"It's Pitch White Outside!"

Our solar lights are wearing little Cossack hats

Indeed, in the immortal words of The Peanuts' Linus Van Pelt, "It's pitch white outside!" While last week's winter storm didn't bring much snow, it left a two-inch-thick sheet of ice all over everything, and almost none of it has melted. Currently, at just past noon, we've got about six inches of the white stuff on top of the ice, and it's still coming down hard. I reckon we're gonna be holed up here until the temperatures rise sometime next week.

 

Yesterday afternoon, before the snowfall began in earnest, Brugger and I went out in her car (mine has been garage-bound since the ice storm and probably will be for a good many more days) to run some necessary errands and have a couple of glasses of wine at nearby Hamlet Kitchen. It was nice to have a brief spell out and about before we're completely snowbound—and, to our surprise—our friend Yvonne popped in and had some wine with us. Back home, we again had to park Brugger's car at the bottom of the driveway, since it was still a solid sheet of ice, and unfortunately, on the way up to the house, I took a spill and banged up one knee pretty good. I'm fine, if a little ornery; mostly, I'm glad our neighbors weren't out to witness the brief comedy sketch (though they might have heard some colorful descriptors of the situation wafting skyward).

 

As with last week's storm, I very much hope we don't lose power, as there won't be any quick fixes under these conditions. The snow itself is just fine powder, and there are no cars out there—at least not nearby—likely to knock out any power poles. I'm X'ing all my appendages.

 

Till laters.

Solar light starbursts last night before the snow covered them over. Below, some photos
Brugger took of the white outdoors and a couple of pics after dark

Not Exactly a Snowpocalypse

Saturday night ice accumulating on the paved surfaces

The weather reports for the weekend were all pretty dire, and some places did get hit hard with snow, ice, and wind. What we got was mostly sleet and light snow, which, now that it's over with, has formed a dangerously hard and slippery sheet of ice. At this point, at least, most of the roads are clear enough to travel. Our driveway, however, is a different story. At least an inch of ice has rendered it completely unusable. Last night, I managed to get the trash can down to the street so the trash would get picked up this morning. This morning, though, I could not get the can back up the driveway. Every time I set foot on the ice, I'd slide down the incline back toward the street. Fortunately, I'd thought to bring my hiking stick with a sharp tip, so using it, I was finally able to get over the worst of the hump and back to the house. I'd actually feared for a bit there that I literally couldn't make it up the sheet of ice. 

 

Happily, Brugger made it safely home this afternoon from her (extra-long) weekend retreat in Asheville, NC. She didn't encounter any problems on the road until she arrived in town—and at our driveway. She managed to get the car just a few feet in, enough so that it's not hanging out on the street. I wouldn't go leaning on it, though, else it might go sliding.

 

During Ms. B.'s absence, the cats and I managed pretty well. I got in a lot of writing, a few movies, some strenuous exercise, and an argument on Facebook that prompted me to boot someone of my acquaintance from our Greensboro days. This was a person I'd known in the flesh for several years, and despite the fact she's a pretty hardcore conservative, we generally managed to get along. However, on more than one occasion, I would put considerable thought into a diplomatic and 100% factual response to some of her blathering, but then things would go south from there. So, yesterday, after just such a post of mine, she goes and puts up one of the most blatantly false articles in existence about the "lies of the left" regarding the killings of Renee Good and Alex Pritti. I confess I really lost my temper in a PM to her, and I'm not proud of that; however, after the horrific events of the past couple of weeks, and the worse-than-egregious lies from the "administration" (i.e., these people were domestic terrorists and intended to harm agents involved in an official operation), I am over and done with those blatant lies and those who either swallow or propagate them. At the end of the day, I am better off without her half-brained "reasoning" to rile me, and she's better off without having to suffer my temper.

C'est la vie.

 

Anyway, I am intensely thankful that the big storm wasn't the nightmare it originally portended. More than anything, though, I am glad that Ms. B. is back home. Hopefully, tomorrow, some of that ice will start melting.

