I hope all of our friends in the South and Northeast portions of the U.S. emerged unscathed from the horrifically bad weather system – ice storms, high winds, etc., etc – that so devastated those parts of the country. Some of our Texas friends had troubling power outages, flight cancellations, and travel disruptions, among other hazardous frustrations. And in the Northeast, I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere near an interstate highway or a major thoroughfare. The photos of pile ups, cars skidding out of control, people ice skating down main street, and snow plows at work, made me very content to watch from a distance in the comfort of a recliner.
I mentioned in a newsletter a few months ago that during a trip our daughter Karen had taken us through Eastern Canada and the New England area, we visited Mount Washington, New Hampshire, which in 1934 was the site of the highest wind ever recorded on the North American continent (231 miles per hour). Indeed, there is still a weather station and research facility at the summit. Nita texted Karen to tell her that the network news had reported a wind chill temperature of – check this out – a minus 109 degrees with wind gusts as high as 135 mph on Mount Washington. The paper this morning labelled it as the coldest wind chill ever recorded in the U.S. The wind chill reading was taken on Friday, February 3; the wind gust was, I believe, in the early morning hours of Saturday, February 4. The ambient air temperature was a minus 46.9 degrees.
Once years ago (far too many years ago) as an enlisted weatherman at Minot AFB, North Dakota, I recorded a temp of minus 33 degrees with a 33 knot wind blowing. Despite parka and all the accoutrements, as I walked back to the barracks that night, I thought several parts of my body were going to freeze over and fall off. I don’t know what those readings would have translated to in terms of wind chill. The charts we used to brief the aircrews didn’t go that low. It is hard for me to fathom what a minus 109 temp and a 135mph wind gust would feel like.
Two small bits of writing news to talk about. First, for those who have asked about a print version of the Doomsday 3.0 short story, please be advised that the magazine has published a book edition containing the material that appeared in the magazine this past year. The book is organized by month, with each section displaying the material that appeared in the on-line magazine in the magazine’s monthly edition. Doomsday 3.0 appears on p. 136 as the first story in the December portion. For those interested, the book is available on Amazon under the title Spank the Carp 2022 Anthology. Special thanks to those who have so kindly commented on the story.
Second item: I received an interesting note from the editor of the Baseball Bard website regarding an upcoming event – an invitation to read a poem of mine at the National Baseball Poetry Festival. A couple of years ago, Baseball Bard had arranged with the Boston Red Sox to do a program like this at Fenway Park, with the poems being displayed on the scoreboard as they were being presented. The Covid outbreak prevented that event from happening. The Red Sox organization is going to sponsor the event again this year. It will take place in April, this time in Worcester, Massachusetts, at the ball park and in several open mic venues. I took a pass on the invitation. Other things are going on at that time and, truth be told, I really am not much interested in it. (My daughters suggested that if I really got into the open mic entertainment business, I should probably wear a beret while doing the reading. A beard or goatee might be appropriate too.)
The poem that the Spank the Carp organization suggested I present is included below. Pitchers and catchers report to spring training this month – hooah! – so the timing is appropriate. Readers are authorized to visualize it in an open mic setting. (I personally picture the scene as looking something like Rick’s American Café in the movie Casablanca.) Beret and goatee are optional.
THE SLUGGER
Pinch runner “Slugger” McBickell got
caught in a run down pickle
(and was tagged out near second base).
The steal might have worked had
misfortune not lurked
(Slugger stopped to tie his shoe lace).
Slugger dusted off with a grin and
waved to his mom as he jogged in
(while the coach tried to keep a straight face).
In the field Slugger watched a soft pop fly
and watched it further as it rolled on by
(then tripped while giving chase).
On deck, Slugger could hardly wait
to take his turn at the plate
(but stepped into the wrong batter’s box space).
Can he possibly be that bad? Mused
his tormented dad
(who slipped away to a quiet place).
Maybe we should try another sport …
maybe take him to a tennis court
(something more suited to his natural grace).
Or he might take to track with a bit of a hint.
We could probably try a dash or a sprint
(after all, he did well in that Easter Egg race).
When the umpire reminded Slugger to put on his hat
his dad resolved to sell his glove and his bat
(But not yet … just in case).
Then everything became settled and clear;
for sure we’ll do this again next year
(Slugger hit a dribbler off the other team’s ace).
And now for that increasingly less acclaimed feature: TRULY AWFUL PUNS.
A man who made tie-dyed shirts was trying to borrow money to expand his business. While filling out the forms, he had a heart attack and collapsed, spilling bottles of dye all over his paperwork. The poor man dyed a loan.
I’m having trouble downloading the Titanic soundtrack onto my phone.
It won’t stop syncing.
Yes, I know. Truly bad – but no raunchy comments, please. Some of these were sent to me by very nice people whose feelings are easily hurt ….
Have a great February. Best wishes, always
Tom