“Wintry mix” is the worst of weather phenomena when one is having a party outdoors.  Rain? Cancel.  Snow? Have.  Mix? Eh.  I was happy to find that wintry mix had resolved to snow which while keeping a number of people away made a delightful setting for those who did make Operation: Icicle.  I like the idea of a winter outdoor party as a campfire makes light and warmth mirroring the human kind of the guests as fist shaken at the depths of winter, a cry of “we shall not” to the season.

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The First of Many

The primary fuel for the fire is left over Christmas trees.  Here’s two at once.

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Two Trees at a Distance

14 people came out.  I think they enjoyed themselves.

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A Bit More of Everyone

My personal highlight of the evening came very near the end.

Guest: What time is it, I’m starting to get cold.
Me: Quarter to 2.
Guest: Wow.

Thank you to those who braved the “wintry mix”.

The cat has a nonchalant  attitude towards snow.  He recognizes that it’s cold and to be avoided but seems to use his tail as a periscope in the deep stuff.  My dog on the other hand treats the stuff as would the caveman materials scientist.  He will pee in it and marvel as how he can carve a path through it.  It’s the only time I’ve seen a dog watch itself pee.  He seems to realize snows lightness but hops from place to place not like a kangaroo but like a blind person on a pogo stick.  There are divets separated by gaps which form canine crop circles whirling across the yard near his favorite bark-at-nothing-in-particular spot.  Most impressive is how he periodically stares at the snowscape, becomes one with the Matrix essence of it and lunges for something at the level of the actual ground.  This process repeats itself maybe ten times and then he moves on to whirling dervish mode before resuming his nasal spearfishing.   Most impressively, he’s learned to wait on the walk mat to have the snow removed.  If only he could repeat this trick when covered in water, mud, kitty litter, or groundhog fur.

I drove into work today at 10:30 in the midst of a snow storm.  I crawled through the Pennsylvania half of my trip that usually takes 24 minutes in 68 and by the time I crested the Scudders Falls bridge my car had a two in layer of ice on it.  Entering Jersey, the hatred and loathing of the native folk must have heated the air as snow had turned to rain.  I enter my work parking lot as the only vehicle bespeckled with snow.  Visitors were stunned, padestrians awestruck by the visage of wintery hoarfrost sent like a timetraveler to show what was to come.

Come darkest winter, I will strap palm leaves to my car and drive with a wreath in my hair to be met as Freya, God of Spring.