Category Archives: ice

On ice fog and winter football

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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 a hypothetical snow day

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It is the eternal dream of all children, old and young, to get a day off from work and school because of bad winter weather. No, I don’t expect a foot of snow tomorrow, but it could ice up really good overnight which would make driving prohibitive, or at least very dangerous. Driving in snow isn’t easy, and you can slide around a bit, but driving on ice, well, just isn’t possible. If you have no friction between wheel and road, you don’t have any driving either–you just have lots of sliding, and sliding is bad in a two ton vehicle. The dream of a day off from the regular grind is more tantalizing than finding free money because even if you find free money, you still have to do something to enjoy it. A snow day is enjoyed by doing nothing more than staying home. You don’t have to get dressed, you can drink a second cup of coffee, you might take a nap or even read a book–watch an old movie, maybe. The hustle and bustle of December is stressful, but a snow day is a de-stressor, if such a thing exists. You can be completely passive to enjoy a snow day. No meetings, no classes, no problems, nothing to turn in, and since tomorrow is Friday, we would get a long weekend. This is way too good to be true. The freezing rain just hangs off to the west, shutting everything down in its path, but the truth is, nothing is falling in Waco. Oh, there’s a fine mist out there, but the ground is warm and the roads are still passable, so I suspect that my dream will not come true. Yet, wouldn’t it be lovely to get an extra day of vacation right when you most need it?

On a hypothetical snow day

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It is the eternal dream of all children, old and young, to get a day off from work and school because of bad winter weather. No, I don’t expect a foot of snow tomorrow, but it could ice up really good overnight which would make driving prohibitive, or at least very dangerous. Driving in snow isn’t easy, and you can slide around a bit, but driving on ice, well, just isn’t possible. If you have no friction between wheel and road, you don’t have any driving either–you just have lots of sliding, and sliding is bad in a two ton vehicle. The dream of a day off from the regular grind is more tantalizing than finding free money because even if you find free money, you still have to do something to enjoy it. A snow day is enjoyed by doing nothing more than staying home. You don’t have to get dressed, you can drink a second cup of coffee, you might take a nap or even read a book–watch an old movie, maybe. The hustle and bustle of December is stressful, but a snow day is a de-stressor, if such a thing exists. You can be completely passive to enjoy a snow day. No meetings, no classes, no problems, nothing to turn in, and since tomorrow is Friday, we would get a long weekend. This is way too good to be true. The freezing rain just hangs off to the west, shutting everything down in its path, but the truth is, nothing is falling in Waco. Oh, there’s a fine mist out there, but the ground is warm and the roads are still passable, so I suspect that my dream will not come true. Yet, wouldn’t it be lovely to get an extra day of vacation right when you most need it?

On a frosty morning

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It happens so seldom in central Texas that a frost is worth noting. As a child in Minnesota, frosty nights were an everyday occurrence from September to May, but in the central Texas usually you can count them on one hand. A frosty night is a sign that time is passing, that the seasons are moving on, that another year is passing. Alone with one’s existential thoughts revolving around the nature of human purpose, a frosty night dashes reason and shreds any hope that one actually controls their own destiny. One is assailed by nostalgia and wistfulness for other times and other people when things seemed simpler. All of that is, of course, an illusion that keeps one from living more fully in the here and the now. One just tends to push all of the bad things into the back of the memory closet and leave them there. Frosty nights were made for warm jackets, maybe a hat, gloves. The problem being, of course, that more than eight months have gone by since I needed any of those things, and now I have no idea where they might be. One gets used to the heat, at least a little bit, and when it’s gone we complain bitterly. I don’t mind the cold, and I also find the cold a nice change from the monotony of the daily heat which is so common here during the year’s middle months. It is November, however, and if there is frost on the grass in the morning, I will be surprised. The heat seems like it will always be with me. On a frosty night you can see a million stars if you dare venture out, your breath condensing in the cold air as if it were so much strange smoke. The clouds are gone for a moment, and the heat of the day is drifting off into space. The stars, in their frosty heights, foreshadow the million tiny glittering ice crystals, ephemera, that will cover the lawn in the morning, shining coldly and brightly as we all go off to work, unable to stop and admire Nature’s handiwork. Grandes estrellas de escarcha vienen con el pez de sombra que abre el camino del alba.–Lorca

