storm

Snow Bust

 

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Flushing ice cubes down the toilet did the trick: the kids landed a snow day.

Technically, a snow day but more of a hype day. High probability of 7 to 14 inches, crowed forecasters. We fueled up the tractor, hitched the snow blade, bedded stalls, restocked firewood…

And for what?

A couple inches of slush, glued to the grass. So lame!

 

Unrelated update: In Randolph news I spotted our cheeky fox, taunting the dog at 3 am. With Maisie in the mudroom and the fox seated on the lawn, just a storm door separated the two. Randolph issued his sharp yelp while Maisie volleyed a string of indignant barks.

I got a good look at Randolph, who cocked his head but stayed put as I walked out. Then I opened the porch gate. In a spray of snow and mud, fox and dog disappeared in the dark.

 

 

Fingers Crossed

 

I believe in superstitions. In a pick-and-choose fashion.

Black cats don’t trouble me; Toulouse is blacker than coal and he crosses my path morning and night.

But I won’t walk under a ladder. I pick up pennies for good luck.

And I’ve created my own odd beliefs. Years ago when I horse showed every week, I always left the dry cleaner tag stapled inside my show coat — to help me win. Even now, I don’t remove it. Fox hunting, I leave the tag in my coat to ward off falls.

So I’m well-versed in superstitions. But yesterday the kids introduced a new one.

Tonight, Hadley will wear her PJs inside out and Cayden will flush ice cubes down the toilet. To make it snow.

I’d never heard of such a thing. But Google quickly confirmed that flushing cubes (or placing them on the porch); wearing PJs inside out; and tucking a spoon beneath a pillow, are time-honored, snow-wishing traditions.

Cayden, how many ice cubes do we need?” Hadley asked as we drove last night. “One for every inch of snow that we want?

No, it’s three!” I called out, picturing the kids dumping the freezer’s cavernous ice tray in the toilet. “Three ice cubes will make it snow.

I know it’s irrational — fretting about ice that will surely melt. But I don’t want their superstition clogging my toilet.

 

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Weather Envy

 

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Late Friday night, after watching hours of Boston blizzard news coverage, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to speak up.

“It’s NOT fair! Why can’t WE get three feet of snow?”

Martin stared at me. “What?” he sputtered. “Have you completely lost your mind?”

“Remember the storm in 2010?” I said. “When it snowed for almost a week? And the wind blew it to the top of the fence?  That was cool…”

“That wasn’t cool,” he interrupted. “The tractor was stuck for days. You got the Big Rig stuck in the driveway drifts–”

“–I know–”

“Are you forgetting all that shoveling we did? Just to push that damn wheelbarrow of manure out behind the barn? Do you remember that pain in the ass?”

“Yea, I remember,” I said, momentarily silent. “…But I still want three feet of snow.”

“You are sick.”

Maybe I am. Here’s a look back at the mid-Atlantic storm 3 years ago: 48 inches in 5 days. (Original Funny Farm posts appeared between February 5 and 18, 2010, including this one.)

 

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