Never Hit Your Grandma in the Head with a Shovel

Never Hit Your Grandma in the Head with a Shovel

I am an elder and elders have rights too; we are still human beings, even if the Republican Party would prefer to sling us aside as the worthless dog turds that we have become. No one intentionally gets old-it just happens and will happen to you too, whether you vote Republican or Democrat.

There's an old saying that goes, "Never hit your grandma in the head with a shovel-it makes a bad impression on her mind." Well, the Republican Party is about to administer a series of shovel shots to the head, to the elders in this country, and they will do it with self-righteous indignation, that the elders had the unmitigated gall to want to exist properly in the first place. That is not the Republican Party's job in life-to provide for the weak and incapable-that's someone else's job.

Military: 57%; food/agriculture? 1%

Why are the elderly dog turds? We must be-otherwise the Republicans would not be trying to destroy every vestige of support, currently in place to try and help old people try to cope with the trials and tribulations of aging. Dog turds just end up in the ground, deteriorating and out of the way, where old people will also eventually end up. The Republican Party would just like to hasten matters up a bit.

Regardless of how you voted, like the rest of us, you must now be prepared to see every support system in place for elders, get yanked out from beneath the already-staggering legs, of the weakest and most defenseless portion of the population.

And our leaders will do it with gold-plated pens.

You see, the people who make these decisions concerning the welfare of the poor, the infirmed and the weak, are the richest and most powerful people in the country. They have the power to follow any path they choose because they have all the money; thus, they follow a route which avoids actually coming into contact with any of these elders.

That way the richest and most powerful people in the world can wear blinders, and will not have to see elders waiting in the cold and wet, for the bus to take them to their appointments. Of course, with Medicare being gutted, the options are considerably fewer, and with Social Security about to be crushed, we are about to lose, that which we have paid into for forty years, or more.

The Republican Party, immorally and unethically borrowed billions of dollars from this program, and have steadfastly (immorally and unethically) refused to pay it back. Now they will simply sweep it under their ample carpet, because, well, they have those gold-plated pens.

Obamacare? Oh, yes, the Republican Party has its sights set on dismantling it, despite the trillions of dollars that will be lost and the three million jobs. Too many of our Congressional “leaders” have vested interest in this industry, to allow Obamacare to continue.

Oh, and Planed Parenthood? You know, the organization that willfully provides all those abortions for women over sixty? It will be gone too, after having failed to be eliminated in 2013. Can’t be paying for poor people’s birth control.

No, pay poor people a minimum wage, so that they stay poor with no means of ever putting any money aside. Do not allow them enough money for child care, adequate health care, organic food (you know, rich people’s crap) or enough money to actually provide kids with family-time and family values.

To do this, you cannot have both parents in the household working full-time; you need to have one of them home to care for children. With the minimum wage so paltry, and the continued refusal to acknowledge that there is a heinous discrepancy in wealth in this country, the Republican Party has the 43.5 million people-at or below the poverty level-right where they want them.

The top 1% of the wealthy in this country, control 90% of the money-they know from where their next meal is coming, unlike huge numbers of the elderly in this country.

The people running this country are lying, sneaking, thieving, cheating, reprehensibly slimy dirtbags, up for the challenge of stealing from the elderly and poor. They are dirty, rotten, insidiously vile and evil creeps, depraved, greedy bastards. 

Where is the humanity? Where is the compassion? Where is the ability to even recognize that they are villainous rogues, willing to kick the elderly while they lie in the ditch, already writhing in pain and agony? Where is the righteous indignation from spouses and constituents? Where are the morals of our leaders hiding?

I sure can’t find a trace of morality anywhere in the Republican Party. White-washed and entitled, and simply too absorbed in their own vapid existence to want to deal with dog turds.

Hell, they needn’t worry. These dog turds will have already hardened, making for easier disposal, by the time they die, wizened and dried out from abuse by our system, here in the Land of the Free.

