Slippery Slope

(And everywhere else, too) 

A skim of frozen rain overlaid by a dusting of snow, and all that on top of remnant ice sheets. Creepers required.

Visitors are scheduled to arrive tomorrow so we have suddenly noticed all the little things about the house that need attention (and we are attending to them). I believe there is a generalization lurking here, something like: "Guests are the best insurance against squalor," or, "An open door clears the cobwebs." Or something like that.

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The World Is Too Much With Us; Late and Soon
      --William Wordsworth
The world is too much with us; late and soon
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
The Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.—Great God! I’d rather be
a Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on the pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

Watch Your Step

Today walking was a mix of art and science.  

Nothing if not nuts.

With the temperature slowly rising above freezing the sidewalks were treacherous—sheets of ice in low spots, and mini glaciers sliding down from higher elevations. Even cutting across open ground was difficult—the terra very firma and very rough, with frost-made knobs and protrusions trying hard to turn an ankle.

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January  —John Updike

The days are short,
The sun a spark,
Hung thin between
The dark and dark.

Fat snowy footsteps
Track the floor.
Milk bottles burst
Outside the door.

The river is
A frozen place
Held still beneath
The trees of lace.

The sky is low.
The wind is gray.
The radiator
Purrs all day.

Weather A-plenty

Snow only the beginning.  

Half pipe, flowing.

Shoveling the one inch or so that fell overnight proved ineffective. But then a roaring south wind driving heavy rain on a rising thermometer took over where we left off, and we were down to bare pavement.

Pax and I walked a truncated loop today, stopping by the post office on our way. I had on my waterproof coat, hat, and gloves; Pax went more au naturel. Arriving home eventually (due to still slippery walking conditions) I remained dry except for my jeans, while Pax, poor fellow, was a dripping, soggy, semi-frozen mass. Fortunately, after a good toweling followed by a good nap in the easy chair by the fake wood-burning stove, he was right as rain.

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Here's excerpt from a marvelous poem: Tennyson's Ulysses. Great at any time, but increasing in value the older one gets.

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ULYSSES

It little profits that an idle king...

..............................

...There lies the port: the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me
—That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed  
Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs:
the deep moans round with many voices.
Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down: 
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. 
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,
— One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Anywhere There's Ice...

...and at least one hole, there are ice fishers and geese.

Even here, in little, shallow Cravath Lake, in Whitewater. Today, as Pax and I were making our big loop (chilly, but perfectly bearable, at last) we noted five fishermen and about a thousand geese. The fishermen were silent, the geese loud.

I know where these geese come from (or more precisely, where they no longer go), but what about these guys, and on a Monday? Retired? At leisure? Something worse?

I do believe that if one were to observe any patch of ice bigger than a breadbox, at any time and anywhere that ice had formed, one would find ice fishers and noisy geese. It's in the genes of both species.

And now, as I'm writing this, snow is falling.

Indecision

To iceboat or not to iceboat, that is the question. 

Not here; this is just Whitewater creek.

Not here; this is just Whitewater creek.

One of those typical winter days when you think you should go iceboating but you are pretty sure doing so would be a waste of time. Is the ice good enough, is the temp warm enough (has to be over 10) is there enough wind, etcetera? Today Bri ad I went back an forth for hours but finally decided not to bother—ice not very good, wind very light, and still way too cold.

Old Man Winter is not an easy guy to live with, and is seldom willing to provide decent ice along with bearable temperatures and a modicum of wind. But hope winters eternal. Warmer and windier tomorrow— but with snow, of course.

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In January it's so nice,
While slipping on the sliding ice,
To sip hot chicken soup with rice....

     —Maurice Sendak        

Becca's Birthday

And what a party it was (at Bywater Lane) .

Lots of warmth inside, but outside another matter—another bitterly cold day.

Grand Girls

Filling in at Victoria Lane this afternoon and evening.  

Including dinner out.  

Iced Cream

How can cows stand the cold? My fingers fumbled just taking this shot.

Two-hour breakfast with Glenn this morning, halfway between here and there, to discuss healthcare plans and such, and to work on my healthcare query (the most recent version of which has been re-posted, a few days back).

When our meeting was over and I was paying the bill, I asked our waitress, an attractive, tired looking, middle-aged woman if she had health care. Yes, she said, Badger Care, with is the very limited and restrictive policy provided to Wisconsin residents who make just a bit more than the abject poverty level that would enable them to get Medicaid. She found it demeaning and unpleasant (limited to just a few doctors most of whom she found speaking a language she couldn't understand). But because she had a disabled child, it was a lifeline. 

Still, she thought government was nothing but corruption, and she had the word from truck drivers that government systems like Canadian one sucked. I'm quite sure that if she voted, she voted against herself. 

She IS the person my query is aimed at, and the one the Democratic Party needs to bring home. 

