Letters From the Edge of Darkness: 2

Letters From the

photo: Charley Freiberg

Edge of Darkness: 2

Cabin fever and the flu slowed down my missives to our national and state Errors, and it seems that every time I write, I’m just repeating myself, so it’s not calming my angst as well as it was; but it’s gotta be done. We can’t stop speaking truth.

The only person I’ve heard back from so far is Senator Shaheen, and it was just a form letter, as expected. Interesting that no one else has managed to get their shit together yet!

Letter 1

5 February 2017

Dear so-called President Trump,

You’ve got a real problem with the rule of law, don’cha, Bubba? Got a real problem keeping your mouth shut, too, we see. Don’t know when to keep your ignorant opinions to yourself, and haven’t learned to carry yourself with presidential dignity yet, either, have you? Those were rhetorical questions – that means, I don’t expect an answer, I was just stating the obvious – you’ve demonstrated over and over that they’re true.

We applaud Judge Robart, and we applaud the folks who brought the request to halt your dangerous and illegal order, and once again, we say to you: Boo! Hiss! Boo! Stop endangering our nation, and stop doing stupid things out of ignorance and hubris.  Why do you want to destroy us? Every day you put us in grave peril. Bad, bad, bad boy! Dangerous boy! 

Speaking of which: Don’t worry about you insulting and hanging up on our good ally, Australia? Don’t worry? How can we not worry!? Are you totally stoned all the time? Only an idiot or a total stoner or someone determined to self-destruct or destroy our country would do the things you’ve done in the past 16 days.  What is wrong with you? Please look up the words “compromise” and “co-operate” and try to play nice with others, before you piss everyone off so badly no one will even speak to you. No one takes you seriously already, except that we all think you’re seriously dangerous and playing way out of your league with absolutely no idea what you’re doing and incompetent advisors.

And re: your Supreme Court nominee: piss off. You could have done something good, here. You could have actually made an attempt to do the truly ethical thing, the thing that should have been done by a president actually interested in uniting the country, the thing that should have been done by a president wishing to put an end to the traitorous acts and obstructionism that the Republicans in Congress have been committing for the past 8 years. 

You could have, and should have, put forth Judge Garland for consideration and refused to offer another candidate until he’d received fair and full consideration. This Court opening is not yours to fill – it was Obama’s, who had a mandate and who made a real attempt to put forward a compromise candidate that no one could be seriously unhappy with. Instead, you, with NO MANDATE, stand on the unethical and treasonous acts of the Republicans and put forth a candidate whose ultra-conservative stands  piss off and seriously alarm more than half the country.  I hope this turns around to bite you in the ass: I hope the Republicans screw you.

Someone needs to muzzle you. For god’s sake, shut up and put away the twitter account before you do something irreparable.

We are two Witnesses

Letters 2

12 February 2017

Trump the Lumpy Chump, our so-called President,

Don’t rewrite your anti-immigrant order, you prat; it was a bad idea the first time, and there’s no way you can improve on it. We, the majority of US citizens, who didn’t vote for you – let’s just note once again that all told, you not only lost to Hilary by 3 million (perfectly legal) votes, but 9 million more people voted for anyone else but you – we don’t want anything to do with your xenophobic fantasies. 

You also owe a profound and immediate apology to the citizens of New Hampshire, who stand up now and call you a lying git and spit upon you. There are no illegal voters in NH, and there has never been any proof of illegal voting, except for one sad lunatic who purposely committed voter fraud to try to prove a non-point several election cycles ago, and our excellent State folks have carefully and fully looked into it. It’s a non-issue. Get your lies and your lumpy nose out of our state. If you’re relying on what the lying, cheating twit Chris Sununu said about voter fraud, give it up now. He was lying – seems to be a congenital ailment in his family - and if he has any balls at all, he’ll stand up now and admit it. 

