Snap Post
Sitting under an Afghan, wearing a down vest, with the furnace running, looking over at Mimi who is pretending to read (beneath the hood).
Ready for a warmup.
Ice Checking
At Fontana-on-Geneva.
Beautiful, black ice, with hoar frost, on the west end of the lake, but Williams Bay and the middle still open water, somehow. (Wind, actually.)
Buddy Melges was there, but no boats and no-one else recognizable at Chuck's. Of course, it was way too cold even to think about sailing.
Bright...
...but bitter.
All we have here is a bit of "polar vortex" while the East coast gets a "bomb cyclone" and the associated blizzard. Anyway, it looks like we might be coming out of the deepfreeze in a day or so.
I had to ride my bike in the basement this afternoon, where the scenery is limited and doesn't vary much.
Bearable...
... but barely.
Pax and I had a long, painless walk—around noon, when winds were light, the sun was shining, and the thermometer broke into double digits. We actually stopped occasionally, to smell the flowers—or something. Wind picking up now, and thermometer dropping—dangerous wind chills again in the forecast. I do feel for the wild things, and for letter carriers.
Morning spent on a conference call with people from about 15 Great Lakes Islands, as part of the Great Lakes Islands Coalition (GLIC) initiative. More time also spent trying to build a Manitoulin team to be part of the coalition, and that is a bit like trying to walk through waist high drifts into a biting headwind. Here's the ad I wrote for the Expositor, published weeks ago. Don't ask about the results.
We’ve Been Angel-ed...
...right in the front yard, near the driveway and sidewalk. I think this is good—better than being TP-ed, or having our tires slashed. But who could have done it? We don't know. Is our faith is being tested?
Pax and I made it all the way around our usual smaller loop today, although we were suffering a bit on the home stretch. Above zero, but breezy. I occasionally had to pull a mitten and hold a paw to thaw.
Boats Off The Ice...
...not that there’s a shortage of ice. Pewaukee crusted over with snow, but with ice aplenty. Lots of trucks driving out, pulling ice-sheds.
You have to work fast in extreme cold when setting boats up and tearing boats down, except you can't. However, if you don't, you never will—you'll be frozen beyond functionality. It looks like the coming weekend may have moderating temperatures, and possibly some good sailing.
Meanwhile....
The boys are gaining weight and doing well.
Looking Forward
I always like it when the year turns—I like looking forward better than looking back So, full steam ahead to daffodils and tulips, rhubarb and lilacs, seed starting and.........sailboats?
Actually, I'm looking forward to some excellent iceboating well before all that—once we get through the current thermographic brutality. Possibly a week from now. Hang in there Pax, we will be walking again soon.
Deep Cold
Pax and I disapprove of it.
Ice is being made at the rate of about an inch an hour on every body of water north of the Mason-Dixon Line, but it is way too cold to use any of it... I put Musher's Secret on Pax's paws and we made it around the big block, but we were both hurting by the time we got home....Mimi took advantage of cabin fever to cook up a nice dinner for us, and for the NieSeven (not that the younger members really like chicken yet)....And we have a real starling problem....see below.
Come On Baby, Light My Fire.
This is the Canadian Hemlock planted four years ago and given up for dead. It's thriving, and actually likes this kind of weather.
Starlings have made bird feeding unpleasant. They are big, aggressive, and voracious. To counteract them, we are switching down to smaller, and less fancy food, and putting pinwheels around the feeder. If that doesn't work I'm going to Walmart and getting a shotgun—I've heard they are free with any purchase of $20/or more.
The Other Kids...
...are in Fox Point hanging out with Abby, Katy, and Will. Today Mimi and I joined the gang for a movie (Ferdinand), lunch, and other shenanigans. A two-night sleepover! Holy cow! And all is going well thanks to inherent goodness, and Ab's management skills.
Speaking of cows, however, Ferdinand seemed to benefit from the ministrations, occasionally, of a calming goat—a concept new to most of us. But, I am pleased to announce that the kids have assigned similar responsibilities to me. I don't think it's because I'm an old goat—rather because the moment I show up, things calm down. I have always valued my role as a calming influence, and it's nice to be recognized.
Who Is Who, Exactly?
Is it Benjamin or James?
Or James or Benjamin?
The aunts are wrong full half the time,
Grandparents have no clue.
And, some suspect the parents—
would fail a lineup, too.
