Road Trip

I’ll be heading out shortly to visit relatives in another part of the state where cold rain is coming down, just like it is here. I don’t think I’ll be seeing any good weather this trip.

I’ll be gone for two nights, so there will be no news feed tonight or tomorrow night. I’ll be returning sometime on Friday, so you can expect a news feed that night.

The practice of demanding vaccine passports hasn’t yet come to this part of Virginia, so I don’t anticipate a problem gaining entry to any restaurants or watering holes.

Y’all have a gonzo time while I’m away.

Murphy Rears His Ugly Head

My phone and Internet service just came back on after being out for more than 24 hours.

Yesterday afternoon there was a moderate thunderstorm in the area. A little bit of thunder, a modest amount of rain. When the rumbling started, I thought about putting up a bad weather post, but then said to myself, “Nah — this is hardly anything. Why bother?”

Well. What better way to invoke Murphy’s Law?

After the storm was over, and the rumbling had mostly stopped, the phone and Internet abruptly went out. The phone line was completely dead. Most of the time when that happens, service spontaneously comes back in a few hours. So I decided to wait it out. No luck — bedtime came, and the line was still dead.

When I got up this morning it was still out. Very annoying! I waited for it to come on; if it didn’t, after work hours I was going to drive to see one or more friends and ask to use their phone to call the phone company. There’s no cell coverage here at Schloss Bodissey, but there is some a few miles down the road, so I’d be able to get help even if the landline outage was widespread (but if it was widespread, of course, I wouldn’t need to call the company — I could be certain they were already working it).

Ten minutes before I planned to put my shoes on and go, the phone company, in its infinite wisdom, decided that it was time to restore my service.

I’ll be a while catching up. I have a lot of material backed up, but I spent yesterday evening formatting it for posting, so I should be able to put it up tonight. And I have a gazillion emails to go through, so be patient.

A Flood of Globalist Multiculturalism

Catastrophic flooding took place last week in several regions of western Germany. The image below is from an appeal for help for flood victims that appeared in the tabloid Bild. Note the ethnicity of the poor helpless “German” family.

Hellequin GB has translated two pieces about the floods. From PolitikStube:

Is that a German family who lost everything in the flood? BILD should be ashamed

The comments speak for themselves:

Anabel Schunke: The comments below the picture speak volumes. People want to show solidarity. But with their compatriots. They want it to be about the Germans too. And that’s legitimate. For years it was about “we” helping, that “we” had to take in refugees. Why aren’t Heinz and Hilde shown now, who may also have lost their belongings and for whom their house has always been their home? Why do German victims never have a face in the media?

Sorry, you probably achieve the opposite in this way. Of course, I feel sorry for all the victims of the catastrophe, but you usually feel more sympathy and empathy for people to whom you feel culturally close. Who else should I identify with in this country and show solidarity if we Germans are never given a face in the media? When it’s always about others?

A few more comments without attribution:

  • So those in the Eifel looked different
  • Are we now getting support from other countries like we helped them back then?
  • I haven’t seen any of them on TV
  • Perfect picture where is the German family who have lost their house and their belongings.
  • All that’s missing is the rainbow
  • Olaf look, there it is, the average Eifel family. Incomprehensible
  • live in the disaster area and find the picture not appropriate many German families are badly affected by the flood these people should be in the first place
  • Somehow something is wrong with the photo. Where are the German citizens in the picture? The flood was in Germany, wasn’t it ?!?!
  • Incomprehensible! A mockery for the German families who have lost their homes! And again society is massively divided
  • Because of the photo I don’t give a cent because these people deserve 0%
  • Dear Bild, what does this picture have to do with us Germans? Do you not have a picture of victims who are also directly affected? That irritates me and I think it’s completely past the topic. But that also shows what you think of us, namely nothing! I am not affected myself, but I will help my compatriots. That’s what I call solidarity with compatriots, you nincompoops.

Also from PolitikStube, the spending priorities of the German government during the time of the floods:

Continue reading

Sturm und Drang

The sky has darkened, and a loud and ominous rumbling may be heard coming from the northwest of Schloss Bodissey. The forecast is predicting severe thunderstorms in this part of the Commonwealth this afternoon.

The electric grid in my area has an annoying habit of going down for extended periods under such circumstances. So, if you don’t hear from me for a while, and your comments don’t get approved, you’ll know why. All I can do is wait it out.

