We’re having another ice storm again. All the local schools were dismissed before noon today, and there’s no school tomorrow. I hope my one remaining weeping willow tree can stand up to the icy onslaught. Its brother/sister/partner/roommate/neighbor/pick one willow went down in the ice storm we had LAST week.

This really is the weirdest winter in my long, long, long, long memory. One day we’re having a blizzard. Then it’s in the seventies. Then we have a wind advisory. Then it’s in the sixties. Then we have an ice storm. Then it’s in the seventies again. Then we have more wind advisories. Then it’s in the teens, but the sun is shining brightly. Then we have rain, pouring torrents of rain. Then it’s in the twenties. Then it’s in the sixties again. And today, another ice storm.

I do like to hear the crackling pellets of ice hitting the house, though. Especially when I don’t have to go out into the cold.

I’m not too worried. It’s freezing cold and we’re being pelted with ice and the roads are like mirrors, but by Saturday it will probably be in the seventies again.

Belle and Zappa: Mommy says you don’t have to go to school or work tomorrow. Do you hear me, children? Stay home. Tell the boss Mommy SAID.

My apple tree and flowering shrubs have tried to bud several times since Christmas. The ground alternates between being frozen solid and being so soft and swampy, the van’s tires sank about six inches and I almost didn’t make it out of there. (I drive across the yard to the deck in the back of the house and dump off the groceries so I don’t have to lug them up the stairs.)

That little golden kitten that hangs out on my deck is looking wistfully through the French doors again, but she won’t come in. She looked so cold and bedraggled tonight. I have three cats and I don’t want or need another one but on a night like this, I’d let her sleep inside with my girls, if she’d come inside. I hope she’s all right tonight.

Jack Frost is dancing on my roof. He don’t gots no rhythm.

The poor crocuses must be really confused.

Mamacita, Scheiss Weekly

Hey y’all, don’t forget to take your kids out in the back yard tonight and show them the LUNAR ECLIPSE!

There won’t be another sight like this for a while.

Let’s all cross our fingers for a clear night.

Mamacita, Scheiss Weekly

I’ve posted before about my peanut butter and jelly sandwich essay assignment.

It was one of the most successful things I did, silly as it might sound to some people. That’s why I’m going to do it in my college writing class next Tuesday afternoon.

Today in class, we talked about paragraphs that are in chronological order. First, next, then, lastly, etc. The example in the book was about Sumo wrestlers, and to be quite honest, I can’t even think about Sumo wrestlers without getting a little nauseous, but even so, the elaborate ritual BEFORE they even starting fighting was kind of interesting. And it was in time order!

I am frightened by Sumo thighs. But I digress.

When you read about food, and recipes, or instructions of any kind, or a description of an event, or a story, etc., the paragraphs are almost always in time order.

So, next Tuesday, I’ll bring in a jar of peanut butter and a jar of jelly and a loaf of bread and a roll of paper towels and a butter knife, and the students will bring their paragraphs (typed, double-spaced, cover page) to my desk and lay them in a pile, and then I’ll mix them up and call students to the front, two at a time: one to read somebody’s paragraph, and one to follow the directions AS WRITTEN. No extras, no improvisations, no doing anything that isn’t in the paragraph to do. Students whose paragraph results in a sandwich will get a passing grade. Those whose paragraphs don’t yield a sandwich, won’t.

Such is life. It works or it doesn’t.

I hope they all remember to include “Remove the lids” in their paragraphs.

I am also frightened by those terrifying diapered Sumo asses. When the men raise their legs and thump, I hear Johnny Weismuller’s yell in my head, and after the thunder fades away, there really should be elephants in the room.

I’m older than almost any other blogger, and I love a good peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I think I’ll go have one right now.

There are no children living in my house now, but I still buy Peter Pan by the half-gallon.

That’s right; he can be bought. And USED.

I was going to say “and eaten” but I figured some of you would be all over that one. I was, in my head.

Sammich.

Mamacita, Scheiss Weekly