Slightly Off the Mark

The other day I was at Wal-Mart (wearing two layers of pajamas--brrrr), when I ran into a polar bear shopping for winter coats. "Shouldn't you be up north?" I asked.

"Nah, I'm tired of the cold. I'm heading to the Gulf Coast. Hopefully this Arctic air won't keep following me."

Then he took off south in his Tundra. I don't know what happened to him, but I have a feeling he's not happy.

Shall we talk about the weather? Everything west of the Rocky Mountains is burning, everything east is freezing. It's like a Rankin/Bass stop motion special about Hell.

The Heat Miser and Cold Miser battle over Las Vegas.

I told everyone: "Don't welcome 2025! Wait until you get to know it better!" Well, here it is, and now we know it just fine.

It can be argued that this is just a continuation of 2024, anyway. The Hawaii fires were last August. Hurricane Helene decided it wanted a mountain vacation back in September, so it headed for the Appalachian Mountains--and flattened them.

Sure, a lot of people up there are in tents and are running short of propane, but it's the South--at least it won't be too cold. Will it?

Getting really tired of the term "record breaking".

Here in northern Indiana we had, as the British might say, "a bit of a cool spell". The high temperature earlier in the week was 30 degrees lower than normal. At one point, the wind chill factor was minus 30 degrees. Fahrenheit. It made me a little nostalgic for the late 70s and 80s, when the phrase was "another weekend, another snowstorm".

Back then Time Magazine produced an article titled "Another Ice Age?" (From 1974. I was convinced I saw that title on the cover in 1977, but it didn't happen.) Global cooling was taken seriously by a lot of people, although even then others warned about global warming. Some of my favorite science fiction stories back then were about efforts to survive the oncoming glaciers.

As for me, I was deliriously happy when I found out the globe was warming instead of cooling. Then I read a science journal article predicting a few areas of the planet might actually get cooler, even as the rest warmed up.

And guess what winter-hating blogger lives in one of those areas?

But there's a difference between climate and weather, and right now the Cold Miser has told the Heat Miser to "hold my pina colada, and watch this". As awful as our Indiana weather has been, this is a mild spot in the country.

A blizzard warning on the Gulf Coast of Texas and Louisiana. A blizzard warning. Snow working its way up the southern states. A snowstorm in New Orleans.

New Orleans! The place looks like North Dakota.

Imagine if they had their Mardi Gras now. All those poor guys with thousands of beads, and they can't get the inebriated ladies to show anything. Have you ever had a frostbit nipple? Okay, neither have I, but I have had frostbitten fingers, toes, ears, and cheeks (on my face, mind you), and I can imagine.

(I wonder what kind of drink a frostbit nipple would be?)

"I don't feel jazzed at all."

And the women would unzip their coats, unbutton their quilted shirts, and show their flannel. Why? Because if they can get enough beads, it's another layer of insulation.

So the disasters keep coming, so fast one is still going on when the next one strikes. If you want to keep track, hope the Weather Channel shows a split screen. Or, you could invest in a few more TVs and have each playing a different channel. That may seem extreme, but I have friends in all the disaster areas, not to mention I've always been a weather nerd, anyway.

Still, I wouldn't mind a break from the weather. I'll bet I'm not the only one.

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Remember: Books make a good wind break.

 I realized while going through old blogs that I write about winter way more often than summer. Like most humor writers, my work is usually about stuff I'd be complaining about anyway, so there you go. But after our two hour air conditioner home maintenance job last week I wanted to complain about summer a bit, so I dredged up this 2016 blog I wrote after helping my in-laws move in southeast Missouri ... in July.

They had to get moved faster than planned, after a car crashed into their old home. For one thing, the bedroom was now the width of a bathtub. It had huge holes in the former walls ... and Missouri mosquitos can punch through walls without help. And finally, the electricity had to be cut off to the home. See above about southeast Missouri—in July.

Here's the difference between that area and where I live, in northeast Indiana. Hoosier weather gets just as hot and humid ... from time to time. It seems like our heat waves last forever, but in reality they rarely go more than a few days. (This week excepted.) In Missouri the humidity pops up to 114% in May, and the temperature doesn't drop below 90 until October. Yes, the humidity's actually more than 100%. It’s a head-scratcher, or maybe that’s the mosquitos.
 

Flowers still came out in the morning, but in the afternoon they burst into flames.

