On fake ice (skating)

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)

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 snow (especially when their is none and the grass is still green)

So if I can’t get any real snow living in central Texas, I can always write about snow whenever I want to. Snow is beautiful to look at, but terrible if you have to travel, go to work, or keep the sidewalk clean. My relationship with snow has been a long one, but lately that relationship has been from afar, jealously watching snow fall across the country, but never here. Even my annual trips to Minnesota for the Christmas holidays have been bereft, generally, of snow. It snowed a little last year, but this year’s snow totals are zero up to now. Snow is strange: aesthetically, it is very pleasing to watch it fall and cover up everything in its path with a clean white blanket that shrouds the countryside in a frozen swirl of fluffy ice. Heavily falling snow is mezmorizing, but it leaves me feeling grounded. Winter needs snow to cover things up for a few months. Snow gives me a cozy feeling that blank, bare, brown ground does not. Driving in the white stuff is certainly a challenge, if not dangerous, especially if the wind is blowing. Yet I love to be inside on a snowy day, watch the white flakes transform the landscape, and let Mother Nature have her wintry way for a couple of days. Getting a snow day off from school was always a joyous gift from heaven. Yet here I sit in Texas. Green grass, warm temperatures, and no snow on Thanksgiving eve. It just doesn’t seem right, now, does it?

On snow (especially when their is none and the grass is still green)

So if I can’t get any real snow living in central Texas, I can always write about snow whenever I want to. Snow is beautiful to look at, but terrible if you have to travel, go to work, or keep the sidewalk clean. My relationship with snow has been a long one, but lately that relationship has been from afar, jealously watching snow fall across the country, but never here. Even my annual trips to Minnesota for the Christmas holidays have been bereft, generally, of snow. It snowed a little last year, but this year’s snow totals are zero up to now. Snow is strange: aesthetically, it is very pleasing to watch it fall and cover up everything in its path with a clean white blanket that shrouds the countryside in a frozen swirl of fluffy ice. Heavily falling snow is mezmorizing, but it leaves me feeling grounded. Winter needs snow to cover things up for a few months. Snow gives me a cozy feeling that blank, bare, brown ground does not. Driving in the white stuff is certainly a challenge, if not dangerous, especially if the wind is blowing. Yet I love to be inside on a snowy day, watch the white flakes transform the landscape, and let Mother Nature have her wintry way for a couple of days. Getting a snow day off from school was always a joyous gift from heaven. Yet here I sit in Texas. Green grass, warm temperatures, and no snow on Thanksgiving eve. It just doesn’t seem right, now, does it?

On being stuck

Sand, mud, snow, ice, is there a worse feeling than being stuck in some substance and not being able to move? Certainly, you might be doing a math problem, or a crossword, or deciphering a code, or trying to solve a murder mystery, and you might be stuck, but that kind of stuck is nothing compared to the immobility of spinning wheels and grinding gears. Whoever invented the standard differential was not thinking of driving under bad conditions. I’ve been stuck on ice with two inches of snow, and my vehicle could not move on its own. I had to be towed out of the tiny little snowbank. Is there anything sadder than seeing the rear wheels up to their axles in mud and water? There is no condition worse than stuck, whether it is your car, your brain, your zipper, or your foot, you are nigh on helpless when something is stuck. Has your transmission ever gotten stuck in neutral and although the engine will run just fine, the car does not move an inch? I don’t even want to imagine the frustration caused by a stuck zipper that you can’t get either down or up, depending on what you want to do. If you live in an old house, it is pretty common to have a stuck window that you can’t open, or a door that’s stuck because of the humidity. A nut on an old rusty bolt that won’t turn, a person trying to get into a house by going through the dog’s door, a fish-bone in your throat, an eighties pop song that keeps running endlessly through your head, a Lego in a child’s nose or ear are some things that can get stuck. I am totally not going to list all of the things that people, at one time or another, have gotten stuck in their bodies, I’m trying to keep this family oriented after all. Has anyone ever been stuck in the middle with you? Have you ever been stuck in the middle of nowhere with no way out? How many people do you know that are stuck on themselves? Perhaps being stuck somewhere is not all bad. I was stuck in London for three days, so I went and did all the touristy things that tourists do, and I had a lot of fun. I have been stuck on airplanes, which isn’t much fun unless you have a good book, and glass of something or other to drink, and a comfortable seat, in which case I don’t care if I’m stuck, really. In the end, however, being stuck is about immobility, not moving either forward or back, not evolving in any way, caught in retrenched routine, unmovable mental stasis where change cannot enter. When your mind is stuck on only one idea, on only one way of doing or thinking about an idea or problem, you cannot move forward to any kind of solution. If you are stuck, you know that the moment has arrived for just stepping back, putting down the mouse, getting up from the chair, moving away from the screen, getting out of the office, pouring a fresh cup of coffee, and letting the problem go for a few minutes. When I have been stuck and unable to see the solution, that very sensation of frustration and failure contributes geometrically to making the stuck problem worse, whether you are trying to dislodge a stuck pea from the nose of a two-year-old or a two-ton Ford Torino from a fresh snowbank, the solution will only occur if you can get your mind un-stuck first. Stuck is both a physically reality and a mental conundrum, but all solutions to the state of being stuck will only arise when the mind has its own limited slip differential that allows both wheels to spin.

