Posts Tagged ‘vanishing act’
Distantly Watching
Yesterday, I figured out that I don’t need to remain entirely ignorant about what is happening in the world during my endeavor to avoid news about politics or the government. Reading in my online community I spotted mention of a winter weather alert in some southern states of the U.S. Curious for more detail about that, I looked in on The Weather Channel.
What I found was nonstop news about the wildfires burning around Los Angeles. Yikes! Wind gusts reached 100 mph in places. Eventually, I spotted they were showing future radar scenes for Texas in a little window that showed the potential for significant snow. Dallas, Memphis, Nashville, and on toward the east/northeast will be getting a blast of winter precipitation today and tomorrow.
Up here in our local world, it is possible we might see some snowfall this afternoon, but they are predicting little to no accumulation.
It is always strange to me when weather conditions at our home up north are calm when dramatic wildfires and winter storm warnings are raging in the west and to our south. How did we get so lucky?
For a short while in the morning yesterday, it looked as if all the birds in the area had vanished. I wondered if they knew something about the weather that we didn’t. There wasn’t a single pigeon flying around the vicinity of the paddocks and barn overhang.
There was still one quiet bird, “Plucky,” sitting all fluffed up on top of a fence post under the overhang, but that didn’t surprise me. When I took Asher out for a “sniffari” exploration just before noon, I didn’t see pigeons anywhere. For that matter, I didn’t even hear a single bird call from any type of bird.
It was eery.
Without explanation, when we showed up to feed the horses in the late afternoon, a fraction of the usual number of pigeons reappeared. As I was hauling bales of hay from the shed to the barn, I noticed a flock of smaller birds with muted coloring flittering around the big doors. Everything seemed perfectly normal.
Maybe they all knew a hawk or an eagle that I failed to notice was perched nearby, distantly watching.
My heart goes out to those impacted by the catastrophic wildfires in California and Mexico, as well as the folks who are not accustomed to navigating the hazards brought on by winter snowstorms that are coming their way.
I’ll be watching your situation from afar as things progress throughout the day and sending love to all, both citizens and responders.
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Grand Illusion
The precursor to our cold snap was a brief but messy snow event yesterday. It snarled my morning commute by triggering a collision between a semi and a snowplow that closed the interstate. After I got around that, the rest of the drive both ways was uneventful, except when I slid past the entrance at work and barely navigated the unplowed township road just before home.
For added adventure, my low tire pressure light came on about 20-minutes into the morning jaunt.
Once home, I barely walked in the door and it was a quick change of clothes and immediately back outside to plow.
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Every time I put the ATV and plow attachment through their paces against the snow and ice without a mechanical failure, I breathe a sigh of relief. I only got stuck once. Cyndie came out to help by gently squeezing the throttle when I lifted and pushed to get the wheels back up on the pavement.
After the plowing was done, I moved my car from the house to the shop to put air in the low tire. As I was coiling the hose up after I was done, I popped out the quick-release chuck (which I always do because it leaks air) while also holding the pressure gauge.
So, at that moment, I had three things in my hands: hose, chuck, gauge.
I set the coiled hose over the compressor, placed the gauge under the handle where it always goes, and where is the chuck?
It’s gone. Disappeared. Vanished into thin air.
I assume I dropped it, but I never heard anything fall. I checked pockets. I checked the spot where I always put it on the compressor. I surveyed the shop floor and the ground around the car. I backed the car up scanned the plowed pavement in the vicinity.
That little piece was nowhere to be found.
I couldn’t pull off that sleight of hand trick intentionally if I tried. Sure wish I could watch a recording of that exercise to see where the chuck ended up. It was a grand illusion.
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Relative Something 