Up early to get to Pewaukee in time for the skippers meeting (although only providing moral support).
A starting lineup.
Tony getting a good start.
Bri getting a good start.
A photo finish.
Mimi and Bubba had charge of a wide selection of grandkids for a large part of the day. So home late.
Nite nationals called ON. And on Pewaukee, which is convenient. Bri took the afternoon off, so he and I set the boats up on the ice and then went for some practice sails. Nice ice, and just enough wind to get going.
Wombat is still a bit slow, at least slower than Solstice, but she still goes pretty well, for an oldster. Furthermore, we know what the impediments are, and we are working on fixing them. Actually, it was quite a big thrill to have #10 out on the ice and moving well in a relatively light breeze.
Thanks to Bri (in Solstice, the yellow boat) for the video. I was too busy sailing to shoot back.
Geodes were the topic of Elie's science for project, and she ha become quite an expert on them.
Explaining things to the judge.
A very interesting fair with everything from geodes to volcanoes to electric motors—and lots of excitement about science.
Pax is having intestinal problems, and last night he needed to go out immediately quite a few times during the wee hours. On one of those trips I wore primarily my crocks (which tend to be porous) so I did a good deal of chilly wading through pools of ice water where the sidewalks had been dammed by hardened snow.
Today we took Pax to the vet, where we learned that he had been in for exactly the same condition almost exactly one year ago. I don't know how to make sense of that. Does Groundhog Day cause diarrhea? Or what?
Gray, windy day, with he meter slowly dropping below freezing. A few snow showers, BUT no accumulation. The ice is going to be nice. Except on the sidewalks.
Hanging out with Will this morning while Ab worked on farm stuff.
Will waned to fix the flat tire on his bike, a noble idea, so I assisted while he did the wrenching—removing the chain guard and the rear wheel. He is quite a skilled mechanic, and meticulous too, placing all nuts, screws, and washers in one place (the white plastic tray, above).
After lunch we dropped him off at the Schlitz/Audubon for his afternoon preschool. Before leaving we helped him suit up for today's initial class activity, a hike through the woods and down the ravine to the lakeshore.
It must have been a memorable hike—sleety snow mixed with rain riding a wind so strong that the roar of the surf could be heard a mile inland.
Looking To Iowa
It will be interesting to see how things develop.
I watched the last Republican debate—at least a substantial bit of it, actually as much as I could stand—the one without Trump. What came clear, almost immediately, was that Cruz, Rubio, and Christie are loathsome mud-dwelling scum-bags. Really vile and really despicable. Really. Of the others, Rand Paul is defines the word loopy, and Ben Carson is sleepwalking across the poppy fields in Oz. Surprisingly, and against all my better instincts, I found Bush the most likable, and Kasich the most electable.
And that leaves Trump (if you discount all those at the kid’s table). I have come to the conclusion that he is not really capable of sustained thought. Listening to him talk I hear words, phrases, and the occasional sentence, usually repeated, but that’s it. Never a paragraph, and certainly never any sustained logically developed reasoning. I have always maintained that if you can’t speak coherently and at some length on a topic, and if you can’t write, then you can’t think.
But Trump, thoughtless as he is, remains an enigma to me. And this is because I don’t believe a thing he says. It is all a show.
So I wonder if there is there really anything underneath the orange comb-over. I don’t know. But, knowing nothing, I still like what I don’t know better than what I do—which is Cruz, Rubio, and Christie. So—hold on to your hat—I would vote for Trump over most other Republicans if I had to. Of course, I’m not a Republican, and if I were really voting on the dark side I would vote for Kasich.
Stepping into the sunlight, I love Bernie. I have always admired him, and I love his ideas. However, when the voting comes to Wisconsin, I’m punching a chad for Hillary. We need a chief executive who can do at least as much as the much maligned and much under appreciated Mr. Obama.
Bright sun. Above freezing. But treacherous waking with lots of black ice slick patches. No sign of the impending blizzard. Let it go north. Let it go north.
With Abby and Tony to MSO concert, availing ourselves of thier unique Christmas present. (Also a little Bartok on the program.)
