The Devil is Dancing

Apparently the devil is dancing outside my house at night – there have been cloven hoofprints all over the yard and near the wart steps this week. And he stole the new suet cake I put out just two days ago!

Or maybe it’s a deer, or a moose. Hard to tell how big the prints are in the mucky snow, but they seem big. Do deer and moose eat suet cakes? I will say that I noticed the motion-detector light was making an eerie glow when I went to bed the night of the theft/dancing, and I looked out and didn’t see anything, so I’m going with the devil theory. He could definitely use the suet to stoke the fires of hell, which probably need stoking, since so many politicians sold their souls to him - well, actually, on that very same day. I wonder if it’s worse to burn in lard-and-peanut butter fires, or in the stinky, sulphur kind? Quick, write your Republican Congressmen/women and ask them!

So, while the world outside my private world has gone stinkier and if that’s actually possible, crazier, here in my world we’re freezing our butts off in one of this winter’s bizarre winter storms. Yesterday it snowed all day, and I worked on tax stuff until my brains melted and flowed out my nose and I became a zombie – fair warning, you readers who are also my patients! – and today we’re getting dumped on with freezing rain/sleet/rain that freezes after it falls, and I’ve had warnings from my sistah soul up north not to come up, and my mother who lives 4 miles to my right to not go out. So I’m faced with a dilemma; back to the tax prep for the tax lady and see if I can finish before my heart self-immolates and sets my veins on fire and my blood turns into a stream of flames – oh, wait, that can’t happen, I’m not a Republican senator or congressperson. OK, ‘til my heart expires from despair – oh, wait, that can’t happen either, because it already did two days ago when the devil took over Senatorial brains. OK then, ‘til my liver turns into a soggy goo and there’s no longer any point in adding up business mileage? – or, maybe, take a nap instead.

The trees are bending over and I’m expecting we’ll lose electricity at any moment now.  The cats have been out twice, come back in soggy and cold, and are glaring at me because somehow this is all my fault. My one consolation is that, since we don’t have a functioning furnace this winter (because we can’t afford to hire someone to replace the ancient one that died, Mr. The Economy’s Great, so we’re relying on the kindness of a friend who’s working on it in his spare time, and who amongst us has much spare time in this godawful economy?) we won’t be any colder than we already are when the freezing rain brings down the power lines and the electricity goes out. Yes, we have a woodstove. And I’ve lived here my whole life, so I know to pour many jugs of water for drinking, and a bucket or two of water for flushing, before it all blows up.

Cabin fever. I think Iowa has caucuses because it’s a good excuse to get out of the house and shout at your neighbors and eventually group hug and buy stuff from the bake sale tables – like we do at March town meetings. And of course it didn’t go well this year – the devil is about and dancing and causing as much trouble as possible, because he was invited in and handed the reins by our so-called representatives in Washington. I expect our paper ballots in NH next week will mysteriously burst into flames once they’ve been stuffed into the ballot box and before they’ve been counted. Or we’ll have a hurricane and no one will be able to get out to vote, because our rowboats are frozen in – we’re due for a hurricane, and so what it’s winter? Rising tides of misfortune. A series of unfortunate events. The devil you know. Bite me.

Yup. Let’s put our heads down and hold our breaths as long as we can. Maybe if we’re lucky we’ll pass out and not come to again until it’s actually spring. Literally and metaphorically.

Or, at least until the unknown plant – one I’m sure I planted, but I don’t recognize its leaves or its bud – that suddenly sprouted this week in a pot on the windowsill, and put out buds that look near to opening, actually opens.

If it turns out to be an Audrey, I’ll let you know.

 7 February 2020

Mr. Catman contemplating the state of the world.