They say a snow year's a good year

Inspired ever so loosely by the wonderful, historical lighthouse keeper posts of Ranger Bob.

Covered Bridge Springs, Euharlee
January 11, 2011 or 1/11/11 or 11/1/11 or 6th of Sh'vat, 5771 on the Hebrew calender

We're nearing sunset of Snowbound Day 2 with overcast skies and temperatures that topped out at the thirty-six degree (F) mark. Tomorrow has already been cancelled. Yes.  The whole day. Cancelled. The Keeper and his wife have been drinking since 3:30p.m.

With characteristic bad timing, DISH Network finally gave up demanding their money and reduced us to the deadbeat channels made up mostly of shopping channels and the estrogen-driven variety:  Oxygen and Hallmark.  Were she with her family instead of snowbound in the sorority house at school, the Keeper's oldest child Chloe would be lying face down on the sofa staring blankly at a marathon of It's MY Wedding and I'll Be Dreadful If I Want To!  The rest of those trapped in domo with few televisual options are reacting with varying levels of frustration.

The Keeper, not really a TV watcher, is fucking around (you heard me) with iTunes and asking rhetorical questions like "How did Styx's Babe get into my Martinis in the Evening playlist?"

The Keeper's wife, only a teensy bit annoyed to miss her new TV boyfriend Dylan Ratigan, is alternately writing, reading Hector and The Search for Happiness and stomping around the house plucking wet clothing from the floor and ceiling fans and reminding the children to put their wet clothes in the laundry room when they come in from playing in the snow.

The children are keeping themselves busy with brief intervals of making nuisances of themselves.

Nathan, fearing for his testosterone levels, has vowed to stay away from television, opting instead to watch Seinfeld DVDs and whatever is free on Hulu.  In moments of pituitary security, he's also expanded his abilities in the kitchen, having mastered baking a cake and perfected his sloppy joe and pork chop recipes.  Please just don't spread that around.

The youngest child, Sophia, has been playing risky games of petulance as her boredom reaches peaks and valleys.  The Keeper and his wife are hoping that this is the 7th Grade Terrors come early.  Threats to cancel rather than postpone her birthday party have proven to be only minimally effective. She'll be introduced to the Buddy Sorrell method of child rearing if she doesn't change her ways quickly.  The Keeper's Wife doubts that Sophie will like that rap in the mouth.

Mealtimes have been chaotic and fraught with drama because the person who stockpiles provisions didn't fall for the dire predictions of bad weather, much to her chagrin.  Ignoring the meteorologists/domestic advisers throaty commands to get thee to the grocery, she scoffed at the morons standing in long lines with carts full of milk, bread and eggs and chose not to make the panicked trip for the essentials.

As a result, there is no vodka, half & half, rice or hamburger buns. And the family has learned that of the two choices (1) dry or (2) with kool-aid, cereal is best eaten dry.  MathMan swears that Cap'n Crunch goes great with beer, but since this is not Spring Break nor is it 1986, no one else is willing to test his hypothesis.

Besides, there's no Cap'n Crunch. There's Uncle Sam Cereal, Frosted Mini Wheats, Lucky Charms and Cinnamon Toast Crunch.  All poor substitutes for the Cap'n and his corny, slice the roof of your mouth open, sugary goodness.

The cats are making themselves somewhat scarce, not sure if The Keeper's Wife's jokes about Kitty Casserole were actually jokes or not.  They don't realize that if things get truly dire, there's a frozen birthday cake and a bag of Bugles stashed away for the birthday party, but available in the case of emergency.  The birthday party reserve of frozen pizzas has dwindled from four to two, but not everyone in the house eats lentil soup so there's been the necessary concession to prevent the Keeper's Wife from beginning a sentence with "For fuck's sake, you're not hungry. You're bored...."  Because she is not preparing meals for people who are simply bored and out of sorts because their sleep schedule is in total disarray.

Meanwhile, The Keeper's Wife is reminded once again that nothing creates a craving for this or that like the inability to go out and fetch it.

It is now 6:45p.m. and the Keeper's Wife is wondering if the Department of Labor will deign to open their offices tomorrow since they have not done so for two days already this week.

Because worrying changes nothing, she may as well have another cocktail and see if The Keeper wants to end the day the same way it started:  rediscovering long forgotten, but pleasing ways to create warmth through friction.

How is your week going?  Have you skated on Peachtree? Sledded down the hill with no pants on? Tipped a snowman? Kissed a girl? Jumped the shark?