Smokey Mountain Breakdown

I've not been keeping up lately with the blog. So sorry. I'll try harder.

Basically coming on today to tell you I'm most likely going to be disappearing from the Internet for a few days. We are expecting somewhere in the realm of 16 inches of snow here in the next 24 hours. I take it a foregone conclusion that Newport Utilities will be unable to keep the power on.

But I'm ready this time. Took an overly long hot shower. Filled the tubs with water and filled extra jugs for dog and drinking water. Pulled down the hurricane lanterns--forgot to restock candles so the lanterns will have to do. Shame, since candles give much better light for reading--the only thing to do here when power goes out. Though I do have a lot of yarn I'm spinning and will be able to do that in the dim light--and knit on my knit only projects. Light gets too dim for counting rows. I cleaned the house, since it gets impossibly dirty when the power goes out for days. Have ramen noodles, camp coffee pot and foil and potatoes to cook on the stove. A rick of wood on the porch stacked. Did the laundry so I have clean wool socks, long underwear and sweaters. Clean wool socks make me happy.

So. Here I am awaiting the inevitable blackout. It gets so cold in the house and I think I'm supposed to be stying off my feet. But I'll be schlepping firewood instead. Left leg has gone all hinky and I'm thinking clot. I'll get it looked to when the roads clear and I take the meds they'd give me in the hospital anyway so there's not much else that can be done. I don't mind the cold and snow--it's just the unreliable utilities that depress me.

I'm hoping they'll be able to keep the power on through the night, but it is Friday--aka Drunk Hillbilly Night. Every Friday people get together here to drink rottgut at people's houses--at least that was what Scott used to do. It's not actually a social event--it's just to get drunk. So that combined with the weather is going to take out a few utility poles.

But the frogs woke up twice this past week! So spring can't be that far away, can it?

Should we bleed orange while others are actually bleeding?

I'm not the biggest football fan. It's just not something I care about. In fact, when I first moved to Tennessee, I thought it damn odd they named their football team for a small rodent. I just think sports are a fun, healthful activity but a very silly thing to get worked up about. Yet, people have been violent about it throughout history.

Now, I'm not beating up on Vols fans for being upset about the Coach Kiffin thing. But you've heard me go off before on the local news--Newport Pie Hole, included. So, really, my beef is with them. They are responsible for Tennesseans, once again being nailed as insensitive, uncaring, xenophobic rubes. After all, it's not like the viewers actually have any say over the K-town affiliates breaking into the national newsfeed for everything from homey cooking shows to high school sporting results. Knoxville, like that selfish blind date from hell, just seems to think what it has to say is so much more important than what the rest of the world has to say.

I turn on the television to check the news about Haiti. Haiti is a big deal--200,000 people thought dead. It's the sort of huge news story we all need to be concerned about. It's the sort of news story that needs to be reported whether or not the viewers can bear to look without hiding their eyes. A story for responsible journalists, but evidently not for the Knoxville affiliates.

No, across the board, "breaking" news had interrupted all programming to report on Coach Kiffen's defection to USC. How it was going to impact Vols football. How enraged the students were. Blah, blah, blah.

Meanwhile, people are smothering under rubble in Haiti.

WTF? Knoxville? Grow a damn conscience, some balls and oh--how about a heart while you are at it. News flash. You ain't all that important in the scheme of things. In a week, no one will care about Kiffen--but people will still be agonizing over this earthquake. What the hell were you thinking?

There are things everyone needs to listen to whether or not it's the popular thing. It's your job to know the difference. Do your fucking job, already.

For crying fucking out loud--how much longer am I expected to live in this godforsaken frozen hellscape?! Tell me. I need to know.

I think it's official. It is never going to get warm again in the American South. Not now, not ever. I think it's time we pull on our muttluks and start the mass exodus the hell out of here before the glacier covering my jeep envelopes my house.

I've not even gotten down the driveway to check the mail since I last posted. It was 10 degrees this morning. The sun is out this morning--perhaps the third time I've seen it in two weeks.

Anyway. I'm cold, broke, itchy and irritable. Thought I'd share. Muah.

I drove into town today to pick up some drugs at the pharmacy. Have been sticking pretty close to home with the cold. It's bitter--not summery or fall bitter like the pucker of a green persimmon, but winter bitter like dryness of hearth ashes long dead. There's been pitiful snow squeezed from clouds too frozen to shiver.

On the drive down, the creek is iced over and in another few days it will be solid ice. I'm attracted to those white stretches broken by violent black water. It's the contrast of it I love. Hard with liquid, dark with light, stillness with motion. The temperature sign at the bank said 19 degrees at three in the afternoon.

I didn't stay in town long--guess I wanted to get back to my warm little nest and there wasn't much to do in town at any rate. The library was packed--cold weather brings bookworms out of the ground. I've been trying to slog through The Story of Edward Sawtelle by David Wroblewski but I think it's about time I admit defeat and declare it unreadable--at least by me. It's been the book I've been keeping on my bedside table to read at night and in the morning, but for some reason my eyes just glaze over when I pick it up. Blah, blah, blah, Almondine. Blah, blah, blah. So I checked out Dan Simmons' Drood. What's not to like about Dickens and his weird personal life? It's a nice chunk of book--hopefully I'll have better luck with it.

The trip back made my day. Sorry I didn't bring my camera with me because Mt. Cammerer was covered in snow and just stunning. If I'd had my camera, I might have chanced a drive up on The Parkway to get a good pan of the mountains. It was most likely closed--the rangers shut it down at the first snowflake. But I wish you could have been there to see it--it was lovely.