If they are not identical, they are similar. Apparently, the only way to know whether fraternal or identical is through genetic testing, which is not a service the hospital provides.
But anyway, they are doing well, and mom and dad are too.
We Have Twins!
Welcome Benjamin Brainard (BBN) and James Brainard (JBN). (Brainard Wheeler {BWN} is rather proud.)
Benjamin Brainard Nies born 8:06, 6lbs 11 ounces, 20.5 inches
James Brainard Nies, born 8:07, 6 pounds 7 ounces, 19.5 inches
Miraculous, and mind-boggling. What an amazing Renee.
And, the patronym continues to march down the ages.
Too Cold...
...for...ice boating...dog walking...and pretty much everything else. Too cold for comfort. Even with Musher's Secret on his paws, Pax lifts his feet and seems unwilling to wander far from the doors leading in.
Bird feeder thronged, but being hassled by a gang of ruffian starlings. I do wish the jays would step in.
Completely nuts.
Annual Christmas Party...
...at the Morrison’s.
Kids had great fun playing together.
Pagentry...
...followed by party. Kate was an angel and Will was a sheep. Not sure about the casting.
On The Ice
First sail of the season—just Bri and me—Tony not available. Plenty of ice on Pewaukee—a bit rough in places, but quite sailable. Breezy and cold—high in the low twenties, and dropping—numb thumb weather.
Bri likes the new boat (#351)—says it feels fast and points well. He's up front with the leaders.
I did moderately well in #10. Missed the windward mark first lap in the first race, and blamed it on faulty goggles, which made vision difficult, but then found out that the mark itself had collapsed. Did better in the second race until the mast come down half way through—busted shackle.
Shakedown seems the right word for today's sailing, but does miss the idea of fun, which today was (in spite of the fact that I can hardly walk now).
Blue mast needs a new shackle.
High and Low...
...are the hardest.
I sing the praise of Middle C.
It's when you go down below, to G and F that things get very sticky. And, of course, the converse—at E, F, and G above high C things are even worse. There may be some deep meaning here, but all I've found so far is that you have to practice the bad stuff, even though you don't really want to.
Twenty-three point five...
...is how tilted we, as earthlings, are. Happy Solstice, everyone.
The earth's tilt, of course, causes short days and long nights here in the northern hemi in winter. There's hardly enough time these days to walk the dog around the block before it gets dark. But we carry on.
Pretty much a flat 9 hours of daylight (out of 24) here at the latitude of Whitewater. Better in Texas, worse on Manitoulin. This can cause seasonal affective disorder. But it helps to remember that we are at the turning point, and that we are headed towards summer! As the old saying goes, "The sun never sets on a Kagawong summer."
Becca’s Holiday Program
And a fine performance it was.
Rambling With Paxton
While Sue was assisting Jayne, Pax and I went to the forest preserve at Whitewater Lake, and to the nature reserve along the Bark River in Fort. Not sure who enjoyed it more.
Decent ice, although the temp was close to 50.
Thank you, vegetables, for growing and providing nourishment.
The perfect shape.
Foundling
Megan Levad
—for a sixty-seven-pound nugget of Lake Superior copper found in an Iowa cornfield
Before the earliest flute
was carved from a vulture’s wing,
before we—what few we were—
bowed to the moon,
the balmy, secular night,
you were coming.
Snug in the great throat of a glacier.
Still as a wish, until its sighing end.
I like to think you waited years
for us, one shoulder greening in the damp,
the other burnished by long leaves
of wheat, before we called it wheat.
Or was it loess, the wind’s fine veil,
polished you so bright we would know you at first sight?
What have you seen in the ice and the earth?
Is hell cold, or hot?
Do you pray, too? And to what god?
Or whale, or bigger rock?
Thick Warm Socks...
...among other results of Xmas gift giving.
Morning chilly, damp, and gray. Afternoon, cool, damp, and sunny. Not at all like winter. Pax and I even got in a late season bike ride to the prairie—and he was up for some running after all the holiday-ing.
Late yesterday, after the gathering, Pax and I took a long walk. Toward the end of it he crashed his way through a bramble patch, only to emerge in a straight-jacket of nasty mini burrs. He looked something like an ambulatory bush, and his eyes were stuck shut. It took me a few minutes to get him ambulatory and sighted again, and then a good hour with a comb, once at home, to get him bask to his old snuggly self.