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Flashback Friday - Weather

We take weather for granted. It's always too cold, or too hot, or too wet, or too windy or any number of things that don't sit well with us. It's a lightening rod of conversation, a topic we all rally around when into chit-chat mode with anyone. Weather gets a bum rap. I am convinced of this since I am into my 2nd year in the blandest, serially chronic nothing weather capitol of the world. I may be exaggerating, but not by much.

Saint Petersburg suffers from a meteorological void that at one time, as I hear, this city suffered through 768 straight sunny days. Imagine that. Everyday for over 2 1/3 years it was blue sky and warm weather. Before you consign me to the padded room, look out your window, and imagine not having whatever you are having now and how it will change in 4 months. The following is a collection of shots taken when there was weather happening. I miss it. Now I am looking out my window and the sky is blue, and no rain is forecast for the at least the next 7 days. The temps will fluctuate between 68 and 75 all week. It never ends. It's always beautiful. God how I hate endless beautiful, weather less days.













 About the most tumultuous weather I have noticed is when it rains longer than 20 minutes and a breeze kicks up to 35 mph. That's news down here.  Here are some pictures of REAL weather, wintery ice in Galesburg a few years ago.

First we have a frozen rain that was one of my favorites for sheer beauty. Although a bitch to travel on, this was perhaps the most intriguing of all Midwest winter phenomena. Rather rare and pretty destructive, the ice storm remains one of my favorites.









And then we have the fresh snow.  Dear dear snow.  Nature's way of hiding your unfinished yard work like leaves and the mowing that should have been done one more time but you couldn't muster the will power to yank on that rope one...more...time.

I miss snow most of all.  The crunching of the snowflakes being meshed into your shoes, the hardening of shoelaces, the way it muffled sounds, the yelling of kids playing,  the sledding, angels and forts no longer made by a youthful you.





Snow storm at BFE.

So all my readers from up North: embrace the joy of snow.  Give thanks to finger-numbing cold,  the adrenaline inducing slip-sliding of ice and the once-a-month note from Ameren.    

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Class, Or Lack Thereof The Dwight Vice gravestone in Oquawka, Illinois. I bring this old chestnut out every so often just to remind me that class is classless.  Dwight Vice was killed in his home near Oquawka in 2001.  It was one of those things that can generate crime:  two guys thought Dwight had a lot of money stashed at home because of his pot-selling sideline to supplement his fishing job.   Not really one of those big drug deals gone-bad things.  Marijuana was, according to the trial, about the only stuff Dwight sold.   But these two guys barge into the house and killed Dwight and attempted to kill his 11 year old kid, Darryl, before they took off with what money they could find.   His son, now 23, was stabbed in the back and left for dead.  He survived and is wheelchair bound and has undergone several surgeries to repair his wounds.  He will be paralyzed for life.   None of this is pleasant.  Reading the facts of the murder and attempted murder are most unpleasant