It reached the mid-80s today. I personally like the 80s to be my music, to quote one-man-bander Jeff Loven, not the temps. If the 70s, then light and breezy. The sidewalks and dike walks, and park walks and riverfront and lakefront walks — no cake walks quite this soon — were soon abuzz with people, and places that serve them all over either were doing final spring-early summer prep of their patios, or opening them for service, and early, and not as in the season.
As this was a far cry from less than two weeks ago. As a friend just noted to me, in this state you can have snow and boiling sun all in the same seven days. And on such a fateful note …
We all thought but didn’t tell each other that moving across-county to my new apartment on April First, just as the midnight hour occurred to bring about such, might yield a late-season, snow-season disaster. To the point that power went out due to tons — as far as either the pounds or numbers — of downed trees on one end as you trekked toward it, and there even was a tornado cited on the other.
— So we now refer to mid-April, then April 20 and 22, for our haul/trek/trip back to live music. Heavy on Ziggy’s, for two straight Fridays.
So we start at April 15 at Ziggy’s, the Hudson version, with the mostly country, musical act Nathan Hansen, (and we are not talking about the old boy-band by that name). But this guy rocks the muscle shirt even more than most of the carefully coiffed for video country acts. Those big biceps can really play that guitar that he holds thigh-high, colored with equal doses of slightly-swirled black and white, the two main cowboy hat tones, although he is not wearing one.
On the following Friday, April 22, there is another new act at The Z, named the Generation X Jukebox. Bet that genre bends, but stays classic. And if you can’t fit that name onto the marquee, just shorten it to Gen X Juke. Do they play mostly three-minute songs to accommodate such?
What? We just blipped over 4-20? We all know why and what that is. See Picks of the Week, soon if I’m not slacking, to pick up the pace on that party. —
At a nightclub plopped between them, in this ongoing tale of two snow-shutdown cities, the Blackout band was playing — if they could go on. Maybe we should have taken that as an omen, although because of snow we passed that point hours later than planned.
And you might have (rightly) thought that Ye Ol’ Ice Boulder, at the edge of that months-troublesome street in front of my former place — as yes we were able to eventually complete the residence transfer — as pointed out in a pair of past posts, was bad and big?
And what did that grand groundhog see in early February, near the start of weather things? And the idea that March comes in like a lion and/or goes out like a lamb? Who cares! As its more importantly an April Fools Day joke. What a fool believes.
Were we that? My mother and brother had traveled cross-state to move me into my new place, and Tom almost stopped and got a motel after rain turned to sleet and then snow as Eau Claire turned into Menomonie.
So I am the man, or the son, with the van. Buried in my … And it would take more then one car and truck or two. And not just for making the move, but even supplying the sheer torque to get it to go, as we as in our various vehicles got stuck in the snow at least four times. Lost count.
The snow level was measured at a couple of centimeters below 13 inches, so when I’d guessed a foot I was close although overly kind, so even if making it through the parking lot then down the alley, there was that avalanche of snow waiting at the entry to the street, as THOSE, city plows had already been through three times per my mom’s count. She knew because of tossing and turning all eve, all the while worrying that the local-corporate apartment lender (Lowcal) would announce at hey, you got about the length of an album side to move your moving van or it would be ticketed and towed to enable plowing.
That would be 10 a.m., they said. But then it came 11 and 12 (high noon or midnight? OK, that’s an exaggeration). So what to do? Find someone with a snowblower. It took a while, but through networking with a neighbor I had never met, we even got a big ol’ blade. But even that got stuck.
In hindsight, should have hit the guy up when I first saw him out with his (much smaller unit) of a snowblower at 7 a.m. when the sunlight was soon starting to shine again.
But come noon, when it became clear — trying to be clairvoyant as far as the plowing pace — we would not see any light at the end of the snow tunnel anytime soon, I got on my boots that were made for walking and hit the street to find another neighbor with a now very popular such unit. And it was good that I tied the shoelaces carefully, because it would be a hike.
First guy blowing out that I saw down about three blocks down — I told him it was two for expediency sake — kinda blew me off, saying it was not for he that he was doing the service, but a neighbor, and can’t you just shovel it yourself, as it would be hard to get the snowblower, and it musta been an ultra mega like the regional old band name, down that far and he did not have a truck. I backed off and said I was sorry for asking, but that time was of the essence to make the move, and it would take many hours for us to do it by hand. Then I thought, hey, if it Getting There is the concern, we do have this still empty U-Haul …
So back around, then turn south a jog. On foot of course. But that guy it seemed might have to be more reliant on his kid with a shovel then he’d wanted. His snowblower, though currently chipping away, just might not last to the end of the driveway before breaking down.
Knocked on the next door up, no one was there, and to boot, their snowblower was sticking unused into a snowbank. A woman drove slowly past then parked, and methinks she might be the homeowner. Nope, just getting out of her car to take some photos of an unrelated house.
Then there was pre-Easter salvation.
So a last ditch effort, back to the early morning blower, but it was his wife who answered the door. She said he was at a local funeral home, which employs him to plow snow. She did not know when he would be back, but added that she’d flag him down over the phone and describe the dilemma. Sure enough then, it wasn’t long and he pulled up with full blade and went to work. Not just one pass over the driveway, but also its edges, two then three times … My brother and I worried he’d get in trouble with the apartment leasing company if proceeding much further. But after minutes our end of the driveway was cleared, and it looked like we we in the clear. But a last pass (was attempted) do get the car out also.
It was then the guy got stuck. Can someone even push back a blade-fronted machine? He became a beneficiary, in reverse, of my brother’s Suburban and chain, and bro told me he’d needed to do the same thing, jerking his chain, to remove the U-Haul from its parked space back in the Hudson lot, or no trip at all. And as far as the man with the plow plan. What was his name? Ryan, or Bryan, or Hyman? We agreed we’d just stay forgetful. Meanwhile, the lady of that house stood by with her and hubby’s solution, should things get any worse: A plastic jug of chicken grits. (What ???) But this would get mentioned again later.
But it would soon take more than grits to get unstuck. Back up the van, anyone. Got it a ways, but no more. What followed was an unbalanced attempt with many levels of levers to get the job done. Beyond the usual push and pull of forth than reverse in quick tandem. Two pieces of cardboard done twice, one for each front wheel. Digging out with shovel and feet and even hands. On all fours. Almost crawling underneath the main van structure — with a nod to make my head fit. Alas, no further motor movement, to or frow, to speak of.
At this point, who comes to the door but … the funeral home director! In full suit. Checking in on us before and/or during our metamorphic death. But for now, grits would save, he said. Love to make small talk, but I must help my Blood Brother. But wait, aren’t you from that old home across from my way back old workplace, the Hudson Star-Observer? Reliving the days of the building reconstruction that followed, as a break from digging.
After the car slid back to where it had been in the lot, through the help of all and Iam and Allah, we managed to load everything into the U-Haul and be on our way.
A past political placard said it this way, Winter is coming and with it higher fuel bills and linked to that grocery, too, and the like. But 18 billion inches of snow? This is not the south shores of Lake Superior or the north pole.
The another ye ol’ sign says it all. It was up for about a month in the worst of it, Winter I’m breaking up with you because its time I start seeing other seasons. Since then, post April, it said, Winter I’m sorry for what I said. They may now take back taking it back.