Category Archives: Cool weather

On freezing weather

Posted on by

In central Texas, we are all freezing to death. After weeks and weeks, months and months of scorching days and 100 degree days, we are floundering in a morass of cold, rainy, freezing rain days and nights. By Minnesota standards this is not cold weather, but if you compare the relative coldness compared to our normal temperatures, we are really hurting. Even last Wednesday we were still in our shirt sleeves, no coats or hats, no sweaters or gloves–it was almost 80F on that day. The next day, however, was another story as temperatures plunged sixty degrees into the upper twenties. Perhaps if the temperatures had slowly gone down, bit by bit, we might have gotten used to the changing temperatures, and it wouldn’t have felt so cold. Since then, we have been walking around bundled up like a bunch of errant Michelin Men, dressed in multiple layers, hunting for our seldom used hats and our dusty gloves. We lean into the bitter northwest wind as if this will make it hurt less. We pull back into our coats like scared turtles, trying to stay warm. Perhaps if the wind were less biting, or the damp air less frigid, then we might have a chance against the cold air. So we go about our daily duties, off to work, walking to class, cutting across campus to get a cup of coffee, pretending that we are not freezing to death. Perhaps the best way to get used to the cold is to spend some time out in it? Living in the blazing temperatures of central Texas exacts a high toll: we are no longer any good at dealing with a cold day. We are wimps.

On freezing weather

Posted on by

In central Texas, we are all freezing to death. After weeks and weeks, months and months of scorching days and 100 degree days, we are floundering in a morass of cold, rainy, freezing rain days and nights. By Minnesota standards this is not cold weather, but if you compare the relative coldness compared to our normal temperatures, we are really hurting. Even last Wednesday we were still in our shirt sleeves, no coats or hats, no sweaters or gloves–it was almost 80F on that day. The next day, however, was another story as temperatures plunged sixty degrees into the upper twenties. Perhaps if the temperatures had slowly gone down, bit by bit, we might have gotten used to the changing temperatures, and it wouldn’t have felt so cold. Since then, we have been walking around bundled up like a bunch of errant Michelin Men, dressed in multiple layers, hunting for our seldom used hats and our dusty gloves. We lean into the bitter northwest wind as if this will make it hurt less. We pull back into our coats like scared turtles, trying to stay warm. Perhaps if the wind were less biting, or the damp air less frigid, then we might have a chance against the cold air. So we go about our daily duties, off to work, walking to class, cutting across campus to get a cup of coffee, pretending that we are not freezing to death. Perhaps the best way to get used to the cold is to spend some time out in it? Living in the blazing temperatures of central Texas exacts a high toll: we are no longer any good at dealing with a cold day. We are wimps.

On ice fog and winter football

Posted on by

The weather in central Texas has been a little bizarre this week. Don’t get me wrong, on Tuesday it was almost eighty, but today, Saturday, the high was twenty-seven, resulting in the rare, if not weird, phenomenon of ice fog–fog that forms when the dew point is below thirty-two. All of this on the day when Baylor football finally won the the Big XII title outright and closed, once and for all, its old football stadium, which is scheduled for demolition sometime during 2014. Has Hell finally frozen over? Everybody is asking. The football game was played under Minnesota rules–temperatures well below freezing, a wicked wind blowing from the northwest, flurries. Is there a colder past-time than watching a football game under winter conditions? The ice fog was testimony to frozen toes, numb fingers, and cold noses. The second game of the season, back in September, was played in the sun and the on-field temperatures had to be above 120F, so today, the last game at Floyd Casey Stadium, Baylor played a game at about a hundred fewer degrees than that. Ice crystals hanging in the air made the night a memorable one, to be sure.