Sunday morning white stuff — a wee soupçon

A sneaky mountain lion looking to steal my breakfast

Big Honking Winter Weather

It's supposed to be a big honking weather event today and tomorrow, starting with snow and ending with ice, which is not a good combo for the power staying on and trees not smashing your house. The snow started about 1 p.m., at first just flurries, but shortly thereafter, it began falling in earnest, and I swear to Yog, these are the biggest snowflakes I've ever seen. Many of them are four to five inches wide, and it went from almost no accumulation to four inches of accumulation in about an hour. In the photo above, you can kinda see the big-ass flakes, but the photo certainly doesn't do them justice. These are definitely Godzilla-sized.

The forecast calls for freezing rain later, which is a really bad finish for several inches of snow. I really do hope the power stays on, and—even more than that—that no trees around the house decide to give up the ghost because some of these fuckers are big, as in house-whomping B-I-G. Now, I do love these woods around here, and we had reputable firm do a health check on the biggest of the trees a while back, which reassured me that we're probably okay, at least for the foreseeable future. Still, this past year, a falling tree totally demolished a house not too far up the road, and that's not the kind of thing I wanna see up close and personal.

Anyhoo, I had some writing to finish up this afternoon, so to complement the work, I made myself a lovely smoked Old Fashioned, using the smoker Ms. Brugger gave me last Christmas, with a skull ice cube, made with the mold she gave this Christmas. For the moment, at least, I have a warm house and a good drink. We'll just have to see what develops over the next 24 hours.

Before any of the weather started, I took down all the Christmas decorations, including the lights around the trees I had put up in the woods. Now I kinda wish I'd at least left the ones in the woods because they'd have looked fooking cool in the snow tonight.

If ice begins accumulating before bedtime tonight, I might just sleep downstairs, for whatever good that might do should the worst happen.

A Late White Christmas

Morning snow in Midland

It wouldn’t be Christmas without spending time with Kimberly’s parents, but at the best of times, traveling over the holidays is an exercise in madness and fury. So, for several years running, we’ve avoided the rush by celebrating with her folks later in January. Michigan weather can always be dicey this time of year, but so far, we’ve managed to make it there and back again without getting stuck somewhere in transit. This year, the pandemic added yet another complication, but our mutual consensus was that we should go forth, continuing to take all possible precautions. We’ve all been vaccinated and boosted, we have avoided other gatherings for the past several days, and we have KN-95 masks, for whatever extra protection they might offer. Fortunately, we were able to get a flight into Saginaw (MSB), which is considerably closer than Flint, our typical port of entry to Michigan (Saginaw is usually more expensive, but this time we found a decent flight deal).

Unfortunately, our regular house-and-cat sitter had come down with COVID, which we took as no good omen. Fortunately, we were able to engage a close and highly experienced friend to take on the task. Thus reassured, we began the next chapter in our ongoing series of Mad Midland Adventures.

Pilot, what the hell, man?

Friday, January 14, 2022

We had a 5:10 p.m. flight out of PTI, so Brugger and I both worked until three o’clock and then left for the airport. There, at one of the terminal taverns, I found a damned good Bloody Mary (my customary traveling spirit), which properly set the mood for the journey. Our flight to Chicago O’Hare took somewhat longer than usual, given a strong headwind and fairly serious snowfall in Chicagoland. But it was when we landed that I wondered whether our pilot was drunk or simply lost. Because of my longtime affinity for aviation, I’m pretty familiar with ORD, not to mention aviation protocol in general. Our taxi to the terminal from Runway 9R took 30+ minutes, due to our route from Point A to Point B extending to Point ZZZ before circling back on itself (see my GPS track log on the left). Fuck a duck, man! The main problem at this point was that I had to pee. All kinds of badly. It took every ounce of effort in this body to hold back the tide, but at last, we were freed. (Thankfully, we were sitting near the front of the plane, so we were able to disembark quickly).

With an hour and a half before our flight to Saginaw, we took the opportunity to grab supper (and another Damned Bloody Mary for me) at Chili’s (burgers and fries; not necessarily the greatest but reasonably satisfying). The flight to Saginaw took a mere 40 minutes — but due to the precipitation and frigid temperatures, the plane had to be de-iced prior to take-off. This is usually not a lengthy process, and getting to the de-icing bay didn’t take too long; but, for whatever reason, once de-iced, there we sat — for a long time (considerably longer than the duration of the flight itself). To my dismay, it was damned hot in that plane. And yes — you guessed it — after that much time, I had to pee again, so as soon as we landed and that cabin door opened, I fucking bolted.

