Waiting for Blizzards

Smoking Grass

Snow is to start at midnight and continue until Monday at noon, dumping up to 20 inches during ambient negative temps and wind chills so low I could kill a boar and leave it outside until the grill is heated.
That was the forecast at sunset.
Thirty minutes ago, updates report that we might get 8 inches of the white stuff with no temps below zero.
I’m giving it until 3am to learn that tomorrow will be sunny and forty degrees.
Millions of dollars in sonar, radar, blipping machines that tell the time on Mars and no idea when or how much snow will fall.
At sunrise tonight I pressed my into the “throw boiling water in the air and it will turn into vapor, or snow, or fuzzy stuff resembling steam…I don’t know…just do it.”
Come to find out, 16 as a positive integer is not cold enough to vaporize anything, but boiling water will shock dormant flurry-covered Bermuda grass into early death.
Friends say, “Wait until the temp is negative 15 and try again,” but I’d already compromised my personal ethic by venturing outside during less than freezing temperatures, so waiting another thirty degrees to throw water to the wind is not on my horizon.
Also, smoking grass looks similar to a whale trying to breach the prairie.
Come spring, I’ll be reseeding the lawn.

Fallen, Fashion-less, but not Defeated

Today is a ridiculously cold, and getting colder, week. Forecast is for 10 days of single digit temps with wind chills in the negative digits. Oh, and new to the party, we are expecting fifteen to twenty inches of snow on Saturday.
It just gets better, doesn’t it? I’m afraid to turn on the news tonight, in case of locusts or frogs.
Lately, I’ve found myself tossing one or two items of clothing into the trash each day. I’m sick of everything in my closet, all of it, and instead of reasonably filling the voids before tossing things aside, I stare at empty hangers and swear no one Out There is making cute but affordable clothing for middle aged women.
And then I get mad because I’m middle aged.
And then the WEATHER is threatening my good spirit.
I’m just angry.
Yet I need my job.
So I stomped outside in slippers — threw my boots out because the dog ate the top half; seemed reasonable to delete them from the closet — and promptly fell upon my bulbous bottom before spilling to the side taking out a shoulder.
And here I am, still angry, but enjoying the benefits of Advil and tiny sips of limoncello while perched atop a heating pad by a roaring fireplace.
Still no clothes to wear tomorrow — the most recent clothing purchase I made and still enjoy wearing was for a fundraiser shirt for a local charity; so soft, I’m telling you — still no appropriate footwear, still need to get to work tomorrow, but all in all, not a horrible day.