Category Archives: ice

On frosters

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There is a new fad in the world, and it has nothing to do with decorating cupcakes and everything to do with going out in the snow and acting as if it were not the least bit cold. I’ve done it. It’s nothing new–I was in college, living in a dorm and prone to all sorts of anti-social and strange behavior. After a particularly horrible cold snap where the temperature did not go above zero for almost five days, a few of us donned shorts and t-shirts to go play Frisbee in the snow when the temperature rocketed all the way up into the mid-twenties. We were a little stir crazy to be outside and breath a little fresh air that wouldn’t kill us. We brought out lawn chairs and the grill and made hamburgers–the still air temperature went all the way up to thirty-five that day. We were sweating. That was in January of 1981 in southern Minnesota, now, flash forward thirty years and there are all sorts of photos floating around on the internet machine of people so similar things, but now they have a name: frosters. The idea is to take off most of your clothes and go out in the ice and snow so you can take a picture for the Facebook which your relatives vacationing in Hawaii will see. I can see why this is fun, and I totally understand the insanity. You wouldn’t really get the same effect if you put on a parka and boots and stood out in the heat–it’s not the same. No one cares about how much heat you can tolerate, although I do admire people who can do it. Frosters are just trying to ignore winter the best they can. It’s a mental thing: pretend that the ice and snow don’t matter at all, so that sitting in your lawn chair on the beach at Lake Nakomis in January with a beverage in your hand is your way of expressing your denial. Denial is very important when you are freezing off your cojones trying to get a stubborn car started on cold winter morning. Frosting as an activity is probably an outward sign of mental health even when the short, cold days of winter are getting you down. So putting on your swim suit, sunglasses, flip flops, and sunscreen and going outside in January is a great way of thumbing your nose at Old Man Winter. I don’t dislike Old Man Winter, but sometimes he is a challenge to the spirit. By pretending that he doesn’t matter or that he can’t ever really win, one can ignore winter and get on with life. Most frosters, I am assuming, also do a lot of winter sports such as biking, running, grilling, rock-climbing, and pond hockey. I get snowmobilers, skiers, ice fishermen, skaters and the like are really taking their winters seriously, enjoy the cold, and dream of endlessly falling flakes of snow that will close the schools tomorrow. Frosters would take advantage of a snow day to grill steaks, drink a cold frosty one, work on their tans, and shoot the photo for next year’s Christmas card with the entire family in swimwear and hip deep in a snow drift. A true froster will never admit they are cold. Probably the worst thing a person could do during a long, hard winter is to wallow in their misery, stay inside, and complain to the rest of the world about cold it is outside. Of course it’s cold outside! It’s January in the Midwest, but walk faster, admire the next guy’s stocking hat even if that’s all he’s got on! Without a sense of humor, the entire human race is in serious danger of taking itself too seriously, of believing its own press clippings, of sitting down to weep. The true froster laughs in the face of winter because that is all the human froster can do–any other analysis of the situation is to grim to even contemplate. Or decorate cupcakes.