In the terminal, we found Del & Fern waiting for us (they had arrived at the airport a little early, so their wait for us had been a long one). Happily, from MSB it’s only a 15-minute drive back to Casa di Brugger. A steady snow was coming down, with about 4 inches of accumulation, but the roads, as is typical in Michigan, remained relatively clear. So, once finally ensconced in Kimberly’s family home, we promptly crashed and burned for the night.

Saturday, January 15, 2022

Brugger enjoying hot coffee inside a warm car while old man ventures into the frigid cemetery on an
ultimately ill-fated geocache hunt

The first full day of any Midland trip is when we make the traditional provision run to Meijer. And so it was today. While Meijer, like just about every retail store, is currently shy of a lot of items, in general, we were able to find decent stocks of the staples we were after. Whenever we’re here, it’s my pleasure to provide at least a dinner or two for the family, and this time around, I’ve put Bolognese (a.k.a. Ragu) on tomorrow’s dinner menu. Kimberly brought some Paccheri pasta she picked up on our trip to Italy, which I hope will be a good match for the sauce.

This afternoon, Ms. B. decided she would accompany me on a coffee/geocaching outing, despite a little snow still falling and temperatures in the very low teens. Me, I cared not a whit about the temperature; it’s geocaching. Caching in the snow can be invigorating, though oftentimes one is limited to finding “winter-friendly” caches (meaning they’re placed so they’re not likely to be buried by ice and snow). Today, after stopping for coffee at Live Oak Coffeehouse, I found mostly a bunch of readily accessible park & grab hides, though I did have good fortune seeking a few for which snow and ice augmented their natural camouflage. The sole cache I failed to locate was in a cemetery — much to my chagrin, since I love cemetery hides. I think I even found its hiding place, but a heavy coating of ice rendered it inaccessible. I expect I’ll be able to verify whether my suspicion is correct on some future cache hunt when the weather is more cooperative.

While we were out, we noticed a massive dark cloud that stretched from horizon to horizon. We realized this was not just a cloud but a sizable emission from the Dow Chemical complex a few miles to the south. Unsure whether this might be a normal issue from a smokestack or some dire accident, Brugger decided to drive us down to Overlook Park, which occupies relatively high ground and offers a panoramic view of the Dow plant. Sure enough, we soon discovered that the massive cloud was, in fact, just a big old belch from a row of smokestacks. Fortuitously, I managed to snag a couple of more caches at the park.

Once back at Casa di Brugger, we enjoyed a fairly light dinner, drank a little wine, and spent a typically pleasant evening with the folks in the basement in front of the TV. A pleasing end to a pleasing day.

Big old belch from smokestacks at Dow, seen from Overlook Park. The massive plume went all the way
across the sky to the far horizon, which was darkly spectacular.

Sunday, January 16, 2022

Back home in NC, everyone is bracing for Winter Storm Izzy, which promises to dump considerable snow and ice on the southeast. For the cats’ sakes, we’re seriously hoping the power doesn’t go out at home for an extended period. After last week’s fallen tree debacle next door, we’re also hoping our place escapes any similar issue. At best, travel is going to be impossible for a day or so. Here in Midland, there’s no significant snow in the forecast, but last night about midnight, the thermometer read a brisk 0℉, and it was the same when I woke up this morning. I had initially considered getting in some early geocaching, but I suspect I’m going to wait until this afternoon, when the temperature is supposed to reach a balmy 29℉.

Noonish, I began prep on the Bolognese Paccheri for our midday dinner. It’s semi-authentic Italian, in that I use all the traditional ingredients but customize it a bit by adding mushrooms, green olives, and hot chili pepper. We had been shamefully remiss in our wine purchases on yesterday, for we had neglected to pick up Italian wine (I blame Brugger). In its place, I used a decent Zinfandel, which worked quite well. Having never cooked Paccheri previously, I wasn’t sure how long it would take to come out properly al dente; for our four servings, eighteen minutes, it turned out. It was, in fact, just right. And no one attempted to axe murder the chef, so I must consider this dinner a grand success.

