Snow Conclusions

I vaguely remember liking snow as a kid, but have despised the white stuff for many years now.

I moved south from Pennsylvania to my current home partially so that I wouldn't have to deal with mounds of unique flakes any more.

Obviously I didn't move far enough south. I've shoveled my driveway two times today in order to avoid shoveling over a foot at any one time. I'll be repeating the shoveling exercise in the predawn hours on Sunday so that I can get to my place of employment.

I have spent the evening consuming copious amounts of alcohol and contemplating whether snow has any redeeming qualities at all...

....And came to a foregone conclusion. Snow sucks.

Wolf Moon

Tonight's full moon is known as the Full Wolf Moon. So said the article I stumbled across today.

There's a significant number of people who tend to get crazy when the full moon rolls around, I wondered if a full wolf moon meant the craziness would be above and beyond the norm. Since I'd be dealing directly with the general public for the next few days I figured I'd better find out.

I wasn't sure what I was going to learn when I clicked on the link to the article. I sort of expected to find myself reading about how the full moon figures prominently in stories about men turning into wolves.

I was wrong.

It turns out Native Americans assigned different names to the full moon based on the month of the year. January is when the moon is closest to the earth so appears bigger than the full moons in other months. Native Americans associated the full moon with the howling of wolves. Between the closer proximity of the moon and the scarcity of food in the cold winter months, wolves put more energy into their nocturnal cries. So the January moon was named after the wolves.

It follows that if wolves are more frantic in January, then the folks who suffer from full moon personality disorder will be likewise affected. Perhaps I should slip a sterling silver trinket in my pocket before heading off to work in the predawn hours tomorrow.

Curious Sleigh

The only way I can describe it is to say it looked like a cross between a dog sled and a miniature version of Santa's sleigh.

The contraption was attached to the top of a minivan. The runners of the sleigh, sled, or whatever were strapped into a pair of half round PVC tubes.

What, I wondered, was the owner of the miniature sleigh intending to do with the curiously designed mode of transport. Had I been in a northern state I might have assumed there was a pack of dogs waiting to be hitched. If the the north pole had been in sight I might have believed there were nine miniature reindeer waiting to make a test run.

But what use would anyone in southern Delaware have for a sleigh?

I checked the license plate of the van thinking it was perhaps registered in a northern clime. No, the van bore tags from Georgia where people have no more need of a dogsled than the folks at the Delaware shore.

So what function could the contraption possibly serve?

Realizing I had become so lost in thought that I was drifting out of my lane, I returned my total attention to the roadway that was disappearing beneath the tires of my car at sixty-five miles an hour.

And the case of the curious sleigh went unsolved.

Unclutter

A busy day today and another one to follow so I offer a short contemplation.

A room filled with clutter impedes maneuvering.
A mind filled with clutter impedes thought.

Appreciation Day

Yesterday was bubble wrap appreciation day. It was also the 50th birthday of bubble wrap. I was so busy celebrating that I completely forgot to post a blog entry.

According to the NBC World News the inventor of bubble wrap got the idea for the product while in a plane. He looked down on the puffy tops of the clouds and was struck with the idea for protective packaging.

Weird guy.

I look out the window of a 737 and imagine mountain chains formed from cotton balls or virgin white islands floating in the sky. Never have I looked upon the puffy formations and wondered what would happen if I grabbed a handful to stuff in a box.

If I had happened to wonder about clouds and insulation, my musings would have been more likely to lead to the invention of the Styrofoam peanut. But bubble wrap? I just don't get the connection.

Maybe charcoal briquettes would have spurred my creative juices - you know, wondering what would happen if one of those briquettes was to be filled it with air.

Playoff Health Risk

I enjoy watching football though I generally only watch the second half of a game. I have trouble putting up with two hours of commercials to see one hour of football. Ultimately the last two quarters are the deciding parts of the game, so that's where I place my focus.

