Strange bedfellows

My two senior dogs, Corgi Maddie and Yorkie Tucker, are double trouble.

Especially if a winter storm’s a brewing.

My normally quiet Maddie will take to 3:00 am howling from the kitchen while snowflakes unfold beyond the rattling windows.

I wonder if she’s fearful of drowning in a sea of white?

As for tough guy ‘Tuck’, he’ll start dragging all his worldly possessions outside into the annual snow fort he builds.

Including one oversized blue plaid dog bed kept by the stove.

As for me, I nervously prepare strong brews of java before tackling icy roads at 4:00 a.m., jealous of the exhausted and snoring dogs before me.

Pausing for a moment, I’ll give thanks for neighbors who plow me out in the cold sharing their warmest “no trouble at all” comments.

Maybe they can teach my senior dogs a thing or two.

At a minimum, how to shovel?

Crazy Days

It’s our annual Crazy Days celebration in town this weekend.

Every year shop owners set off their own brand of fireworks to get locals excited about their bargain goods and festivities.

It seems the shop owners have once again outdone themselves.

It started with the shrill sounds of tornado sirens at midnight on Friday.

One loud wake up call for sure.

I quickly grabbed chi-doxie Grandma Greta in one arm and my lame corgi Maddie in the other. And in spite of the 20 pound weight imbalance, we traveled down the basement stairs in record time.

We’ve got this routine down.

Except for Tucker the terrier who kept running back up to view the light show.

Lucky for us, we dodged a bullet. My troop of 100 foot oaks and elms held their salutes proudly in this latest battle.

Though my neighbor took a hit.

And so went the power for me and the rest of the area.

Those retailers are sure clever.

All the parking spots in town were full extra early Saturday as the weary and powerless stumbled up and down main street in search of caffeine and cake donuts.

I was one of them.

Eventually I found on a spot with the super fuel I desperately needed. Then climbing the hill up to the library with my steaming tumbler, I settled in on a bench to ponder next steps on my to do list:

1. Contact insurance agent about hail damage on roof and siding from storm attack two weeks ago.
2. Get in line for additional tree trimming before next battle.
2. Research post traumatic tree disorder from previous battles lost.
3. Look at local realtor’s cozy condo/fortress listings just for fun.
3. Conduct full risk assessment on how to successfully weather life’s future twists and twisters.

Savoring each sip of brew and smelling sweet scents of flowers surrounding me, I finally relaxed after finishing my list.

Then I looked up and admired the lone sailboat peacefully sailing in the lake down below.

I smiled.

Sure, these may be crazy days.

And I’m no lumberjack, but I’ll always be ok.

Winter’ s worn out welcome

Tonight I took a ‘double long’ bus from my job in the city to the icy parking lot where I left my car this morning.

The eighty people on the bus were silent. Most were dozing. A few be-speckled silver haired men in suits read their emails.

Watching snowflakes dance outside my drafty window, I soon surrendered to the dark as well.

A half hour later, nearing our stop, a cell phone played Vivaldi’s “Winter” for our wake up call. Eyes were rubbed. Yawns were heard. Wool caps and parkas slowly raised like batons.

Weary riders in a storm.

Or just weary of their winter.

I’m going with the latter.