Bolognese and Paccheri, cooking and almost ready

Plated, with fruit side and wine

Kimberly’s cousin Jeannie came by during the afternoon and brought us a beautiful, handmade gift for our wedding this past year. A delightful lady she is, and we quite enjoyed spending time with her. Kimberly and I then ran a few necessary errands, which took us to the Midland Mall, which put us close to a couple of geocaches. Afterward, despite the temperature of 15℉, we navigated to them and I slogged out into the cold, snowy woods (a good twenty feet or so) to make the finds. I tell you, caching in this kind of environment is certainly different from typical caching back home, and despite the discomfort, it’s all kinds of enjoyable.

For the evening, the customary gathering of the family in the family room. It’s a mighty fine place to be.

Monday, January 17, 2022

Tis a tad brisk.

From the intel we’ve so far received, it sounds like, back home, Winter Storm Izzy spared us its worst. We’re definitely hoping this is, in fact, the case.

Here, it was a comfy 22℉ this morning — perfect for heading out for a nice, long geocaching ride in the snow on the bicycle. Okay, not really, not for the bike, but fine for borrowing the family vehicle and going after some winter-friendly caches. I headed out into one of the few remaining areas of Midland I haven’t cached out and picked up an even ten, mostly of the park-&-grab variety. One in particular proved to be singularly impressive — one of the most deceptive hides I’ve ever seen. I’ve seen other caches similar to this one, but this one was the best. I’ll not identify the specific cache, but I will divulge that it was video camera attached to a large sign in front of a business. The hint on the cache web page was a few lines from The Police’s “Every Breath You Take,” so I when I discovered the camera — bolted in place with a real electrical connector — I knew I must have found the cache. Still, it looked so authentic I couldn’t bring myself to mess with it. Since the business was open and the cache page indicated they were aware of the hide, I decided to go in and ask the proprietor if he knew about the geocache on the property. He did indeed, so when I asked whether I had actually found the cache, he laughed and assured me that I had. He clearly appreciated that I made the effort to check first. I would have felt horrible — and been liable for damage — had I fucked with something I ought not have.

I gave this one an easy favorite point. And such are the joys of geocaching.

Come dinnertime, Ms. B. and I ordered Japanese — spicy tempura shrimp and a spicy crab roll for me — from Maru, which we had visited some time ago, pre-pandemic, and rightly enjoyed. It was pretty good. After that, the family settled in and watched a number of episodes of M*A*S*H, as Ms. B. had brought along a few DVDs from our full set. That, and a nice red blend occupied us until bedtime.

Nemesis

Tuesday, January 18, 2022

I woke up this morning after anything but the best sleep ever, my brain preoccupied with all kinds of worries, some valid, some needlessly exaggerated. The Rogue Brain at Night syndrome, or something such. Once fortified with a breakfast of egg, sausage, mixed fruit, and a shit-ton of coffee, out I went to look for a cache I had failed to find on a previous trip — which the cache owner swears is in place. It’s supposed to be an ammo can in a triple-trunk tree along a little-used road at the edge of town. Well, there is only one triple-trunk tree that I’ve managed to spot anywhere near the posted coordinates. It’s a great big one that matches the descriptions from both cache page and previous finders’ logs, and there is most assuredly no ammo can — or any other container — in or around this tree. A query to the CO indicates I must be looking in the wrong place. Somehow, I never thought I was that blind, and, to be honest, I still don’t. Nemesis, this cache is.

On a positive note, once I gave up on Nemesis in frustration, I noticed a new cache on the map not too far away. So, I made my way over to it — little more than a mile — and managed to snag the first-to-find. It’s kind of nice to log an FTF when I’m somewhere away from home. And from there, I found one other cache before heading back to Casa di Brugger for a much-needed refill of the hot coffee.