In the meantime, I suggest that you look for news on two import topics: (1) the ongoing unrest in South Africa, and (2) the immigration crisis in Lithuania. They are far more interesting and important than whatever fatuity Joe Biden may have uttered today, or the way Jen Psaki has pstriven to pspin it.

I recommend staying away from the American news — for the moment anyway. It is full of sound and fury, but signifies nothing.

Getting the Eyeball Jab

I went to the retinal specialist’s office today to get the latest in a series of periodic injections in my left eye to treat my wet macular degeneration. Rather than recapitulate everything, I’ll refer new readers to last month’s post for details.

As usual, the ordeal has reduced my productivity in front of this screen. There will be at least one more post tonight before the news feed, but that may be all — I’ll see how it goes.

My productivity has been further reduced by power outages. After that big thunderstorm yesterday afternoon the electricity was out for about seven hours. It went off again today for no discernible reason, and stayed out for more than two hours this time. However, about half the outage occurred while I was away at the retinologist’s, so it didn’t have as much impact.

Old Man Winter

 

 

The weather forecast for this part of Central Virginia looks pretty dire. For the next 24 hours we’re expected to get a little bit of snow and a LOT of rain, with temperatures remaining in the mid to high twenties (i.e. about -3°C) most of the day tomorrow (strictly speaking, later today). Which means a thick layer of ice covering everything, and an almost certain power outage.

I’m posting this just before I go to bed, because I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to post again. If nothing seems to be happening here on Thursday or Friday, and your comments aren’t being moderated, you’ll know why.

UPDATE 10:30am Thursday: There was a little bit of snow and sleet overnight, with a thin layer of ice on top. So far, so good. But rain is still coming down. It’s going to be a long day.

Old Man Winter is Here

A winter storm is sliding up the East Coast right now, causing all the usual panic and chaos that we always see when the lower Mid-Atlantic states experience snow and ice.

Schloss Bodissey is outside the snow zone, but well within the ice zone. It’s still raining here, sometimes heavily, and the trees are coated. We all know what happens next…

The lights have already flickered once, so it’s probably only a matter of time. Thus, if your comments stop being approved, and no further posts appear, you’ll know why.

It’s either that, or the Deep State got me.

2020 Vision

…A total portrait with no omissions.

Happy New Year, everyone!

The weather here isn’t at all like that shown in the photo at the top of this post. It’s been mild (and mostly dry) for more than a week. I haven’t seen any snow so far this winter.

It’s just that I like that picture a lot. The future Baron took it a number of years ago during a road trip to Southwestern Virginia, one of the most Deplorable regions of our sovereign Commonwealth.

Merry Christmas, Everyone!

The above photo was taken here at Schloss Bodissey ten years ago, on Christmas Day of 2009. It’s not at all like that today; the weather is quite mild, with no precipitation.

I’ll be involved in family doings most of the time today and tomorrow, so posting will be light. However, I hope to post a news feed tonight — God willing and the Creek don’t rise.

Gladioli in July

Two old friends of mine, a married couple, brought a vase of gladioli to church today and went out with me after the service to put them on Dymphna’s grave.

It’s been brutally hot the past week, and today was no exception. I had put fresh flowers — all of them chosen from among those that Dymphna planted and tended in our flowerbeds — on the grave a few days ago, and I expected that they would all have wilted away by today. But strangely enough, two varieties — bee balm and lilac-colored hostas — had retained their color and were still standing upright.

We put the gladioli next to them, paid our respects, and then walked through the scorching churchyard to our cars.

An Epitaph

by Walter De la Mare

Here lies a most beautiful lady,
Light of step and heart was she;
I think she was the most beautiful lady
That ever was in the West Country.
But beauty vanishes; beauty passes;
However rare — rare it be;
And when I crumble, who will remember
This lady of the West Country?

Whether or Not: Tornado Warnings

A humungous storm is coming our way, headed up from Louisiana. As far as the eye can see on the weather radar, they’ve got tornado warnings outlining each county. So far so quiet, but in our neck of the woods (and there is naught else but woods and lost hunting dogs coyote food) tornados can be sudden and as serious as a heart attack.

So just in case it goes quiet around here and you wonder why we haven’t let in your perfectly sensible comment, that’s the reason.

Remember Those “97 Per Cent of Scientists Agree” on Global Warming??

Or is it Global Cooling? Or is it Peak Oil? A coming famine?

Lord Monckton, always entertaining, lays to rest that hoary prevarication about the “consensus” among scientists. He has the source for that lie, which begins at ~minute 21.00 if you’re in a hurry.