Winter Bites Back

Stinging wind.  Bright sun, so actually rather pleasant in a sheltered location. But dog walks another thing, and truncated by me, not Pax, who just seems to get bouncy and springy when it's really cold. 

Had to re-tank-up on spring water—for coffee and homemade seltzer and sourdough starter. And of course, the flowing well never stops flowing no matter what the weather. What a great resource—right out of the Kettle Moraine, and probably just melted glacier, thought it's hard to imagine anything melting today.

The Big Listen

Once upon a time, long, long ago, the father (a management consultant) of one of my eighth grade students came into his daughter's computer applications class (which I ran as a business) to give, as a guest speaker, a presentation. (I encouraged this sort of thing.) The gist of his presentation was: "Telling isn't selling; asking is." 

I don't know if any of the kids in the class heard a word that he said, but I did, and I thought the statement profound, perhaps because it explicitly stated something I had incipiently suspected. What he said is: if you want to sell a product or service or idea, or promote anything, you need to stop talking and start listening—listening intently and with genuine interest. I knew it was true the minute he said it, and I've seen the idea work wonders ever since.

And this is where the Democratic Party comes in: this past election—there was lots and lots of telling but almost no listening.

I am therefore badgering (this is Wisconsin, after all) the Party to initiate what I call "The Big Listen." Lots of town-halls, but with ordinary people on the dais and politicians asking the questions. And lots of what might be called questionnaires, on issues like health care, education, the environment, taxes, etc. 

Instead of questionnaires, I call them Queries, based on the idea of Thomas Gilbert in his profound book, Human Competence, Engineering Worthy Performance. The idea behind Gilbert's Query is that of asking questions and then letting the reader (customer, client, citizen) figure things out for him or herself.

So I, with great temerity, have decided to create a Query on the issue of healthcare. This is a rough draft (I am meeting with Glenn to to learn the real stuff), and I know it's silly. Still and all, I think the idea is sound and points in the right direction.

Note: for some reason, the instructions to respondents was not printed on this draft layout. My bad. It will be fixed, and perhaps for now, it will still make sense.

Otherwise, the weather has been awful—dark, damp, chilly, gray, and now with a building wind—another gale warning on Lake Michigan. According to my weather app today's high was 107 and tonight's low will be 9. In this era of truthiness I give more credence to the low score.

Chicken Soup for the Sinuses

Plus cherry pie. Most effective cold cure yet discovered.  

Time for some reflection, perhaps?

Well above freezing, with a sunny morning and a little light afternoon rain. Walking with Pax turned out to be a bit on the painful side due to residual iceboating effects, but the few minutes spent on two wheels felt heavenly—remembrance of things past, or anticipation of things to come? Not certain. Today's weather has thoroughly Zambonied the local lakes, and it appears that a deep cold snap might arrive without snow. That can't be bad.

Perfect Little Pond

Too small for iceboating, but a world of its own, with a spring, cattails, and a variety of wildlife. What, I wonder, made those tracks on the ice?

Previously.

Beautiful, sunny day. Tony and I back on the ice at 10 (after a leisurely breakfast with Abby, Katy, and Will— featuring Mimi's blueberry pancakes). Perfectly lovely, but no wind. Even so it was a wonderful winter weekend, and a good start to what we might hope will be a tolerable year.

Fast Ice

Excellent iceboating, and some impressive racing (by Tony).  

The thoroughbreds (10 & 165)

Tony coming in after a strong performance.

Completely outclassed. Actually, a silly thing to try.

The Grand Slam regatta on Lake Kegonsa. Twelve or more Nites racing (taking turns with various other classes). Tony got a Fourth, a Third, a  Second, and a Disqualify (for hitting a mark). He is fast. I got a 6th on my one race (but I beat a bunch of old guys. 

On The Ice

At last.  The venerable Grand Slam fun regatta has been called on for Saturday and Sunday on Lake Kegonsa, south of Madison. Tomorrow Solstice (#165) and Wombat (#10) will unfurl their sails for the first time this season. Let the wild rumpus start.

Our boats are still on the trailer, in the middle, between red and blue. On the ice, but not enough time to get set up. Plenty of time tomorrow.

Some Days Are Like That

Chilly, gray, and windy. Gale warning on Lake Michigan.  

Returning home after some tedious business, I noticed that the plexiglass squirrel baffle, normally sitting just below the bird feeder, had been broken in half and was lying, in pieces, on the ground. Using either induction, deduction, adduction or subduction, I came up with the idea that one of our Sciurus creatures had attempted the now longer rooftop-to-feeder leap, and had almost made it.

After picking up and disposing of the pieces, I made a replacement, using material at hand—much stronger but of which I had little. So the question for tomorrow is: how now, you rascally rodents.

Ice Check

No sailing today.  

Lake Geneva wide open.