Reel-mounted fire extinguishers were mounted by each mailbox, in case the postal delivery arrived in flames.

In the end it was worth it. The in-laws had a nice little place, we visited with some friends, and after regaining consciousness we even got to do some traveling. There's something to be said for helping people out. If I could, I'd go back down there and embrace the whole community with a great big, loving cloud of DDT.

It would still be hot, though.

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Remember to check your back seat for kids, pets, and ghosts.
 

 She pops out for a day, shows a little leg, smiles demurely, and disappears again, leaving her anxious suitors to suffer through more cold and wet. It’s hardly any wonder that the symbol of weather should run hot and cold, but sheesh – enough is enough.

The stupid groundhog predicted an early spring, but he didn't say it would come all at once. What is a groundhog, anyway? It’s a big rat. Set a trap, somebody.

Even more than usual, our weather pattern looks like a heartbeat on an EKG. It reminds me the old days, when I walked to school barefoot, in a raging blizzard every morning and a blistering heat wave in the afternoon. (Uphill both ways, blah blah blah.)

I really should get around to admitting I only lived two blocks from school.

As a result of the bouncing weather, some people say they'd rather it just stay cold all the time. Their brains are still frozen. Saying cold all the time instead of warm some of the time is like saying that, since you can’t eat 24 hours a day, you’d rather just starve. To carry the heavy comparison further, I’d rather weigh 300 pounds but be alive than be the first member of my family to voluntarily starve to death.

Most of my best winter photos are taken from inside. I care less about glare than I do about frostbite.

Summer now goes by much more quickly than it used to, and winter – strange as our recent winters have been – lasts much longer. When I was a kid, the average summer lasted eighteen months. Seriously. I would go out to play after breakfast, and wouldn’t come in again for three days, just in time for lunch. The summer when I turned nine lasted for over six years. It’s a science-fictiony mystery, but there you go. We went down to Kentucky for a two week vacation that lasted so long we had to cut down trees to get the car back on the road.

And it never got hot. Kids could wake up in the hospital with two IV’s in their arms to rehydrate them, and have no idea they were ever overheated. Then they’d go home and run back outside again. Sure, most of us didn’t notice the cold, either, but we sure noticed when we started getting feeling back into our limbs. It was like getting a power pinch from our least favorite aunt – all over.

Isn't this fun? SO much fun. Later I'm having hot chocolate and a good cry.

Even the bad things about summer are proof that summer is good:

Bugs? Hate ‘em. But why do they come out during the spring? Because during winter they’re dead. Everything’s dead. It’s a dead season. Mother Nature is dead – the first lightning storm of the spring is like a giant defibrillator, starting her heart back up.

No lawn mowing during winter. Why? Grass is dead. No poison ivy during winter. Why? Dead. Snakes? Dead. No spiders during the winter. (Spiders are not bugs. Bugs are just bugs – spiders are evil.) Even spiders know dead when they see it, although many think it looks like the bottom of my shoe.

Hot and humid is unpleasant, I get that, but nobody's car ever slid into a snowbank because the sun was shining too much. No poor match girl ever froze to death under a shade tree during an Independence Day celebration.

Tornadoes? Terrible things, mile-wide vacuum cleaners. But blizzards have covered half the friggin’ country. Besides, no matter how strong it was, no meteorologist ever mentioned “tornado” in the same sentence as “wind chill”.

Winter even smells dead – spring smells of fresh cut grass, and lilacs, and that earthy scent that comes with a warm summer rain. And yes, it also smells of hot asphalt, and dairy farms, and sweat, but that’s a small price to pay for driving down a country road with the window open and breathing deeply as you pass a cornfield.

Pretty, isn't it? And DEAD.

Almost everything’s green, with patches of other bright colors like spotting a forgotten twenty dollar bill. Green is life. Winter has no color: It’s black and white and dead all over. I could also go for the cliché and mention the sounds – birds, frogs, insects, all more relaxing than the sound of sleet on siding, or furnaces kicking on. Finally, lest we forget, the feel of walking around in shorts and shirtsleeves, without the accompanying frostbite.

Warmth makes everything a little better. Sure, you can’t store your frozen goods on the back porch, but that’s a small price to pay for opening the window and breathing real air.

So come on out, Mother Nature, don’t be a tease. And don’t bother bringing your winter coat.

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Remember: When wrapped in plastic, books make good umbrellas. Use hardcover.

          There’s probably no better timed holiday than Halloween. After all, it comes just before the two most frightening times on the calendar: Winter, and elections.