During the playoffs I make an exception and watch the entire game - especially when the Colts are playing - though I confess I generally run out of the room between quarters and during half time to take care of miscellaneous chores.

Today's game between the Colts and Jets was an exciting back and forth struggle. Exciting - but bad for my health. My breathing was rapid and shallow, my palms were sweaty, and my pulse was pounding. If I had walked into my doctor's office for an annual physical in that condition I would no doubt have been rushed directly to the hospital.

Which makes me wonder how many people keel over from a heart attack while watching sports.

It also makes me wonder why we have not yet been subjected to a warning from the Surgeon General at the beginning of crucial games.

Tech Help Needed

I need some technical help from my computer savvy readers.

I have a CPU from an old desktop setup, but no longer have the monitor. I have some douments that I need to save from the hard drive on the CPU before I send the CPU to the recycling center.

Thing is, I need a screen on which to display the contents of the hard drive in order to see what I'm doing - and there isn't a stand alone monitor anywhere in the house.

Is there some way I can make my laptop function as the monitor for the CPU?

Jammin'

I was out and about in the car this evening with Media Girl and one of her girl friends.

Media Girl and I do not have the same taste in music. I like classic rock: Beatles, Genesis, Yes, Fleetwood Mac, etc. Media Girl thrives on rap and country rock.

So when the suggestion was made that we hook the friend's Ipod to the car's stereo system I agreed with grave reservations - and was pleasantly surprised to hear a Led Zeppelin song.

At our destination, we sat in the car while we waited for Motivated Mom to meet us. The music continued while we waited and I thought back to numerous Friday nights when, as a teenager, I would ride around in a car with friends listening to the same music I was currently enjoying.

Do you like Pink Floyd, the friend asked.

Oh bless the girl, a true aficionado of quality music.

Comfortably Numb poured forth from the speakers. I increased the volume, positioned myself to play a mean set of air drums, and did my best to do justice to the vocals.

Pulling her hood up over her head and making small moaning noises, Media Girl tried to fold herself down onto the floor of the car.

What? I asked between verses.

My dad is jammin', she moaned

I smiled as my foot pounded on the air pedal of the air bass drum. Yes, I was jammin'. And it felt damn good.

Inverted Minature

The world is full of things that make me go hmmmm. Many times those quirky little things command my attention for no more than a nanosecond - gone from my consciousness almost as quickly as they arrive.

But there's a specific thing that has caught my eye several times of late so I guess it's time to do some serious pondering.

When I stand close to a magnifying mirror I see my image roughly twenty times normal size, but when I take a few diagonal steps back away from the mirror I see the room reflected smaller rather than larger. Even more of a puzzle then the reverse magnification is the reflected image being inverted (upside down) from the actual.

Why should that be? Shouldn't a magnifying mirror magnify regardless of my proximity? And what's with that whole upside down thing? A regular mirror doesn't invert images - or does it?

Is it possible that a regular mirror switches right from left? No, couldn't be. If I place my right hand inches from a mirror the reflected hand lines up exactly. And if I back up, the raised hand remains on the same side of the reflection. At least I think it does. Unless my mind is compensating - causing me to believe I'm seeing the reflection other than the way it truly appears. Could that be possible?

Yaagghh, I just know the idea of my mind betraying me is going to keep me up tonight.

Parental Translation

It happened again, one of those spontaneous memories of past events.

I was doing some drywall work today and had music playing - because you have to have music when doing something as tedious as finishing drywall.

The song Do You Remember by Jack Johnson started playing and suddenly I was sitting in an auditorium at the University of Pittsburgh. College Dude was on stage giving his first solo performance with nothing but a microphone and a guitar.

I'm sure I was more nervous than he. I would never have had the nerve to get up on stage like that - even if I could carry a tune.

After a couple of songs College Dude asked how he was doing time wise.

Three more came the response.

Three? College Dude asked.

Whereupon I shouted out three more songs, only to be corrected by multiple persons that the three was three more minutes.