On ice fog and winter football

Posted on by

The weather in central Texas has been a little bizarre this week. Don’t get me wrong, on Tuesday it was almost eighty, but today, Saturday, the high was twenty-seven, resulting in the rare, if not weird, phenomenon of ice fog–fog that forms when the dew point is below thirty-two. All of this on the day when Baylor football finally won the the Big XII title outright and closed, once and for all, its old football stadium, which is scheduled for demolition sometime during 2014. Has Hell finally frozen over? Everybody is asking. The football game was played under Minnesota rules–temperatures well below freezing, a wicked wind blowing from the northwest, flurries. Is there a colder past-time than watching a football game under winter conditions? The ice fog was testimony to frozen toes, numb fingers, and cold noses. The second game of the season, back in September, was played in the sun and the on-field temperatures had to be above 120F, so today, the last game at Floyd Casey Stadium, Baylor played a game at about a hundred fewer degrees than that. Ice crystals hanging in the air made the night a memorable one, to be sure.

On the smell of burning leaves

Posted on by

This is a nostalgia piece, and normally I hate nostalgia because it conjures a false image of the past that never existed, but this topic might be a little different because it has to do the master of memories, a strong evocative smell. When I was a kid, we had huge trees around our house, so we also had a lot of leaves on the ground in October and November. We raked the brown and yellow and red leaves into enormous piles which at some point we would burn. Today, of course, you can’t burn your leaves without the police and fire department showing up to raise hell with you, and to be honest, it is air pollution. Having an open fire on your property or in the street is totally illegal. Back in the day, if my memory serves me right, back in the sixties, we would burn our leaves each fall, and an almost magic smoke would fill the air. Both acrid and sweet, the smoke had an incredibly rich smell which evokes for me other times and other places, people, seasons, short days, crisp nights, bare trees, incipient winter. The fallen leaves, the burning leaves, were announcing the changing season. I was so much younger then, younger than anyone really has a right to be. When I accidentally smell that smell today, the memories just wash over me like a huge unexpected wave. That nostalgia plumbs the depths of innocence as you warm your cold hands over the flames of memory. Sparks fly up and away in the darkness, children smile and watch the flames, chatting about nothing, but the bonds of those times are strong even though all of that–the burning leaves–is gone, up in smoke, a mirage lost in the past of another lifetime, another country. They say the past is a place to which we will never return, but the memories conjured by those potent and pungent smells assail us in ways we cannot ignore. The burning leaves of our pasts are still there, still burning, and the poetry that we wrote then, inspired by those people, places and events, will always return us to the past when we catch just the slightest wisp of smoke.

On the smell of burning leaves

Posted on by

This is a nostalgia piece, and normally I hate nostalgia because it conjures a false image of the past that never existed, but this topic might be a little different because it has to do the master of memories, a strong evocative smell. When I was a kid, we had huge trees around our house, so we also had a lot of leaves on the ground in October and November. We raked the brown and yellow and red leaves into enormous piles which at some point we would burn. Today, of course, you can’t burn your leaves without the police and fire department showing up to raise hell with you, and to be honest, it is air pollution. Having an open fire on your property or in the street is totally illegal. Back in the day, if my memory serves me right, back in the sixties, we would burn our leaves each fall, and an almost magic smoke would fill the air. Both acrid and sweet, the smoke had an incredibly rich smell which evokes for me other times and other places, people, seasons, short days, crisp nights, bare trees, incipient winter. The fallen leaves, the burning leaves, were announcing the changing season. I was so much younger then, younger than anyone really has a right to be. When I accidentally smell that smell today, the memories just wash over me like a huge unexpected wave. That nostalgia plumbs the depths of innocence as you warm your cold hands over the flames of memory. Sparks fly up and away in the darkness, children smile and watch the flames, chatting about nothing, but the bonds of those times are strong even though all of that–the burning leaves–is gone, up in smoke, a mirage lost in the past of another lifetime, another country. They say the past is a place to which we will never return, but the memories conjured by those potent and pungent smells assail us in ways we cannot ignore. The burning leaves of our pasts are still there, still burning, and the poetry that we wrote then, inspired by those people, places and events, will always return us to the past when we catch just the slightest wisp of smoke.

