Obligatory weather app screenshot of current conditions that everyone who lives in the upper half of the country feels compelled to post on social media.

Cold, you say? Wind chills don’t scare me. (Unless I have to be outside shoveling the walks.) We live in the Great Lakes region, and it gets cold here; I know that. It’s not a big deal for temps to be in the single digits. But for two winters in a row, it’s been unusually cold. I mean, downright close-the-churches-and-schools, brain-freezing bitter cold, with great huge blowing winds that can frostbite a child waiting for the bus within seconds. Crazy, mayne.

Last night, I wanted to order a pizza for dinner, but couldn’t pull the trigger. I felt terrible for the person who would have to deliver it. Am I mental? I just couldn’t do it. So we ate leftover Dunkin’ Donuts for dinner. I am not making this up. Ask the Thriller. In fact, I joked with him that this was yet another reason why we’re so well-suited for one another: I don’t know any other man who would join me in eating nothing but donuts for an entire day. Granted, we don’t do it very often, but I had to admit it was fun. And yes, I was back on the treadmill at 7:00 this morning. Erk.

We won’t do anything like that today…because he finished off the last two donuts with his coffee this morning. Nuts. Back to the old grind. *sigh*

So, this 50 Shades of Grey craziness. May I share a confession here? When the book first came out, I noticed on my Facebook feed that the reactions were of the dreamy, can’t-stand-to-put-it-down variety, like it was a sweeping romance of the Nicholas Sparks ilk.

Hahaha. Yarite.

As the days went by, I began to notice a pattern. Many of the dreamy, can’t-put-it-down comments were from women around my age (let’s call it the 40-60 range). So I did some research on the plot. Um…a novel steaming with BDSM, and moms can’t stop posting about it? Isn’t that a little — I dunno — private? And isn’t it a bit too much info for kids to be reading about on social media?

There we go:  my geezerism is showing. But even if I were “into” erotica (and it’s fine if you are; no aspersion casting here), would I want my sons and daughters-in-law to be reading my over-the-top, drooly posts about it? Eww, people! Keep it to your dang self! *shudder* Now I don’t paint myself as a prude, and I hope I don’t come across as such. I’d like to think I’m a pretty tolerant person with regard to how secks and noodity figure into art (although from the reviews I’m reading, it’s somewhat of a tempest in a teapot, and that by today’s “standards,” it’s not all that shocking). But for real: …and I LOVED the part where he got out the handcuffs and… OK shhh. Just…shhh.

Maybe it’s not even that. Maybe it’s the unbearably annoying theme song — a slowed-down, analog-overdriven, affected remix of seriously, Beyoncé? — that makes me mad. Please stop saying uh-oh all shecksy and pouty-mouth and chin down and eyes up at the camera. Please. We know it’s a naughty movie. Spare us the overlong exercise in glottal attacks.

All right, enough of that. What else this morning? Oh, yes. The anti-high-stakes-testing movement is really growing legs in this country. I like it. Interesting what can happen when regular folks decide enough is enough.

Have a great day, fiends, and if you’re in my neck of the woods: stay inside!

Hello, fiends. It’s been too long. Didn’t I say I wasn’t going to disappear for extended periods of time anymore? I believe I did. And here I am, after a long absence. Still, you’ve been on my mind — as have many things.

The Fink is armed and ready for battle. (Is that not a great drawing of Yours Truly? Mad respect to Andy Nortnik for always getting Rat Girl right.)

I’m wrasslin’ with several dragons lately; some I’ve told you about already, and some I haven’t. Some are tactile and real, and others are of the emotional and cerebral variety. Many are way beyond my control, while others lie perfectly within my grasp. Some are just dumb. This day, I fight:

1. The insanity surrounding Common Core, and now, the reality of test refusal coming to my district (though I won’t fight that).

2. Trying to get back to being good to this old creaky bod. I just said to someone the other day: “I have a beautiful treadmill in the basement. There is absolutely no weather-related excuse why I can’t work out.” And yet…So, today, I fight that dragon. And I will win it for today, for five minutes from now, when I stop writing. Tomorrow? Tomorrow will have to look after itself for the time being.

And to a (much) lesser extent:

3. Boring, musically vapid Super Bowl halftime shows. You know, I think the shark has been jumped here (no pun intended) with regard to every year’s SB halftime being bigger, better, badder and nuttier. Last night’s version seemed more in line with an Olympics opening ceremony than with a halftime show, complete with flying people, great huge mechanical animals, and silly cartoonish characters dancing about. Add to that the rather-cool-but-totally-bizarre addition of Lenny Kravitz and Missy Elliott, and well…yeah. And I won’t even touch the renditions of God Bless America (John Legend) and the Star Spangled Banner (Idina Menzel).

4. The utterly infuriating trend of non-funny spokeswomen trying to be funny in commercials. What…is there research out there that supports goading the public into buying a product just so companies will stop advertising it? Does unfunny comedy traditionally sell hamburgers, insurance and phone contracts? Maybe it does, I dunno. But every time I see these commercials, I want to drown something.

And if I don’t get up from this box and get on to the next thing on the list, I’ll be here all day. Off to tread on my mill; moving in silent desperation, keepin’ an eye on the Holy Land…

Walkin’ Rat

That’s what I’m showing on social media this morning, in the face of the unrelenting onslaught of saliva washing over every post about OSU beating Oregon. I did sneak a couple of minor elbows in, but nothing (hopefully) that would upset my OSU-indoctrinated friends. I don’t want to be snarky.

BUT IF I DID…………………………

<great huge block of rant deleted>

See? Restraint.

I’m back to school after an unplanned three days off for snow and ice. Three days off=two weeks behind. That’s a bummer.