Hey, when it's your son on stage looking for direction and that direction comes in a vague three more, of course the parental translation is three more songs.

I would have argued against the folks saying minutes, but I try to avoid being an embarrassment to my children.

Mall Noise

Over the weekend I was in a shopping mall for the first time in nearly two years.

I can hear the gasps of disbelief.

He's not been in a mall in two years? Unthinkable. UnAmerican I suppose he hates apple pie too.

The minute I stepped through the glass doors I was assailed by noise. Funny, I didn't remember malls being that oppressively loud. Apparently my extended absence from the preferred American shopping venue had weakened my tolerance levels.

Voices echoed from walls to ceilings and rushed past me first in one direction and then another.

I pictured one of those wave machines, an elongated box of clear plastic balanced on a fulcrum and filled with colored water. As the box tips first to one side and then another, a wave of blue water rushes first to one end of the box and then the other.

In the mall it was a wave of noise rather than water that surged past. Nevertheless I fought against the sensation of drowning.

Meditation and 24

Rushing to get things done before part two of the season premier of 24. There are priorities you know, and Jack Bauer is not to be denied.

Here's a short meditation: The flower you seek will not appear until nature decrees the time is right.

Hoping to Find Ground

A blanket of fog settled over the area earlier this evening. Fog so thick that, when driving home, the only things visible were the twin beams of light extending far too short of a distance in front of the car. The road may or may not have been beneath the tires of the car. The only way to have known for sure would have been to stop the car, open the door, and place one foot on the ground - hopefully.

Now the approach of a thunderstorm has made the night all the more unworldly. Lightning flashes illuminate the fog much like, in a rapid volley of fireworks, the explosion of one rocket sends pulsing bursts of brilliant light through the residual smoke of the previous firework.

All that can be seen through my window is a gray soup pulsing with the heartbeat of the storm. So thick is the soup that neighboring houses are not to be seen. My own house might just as easily be a adrift in some cosmic soup as planted on terra-firma. The only way to be sure would be to walk out the front door and plant one foot solidly on the concrete walk - hopefully.

Absent Winning

A busy day today so I offer a short meditation:

Sometimes it is only by not running the race that we win the prize.

Geese Direction

Over the past few days the sight of geese flying north has become increasingly common. I fervently hope that increasingly warmer weather is coming close on the tails of these migrating flocks.

I'm always captivated by the ever shifting formations. This evening a flock passed overhead and from the ground it looked like a dark arrow roughly the length of a football field sailing overhead. Seamlessly, the shaft of the arrow disappeared, leaving only the arrowhead itself. The arrowhead morphed into a wide V resembling the wings that airline pilots sometimes pin to the shirts of child travelers.

I wondered at the reason for the constant shifts in formation. Is there a designated captain calling out position changes to keep the flight from getting boring or are there dissenters within the flock?

I imagine a straggling female goose double timing to the front of the formation. As she passes the others she honks - my husband has no idea where he's going, and I know he's not going to ask for directions. Then the dissenter veers slightly to the left.

With the seed of doubt successfully planted, the other geese shift positions to follow the new leader. The revised flight plan may be a change of only three degrees, but three degrees over hundreds of miles would be significant.

Minutes later the original captain finds himself at the rear of a shifting column. Picking up speed he passes the others and honks has my wife been telling stories again?

... and on it goes. I wonder, do the geese ever end up where they planned?

Dreaming Breakfast

If you're like me, you occasionally wake from a dream in the middle of the night with something brilliant rattling around in your head- the tune for a song with Grammy potential, the storyline for a book that would certainly land on the best seller list, or some newfangled creation that folks will flock to buy.

The idea is so clear, so awesome, that you are certain you'll remember every detail in the morning. So rather than crawling out from under the warm blankets, you take a moment to appreciate your own genius then roll over and promptly fall back to sleep.

In the morning, if you remember anything at all, it is only sketchy and imperfect remnants of what would have been your ticket to fame and fortune.

