Passed are the two frail remnants of the damn poinsettias, dropping
leaves in a sad circle around themselves.
I also have the remnants of a horrible
head cold that has kept me doped up and sleeping every time I sat
down for the last several days. Today my head is actually clearing, I
can breathe (cheers!) and, maybe, tackle the piled up laundry and sew
up the crotch of JG's chainsaw pants*.
After I get another cup of coffee and
post this. Maybe in a few days my head will have cleared enough that
I can actually write something sensible. In the meantime, though,
Julie Pippert has a really thought-provoking post about young girlsand cyber bullying up on her site. Parents and grandparents, go take
a look!
* For urban readers, chainsaw pants are
a nylon and padding sort of apron that fastens around the waist and
legs and are supposed to keep the chainsaw from slicing up the
wearer, should it slip during use. They do not come with a fly, but
JG likes his to have one and so I take the front seam apart and add a
zipper, sewed by hand because the protective padding prevents it
fitting through the sewing machine. Hand stitching has now pulled out
and I need to get out my sailor's palm and put it back.
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