            It’s hardly surprising, then, that one popular Halloween mask is any famous politician. Some years ago I went out as a Senator, stopped all the other Trick-Or-Treaters, and collected 28% of their candy. The problem is, half the people don’t recognize political figures, and the other half get too scared.

So my criteria for choosing a costume: Warmth. It’s not unheard of here to have snow by the end of October. Any Hoosier parent will tell you the main task in designing their kid’s costume is incorporating a heavy coat and snow boots. Dressing as an astronaut is very popular.

            I stopped celebrating Halloween after realizing I can just go to the store, buy all the candy I want, turn off the porch light and eat it inside, in the warmth.

Yes, I know--but I already spent one Halloween in that outfit, and never got any candy.

No human can produce a Halloween more frightening than staring another Midwest winter in its frostbitten face. So those times when forced to go out for Halloween, I dressed as an Eskimo (These days I'd be an Inuit, or Yupik). Once, to mix it up, I went as that kid Kenny from South Park, even though it killed me. He dresses as an Eskimo. I still wasn't warm – an entire calendar worth of Playmates of the Year couldn’t warm me up in autumn or winter –  but at least I tried.

My wife loves Halloween--it’s one of her few faults. She refused to marry me until I agreed to go annually to my brother’s Halloween parties, which were sadly held outside. Usually I hovered near his wood burning stove in the garage, especially after Emily decided I'd used up my Eskimo turns and had to try something new.

One year we went as zombies. We attended the Zombie Walk in Kendallville, shuffled  to a cemetery for a photo op, and then, just for fun, walked into a grocery store and demanded bran. The clerk said, “Last year you were way scarier as Dick Cheney”.

We tried to do costumes on the cheap, because I’m cheap. That gave me two possibilities, both wearable with insulted long underwear:

My adopted brother Martin gave me bags of hand-me-down clothes. Being that I’m a small town white person and he’s a black guy from Fort Wayne (which is big city by my standards), we didn’t have the same fashion sense, but see above about me being cheap.

Anyway, I found a couple of items that I’m fairly sure he threw in just to mess with me. One was a uniquely loud puffy shirt, the other a pair of oversized parachute pants that buttoned all the way down the side. I refuse to believe he ever wore these things in public.

I could go to Halloween as a stereotypical 70’s disco black guy, or as a clown. While I’ll never be politically correct, we all know I’m not brave/dumb enough to tackle the former.

The second choice was something my mother bought for me, back when she (correctly) thought I needed to get fit. It was designed to hold in body heat and moisture while you exercise, apparently under the assumption that you’ll sweat yourself healthy. It’s like a portable sauna. I used it once on the treadmill, and lost twelve pounds in thirty minutes. That day I could have gone trick-or-treating as a zombie without needing any makeup, assuming I could walk in a straight line, which I couldn’t.

It was basically an all silver track suit, neck to toe. A little silver makeup, aluminum foil hat, and – tah-dah! The Tin Woodman. Or a space alien.

Look out! Space alien!

That's what I'll choose if I ever go again: Any candy I ate would sweat out of me by the time I made it home. Plus, anything that reflects that much body heat back is bound to keep me warm, no matter how cold it gets outside. Since my one and only goal from October through March is staying warm, I could celebrate Halloween for months … even if the upcoming political campaign leaves me cold.

And if that doesn’t work, the Eskimo costume is standing by.

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Remember, everyone who doesn't read is risking a visit from Edgar Allan Poe.

 Seasonal changes can get confusing. Of course, every place in the world has the same expression: If you don't like the weather, wait five minutes: It'll change. (There are possible exceptions, such as, say, the middle of the Sahara.)

The reason it's a universal concept is because it's true. But I'll add something: I have the ability to effect the weather.

How do I do this? By not wanting to.

Some things thrive no matter what the weather. I am not one of those things.

I've known for years that what we used to call Indian Summer would not arrive in Indiana until I've completely winterized the house. September, November--doesn't matter. Winterizing my house, which was built before anyone had ever heard of winterizing, is serious business. A square mile of clear plastic is involved. Six miles of various kinds of tape. I swaddle the air conditioner with a special cover designed just for it ... to which I add numerous yards of duct tape, after once finding the cover wrapped around the bank sign next door.

This must all be done before the last warm weather of summer arrives.

I found this growing in the back yard this spring. Not sure when it was planted, but it doesn't seem to need much water.

