Blizzard warning

4:06 p.m. -- starting to snow hard

The more the forecasters keep forecasting, the higher the snow totals keep going in these parts.

When we started our day today in Omaha, we were expecting a winter storm. Maybe 6 inches of snow.

Sometime along the way, that turned into a blizzard warning, and now we might get up to 10 inches of hard-blowing snow which, come to think of it, sounds a little kinky the way I just put it. A little more than an hour ago, it was just raining.

Now it's not.

Good thing I'm an artiste with a snow shovel, which is a skill not every -- OK, almost no -- Louisiana boy possesses. Perhaps I'm a real Midwesterner now, after 24 years.

By the way, in the Gret Stet, what we know in Nebraska as a "blizzard warning" is commonly referred to as "instant frozen death." Not an understated lot, those Louisiana folk.

Film at 11.

A walk in the park

No, I haven't a clue what the deal is
with the silk flowers under this tree.

Today was a bit nippy, and it was a lot windy, too, but it was a fine day for a walk in the park.

Especially considering that Thursday will not be so good a day to walk anywhere; there's a winter storm on the way Wednesday night.

Omaha's Elmwood Park is about a two-mile jaunt from our house, not too far a destination in an ongoing take-off-the-weight walking regimen. It was established in 1890, and it's simply one of the most beautiful spots in town -- and there are a lot of lovely nooks, crannies and wide expanses in this spread-out river city of almost 425,000 people.

This brisk almost-Christmas day, Elmwood -- a huge park just to the east of the University of Nebraska at Omaha and encompassing walking trails, a swimming pool, picnic and fitness areas and an 18-hole golf course -- was a winter wonderland.

I HAD been wanting to take pictures on one of my walks through Elmwood for some time now, and I'm so glad today was the day I chose to do it. The dusting of snow still on the ground from the weekend added such a picture-postcard quality to the landscape.

What is a tranquil and gorgeous spot right in the middle of Omaha's urban sprawl -- and the rewards in paradise must be bounteous for the old cow town's urban planners who created its park system more than 120 years ago -- was just stunning today, draped in a blanket of white.

So I just had to share this Omaha gem with the rest of the world here. It's what I do.

And it's my pleasure as well.

GOD, I love this town. Really, I do.

Whew! Frosty was getting a little despondent

Nov. 26, 2012: The first snow of the year.

Well, that took long enough, didn't it?

I don't know about where you are -- and no matter what, family and friends back in Louisiana think Omaha is an Arctic wasteland -- but I was starting to wonder what the heck was going on. So far, it seems like a dry and relatively warm fall on this little corner of the Great Plains.


CERTAINLY, so far it's no winter of 2009-10. (See the above video from the Christmas Eve blizzard of 2009.)

Stay tuned.

The return of winter

It took a while, but Nebraska in January is starting to look once again like Nebraska in January.

Hello, winter. I've been saving a blanket just in case.

Baby, it's cold outside . . .

This weather can't last . . .

(But baby, it's cold outside)

It really can't stay . . .
(But baby, it's cold outside)

Got to go away . . .
(But baby, it's cold outside)

Last few days have been . . .
(Been hoping the heat'd kick in)

Nothin' but ice . . .
(Warm air would be so very nice)

My mother will start to worry . . .
(She probably froze in a hurry)

My father will be pacing the floor . . .
(He's such a hypothermic bore)

So really I'd better scurry . . .
(Beautiful. You'd die a death quite icy)

Well, maybe just half a drink more . . .
(Turn on the weather while I pour)

The neighbors might think . . .
(Baby, it's bad out there)

Say what's in this drink?
(I thought it was antifreeze)

I wish I knew how . . .
(Your eyes are frozen open now)

To break this Arctic spell . . .
(Here's a wool cap, it'll feel just swell)

I ought to say no no . . .
(Your chattering teeth are getting worser)

At least I'm going to say I tried . . .
(But, hey, your battery died!)

I really can't stay . . .
(Listen . . . you'd freeze, no doubt)

Baby it's cold outside!

