Friday, January 06, 2017
This morning it's -7
Just exactly how cold is it?
When I was downtown yesterday, a half-dozen people were walking around with forks stuck to their tongues.
Really, you feel as if there's a bear in you, wanting a long, long rest. You honestly get to feel as if the best remedy for the block of ice you hit if you just step outside is simply to stay inside and go back to bed for a month, maybe two, maybe more.
How cold is it? Yesterday, one of the sputzies at the feeder got confused, flew into the window, and shattered. The window's fine.
We lived for several years in Arizona, where Arizonians roll their eyes at the gaggle of old men and women, northerners in pastels who clog the streets escaping the cold that's right now outside my door. Back then, I rolled my eyes too--I'll admit it. Never said much about it, however, because the snowbirds left behind winsome piles of cold, hard cash. Now I've become one of them, tempted to find a trailer somewhere in the Valley of the Sun. But I'm not going--not yet. Still, if snowbird-ing is the only alternative to cabin fever, I'm going out to buy some polyester.
How cold is it? Some farmers down the road have moved their outhouses inside.
I've got snowshoes and insulated pants, more flannel shirts than I can shake a stick at, not to mention a jacket feather-packed for the Yukon. It's hanging down here in a closet right now, sweating. I've got thick wool socks, a generous selection of boots, a half-dozen stocking caps and neck warmers, and two pairs of gloves that double as mittens, one in camo. What's more, I can choose my long johns--cotton or something almost silky. I can take the cold.
No, I can't.
How cold is it? Words come out in ice chunks that have to be thawed before you know what you're saying.
This isn't my first winter--it's my 68th, I think, and I've weathered this level of cold when it lasted much longer, when the yard was a collection of windward snowdrifts, and when the wind--can it get any worse?--is fully capable of skinning you without using a blade.
How cold is it? It's so cold, the dog ran off when he saw the leash and returned with a newspaper.
It's so cold, I can't even pronounce the word April, much less imagine it.
It's so cold I could write only my initials in the snow.
It's so cold even our funds are frozen.
It's so cold Donald Trump stopped blowing hot air.
It's so cold hell doesn't scare people like it should.
It's so cold shadows freeze.
At least the flies are gone, and we've got no mosquitoes. It's time to pray for a January thaw.
Posted by J. C. Schaap at 6:44 AM