Playing around with my camera while I was waiting for Alex’s bus to arrive, I found a few interesting things:
A feather trapped in the branches of my hedge.
Leaves glued to the ice, so transparent that their skeletons are showing.
I liked the way the lens focused on the twigs, rendering the house in the background an afterthought.
Now that I have a memory card for the camera I bought before Christmas, I’ll start taking it out more often. My phone takes decent pictures, but it can’t beat 16.1 megapixels. I just have to learn how to use it to its full advantage.
Winter is being such a bitch this year, particularly on my roof. Granted there are many people in the neighbourhood who have it worse: it seems on every street there are houses missing so much of their eavestroughs that I can see their rafters from the street. And trust me, no one wants their rafters showing.
In an effort to not be one of them, I’ve tried a couple of different methods to relieve my roof of the eight inches of ice that is threatening to pull down what’s left of my eavestroughs. Chipping at it didn’t work – it’s far too solid. So I figured, why not throw some salt up there? As soon as we have a nice day, maybe it’ll melt from the top rather than the bottom as it has done for the past couple of weeks, causing the residual water to come in around my window frames – inside the house.
The salt, however, seems to be rather picky when it comes to the roof. It melts the ice just fine on the sidewalk.
After putting almost a full ten pounds of salt on my roof, what do I have?
It would seem the salt has created some interesting formations out of my icicles.
What else?
Everything dripping off my roof is crystalised. I have white splattered all over my exterior walls, I have white steps at the front of my house, and best of all, I have a saltwater cascade dripping down my windows and onto my hardwood floors. And still, I have eight inches of ice on my roof.
The good news? The mold that I’m positive is growing on the other side of my drywall will be well preserved.
My day is winding down; I have just enough wine in me that I’m not sleepy. Contentedness folds over me like a warm blanket.
The sound is down on Mickey Mouse, because my son is Deaf–gone are the days of having to listen to a certain purple dinosaur, for whom I feel absolutely no love, and who I suspect doesn’t love me either. There are walls and windows between myself and my family, and the frigid winter air. My tummy is full of a simple dinner of pasta and canned tomatoes, with mozzerella cheese melted on top… What more could I ask for?
I love nights like this. It’s like comfort food for an exhausted soul.
Tell me, what is your perfect evening with family?
“I think so,” I replied, juggling gloves and newspapers to dig into my pocket. I pulled out a couple of receipts and a five dollar bill and then went into the other pocket. Just as I was about to give up, I found a ten.
“Yes!” I exclaimed.
All right, maybe I wasn’t quite that excited. I was just collecting for my paper route after all.
It was while I was walking back down my customer’s driveway, my gloves still tucked under my arm, that I saw the writing on the $20 bill.
“Yes!” I exclaimed, for real this time. “It’s a blog post!”
This is what I saw.
I couldn’t wait to get home to check it out.
When I googled whereswilly, I saw a Wikipedia entry for it, so I decided to go there first — in case it was some kind of hacking thing. It turns out it wasn’t.
According to Wiki, the “Willy” refers to Sir Wilfred Laurier, past Prime Minister of Canada. There are apparently close to 4,000,000 bills in circulation with this message, and you can, in fact, register on the website to see where the bill has been AND be emailed to find out where it goes. It’s based on a “Where’s George” site in the U.S., to track currency there, and has been used by researchers to track the movement of pandemics, such as SARS.
Isn’t that interesting?
I’m only the second person who has tracked this particular $20, but I’m looking forward to seeing where it goes. According to the website, I can do this with any bill, any time.
First it was the ice storm. Remember that? Back in December, just before Christmas I slipped on the ice and hit my head on a concrete step. Result: concussion. Thank goodness I had the lovely villainous Navigator1965 to cover for me.
The wind blows where ever it wants to blow. It’s warming up outside and so the gusts are fierce. It’s days like today when branches weakened from the weight of snow and ice come down on roofs and cars (two things I’ve been having problems with of late). Times like this I listen to the creaking of the trees around my house and I want to say to the wind:
Wind, dude, stop blowin’ already. Get outta my trees. C’mon man. Ye’r makin’ me nervous, dude.
But you can’t reason with the wind. It blows where ever it wants.
Like ice. It forms when it snows, and then the snow melts and the water sits there until it freezes into sheets of slippery pavement that have me flailing as I deliver my newspapers. Like the wind, I want to say to the ice:
Ice! Stop being so damn slippery!
But you can’t reason with the ice. It keeps on being slick. So much so that I thought this morning, as I slid around the block not moving my feet because the wind was blowing me on this ice, maybe this combo ain’t so bad after all.
Brave, hardy birds, cardinals are. Today was cold and crisp – a pleasant 9 degrees C, (16 degrees F). I heard him singing first – they have a very distinctive song.
But the thing which has puzzled me for the past few weeks is this odd way the icicles have been forming… or leaning after they’ve formed. It seems they only do this if they begin above a window, so the only reason I can fathom is it has something to do with the heat from inside.
The first is an east-facing wall, and the second is a north-facing wall, so the sun has nothing to do with it.
Three different shots of the icicles outside my bathroom window:
The first is fixed a little – in actuality I could see the icicles sparkling through the blinds, but they didn’t turn out well, even with some editing.
The second looked like something I might see on the morning after the night before:
\
lindaghill.com 