Blizzard. The weathermen and -women have been tossing that word around today, to their clear delight. The mess that blew threw the Dakotas yesterday, in other words: metro Chicago dead ahead tonight.
Tomorrow is garbage collection day in my minuscule corner of the world, and we will see how the garbagemen hold up. My guess is that they'll be delayed but not stopped by the weather. After all, "Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night stays these refuse collectors from the eventual completion of their appointed rounds."
Actually, only one garbageman collects. He drives a spell, swings out of the garbage truck, tosses the garbage in, swings back into the vehicle, drives more, and repeats. Here in the unionized North, he's probably got better health insurance than most people, but I wouldn't want his job anyway.
Out waiting for him will be our former Christmas tree. Today was the end of the line for it, involving the usual reverse ritual of removing and packing ornaments, dragging the desiccated tree to and through the front door, and then cleaning up the large number of pine needles it left behind. Most of them, that is. I expect to find a few in queer corners and odd spots as late as July.
All the usual de-treeing events happened. One ornament fell and broke -- luckily, a glass ball no one, especially me, cared about. At least one ornament went undiscovered and un-removed until the tree was on its way outside (one year, I found a wooden toy-solider ornament on the ground where the tree had been before it was hauled away). My fingers also have the usual small, bloodless stab points where the dried-up tree attacked me.