On being stuck

Sand, mud, snow, ice, is there a worse feeling than being stuck in some substance and not being able to move? Certainly, you might be doing a math problem, or a crossword, or deciphering a code, or trying to solve a murder mystery, and you might be stuck, but that kind of stuck is nothing compared to the immobility of spinning wheels and grinding gears. Whoever invented the standard differential was not thinking of driving under bad conditions. I’ve been stuck on ice with two inches of snow, and my vehicle could not move on its own. I had to be towed out of the tiny little snowbank. Is there anything sadder than seeing the rear wheels up to their axles in mud and water? There is no condition worse than stuck, whether it is your car, your brain, your zipper, or your foot, you are nigh on helpless when something is stuck. Has your transmission ever gotten stuck in neutral and although the engine will run just fine, the car does not move an inch? I don’t even want to imagine the frustration caused by a stuck zipper that you can’t get either down or up, depending on what you want to do. If you live in an old house, it is pretty common to have a stuck window that you can’t open, or a door that’s stuck because of the humidity. A nut on an old rusty bolt that won’t turn, a person trying to get into a house by going through the dog’s door, a fish-bone in your throat, an eighties pop song that keeps running endlessly through your head, a Lego in a child’s nose or ear are some things that can get stuck. I am totally not going to list all of the things that people, at one time or another, have gotten stuck in their bodies, I’m trying to keep this family oriented after all. Has anyone ever been stuck in the middle with you? Have you ever been stuck in the middle of nowhere with no way out? How many people do you know that are stuck on themselves? Perhaps being stuck somewhere is not all bad. I was stuck in London for three days, so I went and did all the touristy things that tourists do, and I had a lot of fun. I have been stuck on airplanes, which isn’t much fun unless you have a good book, and glass of something or other to drink, and a comfortable seat, in which case I don’t care if I’m stuck, really. In the end, however, being stuck is about immobility, not moving either forward or back, not evolving in any way, caught in retrenched routine, unmovable mental stasis where change cannot enter. When your mind is stuck on only one idea, on only one way of doing or thinking about an idea or problem, you cannot move forward to any kind of solution. If you are stuck, you know that the moment has arrived for just stepping back, putting down the mouse, getting up from the chair, moving away from the screen, getting out of the office, pouring a fresh cup of coffee, and letting the problem go for a few minutes. When I have been stuck and unable to see the solution, that very sensation of frustration and failure contributes geometrically to making the stuck problem worse, whether you are trying to dislodge a stuck pea from the nose of a two-year-old or a two-ton Ford Torino from a fresh snowbank, the solution will only occur if you can get your mind un-stuck first. Stuck is both a physically reality and a mental conundrum, but all solutions to the state of being stuck will only arise when the mind has its own limited slip differential that allows both wheels to spin.

On an endless winter

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

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 January

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

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.