On fake ice (skating)

Posted on by

The city of Waco, Texas, in an attempt to create the simulacra of winter has installed a fake ice rink in the downtown area in order to make people think that it is winter. Today, it was a sunny 72F in central Texas–no winter here, not even a fake one. Apparently, you can skate on this “fake” or plastic ice, but it can’t be the same as skating on frozen water where the pressure of the skate blade creates a thin film of water upon which the blade slides, and as the skate passes, the water freezes again on the surface. The science of ice-skating is actually rather complex. There is also an element of violence in skating that damages the ice surface, so I can’t figure out how a plastic surface can duplicate that particular phenomenon. Plastic ice only functions with a synthetic silicone lubricant that allows the skater to move across the surface. Skates wear out more quickly, and the surface has to be cleaned more frequently. Ice is ice, and nothing can really take its place, no matter how closely the plastic surface simulates real skating. There is nothing like the real thing: ice-skating under the stars, frosty wind on your cheeks, ice glinting under the lights, skates gliding effortlessly over the frozen surface of the rink. Perhaps you are skating with a close friend, talking about nothing, frozen air filling your lungs, maybe a few errant flakes of snow dusting the surface and falling on your face. Plastic ice on a hot day in December doesn’t even come close to simulating those feelings.

On fake ice (skating)

Posted on by

The city of Waco, Texas, in an attempt to create the simulacra of winter has installed a fake ice rink in the downtown area in order to make people think that it is winter. Today, it was a sunny 72F in central Texas–no winter here, not even a fake one. Apparently, you can skate on this “fake” or plastic ice, but it can’t be the same as skating on frozen water where the pressure of the skate blade creates a thin film of water upon which the blade slides, and as the skate passes, the water freezes again on the surface. The science of ice-skating is actually rather complex. There is also an element of violence in skating that damages the ice surface, so I can’t figure out how a plastic surface can duplicate that particular phenomenon. Plastic ice only functions with a synthetic silicone lubricant that allows the skater to move across the surface. Skates wear out more quickly, and the surface has to be cleaned more frequently. Ice is ice, and nothing can really take its place, no matter how closely the plastic surface simulates real skating. There is nothing like the real thing: ice-skating under the stars, frosty wind on your cheeks, ice glinting under the lights, skates gliding effortlessly over the frozen surface of the rink. Perhaps you are skating with a close friend, talking about nothing, frozen air filling your lungs, maybe a few errant flakes of snow dusting the surface and falling on your face. Plastic ice on a hot day in December doesn’t even come close to simulating those feelings.

On walking in the shade

Posted on by

Summer, July, specifically, always reminds me of my eternal for shadow. The sun and I just don’t get along at all. Light snow and 27F and I’m happy. So today I’m out for my daily constitutional and it’s already pushing 90F really hard, there are no clouds in sight, and the early morning shade of the buildings is already in short supply. I move from tree to tree only the sidewalk, but the shade is quickly dwindling, and the white light of the sun beating down on the Castilian central mesa is brutal. At just around 2,030 feet of elevation, the air is just thin enough to let the sun fry you to a crisp if you let it. Since the average humidity is just under 30% on any given day in summer, the shade is a nice refuge from the sun–you feel warm, but you aren’t going to pass out from heat stroke either. You can even feel the breeze when you walk in the shade. The problem is, however, there isn’t enough shade to go around, and frequently the geometry between the angle of the sun and the orientation of the buildings is wrong, leaving you out in the sun. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no vampire, I can handle a little sun, but this is not the time of year to find out how much. Funny thing is that when you want a little heating from the sun–mid-January, let’s say–you can’t get it because of the low angle of the sun all day. The shade is the last refuge of the air-conditionally challenged. Sitting in the shade and drinking a nice, cold glass of lemonade is a fine thing do on a hot July day, but installing new sidewalk in the middle of the burning sunshine holds absolutely no interest for me. I saw lots of people working out in the sun this morning even before it was really hot, and none of them looked as if they were enjoying any of it. Things slow down in July precisely because there is not a enough shade to go around and everyone must share. The shade is lit by indirect light which means the bright whiteness of the day won’t hurt your eyes–colors are muted, shadows are deeper, a million shades of gray play off the multiple urban surfaces of the city. To sit in the shade on a hot summer day and do nothing but relax is a pleasure which must be experienced rather than narrated. When you have already been sweating, your mouth is dry, your head is hurting, you feel hot, and the shade is nowhere to be seen, summer seems incredibly cruel. I’ve been through cold, ice, and snow, biting winds, and bitter cold temperatures, but I’ve never felt worse than when I’ve had to work in the blazing sun with no respite in sight, sweat streaming down my face, running everywhere. There is something about the bright light, the heat, that hurts my soul, that makes me feel bad, that makes me want to stay inside, to forget my daily constitutional. Yet, walking outside is such an important part of good health, both mental and physical, that I must face my worst enemy and venture out into the sun, the light, the heat. Yes, I wear a hat, sunscreen, and that helps alleviate the heat, but it doesn’t make it go away. Only the earth, tilted on its axis, moving blindly around the sun, changing the angle of the sun, gives me any relief, but in the meantime, I will continue to walk in the shade.

