Grand Slam Communication
It froze overnight.
Not in a picturesque, Christmas-card sort of way.
Just in a very cold way.
The Grown Son lives farther north.
He got a good snowfall.
Not enough to make a snowman, though.
He was only able to make a very small snow mutant.
This concludes the winter of 2020.
At 6:00 this morning, the weather app said that it was clear.
However, it was pouring rain at the time.
The app also said that we might get some snow later in the day.
However, it also said that we will be at 37 all afternoon, which is too warm for snow.
I think the weather app is drunk.
Go home, weather app.
Try again tomorrow.
On the same day that my car wouldn’t start.
My coffee maker died.
This could have been a tragedy.
But my mother taught me some useful household skills.
I don’t need no stinkin’ coffee maker.
I made a pot of coffee on the stovetop.
And then called a tow truck.
No lives were lost.
I love my Grown Sons.
I love them more than life itself.
They are my pride and joy.
My reason for living.
But every now and then…
Every now and then I’d like to punch them in the throat.
The Grown Son was hangry.
He complained bitterly that there was no food in the house.
And he was starving.
There is plenty of food in the house.
It’s just not ready to eat.
It’s in the form of ingredients.
And it needs to be cooked.
He’s moving out to his own apartment this week.
He is going to starve.
Yesterday was the Storm of the Century.
It had been hyped in the news all week.
It looked like the brunt of the storm was going to hit to the east of us.
Sure enough, by the end of the day, all we had gotten was some drizzle.
The Grown Son decided to take the dog for a walk before dinner.
While they were out, the Storm of the Century screamed alive with gusto.
Wind, thunder, lightening and an absolute deluge of rain blasted down all at once.
“Are they still out there?” The Husband asked me, shouting over the storm.
“Yep.” I hollered back.
He drove out to rescue them, and eventually returned home with everyone soaking wet.
Even The Husband, who was driving, was soaking wet.
I’m not sure how that happened.
The dog was freaked out.
She huddled in a towel, shivering, on my lap.
She’s an old girl, and not so enthusiastic about exercise on a good day.
We may never get her back on a walk again.
This morning we even had a bit of snow.
Again, the dog was not amused.
I think we have entered a new phase of Cranky Old Dog.
Thanks to the Storm of the Century.
The Grown Son has been staying with us for a few months since he transferred his job to our city.
He will be moving into his own place in two weeks.
Up until this point, he has been a pretty thoughtful housemate.
He has kept his bathroom sort of clean, and he has kind of picked up after himself in the kitchen.
But now he has a short-timer’s attitude.
The bathroom is a wreck.
Dishes are everywhere.
Laundry has exploded into places where laundry shouldn’t be.
Two more weeks, two more weeks…
Two more weeks and then I can get my clean freak on.
I ran into the grocery store for some milk.
Holy smokes – it was crowded!
Who knew that New Years Eve was such a big grocery shopping day?
The aisles were jam packed with lame-brained shoppers blocking the aisles while texting, arguing with each other or just looking lost and bewildered.
I seriously wanted to tackle a few of those aisle-blockers.
I got my milk and stood in the very long quick-check line.
A woman stormed by, angry, yelling on her phone.
“…and I just HAD to come to the f**ing grocery store today!”
I burst out laughing.
I wasn’t laughing at her.
I was laughing with her.
For whatever that’s worth.
Yeah, it’s true.
The week between Christmas and New Years is an existential void.
What time is it?
What day is it?
When was the last time I changed out of my pajamas?
But you don’t really experience a true existential void unless you have a diabetic in the family.
Or even two diabetics.
Who are both running post-holiday high blood sugars.
And are very cranky.
I solved this problem by telling them that it’s time to clean house.
They both disappeared.
One of them locked himself in one bedroom to watch the Simpsons marathon.
The other one locked himself in another bedroom to watch Bowl games.
Peace at last…
Happy Festivus!