On twenty-nine degrees below zero

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In northern Minnesota (yes, a redundancy) the temperature dropped to minus 29 degrees Fahrenheit this morning. This is not bragging, it’s just weather. There have been far colder places in the USA, including the far reaches of Alaska where it is often lots colder. Yet, there is a certain something in the cold weather experience which tests a person’s metal. Do you have what it takes to keep on trying on a morning when your car probably won’t start, your water pipes may be in danger of freezing, the dog has to be kept inside, ice crystals float like little diamonds in the air, the snow crunches under your feet, and you are bundled up like the Michelin Man. Exposed skin will freeze in less than five minutes at that temperature, so you better know how your cold weather gear works and pay attention. Even the slightest problem, flat tire, no gas, flat battery, turns into a dangerous crisis at that temperature. God forbid your furnace or electricity go out at this temperature. Twenty-nine degrees below zero is nothing to fool with and it’s a temperature that puts a huge stress on everything–buildings, heating, plumbing, electricity, travel, cars, trucks, people, children. If you have to be outside for any time at all, you must know what you are up against, or it could be fatal. Waiting outside for anything for any amount of time can chill you to the bone and puts a huge stress on fingers, toes, ears, noses, and feet. Usually people can keep their core warm with a good jacket or parka, but we always skimp on the footwear and the gloves. And let’s not even talk about taking your gloves off for moment to do something barehanded at this temperature, which is extremely problematic. If the wind is blowing at all, you have a big problem if you are forced to walk any distance at all. At twenty-nine degrees below zero your breath freezes almost instantly, and the cold air will make your teeth hurt as your breathe. I’ve had a car battery die at minus twenty-four, which is almost just as bad. My super-cold weather gear consisted of long-johns, wool socks, various layers of cotton and wool t-shirts, thermal wear, down-filled gloves, packs (insulated boots), and a down-filled hat with ear-flaps. None of this clothing will win any fashion awards, but it will keep you from freezing to death when regular clothing just cannot do the job. Because that’s what we’re talking about–dying. When it’s a hundred degrees in the shade, you pour yourself another glass of water, stay out of the sun, relax, take it easy, but at twenty-nine degrees below zero you have to face a few challenges if you have to go outside, go to work, to school. And just because it’s cold does not mean that emergency services don’t have to be functioning–police, fire, city, ambulances, garbage, snow removal. Curiously, we know that crime tends to dip a bit when the temperature gets this low, so criminals don’t like to go out either when it’s twenty-nine degrees below zero. If you don’t like icy conditions, stay in Texas or Arizona or Florida or California because this is an either you like it or you hate it. And there’s no sense in torturing yourself with cold weather if you can help it. Cold weather does not make you more honest, or a better person, or more moral, or more ethical, but what it will do for you is clear: you are certainly a more careful person when it comes to your daily routine because anyone who has ever suffered frostbite, certainly does not want to do it again. Bundle up out there–cold nose, warm heart.

On January

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The first month of the year has always been a series of mixed blessings and curses for me. I love winter sports–skating and skiing, ice fishing, but twenty-seven degrees below zero, less than eight hours of daylight, icy roads, and cranky people make January a real challenge to get through. One has irrational dreams of Florida, the Bahamas, Mexico, while shoveling the latest dusting of snow. The wind nips at your nose and ears, daring you to put a hat on. Yet cold weather people make the best of it. They ignore the cold, don’t zip their jackets, mislay their hats and gloves, all in an attempt to pretend that winter is really not there at all. January is also about getting back to work and school and burrowing into the routine. Perhaps routine is even harder to take than winter because routine will crush your spirit and bury your soul. I know that routine is also good, giving meaning and structure to our lives: we work, study, eat, shower, cook, do dishes, wash clothes, watch television, read books. Yet we are creatures of routine. Given a chance we always sit int he same chair, drive the same routes to work, eat the same lunch, wear the same clothes, drink the same drinks. We have so little imagination at times that it seems incredible that we have a creative bone in our bodies. But if January proves anything, it proves that the human spirit is indomitable. We are capable of almost unimaginable creative energy, writing books, doing research, inventing new machines, composing music, sculpting art, choreographing dances, dreaming poetry, singing songs, exploring unknown countries. So people are a complex mix of energy and creation and lethargy and routine. January, I believe, brings all of these strange and nutty tendencies to a head. Short days and long nights give people too much time to think about the darker side of existence–why am I here, what am I doing with my life, should I stop doing this and become a carpenter? January insists that you ask the hard questions about life, but ironically does not insist on any answers. You see, January is just there–cold, uncaring, desolate, empty, like a long hall connecting disparate subway stations illuminated only by a bitter neon that emphasizes the wrinkles, enhances the creakiness of your limbs, and chills your cheery outlook. The best approach to surviving January is to not look at it directly, but to squint, turn your head, and glance furtively at it without letting on that you might be interested. You have to flirt with January, play hard-to-get, but don’t ask for its phone number or buy it a drink. January can run you over like a steamroller if you let it. I prefer a more non-chalant approach as if January were a rescue animal that you might take home if you think it’s cut enough or that you might be compatible. And of course, January will hurt you, make you cry, make you regret ever having spoken or become Facebook friends. January will forget to call, throw you over for someone else, leave you out in the cold, shamelessly abandon you for someone or something else. A storm will come up, the snow will fall, the temperatures will drop, the sun will set early, and the dark will creep in from all sides to cover your little island of warmth and light. The bright side of this is February, so beware.

