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SnowboundingFebruary 12, 2006 7:34 a.m. Curiosity triumphs over comfort of warm bed: I get up and look out window. Yep, it's snowing all right. Hard to tell how serious it is. Flakes are dashing sideways as much as downwards; maybe two inches of snow on my downstairs neighbors' porch rail. Hard to tell how deep it is elsewhere. Rhodry is still asleep. 8:13 a.m. Window screen at desk right is two-thirds blocked by snow. Still hard to tell how serious the snow is. I'm not expected at the barn: we battened down hatches late yesterday afternoon. My bright idea was to bring the mounting block inside. During one of the big snows last year it was adversely affected by an accidental encounter with a snowplow. Andy repaired it in December, but an ounce of prevention, etc., etc. Possibly at stake is harmony between barn manager and snowplow operator, who have been married for 40 years. I boil the garbanzos that have been soaking overnight: first step in making big bowl of favorite salad (broccoli, chopped purple onions, coarsely grated carrots, raisins, feta cheese, and garbanzos). 8:43 a.m. Current FreeCell streak reaches 23. What, me worry? Rhodry pads into office, gazes at me for a couple of moments, gives up, lies down, head on paws, and starts staring. I say, "Soon, Rhodry," then download e-mail and start daily blog. 9:42 a.m. Rhodry and I go out to inspect snowstorm. About four inches on the front steps already: hard to tell where one step ends and the next one begins. Within two minutes my glasses are coated with slushy snow. Snowstorm looks serious. Consider going back to put in contacts. Hah. And remove parka, cap, and boots, then put them all on again? Rhodry and I set off down Dunham. It's been plowed once; no tire tracks since last plowing. Snowstorms are good for keeping cars off the road; why can't we have them in July and August? No matter what direction we walk in, wet snow is whacking my face. This may not be meteorologically possible, but it's true. (At the barn, the wind likes to shift around to one end as soon as you start sweeping in that direction; when you change direction, the wind does too. Coyote and the wind are in cahoots.) One set of tire tracks on Davis. Rhodry doesn't go far into the woods to do his business. On Skiff the snow is deep enough to make the sidewalk hard walking, so we walk in the road. More evidence of vehicular passage, visibility is not much: here's hoping that anyone stupid enough to be out on the road is smart enough to have their headlights on. White Ford F150 passes us, heading for the Edgartown Road, snow shovel sticking out of the bed. Back at home, I borrow neighbors' shovel and clear their steps and mine. Try unsuccessfully to teach Rhodry to shake on command before I open the front door. He waits at the top of the stairs while I remove parka, cap, and boots and dry off my glasses. I go up and towel him off. 10:10 a.m. Zap lukewarm tea and start oatmeal cooking. Turn on radio for favorite program of the week: Rich Warren's Midnight Special. Reception sucks. Rhodry the somewhat damp Malamutt is curled up on my bed. I go back to work. 12:07 p.m. FreeCell streak hits 25. I recall First Law of FreeCell: Don't play when you're rushed, tired, tipsy, or pissed. 1:38 p.m. Snow Inspection Report #2: Rhodry and I just got back from a routine patrol of the neighborhood. Local roads are plowed but not sanded: crampons advised for next outing, and Rhodry would like a pair of snow-booties. Snow still falling haphazardly; wind gusting pretty fierce. Rhodry elected to maintain watch outside. While editing I was listening to Keelaghan's Then Again CD, as usual playing "Gladys Ridge" over and over again till it occurred to me that maybe it wasn't smart to be playing a song about Saskatchewan in the middle of a snowstorm. I'm about to go practice chord changes instead. 2:42 p.m. Rhodry scratches at door, comes in, proceeds to bedroom. I go back to editing. Rhodry appears and wants to know why he has to share the bed with the guitar case. I tell him the guitar is resting and it's the only bed we've got. Rhodry picks up stuffed cow and exits squeaking. FreeCell streak stands at 27. 5:37 p.m. Snow Inspection Report #3: About 5:15 I needed a work break. Rhodry had wanted out about an hour before, and I'd obliged, so I went downstairs to gear up. Through the door my downstairs neighbor asked if I'd come down to let the Pupsicle in. I opened the door. Rhodry Pupsicle was curled into a hassock, his white points much augmented by snow. I couldn't help laughing. Closed door, finished pulling on snow duds, emerged onto waning white daylight. Rhodry bounds up stairs, shakes all over me, and bounds down again. We went patrolling. Storm has picked up a bit since early afternoon, the wind is still pretty punchy, but I doubt it'll snow all that much more. Patrol was uneventful. Malamutt Sno-Cone is now curled up in the tiny space at the foot of the stairs, either because he won't share the bed with a guitar case or because it's cooler down there. Rhodry Draft-Dogger. 6:02 p.m. Just mixed myself a White Russian aperitif. FreeCell streak stands at 29. If I play again and blow it, I have only myself to blame. 6:41 p.m. Perform scientific experiment: How long will a biscuit, placed at the top of the stairs, take to persuade a Malamutt to rouse himself to climb the stairs and eat it? 6:43 p.m. Answer: two minutes. 9:08 p.m. Finished filling out WisCon 30 programming online signup form. Since two (or three?) previous attempts have been aborted with "sorry, the computer fucked up" messages, I am now a happy camper. One of these days I will make my plane reservations. FreeCell streak has reached 31. I'm not going to play again tonight, honest. 9:38 p.m. Snow Inspection Report #4: Snow has stopped, wind has dropped, local roads are still slippery. Musing: Ice causes property damage and bodily injury, even death. Why hasn't the Department of Homeland Security declared war on it? Maybe they have. Maybe this is why the Bushies aren't worried about global warming. 11:04 p.m. Time to toss in the red pencils. It's true: when I don't go to the barn, I get more (paid) work done. In the long term, meaning more than one day, it wouldn't work. I miss my pony. Rhodry won't admit it, but he misses her too. Then again Then Again; then again, "Gladys Ridge":
FreeCell streak: 32. And so to bed.
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