One year, as an experiment, I didn't prepare for winter at all. We had no autumn that time around: It went straight from summer into winter. Honestly, I don't think the frozen pipes and hypothermia were worth proving the point.

This spring I thought I had it beat (again). I watched the long range forecast very carefully, and instead of opening up the house for spring, I waited until I saw the inevitable spring snowstorm approach. It did, then the temperatures got into the 70s. That Friday I happily turned off the furnace and took down the storm windows.

That Saturday I brought out the space heaters and extra blankets. For meals that weekend we baked every bit of frozen food we had, and slept by the stove. We made the dog sleep with us, which annoyed him greatly--he already has a fur coat.

"Sunshine makes me smile. And pant."

So there you have it: I can control the weather. Kneel before me.

Or at least, bring me some firewood.

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(It's possible I was a little irate when I wrote this. Also, I'm hopeful the snowy weather is over for the season, but not convinced.)

I contend that DWS (Driving While Stupid) should be a death penalty offense.

Of course, DWS isn't illegal to begin with, but we have to start somewhere.

Look, I’ve done foolish things while driving. I once backed an ambulance into a mailbox--and yeah, it was snowing, but it wasn't the snow's fault. I slid over a stop sign with a police office standing ten feet away. Snow was an accomplice in that case. I took a 1976 Pontiac Ventura off-road four wheeling – and no, Venturas were not FWD.

My youth may have been a reason, but not an excuse. I’ve slowed down, but others haven’t. Worse, the people who cause the mayhem often walk away uninjured, whining about how traumatized they are from the experience.

“It was horrible, all the kids in the back of my pickup flying through the air, and the nun’s body knocked out my tire alignment -- *sob* -- I almost lost my grip on my beer. Luckily I had my cell phone in my other hand, so I was able to call 911.”

"What? It looks fine."

 Sometimes–not always – drivers of big vehicles are most reckless. Why? Well, drivers of small cars are scared stiff. You think I’m going to tailgate a truck that has a spring loaded bumper aimed at my nose, and a “Honk if You Love Guns” bumper sticker? I don’t think so.

Second, many drivers of large vehicles thumb their noses at Mother Nature. “What’s a little freezing rain? I’ve got four wheel drive!” It’s fun to play the game where you’re passed by an SUV, then get to point and laugh at him when he lands in the ditch two miles on.

It’s the definition of False Sense of Security. Yes, maybe you and your truck will get through your 65 mph trip in blinding snow without incident. Angels watch over the foolish. Or maybe the next time will be the one when you’ll end up parked in somebody’s living room, with a Toyota under you that can now qualify as a throw rug.

Here’s a wild idea: Slow your ass down. A five thousand pound block of metal, at a speed that would terrify an Indy 500 racer of 75 years ago, is not under your control, even in the best weather conditions. Add to that rain, deer, and other idiot drivers, and you’ve got a recipe for bloody mayhem.

“That won’t happen to me,” you say. You’re a moron. Nobody’s last words were, “I have a feeling I’m going to get into a bad accident today.”

"Did you see that idiot?"

Let’s break it down.

There are excellent drivers capable of maintaining control at warp 5, but they don’t live around here. If they did, they’d have died with a deer in their laps a long time ago. If you’re running late during a snowstorm and get behind a silver haired lady driving 35 mph, you have nobody to blame but yourself for not leaving on time.

Seat belts. They keep you from getting your head run over when you’re thrown out of your rolling SUV because you tried to pass that silver haired lady in a snow storm. Living is cool.

Carry a set of scales, and weigh yourself before getting into the car. If you’re not on the edge of starvation, wait until you get home to eat.

A lot of people try to excuse their accidents by saying they were “blinded by –“ fill in the blank. The sun, oncoming headlights, a brilliant idea, whatever.

We don’t let blind people drive. It’s what used to be called common sense, before attorneys had it banned. So if you’re behind the wheel and something blinds you – STOP DRIVING. Are you worried somebody behind you will be mad because you hit the brakes and pulled over? Fine – let them be mad at your very alive self.

They’re probably driving a four wheel drive, anyway.

 

(Remember, whenever you buy one of our books I can get gloves, and keep my fingers warm enough to write another one.)

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 This week has been so hot, "so hot" jokes have been trending.

