I’ve seen my share of freaky-looking skies, but never anything quite this well endowed. These are mammatus clouds, which form on the underside of thunderstorm clouds where pockets of cool air are sagging into the warm air beneath. “Mammatus” translates roughly as “breast-cloud” in Latin. The sky was the aftermath of another glorious summer storm front moving through, which rained hail the diameter of tennis balls near St. Cloud and caused all sorts wind and flooding havoc around the metro area. As usual, Maple Grove’s Copper Marsh neighborhood was spared of all but a few good downpours. These were more than just the air-cleansing rainstorm; it rained torrents, as though Water had declared war on Oxygen and Nitrogen and was determined to blast every atmospheric molecule back to the random atoms from which they came.
(The weather gods have not always treated our neighborhood with mercy; the window screens on the north side of my house are dimpled, no doubt the enduring calling card of some long-ago hail lashing.)
The air conditioner fix-it man arrived on schedule Friday morning. He dragged all sorts of mysterious looking equipment out of his truck, and the hefty box that contained my new condenser. Soon the old beater was dragged from its languid plastic pad, rattling and groaning and leaking oil like a wounded beast. A clean, level, freshly scrubbed concrete pad replaced it—an altar for my shrine to R-22 Freon—and on the pad, the sparkling, gleaming, spectacular York air conditioner. The old Concept A/C (when they stop at the concept stage and turn it into a brand name, you ought to know you're in trouble) looked like some poor neglected piece of flotsam, dumped behind the house and left to bake in the sun for the last 10 years.
But the new York? Ah, it carries the appearance of a magnificent piece of equipment. Sleek and shiny, with a three-bladed fan. This is a machine…my bride’s ticket to a comfortable, livable home for her parakeets.
Incidentally, when Carlos from Standard Heating & Air Conditioning ripped the coil—the real indoor guts of the system—out from its housing above the furnace, it was covered with corrosion and rust. This, it seemed, was the likely place of the leak. Is this sort of wear normal? I asked. “I’ve seen much worse,” he replied with a chuckle. Hmm. Well, anyway, it is done.
This marvelous installation occurred just in time for the weekend’s blast-furnace heat: 98 degrees on Saturday! And 103 in and around the car at a church parking lot; I ventured out for a wedding—another friend from high school is hitched. Now I’m the next “another friend from high school.” Saturday’s wedding was a major reality check, for Sunday was the official two-months-to-go mark. With Jenni away, I celebrated in the best fashion possible under the circumstances: a major water change in the fish tank; clipping coupons; and taking an online defensive driving test (“Now available in Spanish!”) to get a lower rate on my car insurance (Did you know, for instance, that if you decide to pass a car going 50 mph in a 55-mph zone on a two-lane road, you will be in the oncoming lane of traffic for two miles? What’s that, you say? Why would it take that long, and why on earth would anyone drive in the oncoming lane for two miles? That’s crazy! Well, you’d be right…but our friends at the National Safety Council certainly do not want you to break the law by speeding. Thus the two-mile-long passing maneuver, because you can only legally go 55 mph. But I also learned some useful facts: between 10 p.m. and 2 a.m. on weekend nights, and average of one in every five drivers on the road is intoxicated. Think about that next time you’re cruising down 35W or I-94 late on a Saturday night. Shudder.).
And then mid-morning Monday, the Greatest Thing All Week took place: An E-Mail From Jenni! This showed up spontaneously around 10 a.m.—or 7 p.m. Russia time. The subject: “I’m Alive!” Yes, she arrived alive and with no problems. And she’s fine. Having a good time, working with the kids, seeing some sights, and feeling safe. Apparently, she went into Moscow to see St. Basil’s with her counselor counterpart, a guy named Branndon, who is “very nice” and has “traveled a lot” and “knows what he is doing.” So, no worries! My fiancée is seeing the wonderful sights of Europe with a guy she just met who is well traveled and very nice.
Well. Three cheers for that. But it is better that he is well-traveled than not, I suppose.
Of course I know that everything will be fine. I appreciate your intention of telling me so, but I know that. It’s just my job to worry—as both the left behind fiancé, and because Jenni rarely ever worries about anything. I feel a bit obligated to pick up her slack.
Truly, though, I am relieved that she is OK doing well. Regrettably, she added that it took her 45 minutes to log on to the Internet and write a short e-mail, so she would not be doing so again and we will have to hear from her again until she arrives at MSP next Wednesday evening.
RIP, Concept 10.
Incidentally, when Carlos from Standard Heating & Air Conditioning ripped the coil—the real indoor guts of the system—out from its housing above the furnace, it was covered with corrosion and rust. This, it seemed, was the likely place of the leak. Is this sort of wear normal? I asked. “I’ve seen much worse,” he replied with a chuckle. Hmm. Well, anyway, it is done.
This marvelous installation occurred just in time for the weekend’s blast-furnace heat: 98 degrees on Saturday! And 103 in and around the car at a church parking lot; I ventured out for a wedding—another friend from high school is hitched. Now I’m the next “another friend from high school.” Saturday’s wedding was a major reality check, for Sunday was the official two-months-to-go mark. With Jenni away, I celebrated in the best fashion possible under the circumstances: a major water change in the fish tank; clipping coupons; and taking an online defensive driving test (“Now available in Spanish!”) to get a lower rate on my car insurance (Did you know, for instance, that if you decide to pass a car going 50 mph in a 55-mph zone on a two-lane road, you will be in the oncoming lane of traffic for two miles? What’s that, you say? Why would it take that long, and why on earth would anyone drive in the oncoming lane for two miles? That’s crazy! Well, you’d be right…but our friends at the National Safety Council certainly do not want you to break the law by speeding. Thus the two-mile-long passing maneuver, because you can only legally go 55 mph. But I also learned some useful facts: between 10 p.m. and 2 a.m. on weekend nights, and average of one in every five drivers on the road is intoxicated. Think about that next time you’re cruising down 35W or I-94 late on a Saturday night. Shudder.).
And then mid-morning Monday, the Greatest Thing All Week took place: An E-Mail From Jenni! This showed up spontaneously around 10 a.m.—or 7 p.m. Russia time. The subject: “I’m Alive!” Yes, she arrived alive and with no problems. And she’s fine. Having a good time, working with the kids, seeing some sights, and feeling safe. Apparently, she went into Moscow to see St. Basil’s with her counselor counterpart, a guy named Branndon, who is “very nice” and has “traveled a lot” and “knows what he is doing.” So, no worries! My fiancée is seeing the wonderful sights of Europe with a guy she just met who is well traveled and very nice.
Well. Three cheers for that. But it is better that he is well-traveled than not, I suppose.
Of course I know that everything will be fine. I appreciate your intention of telling me so, but I know that. It’s just my job to worry—as both the left behind fiancé, and because Jenni rarely ever worries about anything. I feel a bit obligated to pick up her slack.
Truly, though, I am relieved that she is OK doing well. Regrettably, she added that it took her 45 minutes to log on to the Internet and write a short e-mail, so she would not be doing so again and we will have to hear from her again until she arrives at MSP next Wednesday evening.
RIP, Concept 10.
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