Note to the convention and visitors people

Dear Omaha Convention
and Visitors Bureau:

I love your website. You're right, there's plenty to do and see in our vibrant city -- people will love it here. They might decide to move here, even.

Just one thing, though. You need to get folks in the door.

While I think your website does a great job in that respect, there is one glaring oversight. See that "Omaha weather" thingy at the top right of the page? Get rid of it from October 1 through May 1.

"Hey, people, come to Omaha! Look! Right now, it's 2 DEGREES!!!"

In the PR and travel biz, I think that's known, technically, as a "non-starter." Unless, of course, you're marketing our fine area exclusively to the fine citizens of Barrow, Alaska, and International Falls, Minn.

Love and kisses,

Me

The snow tree

Winter ain't bad, once you get used to it.

A philosopher or something once said that. My back may be up to posting an op-ed counterpoint on this subject . . . once the acetaminophen kicks in.

As red as the driven snow

It's a windy, snowy and frosty night in Omaha, where the Midwest fades out and the wild and woolly Plains take hold.

A night like this, here in the rolling hills of eastern Nebraska, reminds one of being a Who, safely stowed away in Horton's icebox. A day like the one preceding this February prairie night reminds one of . . . being a Who, safely stowed away in Horton's icebox.

With the light left on.

Horton, by the way, never defrosts his icebox. He probably should take care of that.

He probably will . . . this spring.

WHENEVER I MENTION life in the Gret White Nawth to family and friends back in Louisiana -- particularly the unrelenting rituals of the dead of a Nebraska winter, like braving the blowing snow . . . dressing in many layers . . . shoveling the snow . . . reshoveling what's drifted -- the reaction is nearly universal. Horror is what it is.

People think I'm nuts. People think the North Pole must be pretty close to Omaha, and that nobody in his right mind is gonna live at the damn North Pole.

And regular snowfall is a sure sign of God's wrath upon the terminally stupid.

Of course, this reaction comes from a state where the last white Democrat will change his party registration to "R" by 2013. That is, if the world doesn't come to an end in December 2012, all life extinguished by a rogue glacier sliding southward from somewhere near . . . Omaha.

Maybe St. Paul. All dem places up Nawth is all de same, cher -- cold, cold.

Frankly, I think the Republicanization of my home state somehow may the be source and the sustenance of the Southern horror at all things cold and snowy. Snow, after all, is socialist.

Think about it: It matters not a whit whether one has the finest, most meticulously manicured lawn in the entire upper Midwest or whether yours is a yard ravaged by crabgrass and unsightly patches of dirt the same shade of dingy brown as a 1950s Soviet apartment block. When the snow comes, it's all the same.

IT'S A PATENTLY leftist redistribution of beauty -- No Yard Left Behind. Every yard is covered by a uniform, regimented blanket of socialist snow.

The finest yard is brought down to the proletarian level of the most humble, and the most meager of lawns is -- via some sort of meteorological affirmative action -- lifted up to the same level as that of a McMansion.

Snow ain't white; it's pink. As in "pinko."

Not only that, ice is a communist plot, too, socializing the placement of asses over heads without regard to socioeconomic status, skill, income, educational achievement or race or national origin. A broken bourgeois foot is pretty much the same as a pretzeled proletarian one.

Stuff like that really pousses the cafés of the class-conscious capitalists back in the Gret Stet.

Likewise, the Northern embrace of socialist ice -- like that of pinko snow -- renders useless the advantages of a solid, upper middle-class Cadillac Escalade over that of a poor-white-trash '82 Chevy Caprice.

While the Escalade may get started quicker on an icy surface, neither it nor the Caprice will fare any differently trying to stop at the traffic light at the bottom of a long hill. Arguably, the advantage here goes to the cash-strapped mope driving the Caprice -- if he T-bones, say, an Escalade . . . so what?

ASSUMING liability coverage, the Caprice driver is out nothing but a crappy old car. The bourgeois pig in the Caddy is out . . . well, he's out the monetary difference between a heavily depreciated, really expensive Caddy and what it costs to replace it with a brand-new one. You could buy, like, six '82 Caprices with that.

