[Happy New Year to you all, and may 2007 see a glimmer of humanity through the fire and ash of American hell... God, I hate this fucking war. Everything about us is corrupted and diminished. We need to imagine life differently. The last thing this site is intended to be is an online diary, but for some reason I want to put all this down today. Maybe the real deal is at least a good foundation.]
It was three degrees this morning when we woke up. I went outside in bathrobe and slippers to retrieve the ash bucket before firing up the wood stove — whoops! — and promptly fell down on my own doorstep. That’ll get your juices flowing, one way or the other.
We’ve each fallen a few times lately, though nobody has really gotten hurt. The pre-Christmas snow (roughly half a foot), partly melted and compacted, has pretty much turned to ice under 10-12 inches of fresh powder, so while it’s easy to slip, there’s a little cushion. And those measurements are pretty much meaningless, because in some places there’s less than that, while in others the snow goes over my trusty steel-toed Canandian rubber boots. I had a load of firewood delivered on the 30th, and I can hardly find it! Let’s just say there’s plenty of the white stuff, and it’s going to be around for a long time. It’s gorgeous outside, though, and last night’s freezing fog has coated every twig and branch with a fuzzy white layer of frost.
Yesterday afternoon walk — my nose got sunburned…
Last night my wife went to bed early. I watched the end of one of the greatest Marx Brother’s movies, “A Night at the Opera,” then at precisely the stroke of midnight walked outside with my shanai (a single-reed flute something like this) to serenade the calendar New Year. It was seven degrees, and the snow squeaked loudly under my boots. Louder still were all the fireworks going off across the valley, and plenty of gunshots too, even automatic weapons! (bangbangbangbangbang) A nearly-full moon illuminated the whole scene through a layer of fog, so I had no trouble finding my way along the ruts in the snow to the top of the hill. By the time I finished my own salute, every dog in the neighborhood was barking. It felt good to blow my horn up at the moon. I hope something good comes of it.
Afterwards I took my Guild 12-string and a flask of tequila over to my wife’s studio for a private party. I had to go there anyway to build up the fire so the studio cat wouldn’t freeze. She was hiding under the table, of course, from all the commotion outside, and it turned out she didn’t much like my playing much, either. But I hung around for an hour or so, and a good time was has by one. It felt good to do just what I wanted, you know?
i also got the Dodge out of the driveway late yesterday, after several unsuccessful early attempts by my neighbor to pull me out with her 4WD (she got stuck too!). I’m still woozy from breathing exhaust fumes upside down under the car looking for a place to hook the tow strap — just writing that makes me nauseous — and would you believe it, that stoopid machine doesn’t have anything to hook onto. My ancient ’84 Jetta had big steel loops underneath, front and back, for these occasions. On the ’89 Spirit, I got the hook fastened to what I thought was part of the unibody “frame” but ended up nearly tearing out the gas tank. That would have made for a very bad day, ye gods. As it was, I had to spend the next hour lying down with my head propped up, breathing deeply so I wouldn’t be barfing all afternoon. Urk.
Anyway, we can at least make it into town today, even if our road never got plowed — ah, New Mexico. We haven’t had a mail delivery since the second snowfall, and my wife is jonesing for a crossword puzzle (no newspapers either). The Dodge now has frost inside the windows from being shut up overnight with all the melted snow on the carpets. Arrghh.
10 degrees outside now, and I have to feed the birds. Walk slowly, though, and pray for peace.
Related posts:
