“Always Winter, Never Christmas”

The expression from C.S. Lewis’ The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe come to mind during this most Monday of months. It’s pretty enough in pictures, but I’m not alone in wishing all this dirty, slippery, weeks-old snow would melt away already. For my part, I don’t think I’ve seen snowpack on roads stick around this long since I lived in Anchorage.

This is what 1°F/-17C looks like. At least the freezing fog has already cleared out, allowing for a better warm-up than yesterday.

This is my son’s third winter with us. He says this will be remembered as the one with lots of freezing fog. It’s no joke for guys like him who spend a lot of their day on the road.

It’s like the aspen is photo-bombing the poplars. The trees were pretty this morning. Of course, everything looks prettier against a blue sky. Today was the first day in a while for that.

Yes, I’m fascinated by these icicles. You could kill a man with some of these things.

Someone from the city was kind enough to drop random piles of dirt along the southbound lane of my street, so we’ve got that.

On the way back to Monte from Alamosa, grooving to Led Zeppelin IV. I actually heard “Stairway to Heaven” for the first time in a long time driving with this view and I absolutely loved it. The entire album was nice to hear again. I was so afraid I’d fallen out of love with my old music. It turns out all I’d needed was a break.

Chillin’ Like Villains

Random observational trail mix on a cold trek through the Long Monday of the year.

Today’s edition of Operation Deep Freeze saw us topping yesterday’s high of 18°F at 21°F by 10 a.m., and as a bonus, we got full water pressure back in our kitchen sink for the first time since just after New Year’s Day when the temperature went down to minus 12 and froze the entire length of the pipe under the house. No leaks so far, knock on wood. We needed this win.

Any day with blue skies is a good one. Sadly, our more typical days are congested with solid sheets of the high clouds seen here. keeping things nice and bitter. Oh, but those clouds clear off in time for nightfall, to allow what heat there is to escape into space. I keep telling myself this annoying winter pattern is what will keep this place from overpopulating. I hope I’m right.

A few days ago I learned that Sunday, 13 January is celebrated as Twentieth Day in parts of Scandinavia. As in “On the 20th day of Christmas, we ate all the candy on the tree — then finally threw that fire hazard out!”

Again, I have trouble letting go of Christmas, and I concur entirely with George Orwell’s observation that the celebration is primarily a relief from what is generally the worst weather of the year, but TWENTY days of Christmas? Three days of this period in Norway were once mandated by law for special Jul (Yule) ale drinking, by the way. At least three farmers must be in attendance for this. If not possible, the lone farmer must set out mugs as if entertaining the others, and drink accordingly.

Did I mention this was once the law?

Me, I’m looking at 16 days post-alcohol. I miss it sometimes, but I can’t afford sacrificing those days after to recovery anymore.

As for the writing and everything else, what can I tell you but it’s one day at a time. One gray, cold, yet passing-way-too-quickly day at a time.

This Is Not the Day

I started out this day with guns blazing, with so many ideas, getting so many things started. Naturally, nothing was finished.

Is this the day I finally miss a posting? 

Nah. 

Here’s a photo of me demonstrating proper leftover candy cane disposal in a 20-ounce cup of black coffee.

We’ll try missing again tomorrow.

It’s Like This Sometimes a Lot

I don’t know where I found this screenshot—somewhere drinking and Internettin’ in the last couple of years, no doubt—but all credit and glory to its creator. It’s apropos to what I’m doing, or, more to the point, sometimes not doing.

Apropos of nothing, as of today I’ve been tobacco and alcohol free for two weeks. My son told me when he got home from work tonight that I look like I’ve got five years of my life back, that I no longer look so pale and drawn. I figured I probably look flush for all the coughing. My lungs feel like they’re taking most sadistic vengeance upon me for their abuse I inflicted upon them last year, but I’ll savor the irony knowing I’ll never have to go through this again. And that I’m at least looking better.

Also, I’m dreaming again. I hadn’t realized I hadn’t been dreaming all this time until just recently when I started having those vivid, ultra-realistic dreams before waking up like I used to have when I was much younger. I attribute that to alcohol withdrawal. It’s not a bad side effect. I had honestly forgotten what it was like to awaken from a weird dream, rising into consciousness as if breaking the surface of deepest, darkest waters, gasping at reality. All this time I’ve been missing out.

Nothing to do but finish this hot anti-flu powder mix drink and we’ll try this again in the morning. Here’s hoping for a suitably compelling dream to inspire me.

A Gray and Dark Sunday the 13th

I don’t think my son has left his room all day. He’s either real quiet with his techno-track building, or more likely been asleep the whole time. My wife was roused at half-past midnight by a vicious intestinal flu. She’s much better as of this evening but she’s spent the entire day in bed, grateful just to hold down fluids.

It was almost as if no one was here. This means I should get make some headway on The Wrong Kind of Dead before I call it an evening. Meanwhile, here’s some shots of this gray day with occasional flurries. At least it hasn’t been too cold here in the San Luis Valley. Just messy.

Two views of some really wicked ice-fangs.

Not quite Currier and Ives, but good enough for me.

Spooky, so named because he spooks very easily, and I always wanted a cat I could call Spooky. Not only has this kitten grown to full size since the summer, but grown fat.

All the ferals could probably stand to lose a few pounds. We’ll worry about that come warmer weather.

Naming the Dead

Chocolate 
Starlight
Caramel 
Midnight

Honey
(oh, &)
Rain 

(she told 
me later 
when she’d 
remembered)

I’m relieved
she could at least
remember their names 

returning from last night’s
sleepover she’d 
never missed those 
once-beloved toy
horses I took to the
thrift store today

Upon my return my wife asked
what was wrong and I said 
Don’t mind me, I just got 
back from burying 
our little girl

& she reminded 
me that those 
horses & so 
many other things
had been locked 
in that old toy chest
for a year already

& if I thought
what I did today was 
sad, consider that coffin 
of her childhood 
just taking up
space

among the eye-
liner & posters of spiky-
haired singers & semi-literate 
notes to girlfriends seasoned 
with shorthand like “OMFG!” 
(swearing of course 
that the “F” doesn’t mean 
what I know it effing means)...

My wife was
very understanding &
right to tell
me that things aren’t
standing still & they
shouldn’t & I really
need to keep up

so I nodded, later
laughing alone that 
night when I
realized this came 
at a time when
I don’t drink like
I used to

not that I
need booze
to waste time
wondering if
those horses will get 
new names
should they find

new mistresses to
love them forever
or six months to a
year before 
moving 
on

so I lift my
two and only
beers to the 
little plastic 
horses

which have at
least a chance 
of a 
future 

as opposed to

that clever &
affectionate 
little child
whose lifeless
pieces

I dropped into 
the donations 
bin

long may you 
run

From the forthcoming collection Nymphomagic Electroshock and Other Middle-Aged Complaints.
Copyright © 2006, 2019 by Lawrence Roy Aiken.

It’s Beginning To Look a Lot Like...January 11th

It’s nice to have a normal winter for a change. I’m also looking forward to taking showers and making sun tea this summer. It’s all connected.

This is the first time since I lived in Alaska that I’ve seen new snow fall on top of old snow that didn’t melt away because it was too crazy cold.

Yet for an early January snow, this came at a rare, warmer time, and the snow fell heavy and wet, as in spring. This works out, as we need all the wet stuff we can get. This won’t break the drought, but we’ll take it. 

Angel Puff navigates the socked-in driveway by hopping into my footprints.

Yeah, I know. I wore myself out shoveling the sidewalk, though. I’ll have to get the driveway tomorrow.

It looks as if she’s playfully batting at the snow but she’s springing into a hop across some unbroken spots.