Ethics issues still got you down? Has it occurred to you that you should keep your trap shut and your nose out of your family’s business when you’re supposedly trying to be presidential? No President of the US with any sense of ethics and propriety would be commenting on his daughter’s business failures, and certainly not saying disparaging things about the company she’s just lost business with. Dignity; unimpeachable ethics; common sense – those are a few of the things we want in our President, not a loud-mouthed narcissistic yammering. If you’d shut up for a few minutes and ask people who actually know something, and toss those racist untutored trolls you’ve surrounded yourself with out on their ears, you might manage to actually do something presidential. Stop embarrassing yourself – and us.

We aren’t holding our breaths. So far all you’ve done is embarrass us, nationally and internationally, and cause lots and lots of trouble. We are not happy with you. You are damaging families and individuals, disrupting and destroying lives, separating parents from their children, and encouraging acts of evil and destruction.  The US doesn’t do that – only xenophobic cowards do. Oh – that’s you! And those wankers you’ve surrounded yourself with. Trolls. Demons. Dangerously irresponsible.

You’ve heard that people are fleeing the States on foot to get to Canada, where the politicians and laws are humane and reasonable, right? How do you like being the man in the US who makes our country look that evil? How do you like being the author of racist violence? How do you like scaring little children and destroying their lives?

And speaking of lying, narcissism, xenophobia, racism, bigotry, egotism, sexual predation, sociopathology, and all your other personal challenges – you know there are people called “psychiatrists” who would be happy to give you meds for those issues, so you can manage your illness, and maybe then actually perform your responsibilities as President in a reasonable way, right? 

Yeah, and nice job losing battles, Bubba. You’re fooling no one but yourself.

Finally, just a note that you’re looking exceptionally lumpy lately. Must be that all hot air and self-aggrandizement you’ve been swallowing. You’re looking pretty used. Diet time! No time to lose, best go on a starvation diet. We’ll let you know when it’s been long enough.

Or – you could do the right thing and resign. Now.

We are two Witnesses.

12 February 2017

Dear Gov. Sununu,

Donald Trump is a total prat, and so are you if you don’t stand up and admit that you made up that stuff about the Democratic Party sending busloads of illegal voters over the border from Massachusetts, when things are slow down there, to vote in NH. We all know you said it because you thought it would gain you some votes from people who are too ignorant to check, or too angry to care, what the truth is.

It worked, you won, you’re the governor. Time to mitigate the sins you committed during the election cycle and start to take your responsibilities seriously. A big part of that is extricating yourself from the rottenness that infused the past elections and become an active force to return decency and reason to politics. So pull up your big-boy pants and announce that you are no longer the lying, cheating git we have seen you are. Admit you lied, denounce Trump’s lies about illegal voters, and don’t do it again. If the only way you can win is by lying and cheating and screwing the people who didn’t vote for you, you don’t deserve the office, and you didn’t really win it, did you?

Prove us wrong. Surprise us. Show some balls. Distance yourself from the madman who stumbled into the presidency and play fairly, and honestly, and bipartisanly with New Hampshire residents - or expect to be tossed out with the garbage first chance we get.

We don’t need liars and cheaters in government, national or state. We’re watching, and so far we’re not impressed.

We are Witnesses.

Letters 3

27 February 2017

Dear not very presidential Trump the Lump,

For about 3 hours today, we were without power; the wind blew some wires down, and, voila! – you disappeared. For 3 blissful hours, not a word to be heard about naft you.

Then the electricity came on again. Immediate nausea, and it wasn’t a recurrence of the flu I had all last week, unfortunately.

So – what do we do with this? We hate you – we, the majority of people in the country, hate you. You’re the most hated President in history, and you’ve only been in office for barely over a month. You’re hated more every time you open your mouth, every time you say or do or sign something that’s against the best interests of the entire country, not including your greedy, rich, racist cronies. 

What do we do next time we go to Canada? We couldn’t explain you last fall, before you stole the election with the help of your nasty Russian promoters. People would come up and say, hey there neighbor, what’s going on down there? It doesn’t make any sense! Is it about money? It must be about money!