Remember, it ain't "black ice" that's your problem, Buster, it's "Red" ice.

And the dictatorship of the Gret White Nawthun proletariat laughs at your pretentious capitalist illusions of superiority, Bubba.

The day before February

Greetings from the upper Midwest, where it's a few minutes from February.

The weather outside is frightful; the coffee inside's delightful. I didn't have a chance to stick a digital camera out the door to take a dark, grainy video of what's going on here in the Gret White Nawth, so I swiped this off the Internets.

It's kind of like this, only without the tidal wave and Empire State Building. As a great philosopher once said, "Dem tings happen."

So does wintertime in Nebraska.

An Action NewsWitness update

True . . . true.

Now back to you, Blow Dry.

Five months

Oh, how a mere five months (and a little bit) fly by.

Oh, what changes a mere five months can bring here on the Great Plains.

Above is the wheelbarrow garden bed in our back yard, as pictured July 28. Back then, it was in full flower despite the cooler-than-normal summer, and we were picking messes of mustard greens every week or two.

BUT ALL GARDENS come to an end, and both of ours were done by Oct. 10 (above). It was the first of many snows this fall and winter.

AND NOW, our little wheelbarrow garden bed as seen an hour or so ago. Yesterday's snow is blowing, and the mercury is dropping like a rock.

The forecast, according to Channel 7: Low tonight will be minus-13. High Friday will be minus-5. Low Friday night -- 23 below zero.

Once again, the pioneers were not wimps. Come to think of it, neither are we.

All right, let's go. Bundle up and git 'er done!

Stay South, young man!

Omaha, Nebraska -- a snowy hell.

Its citizens hang on to the tattered threads of their sanity as the wintry apocalypse proceeds apace. It's ice cold out. Worse than ice-cold out. It's worse than Greenland out. As cold as the South Pole out.

And it's snowing. It hasn't stopped snowing for a month now. Nearly 3 feet of the white plague is on the ground.

We're all going to die. But no one will find us until spring -- if it comes this year -- because we will have been drifted over. Goodbye, cruel world.

TAKE HEED, Californians! Listen up, Texans! If you are looking to escape the Sun Belt hell of your own making, this is not the place. We have hell of our own -- snowy hell.

If you come, you will freeze and die.

Take this friendly advice, you Southerners in search of Heartland charm and Midwestern wholesomeness. American Gothic froze over after Grant Wood died of frostbite. In other words, "Stay South, young man!"

Horace Greeley said that before he died of frostbite, too. And then his desiccated carcass was blown away by a tornado when June came around.

REALLY, you people don't want to come here. This land is only fit for hardy Nebraskans; we're used to this stuff.

The preceding message has come to you courtesy of the Keep Nebraska for Nebraskans Committee -- M. Favog, treasurer.

A d-d-d-d-day in the l-l-l-l-life

I saw a film today, oh boy.

The English army had just . . . taken a wrong turn, ended up in Omaha and froze solid.

Sorry, Your Majesty. Bad colonists!

YOU GO AHEAD and read what's in today's World-Herald. I'm going to put on another pot of hot tea and curl up into a fetal position:

Snowfall is forecast to resume tonight, with about 4 inches possible.
If you want to warm up, you might consider heading to northernmost Alaska; or to Thule, Greenland; or even Moscow.

None of those places was as cold Monday morning as Omaha.

Shortly after daybreak, the mercury plunged to 20 degrees below zero at Eppley Airfield.

And there's more chilling news ahead.

Winds are expected to pick up Wednesday afternoon, meaning blizzard conditions are briefly possible. Blowing snow could limit visibility for the Wednesday evening and Thursday morning rush hours.

After a slight respite today and Wednesday, dangerously cold conditions are expected to last until Saturday, according to the National Weather Service and AccuWeather, The World-Herald's weather consultant.

