The sun is shining and it is hailing, and any minute now I’m expecting a rider of the apocalypse to show up to try to sell me a magazine subscription.
On New Year’s Eve over 3,000 red-winged blackbirds fell from the sky in Beebe, Arkansas. Scientists have since reported that the event was probably caused by collisions that occurred as the result of fireworks, that similar events aren’t all that uncommon, and that there’s nothing apocalyptic about 3,000 black birds falling from the sky at one time. Certifiably apocalyptic or not, the imagery certainly matches the mood that the ludicrously unseasonal weather we’ve been having has me in.
The mild weather has certainly made the winter easier to handle. There is less wood stove tending to do, and there are fewer layers to be put on in the morning. But it remains strange none-the-less. I am bracing myself for the worst—and expecting that it will rear it’s frozen head in the exact moment when I’m expecting the weather to turn toward spring. It is a confusing state of affairs, and I wonder how the plants will fare. Humans (and, I assume, many other mammals) can adapt fairly quickly when it comes to getting-by survival, but what happens if all the things we’ve learned to eat die away from under our feet? I don’t want to end up living in Cormac McCarthy’s The Road.
Meanwhile, I’ve been neglecting my Wagen. Poor, lonely, little trash house has become the loading dock for my dirty dishes, clutter, and an enormous pile of baby paraphernalia. I bring a load of things in, and I take a snack out. But the weather is so warm that the cooking oil is still fluid, and I can cook a meal with the door open and without feeling cold. Unfortunately it is also so warm that the dirty dishes are molding before I get around to washing them. Damn it.
Did I mention that I am excited to get this baby out and to get my body back? Oooh am I ever. So excited that the thought of jogging makes me giddy. Of running to catch buses. Of being able to keep pace with whoever I am walking with. I’m even looking forward to being able to carry dish-washing water to my Wagen whenever the urge to scrub strikes me.
Having recently read the entire Game of Thrones series by George R.R. Martin, I constantly have the Stark family motto running through my head. “Winter is coming.” Or is it?