It has been exceedingly slippery around here lately. We seem to have the freeze-thaw cycle backwards. We finally had the January thaw this month, but then we had freeze. And snow. So, the first layer on the sidewalks is ice–bumpy, hard to walk on, and slick. Walking on it, because dog, requires concentration and constant little balance corrections. Rascal has trouble with his footing, too, sometimes looking like a cartoon with his legs moving very fast, or even sideways, for little headway.
On the heels of the thaw, so to speak, came more snow. When there was just snow on the ice, walking got a little easier; the snow had a bit of tooth to it. My warm, waterproof boots (WWBs) worked pretty well. More ice followed, though, so the WWBs didn’t really do the job. I tried my cleatiest boots, which helped a bit, but they weren’t warm enough–morning temperatures have been single digits. So, out came the WWBs again. When Sue and I walked together in our WWBs last week, we ended by congratulating each other on not having fallen. Alas, such congratulations are not always merited.
Early on in our relationship, Rascal and I reached an understanding. I would take him on long, lovely walks every day, and he would not pull. He and I had started down the easement steps toward Thurston Pond this week, when he needed to stop for a while. Already regretting choosing the pond path, I spent that time realizing it was unlikely we could get back up the top steps without mishap. There was too much downward slope to the ice. Furthermore, conditions were worse on the remaining steps down to the pond, with enough ice to obscure where one step ended and the next began. We were, willy-nilly, committed to walking by the pond.
All right, we would proceed with caution. It was a reasonable plan, in keeping with our no-pulling understanding, and it might have worked. If only Rascal hadn’t seen something exciting at the bottom of the steps and taken off like a shot. Suddenly, I was the one who looked like a cartoon, trying to move my feet fast enough to keep myself upright while proceeding very fast down the near-continuous slope of the icy steps. Which was thrill enough. To add to the entertainment, at the bottom of the steps waited a culvert and the thinnest ice on the pond. We didn’t end up taking an arctic dip, but it was a near thing.
We successfully made the turn onto the path and proceeded in leisurely fashion, admiring the snowy pond and woods. Then everything went sideways. Slowly, and in no doubt stately fashion, I sank lower and lower until I was hip-to-ground and hanging on to a small log to avoid sliding further down the path. The good news is that we were still shy of the second culvert and made it out of the woods without further incident.
Yesterday, I spent time earnestly chopping away at the ice in the street in front of our house and the neighbors’ houses. Dave Rexroth, the Channel 7 meteorologist, had reminded us the evening before, to make sure our storm drains were clear so that the water from melting ice and snow would have somewhere to go. The high temperature yesterday was in the vicinity of forty-six degrees, and the ground is still frozen. So thanks, Dave, for the timely advice. There was a lot of water, especially if you count the rain that fell last night and this morning. Later today, we’re expecting several more inches of snow followed by single-digit temperatures again, so a new thaw-freeze cycle seems to be underway.
Despite the weather, my ever-intrepid husband took one of his bike wheels to the bike shop this week and came home with two new tires and two new inner tubes. The old inner tubes no longer held air reliably, and the folks at the shop told him dry rot was claiming the wheel. “So, you’re thinking of riding your bike?” I asked, in awe. “In the spring,” he answered, “if the rest of the bike lasts that long.”
On another positive note, while I was at the store yesterday, a little girl riding in a cart made eye contact with me. Without thought to the N95 mask covering most of my face, I smiled at her. Quick as a wink, she smiled back. Maybe a happy outcome of the pandemic is that young children are now extra good at interpreting faces, given limited data. In any case, the child returned my smile, and that felt like sunshine.
18 February 2022