.

Winnie the Pooh

Winnie the Pooh

I once had a restraining order brought against me back in the late eighties, by a person of questionable mental status. To my utter shock, the judge in Ukiah granted the request, making it mutually inclusive. Afterwards, my friend Kat categorized the action as Winnie the Pooh having a restraining order brought against him. 

Self-portrait,"What just happened?"

Now, a whole lot of dudes might cringe at the thought of being compared to Winnie, but I say, “If the shoe fits, lace that bitch up and wear it like a G.” The reality is that I can’t hurt so much as a dog, let alone a person, so that limits my ability to function efficiently on the front lines of what we have fought so hard to achieve: basic human rights for all. 

With the morally repugnant trump in control of appointments to his Cabinet of Hate, the American people are being barraged by a systematic attempt to reintroduce old habits into the norm: degrade people of color, bring back the homophobic witch-hunt and get those coat hangers back out of their rusty perch, in the attics and basements of ‘Merica.

You’re gonna need ‘em, again.

Like millions of disillusioned voters, I saw someone assume the role of President-Elect, after having lost the popular vote by 2.45 million votes. Putting this into terms that I can understand, the number of people who surpassed the majority would be like filling and emptying AT&T Park, fifty-nine-and-a-half times.

We collectively suffered the indignity of having our election compromised by a long-standing opponent, one whose actions are seemingly endorsed by trump. During my lifetime the Rosenbergs were executed for consorting with Russia. Now the President-Elect does the same thing, and we are supposed to be OK with that?

After admiring trump’s predecessor for the past eight years, I-like millions of others-cannot and will not back up the truck. 

Close Obamacare? I don’t think so.

Slash Medicare? Not on my watch.

Crush Social Security, after borrowing billions, and immorally refusing to pay it back? Not going to happen.

Abolish Planned Parenthood, the way you tried to in 2013? Just try it.

Continue to squeeze the life out of the poor and elderly, while amassing wheelbarrows of hundred dollar bills? Fighting an uphill battle here, but not giving up.

Rex Tillerson-Am I shocked?
No, appalled, yes; shocked, no.

[Editor’s note: “Rambling” alert]

While zip-lining down from lofty heights from my soapbox, pontificating upon the evils of the 4th Reich, I have plowed head-on into a twenty-foot-thick concrete abutment: the human element of all this political upheaval. I have not fared well.

In point of fact, I have been flattened by the impact. Having taken it upon myself to “step up my game,” when it comes to backing up my beliefs, by unfriending people who post memes praising or supporting trump, I have found that accomplishing this is as easy as actually making it through that 20-ft-thick wall. 

For others, no problem, but not for Winnie the Pooh. I tried the blustery, I-be-bad approach, only to find out that instead of anger, I incurred sadness and disbelief. Folks were taken aback that anyone could allow politics to destroy long-standing friendships.

Act-Tung, Chucko! Not my circus, not my ring of expertise. I am in the love-conquers-hate, every-day-of-the-week, and twice-on-Sundays-club. Lifelong member. 

As such, I cannot stand up to my convictions, when confronted with the dilemma of what to do when ideologies clash with long-standing friendships, especially when said friends have no more control over what is happening in Washington, than I.

We are not talking about an isolated instance or even two. Three times within 24 hours, I had that soapbox yanked out from underneath me without warning, by friends who showed me through words and actions, that I would have to stop swinging recklessly while the game is on the line. 

The problem with tough love or a hard-nosed approach, is coming face-to-face with that human element. After winching myself back onto my feet after the third time, I decided to reassess my stance.

I ripped a neighbor for his pro-trump comment on a post, and the dude turned around a week later, and messaged me publicly, that if I needed help getting out of the snow for Gluten-Free-Mama’s appointment in Sacramento, Wednesday, he would drive his Tacoma-Can-Go-Anywhere over and personally get us out of there.

How was I supposed to feel after that?

