Freeze Warning

Janet and I just came indoors from attempting to cover some of our new young plants in the yard. What had earlier been predicted as “scattered frost” evolved overnight (Friday night, last night for me) into a genuine freeze warning, much to our displeased surprise.

Photographer: John Crellin

As I may have mentioned a few weeks back (and I did: click the link, boys and girls), we bought some new bushes — three little wigelias, two lilacs and a tiny little sand cherry (which the rabbits consumed down to sticks one evening before I surrounded it with chicken wire). Now all of them are shrouded with pillow cases weighted down by bricks. Our older plants — the big forsythia and its little sibling, the hydrangea, the rabbit-gnawed bilevel dogwood, the two huge lilacs (one having been halved by city or cable workers without even asking me), and our other bushes and younger trees — will have to fend for themselves, all being too large to cover. The ill wind is howling, and itʼs only about 45˚ outdoors. And itʼs only just 6:00 PM Saturday evening as I type. How will it all turn out?

By the time this post appears in the morning (our local time, naturally), the freeze will either have happened or not. If it comes, we are not sure just how our big plants will do. About eight years ago (maybe less) a fruit tree in the back yard died when cold came oozing up from the pit of hell to the north (the location of our bad neighbors, Gasser True Value, home to the cancerous stench of creosote-treated logs which the store owner had absolutely no interest in removing to  more distant location in his lot). We are performing pagan nature dances of warmth tonight to keep such natural evil from occurring again.

And this has been such a mild spring! Although we had snow on the ground for a solid three months this year, for the first time in decades, once spring came, back in early March, it came warm (even summery for two different weeks of eighties/near-nineties). Now this.

Oh, well. Wait and see. (And as I inanely use this blog as a diary, you probably will in fact see.)

Wait: Thereʼs Work Woes, Too

Work is on a wait and see for me as well. The new seven-days-of-labor thing displeases me, even if Saturday and Sunday are just two or three hours apiece to collect payroll and pass it along. This morning (Saturday, if you havenʼt figured that out about when I am writing yet) I had the “office” open from 8:00 to 9:00 to collect paperwork and then depart to meet our courier to the Cedar Rapids LCO (Local Census Office) at McDonalds, back here by our house, at 9:30. It seemed a reasonable plan with a built-in safety net of that half hour to ensure I got everything done.

Of course, everyone showed up about 8:50, and I was still trying to clear out when one last individual elected to appear at 9:20, as I was still waiting desperately for the shuttle from the northern end of Jackson County to arrive with their papers. Needless to say (although I am indeed saying it), I was late for the courier, and I had to chase him all the way to his other stop in DeWitt, thus sapping all my saved minutes (meaning that we canʼt work over forty hours in a week, and I maxed out exactly by the time I got back home from my unexpected road trip).

I canʼt wait for what tomorrow/today will bring. I get to drive to Bellevue for the northern-end paperwork and then open the office from 1:00-2:00 to meet the courier again at McDonalds at 2:30. Will it work? Probably not, unless I just get mean and kick out everyone who doesnʼt have thoroughly completed documents at the stroke of 2:00.

I am not sure if the seven-days issue is strike two on the Census or not (strike one was the pointless exercise in upper-echelon bureaucrat bum-polishing on Wednesday), but this morning I felt it was two down and only one more strike to go before I quit.

As the blog withers to weary repetitions of work woes, you may truly be wishing I would just do so. The allure of money keeps me going back (and, as I would like to have the time and thoughtspace to explore appropriately and at length, that carrot of cash is what keeps us wage-slaves enslaved and unfree).

Hereʼs hoping this Sunday finds the night having been warm (enough) and the day itself free of work-related phone calls (all on my cell phone for which I canʼt get government reimbursement because I have a TracPhone and therefore no itemized bill to submit for repayment).

Thatʼs enough for now. Looking back over what I have written, I see the possibilities of many ranting posts…

Tomorrow is another day.

©2010 John Randolph Burrow, Magickal Monkey Enterprises, Ltd, S.A.

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