fingers should be eaten seperately

I sat down to chicken noodle soup and a second quiet evening at home. My phone rang. I really should turn it off, but I am always afraid I will miss a call from my husband or daughter. It was my writer friends calling. They said, “Alternative bluegrass cello.” So, I bundled up and headed out into the subzero darkness. The concert, if you could call it that, was intimate – maybe forty people, gathered in a warm spot for music on a winter night. It is a very natural, human thing to do, I think - something from ancient times, people huddled up to a fire to share stories and song. The musician was good. He probably won’t ever be top forty, but stranger things have happened. I’m glad I went.

Have you ever noticed that Robin is the smarter one? Batman lays out all of the facts and Robin snaps his fingers, concocts a painful pun, and solves the problem. Batman follows it up with something like, “Right you are, Robin.” He pretends like he knew it all along and was waiting for Robin to catch up.

Why don’t people sky write anymore? Especially villains. It would sure spice things up in our small town if the criminals started sky writing clues for our local police department to figure out. They could put something up there like “What is the difference between President Hoover and President Clinton?” It would naturally lead the police to the pot smoking juveniles with the munchies who tried to cook Mrs. Pogline’s chickens last week. Maybe I could hire a sky writer just to get the ball rolling and remind criminals of this lost art. Also, we could put parachutes on the back of all of the police cars, especially the drug enforcement vehicle – that would totally freak people out. But, then the city would have to employ someone to drive around and pick up all of the used parachutes deployed in the streets. It might not be a bad job. I am going to suggest it to the mayor when she comes in for coffee tomorrow.

ice melt is evil in a plastic bag

So, it’s been a while. I’ve been partying too much lately, and it has been a long time since I’ve had a night to myself at home. Funny how my big night in is a Friday, but we don’t live your typical 9/5, Monday/Friday lifestyle here.

We’ve had a lot of snow lately, and I have been busy shoveling at the shop and at home. We need the moisture desperately, but I am sick of it already. This morning, though, there was ice fog on my way to work – talk about a winter wonderland! It was beautiful and left a thick layer of hoarfrost on all of the trees. They were magical. Later in the morning, the cold, distant winter sun shone, giving brilliant light but no warmth. The hoarfrost rained from the trees as the wind blew and looked like sakura petals falling fragile and white to the ground.

Monday it was snowing like gangbusters, if gangbusters did indeed snow. I was having a hard time keeping the sidewalks clean, when some old guy came into the shop. The conversation went like this:

Barista: May I help you?

Old Guy: You need to get out there and clean your sidewalk. It is too hard for me to ride my bike.

Barista: She was just out there shoveling. It is snowing pretty hard, and I’m sure she’ll get right out there and clean it again.

Old Guy: Well, I’m going to complain to the city.

How the conversation should have gone (if we weren’t in a customer service business):

Barista: May I help you?

Old Guy: You need to get out there and clean your sidewalk. It is too hard for me to ride my bike.

Barista: It is snowing as fast as she shovels, so give her a break. And, it is illegal to ride your bike on the sidewalk in this town, so get back on the street where you belong, you old fart.

A friend of mine went with me to Mass on Christmas Eve. I usually go all of the way into town, because I am kind of embarrassed to go to our church here. Also, the church is just a sore memory for me. But, the weather was so bad that we didn’t feel like battling crappy roads in my action Corolla. I sucked it up and went for the first time since my husband left me. It was true to its extremely small town nature – the choir sucked, as did the piano player, but what they lacked in talent they made up with genuine Christmas spirit – they were all wearing red sweaters. Our priest is very sick and is undergoing Chemo, so we had a substitute. He was this awesome Nigerian guy, and I really enjoyed what he had to say. Every homily is supposed to have that zinger, the takeaway and his was that JOY means Jesus and Others before Yourself. That is a pretty good message, and an awesome one if you figure English is not his native language. He said that this week was the first time he’d ever seen snow, which was cool, as well.

I went snowshoeing for the first time this winter – that’s a workout, but fun especially when you have a happy dog or two along. We wore them out. One of them was a corgi and she got snow balls all tangled in her belly fur. Corgis are good dogs. When my daughter’s aging cat dies, I think I want a dog of my own, instead of always loving on other people’s .

