Yesterday it was dry. Cold, but dry. Today, the dogs collect snow on their backs while my old, cracked Sorels gingerly navigate the spring snow. Light flakes now, but soon enough they'll grow thick and heavy.
This is no April Fool's joke. Ma nature has a sense of humor, and she's the only one laughing.
I trudge along the sidewalks, which are mostly untouched by shovels. I believe people are remaining blissfully ignorant of their obligations to clear them, given the time of year. But in technical terms, Fargo has a case of the fuck-its.
The geese aren't on the golf course today, which is under a blanket of white. But the river is open, and for a moment I wonder if the catfish would take a swipe at some chunks of sucker. No, on second thought, slip-sliding down a shit-slick bank into barely above-freezing water sounds like a recipe for the leading story of the six-o-clock news. Better to play it safe.
As if on cue, my next step hits a greasy ice spot, goes askew, and I wind up kiddy-wompus on the ground. Zeke enjoys this playful pose, and pounces on my chest, expelling the remainder of what wind is left in my lungs in a pathetic whisper of vapor.
The gray sky is momentarily blocked by a happy brown head and silly grin. He licks my face.
"Good boy," I gasp, feeling the new wonderful aches and pains I'm sure will expand in the days to come. "I appreciate your positivity."
After I dust myself off, we continue, taking a bit more care to avoid any more precarious slip-and-slides.
This weekend is Easter, and we've already cancelled plans with family. Three days of snow and blizzard conditions do not bode well for travel. Besides, the kids enjoy finding eggs hidden at home, and the snow is going to make little bunny Foo-Foo's job a helluva lot easier. He may even enjoy an extra large cocktail Saturday night to celebrate, without worrying about missing his delivery.
Which reminds me, we're out of brandy. Every kid knows you leave deer summer sausage and brandy-Cokes out for the Easter Bunny.
It's tradition.
Another tradition this year will be a slow-smoked pork shoulder in lieu of honey ham. I enjoy the process, they almost always turn out sublime, and the flavor improves greatly when accompanied with midday beers.
Which, are a perfect accompaniment to the aforementioned brandy-Cokes.
And if the Easter Bunny is really lucky, the Mrs. may just let him hide his easter basket in her garden tonight.
Then again, I think, as a sharp spasm of pain shoots up my spine from stem to stern, she may have to do the hiding herself.
I guess there's really not a downside.
Happy Easter NDA!
This is no April Fool's joke. Ma nature has a sense of humor, and she's the only one laughing.
I trudge along the sidewalks, which are mostly untouched by shovels. I believe people are remaining blissfully ignorant of their obligations to clear them, given the time of year. But in technical terms, Fargo has a case of the fuck-its.
The geese aren't on the golf course today, which is under a blanket of white. But the river is open, and for a moment I wonder if the catfish would take a swipe at some chunks of sucker. No, on second thought, slip-sliding down a shit-slick bank into barely above-freezing water sounds like a recipe for the leading story of the six-o-clock news. Better to play it safe.
As if on cue, my next step hits a greasy ice spot, goes askew, and I wind up kiddy-wompus on the ground. Zeke enjoys this playful pose, and pounces on my chest, expelling the remainder of what wind is left in my lungs in a pathetic whisper of vapor.
The gray sky is momentarily blocked by a happy brown head and silly grin. He licks my face.
"Good boy," I gasp, feeling the new wonderful aches and pains I'm sure will expand in the days to come. "I appreciate your positivity."
After I dust myself off, we continue, taking a bit more care to avoid any more precarious slip-and-slides.
This weekend is Easter, and we've already cancelled plans with family. Three days of snow and blizzard conditions do not bode well for travel. Besides, the kids enjoy finding eggs hidden at home, and the snow is going to make little bunny Foo-Foo's job a helluva lot easier. He may even enjoy an extra large cocktail Saturday night to celebrate, without worrying about missing his delivery.
Which reminds me, we're out of brandy. Every kid knows you leave deer summer sausage and brandy-Cokes out for the Easter Bunny.
It's tradition.
Another tradition this year will be a slow-smoked pork shoulder in lieu of honey ham. I enjoy the process, they almost always turn out sublime, and the flavor improves greatly when accompanied with midday beers.
Which, are a perfect accompaniment to the aforementioned brandy-Cokes.
And if the Easter Bunny is really lucky, the Mrs. may just let him hide his easter basket in her garden tonight.
Then again, I think, as a sharp spasm of pain shoots up my spine from stem to stern, she may have to do the hiding herself.
I guess there's really not a downside.
Happy Easter NDA!
