Möngö Notes

The winter storm blasting the upper states showed up in my neighborhood today first in the form of a lot of rain, but cold enough to leave a coating of ice on the bare trees and bushes. Then the rain itself started to freeze.

More currency with no Roman letters on it (well, not many). Three bits of currency, each measuring a diminutive 1¾ by 3½ inches, roughly the size of a business card.Mongolian currency

I didn’t have to do any looking around to know who issued them: Mongolia. I’m familiar with Mongolian notes, ever since I picked up a few of them in Ulaanbaatar.

Besides, the Mongolian national symbol – the Soyombo, which appears in the national flag – is a certain giveaway.

“The Soyombo is… attributed to Zanabazar, the 17th-century leader of Mongolian Lamaism, a great statesman, and the father of Mongolian art and script,” says the University of Pennsylvania, including an interpretation of the ying-yang that’s new to me.

“The yin-yang symbol means that men and women are unified. During Communist times it was interpreted as two intertwined fish, which symbolize vigilance and wisdom, as fish never close their eyes.”

Not having eyelids isn’t quite the same as being vigilant, I’d say, and I don’t much associate fish with wisdom, but I suppose that’s just anthropocentric bias, isn’t it?

I didn’t pick up the notes in country. They came with the grab bag of international paper money cheapies, and are 10-, 20- and 50-möngö notes.

A möngö is one-hundredth of a tugrik (tögrög), the base unit. Considering that U.S. $1 fetches about 3,500 tugrik these days, even 50 möngö isn’t going to be worth much. Indeed, Wiki says of the notes, “Very rare in circulation. Abundant among collectors.”

The möngö notes depict Mongolian sports: archery, wrestling and horse riding. Those are known as the “Three Games of Men,” the Mongolian embassy to the U.S. tells me. It also says that “nowadays, track and field sports, football, basketball, volleyball, skating, skiing, motorcycle racing, mountain climbing, chess and other sports are widely played in Mongolia.”

Also, there’s a Mongolian American Football Association. Learn something new every day.

Groundhog Day Without Groundhogs

Last Thursday temps were around freezing during the day, which is pretty good in Illinois for that oddity of an occasion, Groundhog Day.

The day shares more than one might think with Christmas, though of course it isn’t an all-consuming religious and cultural event in much of the world, just a relatively minor one. Still, it has pagan taproots connected to astronomical lore in northern Europe, an association with a Christian holiday (Candlemass), folklore imported from German-speaking lands, Victorians putting it in its modern form, a universal appearance on North American calendars (Canadians take note of the day too), and famed representations in mass media in the 20th century (e.g., Groundhog Day).

The closest show-marmot event to where we live seems to be the one involving Woodstock Willie, whose effigy I saw in the warmer month of July. We weren’t inclined to trudge all the way to exurban Woodstock on Thursday for the event, however.

Rather, we loaded ourselves and the dog in the car for the less than 10-minute drive to Schaumburg Town Square for a walkabout, after certain other errands. We knew that Friday was to be bitterly cold, so wanted to get out in the tolerable temps (still around freezing) before that happened.

No festivities going on there. In fact, no one else was there at all. Still plenty of ice on the pond and snow on the ground.Schaumburg Town Square Schaumburg Town Square

A Polar Trac stands ready to deal with more snow.Schaumburg Town Square

No venturing out onto the ice. Of course. I didn’t need a red flag to tell me that.Schaumburg Town Square

Hard to believe, but this patch of ground, a garden —Schaumburg Town Square

— is going to have an entirely different character –Schaumburg Town Square

— in only about four months.

It Reminds Me That Winter Will Last A Good While Longer

Sure enough, overnight as forecast, the first sizable snow fell since the fun we had around Christmastime. I packed a camera when I was out shoveling this morning.

Been documenting snow on plants for quite a while now. Nothing quite compares to the towering honey locust in the back yard.

Not much wind. That makes it tolerable. Winter winds are sharp, but not quite as much as certain other things, as we’re reminded in As You Like It.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
  Thou art not so unkind
     As man’s ingratitude;
  Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
     Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
  Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
     This life is most jolly.

  Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
  That dost not bite so nigh
     As benefits forgot:
  Though thou the waters warp,
     Thy sting is not so sharp
     As friend remembered not.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly…

Our Little Experience With Air Travel, Holiday Week 2022

On December 21, weather forecasters were all agog about an impending snowstorm affecting much of the nation. It’s their job, of course, to be agog at such times.

Still, it hadn’t happened yet, and I was glad we could drive without weather inference to the city that evening to attend a performance of the play Clue at the Mercury Theater. About as farcical as a farce can be, the play is based on the movie of that name, which I’ve never seen, itself inspired by the board game, which I never got around to playing. But I did see a high school version of the play, in which Ann had a part, only months before the pandemic. In the hands of a competent troupe, it’s a lot of laughs, and the Mercury Theater delivered the goods (and the high schoolers weren’t too shabby either).

As snowstorms go, December 22, 2022, wasn’t the strongest imaginable, at least here in northern Illinois. Instead of the eight or nine inches predicted, we got about four. Instead of the high winds predicted, we got almost no wind. Other parts of the country were slapped much harder, and it delayed air travel — more than any of us knew going into that day.

Both Lilly and Jim, from Seattle and from San Antonio, respectively, were scheduled to arrive the afternoon of the 22nd. As the afternoon unfolded, Lilly’s flight (on Alaska) was cancelled but she managed to get on a later flight, which was delayed repeatedly. Jim’s flight (on Southwest) was also delayed repeatedly, and eventually re-routed to Nashville instead (I think) of Dallas.

Well into the evening, their flights continued to be delayed, but not cancelled, without a specific landing time. Complicating matters was that Lilly’s flight was due into O’Hare, while Jim’s was scheduled for Midway. Eventually, Lilly’s flight left Seattle, so we had a definite arrival time for her, about 12:30 in the morning. Jim’s flight hadn’t left, but was also scheduled for around then. Someone would have to wait at the airport if that really happened.

Since Lilly’s time was more definite, we – Ann and I – headed for O’Hare at around 11:30. I was glad Ann came along, to help keep me alert on the cold but not entirely empty roads marked by occasional patches unplowed slush. The roads are never quite empty anyway. Back in January 2019, on the day it hit 24 degrees Fahrenheit below zero, I saw cars traveling on the major road barely visible from our back door.

When we left for O’Hare, the snow had mostly stopped, and temps were falling. That part of the forecasts was correct: near zero F. that morning.

Lilly arrived more-or-less at 12:30 a.m., December 23, at O’Hare. Jim’s flight was delayed again to an hour or so later, so that seemed to work in our favor. One thing that didn’t arrive with Lilly was her luggage, so she spent time filling out the paperwork involved. The bag showed up surprisingly early at our front door, around noon on the 23rd, or the same day.

We arrived well toward 2 a.m. at Midway, and — as Lilly and Ann waited in the idling car at the arrival lanes — I popped in for a look at the boards, since Jim wasn’t answering his phone, and searching for that info using a phone is a pain in the ass for this old man.

I’d say that Midway’s baggage claim area bustled with people that morning, but mostly it was a slow-motion bustle, with people sitting where they could, standing where they could not sit, and mostly waiting either for bags or in the hope of a flight somewhere.

Whenever there are major weather delays, TV news always shows the mass cancellations on the boards at airports. Row after row of CANCELLED next to flight numbers. That’s what I saw. I was too tired to take in much detail, but most of the affected flights were Southwest, since it is the major carrier at Midway. Jim’s flight wasn’t among the duds, but it did have a new arrival time: just short of 3:30 a.m.

Not enough time to drive home and back. Too much time to idle around the airport arrival lane. A 24-hour McDonald’s, not too many blocks south of the airport, provided a wee-hour meal, and its parking lot a place to eat it and otherwise wait. Only the drive-through was open at that moment. Visible within the window, bright lights and a collection of young, grim faces. Who can blame them?

Jim arrived, his bags not delayed, and we made it home by about 5. Seldom have I been so glad to start some time off and have a pleasant few days in a row, beginning when I got up around 11. Compared with stranded travelers, or the storm victims in Buffalo and elsewhere, our experience was only annoying, not traumatic.

Even so, when you participate in a national event, the urge is to put down some details. By Christmas, the nation was wondering, What’s up, Southwest? The storm is over. We were wondering too, since Southwest’s recovery, or failure to do so, would affect our plans.