And we’d look embarrassed, but then we’d say, oh, it’s crazy, but he surely won’t win.

Of course, back then we didn’t know you had outside help.  How do you say, “Let me fix things for you, Trumpy-boo” in Russian? Da, komrade, please.

Now what do we say to confused Canadians, besides that you aren’t our president?  That we, and everyone else in the country with uncorrupted souls repudiate you and are just waiting until we can find enough evidence to impeach you?  That the whole of the States were stolen by a bunch of lying, cheating, trolls hell-bent on destroying our country and too many of us were too stupid to notice – and some still are?

It’s going to make for very awkward conversations.

Get rid of Bannon, immediately. He’s pure evil and it’s hard to believe that even you are too stupid to notice. He wants to destroy the country and is working hard at doing so. How do you like being a pawn?

Dump him, then resign, now. It’s the only hope we have that the country might survive.

Still waiting to see those tax returns of yours! Still haven’t lost interest!

We are two Witnesses.

Letters 4

16 March 2017

Donald Trump, you maggot,

Don’t imagine for a second that our not having written our protestations about your dodgy administration for the last several weeks means anything except that depression and cabin fever has struck. 

So here we go:

                Stop, for God’s sake, wasting our time and money persecuting Muslims. Your ban on Muslim states is wrong, illegal, evil, and vile. You’ve been slapped upside the head twice now by the courts – give it up! The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting to get a different result. The definition of evil is what you’re doing.

                Obama wire-tapped you?? Are you totally barmy? Do you really think we’re going to believe that? Go ahead, repeat it – we’ll just add it to the list of things you’ve done and said that will make you impeachable.  You nutter.

                Let’s see…how many of your appointees have so far been good choices….ummmm…..Oh! None! A nice round number, 0. Let’s say it again: 0. Which is more than the score we’ve been giving you for your insight and leadership and intelligence. You’re in over your head, Bubba, resign now and save the country the expense of impeaching you.

                That racist idiot who’s your chief strategist: there’s a reason Saturday Night Live depicts him as Death. There’s not a chance in Hell that you’ll do anything praiseworthy until you see him in his true form and boot him out. Do it now.

                The attempt to dump the ACA – which we like, in spite of what you say – is evil. The proposed plan will leave millions without insurance who have it now. The proposed plan will dump the country back in the health-care dark ages, where we were before the ACA. The proposed plan will make some of your rich buddies richer, and the rest of us poorer and sicker, and don’t imagine we don’t understand that. May you rot in one of the lower circles of Hell for supporting this assault on the common citizen.

                Your Russian buddies – oh, we can’t wait until that whole story is told. You really sunk into that swamp, and don’t expect we’re going to help you out.

                Where are those tax returns of yours, by the way? You lying, cheating tosser.

                You know what? Just stop doing everything. Nothing you’ve done or said is worthy of the office of the President. Nothing you’ve done or said is honorable. Nothing you’ve done or said is good for the common citizen. Nothing. So just stop. You can’t redeem yourself at this point.

                We’re sick of you. You make us nauseous, every time we hear something you’ve  blathered on about. Every time we hear one of your not-very-clever lies. You’re an international embarrassment. You’re dangerous to the democracy. You’re stupid enough to be an abydocomist. You suck. Resign now, so someone can try to fix the horrible messes you’ve made so far. Sickening, sad man. Go back to diddling yourself in your tacky real estate horrors.

                “Hell is empty, And all the devils are here.”

                “Hell is empty, And all the devils are here.”

                “Hell is empty, And all the devils are here.”

                “Hell is empty, And all the devils are here.”

                “Hell is empty, And all the devils are here.”

                “Hell is empty, And all the devils are here.”

                “Hell is empty, And all the devils are here.”

                “Hell is empty, And all the devils are here.”

Shakespeare predicted you and your ghastly administration. (The Tempest, 1:2)

Resign now. Please. We’ll applaud.

We are Witnesses.

