Vortex Shmortex

2014.  The winter of the Polar Vortex.

Polar Vortex.  Sounds like an amusement park ride.  I guess it kind of is like a rollercoaster, but with more frozen snot bubbles and less fun.  Negative 15 degrees and close to -40 wind chills?  Fuhgeddaboutit.  

No, I mean, really.  Forget about it.  Because if you don't, you will flee Michigan as soon as you can get your car battery to hold a charge again.

When we look back at this winter we will be reminded of how close we came to joining a monastery and/or finding creative ways to off our family.  That's what happens when you end up with roughly 24597 snow days after Christmas break.  My kids' brains literally turned into cream of wheat in the space of three weeks.  Three verrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry loooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnnngggggggg weeeeeeeeeeks.  In case you wondered, it is not favorable to have kids with craniums full of porridge.  They don't have porridge kids in the monastery.  Or in jail.

Oh, please.  Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about.  I'm sure you had fantasies about that whole "vow of silence" thing.  And arsenic.  But I didn't do it, and neither did you.  I chalk that up as a win.

In an attempt to break this funk, the other day I tried to recreate Dittrich fur's bareback, fur-wearing gallop through the snowy countryside--except with a saddle and without the fur.  Oh, and at a walk.  In snow up to her knees, my horse felt more like a camel than anything else.  We made it two times around the yard before I called it.  Horses can have heart attacks, too.  The way my day was going, I didn't want to push it.

Oh, and I miss running.

Really.  I just said that.  And I even meant it.  It might be a sign of the end times--better check that.  

I miss running outside.  It's not the sub-zero temps that scare me, because I've been out running in -11 degree wind chills (and colder temps than that doing barn chores).  It's not even the snow or ice on the road, thanks to my handy-dandy snow chains.  No, I'm a tough cookie.  That road is just not big enough for the both of us, a car and myself.  And I can't trust my neighbor not to schuss straight into my kneecaps with his redneckified F-10.  Plus, the treadmill's been unkind to my foot this week, so I've taken some time off to help it heal.  I guess sitting in bed mainlining chocolate chip cookies is the next best thing.

There's no real point to this blog, other than this winter blows.  Pass the cookies!

The End.