On a frosty morning

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It happens so seldom in central Texas that a frost is worth noting. As a child in Minnesota, frosty nights were an everyday occurrence from September to May, but in the central Texas usually you can count them on one hand. A frosty night is a sign that time is passing, that the seasons are moving on, that another year is passing. Alone with one’s existential thoughts revolving around the nature of human purpose, a frosty night dashes reason and shreds any hope that one actually controls their own destiny. One is assailed by nostalgia and wistfulness for other times and other people when things seemed simpler. All of that is, of course, an illusion that keeps one from living more fully in the here and the now. One just tends to push all of the bad things into the back of the memory closet and leave them there. Frosty nights were made for warm jackets, maybe a hat, gloves. The problem being, of course, that more than eight months have gone by since I needed any of those things, and now I have no idea where they might be. One gets used to the heat, at least a little bit, and when it’s gone we complain bitterly. I don’t mind the cold, and I also find the cold a nice change from the monotony of the daily heat which is so common here during the year’s middle months. It is November, however, and if there is frost on the grass in the morning, I will be surprised. The heat seems like it will always be with me. On a frosty night you can see a million stars if you dare venture out, your breath condensing in the cold air as if it were so much strange smoke. The clouds are gone for a moment, and the heat of the day is drifting off into space. The stars, in their frosty heights, foreshadow the million tiny glittering ice crystals, ephemera, that will cover the lawn in the morning, shining coldly and brightly as we all go off to work, unable to stop and admire Nature’s handiwork. Grandes estrellas de escarcha vienen con el pez de sombra que abre el camino del alba.–Lorca

On an endless winter

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Winter is a strange season. I look forward to the cool weather all summer. As a child I would get up every morning hoping for that first snow which might fall in the dark of night while all were asleep. The cold weather and snow would eventually show up, much to my delight, but by the first of March most everyone, including myself, would be tired of winter coats and boots, gloves and scarves, hats and mittens, our shielding from the icy cold of winter. One expects January and February to be ugly. That’s just the way it is in Minnesota in winter, but March is a different matter entirely, wildly unpredictable, windy, stormy, cold, warm, wet, muddy–a mess. It might warm up in March, but only to make you weep later when the winds of a St. Patrick’s Day storm blow cruelly across the plains. April is usually when things turn warm. Yes, you might get a little snow, but when the sun shines in April, the temperatures go up, the grass turns green, and the dandelions come out. Birds sing, the lilacs smell wonderful, and the trees begin to leaf out. This is a normal April: people get their gardens ready, the snow finally melts in the shadowy places, and people begin to put away the winter stuff. Going out without a jacket is pure pleasure, the snow is gone, and when precipitation falls, it isn’t frozen anymore. This is a normal April. The endless winter of 2013 has had the people of the midwest in chains for quite some time, adding insult to injury by dumping a foot of snow on the midwest on May 2nd. Winter just got ridiculous. It isn’t that I have never seen snow in May, but not a foot. When I was sixteen, I saw a couple of slushy inches fall on May 4th, but they were gone by noon, and that year had not been particularly problematic in terms of cold or snow. This year, the year that will be known as the year spring never arrived, has been the year of the endless winter. April has been brutal with a continuous string of snowfalls that have tested both the patience and the humor of the people in the Midwest. The winds have been icy, the snow deep, you can’t even see the grass, and trees are as bare now as they were by the end of November. The snow shoveling people have been over the moon, making money hand over fist. Cities have used up their supplies of sand and salt, and don’t have money for more. Snowplowing budgets have long since been in the red, and then a blizzard hit the central plains again, this time on the second day of May. Spring is now about a month and a half behind. The farmers are concerned about getting in their crops. Local high school baseball teams have been playing in the gym. Tennis players look longingly at snow-clogged courts and think whimsical thoughts of playing in the sun with sweat dripping down their faces. The grass, plastered under the snow, is brown and dormant, the dandelions are no where to be found. The normally warm, sunny air of May still blows mean and cold, the winter jackets hang wearily from the shoulders of the pale riders of daily life in Minnesota and Wisconsin, Colorado and Kansas, the Dakotas, Iowa. These people, who normally can tolerate a lot of bad weather, are weary, tired of the constant storms, the ice, the huge piles of snow. For now, the gardens go unplanted, prom goers must wear overcoats, slipping and sliding over the ice as they go to dance. The ravages of winter still litter the landscape, no trees have bloomed out, the corn crop is unplanted, and the white-tail deer are beginning to wonder if summer will ever come. In the meantime, the people begin to clear away the snow, again.

