I have had good intentions to make more regular entries in this blog. A nasty head cold has kicked me to the side of the road this past week so I have not been able to move that intention down the road. The past couple of mornings seemed to hold some promise that my condition was on the upswing, but as each day progressed, any promise got lost in aches and pains, runny nose, and cough. I figure this can't go on forever, so maybe today's promise will be actualized.

Yesterday was my 66th birthday. It passed into history with the minimum of fanfare. I spent some time cleaning the previous night's snowfall off the driveway and deck. A neighbor and good friend stopped in for morning coffee and shared the birthday coffee cake that I had made in anticipation of his visit. UPS delivered my birthday present mid-day. Great timing! An afternoon nap prepared me to stay up late watching the president's state of the union speech and its sequelae. Supper's birthday dessert was angel food cake served with blueberry sauce.

With modest, but regular, snowfalls coupled with more seasonal temperatures over the past week, the landscape has taken on the appearance of winter--a very welcomed attire.

One change I am trying to make now that I am retired is to do things more deliberately and thoughtfully. One example is to keep the dictionary at hand while I read. Rather than make some guesstimate of a meaning from context or be presumptuous that I know the meaning, I will take the time to look up a word, that is new to me or being used in a novel fashion. What this practice has taught me is that my palette of colorful speech terms is really quite limited. The second lesson is that the 1988 edition of Webster's New World Dictionary also has its limitations. This is where internet searches come into play and the online Dictionary of American Slang.

So. You ask, "what are you reading that juxtaposes the terms slang, colorful speech, and the expansion of one's vocabulary?" Please note. I am not referring to expressive speech, that is, vocabulary that I intend to incorporate into my regular conversations. I am referring to receptive speech, so that I can understand the words spoken and written by others. One might also presume that a brief stint in the Army 40 years ago would have been adequate lifelong preparation for all the colorful speech that one would ever need.

Let's return to the question: what am I reading? The answer. Poetry. Rob Ganson, a local poet, has published third collection titled: A Storm of Horses. The two earlier works are titled: Float like a Butterfly, Sing like a Tree and Follow the Clear River Down. Let me just say, this ain't your mother's poetry, unless your mother is a 60's radical updated to the new millennium.

Incidentally, guesstimate is in the dictionary and the noun form is guesstimate and not the more commonly heard guesstimation. That is, it is in the 1988 edition of Webster's New World Dictionary. I may check online later now that I have the time to be more deliberative and thoughtful. Please note. I did not claim to be spending the additional available time in only productive or worthwhile activities.

Apparently, I think dictionaries are cool. How many grandpas gift their six-year-old grandson with a dictionary as a Christmas present? I do. I did. That is a subject for a later post, along with the thoughts on being married to a grandma, who tolerates such behavior.

A second incidentally, guesstimate is in spell check; guesstimation is not. How cool is that?

I suspect a little twisted humor is always in order--be it a little humor or a little twisted.

Recently, I have found myself pondering the question: is re-tire what one does when the wheels have come off or are about to come off?

Hopefully, I have re-tired in a timely manner and have avoided both recent and impending catastrophes.

This morning, it would appear that winter is finally making its move and getting a hold on the landscape. The temperature dropped late yesterday afternoon so that the rain could turn to snow. This morning found us with an inch or so of new snow. I swept the deck and shovelled the driveway. It is now snowing again. It is difficult to estimate how much might accumulate. Snow is in the forecast for the next three days. A break in the snow is forecast for Sunday, with snow reportedly to return on Monday.

I recently finished reading Mary Rose O'Reilley book The Barn at the End of the World. I was browsing the religion section of the local library, because a few months I found Peter Ellis' book The Druids to be a good read. It was the subtitle of O'Reilley's book that caught my eye An Apprenticeship of a Quaker, Buddhist Shepherd. The author grew up in the Twin Cities; attended St. Catherine's and the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee before returning to teach English at St. Thomas for 28 years. I could identify with the author's lifelong journey of self-discovery, which seemed to take her down, if not the backroads of the contemporary American experience, then certainly off on the shoulder and up against the fenceline that parallels the main road.

I found the author's email address at St. Thomas and sent her a note. I will now wait and see, if she responds. I found myself thinking how do I craft such an email expressing my gratitude for the author's work without coming across as a stalker. If I receive a response, I will know; if there is no response, I won't know.