Twice more, long-standing dear friends came under attack by Winnie, who obviously was flapping his finger-tips in a vain attempt to crow louder than trump supporters. Right battle-wrong opponents. Move on and get thee to Sacramento, on January 21st, where we will stand in solidarity, instead of squabbling amongst the rest of us.

“We” are not the enemy-stagnant wealth, for the sake of wealth-plus greed-are the enemies. We are only that which gets in the way.

However, like that 20-foot-thick wall, you have to get through us first, which is where solidarity comes in. Join in and fight together, and leave the individual sparring to those better suited to it.

That would not include Winnie the Pooh. 

"I voted for trump y'all"

I voted for trump y'all

“I voted for trump y’all just give it up trumps our new president-sore losers”

This is the message that was placed on my status the other morning by a now-former-friend. I don’t object to the fact that in the sixteen written words, there are nine separate and distinct errors in punctuation and usage; this does not make this individual stupid. Hell, this is the internet. 

No, what makes him stupid is the fact that he thinks I am a sore loser. 

Sore loser? You got that wrong, dude, because I am furious. I am livid that “trump” (I must admit that the lower case “t” actually seems appropriate-thanks for that) was defeated by more than 2.45 million votes and is still appointing losers to his Cabinet of Hate.

I am outraged that our election was interfered with by Russia, and that trump not only approved, he consorted with the enemy. Finally, more than anything else, I am angry that a racist, misogynistic, inhumane, immoral and narcissistic individual, is manipulating people like my former friend, into inflicting their own latent, personal, racist-or whatever-agendas onto unsuspecting people around them. 

trump encourages this thought process with his rage against Mexicans and Muslims.

No, a sore loser gets pissed because his team lost, or his horse, or something, and it costs him some hard, cold cash. No, when the least intellectually capable man in the country, W, ascended to high office, I accepted it with dignity and even aplomb, knowing that this, too, would mercifully pass.

Yes, that dick, Cheney, was as vile and evil as Karl Rove, and he amassed $39.5 billion off of the wars in the Middle east, but that is to be expected from the Republican Party and its war-mongering efforts: War is good for business, and two wars are twice as good.

No, this is different. At least W was a civilized man, his propensity for weapons of mass destruction, and loss of civilian life in the countries we invaded, notwithstanding. Though he was merely a puppet in the hands of those with the real brains in the Republican Party, W was still a man who would certainly have operated with integrity, if he were intellectually capable of distinguishing what it were.

“Operated with integrity” could never be said about trump, without sending a spray of coffee shooting out through the nostrils, should you happen to be sipping a latte at the time. Whether it is the established wrongdoing ( http://markyswrite.blogspot.com/2016/12/finally.html )

with the Trump Foundation, the plethora of conflict of interest issues (with both trump and his offspring) or his vile platform of hate, trump is the biggest loser of all.

I am no sore loser, big guy, because I still keep track of what this clown trump is doing, instead of retreating into my gloating over what a winner I am. I care that he appointed a white supremacist, Steve Bannon, as his Chief White House Strategist. Do you not see that this is reprehensible, which is just a big word for nasty?

Do you not care that trump appointed Jeff Sessions as his attorney general, a man who thinks it is OK to grab women by their vaginas-oops, for you I had better say pussies?

Do you not care that trump appointed a vapid airhead as the director of the Veterans Administration? Laugh out loud. Why would you care about veterans?

So no, former friend, I am not a sore loser, but I am mighty pissed off. If you will go about following your own narrow-minded, victorious path and allow me to forge my own route, that would be perfectly OK with me.

You keep on crowing that you voted for trump and we’ll see how long the rooster crows, before he chokes on his own words.

Earth to Markie-Do You Copy?

Earth to Markie-Do You Copy?

