Snow

 

Towards the end of this December the snow finally fell on St. Paul and Minneapolis. As soon as it becomes Fall I begin anticipate the first snowfall. And now it has occurred. My experience in the Midwest over the past thirty years suggests to me that the recent snow fall will remain on the ground until sometime in April. There will be much time for snow and ice over the next four or so months.  I tend to forget if this December snowfall is an anomaly, occurring later than usual, or if this ground cover in late December snowfall is normal. In either case, the snow is now present. The winter solstice occured on schedule on December 21at 5:05am, and the winter season is relatively new, but weather in the Midwest does not follow the regular seasonal changes. This week, for example, the temperature has finally dropped below zero degrees as a harbinger of what will come, but there have been very recent days when the air was warm enough for not a few hardy souls—mostly male—to walk about in shorts! I have had experience of winter storms here as early as Halloween. Interestingly, in Henning Mankell’s Faceless Killers Detective Wallender notes throughout that despite the winter season the snow had not yet arrived! The wind blew and chilled everyone; the rain fell and created mud everywhere. But the expected snow did not fall. The weather seemed to mirror the psychology state of the detectives and the disruption of order on earth as a result of the murders the detectives are attempting to solve. And then after six months as the frustratingly difficult, unpleasant and unsolved murder case finally opens to solution the snow arrived. The snowfall seemed to be a sign that the world had returned to its normal rhythms and conditions. Contrarily, in William Kent Krueger’s novel Iron Lake there is no beauty in the snow but only death!

     I like the beauty of snowfall. I especially enjoy the larger soft flakes that seem to float dancingly down and land gently on the ground and on the tongue. Ironically, these flakes seem to almost warm the earth on which they fall, and feather the coats and jackets of pedestrians promenading, skiing and skating amidst the snow fall. Indeed, when these flakes float down the air temperature seems almost warm as opposed to the cold I experience when fall the tiny cold snow flakes that for me a sign of wintry cold weather.
     I love the beauty of the softer gentler snow fall; and I love the quiet that results from the soft blanketing the snow drapes across the streets and walks. But too soon the plows arrive, and the snow becomes despoiled by the turned up dirt and grime. The pristine white turns shades of brown and gray; gets pushed into large mountains at intersections, driveway ends and parking lot borders; gets yellowed with dog urine. The cleanliness and beauty with which the snow has covered the soiled and wintry barren earth becomes despoiled and the skeletal, drab, and even zombie-like winter returns, and I begin to anticipate the next snow fall.  

Random Thoughts

This has been a difficult year goes the cliché. Since past March the social world has shrunk and my beloved movie theaters have shuttered. I don’t know when I’ll feel comfortable enough to return to my aisle seat in the center of the room. I haven’t owned a television set in years and have taken to streaming over my 32 inch computer monitor. It is a diminished though adequate enough experience. Sometimes we watch an actual film, but mostly we consume British detective shows: Lewis, Morse, Vera, Mrs. Fisher, Broadchurch. Unforgotten, Shetland, Pie in the Sky, Murder in Paradise, Scott and Bailey.  Lately I’ve thought about purchasing a wide screen set but I’m reticent of erecting a large eye in my living room and draping power cords that would look like snakes crawling along and down the wall.  Daughter suggests that I encase the screen in a cabinet that shutters; that would be, I guess. one solution, but that still wouldn’t address the question of the visible cords. I guess I could sell more of my books (gasp!!) and create a bit more wall space in my office, but that solution though is anathema to me.
     I read a great many detective novels. I have taken to considering why I do so and have tentatively considered that such study of self and them might be a new project. At the center of these novels is always a murder (though in Harlan Coben’s The Boy in the Woods that murder had place many years ago and is not even the focus of the detective’s search), and the character of the detective is a central interest. Death is something in which I have long had interest and even concern, and during this pandemic year a great many people have died. Right now I especially enjoy the Quirke novels of Benjamin Black, the pseudonym for John Banville. And what is so interesting about these books is that they are novels first and detective stories after. That is, they are truly novels with complex characters and the stories aren’t plots driving characters but are characters driving plots.
     I have during these months baked a great many breads and muffins and scones and have taken to gifting these products to friends and neighbors. Even before the shut-in I had returned to baking, but during this perilous and isolated time whenever I would suffer anxiety I would turn to baking. Before the rush to sourdough during the pandemic I maintained a nice rye starter and have since October grown a white sour that ferments even as I write. Yes, anxious am I.

     I desperately await January 20^th and the inauguration of Joe Biden as President of the United States. It interests me that no one refers to him as Joseph Biden . . . he is forever Joe! Even more I anticipate the departure from the White House of Trump and his sycophantic minions. His presidency has frightened and embarrassed me; his language has degraded public discourse, his personal attacks against a whole assortment of good and tried people has poisoned the common air; his toleration of nazis and white supremacists and his obvious racism and misogyny have created in this nation a dangerous environment of hatred and violence. Trump’s paranoid and unhinged rantings about an election he has fairly and decidedly lost has endangered the very foundation of democracy--the vote. Of his almost 50 lawsuits attempting to overturn the election results, he has won none. I think that we will breathe easily again in four weeks but until then I remain concerned. And even after episodes of PTSD resulting from his reign of terror will disturb my rest. He has been and remains still very, very dangerous.

     Of course I have stopped my gym membership during these months. I walk regularly but now I get chastised by my iPhone for walking less today then yesterday, less this week than during the last one, though on the whole I am walking more steps this year than I did last year. The phone measures my distance, number of steps, step length, double support time (?) walking speed, and walking asymmetry (?). Measuring my walk is more tiring than the walk itself.

     And Anxious Am I has been sent to an editor for his advice. Anxious I am.