When it snows, it snows.

I realize that’s a ridiculous title, but I couldn’t necessarily write the hackneyed phrase “when it rains…” as we’re not really in the rainy season here, if there be such a thing in this location.

Rather, it’s January.  And it’s the dead of winter (again, hackneyed phrase meet keyboard) and it’s flipping cold out there.  As in 20 below zero before the windchill. But as an esteemed guest told me, who had been staying here and was able to make it out before the wind started blowing, it really isn’t that cold here because the town down the road was a balmy 40 below, before windchill.  At which point said guest decided the back windshield had needed to be scraped off again and so was able to share in great deal just how flipping cold it was down there.  But that I should be grateful because 20 below is really not that cold compared to 40 below.

Compared to the temperatures noted up at headquarters, while feeding the bovine inhabitants of the place, of 50 below.  Before windchill.

Dang cold.

All of this coupled with three feet of snow over a three-day period.

Which, on any given day, in any given winter, at any given time would have been met with hula dances, huzzahs and hurrahs, and happy, happy, joy, joy.  Because, if any one who reads here knows, the munchikin and I…well…we LIVE for snow.  LOVE the fluffy white stuff.  Dream of it.  Beg for it.  Watch White Christmas over and over and over because it always seems to make it snow.  I guess it’s our equivalent of doing a rain dance.  We pop in the DVD and get to singing and dancing with Bing and Danny and Rosemary and the other one.  I always feel so bad because I simply do not know the name of the actress who plays Judy.  She’s sort of lost in the whole Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye and Rosemary Clooney thing.

What evs.  We watch White Christmas a lot.  And it always seems to snow afterwards.  Except this year.  Our magic was haywire and for the entire month of December, we sat at the window and waited, ever so patiently, for the flakes to descend from on high.  We did get some, don’t get me wrong.  Just not an abundance of it.

The irony of the entire last week, in which the three feet of snow dropped from the heavens, is that now, right now, ahora mismo, we don’t really need it.

I know, right?  Really.

You see, the Superman who lives here with the munchikin and I had to have some parts fixed before he can return to doing Superman things and being all Superman-y and such.  I didn’t realize this, but super heroes actually fall apart sometimes.  And need to be put back together, better than before.  Totally going to date myself here, but our  Superman will now be more like the 6 Million Dollar Man.  “We can rebuild him.”  He now has a titanium knee.  Yay!  Yay.  Yay…not so much.  There is simply not a lot of “yaying” going on around here right now.  Ahora mismo, there is A LOT of pain.

Dang pain.  Dang swelling.

And dang if Superman isn’t one of the worst patients I have EVER encountered.  And that’s saying a lot because one time I had a cow in the supplies closet.  She was peeved because I had removed a calf from her uterus and I’m thinking she wasn’t appreciating how pretty the sutures looked in her flank.  Or maybe she was peeved she’d had to stand for the whole thing.  Maybe she was looking for more drugs.  She never said.  And I never asked.  But she was one mean cow.

But she’s got nothing on Superman.  Holy crow but the man can be stubborn.  And irritable.  And just downright a pain in the kister.   Dang men.  Dang superheroes.

Luckily, luckily, Wonder Woman lives here too!!!!

I know, right?  What are the odds?  Because in which comic book did those two EVER get together?

Regardless, Wonder Woman is here and all will be right with the world.  She is handling the dang man just fine…with kid gloves.  And bullet-stopping bracelets.

Only this Wonder Woman has to put on a balaclava, down coat, three pairs of pants, headband and hat with ear flaps before setting out to shovel snow and feed the birds.  Because this Wonder Woman is dang smart and doesn’t parade around in tights and short shorts.   Progress on the feminist front I’d say.

Wish me luck.  The patient needs to be reminded to do his exercises.  Definitely going to need the bullet-stopping bracelets.

Blessings be from this winter wonderland.

 

 

 

About madranchwife

Mother, Mad Ranchwife(as in--at times-- crazy, nutso, loco, off-my-rocker insane), Veterinarian, Physical Therapist, "Liberal, pinko, gay-loving, Subaru-driving Socialist" (as I've been called), proud to be a totally tree-huggin', climate change believin', granola girl environmentalist, ObamaGirl, Pro-Choice (don't even get me started here...), and in my younger days a feminist vegetarian as a result of time spent at CU Boulder (this lasted approximately 14 months, until all the Jimmy Buffett I was listening to caused me to crave a cheeseburger). Now I just get pleasure out of swimming against the stream and ruffling a few feathers here in the wild west state of Wyoming!
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2 Responses to When it snows, it snows.

  1. WYGwen says:

    I can feel your pain and his also. This too shall pass……. and at some point he will actually be glad he went thru this pain because that other pain will only be a memory.

  2. It seems this time of year just about everyone is having to be a caretaker of sorts after surgeries and illnesses- this IS the season of snow for sure. Blessings and good luck!! 🍀 Love your playful style and spirit weaved into your writing!!

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