Today I had the opportunity to work on my axe skills, as well as chainsaw skills.

An elderly acquaintance asked me to clear some undergrowth and the usual woodland plants (read: brush) whose life's work is to recapture any cleared space (read: field or lawn). Several weeks ago, I did some of this work for this same individual. At that time, she said that she would have me back in the spring to do more. Apparently, I did a good enough job so that spring was too long to wait. Or maybe the yard had the untidy look of a job half done. This time out there were several inches of snow to deal with. The temperature was also cold enough that fingers hurt (read: HURT) in wet gloves. Cutting the growth at ground level was much too hard on the chainsaw, so I used an axe on all but the largest stuff. In retrospect I wish that I had put both an old bar, as well as an old chain, on the saw before I started and not only just an old chain. I did learn of the advantage in wearing chainsaw chaps is that one can work on one's knees and not get wet through.

What I did was "a little brushing" to use the vernacular. Brushing is like picking rock; both are tasks that are never done. Brush regenerates and propagates; rocks move with the freeze and thaw cycle and tillage. Could it be that both are the results of the efforts of woodland sprites to maintain balance? Someone could make the case that there is not enough wild places, wilderness, or wild land; as a result, there is a system built-in to self-correct our misguided and ill-conceived efforts. As I worked, I wondered if the results of my efforts were really beneficial in the greater scheme of things--a scheme to which I am not all that privy. Despite different purposes, both farmers and suburbanites work to thwart the encroachment of the advance guards of the woody plant world.

I appreciated the opportunity to practice the skills involved, to experience the pain of working outside this time of the year (Tonight, I have a cracked thumb as a continued reminder.), and to think about the greater scheme of things, while on my knees in cold temperatures and bright sunlight. I trust it is okay for all of us to go about our human activity with a healthy dose of skepticism--I don't know everything about what I am doing. It may even be better than "okay;" it may even be the preferred way to proceed. Such an attitude will hopefully keep me open to self-correct my efforts based on the evidence from new information or insight. I can't always rely on woodland sprites.

There was only an inch or so of additional snowfall overnight, so the early morning chore of clearing snow consisted of sweeping the deck and stairs and passing the snow scrapper over the driveway. I then put on an extra layer and took a walk downtown to the marina, where I took a few minutes to look out over a blue gray lake. The wind had enough bite in it that standing didn't feel like the thing to do. I also am not in a position to argue with the wind.

As I walked through the marina parking lot I passed through numerous sailboats asleep in their cradles wrapped in white or blue shrinkwrap or tarps, I imagined that I was walking along a much more primitive lakeshore guarded by stately cedars and regal hemlocks.  As with any conifer forest, little snow makes it to the forest floor.  Here and there, I dodged a rudder, not unlike a lowhanging branch.  A choir of overhead riggings were singing in the wind--a wind from which I was protected by hulls huddled together, not unlike muscular unbranched trucks. Unsecured corners of tarp applauded--I am not sure--rigging songs or my passing.

The slips in the marina were empty; their summer occupants in cradles. There were three commericial fishing tugs tied up at the City Dock. They don't take the winter off, at least not until the lake ices over and holds them fast. Today they appeared to be waiting for their captains to go out to lift nets.  Maybe today is an off day; the nets are not to be lifted until tomorrow.  I don't know. Two out of three tugs were ready. How do I know? They had warning fires. Fishing tugs typically have two smoke stacks or chimneys--one for the diesel engine and the other for a stove.  Diesel fuel is temperature sensitive; in cold weather, a warming fire is necessary once the engine is shut down for the day, if one wants to head out again tomorrow.

Sailboats are summer barks; fishing tugs ply ice-free waters--even then their captains push the limit on how much ice is too much in which to operate.  Fishermen? They are a resilient bunch; they leave the tug behind, walk the ice, and set their nets beneath it.

I can welcome fishing tugs and hardy captains into my fantasy of a primitive lakeshore more than I can comfort those summer barks.

New Year Greetings and Best Wishes for the Coming Year!

 May all of our worthwhile efforts bear fruit.

We received 4 inches of new snow last night--the first significant snowfall of the winter.  There is also some bluster in the wind, so it feels appropriate for the season.

Bundle Up!