Two events occurred yesterday that relate to the political arena, one of them on the national level, and one in my personal space, on social media. Both relate directly to the American public’s refusal to accept the upcoming threatened political changes, without a battle. As the link indicates, 

https://www.facebook.com/bravenewfilms/photos/a.10150952010452016.406379.7035457015/10154013716717016/?type=3&theater 

Americans are watching closely and are willing to express outrage, when it becomes apparent, that indignation must be expressed.

Instant action-instant reaction... 

First the national level: Americans rose up in unified protest, yesterday, when it was revealed that House Republicans had voted to gut an ethics watchdog, thus curbing the powers of the independent ethics panel. Additionally, President-Elect Trump also tweeted his displeasure, indicating his belief that Congress should “focus on tax reform, healthcare and so many other things of far greater importance!”

Having voted favorably Monday night on Virginia Representative Bob Goodlatte’s proposal, to place the Independent Office of Congressional Ethics under their own control, the lawmakers backed down on Tuesday, following the loud outcry from constituents and Trump’s two tweets.

The proposal would have barred the panel from reviewing any violation of criminal law by members of Congress, requiring that it turn over complaints instead to the House Ethics Committee or refer the matter to an appropriate federal law enforcement agency.

Additionally, the ethics office would no longer be able to accept or investigate any anonymous reports of alleged wrongdoing by members of Congress.

This immediate turnabout, as a result of backlash, is a clear sign that resistance is in the air, and that it will carry the weight of a big stick. This is crucial to note, in preparation for the upcoming marches in Washington DC and other major cities throughout the country.

On social media yesterday morning, I took express note of a meme proclaiming a female singer’s intent to “follow her heart,” all the way to singing at Donald Trump’s inauguration. It was an innocuous enough post, focused on the singer and not the event, but Markie shoved me aside, grabbed ahold of the keyboard, and let it fly.

“Seriously? Follow her heart all the way to the destruction of the planet? Good-bye Suzie Creamcheese (not her real name),” thus dismissing Ms. Creamcheese from the ranks of my friends.

To my utter shock, Trump supporters not being known for their ability to even think, let alone express themselves on paper, “Ms. Creamcheese” responded with an unusual request, and I am paraphrasing here, “Please do not remove me from your friends list; I am not a Trump supporter but I like this person’s personal story.”

“We’re good,” Markie responded, and life moved forward, except that further comments were made, and the train derailed.

There were four women who jumped in on Ms. Creamcheese's side, ostensibly trying to convey the message that folks should be allowed their own political opinions, and should not be subject to attack from dirty, hippie, commie perverted pinkos, like myself.

Having provided enough dark chocolate edibles for Markie, to slow down an elephant, I was now able to regain control of the keyboard, where I patiently explained my reasoning. Again, I paraphrase here, “When discussing flavors of coffee or contemporary films, opinions are all fine and dandy, but when it comes to racist, misogynistic, homophobic, inhumane regimes, opinions are no longer valid, if they spew hatred.”

I find it unacceptable to rationalize the current regime, as “only being four years,” when four minutes of this President-Elect’s time is all that is needed to make another inexplicably bad appointment to the Cabinet of Hate.

I cannot have “friends” posting memes that praise, support or accept the President-elect, so that they appear on my wall. Hey, post all you want-I just don’t want to see them. Therefore, in order to accomplish this, I cut ties.

Nothing personal-just go on about your business and allow me to go about mine. I know that I am never going to convince you otherwise, so allow me to continue on my journey, unencumbered by concrete expression of your own personal lack of education or intelligence.

Opinions? When they conflict with human rights, dignity and worth, I don’t want to hear them, not when they oppose mine. We’re not talking football playoffs here, we are talking about people.

I will resist the new regime with its antiquated values system, which denigrates anything not white, straight and Christian, and I will resist those who support this regime.

Nothing personal-just doing my job, standing up for social injustice. It's what I get paid the big bucks to do.

