Have
you ever wondered why the volume on your television seems so wildly
different depending on the time of day?
It’s
kind of amazing. You could live in a house with nothing even remotely
nearby. You could have things set up so that everything making
noise at 4am was also making noise at 4pm. And yet, for some reason,
the television… volume set at exactly the same level… seems five
times as loud in the middle of the night.
I’ve
been thinking about some of the strange things like this recently.
A completely different idea—but very similar—involves driving
your car on a cold winter day. Your car could be in exactly the
same state of operative readiness on a day in July as it is on
a day in January. But add some snow to the roads to dampen and
change the sounds as you drive along, and perhaps some slush building
up in the wheel wells, along with a brutal thermostat reading
of 2-degrees Fahrenheit… suddenly everything feels wrong. It all
sounds wrong.
This
year has been one of startling weather in the northeast. I won’t
claim it as bizarre, unusual or unexpected. It’s winter. It’s
the northeast United States. It’s cold. (Ta-dah! Cold January
during a northeast winter! These and other brilliantly insightful
observations are brought to you exclusively here at In My
Backpack. Thanks for stopping. Come on back tomorrow!) Still…
we have been running along with single digit highs on many days
around my town.
That
is… until late this past week. Shot the other way. A couple of
days at 50+ on the old thermometer. And it was delightful… until…
a roughly 60-degree swing in about 24-hours, back to negative
number overnights and single-digit days, accompanied by a delightful
10-inches of snow. And that snow? Yeah, it dropped on top of a
sheet of ice thanks to the ridiculous temperature drop beginning
during the massive melt off of previous snow and a light rain
falling.
Earlier
today I had to head out for a quick errand. I had cleaned out
the driveway and cleared off the cars. Warmed up the one I was
going to use so the inside would be toasty and the windows cleared.
Funny
thing though. I never checked the wipers. And so, as I picked
up a bit of speed on my travels, I was treated to the perfect
combination of wind, ice, frozen rubber wipers and more, as the
blades chattered against the windshield.
Lovely.
Never
happens in August.
I
am convinced that no driver should attempt to self-diagnose any
vehicle issue when the temperature outside is below 20-degrees.
This would be especially true in circumstances involving snow
or ice and that 20-degree marker. Everything on the vehicle feels
wrong. It all sounds wrong.
Heading
to bed in a little bit. House is making funny noises. It has been
making funny noises since this run of otherworldly cold began
between Christmas and New Year’s. Two weeks of gusting winds echoing
in vents. Two weeks of the sun on the roof and heat inside the
house causing snow to melt around the roof, with the water moving
past ice dams to drip off in all sorts of unexpected places. I’m
convinced the brutal cold on the materials that come together
to build a house… just like the muscles and bones in my body are
reacting… are cold and achy and stiff and unforgiving. Everything
hurts. Everything cracks.
I’m
sure there is some sort of explanation for the volume of the television.
The same way I can point to snow on the road changing the sounds
of my car. The same way the metal vents in my house bang a bit
more in winter winds. Something I’m missing because it’s not quite
as obvious as a wiper blade coated in ice.
The
forecast is calling for a climb in temperatures about a week from
now. Also showing the possibility of rain. I would certainly welcome
the chance to wash away a bit of the snow and clear things up
a bit. And yet… would it be too much to ask for a gradual drop
back into the cold?
I
expect a frigid February. I wouldn’t ask for it any other way.
But if we’re going to see the rain and a few warmer days, it might
be nice not to deal with everything sounding like it’s snapping
in half while I’m looking to make sure nothing is blocked by ice.