On winter

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Real winter has finally come to southern Minnesota. It has been almost three years since the snow, ice, and cold have settled over the southern plains of the state. For many people, especially people who live in warm climates, it is a complete mystery as to why people would want to live in Minnesota at all given the horrible climate and the challenges that accompany ice and snow. Curiously, Minnesotans may complain, especially in March when it seems like the bad weather will never let go and the parka has become a permanent part of your body, but they complain so that they can hear their voices and know they are still alive in spite of the ice cold temperatures outside. Tonight it will go below zero on the frosty, white plains of the North Star state, and people will continue to go about their business. During a short visit to the grocery store this afternoon people did not even have their coats zipped up, no hats or gloves, acting as if the cold were not there at all. During lunch today at a little restaurant in rural Minnesota, a bunch of snowmobilers came in from a morning run across the fresh powder that fell last night, all bundled up in the sub-zero gear, helmets, scarves, massive gloves. These people know how to enjoy the cold. In other words, the cold and ice and snow are not an impediment to living, life goes on regardless of how hard the snow falls, but you might want to put a real snow shovel in your trunk just in case. “Just in case” is a great set of words to live by in place where mother nature can kill you if you don’t pay attention. When I lived in the Twin Cities I always carried an extra parka and heavy boots in my car during the winter. I also carried a couple of big buckets of sand, a hefty snow shovel, and a can with candy bars, Nut Goodies, and trail mix in case I was stranded. The cell phone has really been a life saver for many people and is always with me in the car. I also always filled up my gas tank when it reached half full (empty), and I also carried a couple of bottles of high octane gas additive to keep water vapor out of the gas line. When it’s twenty-five degrees below zero, one thinks of these things. So the snow falls, the ice gets hard, and temperatures dip into a region that most people don’t care to discuss. Instead, Minnesotans get out their skis and snowboards, their snow shoes and sleds, and head outside for some frigid fun. The trick to surviving winter is to never acknowledge that winter is a problem. Winter can smell your fear, but it runs from laughter. You must learn to laugh in the face of Old Man Winter. Oh, you might be uncomfortable from time to time, and ten inches of snow will make driving tricky, but given time, warm gloves, a scarf, boots, and good parka, you can get through almost anything winter can throw at you. From time to time, you will have to batten down the hatches and stay inside. A bad winter storm is a thing to be respected, and sometimes a little bit of humility in the face of a cold north wind is the better part of valor. It’s good to know your limitations, and winter will be more than happy to point those out at least once a winter. The snow covers the ground like a white death shroud, a pall which reminds all the denizens of winter that mortality is real, that no one is free of suffering, and that time marches on, inexorably, blindly. So the mice hibernate, the snow plows roll, I make a snowball with my bare hands, my shoes are drying at the door, my hat and gloves idly lounge on a shelf in the closet, my scarf waits in anticipation for its next outing. The temperatures are dropping and sun is getting weak and yellow as it drops on the winter horizon. Winter is here.

On snowballs

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Are you ever tempted to scoop up a couple of handfuls of snow and peg it at some unsuspecting victim? Not that snowballs are particularly dangerous. You aren’t going to knock someone out or hurt them in any significant way, but you might damage their dignity, and, after all, isn’t that what winter is all about? Maintaining your dignity? Of course, at school throwing snowballs was strictly forbidden, which means it happened all the time. Nothing like a nice slushy gob of snow striking you in the back of the head and immediately going down the back of your shirt. Shouting does not lessen the feeling of cold ice water and slush running down your back. And by the time you react and turn to face your attacker, they have long since turned into an uninterested innocent party who has witnessed your violent undoing. Taking a snowball to the head is extremely infuriating, especially when you have to pick snow and ice out of your ears and nose. The best defense against a snowball is turning to catch it in mid-air, that is, if you see it coming in time. The stealthy snowball thrower will pick their time and place so that you never see the attack coming. The snowball is the cowards weapon, thrown and walk away. Yet it is highly effective, especially if you are seeking vengeance for some perceived wrong, real or imagined. Taking a snowball to the butt is extremely humiliating, especially if it knocks you down. I tried, once, catch a snowball that was arcing in towards my face, but the thing had no consistency and when it hit my fingers, it exploded and covered me in a white cloud of frozen mist. It is against the Geneva Convention to throw snowballs that have hard projectiles enclosed within the snow. That’s both dirty and mean. Yet snowballs have a light-hearted side, comical and fun which turns serious people and situation upside down, ruins your dignity and makes you laugh. Snowballs are playful havoc, unless, of course, you are the object of that havoc. Making snowballs will make your mittens wet, your gloves soggy, and your hands icy. This is the price you pay for adding to the chaos in the universe. All snowballs are a high state of entropy, so they will always seek a lower order energy, which is often released in a very satisfying “splat” as it connects with the intended target. I can’t honestly say that I enjoy getting hit by a snowball, but I can say that there is definitely a release of endorphins as you watch your snowball sail toward the intended target. No one should, however, throw a snowball if they can’t stand being hit by a snowball. If you can’t take it, don’t, dish it–a long standing rule with snowballs. Some snow which is very cold does not lend itself to making snowballs at all. Good snowball snow will have a certain of moisture content which will allow the packed snow to stick together. Dry, icy, granular snow makes terrible snow balls which not only don’t pack well, they disintegrate the second you release them. In other words, snowballs can only exist under the most ideal circumstances, bringing together moisture, temperature, and opportunity. The snowball is a weapon of opportunity, non-lethal to be sure, but a weapon nonetheless. Perhaps the snowball is a cautionary reminder of what a weapon might be, who might use it, and the damage it might do. As an older person I haven’t even made a snowball in a good long time even when the situation has presented itself. Maybe I should?