Come, Hobbitses

I went over to feed my friend’s chickens tonight. It was pretty cold, but I took them some hot oatmeal with raisins. They seemed pretty excited about it. I remember my grandma doing that for the chickens when I was a kid. My friend’s are out of town for a couple of weeks. I learned a valuable lesson – there is a difference between friendship and fun. These friends always seemed closer to my husband, hung out with him and such. I thought they just liked him better than me and they condoned the way our marriage ended up. But, I have since learned, after a long and heartfelt talk, that they like hanging out with him because he’s fun, not because they consider him a true friend. They feel he has a right to make the choices he did, but they don’t agree with those choices and think he’s making a mistake. I figured they asked me to watch their place because I am responsible and dependable – and that’s part of it, to be sure. But, they didn’t ask my husband to do it, wouldn’t ask him, because they don’t consider him enough of a friend to do something for someone if he didn’t feel like it. They know I would and would do the same for me, if I needed it, even if it was inconvenient for them. It is a message I am getting from many people – he is still fun to pass time with, but now that I don’t have his back anymore following up on his promises when he felt like flaking, he is not their friend. He is probably oblivious.

The chickens were happy, despite the cold. They even gave me two beautiful, fresh eggs – one bluegreen and one brown. I didn’t know what to do. I had other errands to run and I had to go to church. I couldn’t leave them in the car because they would freeze. So, I put them in my pocket and went about my business. I felt a little odd, smelling like chicken poo and carrying eggs in my pocket at church. But, this being an agricultural community, I am probably not the first. I don’t know what it is about fresh eggs, but they fascinate me. They are amazing, valuable little treasures, a real prize. I don’t feel anything for supermarket eggs – those are just food in a fragile package. I carried those eggs gently around all evening and then fried them lightly in butter.

One more thing about my husband, like anybody cares. He’s been coming into the shop more frequently. Yesterday he was grinning like an idiot, which usually means he’s nervous (about something he’s done or something he thinks he knows about me.) My boss thinks he’s doing it just to mess with me, but I know him. He doesn’t actually mess with people. I have never seen him maliciously f**k with anyone. I would like to think he just wants to see me. Maybe he misses me.

brilliant swashbuckling

Nursing…MASSIVE…hangover.

Last night was a party at a friend’s house. I helped with the food, because if left to his own devices the man would serve nothing but cheese. As a matter of fact, he lives solely on chocolate, wine and cheese, priding himself on the fact that he is “gluten free.” It was a pretty good party, better attended than some of his recent parties. My husband wasn’t there, even though he RSVP’d, unless he popped by while I was out getting pizzas. It certainly allowed me to have more fun. I’m not going to lie, there is a strong mutual attraction between the host and me. Fortunately, beyond a little heavy petting, we have an understanding that there will be no sex. He is a great kisser, though.

I finished up my holiday shopping today. My goal was to give gifts purchased exclusively in our small town. They can be made somewhere else, but it had to be a business here. I was pretty successful, except for the Victoria’s Secret gift card for my daughter. I got a robe for her there, too. Every year of her life her grandfather gave her PJs for Christmas. After he died in 2004, I continued giving her PJs every year and signed “Love, Grandpa.” This year, when I was helping her move to Chicago, she asked me if grandpa could get her a robe instead of PJs, so he did. I don’t know what he was doing shopping at Victoria’s Secret, though – he would have been very embarrassed.

I was standing in line at the grocery store behind a woman on a cell phone. She had a small child in the cart and her cart was loaded down. She just looked completely frazzled. Suddenly, she raised her voice. At first I thought she was angry, but, really, she was excited. It went something like this, “Practice is canceled. You mean there’s no hockey tonight?!” She was laughing. When she hung up, she was practically giddy. Her packed schedule just got a little easier. I thought she was going to do that fist pump thing, but she stopped short of it. She was so overjoyed, everyone else in the line was smiling and laughing along with her, enjoying her good fortune. 

One thing I like about winter is having a plethora of pockets. Summer clothes have no pockets and then you have to carry a purse. But, winter jackets, fleeces, hoodies, and so on all have copious pockets, deep enough for wallets, keys, cell phones, lip balm, and other necessities of life.