The whole thing is entertaining, but the primary reason for this posting is to have a place to hang the source of such balderdash as was promoted in previous comment sections:

Thanks to RonaldB for his link in the comments on my previous posting about climate shenanigans. His link is a somewhat longer video on the subject, but Ivar Giaever, the 1973 Nobel Prizewinner for Physics, is equally entertaining.

Why is it that the deniers are wittier? Not a sin Al Gore will ever commit. But whatever; that Norwegian speaker is worth your time, too. The graphs (e.g., the one which illustrates where thermometers are placed globally. This was a few years ago, but I doubt poor countries have caught up yet) are illuminating.

In a side note, we have some climate here. Last weekend we got fourteen inches of snow. This weekend it is fast disappearing under an onslaught of warmish (52 degrees F) rain. The B and I are going down to watch the river flood over its banks. Hey, in the boondocks, you take your entertainment where you can find it. Things are melting so fast they’re sending up great wraiths of fog on the remaining snowpack.

Falling Into Winter

Note: This post was a “sticky” feature that was published last Monday and stayed on top all week. Scroll down for more recent material, including Jews in the AfD, clips from the Brexit demo in London, Jihad for Justice in Alabama, right-wing extremist hair braids in Germany, Dr. Turley on the Danish “Gitmo”, and many others.

Winter Fundraiser 2018, Day Seven

The Baron’s Sunday Update: A Winter’s Tale

Well, here we are at the final day of our quarterly bleg. After I finish writing this update I can catch up on my sleep, and then write some more thank-you notes tomorrow.

Tip jarAfter my worried remarks the other night, y’all really stepped up to the plate: the donations came pouring in on Friday, making it one of the busiest fundraising days we’ve had for a while. Many thanks to all of you for your generosity! The week isn’t quite back to normal, but it’s getting close. And it’s now clear that we’ll be able to make it through to the spring thaw.

It didn’t hurt that WRSA posted a link to our bleg — we really appreciate that. It’s easy to tell when donors are being referred by WRSA, because the gifts come in from Idaho, Wyoming, Arizona, and other deplorable states that we don’t otherwise see much traffic from.

All of this makes me ponder our peculiar business model. Most websites monetize by selling advertising, but we do it by soliciting modest gifts from our many readers. It’s a weird form of crowdfunding, but somehow it works — every quarter we receive just enough to keep on going.

It helps me maintain my enduring sense of gratitude…

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This morning’s weather-related story is going to be longer and less lighthearted than my usual tales. I’ve never actually written this material up before, and I expect it to be hard to type out.

So… for those who want to skip this part and go straight to yesterday’s donor locations, here they are in advance:

Stateside: Alaska, California, Connecticut, Florida, Indiana, Michigan, Minnesota, New Hampshire, New Mexico, New York, Oregon, Texas, Virginia, and Wyoming

Far Abroad: New Zealand, and the UK

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The photo at the top of this update was taken in February of 2003. It shows a snow overhang outside our bedroom window here at Schloss Bodissey. The tree in the foreground is none other than the Fig Tree of Doom, which caused Dymphna so much grief two and a half years after the picture was taken.

This morning’s reminiscence was prompted not by that particular snowfall, but by my earlier account of the first fall and winter I spent here (scroll down for that story; it begins with the photo of the turtle).

That was a cold and snowy winter, and after Christmas I just hunkered down to wait it out. Since I couldn’t go outside to paint landscapes, I busied myself with what I could create indoors — mostly geometric designs and scenes from my imagination.

But late in January I got an opportunity: a major snowfall was predicted. That was before the Weather Channel, but the radio and the newspaper were in agreement that we would see about eight inches (21 cm) of dry snow.

So I stocked up for the occasion. I made sure I had plenty of coffee, beer, and other necessities so that I could sit it out. In those days the house was heated by a woodstove, and I had an ample supply of firewood, so it didn’t matter all that much if the electricity went out. And I didn’t have any reason to go out, so I would be able to spend a delightful few days looking out the kitchen window at all that lovely snow — and painting a picture of it.

When I woke up that morning, the snow was right on schedule — three or four inches of it on the ground. I set up my easel in the middle of the kitchen floor (this place has a large farm kitchen, and in those days I possessed virtually no furniture) and started a composition based on what I could see out the window, and the area immediately inside it.

