Winter is Gone; Spring has Sprung; Click up Your Heals and Groan?

It is finally spring time here in the North East. If my life were a made-for-TV movie, it would fade to lovely outdoor scenes with crocuses (or is that crocii?) pushing through rich dark soil, and bursting forth in bright, glorious yellow blooms. The scene would pan upwards to small green buds as they escape from the dark bony limbs of a maple tree.

The scene would then sweep out across the well-kept, newly greening lawn, to view my young children playing in the springtime sun. They would be dressed, smartly, all in white, and despite their springtime shenanigans on the tender grass and the damp earth, their outfits would remain spotless.

Neither my yard, nor my life, is a made-for-TV movie.

My yard, in the springtime, could better be described as a bog; so wet, that it almost borders on being on a small lake. I live on a corner lot, bounded along one edge by a thick row of hedges. My house is downwind from a grocery store, two department stores, a chain pharmacy, and a combination gas station-convenience store-donut shop. There are innumerable scraps of stuff that make their way from these commercial enterprises and end up in my yard; add to that all of the garbage that people toss from their cars as they drive by. I have picked up hundreds of lottery tickets, all of them losers. I am waiting for the day when someone accidentally tosses out the winning ticket onto my lawn. I will probably be kind enough to return it, but they are going to pay a hefty fine for littering in my yard.

In the middle of the yard stands an old apple tree. I know it is old because the trunk is well over two feet in diameter. This winter has been particularly rough on that ol' tree. Early in the season, a heavy wet snowfall brought down a very large branch, and now, in early spring, almost 6 months later, I still need to saw it into smaller pieces and have it removed.

With all of this work needing to be done in my yard, so my teenage children can go out in their white formal attire and frolic, I watched the weather forecast closely. I needed a few days of warmth, sun, and a light breeze, to dry the bog, so I could reclaim it as a yard.

And the weather co-operated. For two days in a row, we had warm sun and gentle breezes. The second day promised to be warmer than 80 degrees. I made mental plans to get outside and start the reclamation process.

Then I saw the forecast for the third day, the day after it was to be above 80. It called for rain, turning to snow, with temperatures falling into the mid 20‘s.

I think I will start a peat moss factory.

Thanksgiving, Politicians, and Turkey

My family and I hope that your Thanksgiving was wonderful. If you didn’t celebrate, whether it be for reasons of geography, or of choice, we hope that your Thursday ranked among the better ones you have had the fortune to encounter.

In case you missed it, it snowed across much of the United States just before Thanksgiving.  The Weather Channel named this winter storm Boreas. I don’t think naming a storm makes it more personable. I think, instead, that most people ignore the name and just run screaming into the grocery store for milk, bread, and eggs.

Storm Boreas struck my neck of New York State on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. The timing of the storm caused a great panic. People, who normally put off shopping until the day before Thanksgiving were horrified to learn that they might have to go a day early. This put many procrastinators in a state of great agitation, conflicted over whether to shop a day early, or hope that the storm was not so powerful as to keep them from the store on Wednesday, so they could put off shopping for one more day.

As it turns out, Old Man Boreas was not as bad as it could have been. The roads were bad during the overnight hours, so travel was not bad during the day. The heavy wet snow caused a large section of tree to fall across the powerlines in our back yard, but we still had power. That is until a transformer blew a couple blocks away; then we lost power. 

Photo courtesy of Eldest @pianowoman94

The snow made Thanksgiving look more like Christmas. 

Photo courtesy of me

Thanksgiving has its roots in the history of the “separatists” coming over to the new world. Apparently, the in-boat movie for their trip starred John Wayne, and many of the youngsters on the trip kept calling each other Pilgrim; the name stuck.

After landing in the new world, the Pilgrims set up a colony and then decided to have a feast. The native people, Wampanoags, feasted with them. They feasted on shellfish, deer, corn, squash, but no turkey. After much painstaking research I discovered why they did not have turkey that first thanksgiving. A local First Grader told me with all certain seriousness, “The pilgrims didnt have turkey that first thanksgiving, because turkeys weren’t invented yet.”

It is my opinion that the first turkeys were invented around the time of the first elections. This has also led to the tradition of the President of the United States pardoning a turkey on the day before Thanksgiving. It is such a heart-warming ceremony, seeing how politicians look out for each other.

Why do we have Lake Effect Snow?

Winter has returned to Western New York. It has returned in the form of lake effect snow. As I understand it, lake effect snow occurs when Canadian air tries to invade the United States by streaming across the Great Lakes. As it travels across the great expanse of water, it gets tired and when it finally reaches land, it falls apart. During the winter, this falling apart is in the form of snow.