Ice on Delevan, but still rough and unsafe.

Folks were going to set up on Pewaukee, but held off because of too much wind. Racing planned for Friday.

Cooling Off Period

Mostly sunny and colder.  

Lately, I've seen the occasional squirrel on the bird feeder and been puzzled by how it got there. Today, as I was conducting my extended daily observation out the kitchen window, I found out how—a leap from the rooftop. Finding that incredible, I got out the tape measure and noted that the leap was of about 9 feet horizontal with a drop of just one and a half feet from roof to feeder. Furthermore, the target is really quite small.

So, I'm proud of my Olympic-class rodents. But even so, I have moved the feeder another foot and a half farther out. Is a leap of ten and a half feet possible? If so, will I be able to keep the feeder in sight of the kitchen window?

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Word is out that people will be beginning to set up iceboats on Pewaukee tomorrow. Mother's Zamboni has apparently done its job. Around here the plan is to be on the ice by Friday noon, all things considered.

The Big Drip

Thaw and melt.  Upper forties around here with a spanking wind from the south.

While Sue was about her visits, also down south, I worked on the big, two-stage snowblower our neighbor Kathy was throwing out (before I rescued it). Changed the oil, greased the bearings, fixed the one flat tire, adjusted the the adjustments; and now it runs like a Foreverspin top.

Which puts me in a difficult position. I want a really big snow so that I can test its mettle, but then snow and iceboating don't go together at all. Today's big melt may have Zambonied the small and medium lakes, so once again there's hope. And the big lakes remain open, awaiting the next dose of really cold cold.

Which may be coming. Today's spanking wind began veering this afternoon from south to north-west, and the the thermometer has been falling fast.

Thinking about it, snowblower vs. iceboat—nolo contendere.

Quiet Christmas

Traditional  dinner at the Morrisons, but for the first time ever a quiet one, just the four of us (plus Pax), which allowed extended conversation. And some top spinning, and several hands of Timeline.

Perfect spin

Light rain, strong wind, temp in the upper 30s. Night not fit for man nor beast.

Random Bits...

...on Christmas Eve.  

The town of Whitewater seems deserted. Pax and I had a long walk on campus and saw no one, only occasional footprints. McDonalds and Walmart about the only things open. 

And, speaking of open, I remember Bookstore Christmas Eves, when we were very much open, in fact experiencing pandemonium right up to the closing bell. But then, at five, satisfied relief, and a celebration—we had done it, and made enough money to keep the store alive another year.

Since my memory sometimes falters, I asked John to provide some background:

Mostly, Christmas Eve was something to get past so morning would arrive sooner. Dad always read "The Night Before Christmas " just before bed.  We were allowed to open one gift. Once, I remember going to bed and hearing noises from downstairs (music? I thought).  Come morning we found a new record player under the tree. After opening lots and lots of presents, the cousins would show up, and perhaps also Unkie and Aunt Janet, and after another round of present opening we would eat a big brunch. But this was Christmas Day. I remember hoping for ice (smooth ice) to arrive over Christmas Eve so we could skate on Christmas Day.

Christmas day, mentioned above, reminds me about early Christmas mornings when we kids had to roust our recalcitrant parents out of their long winter's nap. It was slow work. Then Dad had to go downstairs to plug in the Christmas lights—taking forever and seeming to forget about everyone left upstairs. When he eventually returned, subtly suggesting that Santa might or might not, in fact have missed 7 Crandall Avenue, the rest of the family had to line up behind him, single file, in ascending order of age (I do believe), with Mom in back to make sure nobody got lost. Then we would begin descending the stairs. But ever so slowly! And a few steps down, invariably, with the view of the tree still obstructed, progress would halt, and we would encounter some problem that might require a little backing up. Once that got resolved the descent would resume, but slowly.

Eventually, once everyone had a view through the bannister of the tree and what lay below it, there was no more slow.

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ON CHRISTMAS EVE

In byre and barn the mows are brim with sheaves,
   Where stealeth in with phosphorescent tread
The glimmering moon, and, ’neath his wattled eaves,
The kennelled hound unto the darkness grieves
   His chilly straw, and from his gloom-lit shed,

   The wakeful cock proclaims the midnight dread.
With mullioned windows, ’mid its skeleton trees,
   Beneath the moon the ancient manor stands,
Old gables rattle in the midnight breeze,
Old elms make answer to the moaning seas,

   Beyond the moorlands, on the wintry sands,
While drives the gust along the leafless lands.

     —William Wilfred Campbell (19th century Canadian poet)

What I find so interesting about this poem is the complete disassociation between its content and title. Maybe that's why I like it, too.

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Pax is in hunting mode. After yesterday's taste of squirrel he's obsessed. As we were shoveling this morning he chased a rabbit right through the garage.

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Above freezing most of the day, making it convenient for shrimp on the grill tonight.