LOCAL VIEW —BACKLASH—

This morning’s maps show our latest nor’easter (Storm #9 on my list) has done what  such “bombs” often do, which is to come to a screeching halt and “stall.”

20141210 satsfc 20141210B satsfc

Once these storms stall they are usually finished “bombing,” and the pressure seems to have hit a bottom of 29.48 here, which isn’t all that low for a “bomb.”  The real monster storms get down below 29.00 inches. (982 mb.) (That might not be low pressure for high latitudes, but for this far south its a big storm.)  Then they sit and spin and occlude and only gradually fade east. The one I remember most fondly from my time as a teenager, (because it freed me from a week of school), was called “The Hundred Hour Snow.” (1969?) It completely closed route 128 (now called I-95) around Boston.

This storm was only around two or three degrees too warm.  The teenagers glumly went to school today, as I was relieved. These storms make my old bones ache even without the heavy work involved, and the prospect of removing two feet of snow doesn’t thrill me like it once did.  Not that I have completely lowered my guard. The radar shows heavy snow reappearing in Vermont and eastern New York, where it looked like the snow had ended.

20141210 rad_ne_640x480 20141210B rad_ne_640x480

The rain-snow line is roughly thirty miles west of here, but liable to shift east, and we could experience a backlash. As it is the main backlash we are experiencing is a backlash to Christmas spirit. It is hard to get in a festive mood in a cold rain.

Winter’s darkness has just barely started
And already I am gasping for spring.
A week of rain, and I’m downhearted.
My smile’s a false veneer; a grimacing.
 
I try to be good, but fool no one.
I pace, and replace a book on the shelf
Unread; the words are clouds without a sun.
I can’t fool my wife, my dog, or myself.
 
Life reeks. It now seems the only zest
Is in how the rain’s drumming on the roof,
So I listen. (Sometimes life’s at its best
Without leaks supplying reason and proof.)
 
In the dark drums of rain I hear brightening.
I must look up to see enlightening.

There. It may not be the most jolly sonnet ever written, but does pull out of a nose dive. This is real nose dive weather, and one has to experience several “G’s” when pulling out of such dives.

If the backlash gets back this far east everything will get dusted with white, and despite the work moods will improve. That I can predict more reliably than the weather.

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