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Weather, Oklahoma, Good Grief! February 2011
I intended to roll over in bed and snuggle up to Rodney because it was cold.
24 degrees below zero and 18 inches of snow here made this happen
Plop! Down through the middle of the bed I dropped. But, let me explain.
I’m eternally restless, up and down through the night and always have been.
Checking on the kids, when they were small, pacing the floor, when I’m worried,
and after the computer advent writing during the quiet of the night. Before the
computer and my allergies I worked at my art during this time. To keep from
disturbing Rod we settled on the solution of twin beds, but tie them together
so a king size spread covers them and for all appearances look like a king size
bed.
Couple of weeks ago during my house cleaning frenzy I took them apart to chase
the dust bunnies I knew were hiding beneath. For some reason I just shoved the beds
back together without hooking up the tie to hold them securely.
After falling through I was embarrassed to have Rod see me in that compromised situation.
I quietly climbed out of the space and thought I had succeeded when he lifted his head and asked, “are you cold?”
Without hesitation he started to slide over to my side of the bed
when, “Plop! Down he went!”
“Oh my word! I’ve been booby trapped in a jungle snare!” He exclaimed.
By this time we were both laughing so hard and wide awake I had only
one recourse but to get up, shower and go in to start the coffee pot.
Oh but wait, comedy of errors didn’t stop here. Upon looking out to see all that
snow my thoughts were, “Oh my! The bird feeding tables will have to be cleared
of the mounds of white stuff piled on top of them. I wasn’t about to get my leather
shoes wet, so I simply put on my heavy coat, wore my sandals, and started out the
air lock front door, coffee in one hand, broom in the other.
Well, let me tell you, I wasn’t there for but a brief time when I had to hop up and down
to keep my feet from freezing. Two or three of the tables were cleared and I turned
to see Rodney standing at the window watching me.
Not a word was exchanged. Rod simply stood there with his arms folded across his
chest, a slight smile on his face while I looked at him.
“I think my rubber boots are in the bedroom closet,” I meekly murmured as I rushed
back in the door. “Can’t spread that birdseed in these sandals.” I told him.
While the boots were slipped on I had to quietly giggle to myself. Rodney never, even
years ago questioned the antics of his ˝ Native American, mixed up with Scot-Irish,
French blood. Something about the mix must work because he seems to have been
entertained over these 53 years by one after another ludicrous event. At any rate, we
must be too simple to be bothered by the winter of 2011, when records of cold were set.
I intended to roll over in bed and snuggle up to Rodney because it was cold.
24 degrees below zero and 18 inches of snow here made this happen
Plop! Down through the middle of the bed I dropped. But, let me explain.
I’m eternally restless, up and down through the night and always have been.
Checking on the kids, when they were small, pacing the floor, when I’m worried,
and after the computer advent writing during the quiet of the night. Before the
computer and my allergies I worked at my art during this time. To keep from
disturbing Rod we settled on the solution of twin beds, but tie them together
so a king size spread covers them and for all appearances look like a king size
bed.
Couple of weeks ago during my house cleaning frenzy I took them apart to chase
the dust bunnies I knew were hiding beneath. For some reason I just shoved the beds
back together without hooking up the tie to hold them securely.
After falling through I was embarrassed to have Rod see me in that compromised situation.
I quietly climbed out of the space and thought I had succeeded when he lifted his head and asked, “are you cold?”
Without hesitation he started to slide over to my side of the bed
when, “Plop! Down he went!”
“Oh my word! I’ve been booby trapped in a jungle snare!” He exclaimed.
By this time we were both laughing so hard and wide awake I had only
one recourse but to get up, shower and go in to start the coffee pot.
Oh but wait, comedy of errors didn’t stop here. Upon looking out to see all that
snow my thoughts were, “Oh my! The bird feeding tables will have to be cleared
of the mounds of white stuff piled on top of them. I wasn’t about to get my leather
shoes wet, so I simply put on my heavy coat, wore my sandals, and started out the
air lock front door, coffee in one hand, broom in the other.
Well, let me tell you, I wasn’t there for but a brief time when I had to hop up and down
to keep my feet from freezing. Two or three of the tables were cleared and I turned
to see Rodney standing at the window watching me.
Not a word was exchanged. Rod simply stood there with his arms folded across his
chest, a slight smile on his face while I looked at him.
“I think my rubber boots are in the bedroom closet,” I meekly murmured as I rushed
back in the door. “Can’t spread that birdseed in these sandals.” I told him.
While the boots were slipped on I had to quietly giggle to myself. Rodney never, even
years ago questioned the antics of his ˝ Native American, mixed up with Scot-Irish,
French blood. Something about the mix must work because he seems to have been
entertained over these 53 years by one after another ludicrous event. At any rate, we
must be too simple to be bothered by the winter of 2011, when records of cold were set.