I’m Sitting Winter Storm Jonas Out / Sorry Southern Friends

My shovel is always at the ready here in New England during the winter months, but it looks like I get to sit this one out! YAY! Winter Storm Jonas is only going to clobber the Mid-Atlantic States. The news say it may be the biggest storm in 90 years for Washington,     D. C. Yikes. Sorry guys.IMG_3061

I’m not about to make light of your situation. Snow is far worse for people outside of the New England states than it is for us. Here the snowplows and trucks are out sanding and salting before we even wake up. We own four-wheel drive vehicles, and since we grew up teething on ice, we think nothing of  practicing our winter driving skills in parking lots just for fun. Therefore, most of us can usually steer out of a slide or a skid on an icy road without panicking. (Sorry about all those donuts I did in our yard, Dad. I realize this may be the first time you’re hearing I did those with your Maverick, but I felt it was time to come clean. Please don’t hate me. Your next set of winter snow tires is on me.)

I’ll give you an analogy regarding winter. It’s sort of like making lemonade from lemons. Winter often gives us ice and snow in the Northeast, so we buy ice skates, toboggans, skis, snowshoes, snowboards, snowmobiles, and we make the best of our situation.

As much as I hate the problems that come with snow, I’m not paralyzed by the white stuff, I’m merely inconvenienced. When we lose power, I have a gas stove and oven so I can cook meals. I always fill up the bathtub so I’ll have water with which to bathe and cook or incase I have to flush the toilets by pouring a bucket of water into it. I have a warm winter coat, gloves and a closet full of fuzzy blankets.

So … be smart and be safe, my southern friends. Stay inside. Check on your elderly neighbors, and never, (I REPEAT NEVER) start a generator inside your house or garage, especially if it is attached to your house. (Can you say carbon monoxide poisoning?)

I Hate Packing Peanuts / The Gift That Keeps On Giving



I hate plastic packing peanuts. I only received one box full of the loathsome things in early December, but it was more than plenty.

The debacle started innocently enough (as all debacles do) … a simple click of a computer mouse. At that moment, I could barely contain my elation. I had ordered a present that I knew the hubster would love.

Within a few days, the UPS guy dropped a fat brown package on my doorstep. Armed with scissors and a grin, I swooped it up and set out to open it on the kitchen floor. My dogs sniffed at it suspiciously, which should have been my first clue … but sometimes their Momma is a bit dense, and doesn’t pick up on things as fast as they do.

I lifted the first flap and saw the box filled to the brim with white packing peanuts. My face contorted in horror, and I felt sure I was on the verge of a seizure. I’ve never been good at hiding my feelings, but at that moment anybody could have guessed that I had (and would continue to harbor) deep animosity for the packing peanut perpetrator.

I stared into the abyss of white with my dogs. The only way to get what I wanted out of that box was to swim my way down to the bottom to retrieve it. I dove in and sifted through the pestiferous peanuts until I found the prize.

I carried the gift upstairs to its hiding place and returned to what looked like a packing peanut war zone. My dogs had pulled the cardboard box apart and were romping around in the peanuts like it was a new snowfall. Itty-bitty beads of plastic clung to their coats while they cavorted.

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Deep breath in … deep breath out. Deep breath in … deep breath out. Remain calm,” I said, while experiencing a true Calgon-take-me-away moment.

When I was sufficiently serene, I fished some plastic peanuts from the dogs’ mouths, shooed them outside, and resolved to clean up the mess.

“Let the games begin,” I declared, knowing full well the packing peanuts had malicious little minds of their own, and any attempt to remove them would be hellish. “I will prevail.”

An hour later, I had the majority of the kitchen cleaned up, but miniscule particles of the peanuts were stuck on the outside of the vacuum, on the dogs, on the broom, on my hands, on my clothes and in my hair. It wasn’t much of a victory.

Without going into any further diatribe, may I simply state I abhor, despise, detest and loathe packing peanuts. Honestly, I’d rather someone use marshmallows to pack the items they were shipping to me … at least I’d have use for the marshmallows. Flutternutter, anyone?