By Jay Jamison
Last week I glanced out of my kitchen window in the pre-dawn gloom trying to detect the telltale signs of ice. I usually look out at the streetlights to see if there is a glimmer, a reflection of ice on the bare stalks of the shrubs and power lines. I didn’t see any, which I thought was a good omen. The problem with ice that forms from a barely detectable mist is that the layer of slickness is often very thin and hard to see. I later learned through social media, of a neighbor who attempted a foray outside, and was suddenly reacquainted with gravity and other laws of physics. The news is he’s OK … maybe just a little embarrassed.
I remember several episodes walking on sidewalks and suddenly doing a pratfall that seemed to have been drawn up by the animators of cartoons I’d watched as a kid. On one occasion I remember hitting a patch of ice on a sidewalk as I approached my school. I was in the seventh grade, that point in life when you become painfully aware of how swiftly kids can turn on a classmate experiencing misfortune. My right foot hit a patch of ice and slid, my left foot went flying in the air, my arms flailed hopelessly in the air and my bag lunch was tossed straight up, as if it had been shot out of a mortar. I went horizontal for a second and then slammed down on my butt and back. The kids waiting to enter school roared with laughter. No one ran to my side asking if I was OK. I lay there momentarily staring up at the sky, more embarrassed than hurt. I didn’t even care to know what had become of my bag lunch.
Kids can bounce back from such mishaps, but slick ice for people my age can be very dangerous. Doing the cartoon sight gag plunge at age 11 or 12, often only evokes laughter. However, such an experience when you’re old enough to be receiving Social Security checks, may mean an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon.
Like snow falling on a windless day, ice often adheres to surfaces just as quietly from fine mist. One major difference is that as snow accumulates it becomes visible on the ground, whereas ice can silently coat sidewalks and steps, and sometimes is nearly invisible. We can become aware of ice sometimes when the amount becomes too much for tree branches, and the crack of falling limbs outside can be a warning to all that it’s not safe to walk down the street.
Last week I waited until mid-morning to head out the back door to run some errands. The weather forecast had included an ice warning. I opened the door that led onto the back stoop and examined the surface. It seemed OK. I reached for the handrail and my hand slipped. It was covered with ice. I stepped out onto the surface gripping the rail and with my weight on my left foot, touched the surface with my right, and made a motion like I was snuffing out a cigarette. The surface was slick with ice. There were only four steps to the grass, but then I remembered my seventh-grade experience of going air borne, and this time there would be no witnesses. I decided the errands could wait.
