Santa fell over again and this time he wasn’t getting back up. His jaunty grin, internally lit by a now broken 7-watt bulb, would not be heading lawnward until next Christmas.* Clearly, this should be the day when at last we unplugged the lights if nothing else. And, yeah, it’s probably time to get the French hens, laying geese– not to mention those cows and milkmaids– off the front porch, too.** Undoing the elaborate wiring and carting off the mold-injected plastic may not, however, be the smartest task to tackle during a sudden onset of North Pole realism. I know that in this ‘hood Neatness Does Count but do I really want to lose a body part over it? (I can just see the video–Crazy Woman Risks Subzero Temps to Preserve Suburban Norms.)
The things I do for this homestead.
When we made it back here last week minutes before a major storm, it didn’t seem necessary to rush out and pack up the reindeer. (Right?) But after days of snow, cold, heavy rain and now even frostier cold, I finally realized I’d have to retrieve the fake snowman in some kind of bad weather or simply wait until St. Patty’s Day. (Or July.)
How does Groundhog Day sound?
Also, so glad I forgot to secure the clapper on the wind chime yesterday. Now everyone on the block got aural confirmation of what their apps and TV forecasters direly heralded: It’s the wind chill, baby. That serpent’s tongue of a polar vortex lashed ’round the chimney and stole through every drafty crevice all night. It’s not simply the mercury hanging out at negative digits that gets ya. What really nips is that wicked wind of the North, ye ol’ jet stream, that lake effect or whatever meteorological boogeyman comes to town. Well, this backyard farmer’s not taking chances. Santa can sit there until April if that’s what it takes.
I’m sure he’s always wanted to meet the Easter Bunny anyway.
*Or July, at the present rate of holiday creep.
**Leave the milk, though.
Copyright 2014, Lori Fontanes