Marianne's positively negative weather report

Yesterday I sought wisdom. Today I seek a giant jet engine heater to blow the foot of snow that's falling clear to Kingdom Come or to Hell and Gone. Are there such a places? Certainly, they could use a little snow for some natural coolant.

Yes, I spoke of patience yesterday---and practiced it all day long. Didn't complain. Didn't kick the cat. Didn't utter more than one cuss word. That zinger flew out of my mouth when the wind blew the black plastic from the ground where I had just spread it to lie beneath a new wooden planter I had built over this not-yet-passed winter.

Well, this morning, I've fallen off the wagon. Have almost fallen off the wet, cold ladder twice with my mop while removing an inch of snow from the satellite dish. And, I'm likely to cuss before publishing this blog cuz I'll be right back out there again, cleaning off the dish when the Internet dies for the third time in two hours.

And, yes, I've cussed. And, yes, Bill left on another morning without comment. I'm bettin' even he, the most patient human being on earth, is getting sick of it. If he's not getting sick of the snow, he's surely gettting sick of what dribbles out his wife's mouth every time a new supply comes dripping out of the sky.

I told him this morning I was just going to go back to bed, go to sleep and not get up until it's over. He chuckled.

I don't know what I hate worse about winter never ending, but there are lots of possibilities that occurred to me on my outdoor travels so far today. Two aforementioned trips up the ladder to the satellite dish have had enough discussion.

The walk to the barn with snow was cutting right into my face like razor blades and making me close my eyes---oh, that was fun.

Then, there was hay placement in the barnyard, which miraculously through the past week has thawed out. When you're wearing ankle-high boots and some of those sink holes, hidden under an inch or two of snow, happen to be calf high, it's not comfortable.

Soggy socks in wet boots is not a fun way to start the day. When you lead your horses out the door and they stop in their tracks at the sight of yet another blanket of cold snow, you at least know you're not alone in the hatred.

And, when you see them all gather round the pile nearest the gate, not even making dirty faces at each other and sharing from one flake, you know it's bad.

It takes them a while to muster up the desire to walk through those hidden sink holes where ankle-high human boots have already tread, so they cast aside all rank playing and choose to get along while making that one pile last as long as possible.

I hate the fact that all progress in the yard made the day before now lies hidden beneath the white. That progress at least gives a person reason for hope.

Then, there are the robins. I was thinking this morning about robins and if they were writing their own bird blog, what they would have to say about all this. They've been here for a month, waited it out, and it's still no better than when they first arrived.

I guess robins do have patience.

Lovestead robins have all moved from their usual hangout in the yard to the pasture along the lane where, at least they can sit in the cover of heavy spruce tree limbs.

They've also been chirping a lot during the past few mornings, and I'm betting that if one were to translate robin talk into human talk, their comments may sound very similar to mine.

I have a feeling those robins have written home to Mom and Dad in sunny Robinville, wondering why they sent them off to camp at Lovestead Snow Farm.

The letter probably goes something like this:

Hello Madda, Hello Fadda,

Why'd you send us here---what's da matta?
Did we do something really badda to make you madda?
If we did, tell us, please, we'll try to behave better next time.

Who said this was "God's Country"?
We don't think even God would want to stay here for as long as we have.

We never want to come back to this again.
We'll take our punishment, but, Madda and Fadda,
Could you please send blankets and some cans of worms?

The worm population is dismal this year cuz
they're hunkering down there really low in the dirt.
They've seen what's happening above ground,
and even the worms have a brain.

We need the blanket cuz it's cold here,
and we shiver all the time.

That lady who lives here thinks we're singing
cuz we're happy.
We do that just to stay warm. It takes our mind
off what we see and feel here every day, snow, snow, snow.

So, Madda and Fadda, we promise to be good birdies
from now on. Don't ever send us here again until at
least July cuz someone sure screwed up with the calendar.

We love you, and we're looking forward to your care package
cuz our bellies are empty and we're very sad and homesick and all that.

Much love,
Your contrite babies

So, that's probably what the robins have written, and I've written enough for this day---mainly because, before going back to bed for my long winter's nap, I've got to climb that ladder for the fourth time today----yes, during this posting, the Internet went off and half my blog did not save.

Please wake me up when winter's over; I'll be snoozing away, and maybe I'll even invite those cold robins in to join me.

Oops, I forgot. I'll have to interrupt my nap at noon because Tony, the repairman, is coming to get the lawnmowers ready. I hope he can make it here.