Wickedly attractive, fatal to males of the species, she followed in her mother’s footsteps and became…
He thought she’d tossed a compliment at him, so he tried it on…
…and found it was left-handed.
Wow! A letter from his brother in Phoenix. Hadn’t heard from him in years. Inside the envelope…
…was his nephew’s graduation announcement.
Caught between a rock and a hard place…
…he majored in geology.
It was the classic struggle between good and evil…
…with a side of attorneys.
Ms. Maverson was waiting in the wings while I fleshed-out the subplot that is the next episode of Claxbury Corners.1 Walter Brubakker and I were just getting into a conversation that was to have him tell me where the story would go next. I looked out that &*%*ed office window. Snow pellets were cascading off the roof like a load of gravel from a small dump truck. That in itself wasn’t a problem.
What was a problem was that all that pelletized snow landed on the front steps and considered that a nice place to take-up residence. It was already impossible to tell the pile of snow covered eleven steps down to and across the sidewalk. Steps and sidewalk looked more like a bunny slope waiting for its first victims of the day. Instead of holly, a few stately pines flanking either side, the scene would make a great shot for the “come ski us” brochure.
Already, I’d been out, shovel in hand, twice this morning, clearing the steps and walk. I pulled-up short of also clearing the driveway. I had, still have, hope the temperature will go above freezing and a final assault on the white &*^% with a scattering of salt would do the trick. Make the drive navigable in spite of its thirty-degree slope should someone determine all area businesses will not be closed tomorrow.
For the third time this morning, I tugged-on and laced my work boots, pulled my stocking cap over my ears, and grabbed one of my favorite pairs of “man-style” work gloves. Oh yeah, a thin jacket because inside of three minutes I’d be sweating. A light jacket might not be foolishly shed where a heavier jacket might stupidly be tossed aside, leaving me in shirtsleeves. Science says a chill and damp won’t give you a cold or pneumonia. Momma, on the other hand says it will. Momma trumps science.2
My assault on the snow began. It was that or install a T-bar for the Bunny-slopers.
Finishing-up on the steps and walkway, I took the top three inches of snow beads off the driveway. Snow is heavy. Wet snow is, and as I was reminded on my third sally into the winter wonderland, so are snow pellets. On the drive, beneath the pellets, there was a bit of ice. That made for a spot of entertainment for anyone watching from the safety of their office window as I shoveled away. More than once I did windmills with my arms and the shovel to keep from falling on my keester. A lot of lifting and a lot of impromptu jumping-jacks. I’ll pay for it tomorrow.
A break for a cup of coffee, then I’ll re-suit and go out to spread some halite and salt. Boss has chili on the stove. Gonna make for a real nice evening meal.
Research continues on readership habits and general human nature. No surprises over the last several posts’ postulations. Don’t look for publication of any startling results. Little benefit I can see for the general population. Great value to me. Already has taught me the special, consistent personalities are real treasures and the inconsistent3 types are to be discovered and abandoned as quickly as possible.
Seeing two new personalities. The closet snark and the ghost stalker. As my probation officer used to say, “Bet you a dollar to a dog biscuit4 and hold the stakes in my mouth…” I’ve got these folks pegged. Understanding who they are and (pretty sure) knowing why they are the way they are, they don’t bother me anymore. Well, their existence doesn’t bother me as much. Not talking Democrats and Repullicans here. Just regular people stuff. Formerly a perfectionist (of sorts) when I see something broken, I want to fix it. Things, and people. Do pretty good with things. Not so good with people; I try, some folk just don’t want to be fixed. Or they don’t want to be helped – they would be lost if they didn’t have their tragedy to crutch. They moan and bellyache unstoppably, but really don’t want anyone to “fix” them. They’d be uncomfortable. Taking comfort in pain. What floats yer boat.
Near sunset. No sun in sight, it’s hiding above the clouds. Pretty soon it’s gonna be too far west of here to let you see without artificial light. Gonna re-boot, re-hat, re-jacket, grab a bag of salt, and take another whack at the pretty white *&%&.
Did. Same temperature as before but the ice has taken on new character. Permanence. If the city doesn’t close for another day, and if the Boss determines to test the 4WD of her 4WD, it’s gonna be a real interesting morning tomorrow. Spread no salt. What would melt would refreeze into a lovely tilted hockey rink.
Gonna wrap blog-style: Chili for supper. Doggie didn’t poop in my slippers. I’m not visiting Stan’s Pub with the crew. I leave anything out? Oh yeah, but I’m fresh out of kitty cat pics.
— Notes —
1 Episodes one through four in previous blogs. No links. You seen’m fine. You din’t, you’re on your own.
2 Momma trumps science. Tempted to play with that, you know Trump, science, and all, but my heart’s not in it today. The three of you who follow faithfully know where I stand politically, the rest of you aren’t even reading this now. Matter of fact, inside of another two-hundred words anyway, most of you will click-off and go looking for pictures of kitty cats.
3 Inconsistent for ulterior motive or inconsistent simply because they are what we used to call “flighty.” The former inexcusable but fully understood (as to motive), the latter excusable but impossible to understand.
4 Not a Bowser Treat, but a bit of unpleasantness.