After some fretting because the same Alaska flight as hers was canceled the day before (Christmas Day), Lilly made it home only a few hours delayed on Boxing Day.

The next day, the 27th, Jim’s flights seemed to be on the schedule, so we left for Midway after breakfast. The online check in system at Southwest didn’t work, however, which made me a little suspicious. My instincts were right. At the airport, we found that his flight was canceled.

Partly canceled. The Chicago-Dallas leg was fine. It was Dallas-San Antonio that had vanished into the scheduling ether. So Jim flew to Dallas, stayed with our brother Jay until the next day, when he caught a bus to Austin. From there, my nephew Dees gave him a ride to San Antonio. There it took him a while to find his car in the airport parking facilities (they must be larger than I remember).

All that represented some aggravating moments at airports. But surely we’d be able to forget it in Tucson and environs, where Yuriko and I planned to travel from the December 28 to January 1. We’d booked a package earlier, when it was clear we’d have the week between Christmas and New Year’s off. A package we’d arranged with Southwest.

So no. The Southwest FUBAR dragged on well beyond the foul weather, as everyone nationwide soon found out. For us, both legs to Tucson, Chicago-Denver and Denver-Tucson, were canceled. After spending time fruitlessly on the 27th with what I now think was a Southwest chatbot — but not billed as such — I did speak with a human being that afternoon, who look me through the steps in cancelling the air tickets, accommodations and rental car.

All that’s in the process of a refund, I understand. And, as I said, we got off fairly easy. But I can’t help feeling Southwest owes me, and the rest of the affected traveling public, more than a mere refund.

Anticipating Arctic Air

Cold rain well into the night yesterday, enough to wake the sump pump. The good thing was, it didn’t ice everything over today.

Still, we’re on the cusp of a chill. Cold enough by Christmas Eve to snap off bits of Santa’s beard, looks like.

But that’s nothing to the jolly immortal elf. Has he ever got some stories about the Little Ice Age.

In the course of my day today, I was reading about the Lehigh Valley distribution market, which is one of the nation’s largest in square feet (and throughput, I assume). Distribution, as in the system of warehouses that concentrate and store goods until they’re shipped to stores or otherwise delivered to customers. You know, the agglomerations of mostly characterless but highly efficient and valuable buildings that most people drive by without a passing thought. But they’re buying in stores and elsewhere, keeping the whole distribution system in motion.

Then it occurred to me that otherwise I didn’t know jack about the Lehigh Valley. So a little reading followed. The area’s industrial history is deep.

How is it I didn’t know anything about the Lehigh Canal?

Now I do. Glad I got out of bed today.

Another reason I’m glad I made the commute downstairs to my office was my discovery early this evening of Allison Young singing “When I’m With You (Christmas Every Day).”

“I’m hearing some delightful strength and control that wasn’t there in years past,” says one of the YouTube comments. I’ll second that, but add that she was delightful enough in years past (and not too many years past).

Windy Chill

As forecast, full-throated winter came barreling into northern Illinois last night as erratic gusts. The edge of same system that spawned tornadoes in the South? Our wind was brisk but, I’m glad to say, not deadly, unless you passed out naked and drunk outside in some hard-to-spot location, as visiting Florida Man might.

At least it will be a dry cold for the next week or more, weather scientists predict. Any winter day without ice underfoot isn’t half bad.

Late November dusk in these climes.

RIP, Christine McVie. I was much surprised to learn that her maiden name was actually Perfect. I heard years ago that that was her name before marrying John McVie but, in as much as I gave it any thought, believed it was a stage name. Dropping a stage name upon marriage might be a little unusual, but not inconceivable.

Who’s named Perfect? Christine’s father, Cyril Percy Absell Perfect, a concert violinist and music lecturer from near Birmingham, UK, for one. And I assume some generations of his paternal ancestors before him.

“This… name is an example of the common medieval practice of creating a surname from a nickname, in this instance one that originally denoted an apprentice who had completed his period of training,” notes the Internet Surname Database.

“The derivation is from the Middle English ‘parfit,’ meaning ‘fully trained’ or ‘well versed’, from the Old French ‘parfit(e),’ meaning ‘completed,’ ‘perfect,’ ultimately from the Latin ‘perfectus,’ a derivative of ‘perficere’ to finish, accomplish.”