So when I woke from the same dream twice last night mumbling a name - and when that same name was still lodged in my memory when I wakened - I just had to google it.

The top seven hits led me to southeastern Turkey where archeologists excavating a 10,000 year old village had discovered that pigs were the first domesticated animal raised for a food source.

I guess that even in the middle of the night I must have had breakfast on my mind.

Destiny Stays

Mortal men have no control over destiny.

So of course the dog stayed.

You remember Destiny - the dog that Media Girl adopted on the sly - the dog that I had agreed could spend weekends with us.

Well... what with the cold snap and the holidays... a weekend turned into a week.

When school resumed, I told Media Girl the dog had to go back to the outdoor run at the kennel. I knew that after being in a warm house for an extended period Destiny's tolerance to the cold had been compromised. Still, an agreement was an agreement, the dog was only a visitor.

The day Media Girl took Destiny back to her primary home, I went outdoors to gather up some wood for the fireplace. It took only five minutes to move the wood into the house. In those five minutes, my ears and fingertips were numb from the wind and cold.

I pictured the dog standing in an outdoor run, sad eyes staring through the chain links, wondering what she had done to deserve being sent back out into the cold. My guilt-o-meter went off the chart. As soon as my fingertips thawed, I dialed up Media Girl on the cell phone and told her to bring the dog back.

Before nightfall our house was equipped with a dog bed, a gate for the laundry room doorway, and a basket full of dog toys. Destiny was a permanent resident.

The Return of Mario

We have a Wii in our house. I continue to be amazed by how far video games have come and frequently think back to the very first video game we owned - the original Playstation. We had two games for it - Duck Hunt and Super Mario Brothers.

I had no interest in the Playstation when we first installed it (Motivated Mom was the one who had wanted it) but I soon joined the ranks of the addicted.

I lost interest as the games and the consoles that powered them evolved. I had too many other interests to invest the time in developing the dexterity required to push the A button while simultaneously holding down the X button and depressing the right arrow key. - Something akin to rubbing my stomach while patting my head or walking and chewing gum.

So I was pleasantly surprised when College Dude and Language Lass gifted Motivated Mom and I with Super Mario Brothers for the Wii.

At last, I thought, back to the basics.

Well, not exactly just basics as it turns out.

But it is pretty cool that Body English counts for something now. Motivated Mom used to poke fun at me for moving the controller this way and that back in the 80's. Now twisting and shaking the controller causes scaffolding to tilt and Mario to fly.

I just might find myself addicted all over again.

Matching Numbers

I buy a Powerball ticket twice a week - religiously. I can't win if I don't play right?

I admit to having become rather blase about my chances of winning - but hey, if I don't play....

The fine folks at Powerball send me an e-mail every Thursday and Sunday letting me know what the winning numbers were the previous night. After comparing the numbers in the e-mail to the numbers on my ticket, I toss my ticket in the trash can.

I spend no time mourning the loss of the dollar nor do I fret over the spending of a dollar for the next drawing. I look at it as an investment with return potential equal to that of the stock market.

When I discovered a matching number on my ticket the other night I didn't get excited - but I did take the time to consider how nice it would be to walk into the bank the following week and pay off my car loan.

The second matching number grabbed my attention - I would pay off the car loan and the mortgage.

Three. There were three matching numbers. Now I was thinking about buying beach front property.

...And that's where it stopped. Three matching numbers worth seven bucks.

You're laughing right? Well, hey, seven bucks is enough for another chance to win - and a trip to the Caribbean.

After redeeming my ticket, I bought a chance in the next drawing, picked up a six pack of cold ones, and headed home. I timed the popping of the first bottle cap to the start of the television show The World's Top Ten Beaches. High definition ocean surf rushed toward my recliner and the family room filled with steel drum music as the cold beverage rushed down my throat.

Ahh, what a life.