This leads to some unusual circumstances. The most notable is the very localized areas of snow, which makes it hard to forecast exactly where the snow will occur. Even though Canada is a large country, it does not meddle in other countries affairs. Therefore, when this Canadian air tries to invade the United States, it is psychologically unprepared for the task. In long finger like bands, the air collapses, forming flakes (which insults that friendly invader from the north) that land on the ground. Meteorologists call these fingers, plumes, thus further insulting this brave, albeit misguided, Canadian air.

In response to this invasion of Canadian air, the National Weather Service, an office of the US Department of Commerce, has decided not to include snowfall totals from lake effect snow events. This is based on a well established psychological principle for extinguishing behavior, called planned ignoring. It works with children in the store. When a child pesters for a treat and the parent gives in, it rewards the behavior and they beg and plead the next time they go shopping. If, however, a parent ignores the child’s begging and pleading, eventually the child will learn that the parental unit is not going to give into the requests, and the child eventually stops pestering.

The National Weather Service has been trying planned ignoring on the invading Canadian air for years. When asked if it is working, there is no comment. This is not actually typical government stone-walling or hiding of motives and facts; it is an integral part of planned ignoring. If a parent says to a child who is asking for a treat, “I am ignoring you,” then the parent is not actually ignoring the child, thus defeating the purpose. That is why there is no official record of lake effect snowfall by the government. They are simply ignoring it, hoping it will go away.

I think this planned ignoring might work. So the next time invading Canadian air flakes out over us, I am going to ignore it. I am sure it will go away.

Sometime in June.

Mow the lawn or clear the driveway of snow?

My father used to tell a story from the days when he owned a service station. A customer was having his car filled with gas. This was in the olden days when a motorist would pull up to the pump and tell an attendant how much gas to pump and the attendant would pump it. Not only would he pump gas, but he would wash windows while the gas was pumping. The customer got out of his car to buy a bottle of pop. This was in the olden days when bottles were glass and tops were metal and pop was way better than it is now.

While the attendant was washing the windows, the gas tank filled, and before the pump could shut off gas spilled on the ground. A stray dog quickly ran up and lapped up the gas before anyone could stop him. The dog began to ran wildly around the pumps and then around the block. The attendant and customer stared in terror at the dog’s apparent distress. My father joined them, just as the dog stopped at the pumps and collapsed. The customer looked at the attendant and asked fearfully, “Is he dead?” The attendant replied eruditely, “I dunno.” My dad observed, “He isn’t dead, he just ran out of gas.”

For a while I have had some doubts as to how true his story was, but since he has passed I cannot ask him. So I will let the story stand as it is, and since my father was an honest man of integrity, I will accept it as the truth.

I thought of this story this week as I was preparing to mow the lawn. I had to get the mower out and see if it would start after a long winter in storage. I should have mowed the lawn sooner, but being a tried and true western New Yorker I chafed at the idea of mowing the lawn in March. In fact, I would like to let the lawn return to its natural habitat, making me a green kind of guy, environmentally friendly, and on the cutting edge of not being on the cutting edge. Beloved does not like that idea and insists the lawn be kept neat, leaving me environmentally unfriendly and definitely not green.

Since I was getting the lawn mower out, I thought it might be a good idea to put the snow blower away. When I posted about this activity on Facebook two fellow western New Yorkers reminded my of the folly of putting away the snow blower so early in the season. We usually shovel snow in March. Sometimes we shovel in April. In fact, I remember a few mother’s days when there was snow on the ground.

Being a huge risk taker, I decided to live life on the edge and put the snow blower away. Since most of the gas I put in the tank at the beginning of the winter was still in the tank, I decided to siphon it out. After a few tries, I was able to drain the tank dry, but not before swallowing a little gas.

Be not alarmed dear reader, I did not take off in a mad dash around the house, the yard, or the neighborhood. Apparently gas only has that effect on canines. However, I was gassy for the rest of the day.

The dead carcass.

Thursday middlest girl and I worked on the dead car residing under the carport. It would not start, and I was sure the death was due to a dead battery. Since I was on a lifting restriction of 20 pounds, I needed help lifting the battery and middlest was kind and gracious enough to help, with only the slightest roll of her eyes. 

We had to work on the car Thursday, because Friday a snowstorm was expected. This being western New York in the dead of winter, we usually expect snow. Upon hearing we were supposed to have a storm, middlest announced, “Why do we get all the snowstorms when we are off school?  I think the teachers and the weathermen get together and conspire about this.” I assured her there was no conspiracy as we drove to the auto parts store.

Upon arriving at the store, the Sales Associate asked if I was sure the battery was dead. Not once commenting on why my 13-year-old daughter was lugging around the bazillion pound battery instead of her muscular, and quite good looking, father. Since I had measured the voltage with a voltmeter and it read 6 volts when it should have read over 12 volts, I said I was 99.999% sure it was dead. I paid the king’s ransom for the new battery, and lugged it out to the van. Well, middlest lugged it out, and still no comment from the dignified Sales Associate. 