This photo was not taken today, but rather two days ago. Today, dense, dark clouds extending from stratosphere down below most manhole covers. And all day today, clouds dispensing rain, mist and fog. Dozens of trucks, however, out on the ice in Oconomowoc, which proves that the ice is still strong or that Wisconsin ice fisherman are more interested in the Darwin award than the fishing derby trophy.
Another big rain event is forecast for Tuesday, and lots and lots of ice boaters are doing rain dances trying to keep the freeze line well north of here (which is predicted). If we can get back to cold without more snow we will be sitting pretty (which is iceboat talk for sailing fast).
Got both boats set up on Pewaukee on a sunny ad mild day, only to sit perfectly still due to lack of wind.
Even these young sailors couldn't get the boat to go. On the up side, we were able to work on Wombat—shorter shrouds, new pedals, and re-sharpened runners—so if there had been wind she might have moved.
Cold last night—down to single digits, or nearby. Breeze slowly building from the south this afternoon, with tomorrow predicted to be in the forties.
Ice boating scheduled for tomorrow, and thanks to Mimi's sewing skills we now have a pair of markers that will enable us to set up our own course if there is no official one, or provide Darling marks if so.
Do to a mistaken buying decision about a month ago we are enjoying corned beef and cabbage tonight. (As opposed to the traditional Wisconsin fish-fry.) Summary: way better than I thought.
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THE CAVE
Sometimes when the boy was troubled he would go
To a little cave of stone above the brook
And build a fire just big enough to glow
Upon the ledge outside, then sit and look.
Below him was the winding silver trail
Of water from the upland pasture springs,
And meadows where he heard the calling quail;
Before him was the sky, and passing wings.
The tang of willow twigs he lighted there,
Fragrance of meadows breathing slow and deep,
The cave's own musky coolness on the air,
The scent of sunlight... all were his to keep.
We had such places — cave or tree or hill...
And we are lucky if we keep them still.
—Glenn W. Dresbach
Renee at a function and Bri on his way home from Minnesota so we got to take Ellie, Maddie, and Becca out for dinner.
Gray, damp day with a blustery, penetrating wind.
Pooh has it figured. Though it is still a bit too cool outside to sit under a tree long term just contemplating things, Pooh has the right idea.
And, this is pretty much the plan for the coming summer.
Today, mostly sunny, with water running off the eves (solar power), and with a perfect iceboat wind (although no iceboats were in sight around here).
This morning, while trying to relearn Adobe InDesign, I had a great time watching the action at the bird feeder. We have doves, four I think, and these are big birds. When they come in, everyone else gets shunted aside, and one dove takes up one whole side of the feeder. Jays, however, can easily persuade doves to move on, while cardinals are content to wait until all occupation issues are resolved.
Watching the doves, it is apparent that they know what they are doing. Leaving the feeder, they often alight on the redbud, They don't have to really look at the twigs they choose to land on, and once there, a simple flick of the tail up or down keeps them perfectly balanced in spite of adverse conditions.
All days are good days, it's just that some are more interesting than others. Today's highlight was a trip to the dentist. No, wait, cancel that—Sue is making a cranberry/apple pie!
Kentucky coffee tree still wearing ornaments.
A walk up the hill in the snow.
Not cold, but chilly and damp, with steady, light, mixed precip all day. The plan is to watch some basketball, which we have not done yet this season. Gotta start gearing up for March madness.
This book showed up on the doorstep, out of the blue, anonymously. I'm thinking it might be a hint to get back to practicing the clarinet.
Even without the music this is a nice collection of Pooh poetry. (Some of which below.)
Looking back at the up-north weekend, here are some sledders taking a trail break. (Thanks to Dawn and Mark for sleeping quarters and snow machines.)
Above freezing all day, with a little misty drizzle right now. This is Mother Nature's prodigal son, Zamboni, working desultorily to get the ice ready for this weekend's racing.
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Lines
—Pooh
On Monday when the sun is hot,
I wonder to myself a lot:
"Now is it true, or is it not,
That what is which and which is what?"
On Tuesday, when it hails and snows,
The feeling on me grows and grows
That hardly anybody knows
If those are these or these are those.
