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Mother Nature goes Sybil

Posted: January 19, 2013 - 12:25pm  |  Updated: January 19, 2013 - 1:08pm

At this writing the old lady in charge of the weather hasn’t thrown a snit fit in the last few days. I’m not encouraged by this mild behavior because she’s a temperamental cussette who can go from mellow to suddenly sporting a mood darker than a woman who received a hefty power tool as a Valentine gift.

This morning I watched as Kachemak Bay displayed snow showers to the west while laying down a slight freezing mist on our deck stairs. I took the weather condition disparity as personal and figured it was payback for some blistering invective I shot her way a week ago when she abruptly decided to turn our neatly plowed driveway into something a speed skater couldn’t traverse without crampons. I mean, what’s up with that?

I’m starting to think Mother Nature has gone Sybil on us with profound multiple personality problems, nowadays referred to as “dissociative idenity disorders” by elitist intellectual jerks who enjoy changing terminology just to annoy us.

Web MD defines a dissociative identity disorder as characterized by the presence of two or more distinct or split identities or personality states that continually have power over the person’s behavior. Ms. Nature’s various personalities easily qualify as a howling mob of nuerotics. One day moose with a 60 knot tailwind may go screaming by your front window on a glaze of ice then twelve hours later come dog paddling back through a pond that replaced the frozen sheen after an up spike of fifty degrees accompanied by a monsoon.

Hey, it’s nothing new. In late December we had to have our road plowed and then sanded in the same day. Talk about a lady who couldn’t make up her mind. I swear I heard a cackle in the wind. It was enough to make a guy want to throw a Prozac in the air at her just to see if it would take.

I’ve pounded around Alaska enough not to be too surprised at what she hurls at us and I should have figured we were in for it when we went into kind of a winter limbo at the beginning of the season. Nothing but cold and a skiff or two of snow for weeks but I could hear her sniggering behind the mountains.

She kept chillin’ until she heard enough whining about the lack of snow and then dumped a bit to keep the gang with winter toys happy and the other complacent about the “mild winter.” Then she suddenly threw a left hook of heavy winds and snow to get us on the ropes. We toughed it out until the sneaky lady landed a huge uppercut of pounding rain and we were staggered just trying to get our rigs rolling in the morning without launching into undignified face-plants while coming out of awkward pirouettes off the house steps.

Her icing tricks are just flat nasty and rude especially when they sneak up on us.

A few days ago we had one of those nefarious winter scenarios where it snowed, rained, froze and lightly snowed again sometime during the night.

When 04:30 rolled around our two mutts decided they couldn’t wait for their usual 06:00 run to pee paradise. So they jumped me. Needless to say I wasn’t at my mental or athletic best when I opened the door for them and stepped outside.

I was wearing a Cabela’s headlight set on a green LED glow that preserves the batteries. If I would have used the normal white spotlight, the glistening mass lurking below about a half inch of new snow would have stood out. But no, ole Save-A Few-Cents-On-Batteries Nick stepped onto the deck and into outer space. 

The last thing I remembered before being licked back into consciousness by a small poodle and something resembling a demented Yak with fermented cheese breath was the feeling of free flight and what sounded like an insidious chuckle in a gust of air.

Jane claims the dogs saved my bod from frost bite by waking me up. I saw the look in their eyes. It wasn’t concern. They were freezing their butts off and I was the only one who knew how to operate the door knob. If it would have been her, the curs would have tested the footing, recommended ice cleats and cleared a trail down the steps. But that’s another story.

Anyway, I’ve changed my ways. I no longer snort scurrilous remarks about Mother Nature’s lineage when I’m trying to lurch my way to the truck. I just smile and suck it up. Maybe this way I’ll make it through this winter without getting anymore bruises the size of a cargo blimp on my backside and save myself from another wicked dog breath attack.

Sure I will …

Nick can be reached at ncvarney@gmail.com.

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