Snapshot 1: Daily Plow Report
Nicholas: “The plow folks came this morning.”
Sandi: “Yup. I saw.”
N: “You were up? What time were they here?”
S: “Oh, 4:30 or so.”
N: “You were up at 4:30? Ow.”
S: “At least I saw them plow, so I knew they’d been here.”
N: “Yeah, because it doesn’t actually look like anyone plowed. So the only way we really know they came is that you saw them.”
S: “Look at it this way. At least we know it was really OUR plow guys, and not some zombie plow guys. I mean, zombie plow guys might have actually done something.”
N: “You mean…like plow the driveway?”
S: “Yeah, exactly like that. This way, we know we’re safe from zombie plow dudes and the horrors of a clear driveway. It’s all good.”
Snapshot 2: Honourable Discharge
And oh by the way? Winter, you may go now. You are excused.
Please gather up all your belongings and leave the premises immediately. (Don’t forget the snow on the ground, and those killer icicles hanging from our eaves. Take it all with you. Thanks.)
Snapshot 3: The Wall That is January
I have hit a wall. Is this what January is always like in grey, cold climates? It’s as though my mind and body are simply refusing to function. They want to find a nice cozy cave somewhere, one with central heating and a nice fluffy comforter, and curl up and hibernate until spring. This is ridiculous. How does the human race continue to function when something as mind-numbing as January exists? All those stolid Canadian pioneers, struggling to survive without furnaces and down jackets. All those Mongolian tribes up there on the steppes, without electric blankets or long underwear. This is just Not Acceptable. I put on silk sock liners, and wool handknit socks, and leggings and long johns and woollies and boots rated to minus Hell, and yet, I still have lost communication with my toes.
This is my third Canadian winter, and I’m REALLY not amused anymore.
The thing about walls, though, is it really doesn’t do any good to just push and push and push. It’s a wall. It’s there for some reason, and pushing against it will only get you some truly colourful bruises and scrapes. Pushing against the wall just makes the whole thing hurt worse, because you start to feel frustrated, and then grumpy, and then helpless, and then hopeless, and then angry, and somewhere in there, depressed and rotten, too.
But I’m not the sort of person who can just stand there and give up and stare at the wall, waiting for it to crumble at the end of time or whatever it’s going to do. I need to feel as though I’m Coping, as though I’m Fighting Back, as though I have some say in this little life of mine, even when it’s the formidable forces of January bleakitude which are in question.
I’m thinking about the advice you get when you encounter a maze. You’re supposed to reach out one hand–doesn’t matter which one, as long as you use the same hand throughout–and walk forward, keeping the fingers of that hand in contact with the wall on that side at all times.
You don’t walk THROUGH the walls of a maze to get through the maze, you see. You walk alongside the walls, with the walls, if you will, going the way they go, following the course they set for you. Eventually, if you keep your hand in contact with the wall at all times, you’ll find the exit.
That’s what “they” say, anyway. “They,” the eternal prophets of unassigned, but eminently quotable, wisdom.
Still: Going forward. Reaching out to touch the wall, so I stay connected to What Is, while desperately hoping that somewhere ahead is a bright green EXIT sign.
Snapshot 4: Q-Dar
So, if “gaydar” is the inherent ability to sense if someone grooves on persons of their own gender, then Q-Dar is the inherent ability to sense if a locale has a restaurant grooving on BBQ ribs. I know this, because Our Man Nicholas has exquisite Q-Dar, and has found BBQ establishments in the oddest places.
Like Woodbridge, Ontario. We were out and about in Woodbridge this morning on an errand, when Nicholas goes left on a street instead of where we ought to be going, which is to the right.
He grins wickedly, and announces, “Lunch!”
He’d spotted this:
That’s Elvis. He’s a pig, and he’s also the mascot of Memphis BBQ & Wicked Wings.
Kind of weird to see ol’ Elvis Porker here in Canada, but there he was. Nicholas goes in, and comes out with a bag of (hopefully) goodies for us to eat at home.
How he finds these places is a mystery to me. Elvis the Pig. Supposedly the folks really ARE from Memphis, although one I tasted the pulled pork sandwich, I did delicately inquire as to whether it was say, Memphis, Pakistan rather than Memphis, Tennessee. (To be fair: BBQ is a religion where Nicholas comes from, and he’s taught me The Ways of Sauce, so now I have Opinions. This place in Woodbridge specializes in one particular form of BBQ, and they’ve won awards, so if you’re into smoked ribs, no sweet, no sour, just smoke, they’re your people.)
(Tim, however, gives the pulled pork his highest rating. He crept up so he could sniff at the table edge, then, quick as any tiger, he snatches a piece of pork right out of my sandwich and runs off with it to his lair. He’s never done anything like that before. “Finally,” he’s thinking, “the human slaves bring home something decent for dinner.”)
Anyone like to point out that we’re vegetarians? What? You mean ribs aren’t a vegetable? Oooooh. Don’t tell Nicholas that. He’ll be crushed.
DR. ENTING, I PRESUME?!!!!
Naomi (enting on Ravelry) passed her dissertation defense an hour or so ago. WHOOO-HOOOO!!! Congratulations, Dr. Enting, on all your hard work! We’re proud of your brainy self.
Random Good, Random Sillies
…you be the judge of which is which.
The 2011 Puppy Bowl VII line-up has been announced.
(If you are unfamiliar with the joy that is Puppy Bowl, behold.)
This is a seasonal favourite at our house. It was my cat Sparrow‘s favourite TV program (Sparrow was Dusty and Zoe’s littermate; he died from lymphoma 3 weeks before we moved to Canada). Last year, Tim sat entranced throughout the entire show. He was, however, quite bored during the Kitten Half-Time Show, and wandered off for a bit. But he was back the minute the puppies were back in the arena.
The Fourth Deep Winter Kindness & Wacky Llama Giveaway will commence tomorrow. I’m waffling on whether to do a knitterly goodie or a spinnerly goodie this time. Hmmmm….
Oh, wait. I’m not giving away a llama, though. Just to be clear. The Llama does the giving. Whew. Almost got myself into hot water there, promising a llama to y’all.