Snow in the city gets ugly pretty quickly, what with all the salt and sand from the roads, soot, and vehicle exhaust. But out here in the middle of nowhere it stays pristine for a long time if the temperature remains low. Tracks from birds, deer, dogs, squirrels, and raccoons. And maybe my own when I walk out into the middle of a flat space to stick a yardstick in the accumulation. But nothing to make it look nasty — I knew I would be able to take my time and make that painting look just right.

When I moved out here from the city I deliberately didn’t get a phone, because I didn’t want anyone bothering me. I also used general delivery for an address that first year, to assure my isolation. The postmistress was puzzled, but she let me do it, and forwarded my mail out here to the RFD box.

I expected to have a wonderful few days, working on my painting and enjoying a snowfall in a way that I hadn’t had a chance to since I was a kid.

Ah, but the best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft agley…

When I had last been to see my parents, just after New Year’s, my father had been suffering from some sort of stomach bug. A low-grade fever and some pain in his lower tract: most likely the flu, my mother said.

Late that snowy morning, as the blizzard was tapering off to flurries with about seven inches already on the ground, I heard a rumbling on the driveway, and then a banging on the front door. It was my neighbor Jimmy Mawyer, who had driven down the driveway through the woods in his four-wheel-drive pickup.

When I opened the door Jimmy said, “Your mother called the post office. Your father has cancer. He’s in the hospital, and she says wants you to come home as soon as possible.”

So it wasn’t the flu after all.

Jimmy and I discussed the logistics of how I could get out of there. I had an old rear-wheel drive station wagon (a 1971 AMC Hornet, for the car buffs among you). I could have filled up the deck with cinderblocks or something, but still, it was going to be rough getting out of there.

I had parked facing out, so Jimmy backed up his truck to just in front of the car while I packed a bag with my necessities. He hooked a chain onto the frame behind the front bumper, and when I was ready, he had me let out the clutch while he pulled me down the driveway. I kept gunning it to try and keep from fishtailing, and we somehow made it to the road without whacking me into any trees. He stopped on a straight stretch, unhitched the chain, and wished me the best of luck. Then I set out for Maryland.

The most direct route out of here goes up and down some major hills before crossing a creek. When conditions were slick — and especially in a rear-wheel drive vehicle — I used to take what I called “the flat route”, a roundabout way that stuck to the ridgelines and avoided steep gradients and sharp curves. It added about ten miles to the trip, but it made it possible to get out. The road hadn’t been plowed yet; all I had were the tracks of the four-wheelers to help me out.

My memory of that trip is of a blurry nightmare. I remember that I came across a fellow motorist who had slid into the ditch about a mile from my driveway. It was on a slight downhill grade, so I eased off the gas and touched the brake very lightly as the car coasted to a stop. I got out and helped him push his car out of the ditch, and then got back in the station wagon and started down that hill oh so carefully, and then up the other side.

When I arrived at the main road, it had been plowed, so conditions were better. But there was still a packed sheet of glaze on the pavement, so it was nerve-wracking. You go thirty miles an hour and do your very best to keep from ever touching the brake.

The most frightening moment was when I was still on the two-lane state road, before I got to the major highway. As I rounded a bend I saw a big dog walking across the road in front of me. It took all of my willpower to leave the brake alone, accelerate to bring my center of gravity forward as I swerved, and remember the mantra: “Turn in the direction of the skid.”

Somehow I got past that dog without wrecking or ending up sideways in a ditch. After that it was easier — I got to the main highway, and although it was in bad shape, it was better than anything I’d been on before. As I went further north the snow got deeper, and the plows had left larger snowbanks on either side. The snowfall had ceased soon after I left the house, and I remember the sky clearing at sunset as I crossed the Potomac.

A trip that should have taken three hours took almost eight. I arrived at my parents’ house after dark, parked on the street, and trudged through the drifts to embrace my distraught mother.

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I stayed at my mother’s for several days and went to see my father in the hospital a few times before returning to Virginia to keep the pipes from freezing (they did freeze once during that period, but fortunately it wasn’t serious). I kept driving back and forth to Maryland every few days as my father’s condition worsened.

He had a galloping form of abdominal cancer, and it was just over three weeks from the day he was diagnosed until the day he died. He seemed resigned to his fate — his own father had died of cancer, and it was what he had always feared. He was a few years younger than I am now, and otherwise in good health. But it was his time.