There's only so much you can do with them, of course--they've been around a long time. One of the original European settlers, in the Roanoke Colony of Virginia, left a note that said "it's so hot we're moving to Plymouth". The settlers were never heard from again, after apparently getting lost on the Washington, D.C. beltway.

Just the same, it's been so hot even I've been uncomfortable, not that I'd admit it. I'd still take a heat wave over a cold snap, but that doesn't mean I like either one. I went out to mow the lawn at 9 a.m. the other day, and ended up going through five water bottles: Three in me and two over me. It was so hot the lawn mower started flashing an error light that said "water me".

"You think I'm leaving the shade without a drink, first? You just filled me with gasoline!"

I didn't know it even had error lights.

Fun fact: In order to clean my mower you have to connect a garden hose, which sprays water all over the inside of the mower deck while it runs, to clean the grass off. So, you DO have to water it.

Naturally, it's not just the heat up here. This week the relative humidity was relatively low, but last week was so humid that, after I mowed, I had to step into the shower to dry off. Relax, I'm not posting any photos of that.

Anything that was in full sunlight started to glow red, unless it was already red, in which case it started to glow orange. The fire hydrant down the street called me over and begged me to let my dog pee on it. I refused, being worried about steam burns.

"Don't worry about me peeing back at you, I can hold my water."

You'd think the humidity would satisfy it. At one point the humidity level was 140%, which translated to a heat index of, and I quote, "broil". Jim Cantore came over from The Weather Channel to investigate how the humidity can actually be higher than 100%, and his cameraman drowned. Meanwhile, three people were blinded when the sun shone of Cantore's head. He was heard to say, "I'd rather have thundersnow". Speak for yourself, fella.

But I took advantage of it by letting the air conditioner drain its water into a bucket outside, then using the bucket to water my plants. By the way, if anyone needs any planters, I, uh, killed all my flowers with scalding water.

It's been especially rough for people who don't have air conditioners--or for people who had no power at all, including the ones south and west of my home who were hit by the latest derecho. (It is too a real word--shut up, spell check.)

I tried to honor their crisis by going outside, at least long enough to mow the lawn. Their general response was that I was crazy, and could they stop by for several hours?

Anyway, eventually I had to go out again, to let the dog water that hydrant. The dog's response? "Um, no thanks ... I'll hold it."

"Nope. Uh-uh, not until the next cold snap hits in July."

It was easy for me, though: I was a kid. I didn't have a paid job, I wasn't a volunteer firefighter yet, and I didn't even have to go to school for a week. Yeah, there was snow shoveling, but we have that now.

We've been spoiled since then, here in northeast Indiana. Sure, there were bad snowstorms, especially in the eighties when it snowed nonstop for eight months of the year. Well, it seemed that way. To compare, the big snowstorm of 2009 dropped 13 inches of snow here. The '78 storm topped out at 30.6 inches, and killed 70 people in Indiana.

So when we tell "Well, in my day" stories about snow--we don't have to exaggerate.

Now we're expecting at least a foot of snow, in two waves over two days, with the Thursday portion accompanied by 30 mph winds. This is bad. And--this is going to sound ironic, coming from me--I don't think people are taking it seriously enough.

Well, some people are.

I went to the store early Monday, and apparently a lot of the panic shopping happened over the weekend. By the time I left an hour later, it looked like the locusts were stripping away all the grain in Oklahoma.

Maybe I'm worrying needlessly. Just the same, I did everything in my power to keep the storm from happening at all. See, I have a reputation for my predictions being wrong. A lot. So when we had good weather all through December (for December), I loudly proclaimed that we would pay for it in January and February.

Okay, so sometimes I'm right. But when forecasts of this particular storm started coming in, I took quick action to stop it:

I loaded up at the store, stuffing our freezer and cupboards with so much food we look like a survivalist compound.

I refilled all my meds, especially the ones that keep me from turning all Jack Torrance every winter.

"Here's J-J-J-J-brrrrrr.......

I topped off the car's gas tank, and made sure it held a snow shovel, blankets, snack bars, abrasives, and a flashlight that actually lights. Also, a little fake hand with the middle finger up, so I won't get frostbite flashing reckless drivers the bird. I did all that despite the fact that I have absolutely no intention of going anywhere for the next week, other than work. Work is three quarters of a mile away--I can, and have, walked there, even in bad weather.

On a related note, I prepared my winter underclothes and my winter over clothes, just in case I do have to walk. People might report a Jupiter-sized suspicious subject in a ski mask, but these days masks are more expected than they used to be.