Arriving home we, I mean she, put the battery into its new home. I tightened it in and went to start the car….nothing. Dead. Ugh. Immediately I suspected the battery. Yes, it was new, but when in doubt, I always suspect the battery. Primarily since it is the easiest thing for me to identify under the hood. Voltmeter in hand, I checked the battery. 6 volts?! It should be 12 volts. Now that was suspicious; it was brand new.  I checked a few other batteries, and a 12 volt power supply, and the meter read 6 volts for all of them. I deduced I had a problem with the voltmeter; no worry, I have two other voltmeters. Of course, I know one does not work and I do not know where either is.

Middlest asks, “What shall we do now?”  I reply, as any wise father would, “Have lunch.” She had cold pizza, and I had a peanut butter and banana sandwich.  While eating I tried to remember the last place I saw my other volt meters. I could not remember, they were lost—and my wife was not home to ask. Wives and mothers, my wife is both, have that amazing knack of knowing exactly where lost items are. The other day we lost power at our house; I started to mumble something about checking the battery. My wife rolled her eyes. Shortly after that, the power came back on. I am sure my wife found that too.

Without help, all alone, I started to look for the missing voltmeter. While looking, I kept talking with myself about it being easier to fix the broken one, but reassuring myself I would need one to figure out the problem with the other, I kept looking. While looking, I found a bunch of other stuff I forgot I had lost. Neat stuff. Shiny stuff. Stuff that distracted me for hours, until eventually I completely forgot about looking for the other voltmeter and about the dead hulking shell of a car under the carport.

That is until middlest asked me, “Whatcha gunna do about the car Dad?” Car? What was she talking about? Until after a few minutes of staring at her blankly, she said, “We left the hood open, shouldn’t we close it?” Finally, I remembered what I had been looking for and why. I mumbled something about calling the garage to have them fix it. She said, “Don’t forget to close the hood.” Me? Forget? I have a mind like a steel trap. I gazed around the porch, wondering what I was doing out here and what all these neat shiny things were in all of the boxes.

On Friday I was looking for my cordless drill and found the two other voltmeters. I was so ecstatic I totally forgot about the drill for a couple of hours. That is until I found the charger for the drill’s batteries in my room as I was looking for something else (I do not remember what I was looking for).  I got the drill out, and put the batteries in to charge. With any luck, I will not forget to bring the drill with me when I visit my brother, which is why I was looking for that in the first place. The car is at the garage, they haven’t called me yet, I hope they haven’t forgotten. 

SNOWDAY?!

Tomorrow the forecast calls for a winter storm, with up to 15 inches of snow in the area. This means a rush on the local grocery stores. For some mysterious reason whenever the forecast calls for snow, people immediately go to the grocery store to buy bread and milk.

I went to the grocery store today to make some purchases for dinner tonight. We are having pot roast, using a calorie-free carbonated beverage as liquid, instead of water. I did not purchase any milk or any bread. The gentleman in front of me as we checked out was lamenting the storm, and the possibility of getting snowed in.

“You were afraid of running out of milk and bread?” I asked him.

“Oh no, I don’t touch the stuff, I am gluten and lactose intolerant. But the talking heads on my television set said it would be a good idea to stock up on milk and bread.”

“Excellent idea, you can feed the poor sparrows and put out saucers of milk for any traveling cats caught in the storm.”

My children are thrilled at the prospect of a snow day. They are eagerly plotting how to ensure that school is closed tomorrow. They have heard from a number of experts on how to ensure this happens. They are going to wear their pajamas backwards, sleep with a spoon under their pillows, and flush ice cubes down the toilet. They received most of this information from a family friend, who is an elementary school teacher. So it must be right!

I told them I have the foolproof way to ensure a horrible snow storm. With great eagerness they begged and pleaded to hear my words of wisdom.

“Wash my car.”

The looks on their faces indicated they did not believe it, so I explained that as soon as I wash my car, it never fails to storm out so it gets covered with salt again. They rolled their eyes in disbelief and grabbed entire trays of ice cubes to flush down the toilet.

My youngest girl announced that the last time it snowed particularly hard out, one of her classmates came to school visibly angry. When she was asked what the problem was she explained her father “made me come to school; he would not let me stay home.”

My daughter consoled her and said that I had made her come to school too.

To which the girl replied, “You don’t understand, my father is the Superintendent!!! I begged him but he wouldn’t cancel school.”

“Why not?” my inquisitive daughter inquisited.

“He said we didn’t have enough bread and milk.”