16 March 2017

Gov. Sununu –

So entertained to hear you say you don’t support the Republican attempt to destroy the ACA and with it, the ability of millions of Americans – including ourselves – to have health insurance for nearly the first time in our adult lives. Not sure you actually get how destructive their plan would be, except to Medicaid, but at least you got there – hold onto that thought. I enclose an article from my blog to help you get a deeper understanding. Why don’t you read it and see what you learn?

So, that’s a semi-plus for you. Now let’s look at where you screwed up recently:

1.       What in hell were you thinking not being loudly and actively involved in trashing that stupid law that allows 13-year-olds to get married? Do you really think marrying off a 13-year-old is a good idea? Or even a 17-year-old? You wanker – this should have had your vigorous support. Bad, bad governor.

2.       What in hell were you thinking not being loudly and actively involved in getting legislation protecting transgender rights passed? What dark corner of the dark ages did you come from? Just what we need – NH known to be non-supporters of transgender rights, which you should know need to be especially supported because there are so many violent, benighted people out there just looking for a reason to be evil. Bad, bad governor.

3.       What in hell were you thinking not pressing acceptance of a law to bring NH’s minimum wage law into the modern age? Doesn’t matter the federal minimum wage law is evilly low – now NH has the reputation of having the lowest minimum wage in New England, and proving again (see #1 and #2 above) that we’re parsimonious and benighted.  Way to attract young folks to the state, you plonker.  Bad, bad governor.

4.       Your Education Dept head – oh, jeez. What in hell were you thinking? Bad, bad governor.

5.       Trying to get a pass on regulations to protect water in NH because they’d be expensive? How expensive do you think polluted water and the horrors it can cause will be? Way to make NH attractive to modern people, who actually want to protect the environment and live in clean, toxin-free places. Nutter. Bad, bad governor.

OK Buddy, that’s 5 against and a partial 1 for – not a good score so far. Step out of your daddy’s evil shoes and try standing up straight and standing for something that’s productive, good for the state, good for the people in the state. I can remember listening to your daddy lying about sources of pollution on the radio, years ago, then shaming a caller who called him on it. That was a bad day for NH, and made me ashamed to be from here. 

Prove us wrong. So far – not doing it. So far – really unimpressed.

We are Witnesses.

16 March 2017

Dear Senators Shaheen and Hassan, Representatives Shea-Porter and Kuster,

Enclosed are copies of our latest vile missives to our even viler barely-elected error in national judgement, and the blog post I sent him about the ACA.

Ladies – our national situation is very, very scary. The majority of Republicans in Congress are using the chaos Trump causes and stupidity around what’s being done and said to sneakily do things that will harm us indefinitely. Trump and his Russian buddies are beyond the pale. The ghoul who advises and strategizes for Trump sends chills of horror up our spines. Our brains, listening to the news, feel like they’re going to explode.

Ladies – you’re on the front line. Please be strong, please be vigorous, please counter this Error of a President on all counts. We haven’t heard a single thing he’s proposed or done that hasn’t horrified us. Please don’t bend your principles in order to “work with him when you can,” because it doesn’t look like there’s anyplace you should be working with him or the evil Republicans. Remember that this – this situation we’re currently in as a nation – isn’t normal. Don’t co-operate with the abnormal. Everything is so abnormal it may get harder to distinguish and remember that as time goes on. (And what’s going on in our state is also pretty mind-boggling.)

You’re doing a good job, please keep it up. Don’t get discouraged, we depend on you for, in a real way, our life, liberty and well-being. Every time we listen to the news, this impresses us anew. 

And speaking of the news, could one of you manage to smack Paul Ryan upside the head someday soon? He is such a wanker. And so very annoying! Tell him it’s a St. Paddie’s Day love tap. Use a shillelagh. 

Jeanne – Charley asked me to mention, the next time I wrote, to remind you that you and he have met several times. He’s the long-haired photographer who used to take promo photos of you when you were Governor. And he’d like me to say, also, that he wishes you’d run for President. I agree.