On an endless winter

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Winter is a strange season. I look forward to the cool weather all summer. As a child I would get up every morning hoping for that first snow which might fall in the dark of night while all were asleep. The cold weather and snow would eventually show up, much to my delight, but by the first of March most everyone, including myself, would be tired of winter coats and boots, gloves and scarves, hats and mittens, our shielding from the icy cold of winter. One expects January and February to be ugly. That’s just the way it is in Minnesota in winter, but March is a different matter entirely, wildly unpredictable, windy, stormy, cold, warm, wet, muddy–a mess. It might warm up in March, but only to make you weep later when the winds of a St. Patrick’s Day storm blow cruelly across the plains. April is usually when things turn warm. Yes, you might get a little snow, but when the sun shines in April, the temperatures go up, the grass turns green, and the dandelions come out. Birds sing, the lilacs smell wonderful, and the trees begin to leaf out. This is a normal April: people get their gardens ready, the snow finally melts in the shadowy places, and people begin to put away the winter stuff. Going out without a jacket is pure pleasure, the snow is gone, and when precipitation falls, it isn’t frozen anymore. This is a normal April. The endless winter of 2013 has had the people of the midwest in chains for quite some time, adding insult to injury by dumping a foot of snow on the midwest on May 2nd. Winter just got ridiculous. It isn’t that I have never seen snow in May, but not a foot. When I was sixteen, I saw a couple of slushy inches fall on May 4th, but they were gone by noon, and that year had not been particularly problematic in terms of cold or snow. This year, the year that will be known as the year spring never arrived, has been the year of the endless winter. April has been brutal with a continuous string of snowfalls that have tested both the patience and the humor of the people in the Midwest. The winds have been icy, the snow deep, you can’t even see the grass, and trees are as bare now as they were by the end of November. The snow shoveling people have been over the moon, making money hand over fist. Cities have used up their supplies of sand and salt, and don’t have money for more. Snowplowing budgets have long since been in the red, and then a blizzard hit the central plains again, this time on the second day of May. Spring is now about a month and a half behind. The farmers are concerned about getting in their crops. Local high school baseball teams have been playing in the gym. Tennis players look longingly at snow-clogged courts and think whimsical thoughts of playing in the sun with sweat dripping down their faces. The grass, plastered under the snow, is brown and dormant, the dandelions are no where to be found. The normally warm, sunny air of May still blows mean and cold, the winter jackets hang wearily from the shoulders of the pale riders of daily life in Minnesota and Wisconsin, Colorado and Kansas, the Dakotas, Iowa. These people, who normally can tolerate a lot of bad weather, are weary, tired of the constant storms, the ice, the huge piles of snow. For now, the gardens go unplanted, prom goers must wear overcoats, slipping and sliding over the ice as they go to dance. The ravages of winter still litter the landscape, no trees have bloomed out, the corn crop is unplanted, and the white-tail deer are beginning to wonder if summer will ever come. In the meantime, the people begin to clear away the snow, again.

On ice hockey

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If I had anything rational to say about this sport, I would say it, but I’m not going to do that. Ice hockey is a visceral experience that is enjoyed in some other part of the brain that has nothing to do with reason, logic, or higher patterns of thought. Use a stick to put the puck in a net, and knock down anyone who tries to stop you. Oh, and to make it interesting, we’re going to do this while skating a highly polished piece of ice and add eleven more guys (or girls) to the fray, just to make it interesting. I loved to play this game as a child with flashing blades of steel strapped to my feet, flying across the ice with murder in my heart and a rock hard puck at my feet. What’s even better, we arm all of the players with a nice long stick so they can move the puck, but they also have something with which they might hit the other players. This arrangement sounds perfect to me–perfect for mayhem, that is. Fist fights are common when someone breaks the rules, hits too hard, or plays a little dirty, all of which is expected at some point in almost every game. I never played in organized games or high school–I was the wrong shape and size: I was tall and skinny, which means my center of gravity was relatively high, which is bad for skating where you want your center of gravity as low as possible. I broke two watches playing pick up games in the park, and then I stopped wearing my watch when I played hockey. I played with my skinny friends while in college, and we had a good time knocking each other down. It is common for hockey players to have lost teeth, to have broken several bones, to have bad knees (ankles, shoulders, necks, etc.,), and to have an early onset of arthritis in most of their joints. The hitting and checking is fun, but it does wear on both your body and your soul because at some point most players do ask themselves, what am I doing? I’ve gotten bloody noses, bruised everything, almost a concussion (or maybe a real one, who knows), a twisted knee, and a plethora of other injuries from this sport. Yes, it’s fast, yes, it’s exciting, and I won’t deny it is fun to watch because except for few time outs to clean up the ice, the action is non-stop. Hockey is a bit of organized violence where you can let yourself get into it without feeling like a complete Neanderthal. This game speaks to aggression and violence in an open acknowledgement of our most base urges and desires. In fact, I would suggest that some people would be totally repulsed by this spectacle, but that they might not be able to stop watching either. Hockey is not for the weak of heart or those with a refined sense of peace or passiveness. Hockey is a brawl that lasts for an hour while twelve men fight over a little black, rubber disk, which is absurd, but for many people it is a cathartic release of their most primitive, dark emotions which have no other place to go. Some people will earnestly deny that they might have violent tendencies, but my experience within the human race, being one, for example, is that there is a hockey player inside of us all. Whether we ever choose to let him/her skate out on the ice of society is another matter entirely. Some might choose to mow the lawn, wash their car, go for a run, play basketball, walk the dog, looking for ways to appease their inner hockey player, but I’m wondering if that is enough. We are all just a bit aggressive (drive during rush hour and see what I mean), so we all need to address that part of our character even though that part of our nature is irrational, dark, base, and frightening. Are we brave enough to examine that dark side of our personalities that will sometimes escape, turning us into aggressive, mean, reactionary, and violent people? So I go to a hockey game and let others hit and pound on each other, and, strangely, I find this rather satisfying—flashing blades, slashing sticks, violent checking, slap shots, spinning pucks—a juxtaposition of chaos and order.