Solitary Oysters

Solitary Oysters

The first clause of Article 1, Section 8, of the U.S. Constitution reads in part, “The Congress shall…provide for the common defense and general welfare of the United States.” Welfare is defined as the “health, happiness and fortunes” of individuals or the overall population. With 43 million people at or below the poverty level, Congress is patently failing at its job.

You have read similar statements in this space before, so why do I approach the subject, yet one more time? I do so because it bears repeating: The single-minded purpose, with which Congress summarily keeps the general population subjugated, is unethical, immoral and inhumane.

The lifestyle effected by the wealthy in this country, combined with its intolerance and arrogance towards the poor, is repulsively sick. To allow conglomerates and individual families to accumulate fortunes that make Smaug’s treasure trove look like a child’s piggy bank, while 43 million people struggle to make ends meet, is a dereliction of duty, of the gravest proportions.

Huge corporations pay no taxes, and yet refuse to pay workers an honest wage, one that allows families to grow and prosper together, instead of producing latch-key kids who end up hanging out on the streets. And why not? There is no one at home to show concern and care, because jobs come first, not parenting.

Now the Republican Party is going after Medicare and Social Security, despite being a political party which claims to support “family values.” What that actually means, is that it supports families like the Walton family, which owns Walmart, and refuses to pay decent wages, despite having the equivalent wealth of the bottom 43% of the American populace.

Reprehensible, insidious, repugnant, repulsive and putrid all aptly describe the members of a political party, vermin who continue to perpetuate the myth that this is a free country. Free? What is free about it? Not the right to a manageable wage, that is for sure.

How about medication, especially for kids and the elderly? Is that free? American pharmaceutical companies thrive on kicking people when they are sick and down for the count. These are companies owned and operated by people who have hearts of stone. How could they not, knowing they are charging a king's ransom, for medication that people will pay, because they are over a barrel?

No, the wealthy of this country are as cold as solitary oysters, living solitary lives, either clutching at the pearl already formed inside them, or scratching at more of what it takes to complete the job. They do this at the expense of the poor, and our elected leaders promote their actions. 

How any elected member of our government can brutally and consistently ignore the U.S. Constitution, and refuse to actively promote the general welfare, defies explanation. Instead of having to “work” 126 days of the year, leaving 239 days in the year, unworked, they should be working seven days a week, 52 weeks a year, until there are no more starving kids.

It’s not hard; just sign your names to legislation, permanently banning families from flaunting their wealth while others starve.

Solitary oysters... Hmmmm... Hors' d'oeuvres, anyone?

One Step Forward-Two Steps Backward

One Step Forward-Two Steps Backward

This recurring back and forth theme crops up occasionally, no more so than in mental health issues. I have a box filled with Kleenex issues, so I have much experience in these matters.

Take photography, for instance, a commodity free of mental issues, and one that I enjoy as a hobby only. I live in a region of incomparable beauty, high on a ridge-top, and therefore have access to scenery that most people can only visit.

I snap thousands of photos, most of them set within a few football fields of where I charge my camera battery. By definition, one might question just how fresh my material could be, after noting that I don’t get out of my box that often.

The reality is that nothing could be further from the truth, because the same trees, at twelve different times of the year, one per month, change dramatically, as does the venue around them. They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but the reality is that beauty is all around us, and nothing magnifies it more than a radiant sunrise.

Shadows, lighting, cloud cover, distance, time of day, and amount of moisture in the air are just a few of the plethora of factors which affect the quality of a photo, and it takes time to figure out which ones work best.

I do not know how to use the dials and gadgets on my Canon SX610HS; all I can do is point and shoot. So when a good friend tells me in all sincerity that I should watermark my photos, or apply a filter, I feel as though I am an altar boy again, and hearing Father O’Leary speaking Latin.

So where do the two-steps-back come in, if I am content to point and shoot, and do not feel compelled to up my game? A logical goal of mine for a long time now, has been to make the transition from cyber-space to something more tangible-like a photograph in my hand.