I made sure the dog has lines going out both the front and back door, so all I have to do is buckle him in. If he wants to go out in that crap--to crap--he's on his own.

"Wait ... what?"

I charged our cell phones, and my Kindle, in case power goes out and we have to burn our books for heat. (Kidding! It would be way too sad reading e-books by the glow of a book fire.)

I studied the weather forecasts. Okay, I studied two dozen forecasts in a three state area. (Hey, I work in the emergency services.) I worried when they all started agreeing with each other. Although bad weather is notoriously difficult to predict, the guys and gals who go to school for that stuff are getting increasingly good at it, even though armchair meteorologists prefer to think otherwise. May the Blue Bird of Unhappiness drop an ice bomb on their foreheads.

After confirming the forecasts, I started shouting the warning out, long and loud, to anyone who passed by the street corner downtown. Okay, on social media. There was no excuse, I declared, for not being prepared, so be aware and take a care--ahem. Sorry.

Why? Because if my predictions are usually wrong, then maybe all that prep would cause mischievous Mother Nature to nudge the storm, one way or another, just enough for us to get six inches and a breeze instead of sixteen inches and a blow. It's the same reason why sports fans hire me to root for the other team. You're welcome, Bengals.

Will it work?

Well ... no. If I thought it would work, it wouldn't. That's how it works. I mean, doesn't work. As I write this it's early Tuesday, and by this time Wednesday it'll be clear we're in for a big time butt-kicking. Remember, the Four Horses of the Snowpocalypse  are Cold, Snow, Wind, and Shattered Hopes.

But that won't stop me from trying.

 I woke up late and had a fire department meeting in an hour, and it was a horrible day for a drive, so we went for a drive.

In our defense, it was a time-sensitive errand ... and we didn't know it would be a bad day for a drive. As I dragged myself out of bed Emily told me about a line of thunderstorms to the west, but we were headed east. Surely we could get things done and be back before it hit.

We didn't know it was a derecho, which is meteorological term meaning "big honking storm like a hurricane except in the middle of the country", which wouldn't have fit as easily in a headline. We also didn't take into consideration that the system was moving at 60 mph. By the time we got back it was, as the old timers say, all over but the shouting.

Just after we turned back I crested a hill on a country road and almost ran down a group of wild turkeys. Um, flock. Herd? Wait, let me look it up ...

Huh. Rafter. A group of turkeys is called a rafter. Who'da thunk it? Anyway, that was my first clue that this wouldn't be an ordinary trip.

Your rafter may vary.

There would be a lot of shouting. And wind. And those big huge drops of rain that look like there's a bucket full in each drop, and yeah, a little hail mixed in with that. We hit some of that, then about five miles out of town Emily told me the clouds were rotating, which I could believed because by then the western third of Noble County was under a tornado warning. (We were under a thunderstorm warning, which in retrospect seems underwhelming. It occurs to me there should be a derecho warning, or possibly they could call it a land hurricane, which sounds cooler.)

We pulled over at a good spot to watch. (In other words, safe.) I got out to see, yes indeed, there was a small rotating wall cloud going over our heads. I never thought to get some video, which is odd, because I'm usually all about grabbing the camera; but I stayed standing outside the car long enough to see it wasn't just a random cross wind--it was, indeed, rotating. I didn't see a funnel, and so far as I know all the damage around Noble County came from straight line winds ... which did just fine by themselves, thank you.

Emily, who's much smarter than me, and the dog, who's also no dummy, had stayed in the car. So I was the only one who got clobbered when another wall of those bucket-sized raindrops reached us.

We tried to drive on, but have you ever tried to drive while inside an automatic car wash?

You have? What the heck's the matter with you?!?

So we didn't drive, for a while, having found another place to get completely off the roadway. Eventually we went on, once all the foliage around us was no longer leaning at a 90 degree angle. Or 75 degree. Or ... oh, who am I fooling? I hated math. They were blowing sideways, okay?

Now, people can sometimes cause problems by trying to do the right thing. As we inched down the highway, an oncoming car flashed its high beams to get out attention. It was probably the driver who did it, not the car, but never mind.

They were trying to warn me, but it had the opposite effect, because I was looking at that passing car when Emily said "TREE!"

My wife doesn't yell about trees unless they suddenly appear in front of us, in the twilight haze of sideways rain. It had blocked about half of State Road 8, and it wasn't something I was going to move, so I called the Sheriff Department business number.

