This is not a surprise; it is happened before – several times in my life, actually. It was cold out in the diesel at 6 am, getting it started and defrosted for a trip to take my daughter-in-law to work. But I didn’t mind it so much – the little glow plug light was orange and then went out and when I turned the key, the engine responded with a healthy chug, chug, chug. There was no doubt about it, no thought of deciding, “Oh, heck, AmeliaJake, it’s too cold for me to do this . . . I’m just going to stop all this foolishness and let my parts rest.” But it was steadfast, doing its job. Oh, Little Green Car, I love you.

This is a decoy that my father-in-law, William A. Vance jr. gave me one year because he knew I liked rustic things with a history. He found it in a shed or barn or basement or whatever located on his property on the Mississippi River, just south of Nauvoo, the place from which the Mormons left to go to Salt Lake City. Joseph Smith, the religion’s founder, was hung there, mob-fashion, and the rest decided it was best to head out.

I think there are some things that break you heart so completely that nothing else ever seems to phase you; but that which broke your heart is still capable of coming back and devastating you all over again, despite the years that have passed.

More accurately, I should ask: Remember hearing about the Johnstown Flood of 1889? I have always thought it a compelling story, but over the years, I have come to be most fascinated not by the mass of water that barreled down the valley, but by the dry lake left behind. This morning while doing a little history researching type of thing, I found a a site where an apparent railroad buff had posted pictures of trains in Pennsylvania. Down at the bottom of the page was this picture.
Photographer: Tony Kimmel
Location: South Fork, PA
Date: October 21, 2007
Description: Three blue 80MACs bring a train northbound through the former lake Conemaugh.

So, the resort homes would have been along the treeline and that low-lying grizzled area is the original lake bed, which, of course, was previously an original low-lying grizzled area.

Go HERE to get information concerning David McCullough’s book about the flood. Click HERE to see photos from the Library of Congress.

Some time ago, I came upon a blog about Thomas Bickle, who was discovered to have a brain tumor when he was around six months old. I think I have been reading about him for seven months now, and late last fall read his mother’s entry that the cancer was winning. She said they were going to enjoy the time between the discontinuation of chemo and the appearance of symptoms from the growing mass in his head. She said they probably wouldn’t blog much during “this cold season.”

A couple of days after I read this, we put up our outside Christmas lights while the weather was favorable and it popped into my head that these lights – red and white and floating on air in the darkness – were Thomas Bickle’s lights. Somehow they were sending a message for him and about him. But now, it is nearing the time to turn them off and take them down . . . and I hadn’t thought about that.

have just finished packing up a small box of Santas and little ceramic houses from the table on the porch. A couple of days ago, I took down the raffia and bells and ornaments that formed a sway on the den door and put it in a firestarter box. This taking down of decorations is not particularly sad; I talk to them and wrap them in paper towels and gently put them in the box. They will be waiting for me there next year.

The nutcrackers will be moving into off-season quarters soon, billeted in another firestarter box, I suppose. Usually, I leave a couple out to watch over things until next year. Right now they are up there on the windows sashes with the wooden, flat black-spotted cow that stays there all year.

Christmas songs are still on the CD player in the corner; the Irish Tenors, if I remember correctly. I listened to John Denver and the Muppets a lot as well, especially When the River Meets the Sea.

I don’t know about this. Do you know what 42? is going to do here? Melt the snow and show the grungy yard around the house, not to mention the vestibule will no longer be the the Great Cooler between refrigerator cool and freezer solid. This may be a day for pictures that could inspire (shame) me into venturing out in little periods of time to actually pick up stuff. What I need is a snow melt, then a dry super cold windy spell where the dry leaves before the hurricane will fly . . . out of the yard.

I am not counting on this.

While a lot of people will be watching football today; maybe I will watch later. I don’t know. I just looked at the TV guide on Yahoo and see that The Far Country is on now, followed by Bend of the River. So, I am watching.

I like it out here on this porch with windows on three sides and overgrown shrubs outside them; it feels a little like a cabin, although I’d like a fireplace. I have a nice DVD fire and a little heater) but only one TV out here; maybe I should set up another one in a fake with some bricks around it and play the fire DVD on it. Hey, you laugh and sure it may be tacky but I’m not so sure it wouldn’t be soothing. Something to think about.

The Far Country is set in the Yukon Territory – gold prospecting with Jimmy Stewart and Walter Brennan. It looks rough and damp and not all that comfortable and probably is smelly – wet wool and all that, especially sweat. I don’t hanker to climb in the screen and be part of it. Now if they were filming inside a cozy warm cabin with lots of firewood and lots of food and some books to read. AmeliaJake, think this through . . . how long can you look at the fire, listen to the wind and be satisfied with feeling cozy? Really to get the most of it, you have to go outside and be cold to the bone and tired. I think this is beginning to sound like the old hit yourself over the head with rocks because it feels so good when you stop.

Still, I don’t know about this Indiana gig . . . Still, there is something about the sound of “The Far Country” and “Bend of the River.” Maybe it has a twang of tomorrow to it, a feeling of daily ruts all behind.