He was in terrible pain for the last couple of weeks. In those days they didn’t give cancer patients opiates, so all he got was Demerol, which barely even touched the pain of what was eating away at his bowel.

I had been a few days at my mother’s house for the death vigil when the call came in at three o’clock in the morning — doesn’t it always happen at that time? — that my father had died. The following night it snowed again, this time a foot (31 cm) of the stuff. But it warmed up afterwards, and we were able to shovel the cars out and arrange the memorial service a few days later.

That winter was a rough patch for me. I was in my late twenties, so it wasn’t as bad as it would have been in, say, my teens. But, still… I hadn’t expected to lose my daddy so soon, and it was hard.

The following spring, when the weather was warm and beautiful, we carried his ashes up to Yankeeland and interred them in the family plot. As a side effect of that trip, I met Dymphna, and you all know how that turned out. But we’ll leave that for another story in another fundraiser.

There was so much snow that winter that I had no trouble finishing the painting. It turned out fairly well. When I look at now — I never attempted to sell it — a bittersweet aura hangs over it, the memory of a time that had promised to be one thing, but turned into something else.

Many years ago a good friend of mine wrote a song that included this lyric:

Jesus said it came to pass.
He didn’t say it came to stay.

I guess I’ll leave it at that.

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That’s it for our winter fundraiser. We’ll be back in the early spring to do it all over again, except the weather will probably be nicer. A big thank-you goes out to everyone who participated.

Dymphna’s Saturday Update: Nor’easter or Plain Ol’ Blizzard?

Okay, y’all, we’re rounding the curve and headed for the end of this Quarterly Fundraiser.

If you’re reading this and haven’t yet donated, please do so. Think of it as your contribution to the pushback against Ugly and Loathsome Events. We can’t prevent them yet, but we can squish ’em some. But not without your generous help. (You can use this new link.)

As long as our donors continue their largesse, we continue to avoid ads on our pages. All the majors and many of the minors are chock-a-block with scripts and moving ads now. They make my eyes jump, and Ad Block has become of limited help. On my laptop I’ve taken to using a piece of card stock to cover the ones that are distractions.

Save us from this awful fate!

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To paraphrase the Middle English round: Winter is icumen in.

All the birds have fled, but the shortest day of the year isn’t quite here yet. You can sure enough feel its cold breath on your neck, though.

Every year people predict that this here particular winter will be the worst. There are indeed some “worst” ones, but like real estate, it’s all about location, location, location. Some years we get buried repeatedly; other years we never even need our road plowed.

When I lived in North Carolina we called those rare winter storms with a foot of snow and lots of wind a “blizzard”. But when I moved to New England the term “nor’easter” was the usual designation for the white-outs into which only a fool or someone with a life-or-death situation would venture out into with his rear-wheel-drive car. Chains helped a little.

I was a snow newbie back then, so the New England designation intrigued me. In the days before the internet, the reference sections in libraries were a good place to learn. I intuited that the frenzies of snow must have something to do with the Canadian cold weather systems endemic to the area (they made for wonderful New England summers to my southern-parched soul) but it wasn’t until I read about — and remembered again — the Gulf Stream, which hugs the eastern coast and makes its way around the world, that nor’easters finally made sense. They are born of the clash between extremes of weather systems created by those two factors: the cold jet stream pushing down from Canada meets the warm waters of the Gulf Stream hugging the eastern seaboard. It makes you wonder what god the Greeks would have assigned to such titanic clashes.

Having lived through some fearsome winters, the nor’easters seemed to me to be winter hurricanes, but of course, they weren’t, not really. Hurricanes smashed houses, ripped up thousands of trees, and disappeared small towns and barrier islands. They caused the Spanish to abandon the colonization of Western Florida. Hurricanes carry their victims out to sea; nor’easters and blizzards bury them in snow. The frozen stuff is wicked, but hurricanes are evil. The Florida panhandle will be years recovering from Michael’s devastation this year. They’ll probably retire his name. And Sandy wrecked the coast along New York, not to mention the long-term damage from Katrina in 2005. New Orleans is below sea level to begin with, so that whole area is still affected more than a decade later.

The Wikipedia entry provides the simple explanation for us non-meteorologists:

Nor’easters develop in response to the sharp contrast in the warm Gulf Stream ocean current coming up from the tropical Atlantic and the cold air masses coming down from Canada. When the very cold and dry air rushes southward and meets up with the warm Gulf stream current, which is often near 70 °F (21 °C) even in mid-winter, intense low pressure develops.