It was busy.

Different storm, same action.

You gotta understand, that just doesn't happen often. My first impulse was just to leave them alone, but the tree was across a state highway, after all. I got through by portable radio, and after we determined we'd do more harm than good if we stayed where we were, we headed back toward Albion.

That's when we came across a tree branch, halfway across the road from the other side, but this one was something we thought we could do something about. It was obviously just a large, dead branch, so we hopped out, dodging cats and dogs (still raining, you see), ran over to it, and realized it was way bigger than we'd thought from inside the dry car, where the dog was laughing at us.

Okay, it was a tree.

But it was a dead tree, so by hauling on it together, we were able to break the worst of it off. then we threw the larger broken branches off the roadway, and then we got the heck out of dodge, because dodge was a highway and visibility wasn't exactly 100%. Especially since the pavement was starting to flood, and who knew which way other drivers were looking?

 Yeah, I missed the fire meeting.

But we made it home safely, and we had dry clothes, and even electricity, which is more than a lot of other people could stay. The moral of the story is, I suppose, the same as it's been all year:

Stay home.

(Just the same, after we were safely home I looked at Emily and said, "But now that it's over, it was kinda fun, wasn't it?" She agreed. The dog was a dissenting vote. And this attitude is how people get into trouble.)

I suppose I should advertise my novel Storm Chaser here, but the weather was a windbag enough for all of us.

Hey, can I whine, for just a second?

Usually when I write about some problem I'm going through, I try to do it with humor. I figure, why bring people down? Better to leave them with a laugh, or a smile, even if they're smiling at your misfortune--better to make life a wee bit better.

Especially now, when, honestly, it got so bad last week. We had a young police officer and his wife killed in a car crash, several bad fires in the region, and general misery for just about everyone, thanks to weather conditions so bad polar bears have been checking local real estate prices.

And that last is partially why I decided to whine. (The cold, not the polar bears.) I want to do a little public service announcement, which I'm naming after a guy I saw the other day wearing shorts. It was snowing, and three degrees. I call my PSA "If you freeze because of doing something stupid, it's stupid".

The title's a work in progress.

When I was about sixteen or so, I went out with a group of kids to play in the snow. Even back then I hated cold; but I had a lousy home life, so maybe I just wanted to get out of the house for awhile. As I recall I had a nice coat, but otherwise it was jeans and maybe some light gloves that quickly got saturated from all that snow-playing. 

The thawing out process was excruciating.

So here's my first PSA: Frostbite often sneaks up on you, especially if you're sledding or, say, throwing snowballs at other sledders. And here's my second: The damage can be permanent. (Thinking back on it now, I also had a nice case of hypothermia going on.)

Afterward, once the temperature dropped below forty-five or so I had to wear gloves, or keep my hands in my pockets. Once it got down into the teens it was hard for me to use my hands even with gloves on, and I had the same problem with my toes. My cheeks and ears would burn, and any kind of breeze would give me an earache. Whether that was connected to my sinuses' sensitivity to weather changes, I couldn't say. Basically this body was meant for the desert, as a desert rat writer friend of mine often points out.

What the heck. I got used to it. Or at least, I got used to bundling up.

But wait--it gets better. 

The dog doesn't care. He's got a fur coat.

As last week's cold snap arrived, my hands and feet stiffened, hurt, and even burned a little. My ears and cheeks got sore. Inside the house ... with the heat on. That pain and increasing sinus pressure sent me into a headache that lasted three days and devolved into one of my few migraines. The good news is that I was on days off (I hate using sick days), and didn't have to go anywhere; the bad news is that I missed some fire calls, and in minus teens temperatures they could have used the help.

Yes, I know I wouldn't have lasted long in those temperatures, but who can?

Okay, enough whining, here's my point: Frostbite damage can not only be lifelong, it can get worse with age. Guess whose hands tingle and burn (and sweat, which I recently learned was a thing after frostbite)? Guess who gets that pain sooner and faster? Guess who has signs of arthritis that might be connected?

No, stop guessing, it's me. Pay attention.

So my PSA: Protect yourself. Learn how to prevent all those things that begin with "frost".  Because even if you don't lose body parts (or die), you could be in for long term, and very annoying, problems.

Also, my wife wants you to yell at me if you see me outside without a hat and gloves on. She didn't say anything about pants, but maybe that's a given. 

That's my wife, bundled like insurance.