Payback: We all knew we were getting away with something. Still, we shamelessly boasted about our wonderful weather and all the stuff we were doing to enjoy it----stuff we normally don't get to do from November to at least March, sometimes even May.
Of course, some of our friends get to do that stuff all year round cuz they get out of town.
I was actually, for a while, shamelessly so, feeling sorry for some of my friends who headed south shortly after Christmas.
"Poor saps," I thought. "And they coulda saved all that money and just stayed home to enjoy themselves THIS YEAR."
Envy is among the seven deadly sins, but my sinful soul remained blank in the Big E department, for a while anyway.
I'm starting to feel a little green this morning, and it has nothing to do with being Irish.
It's all because we've been enduring the Mother of all Paybacks this week. Catholics call it penance.
Only in this case, I'm finding myself uttering more cuss words than "Hail Mary's."
Take this morning, for example.
Rain on crusty snow---not too bad walking to the barn, cuz when you pick up your feet at least the snow stays put, rather than loading down your boots.
Rain on crusty snow---about four inches worth. The Kubota tractor is gonna be grunting and groaning to clear that out.
Rain on crusty snow, topped off by heaving frozen ground. Wet gloves by the first grab at the barn door. Door handle coated with a good layer of slightly melting ice.
Rain on crusty snow, topped off by heaving frozen ground: old woman yanking, heaving and growling while trying to budge the stubborn barn door open.
Ice-coated shovel sitting next to the door that won't open. Sopping gloves by the time a few shovelfuls of crusty snow are removed from in front of the door.
Door finally decides to give in----sliding stubbornly about one third of the way open.
The horses can get out, I surmise, and head quickly to the hay pile, grabbing almost half a bale to take to the barnyard through the crusty snow.
Half a bale in one hand and a gate that won't open in the other. Too much snow to move it. So, I squeeze my body and the bale (dripping hay in my face) through the narrow opening.
Hay is heavy when you're carrying nearly half a bale. Just inside the gate, hay topples over into a big pile.
That's when cuss words start flying.
Okay, enough of that. Long story short---it was downright miserable doing chores this morning.
The barn door finally decided to open. The automatic waterer between two box stalls, which, thanks to heaving frozen ground, sits uneven and sizzles as it constantly refills because of a dripping stream of water coming out a corner.
Heather Horse does not like the sizzles so she shies while coming into the barn; I made a mental note to warn Bill of Heather's sizzlephobia when he puts the horses in the barn tonight.
I shoveled out the 16-ton wet snow from behind the barnyard gate. It opens now.
Bill and I have another situation to work out this morning: the passenger side door to the Jimmy SUV won't close, probably due to freezing rain on snow with a little chaser of ice build-up.
That door needs to close before this afternoon because I'm planning to have a passenger with me while taking off on a driving adventure to Spokane. Destination: ZAGS game, and I don't want her to fall out before we get there.
Yes, there are angels alive and well around here. A few weeks ago, a ZAGS angel generously bestowed some game tickets on a Catholic saint and a Catholic sinner. The sinner will drive the saint to the ZAGS game, with tickets subsidized by the angel.
I'm hoping God will be good to us as we make this trek from Sandpoint to Spokane and home again during this intense period of Mother Nature payback time. My saintly friend Lasean deserves to see the ZAGS in person tonight as they take on San Diego.
And, I, the sinner, am most happy to earn some redemption for my many failings by seeing that she gets there and back and has a good time in the process.
God has been busy this week, and we're all issuing a grateful thanks to Him for watching over my brother, his wife and their dog.
While on their way to Sandpoint the other day, they hit black ice on the John Day Bridge in Oregon.
Their pickup spun around several times. They came to a stop after another vehicle slammed into the back of their truck.
They were shaken up but fine. My brother went to the rear of the pickup to see how their dog Holly made it through the accident.
She was gone.
It was a dark night, and no amount of calling for her did any good. After having their pickup towed to a small town called Arlington, they spent a sleepless night, as did all the family praying that God would perform a miracle.
He did.
Mike called Thursday morning to tell me their prayers were answered.
Another angel, working for the Oregon Transportation Dept., spotted Holly along the roadway that night about a mile from the accident, picked her up, took her home and kept her for the night.
The next morning he started making calls, which led him to Mike and Mary.
Happily, Holly and her family were reunited later that afternoon.
So, the fact that Mike and Mary are all right, safely in Sandpoint, and that their dog survived a traumatic experience, calls for a "Holly Lujah" chorus, indeed.
With that in mind, this not so good Catholic proclaims this morning that "God is Good" and that I have faith that He'll see that we survive payback time.
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