Thanksgiving Break

Back to posting around November 27. We’ll be home for Thanksgiving, as will Ann. Except for food preparation (and cleanup, which is mostly mine), best not to do too much next week, though I will work the three-day week. A good Thanksgiving to all.

I never get tired of taking back yard pictures, especially when some kind of weather event is visible.

Just a few moments of heavy snow this afternoon that didn’t stick for long. There will be a warming trend next week. Not warm, just warmer than now. A more seasonable chill.

While in the online thickets today, I came across a bill introduced to the U.S. House of Representatives earlier this year.

H.R. 6869 – To authorize the President of the United States to issue letters of marque and reprisal for the purpose of seizing the assets of certain Russian citizens, and for other purposes.

Rep. Lance Gooden (R.-Texas) introduced it, presumably as a novel way to help seize oligarch megayachts. I guess that would count as Congress delegating that function, since if I understand correctly, Article I, Section 8 of the Constitution specifically gives that power to the national Congress. Section 10 bans states from issuing letters of marque and reprisal.

Mr. Gooden’s bill has gone nowhere. Of course, he’s a backbencher (first elected in 2018) in the minority, so Nowheresville is going to be the destination of his proposals, especially ones considered eccentric. Come next year, he’ll be in the majority, but still a backbencher, so I’m not expecting any further action on the matter.

Still, can you imagine? Who would apply to be a privateer against Russian vessels? Maybe Somali pirates, who have been in something of a slump in recent years and who’d like the color of law for a change.

Glazed Morning

Early this morning, not long after dawn, I woke for the usual reason and from the bathroom window I spotted a thin carpet of snow on the ground. First one of the season.

I took the obligatory picture a couple of hours later, complete with dog.Winterwood, Base Camp

One of those snows in temps hovering at freezing or just above. A lot melted later, but not quite all of it. Hardly the picture of woods on a snowy evening, but we’ll get to that before long.

Last Thursday, knowing that the warm days were running out this year, I stood at about the same spot and captured the yard about an hour before sunset.Golden Deck

Gentle winds blew, with more than a hint of summer.

Birchwood South Park

Finally a warm day on Saturday — after a miserable, wet Friday — then cool on Sunday, but warm again on Monday. So warm today, in fact, that the ground was dry enough for me to mow the lawn for the first time this year, and grill brats in the back yard, despite gusting winds.

Bonus: Even after dark this evening, I could sit around the deck comfortably in a t-shirt. So I spent some time outside reading about G-men trying to track down the loose 1933 Double Eagles, as mentioned before.

Last week, before the warm up, it was still pleasant enough on Wednesday to seek out a new place to walk: Birchwood South Park in Palatine.Birchwood Park South

A good place to see the spring greening.
Birchwood South Park

It took a while, but eventually we realized that the water in the middle of the park wasn’t a permanent feature, but the result of the many recent rains.Birchwood South Park Birchwood South Park

Including a flooded baseball/softball field.
Birchwood South Park

This year’s rainy spring is more than just an impression.

“This spring has seen more rainy days than any other spring in the past 63 years,” NBC Chicago reports.

“While a rainy springtime in the city isn’t anything new, this year has seen more perception than average, according to the National Weather Service, the average precipitation in Chicago from March to May is 6.93 inches. This year, we’ve seen 10.31 inches.”

Summit Station

Easter Monday morning.Easter Monday snow

The rest of the day was as raw a spring day as I can remember, with the air moving around enough to give a good simulation of winter. Good thing a warming trend is poised to begin.

The days before were more pleasant. We were glad to have Ann come to visit for Easter. This time, rather than get a ride with someone she knows, she caught the train that runs between Bloomington-Normal and Chicago. Except I didn’t pick her up in Chicago, which would be at Union Station downtown. Rather, she got off someplace a little smaller.Summit Amtrak Station

That’s the station — just a step above a flag stop, looks like — at Summit, Illinois. A curious name for such a flat place, but in any case it’s Amtrak’s last stop before Chicago, and more accessible for suburbanites.

One more note: the Friday evening train was pretty much on time. That isn’t always the case with Amtrak, but when it is, I’m happy to say so.