Our best hopes and support to you all. Impeach the bastard.

We are Witnesses.

On the blog and in the mail.

Fooled Ya!

The skunks are out, playing out their stinky amorous dalliances everywhere romantic meal opportunities present themselves: i.e., my compost bin and the trash dumpster on the side of the parking lot outside my office in the Upper Valley – ah, sniff that fresh almost-spring air! – but I haven’t heard the woodcock buzzing yet, so nearly-Spring bussing is still barely underway.  I expect March might prove yet another interesting month, so I’m not putting the boots away soon even though the snow has been steadily melting.

It’s been a strange winter, and the vagaries of bare ground vs. packed-on snow have changed monthly, sometimes weekly, and Catmandude and I have been making ourselves crazy trying to get comfortable with what’s going on out there. He mostly judges his comfort zone by how much bare ground is available to take a dirt bath in between the south wall of the house and the nearest raised-bed wall, and whether he can find some early catnip to nibble along the edges; I, on the other hand, go by how long it’ll be ‘til the parsnips left in the garden to over-winter are visible. I planted last summer’s piddling germination of parsnips in the depths of the garden, for a change, so have no real expectations of true signs of spring before April – though I’m willing to be pleasantly surprised if the weather gods decide to co-operate.  I’ve been fooled before, though – one February in Maine I was seduced by a two-week thaw into planting lettuce seed and radishes in the small plot next to the kitchen door, only to find it all covered by 2 feet of fresh snowfall several days later.

But to thrill the Catman and stave off cabin-fever cat-grumpiness, I brought the folding chairs out of winter storage onto the wart during our recent warm week, and he and his sister spent most of the daylight hours very contentedly curled up in the chairs’ squishy bottoms. Beastreau, who is black as night, takes regular breaks indoors; the lengthening sun heats her up too much and she finds an hourly prowl of the catfood bowls to be advantageous to health and good humor. Catman, however, being camouflage-colored, is quite content for hours and hours, keeping one lazy eye on the bird-lure that I so strategically spread across the wart railings, which makes for cat-entertainment but isn’t enticing enough to roust him out of his happy, sunny chair. Sometimes when I step out onto the wart, there’s a buzzing in the air and I think – Wait! Early bees? – and then I realize, no, just very contented furries.

The barkie boys are finding the compacting snow to be opening up realms of interesting things to smell, and the mud puddles in the driveway have proven equally alluring. No one’s rolled in anything disgusting yet, but there are muddy paw prints everywhere, inside and outside, and I’m never sure what I’m going to put my hand on when I reach down to give a pat. 

Even the Husband has taken advantage of the sun-drenched chairs, and fell asleep in one, briefly, this past warm spell. We didn’t light up the woodstove except to take the chill off at night for a week, and he’s enjoying that the wood he hauled in more than a week earlier is still sufficient unto the need.  “It’s 60 degrees out by the woodstacks!” he’ll announce dizzyingly. “That’s 10 degrees higher than on the wart!” Yup, and the storm gauge is currently quite settled. Nice, but I don’t trust it; those wily weather gods have notoriously warped senses of humor, and they’re just waiting for someone to put their winter coats away, I tell ya.

They aren’t going to fool me; the leg-warmers and boot socks and fuzzy scarf and extra pair of mittens are stashed right here, by my chair. I put them on every so many days, just to stay in shape. The cellar’s cold enough that I enjoy wearing them down there to root around in the freezer for supper possibilities. And when I come back up, arms full of frozen delights, I step out onto the wart for a moment, still wearing them, just so the weather gods can see that I’m serious.

The Husband and his friends may be full of spring sillies, wandering around outside in t-shirts and sneakers, planning to wrest their bikes out of winter storage any day now. That’s fine – it’s all part of the enchantress Spring’s prelude to her love song. And we may be setting our clocks to daylight savings time momentarily; but this is also a test to lure us into unwariness. Personally, I’m sticking with the woodcock and the Parsnip Sighting before I believe Spring’s really on her way.

