Cold out there. Let’s stay in here.
I was not expecting to see 16° on the old weather widget when I stumbled into the kitchen this morning.
Six-fuggin’-teen? On April 5? Was Dante right? Hell is cold? Can we crank up the heat a smidgen, please, Beelzebub, you old devil? I know, I know, I’ve been bad, but shit, if I wanted to freeze my huevos off before coffee I’d still be doing my sinning in that hillside hacienda outside Weirdcliffe, where I had a stove, ax, and woodpile.
Still, could be worse. I spoke with Consigliere Pelkey yesterday and he said that I-80 was closed between Laramie and Cheyenne due to vile weather, th’owin’ a hitch inta his gitalong as regards a doctor’s appointment in the capital city.
My old Bicycle Retailer comrade Steve Frothingham checked in from the People’s Republic of Boul-Daire to report that it was “puking snow” in his neck of the Woke Woods.
We passed a few pleasant moments discussing jurisprudence and journalism in Manhattan and agreed that if a courtroom artist were required we wanted Ralph Steadman, since S. Clay Wilson is unavailable, being dead.
Today, meanwhile, rather than skulk around indoors and risk absorbing some news, I decided to motor around and about The Duck! City, scratch a few chores off the to-do list, wait for the desert to assert itself.
By midafternoon, the temperature finally inched into the low 40s, and I finally ventured out for a leisurely 5K on the trails, though asthma and allergies (juniper, poplar, elm, etc.) had me sounding like a secondhand accordion in the mitts of an unruly middle-schooler with a tin ear.
Tonight the wizards are calling for another hard freeze. I didn’t hear them calling yesterday, but I’ve heard them this time and unplugged the two hoses I use to water the trees.
“These temperatures are cold enough to kill most early season vegetation,” says the National Weather Service.
Good. Maybe they’ll croak the junipers, poplars, and elms. A man needs some breathing room.
Tags: Charles Pelkey, Dante's Inferno, Ralph Steadman, S. Clay Wilson, Steve Frothingham
Mad Blog Media 
April 5, 2023 at 8:33 pm |
It was 29 here this morning. My 1 year old crepe myrtle in the front yard had half its new buds frosted off. I haven’t been warm since November. Unusual this is.
April 6, 2023 at 6:56 am |
Yeh, weird with a beard, for sure. I fear for the trees. Our newish pistache doesn’t know what the hell is going on, and neither do I.
April 5, 2023 at 10:40 pm |
Sweet 16° here last night and again tomorrow, after getting 4 more inches of the white stuff the other night. Crazy thing was, the day before it snowed? 67°!!
Crossing my fingers and toes that this precip helps keep the fires at bay this summer. That month of orange skies and dislocated black bears had me checking out Bora Bora real estate.
April 6, 2023 at 6:59 am |
Same thing here. One day we’re running with hats off and sleeves rolled up, the next we’re bunkered up indoors wishing we had the fixins for soup instead of tacos.
I ain’t got any tan lines at all. Just white and whiter white. If I had long white hair and a big black blade the sword-and-sorcery nerds might think I’m Elric of Melniboné sprung to hellish life.