Ice, Ice Baby

Yesterday, I re-experienced that which drove me from Wisconsin in the first place.  No, not a giant, man-eating wedge of cheddar.

Snow.

I woke up yesterday morning to snow.  Snow on my deck.  Snow on my car.  Ice on my car.  My poor, poor, Arizona-born car.  I apologized to it.  Out loud, even.  I caressed its ice-laden exterior and spoke in a loud, clear voice, "I'm sorry."  Alas, it started and ran fine, but I'm sure that somewhere under that red exterior, it was cursing me.  "Why have you brought me to this evil place?", it must have been saying.

I surely don't know.

It's been eight long years since I've lived on this frozen tundra* - where water miraculously becomes hard, and appendages turn red and lose the sensation of touch.  But the memories came flooding back this morning, as the sting of a sub-freezing wind lashed at my cheeks.  It tore through my suddenly paper-thin clothing, punishing my skin with its icy bite.  At once, my nervous system recoiled in utter shock and dismay and from my throat came a low, guttural, menacing...

"Fuck....ME"

And it's only the middle of November.  I am so, so totally screwed.  Stay tuned, as there'll be more commentary as the winter progresses.  Assuming, of course, that I don't succumb to frostbite.

[* "frozen tundra" is actually redundant.  "Tundra", by definition, means "permanently frozen soil".  But it's more fun to say "frozen tundra", and pretend you're John Facenda.]