On snow flurries

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Snow flurries are nothing but Mother Nature playing with us mere mortals. Growing up in Minnesota, we never put any stock in snow flurries. Snow flurries could happen on any given day as if it were some sort of meteorological afterthought or mistake. Snow flurries never amounted to anything unless they were a real mistake and accumulated up to six inches. Most flurries were a few random flakes that fell lazily on a cold fall afternoon. Flurries in January were another matter because you always kept one on the heavens in case the weatherman had actually blown the forecast. It was always a little worse when you got psyched up for a real snow fall–ten inches–and you only got flurries. What a huge disappointment! The snow flakes would be huge as if they were really pieces of ash from a local volcano. They would seldom stick unless it was January, and then they could become dangerous if they landed on any patches of ice. Flurries on ice was worse then grease on glass. Flurries could be beautiful on a late Sunday afternoon down at the local ice rink, skating with your friends. Too much snow would clutter up the rink and make skating a difficult proposition, but a few flurries falling from a slate gray sky while the wind bites at your nose and ears is a sublime moment that has to be experienced to be fully understood. Your skates glide across the frosty surface of the glittery ice, your weight and inertia balanced against the steel as it cuts into the surface. Winter and the ice cold chill of a frigid January day is very misunderstood by most. Flurries are an expression of winter’s bling, a season despised by most, loved by a few, and avoided by the foolish. Flurries are a metonymic expression of the soul of winter, that white fragile shroud within which Nature binds its hibernating body for a long winter’s nap. Sleep and hibernation are the same metaphor, if not exactly the process. Bodies need rest, for a night, a month, several months, all beings need to sleep, if only the sleep of the just plain tired. Flurries are sent to remind us that sleep, rest, hibernation, winter, night, and death all mimic the same stillness and inaction that must logically come at the end of all activity. One cannot sustain constant movement or growth forever, inertia is constant in a vacuum with out gravity, but since we live on the earth in a real world, we come to a rest from time to time. Flurries are both an afterthought and a foreshadowing of what is to come. If fall does not foreshadow winter, the flurries that fall in October and November should remind any witnesses that the temperatures are going down, the days are getting shorter, and that mandatory rest period is about to start. I acknowledge this, but I always see the falling flurries as an invitation to go out and play, to put on a scarf and hat, maybe dig the gloves out of the summer hiding place so that I can go out and watch my breath condense as I breath. i prefer to be one with the flurries, not fear them, not run from, but to welcome the coming change. Snow flurries, misunderstood micro-crystaline hexagonal structures of frozen water floating gently on the breeze.

