At the rate the snow is melting, the streets should be clear when Santa Claus and his reindeer can be dislodged from the chimney. They became wedged there long before this latest ice age began, but their predicament will not go on forever—I expect they will be freed on or about the 4th of July. As I peer out my study windows, the snow on the driveway, the street, and the garage roof has the look of a gleaming white porcelain toilet bowl just freshly installed for use. In view of the freeze/thaw cycle, I suppose that brilliant white blanket is just as hard as porcelain, as well. The white traces that clung to tree branches have disappeared, though, suggesting the “snow” is something else; perhaps white paint sprayed from a monstrous tanker truck and dried on horizontal non-arboreal surfaces. The thought of such a possibility disgusts me; that thought must have been planted in my brain by someone else—someone I find as repugnant as the paint and nearly as offensive as ground-cover disguised to look like toilet porcelain. Who could have done this? Ah, of course…the one whose presence at football games causes the events to be called Toilet Bowls.
+++
Today is Wednesday, five days into this period of seasonal incarceration. My prescription pain medication finally is available for pick-up, but I am unwilling to allow anyone I know to attempt to retrieve the narcotic analgesics. Slippery ice beneath porcelain’s glare makes travel dangerous and potentially deadly. Fortunately, my pain is not intolerable at the moment, so access to a fresh supply of drugs comprised of psychoactive compounds with pain-numbing properties is not critical. Lacking a stove-top at the moment, heating a big pot of soup or something like it that warms the cockles is not an option. Fortunately, a working microwave oven makes it possible to heat small bowls of edible soups and stew-like concoctions. And frozen pot pies are suitable, too, inasmuch as they are microwave-friendly. Microwaves can be used to heat pre-cooked sausages, too, as we did last night; wrapped in a flour tortilla, the meal did not require washing dishes…fortunately, in that the dishwasher will not be operable until the kitchen counters and sink are installed. In the absence of a kitchen sink, hand-washing dishes in the miniature laundry room sink is the only workable option to wash dishes. That works just fine for coffee cups and utensils; not so well for plates and larger bowls, etc. that don’t quite fit in a sink designed for elves and their ilk.
+++
Lunch time is approaching. In only half an hour or so, church bells may chime in some places, marking the noon hour and signaling for workers to come in from the fields for a meal and a respite from back-breaking labor. Where, I wonder, are those places? To my knowledge, there are no workers in nearby fields today; but if there are, I recommend they abandon their duties and seek warmth. Unless, of course, they are field-workers who are responsible for repair and maintenance of electric lines and other kinds of life-saving equipment and services. Those folks need to wear several layers of clothes to keep from freezing. They should be paid quite well, too, for the work they do. And their employers (and customers) should slather them with accolades and appreciation.
+++
Crispy fingers—nonfunctioning frozen phalanges turned into useless icy appendages—do not work well when tasked with typing. My fingers and my mind become slow, sluggish, and almost stagnant when temperatures surrounding my body drop below 74°F. For that reason, and because discomfort does not satisfy me, I am hereby abandoning my attempts to make sense, create interest, and otherwise be even marginally useful. Until next time…