In the upper atmosphere, the strong winds of the jet stream remove and replace rising air from the Atlantic more rapidly than the Atlantic air is replaced at lower levels; this and the Coriolis force help develop a strong storm. The storm tracks northeast along the East Coast, normally from North Carolina to Long Island, then moves toward the area east of Cape Cod. Counterclockwise winds around the low-pressure system blow the moist air over land. The relatively warm, moist air meets cold air coming southward from Canada. The low increases the surrounding pressure difference, which causes the very different air masses to collide at a faster speed. When the difference in temperature of the air masses is larger, so is the storm’s instability, turbulence, and thus severity.

The nor’easters taking the East Coast track usually indicates the presence of a high-pressure area in the vicinity of Nova Scotia. Sometimes a nor’easter will move slightly inland and bring rain to the cities on the coastal plain (New York City, Philadelphia, Baltimore, etc.) and snow in New England (Boston northward). It can move slightly offshore, bringing a wet snow south of Boston to Richmond, Virginia, or even parts of the Carolinas. Such a storm will rapidly intensify, tracking northward and following the topography of the East Coast, sometimes continuing to grow stronger during its entire existence. A nor’easter usually reaches its peak intensity while off the Canadian coast. The storm then reaches Arctic areas, and can reach intensities equal to that of a weak hurricane. It then meanders throughout the North Atlantic and can last for several weeks.

North America is a huge continent. There is no “safe space” from weather extremes. Generally, in Virginia we get weather from the west, though hurricanes are an exception; they can come up from the Gulf inland (not usually so bad, though Camille was a mortal exception) or more commonly the Atlantic versions that barrel up the coast. Not having lived through the spring and summer tornadoes of the Midwest, I’ve no great desire to experience the real thing. We have an occasional one in the summer here, but they are more likely to be short-lived, narrow micro-bursts rather than the Kansas-sized monsters that ride over the plains. Don’t you wonder how native Indians survived them? It’s not as though they had tornado cellars.

Europe is more fortunate in its climate. Snow and rain, yes, but few disasters. I always thought that might be the case, and the wiki entry above agrees:

In Europe, similar weather systems with such severity are hardly possible; the moisture content of the clouds is usually not high enough to cause flooding or heavy snow, though NE winds can be strong.

So… is Europe a meteorological safe space?? Will our snowflakes move there?

I’d say my interest in weather phenomena was a function of getting older, but the myriad ways the winds blow has always fascinated me. However, it’s much more interesting to read about events rather than live through them. Definitely a spectator sport.

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Lots of donations blew in yesterday. The B keeps careful track of their origins:

Stateside: California, Connecticut, Florida, Georgia, Idaho, Illinois, North Carolina, Oregon, Tennessee, and Virginia

Far Abroad: Hungary, New Zealand, and the UK

Canada: Newfoundland, and Ontario

Australia: Australian Capital Territory, Queensland, and Victoria

He’ll be back for the final update tomorrow.

The Baron’s Friday Update: All the Leaves Are Brown

We’ve hit a rough patch in the fundraiser.

This has happened from time to time in the past, and we’ve always weathered them before — things eventually pick up.

It’s like the snow we had on Wednesday (or the snow that’s predicted for Sunday): for a while it’s a real blizzard, and then without warning it all fades out, with just a flake or two drifting by.

The ebb and flow of donations is a stochastic process. It’s not easy to determine what causes the sudden shifts.

Maybe we should call it “Schrödinger’s Tip Jar”…?

Continue reading

Twelve Inches and Counting

UPDATE: from the weather forecast at 11:00 p.m.

Heavy snow has ended, however, periods of light snow or
freezing drizzle will continue overnight, mixed with sleet at
times. Additional snow accumulations of an inch or two, along
with a light glaze of ice.

Hope our electricity continues…

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Snow on the driveway, December 9, 2018

No, this isn’t an anatomy lesson.

That foot of snow is the level of our current snowstorm – deceptively gentle, almost no wind at all. But it’s a heavy snow and it may snap our connection to civilization, which means we won’t be able to moderate comments. Those lines coming down the mountain are probably sagging by now.

This is one we won’t be digging out of quickly but will have to wait a few days for the warmer air to bring the depth down to plowable levels (our snow man’s plow is dependable up to about six inches).

Tragedies so far: a missing snow cap and a discarded snow broom. How was I to know that raggedy ol’ thing was what the B needed because it didn’t scratch the car?