On snow flurries

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Snow flurries are nothing but Mother Nature playing with us mere mortals. Growing up in Minnesota, we never put any stock in snow flurries. Snow flurries could happen on any given day as if it were some sort of meteorological afterthought or mistake. Snow flurries never amounted to anything unless they were a real mistake and accumulated up to six inches. Most flurries were a few random flakes that fell lazily on a cold fall afternoon. Flurries in January were another matter because you always kept one on the heavens in case the weatherman had actually blown the forecast. It was always a little worse when you got psyched up for a real snow fall–ten inches–and you only got flurries. What a huge disappointment! The snow flakes would be huge as if they were really pieces of ash from a local volcano. They would seldom stick unless it was January, and then they could become dangerous if they landed on any patches of ice. Flurries on ice was worse then grease on glass. Flurries could be beautiful on a late Sunday afternoon down at the local ice rink, skating with your friends. Too much snow would clutter up the rink and make skating a difficult proposition, but a few flurries falling from a slate gray sky while the wind bites at your nose and ears is a sublime moment that has to be experienced to be fully understood. Your skates glide across the frosty surface of the glittery ice, your weight and inertia balanced against the steel as it cuts into the surface. Winter and the ice cold chill of a frigid January day is very misunderstood by most. Flurries are an expression of winter’s bling, a season despised by most, loved by a few, and avoided by the foolish. Flurries are a metonymic expression of the soul of winter, that white fragile shroud within which Nature binds its hibernating body for a long winter’s nap. Sleep and hibernation are the same metaphor, if not exactly the process. Bodies need rest, for a night, a month, several months, all beings need to sleep, if only the sleep of the just plain tired. Flurries are sent to remind us that sleep, rest, hibernation, winter, night, and death all mimic the same stillness and inaction that must logically come at the end of all activity. One cannot sustain constant movement or growth forever, inertia is constant in a vacuum with out gravity, but since we live on the earth in a real world, we come to a rest from time to time. Flurries are both an afterthought and a foreshadowing of what is to come. If fall does not foreshadow winter, the flurries that fall in October and November should remind any witnesses that the temperatures are going down, the days are getting shorter, and that mandatory rest period is about to start. I acknowledge this, but I always see the falling flurries as an invitation to go out and play, to put on a scarf and hat, maybe dig the gloves out of the summer hiding place so that I can go out and watch my breath condense as I breath. i prefer to be one with the flurries, not fear them, not run from, but to welcome the coming change. Snow flurries, misunderstood micro-crystaline hexagonal structures of frozen water floating gently on the breeze.

On ice water

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It doesn’t run through my veins, but during summers in Waco, Texas, I wish it did. I like to chug ice water until my teeth hurt, until I get a brain freeze. It’s the only way to counteract the blistering heat that assails central Texas in August and September. The sun beats down, the temps go over a hundred, and we suffer. I try to minimize my suffering by parking in a parking garage at work, but parking almost anywhere else in Waco means facing temperatures in your car that are over a hundred and forty degrees. Imagine, if you will, a crystal glass full of ice water, sweating and dripping in the humid afternoon heat of mid-August. This will quench your thirst. I need an ice water cooling suit to wear under my clothes as if I were an astronaut. Isn’t it fascinating that water can co-exist with itself in different forms–solid, liquid, vapor? Sitting in ice water is rather unpleasant unless your butt is on fire. Ice water takes the sting out of a burn, but it also helps ease the pain of bumps and bruises, sore joints, or an aching head. A huge glass of ice water is balm to a sweaty soul this time of year (summer). You can make Kool-Aid with ice water if you are old enough to know what Kool-Aid is. I one time jumped into a river of ice water after exiting a sauna in northern Minnesota in January. It was a strange, if not bracing, experience. As a drink, ice water is underrated by those who make lemonade or ice tea out of it. Our relationship to water and ice is both intimate and enduring. Before refrigeration we built ice houses to store ice in the summer, cut ice out of our lakes and rivers in the dead of winter, and carried on an entire industry of selling ice to keep our food cool in summer. Ice water is a natural byproduct of melting ice, forming a small pool around itself. Ice water is ubiquitous if you live in a hot climate. It is a final refuge against the raging torrent of heat that bathes the landscape with its persistent flames. The contrast between the cool soothing wetness of ice water and the blinding white light that sears our lawns, homes, skin, cars is so extreme that it boggles the mind that they should inhabit the same space. Ice water perfectly accompanies any meal. The clear, cold liquid is the taste of winter and a reminder that summer might end at some point. The iciness is a reminder that we don’t have to live in unrelenting heat, and that cool rain may again fall some day. For now, I drink ice water and ignore my dusty lawn, the blazing temperatures, and the unrelenting sun. Yet, ice water by itself is also deadly especially if you have to swim it as the victims of the Titanic found. So our strange relationship with ice water continues, can swim it, can’t get through the summer without it.

