Mrs. Hillbilly Mom Is The New Wind-Up Clock

Well, snow day #10 is winding down, and snow day #11 is on the horizon.

Not much has gone on here today. I arose to see ABSOLUTELY NOTHING new on the ground. That was around 7:30. We can do that, you know, us snow day people...sleep until 7:30. Now that would not be an uninterrupted slumber, of course, after retiring at 3:00 a.m. to the sound of pouring rain. And the pouring mouth of one's significant other, pouring harsh words through the breather mask about how he was not getting any rest because even though he'd been in bed since 10:00, oblivious to weather and Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's absence next to him, he had not caught even a single elusive Z. I suppose he believed himself. I, however, did not. Too much snoring for that. I think he was just miffed because there was no plump leg on the other side of the bed to gouge with his raptor-talon toenail. Boo hoo. You'd think he was a brand-new puppy needing a ticking clock wrapped in a bath towel tucked up right next to him to sleep without whining.

I watched a little news, the storm of the century forecast from yesterday having petered out of the coverage so that I was learning about Oprah closing her Chicago studio, and that this was National Pound Cake Day. I'm pretty sure those two facts are unrelated.

Since there was still no precip accumulating in the yard, I decided that maybe I could drive to town to get the week's cash allowance out of the ATM. I hollered to The Pony my plan, and he agreed. However, I decided to take a shower first. No good having bedhead if you're going to slide off the road and ride in an ambulance. Not to mention that clean underwear command we all grew up with. So I jumped in the shower, and by jumped, I mean I held on to the wall with my left hand and the sliding door with my right hand, and gingerly stepped up about an inch to enter.

When I got out, I opened the front door to check on the weather situation. Of course I dried and dressed first. What do you think I am, some kind of hick? The front porch was now being pelted with sleet pellets and dog tails. I decided that such a fine How-Do-You-Do did not bode well for a trip to town. The sleet, I mean. I think the dogs would have handled it quite well, what with expecting me to give them each a handful (Juno's fuller) of cat kibble when I returned.

So I did what any normal teacher on a snow day would do, and sat down to watch April Simpson and Kim Hudson and Glenn Zimmerman and Kevin Steincross and John Pertzborn (sometimes I confuse those last two) on the morning news at 9:00. I still miss Tim Ezell, but the others are okay without him. I nodded off shortly after seeing how to eat more veggies and how to prevent catching a cold. That didn't last long, because Farmer H called to ask if it was snowing yet. No.

Somehow I got right back into my nap, so tired I was after being up for almost two hours. And when I awoke again, shortly after 10:00, there WERE snowflakes. All in all, the day has been a bust. We barely have two inches on the ground, though Farmer H declares the highway to be "slick as snot."

What kind of world is it when you can't believe the weather forecasters?

I'll tell you what kind of world it is. ONE THAT NEEDS A HANDBASKET FACTORY!