Chain Gang Cold

A resigned acceptance has settled over the folks in this region.

Resignation that layers upon layers of clothing will be a continuing fashion trend and acceptance that the cold weather is not destined to roll out of the area anytime soon.

It's a big change for an area were subfreezing temperatures generally can't maintain the upper hand for more than a week at a time.

The spring has gone out of the local resident's steps - replaced by a tired, slump-shouldered shuffle. It makes me think of a chain gang. People tediously placing one foot in front of the other. Plodding along only because it is the only thing to do.

Oh there are still smiles to be found, but they have taken on a thin, forced quality. And always the smile is followed by a tired nod of a head and a clipped comment about the damnable cold.

Aches & Shivers

I knew Friday wasn't going to be a good day when I woke in the wee hours of the morning to a pounding head, aching muscles, and a stomach doing flip flops.

I knew the day was REALLY going to suck when the downing of four ibuprofen had absolutely no effect on any of those symptoms - except to accelerate the cramps in my gut.

My eyes started to water, the room went out of focus, and I was wondering why I only kept three extra blankets in the linen closet because I could really have used about six layers of bedding.

Barring the six blankets, I decided soaking in a tub filled with steaming hot water was my only recourse. The problem was I had to tread across a bathroom floor that had suddenly dropped to the same temperature as the frozen pond outside the window.

Lowering myself into the bath, I took a moment to wonder why I had the thermostat for the hot water set at only 180 degrees. Somewhere around 240 would have been far more appropriate.

Morning brightened to mid day but my mind remained in gray fog and I never noticed the approach of night until the timer caused the table lamp in the adjoining room to come on.

Maybe tomorrow would be better. But when my first thoughts at 4:30 Saturday morning were to wonder if the furnace had died overnight and if it would be possible to remove my stomach without a scalpel I knew I was in for another lost day.

Sparrow Visit

The flags in this area have been standing straight out from their poles for seven days straight now. I have to say that between the cold and the wind I'm getting downright crabby.

So it was a pleasant surprise when a warm, feathered friend came in for a visit today.

More than a little surprise actually. I was expecting the sparrow to be stone cold dead - seeing as how one of our cats had just deposited the little bird on the living room carpet- but when I bent down to retrieve what I thought were remains, the sparrow took flight.

Media Girl screeched as though the cute little thing were a bat hell-bent on getting entangled in her hair.

Ginger, our cat, leapt into the air - no doubt thrilled by the chance to continue the game of cat and bird in a cozy indoor environment.

The problem of course was how to get the bird back outside where it belonged.

Hands and arms protected by insulated fireplace gloves, I leapt and spun through the house like a Baryshnikov protege practicing for opening night of the ballet.

Alas, the little sparrow was always one pirouette ahead of me.

Media Girl suggested I simply open the patio door. I snickered at her innocent belief that it could be that easy - but opened the door none the less.

...And the bird exited stage left.

Memory Lane

We were reminiscing at dinner the other night.

That's one thing evenings in the early months of pre-summer are good for - reminiscing. Goodness knows no one wants to be out in the cold once the sun has dropped from the sky.

And I got to thinking what a remarkable thing the human memory is.

Our brains process an astounding amount of information 17 to a 18 hours a day, 365 days a year. At my current age of 53, my brain has cataloged 348,210 hours or 20,892,600 minutes of life experiences.

And in less time than it takes to snap my fingers, our brains can access a single event that occurred some 278,000 hours ago and replay the minutes in astonishing detail.

The past event is displayed on an internal projection screen exactly as it occurred all those years ago - right down to the clothes that were worn, the quilt on the bed, or the pastel swirls of the sunset. Sounds, such as the hum of a fan, the chirp of crickets, or a band playing are so vivid that the remembered scene might be occurring in real time.

Our memory vaults even supply us with the smell of honeysuckle or a roasting turkey.

Is it any wonder we are prone to spend time on walks down memory lane?