I have one or two pics to choose from, but assuming I could get past that, what would prevent me from attaining this reasonable goal, that so many others have achieved?

Do you have a lot of time? 

OK, succinctly put, I can’t do it. I can’t explain in simple terms why the process has been so hard because there is nothing simple about it; if it were, shrinks would be a lot less in demand.

In the “old days,” you took a roll of film in to have it developed, and you got back an envelope with glossy prints in it. The same glossy prints are available today, probably from the same local drug store, at which you used to get your film developed, only now you have to do it online.

You have to download your photos into an account you have to set up, with the company doing the work, and you have to specify exactly which of the countless available options, you would like to have done.

Got it. Just as thoroughly as I get it when I am in Friedman Brothers in Ukiah, and I need a pair of gloves. They are easy to find, and gosh, you will be happy to know that you have a choice in the matter: about forty feet of floor-to-ceiling choice. 

There are hundreds of different types, sizes, colors and about the only thing they have in common, is that the shape remains the same. The only word that applies is paralyzing. I’ll get gloves next trip.

How about tooth brushes, or even tooth paste, at any major drug store? Again, hundreds of choices, so many of them preposterously similar to all of the others, and yet, available for me to choose from. At least in this instance, any one will essentially perform the same service.

Such is not the case with available options in the world of photography. I mean, no choice would result in maiming or death, but some choices would be better than others. Says so in the manual.

OK, so fast-forward a couple of years of mulling that part over, get motivated once again with some help from Gluten-Free Mama, and voila, I have actually taken that step and have in my hands, a dozen-or so-tangible examples of my photography.

Whew, end of story. Except that it wasn’t the end of the story-only the end of chapter eight or ten. The latest chapter featured my trip to Michael’s Arts and Crafts in Eureka, to see if I could not buy a handful of frames so that I could give a few tangible photos away at Christmas to loved ones.

What could be complicated about that, he asked sarcastically, knowing it was infinitely worse than selecting a tube of toothpaste? So many different frames, that even if I could find the right size, which I did, I could still mess things up.

Additionally, I had one photo in particular, which had unusual dimensions: 11 X 22. I found 11 X 18, 19, 20, 21, 23, 24, and I found 22 by 8, by 9, 10, 12, 13, and 14, but could not find the one I needed. What are the odds, right?.

Unfortunately, content to stick with good old 11 x 14, when I came back after all of my investigating, I grabbed the wrong size, paid for them, and it gets real complicated after this.

I wasn’t there to witness it, my personal trainer/coach handling matters as she is want to do, with me cringing out in the truck. How could I have been so inept as to have simply grabbed the wrong ones? No big deal, right? Gluten-Free Mama didn’t think so. It took a couple of trips but all ended up well.

No, I was the only one impacted and am still waiting for the damage to be undone, and that takes time. Don’t ask me what damage or how much time, because I have neither answer for you. I am sure it can be found in that box of Kleenex issues if you care to take a gander.

All I have is a dozen-plus one-photographs stuffed somewhere in the laundry room, and some frames jammed out in a shed.

And my new jigsaw puzzle is coming along just fine, thank you so much for asking.

The Forecast Isn't Brilliant

The Forecast Isn’t Brilliant

We don’t get terribly excited about weather forecasts, up here on our mountain, because experience has taught us that the more one hears about an upcoming storm, the less likely it is to actually materialize. However, when I peruse the Hazardous Weather Conditions page on the National Weather Service page, for the next four days, I do get a little nervous.

Not an auspicious forecast...

The water has been running out on the side of the hill for a couple of weeks now, the logic being that it can flow over the top of the tank, and down the side of the hill, or it can travel through my water system, thereby keeping the pipes from freezing, and then flow down the side of the hill.

