It's 3 AM and there's freezing rain - it should be frozen rain since it's 28F out, but it's not - spitting out of the sky. The snow out back is getting a good wet surface, and I imagine it will be fun in the morning to go skating down the streets.

They called off the Groundhog's Day activities in Dover, PA for inclement weather, long before it became obvious that it wasn't going to be nearly as bad as envisioned. Unlike the movie, there were no plans to keep trying, over and over, until they get it right. Sometimes, I feel like that's Variations On A Theme, not by Erik Sartre, but by me. I keep trying different things, and they never work out.

But if the groundhog sleeps in, does that mean an early spring? If he gets up and sees his shadow, that's six more weeks of winter, but doesn't an early spring require that he get up and not see his shadow?

No Excuses

Jim Wetzel reports that the Chyron "crawl" along the bottom of the television screen says that "No Excuses Personal Motivation Center" is closed. I can't find google the location of the center, but it's mentioned on the WANE-TV site as being closed; both Jim and WANE are located in Fort Wayne.

And in St. Louis, the gummint closed the Interstate, but couldn't be bothered to put up signs at the entrance ramps letting people know it wasn't being plowed. Hope nobody freezes to death, or starves!

I talked to my sister at suppertime. Blondie kept asking if I'd called her, and I hadn't, not recently, and I asked if she wanted to talk, but once I called, I put the phone on speaker, and Blondie kept yelling to Sis, and I kept teasing them both until finally Blondie got on the phone and told Sis what she wanted related.

After they got off the phone, Blondie commented, for the 99th time, that I certainly have a wonderful sister. Well, yes, considering. She was my older sister, and living with she wasn't exactly a bowl of Skittles when I was growing up.

A Ruler On The Knuckles

Marie, my redhead, is the same way. She thinks she is a police dog, and being a german shepherd, that means she has the easygoing manner of a nazi. She makes Dusty behave like a proper dog, even about things where cats and dogs definitely disagree on how to do things. Dusty comes over to me when I'm on the sofa, and lies on the floor next to me, on his back, inviting me to play. I try to scratch the cat in the belly, and he tries to scratch me, except without his claws, all in great fun, and Marie does not find attacking me to be acceptable behavior.

And on those instances when I smack Blondie on the butt, or give her a good hug, Marie gives out a warning growl, although she's not sure whether she's growling at Blondie or me; she just knows it's Not Acceptable Behavior.

Weathering Channel 362

I told Sis that we'd been watching Weather Channel, and it appeared she was going to get 24 inches or more of snow. She hadn't been watching. To be honest, I can't imagine why anyone would watch it for more than ten minutes. It would be a great channel to have on at a bus depot or an airline terminal, or the coffee shop near the entrance of an office building, where people are constantly passing through, all of them affected by the weather, none of them staying around for long, but Blondie will have it on for four to six hours at a stretch, and what's more, she'll pay attention.

I don't understand that. The plot is thin, the characterization is minimal, and there's no suspense; they try to give away the ending as quickly as they can. On the other hand, it's sorta like that old coffee ad. She seems to be a good wife; I think I'll keep her.

Or maybe not. She was telling me this afternoon that the guy next door would love to have Dusty, but that I ought to keep Marie myself. Oh, I said, are you going somewhere? I don't have any reason to believe that Blondie is going to die from cervical cancer. We're not even sure she has it yet. Lots of women go through hysterectomies without dying, and her senility has been evident for a long time, I point out. She sticks out her tongue when I say that.

Selling Me Off

She says I would have little problem finding another woman in Lancaster County. I asked her if she would like to help me search for one. Again, she stuck out her tongue. Actually, now that she has accepted her disability, and has stopped trying so hard to earn a living at jobs she no longer can handle, she's become a lot easier to live with.

And her eyes were a particularly light color of blue at supper time. I don't know why eyes change color. Maybe most eyes don't; I never hear anyone talking about it. Hers do, though. She asked me why I thought that happened. I told her that when her eyes were really dark, almost brown, it meant that she was full of shit, and when they were pale blue, it meant she was a quart blue. She told me that my eyes were always dark, and sort of a hazel, sorta like shit that had started to grow moss on it.

The Cannon Story

There's a story about the soldier boy who came home from the war with a injury to his head. He was all addled. He came from a good family, had volunteered rather than waiting to be drafted, had earned a medal for bravery; the town figured they owed him more than simply welfare, so they gave him that same amount as a salary, and hired him to polish the cannon on the town square.

Don't you know it, the army finally got around to awarding him a disability pension, but Mrs. Johnson, down at the rooming house, said that his needs were few, and he was putting all that pension into a savings account at the bank. Ten or fifteen years passed, and the veteran showed up at a meeting of town council.

"Would you like to say something?" they asked him. He nodded, and said, "I'd like to offer my resignation."

The town fathers were concerned. For what reason was he resigning? "I've been saving my money, you see," he said, "and I've bought a cannon of my own. It gets delivered in two weeks. I'm going into business for myself."

The cannon pictured is in St. Augustine.

Her Cannon

At the time Blondie and I met, I was already disabled, and Blondie was caring for individuals with mental and emotional problems, so over the years, I've teased her that I was her cannon. But these days, I'm giving her assistance with the things she can't handle, and she's assisting me with the things I can't handle. My mother used to talk disparagingly of situations like these as "two drunks holding each other up", but it seems to work just fine for us.

And that's how the Groundhog's Day movie ends, too. Sooner or later, you get things right.

Other Bloggers On Related Topics:
Blood Sweat & Tears - cannon - disability - dover - drunks - eye color - german shepherd - groundhog - Jim Wetzel - No Excuses - sister - sleet - town square - veterans - WANE - Weather Channel