On walking in the shade

Posted on by

Summer, July, specifically, always reminds me of my eternal for shadow. The sun and I just don’t get along at all. Light snow and 27F and I’m happy. So today I’m out for my daily constitutional and it’s already pushing 90F really hard, there are no clouds in sight, and the early morning shade of the buildings is already in short supply. I move from tree to tree only the sidewalk, but the shade is quickly dwindling, and the white light of the sun beating down on the Castilian central mesa is brutal. At just around 2,030 feet of elevation, the air is just thin enough to let the sun fry you to a crisp if you let it. Since the average humidity is just under 30% on any given day in summer, the shade is a nice refuge from the sun–you feel warm, but you aren’t going to pass out from heat stroke either. You can even feel the breeze when you walk in the shade. The problem is, however, there isn’t enough shade to go around, and frequently the geometry between the angle of the sun and the orientation of the buildings is wrong, leaving you out in the sun. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no vampire, I can handle a little sun, but this is not the time of year to find out how much. Funny thing is that when you want a little heating from the sun–mid-January, let’s say–you can’t get it because of the low angle of the sun all day. The shade is the last refuge of the air-conditionally challenged. Sitting in the shade and drinking a nice, cold glass of lemonade is a fine thing do on a hot July day, but installing new sidewalk in the middle of the burning sunshine holds absolutely no interest for me. I saw lots of people working out in the sun this morning even before it was really hot, and none of them looked as if they were enjoying any of it. Things slow down in July precisely because there is not a enough shade to go around and everyone must share. The shade is lit by indirect light which means the bright whiteness of the day won’t hurt your eyes–colors are muted, shadows are deeper, a million shades of gray play off the multiple urban surfaces of the city. To sit in the shade on a hot summer day and do nothing but relax is a pleasure which must be experienced rather than narrated. When you have already been sweating, your mouth is dry, your head is hurting, you feel hot, and the shade is nowhere to be seen, summer seems incredibly cruel. I’ve been through cold, ice, and snow, biting winds, and bitter cold temperatures, but I’ve never felt worse than when I’ve had to work in the blazing sun with no respite in sight, sweat streaming down my face, running everywhere. There is something about the bright light, the heat, that hurts my soul, that makes me feel bad, that makes me want to stay inside, to forget my daily constitutional. Yet, walking outside is such an important part of good health, both mental and physical, that I must face my worst enemy and venture out into the sun, the light, the heat. Yes, I wear a hat, sunscreen, and that helps alleviate the heat, but it doesn’t make it go away. Only the earth, tilted on its axis, moving blindly around the sun, changing the angle of the sun, gives me any relief, but in the meantime, I will continue to walk in the shade.