On ice water

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It doesn’t run through my veins, but during summers in Waco, Texas, I wish it did. I like to chug ice water until my teeth hurt, until I get a brain freeze. It’s the only way to counteract the blistering heat that assails central Texas in August and September. The sun beats down, the temps go over a hundred, and we suffer. I try to minimize my suffering by parking in a parking garage at work, but parking almost anywhere else in Waco means facing temperatures in your car that are over a hundred and forty degrees. Imagine, if you will, a crystal glass full of ice water, sweating and dripping in the humid afternoon heat of mid-August. This will quench your thirst. I need an ice water cooling suit to wear under my clothes as if I were an astronaut. Isn’t it fascinating that water can co-exist with itself in different forms–solid, liquid, vapor? Sitting in ice water is rather unpleasant unless your butt is on fire. Ice water takes the sting out of a burn, but it also helps ease the pain of bumps and bruises, sore joints, or an aching head. A huge glass of ice water is balm to a sweaty soul this time of year (summer). You can make Kool-Aid with ice water if you are old enough to know what Kool-Aid is. I one time jumped into a river of ice water after exiting a sauna in northern Minnesota in January. It was a strange, if not bracing, experience. As a drink, ice water is underrated by those who make lemonade or ice tea out of it. Our relationship to water and ice is both intimate and enduring. Before refrigeration we built ice houses to store ice in the summer, cut ice out of our lakes and rivers in the dead of winter, and carried on an entire industry of selling ice to keep our food cool in summer. Ice water is a natural byproduct of melting ice, forming a small pool around itself. Ice water is ubiquitous if you live in a hot climate. It is a final refuge against the raging torrent of heat that bathes the landscape with its persistent flames. The contrast between the cool soothing wetness of ice water and the blinding white light that sears our lawns, homes, skin, cars is so extreme that it boggles the mind that they should inhabit the same space. Ice water perfectly accompanies any meal. The clear, cold liquid is the taste of winter and a reminder that summer might end at some point. The iciness is a reminder that we don’t have to live in unrelenting heat, and that cool rain may again fall some day. For now, I drink ice water and ignore my dusty lawn, the blazing temperatures, and the unrelenting sun. Yet, ice water by itself is also deadly especially if you have to swim it as the victims of the Titanic found. So our strange relationship with ice water continues, can swim it, can’t get through the summer without it.

On winter (an ode)

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I expected you to arrive back in early November some time, but you must have lost your way. I miss you when you are away. Some say that absence makes the heart grown fonder, but I just wonder where you went instead. Some say Europe, others, Asia, but you certainly have not come to North America this year. After a brutal summer of sun and heat, I was hoping for a change of pace, maybe a little snow, certainly some serious frost, at least a few freezing temperatures. Yet, I sit here with my ice tea and sunglasses, wearing shorts and t-shirt, wondering if I need more sun screen while I grill these hamburgers. It was hot this past week. The ground hog went skiing in the Alps where they have snow, so I have no idea if he saw or not his shadow. I am just assuming that winter is not coming to North America this year. I wore my coat today, but only because it’s the first week of February, and I usually wear a coat in February, not because I needed it. So there is no snow, the ice on the lakes is thin, the skiers have to fly away to ski. Winter without winter is, well, summer, and we already had one of those. The trees are budding out, the daffodils are up, and I used the air conditioning in my car yesterday. Couldn’t you just send an arctic high pressure system down from Hudson Bay just for a couple of days? Or a sprightly Alberta Clipper with a few inches of snow. The grass looks so forlorn and naked without a blanket of snow. The squirrels stand around with nothing to do because it’s too warm for them to hibernate. The guys that plow are bored and making trouble for their wives who count on them spending more time away in winter. The ice in the ice rink at the park is bumpy and useless because it melts everyday. I don’t need pool weather in February. I’m not programmed for it. I need to feel an icy breeze on my cheek, hear the crunch of frozen snow under my feet, admire the crystalline architecture of the icicles hanging from the roof, shovel snow, watch snow falling quietly on a silent world, see my breath, gaze on a world shrouded in snow. I am a slave to the seasons, and I miss your cold embrace. You make my nose run, and my heart sing.