Once the arctic air arrives Wednesday evening, forecasters say, it's likely that temperatures won't rise above zero until Saturday. By Friday morning, wind chills could plunge to 30 below, or worse.

In places like Moscow, Thule, and Barrow, Alaska, the lows on Monday ranged from 10 below to 10 above zero. The forecast for Reykjavik, Iceland — highs in the 30s all week — looks like a walk on the beach compared to Nebraska and Iowa.

I-I-I-I'm d-d-d-d-d-d-dreaming of a w-w-white C-C-Christmas

It's brutal out there -- a full-blown Plains blizzard.

So far, though, God's whole "Enough! Be still and be at peace" initiative through better meteorology is going OK this Christmastide. After a busy day posting the Christmas edition of 3 Chords & the Truth and shoveling the walk and driveway several times, I'm a good kind of tired and remarkably unstressed.

Maybe that's because the blizzard has taken away all the wild expectations surrounding the holiday. It has been stripped to its essentials . . . and so have our lives, for just these few days.

FOR US, at least, the rush to get presents wrapped, etcetera and so on, has been diminished. Holiday entertaining, too.

Today was a day of getting done what needed to be done, managing to get to Christmas vigil Mass while the getting was . . . possible . . . and then making a pot of our traditional Christmas Eve chicken-and-sausage gumbo for a late-night supper for two.

Even though the simple act of getting to Mass involved the driveway-shoveling equivalent of a forced march, it was all good. And the snowy drive to church, truth be told, fell under the category of Things Guys Like.

IN OTHER WORDS, a good challenge. And I don't think God minded that I showed up to Christmas Mass in snow boots and two pairs of sweatpants.

You don't shovel in finery, is what I'm saying.

But now it's really late, I'm exhausted, and it's time to go to bed. Tomorrow -- today now -- is another day, Christmas Day, when we will continue to be still as we scramble to beat back the elements howling outside the door. And suit up to shovel away enough drifts for the poor dogs to go outside and do what dogs do.

JUST CALL me Nanook of the North.

Merry Christmas from snowy, blowy Omaha, by God, Nebraska.

Let it O! Let it O! Let it O!

Chances are, this time of year means downtown Omaha looks something like a winter wonderland.

That's especially so this snowy Christmastide. And it's about to get even more that way as we brace for the whitest Christmas we've had in years.

IT'S ALL in the World-Herald:

The weather service has issued a winter storm watch for most of the state for Tuesday night through Christmas eve. In central Nebraska, six to 10 inches of snow are possible. In eastern Nebraska, the storm is likely to begin with freezing rain followed by several inches of snow, the weather service said.

Wednesday “will see a whole variety of precipitation -- snow, sleet and freezing rain. It looks like a pretty ugly day,” said AccuWeather meteorologist Tom Kines.

Snow and hard winds will continue through Thursday, with some flurries and frigid wind chills on Christmas Day.

But it's a little too soon to know exactly what's coming.

That shouldn't come as a surprise, given how this year's weather has unfolded. After all, climate scientists are perplexed by autumn's odd weather.

North Platte received more snow in October than it usually sees in an entire year. Across much of Nebraska, October and December have brought near-record cold.

With December's cold came a snowstorm that blanketed much of the United States and brought the nation's midsection to a halt.

Climate scientists say a couple of factors are upending the weather lately. But they hold onto hope for higher-than-normal temperatures in January and February.

“This could turn out to be one of those years when December ends up colder than January and February — at least, I've got my fingers crossed,” said Mike Halpert, deputy director of the Climate Prediction Center for the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration.

Halpert said a North Atlantic weather phenomenon known as the Arctic Oscillation has been playing havoc with the end of autumn.

The jet stream, he said, has shifted farther south than it normally does at this time of year, allowing cold air from Canada and the Arctic to drift down.

“We're not sure why it's doing this,” he said, though “we have some suspicions.”

TONIGHT, the TV weatherman said freezing rain (translate: ice storm) Wednesday changing to snow the afternoon of Christmas Eve, with "several inches" of accumulation by Christmas morning. This could mean we'll be walking -- not driving -- to midnight Mass this year. Or not. It depends.