Lesson for today: be kind in the face of that which makes you want to stomp on a bouquet of beautiful daisies. Yay! And those are my RNFs for a Tuesday.

NFL playoffs, commence.

What a crazy end to the week. And I even had two snow days in a row. In the midst of Dinner Theatre prep, firming up details for when we sing at the Indians game on Mother’s Day, grades, visitors and other projects, there was some major discussion about the future, some big decisions made, and some major uncertainty left over. Time for some news.

Over the last month or so, the Thriller and I have had several heart-to-hearts about where we want to be in 10 years — or sooner. It’s amazing what ideas spring to life when you let your imagination fly, without any borders on what’s wise or most frugal or in the general best interest of everyone involved.

We’re talking about eventually living in a small space. Of course, my first reactions were Where will we put the family at holidays? Where will the grandchildren sleep? What about all our STUFF? The answers, while unclear at the moment, will more than likely work themselves out in time. It’s a tuffy for me because I’ve always held dear the prospect of having my children, their spouses and their children at my house for special occasions, that I would do the lion’s share (with sis Mavis) of the cooking, and that the whole affair is something we do for the kids to make their lives a bit less crazy for a day or night at the holidays. In other words, it’s difficult to envision my not being the matriarch of my little tribe — and that’s something I am going to need to learn to get over. Both of my sons already have more space in their homes than we do; yet, they and their wives are gracious and uncomplaining about stuffing everyone into our house for Hamsgiving and Christmas every year. I love them for it.

Truthfully, I think it will all be OK. Thousands — probably millions — of older parents travel to their children’s homes for holidays for myriad reasons, and it wouldn’t kill us to do the same someday. I must also consider that in 10 years’ time, our youngest grandchild will be in middle school and the eldest will be a junior or senior, and like it or not, coming to Grammie’s for an overnighter won’t be as exciting as it once was. I get all that. Time to move on, while never letting go of the joy of family. We can do it in a different way is all.

While we talked about living smaller, we focused on doing so with a bit more land. I’ve never been one to want to live in the country (and I still don’t want to), but we’re seriously considering an acre or two outside the city limits so we can team up with a doggy daycare business after I retire from teaching — or before, depending upon where the chips fall. The chips, of course, are real estate related: we want to begin the process of getting our present home ready to sell. To that end, the last several days have been full of ideas, priority lists, financial plans and visits from various people to give us estimates on certain projects, to wit:

1. Our basement steps will be completely torn out and rebuilt next week.
2. The plasterer visited and gave us a quote on redoing the ceilings in the parlor, guest room and main bathroom.
3. We’re getting an estimate this week on replacing the backsplash tile, countertops and drop ceiling in the kitchen.
4. Glass panels will be replaced in our front door and front porch, and new storm doors will be hung in the back and side entrances to the house — then we start saving for new windows on the main floor.

While the Thriller knows his way around car engines and can do basic repair jobs around the house like hanging doors and replacing drop-ceiling panels, much of this work is either out of his comfort zone or impossible for him to do physically with his bad back, and therefore must be hired out. As you might guess, all of this means that our Odysseys are at a standstill for a while. It’s a reality we embrace with considerable sadness. But hey, we’ll still be able to take long weekends to visit his family in Wisconsin and mine in Mississippi, and plans for a California trek to see Bob & Kay are still in the works. Seriously, we’ve traveled almost the whole country over the last five summers; we have nothing to complain about. If you’re new to RtB, or you just want to revisit the silliness, here are the links to get you started:

2010 – Route 66
2011 – Western US (heh — I’d forgotten that was the kidney stone Odyssey)
2012 – New England
2013 – Pacific Northwest
2014 – NYC

So it’s not like we’ve not gotten to do fun things. This new experience (I’ll call it the Austerity Odyssey ) will show and teach us many things as well. And who knows — we might even have some fun along the way.

Happy weekend! Back to the old grind.

Yeah, I know. “Teachers have it so easy.” Yep.

No worries, though. If Arne Duncan and his buddies Bill Gates, ALEC, Pearson Ed., Eli Broad and a veritable circus of other clowns get their way, people like me won’t need to worry about any more delay or snow days, or any days at all, for that matter, because the arts will be judged superfluous and unnecessary. Because what can’t be counted doesn’t count: creativity, critical thinking, resilience, motivation, persistence, curiosity, endurance, reliability, enthusiasm, empathy, self-awareness, self-discipline, leadership, civic-mindedness, courage, compassion, resourcefulness, sense of beauty, sense of wonder, honesty, integrity (Bracey). You know, little stuff like that.

All bitterness aside, I will admit to feeling a bit guilty that I get to stay home when the roads are bad, and other workers have to schlep it in anyway. Student drivers do make a difference in what happens. I dunno. C’est comme ça. That’s just the way it is.

Still, in my experience, I’ve come to believe that the people who complain the loudest about teachers “having it so easy” on snow days are the same folks who’d run over their mothers to get to an attorney’s office to sue the district if the school bus or their teenage driver got into an accident because of bad roads or heavy fog. Those who say, “We never had this many snow days; heck, we never had any at all,” are often older people like me, who honestly didn’t have a lot of snow days. Why? Because back in the 60s and 70s (and for many, earlier still), society wasn’t so litigious. But for good or ill, somebody gets a jackpot for spilling hot coffee on her legs, and the avalanche begins. Nobody — especially those who operate on taxpayers’ good graces — wants to be sued, so they err on the side of caution. Can’t say as I blame them.

Blame. It’s a big business nowadays, although I’m happy to work the angle for free on certain topics.

It’s now 6:59 a.m., and I should probably think about the shower, breakfast, and the road. Thank the gods the Thriller is up and getting ready to shovel a path up the driveway for me. Int he nice? I don’t deserve him.