In the meantime, I’m going back to my book and hot cocoa.

 


(Deb’s hunkered down for the duration.)

Photos by Deb Marshall, 2017

Originally published in the Concord Monitor, March 9, 2017, as “Springing the Trap.”

When They Make Me God...

My Turn Now

When they make me god – and it seems like it’s about time it’s my turn – a few things around here are going to change. 

The first thing I’ll change will be this death thing, and most importantly, that thing about never being able to again talk to the person who died if you’re still living. Who thought that up? Whoever it was - really bad idea. I’m going to change it so that after someone dies, everyone who knew the dead person, or at least all family and friends, get two or three calls or emails with that person, to be used as soon after death as wanted, or saved for however long you care to. Think how much easier on all of us it would be if you could call your deceased loved one a few days after the event and say, hey, how is it over there? Having a good time? Did you hear what Uncle Tom said at your funeral? Did you like the music? Have you been able to find out who your mother really was, and what was that all about, anyway? And exactly how many insurance policies are there, and where’s the key to that locked box I found under your bed?

So much time and grief will be saved once that’s fixed. And it’ll save time and effort on the other side, too – all those folks who went before us trying to get our attention, afterwards, but being limited to trying to affect the physical objects that are now in a different plane, or insinuating themselves into dreams or becoming a haunt – how much energy does that take that could be better used some other way? Dad swore that once you were gone, you were gone ---but then, a couple of weeks after his demise, someone kept putting bars of his bay rum soap in odd places I’d find them – like my garden basket – and someone caused Mom’s cereal bowl to leap out of her hand and fly straight up in the air before spilling all over her. A phone call to say, “Oops, I was wrong,” would have been so much simpler.

Another thing I’m going to change is that politician’s noses are actually going to grow noticeably longer every time they purposely – or casually - tell a lie. It’ll grow twice as fast if they purposely tell a lie about someone else. And all politicians who do the naughty thing they’ve built a reputation on by condemning it in other people are going to turn a permanent shade of glowing, shocking orange.

People who have painful or debilitating, but invisible, health conditions are going to also have an attractive,  glowing mark somewhere on their bodies, so they can easily flash it at all those relatives and friends and doctors who say, “Oh, come on, just buck up and ignore it, you don’t look like you feel that bad!” And once those doubters have seen the mark, they’ll have to shut up about it – no options – and do what they can to make life easier.

All women or other caregivers will be given, on their 45^th birthday, their own personal chef, who knows exactly what her person likes to eat and can prepare it perfectly, and their own personal excellent house-cleaner, for free, for the rest of their lives. Just imagine how that will change menopause…

 

Photo c Charley Freiber

All those debilitating, chronic diseases people get when they’re in their older years and don’t have enough energy to deal with them? No longer. If disease turns out to be something god’s not able to get rid of, I’ll at least change it so you get them when you’re young and have plenty of energy to handle it; the disease will disappear as you age. 

Teleporting will become something you can actually do. You won’t be able to use it willy-nilly, but on those nights when you’re too tired to safely drive home from the office, or when you need to get somewhere fast because someone you love needs your help, the teleporting gene – as yet undiscovered – will kick on.

All people will be like cats, in that we’ll all consider ourselves, and every other human, sleek and beautiful. Imagine how many nasty situations that will change.

People who deserve it will get three wishes to use over the course of their lifetime – no tricks attached. Wishes will be fulfilled in the way most beneficial to the wisher, and won’t include any messy backlashes. All wishes will be rendered perfectly benign, so no inadvertent ill-fortune will accrue to any other individual in the granting of the wish. Wishes to harm another person won’t be filled – but any person who’s deserving would never wish such a thing, so those who might won’t be granted any wishes. Politicians take note.

When I’m god, anyone who presumes to know what I want and tries to enforce my wishes on any other being will be summarily dispatched – no arguments, no bargaining, no second chances. Anything I want you all to know will be conveyed publicly, not secretly. You won’t need to argue about what I meant.