The folks and Ms. B. headed out on a shopping trip for the afternoon, so I watched Godzilla Raids Again for good measure and made some forward progress on my newest Ameri-Scares series novel, Georgia: The Haunting of Tate’s Mill. It’s been more or less on hold for too long a while as I’ve been working diligently on a couple of other new, exciting projects, one of which I’ll be posting about in the very near future. Stay tuned!

Our traditional evening gathering in the family room rounded out another pleasant day at Casa di Brugger.

Wednesday, January 19, 2022

Pour les bon moments

It was one year ago today that my brother, Alan (a.k.a. Phred), passed away from leukemia. Hard to fathom such a rush of time; it was just the other day, really. In some ways, emotionally, today feels like a rocky ride; in others, it’s easier now to remember the better times, much as it is with Mom’s memory. Here’s my tribute blog that I wrote shortly after he died: The Universe Takes a Good One, January 19, 2021

This morning, I went on my customary early geocaching outing — which started out frigid, for that wind was bitter. Fortunately, it died down after a relatively short while, and then 30℉ felt all nice and comfy again. Caching-wise, things didn’t start on a very promising note, as the first couple I hunted appeared to be missing. But once I headed farther north on some of the secondary roads, my fortune improved. I think I snagged thirteen total, and a couple of them were challenging. One was a magnetic nano on a light pole — about 18 feet up — whose retrieval and replacement required some creative improvisation. Another was one I had hunted while bicycling on a previous trip here, but it’s in a metal sheath around a power pole, too high to reach without something to boost you. The bike didn’t work for that purpose, but the car did. So I was able to turn that DNF frownie into a nice big smiley.

The family went out for their typical afternoon shopping excursion, while I got some writing done. Promo writing. My favorite kind of writing — not! Mercy, I hate promo writing. Kinda gotta do it, but I hates it.

Come dinnertime, Ms. B. and I wended our way to Whine!, which has long been one of our favorite Midland destinations for food and spirits. On this trip, we really haven’t been out for dinner and such, figuring the less exposure to the world in general the better. Unfortunately, it seems like, no matter where you go anymore, masks are a thing of the past. On the good side, while there were a fair number of patrons at Whine!, they had tables spaced out very well, and the air circulation seemed quite good. In the past, I’ve been fond of the martinis at Whine! — dirty gin — so I stuck with that tonight. It was excellent indeed. Ms. B. went for a Smith & Hook Cab Sauv, which I would call decent, if utilitarian. (There is not so much as a whiff of snoot going on here, is there?). She ordered Hurricane Shrimp — excellent! — and I decided to stick to a theme and have the Bolognese on Pappardelle pasta. And you know what? It was the best Bolognese I’ve had this side of Italy. Possibly better than mine, maybe as good as friend Beth’s. I mean, shit, it were dingy dang good! Compliments to the chef at Whine!, to be sure.

A final night with the family in the family room, and we could hardly have asked for a better time of it.

L: Ms. B. and wine at Whine! — something you never, ever, EVER see; R: Old dude oblivious to the threat of
wine barrels toppling on his unprotected head

Thursday, January 20, 2022

Chicago just out of O’Hare, on our way back south

The quilt Kim’s cousin Jeannie made for us

For the final day of our trip, we opted to stay in and spend the better part of the day with the family (the sub-freezing temperatures outside had nothing — nothing, I tell you — to do with this decision). I have much, much writing to do, so a little down time this morning to make some forward progress turned out to be a good thing.

Every trip to visit the folks in Midland is memorable, as this one has been. It was a bit more mellow, with fewer outings in public, since hardly anyone in the area appears to acknowledge there’s still a pretty ugly disease roaming the wild. Daily, I see reports of more and more friends coming down with COVID-19 — mostly mild cases of Omicron, fortunately. I feel certain that both Brugger and I — like virtually everyone — will end up with it, since at this point it seems pretty much inescapable unless one completely shelters in place, and I don’t think any of us are willing to go that far. But we do intend to continue taking every sensible precaution for ourselves and others. To quote friend Patrick, who is currently suffering a bout of COVID: “Fuck literally every human being whose decision tree made this more likely, and thank you so much to everyone involved in creating the things that make it more likely that my case is mild.” Hear, hear.

Au revoir, for now. Oh, and here is a little preview of coming attractions:

Art by Daniele Serra