Minus five then ten, temps falling. Or 20 or 30, wind chills. Or 40 or 50, wind gusts.
And in that (over the hills and not so far away?) place at the opposite corner of the state it was mostly a green Christmas. But go more south it was slip slidin’ away, from both rain and even more snow.
But the show that is the snow, goes on and on and on. KARE 11 last night aired a plea by fire chiefs — as their lead story no less — from the station’s home section of the metro to clear up around hydrants. And be patient with garbage removal and mailbox areas also, the latter of which you have more control over as a resident. In my neck of the woods the hydrants sit free and open to be accessed, when needed in this that can be a fire season, and even can be covered with sheer plastic hoods for more safekeeping.
Can’t always say the same for the electrical-cable-phone stacks that are often stacked up with snow. And the sidewalks, long stretches that are as bare of snow as can be, but still long walks the length of a block or so, where it is trudging and ready for stumble from snow and ice, but not sheets of it. An example of a text on the start of the battle: “Begin moving around snow piles tomorrow and Monday.”
— Additionally, I hope there were more yuks than yams in your yule, and it was yummy. But if not …
Could I be that guy, rhetorically, since my name is Joe Winter? Like that ex of, my fantasy woman, Alanis Morrissette, who is the guy said by many — but there are other theorists — to have inspired her song “You Oughta Know,” considered the most venomous breakup tune of its type and time since, basically, the ancient Greeks on the lyre.
Anyway, thus says the recruiting sign by a company that might be more fun then effective: Dear Winter. I’m breaking up with you because I need to be seeing more seasons.
That on top of: Jingle all the way, because nobody likes a half-assed jingler. (They actually wrote that. Where are the censors? Will I be blocked for my plagarism, or swear word, or both?) —
In downtown New Richmond, I saw a section of big bench with all but a tad of snow removed — so I had to check out the two on the other side of the street. Results were as mixed as the nature of the precipitation. And during a return trip for viewership, after seeing the biggest solitary snowball imaginable but not a full snowman and not connected to the Santa figure a foot away, were other benches up the way buried in even more snow, so to be neck-high.
— That like music recordings in studio need to be mixed, or be junk. On a traveling junket? The Junk FM band like so many others, though based in Minneapolis, played New Year’s Eve in the Eau Claire area, was on tap at Ziggy’s music club in Hudson on that infamous for other reasons Jan. 6, and is back there on Jan. 19, with more weekend showings in both the Ziggy’s in Stillwater and Hudson through February. And they find time to perform for the troops stationed in the Middle East between some gigs, even if there has been only scant movement toward peace among the combatants.
But for other big-time acts going on, see Picks of the Week. And Bigly is back in town, at The Smilin’ Moose, on Jan. 27. —
Thus there has been a need for “movements,” so I put down my shopping bag of music CDs and more and helped an elderly lady with that shoveling which laid before her. She had done her part, already giving it a good start, so I turned the shovel and spiked a pike to the ice a few times. (And to mention ice, there is the semi-frozen One Block Run in Hudson’s downtown this Saturday at noon near the Hudson arch in the park.
And oh that wind. I love the series of red and white lit candy canes, accompanied by glowing and sparkling globes … but … was it the gales that meant on a key bitter night in early December the plug-ins above the sidewalk were, unplugged. Its not just a guitar that does this.
Other globes were almost grounded, reaching snowbank height while decorating trees, due to the sheer weight of snow on pine branches.
And was it the same force of wind that broke open a big wooden gate that obstructs vision to the dumpster at my apartment complex. Or were people just tossing away so much stuff, even in advance of a materialistic Christmas. The shopping projections said so, increasing with each year.
Also picking up is all the housing construction in the area, Tyvek material frequently flapping in the breeze. A few weeks earlier, most of what we saw was a several-stories-high elevator installation, standing high above the land, like the forebearer of an ice cathedral. And another thing we need to construct — a brand new rock club. Both moreso at night.
Then that big ol’ ice storm.
I had never seen such slippery slopes, even when they are not truly sloped, much less have to walk on it. Any lack of complete levelness would make you fall via quickly slidden foot. Usually it slides about eight inches, but then, alas, the foot’s position always comes back to fruition. Bartender Mabel said, wisely, watch it while you walk on with your step on the way home alone. Even in the downtown sidewalks, it was tricky. Many series of sidewalks, more and more. And the ice was so slick and sheer with not a hint of snow-like moisture. But I did not fall down. Almost thought I should call Mabel to let her know the goods news, ease her mind.
A Hudson dance troupe, even though not on the northern end of my base, got what would be a trend rolling. They made, as was emailed the Wednesday Before Christmas, it official: We would have a snow day and no official dance routines and lessons, just what could be done in the comfort of their homes, literally. Then in a day or so came the announcement, which could be redacted with another snow day, and than I think re-redacted: “We are back on normal schedule.”
After many daytime private lessons had been cancelled, evening group classes and ugly Christmas sweater country dance party also got the cold shoulder and were rescheduled due to weather that took a whole dozen words to describe. “We hope to be open tomorrow, but stay tuned as we all watch the weather and roads.” Maybe just post photos.
Seems like a long time since I asked those at late fall football bonfire, far corner of their yard, which pro team was dominating, despite impending ice storm. Vikings cited, then redacted, then reclaimed. All in one sentence. No love for the actual Ice Bowl. Brings back days for which we sat and waited, outdoors, when the Vikes were cold weather warriors worry of the true Norse.