Snow Fell on Alabama

There's a rare mingling of sensations with a new-fallen snow.  Fresh yet familiar.  Excitement mixed with a remarkable quiet.

And every time feels like the first time.

Only a few things in life are like that, I think.  Christmas is like that.  The day you feel the first hint of fall in the air.  Sunsets are a bit like that. The beginning of college football each year is like that for me.

And here in the South, snow is like that.

After many letdowns and missed predictions the past two weeks, we finally got a beautiful, snowman-able snow on Wednesday.  And it was even more than they had predicted.  (I like to think of our local weather forecasters in terms of a Dos Equis commercial: "We don't always correctly predict when it's going to snow, but when we do, we severely underestimate the amount.")

It began around 2 o'clock in the afternoon and by sunset (when I went out to measure) we had nearly seven inches.  It continued to snow, though a bit lighter, until I went to bed.  My guesstimate would be we got around 9 inches.

So deep it was that I didn't go into work Thursday morning.  Anyone who knows me knows it takes an act of Congress for me to miss work.  (OK, so I actually did go in for about two hours around lunch.  Apparently there was a filibuster.)

Here are a few pics from our veritable winter wonderland...

"In the lane, snow is glistenin'..."

Where there's snow, there must be snow creme.

This looked like a postcard, except with poorer resolution.  Much, much poorer.

Hard to believe in a month, this yard will be covered with grass. And mosquitoes.

With apologies to Arthur Miller, I call this one "Death of a Snowman." (Biff Snowman?)

I'm sure it's comical for those in northern climes to see how we in the South react to snow.  Schools close.  Roads close.  (All roads were deemed impassable sometime Wednesday evening.)  Heck, even the Walmart closed this time.

People scurry to the store to stock up on milk, bread, and eggs like it's 1848 and they're at Independence, Missouri, stocking up the wagon for the arduous, months-long trip to the Willamette Valley.

And then there's the driving.

One guy had gotten stuck attempting to back out of his driveway.  This idiot had foregone shoveling any snow and somehow maneuvered his car to where it was now nearly perpendicular to the driveway.  So he was out there shoveling (It was more of a spade, really.  I mean, let's call a spade a spade, eh?) and had some poor woman out there attempting to help him, except she was using a garden hoe.  I can only assume she felt sorry for the hopeless sap.

It's not difficult to imagine every single person that passed during that twenty-minute ordeal were laughing heartily.

As for me, I didn't laugh.  But I was pret-ty sore the next day from all the shoveling.

"Forty-six, anechoic / Forty-seven, blown from polar fur / Forty-eight, vanishing world / Forty-nine, mistral despair..."

Music Monday: Winter plods on

Alas, with football out of the way, now there is nothing.  Winter plods on.  And will for six more weeks, that is if you're inclined to believe a rodent from the Quaker state, or the creator of the Gregorian calendar.

Most of the things that have been on my mind to write are rather heavy.  I feel I'm in danger of entering the blog equivalent of Picasso's Blue Period, except with less fame.  Some fame, just less.

Wanting to ward that off for your benefit, I offer instead some lighthearted fare.

For once the Super Bowl was, well, super.  I actually had a nice little Super Bowl party, for one.  But it was catered.  By Domino's.

Everyone's talking about "the call."  Might I suggest Seattle change its name from the Seahawks to Mitt Romney?  That way, the next time they decide not to run, no one will be all that upset.

And can we stop making the Super Bowl commercials "a thing?"  They're annoyingly lacking in creativity and let's be honest, they've been going downhill for the past five years or more.  Which, strangely, is not unlike this blog.

Making it worse, I felt like the ads were super depressing this year -- childhood deaths, Cats in the Cradle, Jeff Bridges trying to salvage a once-passable career by begging people to visit his new website.  Thank God for Doritos and Lindsay Lohan!  Which, strangely, is not the first time I've uttered that sentence -- or as I usually refer to it -- sincere prayer of thanksgiving.

Speaking of Lindsay Lohan, why must the Super Bowl always make you think of your ex-girlfriend, amirite?

At least January has abated.  February isn't worlds better, but it's short and close to March.  I mean, it's not related to March or anything, but they know each other.  January and March have never even met.

I was involved in a 20-some-odd email thread about General Hospital today, so things are looking up.  I mean, what if Fluke really is the old Luke and he was hallucinating and fighting with himself in the basement?!?!  What if Helena has brainwashed him like she has Jake/Jason?  I know, but then why would Eckert's grave be empty?  Unless real Luke wanted to throw everybody off.  But then why did he seem so upset when the grave was dug up?  I can't take it!

