by jphilo | Feb 24, 2011 | Daily Life
Last week’s mild weather was a tantalizing tidbit of spring. Sun-starved and heat-seeking Iowans lumbered out of their winter dens to feast upon day after day of light and warmth. Since the cold arrived over the weekend, everyone I’ve talked to has been downright grumbly about the unwanted return to winter. Apparently, the springlike weather whetted appetites just enough to leave us hungrier than ever!
When Mom and I went to lunch on Tuesday, we overheard one woman complaining. “The weather seems colder than ever after that warm spell. It would have been better if it hadn’t warmed up last week.” Her litany continued, with slight variations for the next ten minutes, always ending with the same refrain. “I hate this cold weather.”
I have to admit, similar thoughts have crossed my mind since February quit acting like April. I catch myself daydreaming about sandals and capris, opening the windows, and hanging laundry on the line. Sometimes, I convince myself it’s warm enough to go without a coat and am jolted back to unhappy reality when I step outside.
Still, I don’t wish last week’s warm weather away. Our brush with spring melted the snow so walks outside are no longer dangerous. It exposed bare ground so the deer can forage in the woods instead of in my flower beds. It cleared a path in the yard so I could hunt for signs of spring in the swelling buds and greening grass.
Best of all, the warm weather wrestled several days from winter’s grasp and landed us one week closer to spring. Even now, when I stand outside and breathe deeply, the scent of damp ground and earthworms and bruised, green grass lies just beyond the cold air and swirling snow.
Spring is coming.
I can almost taste it.
by jphilo | Jan 24, 2011 | Reflections on the Past
After a quiet weekend with absolutely no commitments, a rare occurrence, I can’t think of a subject worth blog space for today’s post.
If Hiram had worked on the bathroom remodeling, a progress report would have been in order. But he worked on taxes, and who wants a progress report on taxes? If football was a big deal at this house, it would have been a hot topic. But all I know is that the Packers beat the Bears and the Steelers beat some other team, and who wants a football analysis from a football ignoramus? If anybody around here was sick, this post could have monitored vital signs. But we’re healthy, and who wants to know the color of our mucus anyway?
Which leaves the weather, which continues cold and snowy, as the default topic of conversation. In this part of the country, it’s been darn cold, in the single digits above or below zero for a couple weeks. However, our Minnesota son phoned to report their weekly low, a frigid 30 below. Suddenly Sunday morning’s nasty sounding minus 7 appeared positively balmy.
We were cold last week, but not that cold.
Our phone conversation moved on to a discussion of the lowest temperatures we’d experienced – weather Limbo, so to speak, seeing how low we could go. Surprisingly, the 50 below Alaskan temperature Hiram recalled was not much colder than the 45 below we endured in Harding County, South Dakota during the winter of 1982.
Now that was one cold weekend.
I was pregnant with Allen that winter, and we were going a little stir crazy in our small house. So when good friends called and asked if we wanted to go to Spearfish and eat out, we said yes without batting an eye. Our friend drove 115 miles one way – prudently taking the longer paved road rather than risk the gravel trail which would have cut the trip to 90 miles – to The Sluice, our favorite Black Hills restaurant. We chatted the whole way down, all through supper, and the entire trip back, not one bit concerned about potential engine issues, flat tires, or freezing to death by the side of the road.
The story is proof of the old adage, “With age comes wisdom.” We wouldn’t think of doing such a thing now-a-days, even with a cell phone for emergencies and no unborn baby along for the ride. Such behavior is risky and stupid. Even on days like this one, when the blog post topic makes me wonder if my acquisition of wisdom has kept pace with my age, one thing’s for certain.
We may still be stupid on occasion, but we’re not that stupid.
by jphilo | Dec 29, 2010 | Uncategorized
Today’s post looks back one year, when our worst winter in a long time was just starting to strut it’s stuff. Reading through it, my good side is grateful for this year’s gentle, white Christmas in the midwest. And my bad side chuckles with evil satisfaction every time the news media reports on the east coast storms.
No matter where you live or what weather you’re experiencing, this post still raises a valid question. Why does the weather service code “a wintery mix” with the color pink?
Wintery Mix – Recycled
Last week was a wild and wooly weather adventure for Midwesterners. Two storms came together, one from Canada and one from the southwest, resulting in six days of rain, freezing rain, drizzle, freezing drizzle, sleet, and snow.