On ice hockey

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If I had anything rational to say about this sport, I would say it, but I’m not going to do that. Ice hockey is a visceral experience that is enjoyed in some other part of the brain that has nothing to do with reason, logic, or higher patterns of thought. Use a stick to put the puck in a net, and knock down anyone who tries to stop you. Oh, and to make it interesting, we’re going to do this while skating a highly polished piece of ice and add eleven more guys (or girls) to the fray, just to make it interesting. I loved to play this game as a child with flashing blades of steel strapped to my feet, flying across the ice with murder in my heart and a rock hard puck at my feet. What’s even better, we arm all of the players with a nice long stick so they can move the puck, but they also have something with which they might hit the other players. This arrangement sounds perfect to me–perfect for mayhem, that is. Fist fights are common when someone breaks the rules, hits too hard, or plays a little dirty, all of which is expected at some point in almost every game. I never played in organized games or high school–I was the wrong shape and size: I was tall and skinny, which means my center of gravity was relatively high, which is bad for skating where you want your center of gravity as low as possible. I broke two watches playing pick up games in the park, and then I stopped wearing my watch when I played hockey. I played with my skinny friends while in college, and we had a good time knocking each other down. It is common for hockey players to have lost teeth, to have broken several bones, to have bad knees (ankles, shoulders, necks, etc.,), and to have an early onset of arthritis in most of their joints. The hitting and checking is fun, but it does wear on both your body and your soul because at some point most players do ask themselves, what am I doing? I’ve gotten bloody noses, bruised everything, almost a concussion (or maybe a real one, who knows), a twisted knee, and a plethora of other injuries from this sport. Yes, it’s fast, yes, it’s exciting, and I won’t deny it is fun to watch because except for few time outs to clean up the ice, the action is non-stop. Hockey is a bit of organized violence where you can let yourself get into it without feeling like a complete Neanderthal. This game speaks to aggression and violence in an open acknowledgement of our most base urges and desires. In fact, I would suggest that some people would be totally repulsed by this spectacle, but that they might not be able to stop watching either. Hockey is not for the weak of heart or those with a refined sense of peace or passiveness. Hockey is a brawl that lasts for an hour while twelve men fight over a little black, rubber disk, which is absurd, but for many people it is a cathartic release of their most primitive, dark emotions which have no other place to go. Some people will earnestly deny that they might have violent tendencies, but my experience within the human race, being one, for example, is that there is a hockey player inside of us all. Whether we ever choose to let him/her skate out on the ice of society is another matter entirely. Some might choose to mow the lawn, wash their car, go for a run, play basketball, walk the dog, looking for ways to appease their inner hockey player, but I’m wondering if that is enough. We are all just a bit aggressive (drive during rush hour and see what I mean), so we all need to address that part of our character even though that part of our nature is irrational, dark, base, and frightening. Are we brave enough to examine that dark side of our personalities that will sometimes escape, turning us into aggressive, mean, reactionary, and violent people? So I go to a hockey game and let others hit and pound on each other, and, strangely, I find this rather satisfying—flashing blades, slashing sticks, violent checking, slap shots, spinning pucks—a juxtaposition of chaos and order.