Freezing Rain

Bob Ryan was right. This is going to be a nasty, messy winter. It is raining a cold hard sprinkle on the pavement and the once-white frozen drifts left over from last week. It is dark, of course, and later it promises to be a reprise of yesteray’s raw gray bluster, only with the addition of a penetrating damp chill. I hate it when Bob is right, and we aren’t even to the end of December yet.

So that is the externals, taken from the 5th floor balcony. Inside, the BBC is reporting a Spanish discovery of North Korean Scud missiles on a freighter bound for Yemen. The captain said the ship was carrying cement. It was. And more. This is adding to the tension in South Korea, where the riots continue, and DepSecState Armitage is in Beijing to try to manage the affair through daddy rabbit China. Bob Edwards, the other of my critical Bobs, tells me there are 70 weapons inspectors in Iraq now, a nation the size of Texas.

Jimmy Carter accepted his Nobel Prize, linking it to the continuning crisis in Iraq, but ever the iconoclast, said that armed force was not always bad. Meanwhile, Carracas Venezuala is abuzz with people marching, beating pots and pans as protest against the government of President Chavez. Oil is weak, the economy failing. Chavez champions the poor, and the middle class is rising against him. So East and West, North and South the din is rising.

The local commentators are babbling gently about the CIA and FBI and the establishment of the new Undersecretary of Intelligence in DoD. Intelligence failure and the Kissinger panel are the topics de jour, with missiles in the background, missile sure to be used for something awful, just a matter of time before they come here, say the talking heads, but will we lose our liberty before?

Meanwhile the rain comes down and the government goes on. There are holiday packages to be mailed, but the treacherous roads are stopping life in its tracks. The schools across the region are closing. Fairfax County sprawls out to the peidmont (literally from the Latin for feet-of-the-mountain) of the Blue Ridge, so the western part of the district is in a different climatic zone. They are reporting spin-outs and wrecks all across the metro region, and I suppose I am going to take the backroads to avoid the Virginians and their motorcars.

The lawyers are still tugging at the carcass of Socotra v. Socotra, in Chancery Court file 147879, and oddly I find my only ally is my ex, who does not want any more $100 letters from her rapacious lawyer. My rapacious attorney is much more reasonable. Her letters only cost $75.

The Holiday parties are coming up. I got several invitations, don’t know what to do about them. It is an odd day and I need to work and I need to wrap the packages for my folks and get them on the way. I received an ominously large package from my friend down south, the one who had major surgery earlier this year, and I think the gift I sent him is inadequate. I have sent gourmet food baskets to my sister and brother, and my ex is dragooning my sons to North Carolina for The Day. So far she has highjacked all the holidays since we split, part of her campaign for justice in the world. So the wind is a bit out of the sails on getting their packages to them.

I feel a bit like the weather this morning, cold and grim. I need to check the OPM Home Page and see if I am granted late arrival this morning. Like I said, the metro area is a mess.

Copyright 2002 Vic Socotra