Contemplating Ancestor's Opinions About Pointless Things.

I decided to walk the dog this morning. It was against my better judgement and my principles of weekend blizzard activities. Today is a day to sit inside and bake gingerbread cookies, and at some point today, I will. You’ll see.

The news has been blaring warnings of 13 inch snowfall for the last 3 days. This excites me, as I have the weekend off (not like 2 weekends ago where the whole world was an ice rink and I slid through an intersection whilst a cop waved at me helpless…true story). I decided whether the snow falls or not, I’m locking myself indoors and baking my amazing soft and chewy gingerbread cookies. If the snow falls, I won’t have TV anyway, because I have satellite, and we all know what happens when a cloud passes over the orbiting metal box. Minnesotans never quite believe the weatherman anyway, and seemed pretty glib about it, only making a run to the liquor store before going home. This is another side of Minnesota I don’t get; quiet, Lutheran Midwesterners who swear in everyday conversations and think, “if it snows, I better go get some booze, cause I’ll just be home shoveling.” Incidentally, it snowed 8 inches overnight, and we’re supposed to see snow until 10:00 tonight. I only know this because of the weather texts sent to my phone, as my TV is…you guessed it; out.

After work yesterday I went and bought everything for gingerbread cookies (I hope), and a friend gave me 6 of her own chickens’ monster sized, fresh and fluffy eggs. I’m excited. But this has nothing to do with walking the dog. Captain Awesome had gotten up at 5 and gone out to snowblow; a tragic endeavor, as it all blew back as soon as he went past. I decided, since he’d been out working since 5 and I was inside drinking tea, I could be nice and take the dog out, a sheltie who LOVES losing himself in snow. I don’t get it; that low to the ground and having to leap everywhere. Maybe he hates it and is forced to leap, giving the impression of winter jollity. I don’t know. Are any of you a dog whisperer?

I got up, pulled my hair into a side braid, thinking about my lovely friend in Norway and a stupid picture we took together once, to show ourselves at our most Scandanavian. I pulled my hat down over my eyes and tied a scarf up to meet my hat. The dog was all excited, running in circles around me, looking for treats, and whining at the snow. This was the moment I realized that I had left my winter boots in my car for the last big snow, about a week and a half ago. Moral dilemma; do I call Captain Awesome and ask him to go get my boots so I can walk the dog? Do I tell him I simply can’t walk the dog and go back to my tea? Do I go get them myself and walk the dog with wet socks (I HATE wet socks)? I tried to wimp out, I texted him, but he couldn’t hear it over the snowblower. I went out the front door (a rarity, I don’t even have a key), walked along the once snowblowed sidewalk, trudged out to my garage (I am so thankful for my garage) and got my boots out of the car. I put them on in the garage and went on my way. It wasn’t so bad. Wind at my back, coat covered in white, dog leaping and bouncing through mountains of fluff. It was actually pretty cute. I started to walk down towards the pond, and the snow quickly climbed to my thighs. I gave in and fell. I really should have made a snow angel…I wonder why I didn’t think of that. Anyway, dog that he is, wouldn’t leave my side to go to the bathroom, so I got back up and we started back.

Ouch. The wind was no longer at my back, and I couldn’t see or hear. My mind immediately went elsewhere so I wouldn’t have to pay attention to the elements. I thought about how my Scandanavian ancestors would be so proud of me (not very likely…”oooooh, you went out in the snow….did you also eat rotten, 8 month old fish you buried?”), and how my Irish ones would think I’m nuts. The German ones would think it’s romantic, and the French ones…I really don’t think they’d care. No clue how my Cherokee ancestors would feel about me trudging out in the snow to walk a dog. Seems kind of small compared to hunting and surviving and the like. To my right, a noise pulled me out of my ponderings. Then I realized it was the sound of my snowpants, I just hadn’t been able to hear until I got to a wind-less place.

Poor Captain Awesome, still out there at almost 9, snowblowing into futility. Maybe I’ll make those peanut butter cookies with the Reese’s in them….I need Reese’s.
So I made it back home, came in the back door (because I had my boots!) and noticed that I had left the front door wide open in my snow-shock. Nothing like going for a 15 minute walk and letting all the heat out on a snowy Saturday morning. You know you’ve been there.

Today’s song of the day should be no surprise. I'm sorry about the way it looks. Grooveshark and I have had a serious falling out, and they now offer a lot less for a lot more work. And they don't save anything for you anymore. Boo.

Odd little Story

Last night was one of those nights where it stormed a lot, you could tell, but pretty far away. Constant bright lightning and latent thunder with just a slow tapping of rain, as if the storm was actually being polite. I for one was thrilled, as it was a full moon, and the activity seemed to keep the bored, destructive teenagers at bay, like pacing wolves. The courtyard was pretty quiet and I had the window open. Somewhere in the night, a small dog called me out of my dreaming with a little “Yip.” Subconsciously I knew the sound belonged to a trendy dog name, some sort of “oodle.” I ran through the possibilities in my mind as he continued yipping in the courtyard. Labradoodle? No (yip!). Chihuahuadoodle? Is that a word (yip yip yip!)? What was that one I read in a magazine, the new one? It was like a dachshund and poodle, right (yip yip yip yip yip yip yip)? Oh, Dachsuhuahua, no poodle there. Boy that dog (yip yip) is annoying. Someone should tell that dog to shut up! Yip yip…yip yip…yip! Then suddenly, mid-yip, BAM! Lightning hit the park with an instantaneous thunderclap shaking the whole house. There was silence. No owner, no yip, no sound whatsoever. It was the only close lightning strike the entire storm. Against our nature as nature lovers, in our stupor we started laughing. Half conscious and imagining a smoke ball with a fluff spot in the yard, our cartoon side won out. We laughed hysterically and uncontrollably, describing the scene we thought may be left in the yard, and God laughing at this joke, this rogue lightning strike.

Today's song is (hee heee giggle)