This is Oedipus, Maisy’s snowman. I named him Oedipus because he only had eyes for about five minutes. No worries. He did not become eyeless via a huge, regretful gesture after learning that the Snowqueen he just married was actually his mom. Oops, I forgot to warn you: that may have been a classic Greek SPOILER.
No, the moral of this Oedipus tale has little to do with hubris. It’s more like Do not have eyes made out of Cheerios in a yard so fraught with squirrels.
I also named him Oedipus because his fate was sealed the moment he was born a Snowman in Georgia. Last week, we had Hoth-lanta Part 2, with four days of cancelled school and much computer game key clicky clacking and joyful running in and out of the house, door banging and alternating between SLED-In-LAUNDRY-BASKETS-MODE and THAW-MODE. This week, it has been sunny and bright. Last night, Scott turned on the AIR CONDITIONER so we could sleep.
Poor Oedipus. He is currently nourishing the Bougainvillea.
Here in AIR CONDITIONER LAND, it is also Winter Break. Can we pause for a moment and appreciate the all the hideous Alanis Morissette style non-ironies inherent in this sitch? After missing nine days due to SNOW, the kids are home again, all week, for a sunshiney beach weathered winter break. Which means I have had kids home for 3 of the last 4 weeks.
I am not getting ANY work done, and the book is GOING in my head, so it is an inherently frustrating February.
Look, this animal appeared down the street around the same time Oedipus was having his Rock-Star’s life, both glorious and brief . It is either a sheep or a poodle. I call it the Snow Snoodle. I think The Shnow Shnoodle would be more correct, but it just sounds like all the Snow Days have driven me to hard, hard drinking.
Hmmm, perhaps it is EVEN MORE more correct.
THE GOOD NEWS IS I have almost completed my 3 season Binge-watch of ALL of Veronica Mars PRE-Kickstarter-movie. I have tickets to the Atlanta premier. SO EXCITED!
You have seen this whole series, yes? IF NOT, you need to get to Netflixing.
I am having bitter arguments with friends, as they are #teamPiz and I am, against everything that I would seem to stand for, staunchly #teamLogan.
Because, yeah, if it was me? Piz all the way. I would SO marry Piz. He is The Best. But let me say, she don’t love him. She loves Logan. And that’s all. She loves Logan, and Logan loves her, and the very air sizzles when the two of them are in a room. When she says Piz is a theme park with no rollercoaster—-well she loses the right to choose Piz. *shrug*
Piz is too fine and delightful a commodity to be ANYONE’S second choice settlement for reasons of peace. Piz deserves an epic love story, all his own, with a girl who finds him to be chock full of loop the loops and anticipatory chugs up a slow hill to some belly-dropping, awesome, steep drops.
I am a connoisseur of The Nice Man. I am ALWAYS for The Nice Man. I married the Nicest one, EVER. But he makes the air sizzle for me. Nice Men should be the best, first choice, or left alone. They are too, too rare and far too quietly spectacular to be ANYBODY’s consolation. Go with my blessing to sizzle with Logan, Veronica Mars. You like that kind of thing, and it likes you. Leave the Nice Ones to those of us who pick them first and best and always, the way you pick that inarticulate, fisty, surfing miscreant you SO adore.
What about you? Which would you pick for you and which would you pick for Veronica?
As for me, I will just be trying to hang on to my sanity until March, when I have a writing retreat scheduled that may PLEASE LORD help me catch up. I am not at ALL worried about March, that poseur, messing me up with any kind of silly lion and lambing about with its weather. Please. March is an amateur!
This February came in like Oedipus and is going out like a Snow Shoodle, man. If I can live through that, MARCH WILL BE CAKE.