Oh, and Harper Lee is releasing a new book!  I can think of no better news than that for a cold winter's day.

This week's Music Monday offering is one I've had on repeat quite a bit the past few weeks.  It's by Adam Cohen, who is the son of Leonard Cohen.  The lyrics just kill me.  Every time.



"I know the kind of thing that makes you laugh / The way you tilt your head for a photograph / What other guy knows you like that?"

These are the great snows of my life

Another week, another blizzard.

Sunday night brought eight inches of snow to our sleepy town. I feel like I'm getting used to the snow -- like this is the new norm. Monday morning, I drove into work for half a day. There were literally only two other cars on the road. I thought I did fairly well considering my limited previous experience (which includes both a 270-degree spin as well as the mailbox incident). I suppose I have to credit my new-found snowy-road driving skills to the DK Summit Course on Mario Kart.

I've made snow creme, a snowman (aka "got my Frosty on), and a snow angel, thrown snow balls, had hot chocolate, and attempted to go sledding on a knee board (didn't work). I'm not sure what more I can do, aside from building a cozy fire. And the last time I tried that the landlord seemed a little perturbed.

Do you have any idea how rare it is for us to have two snowman-able snows in one winter? It hasn't happened in over four thousand years. OK, maybe not that long, but I can't recall it ever happening. Of course, I also can't recall what I had for supper last night, so take that as you will.

It has gotten me to thinking about significant snows of the past that I've experienced. The first one that came to mind was the ice storm of '85.

I'm pretty sure it was a Thursday or Friday morning in late January or early February. I was eleven and still living with my parents at the time. The power went out very early. I remember lying in bed and hearing these thunderous, window-rattling booms and seeing what looked like green lightning through the windows. I thought it must literally be thunder, but Dad said that the transformers were exploding.

Dad had to go to work regardless. They had a generator where he worked, and since we had no power or heat, he loaded us all in the car -- Mom, my sister and me -- and off we went. We didn't get far.

What looked like six or seven inches of peaceful, unblemished snow turned out to be several inches of snow covered with a thick, solid sheet of ice. Dad must not have known that because as soon as he backed out of the carport, the old Monte Carlo hit the ice and skidded straight into the ditch. A cop with tire chains pulled us out, I think, and carried Dad on into work. Fortunately, that's the only time I ever saw Dad carried away in a patrol car.

I don't remember how long we were without power, but I don't think more than a day. Of course, living in town we were among the first to get power back. Others went without it for days. I do distinctly remember the power coming back on before the cable did and playing Combat on the Atari 2600 for hours. The rest of that extended weekend was spent playing in the snow and ice. It was so slick you could have about sledded uphill.

I fully expected to be out of school for a couple of days -- by the end of the weekend, most everything had melted -- but then we wound up being out of school for at least two more days the next week, too. Counting Saturday and Sunday, we were out of school for five or six days straight. Talk about hitting the snow-day lottery.

It is true that the South completely shuts down with even an inch or two of snow. But never in my life were things shut down for as long as they were during the ice storm of '85. I've never seen anything like it before or since.

"I wonder if she thinks about Jackson Hole. Nights beside the fire and angels in the snow..."

A splendid splinter (with apologies to Ted Williams)

I was talking to someone the other day about the weather. (Don't worry, things will start to pick up here in a minute.) They made a remark about how they couldn't believe we were already having summer-like weather.

That really stuck with me, you know. Mainly because I don't talk to that many people.

We have been having gorgeous weather the past few days, but it's not here to stay quite yet. It must have been 80 here yesterday, but the high tomorrow is only supposed to be 48.

So I started thinking. I've never really considered March a winter month. Yet it only gets like 10 days of technical spring. So what is it? Maybe we need a new term for the period between winter and spring.

In my head, I started calling it splinter, obviously combining spring and winter. I thought it pure brilliance, and could already see the Wikipedia entry for it forming in my head:

Splinter
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Splinter is a term given to the period of time comprising the end of winter and beginning of spring. Also roughly equivalent to the month of March in the northern hemisphere. It is usually characterized by drastic swings in temperature, and often features days of spring-like weather followed by days of winter weather. The term was first used by Bone, an early 21st Century blogger, whose lifetime goal [citation needed] it was to have his own Wikipedia entry.