Stupid Cell Phone List

One of the biggest cities in Delaware has passed an ordinance banning the use of a cell phone while operating a motor vehicle - unless the driver is using a hands free device. The legislation was prompted by the death of a pedestrian. A car being driven by a texting driver left the roadway, jumped the curb, and ran over some poor soul jogging on the sidewalk.

I learned all of this while reading an on-line article... and just had to scroll down to check out the comments.

I was pleasantly surprised to discover the most recently posted comments were supportive of the new law.

It was too good to last. Further down in the list of comments I found exactly what I had been expecting. Folks were complaining it was a violation of their rights not to be able to text while driving.

One upstanding citizen wrote that pedestrians need to understand that they assume certain risks when sharing a roadway with a motor vehicle...and laws will not bring the guy back.

Are you kidding me?

Let's put aside for a moment the fact that the accident happened because a car jumped the curb and went up on a sidewalk.

Can anyone really believe that, when driving a car, he does not have an obligation to focus on the road rather than a cell phone? We are all guilty of succumbing to distractions while driving, but can anyone think for a minute that he control any type of motor vehicle while trying to tap a message into a cell phone?

Such failed cranial capacity screams for the creation of a too stupid to own a cell phone list and the name of the person who posted the above referenced comment should be at the very top.

Embarrased Seagull

I noticed several seagulls hunkered down on the ice coating the local pond this morning and started wondering...

As they approach from above, are the birds able to tell the pond has frozen over or are they taken by surprise when their feet encounter a solid surface rather than water?

Is the seagull experience similar to the surprise and embarrassment a person experiences when they walk face first into a newly cleaned plate glass window?

I can imagine the male seagull pulling the tip of his beak out of the ice, fluffing his plumage indignantly, and saying to his partner: Honest Henrietta, there was water here just the other day. I was swimming and snacking on minnows.

And of course Henrietta would be hiding a smirk behind an outstretched wing and thinking: Why can males never admit they're lost?

Unlikely Counterpoint

We used to have a vacation home in the mountains of upstate Pennsylvania. It was small, about 800 square feet, and very cozy. Long before the designation of Pre-Summer, our family spent many winter weekends in what the children referred to as The Tiny House.

Often we would have to shovel through snow three or more feet deep just to reach the front door of the tiny house. Usually this shoveling was done somewhere near ten o'clock at night.

Once inside, we would fire up the wood stove, turn on the electric blankets, and heat our pajamas in the clothes dryer. When the fire was blazing well enough that the coals could be banked for the night, we would head off to bed.

The wood stove was a workhorse and morning would find us in a sweat. We would cook breakfast in t-shirts and pajama bottoms while outside the snow fell and the wind howled.

We had no phone service, no cable TV, no internet. Our weekends were spent reading books and playing board games.

I'm thinking about that vacation home tonight as I sit in front of a blazing fire, sharing the room with Motivated Mom. Orange and blue flames are dancing in the stone-faced fireplace. The room is totally quiet and I can almost imagine that I'm back at The Tiny House.

...Except for the laptops Motivated Mom and I both have resting on our respective thighs. The tap, tap, tap of fingers on keyboards serving as an unlikely counterpoint to the snap and pop of glowing logs.

Destiny Visits

So we have this visiting canine.

I know, I said no more pets, but what can it hurt to let a dog visit.

The dog in question is the puppy that Media Girl adopted on the sly.

The real question is, why did I allow the dog to visit?

Because the puppy is really quite cute.

No, no more pets.

Though I must admit that, for a puppy, Destiny really is quite well behaved.

Amazingly, our two cats tolerate - no, actually accept the dog. I guess its because they know the dog isn't staying.

Destiny's not staying of course. Her primary home is with a local breeder. Media Girl has visiting rites. These past few days Destiny has been visiting our house.

I don't understand this whole adoption arrangement between Media Girl and the breeder, but then I don't need to. Eventually Destiny will find a permanent home - she really is quite cute.