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The Benefits and Challenges of Winter

 The New Yorker Magazine

I'm taking a half hour to sprint through three copies of The New Yorker. I'm doing this because I am frightened that there's another one waiting in my mailbox in the lobby.

It's not that there isn't exciting reading in the magazine. My God, it's been a bastion for top writers in America for many years. The reason I have so many unread issues is that it is so easy to set them aside for reading later. Later never comes. 

Despite all this angst, I've gotten my money's worth if I peruse the cartoons. A day without Roz Chast is a day not worth the beans enough to make you fart. 

Huddled Up And Waiting For The Storm
Date 12/22/2022, 10:00 am.

I'm angry and frightened about the behavior of those of us living in The Frozen Tundra. A week ago, the metrologists predicted a storm for the ages, leaving many of us buried in snow ventured then to measure 10-20 inches.

For some, this means a journey to the garage to start the snow blower to be sure it is ready. But, I assure you, this is a small percentage of our hearty population.  

For many Wisconsinites, even gasoline for the snowblower would only be thought of if there were 3 inches of snow on the ground. Then there would be an eye cast to the weather forecast. If it contains warmer temperatures, the 'God put it there, let God take it away' theory would prevail.

This is a state where, when public officials ask people to shelter in place until the danger of the storm has passed, many of us shovel out our driveways and take a trip to the interstate highway nearest us to see how bad it really is. Then, if they still need to plow our streets, we rev up the snowmobile or wax up our cross-country skies.

But now I'm reading on social media that people are performing precautionary things to avoid facing the storm and looking it in the eye the way we should. There are stories about people patting themselves on the back for canceling or shortening trips to avoid being stranded in perfectly hospitable places like Chicago, Los Angeles or Keokuk, Iowa. 

A restaurant, I won't name it, is closing out of an abundance of caution for the safety of its employees. But, if this becomes the norm, I ask you whose name is on the t-shirt that reads, "I survived the storm of 2022 at fill in the blank?"

For all this worry, they now predict that over the next 48 hours, we will accumulate about 3 inches of snow. Hardly newsworthy.


Portrait Of A Woman, Desperation 

Oil 16 x 20
Desperation
A photograph inspired this piece. I apologize; I can't find the original to give credit to the photographer.

Anne Wide sent this to me. Her intention was that I add it to my growing list of dad jokes. Okay, I can do that.

Eggs Benedict served in a hubcap--
Because there's no place like chrome for the Hollandaise




 

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