Is Christmas becoming “all wet?"

Predawn weather this morning at 7 am included patchy ground fog and rain. Combined with darkness and no fog lines or center stripes on township roads, the trip, with the Better Half [BH] in the passenger seat, to deliver several bags of Christmas and birthday presents to the Daughter Person, Son-In-Law, Granddaughter’s home was quite an adventure. Visibility was much improved, with dreariness increased, during the trip back to our place. Mission accomplished, per BH.

Today’s day length is less than half a minute more than that of the winter solstice on Thursday. That’s barely noticeable. The dreary days added to the long nights prompt conscious efforts to offset excessive moodiness. I’ve been preparing to take advantage of dark, but clearer, skies by reading a book, Spirits Dancing, about the aurora, Milky Way, and the universe in which we exist. In the twenty-five plus years we’ve lived in the country, light pollution has grown noticeably. I have seen the aurora a few times, but don’t recall ever seeing the Milky Way except in photos.

Next Thursday will bring astronomical winter into conformance with the meteorological season which began on December 1. If you wonder why they don’t match, you can find an explanation here. Our current atypical weather is consistent with the three month outlook from NOAA. Will El Nino continue until or past spring? We’ll see. Santa may need to add wheels to his sleigh’s runners this year.

December driveway puddle (12/29/2019)

Photo by J. Harrington

Four years ago we had a large puddle in our driveway a few days after Christmas. Three years ago we watched boaters launch into an ice-free St. Croix river at Franconia in early December. At the moment, the forecast is for rain showers on Christmas Eve and a rain-snow mix the next day. One might almost think North Country winters are getting warmer and shorter.

“Your Luck Is About To Change”

By Susan Elizabeth Howe

(A fortune cookie)

Ominous inscrutable Chinese news 

to get just before Christmas, 

considering my reasonable health, 

marriage spicy as moo-goo-gai-pan, 

career running like a not-too-old Chevrolet. 

Not bad, considering what can go wrong: 

the bony finger of Uncle Sam 

might point out my husband, 

my own national guard, 

and set him in Afghanistan; 

my boss could take a personal interest; 

the pain in my left knee could spread to my right. 

Still, as the old year tips into the new, 

I insist on the infant hope, gooing and kicking 

his legs in the air. I won't give in 

to the dark, the sub-zero weather, the fog, 

or even the neighbors' Nativity. 

Their four-year-old has arranged 

his whole legion of dinosaurs 

so they, too, worship the child, 

joining the cow and sheep. Or else, 

ultimate mortals, they've come to eat 

ox and camel, Mary and Joseph, 

then savor the newborn babe.

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