I have a few other plans for when they make me god – but We’ll let those remain surprises.

This article for the blog alone. Deb’s busy planning her Ascension.

Send Help

Artwork: Mud Season Driveway, by Deb Marshall

February 22: it’s been unusually warm the last few days, and the snow has been melting apace. The top of the compost bin is visible again, and there’s a bare space between the south wall of the house and the nearest vegetable bed. The cats are lounging in that space in the sun; I went out to check, and it’s a little damp but I can see how they’re comfortable in their heavy fur coats. The sun feels nice when I stand outside.

February 24: Wow, in spite of a couple of cold nights, the back yard’s turning into a muddy mess. Fortunately the ground below is still frozen, but there are lots of muddy pawprints on the deck and in the kitchen. I expect it will get cold again soon.

February 26: The nearest raised bed is completely bare, and the smaller compost bin is starting to peep out from under what had been a very high snow pile. Even the bottoms of the windows out front are now above snow line – we can see out again and the dog’s stopped playing “King of the Hill” because he sinks into the giant snow bank hip-deep. Sap’s running. No water in the cellar yet.

February 29: The cellar’s looking a little wet around the edges, but nothing to worry about. The cats have stopped going off the back wart, though – they get to the bottom of the steps, put one paw off, then hustle back up, shaking their feet.  The driveway’s got a buncha puddles in it now, but if you start down the left edge, then switch mid-way to the right, you won’t flood out. Expecting snow any day now.

March 2: I threw some corn out onto the driveway for the mourning doves this morning, then watched one land and sink out of sight below the mud. Time to get some boards out, I guess, and put them down in the worst places. The cats are fishin’ off the bottom step in the cellar, but it’s not too bad. With boots on, I can still get to the freezer and washing machine.

March 5: Granma went out to the compost bin this morning and sunk down up to her knees. Fortunately, one of the dogs was nearby digging for treasure in the rotten snow, and she was able to grab him ‘round the collar and get hauled out. She lost one of her best rubber boots, though; maybe we can recover it come Spring.

March 6: One a the trucks got stuck in the middle of the driveway today. I told Bubba not to go fast through the puddles – which are really more like ponds – but did he listen? Navigating our small pond-way this time of year is tricky. The Husband got the kayak out, just in case someone needs rescuing. And the UPS driver left a note hooked onto the paper tube at the end of the driveway that said, “See you in the summer, bwah-ha-ha-ha!” Damn. I was expecting a delivery of new rubber boots for Grandma and some floaty-devices.

March 9: One a the dogs went missing this morning, and the other came back coated in mud from snoot to tail. Not sure where the other is; I hope he made it across the swamp to out-back naybah Eddie’s house. We saw a couple of ducks swimming by in the low spot in the field last night. Got a car parked at the across-the-street naybah’s house on high ground; can’t do any more shopping than we can haul in, in packs, but even that’s getting dicey: the Husband had to kind of wade through waist-deep icy snow and water yesterday.  Hope it freezes again soon.

March 12: We almost lost Granpa last night, he went out after dark for a load a firewood, and apparently stepped off the board walk. He was in up to his waist and was sinking rapidly when the dog barking finally got our attention. We got him out, but it took all a us, some climbing gear, and the come-along to do it. We tossed him into the cellar to get the mud off, and after swimming about a bit, he was good as new. Phew! That was close!

March 15: We think we saw a dolphin in the driveway pool this morning, but it musta been something else. We have caught some nice fish out there, though, which is helping with the dwindling food supply; the freezer’s flooded out and we can’t get at the canned goods down cellar, either. Oh, well – happens every year, and we’ve got a good supply of beer and maple syrup, so we’ll manage. Besides, it’s sure to freeze soon and then we can get out for supplies.

March 17: OK, the Husband doesn’t know I’m writing this but --- Send Help!

Deb Marshall is barely keeping her head above water. This story for the blog, alone.