Today this Vanilla Ice song kept running through my head since traversing the yard and perimeter is still a perilous trip, though the fresh dusting of snow helped give me a wee bit of traction. I rode three miles on the exercise bike, cooled down a tad, slipped into my warm woolens, coat and boots and then walked around the entire perimeter of the house for a full inspection. My drain spouts are still all jammed up with ice, so pointy mini icicles lined both sides of the house. I took a broom with me to whack ‘em and felt like a sharpshooter aiming at a line of whiskey bottles at the local saloon. None of my icicles have reached monstrous or lethal proportions like some in the neighborhood, so in one fell swoop of my broom these daggers were droppin’ like flies. For a split second, before I waged warfare on the icicles, I stopped to admire the prism effects of the sun as it shot beams of light through their translucent, smooth and stiletto-like beauty. The entire downspout was encased in a sheath of ice as well. No melting was happening on this frigid cold morn. That wind chill was nippy and my fingers were soon cold and my lips felt unmovable, and I was sure they resembled the blueberry sky above. I’m happy to hear the weather folks have taken the freezing rain out of Monday’s forecast since twice the ice would not be nice, even if Dr. Seuss would suggest otherwise. There is a much-touted warm spell the tail end of the week with temps in the 40s and 50s, if we can hold on that long. Of course, then we’ll fret and stew over flooding issues … as Michiganders, I guess we’ll just go with the flow.