Now that the weather has turned warmer, I was not expecting to write about ice – especially after so many months with the opportunity right outside my window every single day. But this video from the Jet Propulsion Laboratory amazed me. The scientists there have figured out what might cause unusual markings they’ve seen on the surface of Mars. Downhill tracks that have a distinctive profile – a certain shape that helps explain how they were formed.

Under the right temperature conditions, dry ice can glide down a slope on a cushion of gas.

I love it that researchers were able to duplicate the effect here on Earth. Sliding blocks of dry ice down sand dunes is a form of light entertainment I hope to try someday – a kind of stranded-in-the-desert shuffleboard, I guess.

The notion of ice in motion reminded me of this incident from a couple of months ago, when the slowly melting lake ice in Lake Mille Lacs was pushed by a spring wind to create a real-life version of the voracious ice monster in a child’s nightmares. It comes across as the evil spawn of a slithering blob and a slow-motion avalanche.

Fun, at first. But horrifyingly relentless as it creeps, creepily.

I realize that we do not have to worry much about hurricanes, tsunamis and earthquakes in the Upper Midwest, but it feels like the ice is all around us, and on the advance.

What natural phenomenon strikes you as unnatural?

My eye was caught by a recent newspaper article about what my ears have been up to.

Neuroscientists Robert Zatorre and Valerie Salimpoor wrote in the New York Times about why music gives us pleasure. It turns out that the most emotional moments in music have been shown to release the chemical dopamine in the brain.

That has been known for a while. But there’s more:

“… what may be most interesting here is when this neurotransmitter is released: not only when the music rises to a peak emotional moment, but also several seconds before, during what we might call the anticipation phase.”

So you inherently know when you’re getting to the good part, and the anticipation of that highlight is its own reward. All we have to do is lay back and let the elastic chemicals lift us when the time is right.

I recognize the effect in my own music listening. For instance, this Patti Griffin song is a favorite, and now I see that the dopamine release point is at about 1 minute and 14 seconds in, when the sun comes out.

Anticipation is powerful in so many other areas as well. For instance, I always enjoy vacations, but my favorite part is the moment just before it begins, when no fun has been had but I have everything to look forward to.

I’ve noticed this about the State Fair in recent years. Thinking about fair food during the week leading up to opening day has become more pleasurable than eating the food, and much, much nicer than digesting it.

When is anticipation as good (or better) than the thing itself?