Winter

As the sun comes up this morning, the sky is as clear as clear can be. Not a cloud to be seen, unless you count the vapor of my breath — but it freezes quickly and falls to the ground as icy dust. Even the red stuff in my thermometer is seeking refuge, as the molecules of whatever-it-is drop toward the bulb at the bottom of the glass, huddling together in a shivering blob. Only the best thermometers will be giving any indications of temperature tonight. Some lucky people in these parts might even get to see that magic point where Farenheit and Celsius actually agree (in case you don’t own a really good thermometer, that would be 40 below zero).

I doubt cold air is covered in any trade agreement with our neighbors to the north (if it is, I demand to know what we are sending in exchange). I can’t think of any benefit to this mass of arctic air, this mind-jangling intrusion into a normally peaceful time of year. Unless, of course, its purpose is an increased appreciation of mud season and the blackflies of spring, but that’s kind of like hitting my thumb with a hammer because it will feel so much better when it stops hurting.

 I would like to reject this unwanted Canadian export outright — treat it like junk-mail and stuff the whole shebang into the postage-paid envelope and send it back. Let them deal with it. I don’t want it, don’t need it.

I read somewhere that there are something like 30,000,000 people within a day’s drive from here (half of New Jersey is already here, skiing and driving into ditches). That is a lot of people and if everyone would please take a few minutes this afternoon, let’s say just before kick-off, go outside, face north and blow just as hard as they can, it would be big help, I’m sure.

If that doesn’t work, I hate to say it but this may require Congressional action. E-mail your representatives immediately and demand they do something! Like swinging the doors of the Capitol Building wide open Monday morning so we can put all that hot air to good use.