What it does mean is we'll be pretty much snowed in this Christmas.

See, in a season where we're all prone to rushing around, getting busy, getting frazzled and "Christmasing" ourselves into a state . . . well, God has His way of saying "Stop! Enough! Be still and be at peace."

And, frankly, that the Almighty can do that while dressing our landscape in the finest white garments -- and making everything so jaw-droppingly pretty, especially at Christmas -- ranks among the most fetching of the Midwest's charms.

The pioneers were no wimps

Some think heat vents are to keep your house warm.

That may be the case, but on blizzardy days like this, heat vents have a higher calling. Heat vents are where you dry your wet shoes after a couple of hours shoveling the walk, the driveway and (just to make sure you can get out in the morning) the street in front of your house.

And above the heat vent is where you hang your wet socks and thaw your ice-covered wool cap. At right is how I've been doing it lately.

These are the tricks of the Midwestern trade when winter blows across the Great Plains. As I write this, the wind is roaring outside the studio window.

Snow is coming down at the same time the wind is blowing it up from Omaha's newly minted urban tundra. Not a creature is stirring this snow-packed and windblown predawn -- at least no sane creature -- and the cable and Internet has been off and on.

(Note to self: Finish this post while the Internet is still on.)

CHANNEL 7 says it's 10 degrees out, with a wind chill of minus-11. That would be the high temperature this Wednesday; it's all downhill from here . . . all the way to 9 below zero about 24 hours from now.

Hello, December. Glad you could make it in time for Christmas.

Below is how things looked by the time I finished the second round of shoveling Tuesday evening. It's the look of snow coming down at a decent clip.


THIS was before the blizzard began in earnest.

At left is the view out the front door after the blizzard began in earnest.

This may go on for a while, according to the weatherman. Probably until noon, maybe longer.

Below is what you see when you open the front door enough to stick the camera outside -- getting it, and you, good and wet. Our car is parked in front of the house.

Perhaps you can make it out.

On a night like this -- when you have a driveway that slopes down from the street -- you don't try to get up the drive in the morning. Not when the snow has been falling, and drifting, all night.




IT'S DECEMBER in Nebraska, y'all.

The pioneers were no wimps. And, come to think of it, neither are we.

Bring it on.

Oh, the weather outside. . . .

On the street where I live, the sounds that echo across the frigid Omaha snowscape are the roar of the snow blower and the scrape of the snow shovel.

The snow, it falls silently.

The schools are closed, and even the malls will lock their doors and extinguish the lights of Christmas commerce in about an hour. The snow's falling harder than ever, the blizzard part is yet to come, and my city is shutting -- and hunkering -- down.

By nightfall, on the street where I live -- on the streets where millions of Midwesterners live -- the only sound to be heard will be that of the roaring wind. That, and snow blasting against the windows of the houses where we live.

Everything's canceled, and only the foolish will venture out. Well, the foolish and the cops. But at least the cops are getting paid to fight the losing battle with a December blizzard.

I FINISHED Round 1 of the day's shoveling a few hours ago. My coat and shoes probably have dried by now -- my Nebraska Cornhuskers wool cap, too -- my gut is full of hot dark-roast coffee, and it's about time for me to do battle with about four fresh inches of snow.

If I'm lucky, I'll get the walks and driveway cleared before the wind comes howling across the Plains, blowing the snow that's falling and the snow that already has fallen.

Out here in the great Midwest, all God's creatures are trying to beat out the December gusts. I'm trying to get the snow cleared before it all starts to drift, and the squirrels, sparrows, cardinals and blue jays are trying to fill their stomachs before digging in for the evening.

I think I'll have another cup of coffee and a bite to eat before rejoining the battle. Because it's December in Omaha and, truth be told, I wouldn't have it any other way.

3 Chords & the Truth: Cold comfort

With the weather being what it is as we roll into December on the Plains, consider this episode of 3 Chords & the Truth . . . cold comfort.

