Hardy But Not Foolhardy

Snow.

Eleven to twenty inches. Anyone outside of the Midwest following the news? Minnesota is set for No Drive White Out Terrible Big Snow conditions.

Snow has started.

The pantry is full: cheese, crackers, fruit, veggies, bagels, chicken, snacks, peanuts-- wine. Driving for two days, canceled.

Eleven to TWENTY inches ahead. Maybe thirty inches in some spots.

Christmas Evening - canceled. Grandma Mary's Christmas day appeareance? Canceled.

Instead?

The Matron is fully prepared for three days at home. She is throwing a HUGE party: Saturday night is the Nearly Spontaneous Blizzard Event for Those Who Can Walk Here.

Let's see what happens. In the interim -- Happy Happy Holidays!!! More soon.

Really -- to the couple hundred who come here everday: Thank you! Hoping for a wonderful holiday for everyone.

Complete Psychological Collapse (again)

The Matron and her husband are card-carrying Buddhists.

Literally. They are both in possession of plastic squares pronouncing them proud members of Clouds in the Water Zen Center.

So why is the Matron pulling out her hair over holiday gifts for the children's teachers (needed tomorrow) and SANTA'S impending visit -- not to mention the whole CHRISTMAS day fiesta with family and friends?

Probably because your intrepid Matron was born into a family of Scots-- all Catholic. And she married a second-generation Polish Catholic man with -- hold on to your bloomers -- 73 FIRST COUSINS.

These people do not believe in birth control or sleeping.

Here is the Matron at her very own wedding of 400 people, 300 of which were John's relatives. Mostly she walks up to complete strangers with dark hair and good looks and says "Who are you?"

This is why she is currently rocking in the closet. With vodka. Okay, not really the vodka part but it makes her sound so, well, like steel. Which she isn't. It's white wine and after two glasses she starts drooling and crawling toward bed.

Too much family, too much to do. Ring a bell? She'll be here and there and less reliable than the normal daily posts until the big holiday that she does and doesn't celebrate (but Santa and family come!) has passed.

Sound familiar? Cheers, everyone!!

Feeling Mortal

Going to Bed

by George Bilgere

I check the locks on the front door
and the side door,
make sure the windows are closed
and the heat dialed down.
I switch off the computer,
turn off the living room lights.

I let in the cats.

Reverently, I unplug the Christmas tree,
leaving Christ and the little animals
in the dark.

The last thing I do
is step out to the back yard
for a quick look at the Milky Way.

The stars are halogen-blue.
The constellations, whose names
I have long since forgotten,
look down anonymously,
and the whole galaxy
is cartwheeling in silence through the night.

Everything seems to be ok.