Lately, I hear lamentations emanate from the country’s mid section: It’s so cold!
And I am supposed to moved by this?
Where was the reciprocal concern for We Alaskans last December when for weeks — weeks! –a drop of snot would freeze before leaving the nostril. In Fairbanks (aka “SquareBanks”) it was so cold — “How cold was it?!” — diesel fuel gelled. That’s how cold. Yet instead of sympathy from our fellow countrymen to the south, instead of answering the president’s inaugural beseechment to show concern for others over ourselves, we heard instead, that’s right: Silence.
Proving my long-held contention that few in America care much about what goes on in Alaska. So long as the oil keeps flowing and the wild salmon appear on dinner plates, whatever.
So; so sad to hear it’s cold America. Point your ear northwest and listen carefully, you may hear the sound of my tiny violin play.
And now Lucy and I are going out for our morning walk. 34° with a freezing rain advisory. Don’t you wish!
It only got down to negative 3.4 degrees, at my place RKN, and the only thing I lamented was that I left a few beers out on the back porch that froze quite solid, requiring me to drink a bit of bourbon to slack my thirst from shoveling a bit of snow rather than a cold beer. At least I saved the beers from bursting, and they are now nicely thawed, and quite chilled. I think I’ll imbibe them this evening and listen closely for your tiny violin.