For other uses, see Splinter (disambiguation).

My brain continued to percolate, as I thought of words like spummer, autner and the seemingly oxymoronic summall. I was smiling to myself at yet another ingenious idea when it hit me:

There is no L in winter or spring.

It should be sprinter, not splinter. Why did I put an L in there? It's a wonder I even remember to stand on my head every morning and contact the home planet. But of course, sprinter just doesn't have the same zing as splinter. And since I'm inventing the word anyway, I'm going to continue to call it splinter.

I've been having a splendid splinter. Monday, I celebrated National Napping Day with a solid 90 minute siesta. Yesterday I played golf with some guy from Memphis, who asked if he could join us on the 3rd hole. I fought the urge to ask if he'd ever been to Graceland--it seemed kinda cheesy, plus I'm sure he gets that all the time--but it wasn't easy.

To top things off, last night I figured out that my Blackberry has speakerphone. Sixteen months and I'm still learning new things. Sometimes I get the feeling it has a thousand functions and I know how to use like four.

This new time is scratching me right where I itch. It has really brought me out of my winter hibernation. There just seems to be more... daylight or something. I've been relaxing. Sort of drifting aimlessly. Taking it easy. If I were a radio station, I would be easy listening. If I were a lipstick, I'd be easy, breezy, beautiful Cover Girl. If I were an Eagles song, I'd be... hmm, can't think of one.

To recap, I have just composed an entire post about a non-existent semi-season featuring my very own fake Wikipedia entry while also managing to compare myself to lipstick. I'd call that a full splinter's day.

"I've got seven women on my mind. Four that wanna own me, two that wanna stone me, one says she's a friend of mine..."

Bone snores on

Hello, you've reached Bone's blog. Bone is unable to blog right now because, well, it's January. You know the drill.

BEEP!

I tried to ward off the Januarys this year. I really did. The trip to New Orleans helped, for a few days. But alas, the Januarys have returned, as they invariably do.

Jan. You. Wary.

It gets dark too early for me to golf. College football is over. The Hills is over. And I didn't get a New Year's kiss for the second year in a row. But mostly, The Hills is over.

Plus, it's freaking cold. I don't want to get out of bed in the morning. And all I want to do after work is come home and crawl under the covers where it's warm. I have, however, been running most any day that the temperature gets above forty. That's because I somehow managed to gain eight pounds over the holidays. And I would like to maintain my 33 waist so that I don't have to start buying 34's, rubbing off the 34 and writing in 33.

A typical January day for me goes something like this: Work. Come home. Put on pajama pants. Crawl into bed or lie on the couch and watch TV or a DVD. Go running. Shower. Fix supper. Crawl back into bed or lie on the couch and watch TV or a DVD.

How is that different from my routine the rest of the year? Well I'm glad you asked. My typical non-January day goes something like this: (And to make it easier for you, I've bolded any significant differences.) Work. Come home. Lounge in boxer shorts. Get on the computer. Go running. Shower. Fix supper. Get back on the computer.

So as you can see, it's quite different. I have a very full life. It's very full. Last night alone, I watched four episodes of The Office. I also used my iTunes gift card to purchase the timeless classic "Push It" by Salt-n-Pepa. I know, I couldn't believe I didn't already have it either!

The return of 24 has helped a little to ease the discontent of my winter. Jack Bauer is back. And having Tony Almeida return from being presumed dead was an unexpected bonus this season. I kinda miss doing my 24 recaps. I thought of so many hilarious (to me) asides while watching this week. Maybe I'll start live blogging it. Then again, that's kinda tough to do without a laptop, and without leaving the couch.

But don't cry for me. For January is but February's eve. And February brings Groundhog Day, my birthday and of course, Valentine's Day. No, I don't like Valentine's Day but it's something to blog about at least. Besides, not having a date on New Year's Eve is kind of a bummer. Not having a date on Valentine's Day is almost a relief.

Sure, February is still cold, but it's short. It's only like twenty days or something. After that is March (you know, in case you forgot the order of the months). And from there, it shant be long until I have warmth, I have fun, I have seasons in the sun.

For now, January doth toil on. I think it's safe to say that I would hibernate the entire month of January, if I were a bear. Also if I didn't have to pee every three to eight hours.

"All the leaves are brown and the sky is gray. I've been for a walk on a winter's day. I'd be safe and warm, if I was in L.A."