On Wednesday, when the sky is blue,
And I I have nothing else to do,
I sometimes wonder if it's true
That who is what and what is who.
On Thursday, when it starts to freeze
And hoar-frost twinkles on the trees,
How very readily one sees
That these are whose—but whose are these?
On Friday—
On Friday—
On Friday—
What did happen on Friday?
In the Harrison Hills of north-central Wisconsin, the glacially amazing place of hills, hollows, lakes and trails. Ice fishing, ice skating, sledding, snow-mobiling, hiking over the ice to Wild Cat Island for exploration and a treasure hunt among the giant pines. Also, reading, doing puzzles, and lounging by the fireplace.
Up at Bri and Renee's cottage near Rhinelander. No real internet connection. More later.
Well, actually yesterday, but since it is something I like to commorate each year, and since I forgot yesterday, I'm celebrating today. Keats' poem is, in my opinion, one of the great ones.
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St. Agnes' Eve—Ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;
The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass,
And silent was the flock in woolly fold:
Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told
His rosary, and while his frosted breath,
Like pious incense from a censer old,
Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death,
Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith.
His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man;
Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees,
And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan,
Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees:
The sculptur'd dead, on each side, seem to freeze,
Emprison'd in black, purgatorial rails:
Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries,
He passeth by; and his weak spirit fails
To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails.
Moning in Fox Point, dinner at neighbor's across the street as part of our little supper club.
Pretty good fare, but certainly not
"a heap of candied apple, quince and plum, and gourd;
With jellies soother than the creamy curd,
And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon;
Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd
From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one,
From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon."
Will, Mimi, and I picked Katy up from school and immediately went skating at the large and beautiful rink adjacent. (Actually Katy skated while we other three did fun stuff that didn't require blades.)
High of 14, with minor wind. Walking was possible, though Pax did once pick up his remodeled hind leg.
Hoar frost
Me and Wombat, getting acquainted last Saturday. Thanks to Bri for the photo.
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To ....
It was "his mistake. He should not have built the fire under the pine tree. He should have built it in an open space. But it had been easier to pull the sticks from the bushes and drop them directly on the fire.
Now the tree under which he had done this carried a weight of snow on its branches. No wind had been blowing for weeks and each branch was heavy with snow. Each time he pulled a stick he shook the tree slightly. There had been just enough movement to cause the awful thing to happen. High up in the tree one branch dropped its load of snow. This fell on the branches beneath. This process continued, spreading through the whole tree. The snow fell without warning upon the man and the fire, and the fire was dead. Where it had burned was a pile of fresh snow."
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—Another darned quiz: name of story and author, and also how cold it was when the fire went out.
That's what I say to this bitter weather. Walking today was misery chilled over—a high of 3 with a biting wind. Still and all, this kind of weather is necessary, and all a part of what the world should be. I marvel at how the birds, squirrels, and rabbits survive the brutal conditions, but really it just shows the power of adaptation. Humans clearly are wimps, growing up in semi-tropical conditions. But then how do you explain the Inuit or Koyukons?
One cold creek
And here are the Great Lakes...
From the MODIS satellite. Still almost wide open, with lots of lake effect snow. Very different from the past two years. A buffalo nickel to anyone who can identify what's inside the two small blue circles.
Bonus question: why does the northern part of Wisconsin show up in this satellite image as darker than the southern part of Wisconsin?
Much as I love the out-of-doors, today I was thankful for walls and central heat. Walking outside was brutal, with a stiff wind and a thermometer hovering around zero. Pax and I talked it over and decided we would always walk downwind, but when we tried it we found the theory to have certain limitations.
Somehow, most of the birds, and apparently all of the squirrels, are surviving. But I can tell you honestly I would not want to be one of them. (I want to be reincarnated as a merganser.) The squirrels are fat, but apparently have no interest in estivation, and a baker's dozen under the bird feeder today.
And then there's this: spruce on the cob. I don't think squirrels like spruce as much as oak and hickory, but at these temps...
And on Manitoulin, the pine squirrels seem to love balsam fir, which, if I am not mistaken, is the source of gum Arabic. Go figure.