Ice

I used to hate it when soft white snow turned to grey slush. Now I long for the slush to arrive.

There's been no snow since Boxing Day night. A little snow has melted and the main roads are clear but the pavements are icy. People have walked the snow into hard, white ice. Even more dangerous are the patches where snow has melted a little and then re-frozen, giving paving stones a transparent glaze.

I did not fall when I went out yesterday but the care I took was exhausting.

Once I would have found this excursion exciting - when I was small and nearer to ground level. Now I know that a fall can cause bad damage. I'm glad to know, after a scan a few years ago, that my bones are not particularly brittle. I see others out of doors and think this icy word may be more dangerous for them.

There's lots of advice for older people on how to keep warm at home. "Wear more clothes," we are advised, as though we were idiots who couldn't think of this for ourselves. That's not the advice we need. We don't want to be trapped in our homes in bad weather.

 A quick google shows that there's some advice on how to walk on icy surfaces in other countries. The University of Illinois seems to assume that everyone will drive and that most  problems arise when walking in car parks - but their advice on posture may be helpful. We should, apparently, walk flat-footedly with the centre of gravity above the feet. Backpacks can  throw us off balance and it's a good idea to extend the arms if possible. It sounds a bit like tightrope-walking. I'm less certain about their advice to use hands to break a fall as  I've come across a few people who have broken their wrists in this way.

I know that I could buy devices for walking on ice and fix them to my walking boots - or even to ordinary shoes - but I've have to venture across the ice to get them, and ordering by mail would mean waiting a few days, by which time the ice may have cleared. I may try to get some in case of further bad weather, if they haven't all sold out. They would be useful when I need to get to work.

Meanwhile I'm grumpily at home, wearing a rather large quantity of knitwear, and wishing I could go for a walk - or fly, like the delightful wagtail I saw fluttering around the shops yesterday. With its feathers fluffed out until it appeared almost spherical, it seemed to be enjoying the weather. But of course, it favoured the pedestrian shopping area which frequent footfall had cleared of snow and ice.

I will go for a walk when I have a sensible reason to do so, or when the ice melts.

 

A cheap day at the sales

It's supposed to be so festive, such fun. But, with few exceptions, I hate shopping, especially when shops are crowded. Despite this, I feel obliged to visit the sales at least once. I think of it as an attempt to placate the god of the sales. Perhaps if I venture out once in the sales madness, I will be permitted to avoid busy shops for the whole of the coming year.

I didn't go to the sales on Boxing Day. That would have been excessive, especially since the trains  weren't running. I waited till the day after - the Saturday - and timidly made my way into town. Some of the timidity was caused by last night's snow. While it had turned to slush on some of the roads, elsewhere it had compacted into ice, and I didn't want to fall. The local council grits some of the roads but pedestrians are left to fend for themselves on icy pavements. After injuring my back in a fall a few years ago, I know just how dangerous they can be.

Perhaps the snow and ice had kept the shoppers away but the city centre was less crowded than on a normal Saturday. Even my favourite indie bookshop was quiet enough for conversation. (I said there were exceptions to my hatred of shopping. Browsing and buying books at a good indie bookshop is always a pleasure.) 

I tore myself away from the contemplation of poetry magazines and attempted some serious shopping. I could buy socks, I thought. Good, cheap socks are always useful. But I didn't want socks featuring robins or reindeer and there were no sensible warm socks on sale - at least, not in the three shops I entered.

Perhaps there was really nothing I needed, apart from a few groceries. The tomatoes were not in the sale but humus was on special offer. There was another opportunity for conversation too.

So I've done the sales. It wouldn't have been particularly special, apart from one thing. Waiting for the train I saw a white mist rising above the fence that separates the platform from people's gardens. At first I couldn't work out what it was. I went closer to see if it was a fire. It wasn't. The white mist was melting snow. I could see it dissolve into air and rise like smoke, all along the length of the fence.