With 2-3 inches of the white business here, 5-7 inches there, and plenty in between, the likelihood of a freeze-out is high. We used to get them fairly routinely in the early years, back in the eighties. Gluten-Free Mama and I would round up HeadSodBuster, BenJamMan and SmallBoy, and head over to the Big House, ten minutes’ walk away, and camp with my folks, Robert and Pauline.

Grandpa was happy because he loved to cook for enthusiastic eaters, and the three boys qualified, little carnivores all three. Since Robert’s specialty was anything “meat and potatoes,” the boys were happy campers. 

What with bundling up for outside playtime, frolicking for as long as toes and ears could stand it, and then coming back in for steaming cocoa and a blazing stove to warm up next to, we all had job security.

A bushel of Legos battled for attention, along with the VHS machine, and a library of kid-friendly films. The exotic nature of snow, the fragrance of a stew or soup permeating the air, and the sense of camping, combined to make these memorable times for our family.

In employing the camping motif, it must be explained that the Big House was based on the Swiss chalet concept, a huge, open room, with a downstairs living area that would sleep half of a small army, and an open loft above that would sleep the other half. Additionally, there were two enclosed bedrooms upstairs, and the master bedroom downstairs. 

The boys literally slept where they were situated, downstairs, while drifting off to whatever Disney flick was playing. Disney film? OK, maybe that is an exaggeration. “Them,” the saga of the giant ants encamped below the streets of 1950’s Los Angeles, was a favorite, as was “Flashpoint,” the 1984 Kris Kristofferson film of border patrol theatrics.

One year, under the direction of Uncle Rob, one of the boys’ favorite human beings, we all built an igloo big enough to allow the three boys to huddle inside, if not for long, at least long enough to know they had accomplished the feat.

We tobogganed, we built snowmen and we threw snowballs, until our hands ached and our noses were running faster than the water we had left spraying outside to keep the lines free. And then we ate and napped. OK, I ate and napped. The boys didn’t nap.

I was teaching the three boys to play bridge, beginning when SmallBoy was four years old, and could grip the hand of cards. Well, sure, I had to help him a little in the early going, but then I had to help BenJamMan and HeadSodBuster too; playing bridge is not like playing “war.”

And gosh, for anywhere between four and eight hands, things would go swimmingly, and then a donnybrook would break out. Right there, in front of me, I would have weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth. Lots of teeth-gnashing. 

But then again, braver souls than these lads have struggled with bridge. In my own early going, Grandma Pauline once confided in me that she played for twenty years, before she felt she had a strong enough grasp of the game, to call herself a bridge player. Go figure.

On the other hand, we could play poker for seven hours straight, without an angry word, even though dollars exchanged hands the way one would expect. Serious business, that poker.

My mantra before I started teaching was, “There’s no business like snow business,” and I loved it. Then I had to be able to get off the mountain every school day, and I changed my tune, dramatically. To this day, that tune has remained the same.

Life is a balance.

Snow is the guest who overstays her welcome. Beautiful and enchanting when she first arrives, she loses her luster the first time I slip and fall, though generally, it’s a soft and safe landing. Besides, in recent years the quad has made the snow more manageable, until it bottoms out…

So yes, bring the outside wood-ring indoors for the next week, stoke up extra firewood on the front deck just outside the door, and clean both stoves today, so as to have the best chance of avoiding technical difficulties somewhere along the line. 

With temperatures in the low twenties at night and thirties during the day, the water outside will never defrost, so I will have to periodically take a tea kettle of boiling water out for the chickens, so that their outdoor water supply remains accessible.

I will keep the path to the wood-house cleared; I will keep the route out to where the vehicles are parked cleared also, so that the ice becomes less of a factor, instead of a greater hazard than ever.

Finally, like Robert, I will have a soup simmering on the kitchen wood stove, my own personal crock pot.

I don’t care for it but I have no control over it, so I just prepare for the worst. Then, my biggest challenge will be to keep the snow from building up on the satellite dishes. I don’t care about the television but don’t mess with my internet service.

Did I just say that?