The storm started three days before Christmas and ended two days after the holiday so we watched the weather reports religiously for days. The “wintery mix,” as the weather gurus called it, lit up our weather maps like Christmas trees. The longer I watched (and I watched plenty with a daughter and her fiancee heading straight into the mess), the more the precipitation color scheme mystified me.
My little brain understood why they used green to signify moderate rainfall. Rain makes the grass grow, and grass is green. The logic behind using blue to represent snowfall made sense, too, since it’s the color associated with the cold spigot, ice cubes and other chilly stuff.
But for the life of me, I can’t figure out why they use pink to represent a “wintery mix” which leads to the winter’s most hazardous drivIng condition. It’s kind of like using a Barbie Dream House as the symbol for a military fortress or the Barbie convertible to represent enemy tanks. It’s like dressing up GI Joe in Barbie’s pink feather boa and a pink sequined leotard.
Pink sends exactly the wrong message to everybody.
Women see it and think, “Oh good, it’s time for a party.” Then they put on halter tops,, capris and strappy sandals instead of snowsuits and boots before going to meet their BFFs for lunch.
Men see it and think, “A sissy, little pink storm won’t keep me home.” And they hop in the car and drive over to a buddy’s place to watch professional wrestling.
If the forecasters want people to take their “wintery mix” predictions seriously, they’d better pop the lid on the box of 96 colors with the sharpener and choose a color with some weight behind it. Maybe gray. Or brown. Or my personal favorite – burnt sienna.
Anything but pink.
If you have a new color suggestion for “wintery mix,” please leave a comment. I’ll compile all the suggestions and mail them to the National Weather Service for consideration. Who knows, if we choose the right color, maybe we can stop global warming!
by jphilo | Dec 14, 2010 | Current Events
The season’s first real snow made a grand entrance Saturday, greasing the skids with a sheen of ice, then sliding in with a howling wind that lasted all night. We woke Sunday to three or four inches of snow – it’s hard to tell because of the drifting – no church because of the ice, below zero temps, and a brilliant, blue sky.
Our kids had it worse. Anne emailed Saturday to say they were snowed in. Allen called Saturday afternoon with a similar report, their second snowed in Saturday in two weeks. “I still haven’t done my Christmas shopping,” he said.
We talked about what we want to do as a family when he and Abbey, Kailen and Anne are here for a long New Year’s weekend when we’ll celebrate Christmas. Sunday, the conversation was repeated during a phone call with Anne. Our children’s voices conveyed eagerness and anticipation of some quiet family time together, something in short supply this past year with its crowded schedule of weddings and reunions.
I hung up the phone, keenly aware of the grace surrounding our family on this snowy, dangerous weekend and the festivities to come. Some years ago, our family circumstances required us to relinquish every dream of a simple family Christmas with both our children. Unexpectedly and miraculously, in the past two years that dream has abundantly restored beyond our wildest imaginings.
So today I look outside at the bleak landscape, all bare trees and hard sunshine, and think about our gathering to come. I hesitate and ask. “God, is it too much for me to ask for a weather favor? Could a blizzard hit once they are safely here? Could we all be snowed in together?”
by jphilo | Dec 2, 2010 | Walking Down the Gravel Road
The calendar says winter begins on December 21, but around here, people know it’s here. Even without snow on the ground, there are plenty of clues it’s already begun. Here’s the top ten list I put together on recent morning walk.
You know it’s winter when…
10. Your desire to put up Christmas decorations has nothing to do with fostering family
and everything to do with turning on more lights in the living room.
9. Your front lawn is a “shivering deer on parade” spectacle several times a day.
8. 26 degrees + no wind + gloomy clouds = great weather for a morning walk.
7. The neighbor’s rooster waits until 7:15 AM to cock-a-doodle-doo.
6. Box elder bugs and Asian soy beetles join you under the covers at night.
5. You see a squirrel hanging upside down while snacking on the shriveled, disgusting
fruit on your tiny crab apple tree.
4. The turtleneck sweater given to you by your mother – yeah, the one with the cutesy
snowman on the collar – suddenly looks warm and cosy.
3. The mice are huddled next to their space heaters in the garage walls and refuse
your invitation to feast upon the peanut butter and crackers you’ve left out for them.
2. It takes longer to bundle up for the walk to the mailbox than the walk takes.
And now, the number way you know it’s winter is when…
1. The valiant, little daisy that stood brave and straight and tall through five hard
frosts, three inches of cold, November rain, and two blustery days, the one that
gave you such hope two weeks ago when you photographed it, now lays bent
and broken on the ground.