Here in Omaha, it got up to all of 26 degrees today. Right now, it's 18. Saturday, it might hit 40.

That will make it the "hot" day of the next week.

WHAT I'D RECOMMEND doing right now, if you're experiencing similar conditions, is putting on a kettle of water on the burner and some tea bags in the pot. Or perhaps some hot chocolate mix in your mug.

Then again, maybe it's just time to make a pot of fresh coffee.

As you curl up under something warm, it's your hot beverage of choice -- along with the music offered up on this edition of the Big Show -- that will keep you warm. That's what I call a game plan because, baby, it's cold outside.

It's 3 Chords & the Truth, y'all. Be there. Aloha.

Autumn wonderland

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening,
In the lane, snow is glistening
A beautiful sight,
We're happy tonight.
Walking in a winter wonderland.

Gone away is the bluebird,
Here to stay is a new bird
He sings a love song,
As we go along,
Walking in a winter wonderland.

When it snows, ain't it thrilling,
Though your nose gets a chilling
We'll frolic and play, the Eskimo way,
Walking in a winter wonderland.

-- Richard B. Smith

Flick lives!!!

The Omaha World-Herald has confirmed something far more exciting than the likelihood of life on Mars.

THE INTREPID journalists of the city's daily newspaper have -- Can I get a drum roll here? Thanks -- the intrepid scriveners of Nebraska's largest daily have discovered Flick in Omaha! Can Ralphie and Skut Farkas be far behind?

The tall metal light pole was irresistible in the early morning subzero temperatures.

Mason Mulick had walked past it countless times before; he'd considered it; he'd been counseled against it.

But Thursday, on Omaha's coldest day this winter, the 6-year-old gave in.

He opened his mouth, leaned into the pole and unwittingly recreated a modern Christmas classic in an Omaha neighborhood near 164th and Pacific Streets. When Mason's little tongue touched metal, it stuck.

Arms flailed, Mason screamed, and the neighborhood kids waiting for the car pool crowded around, yelling: "His tongue's stuck on the light pole! His tongue's stuck on the light pole!"

His panicked mother, Laci Mulick, looked outside and saw Mason's predicament. In seconds, she was out there too — in her pajamas with two glasses of water.

A neighbor poured the first glass of water.

Still stuck.

With Mason and his twin sister, Darby, wailing, his mom poured two more glasses, freeing Mason but leaving behind traces of Mason's tongue.

SEE? THAT'S WHAT happens when you're only 6.

When you're 6, you just don't have any mastery of technique yet. The kid just went into this tongue-on-light-pole thing like a dimwitted bull in a china shop.

I'll bet he put his whole tongue on that pole. Please. Kid, it was 16 below!

And I'll bet the little twerp just left it on there, too. It was bound to get hopelessly stuck. Novices . . . sheesh!

AT THESE temperatures -- I mean, we're talking full-fledged mid-January Arctic blast here -- technique is everything. If you don't have your technique down pat, we're talking stuck tongue . . . kids abandoning you to icy death just because the bell rings . . . and, finally, the fire department showing up to save everything but your pride.

Technique, technique, technique. Learn it. Live it. Love it.

OK . . . we're talking double digits below zero. No other option but a little . . . and quick. Kind of like when your mom makes you kiss your aunt.

The light pole is your aunt . . . if not your sister. Remember it! What's the light pole?

That's right -- aunt. Maybe sister.

SO . . . the key to extreme-cold pole licking is to use just the very tip of your tongue. No more than an eighth-of-an-inch swath.

And just as importantly, you gotta be quick. Touching that teeniest tip of the tongue to said light pole for more than a half-second -- one second at the outside . . . and I wouldn't wager on you emerging able to speak clearly at a second -- is a recipe for sheer disaster. Ask Flick. Or Mason.

Disaster. Abandonment . . . fire trucks . . . humiliation . . . yadda yadda yadda.

There's a right way and a wrong way to do everything. Forget that, and you just as well send the video in to Jackass.