Monday, February 16, 2015

Tales of Winter, in Rootabaga Country

One winter back then, it got so cold, all the snowmen froze to death;  and the moon  stuck to the sky.

‘Nother time, Time froze, so it looked like we’d have winter forever.
But then the Blind Man had a good idea.  He broke out the firewater, and soon all was well.

There’s another story somewhere but I can’t tell it cos I can’t thaw it.

So those are the tales they tell, out in Rootabaga Country.
Folks around here  believes them all;  so I reckon they must be true.


[Update, even deeper into winter.  February the Frigid.]

I finally arrive at work, after trudging in from a far parking-lot.   I tell my podmates (whose upturned faces observe what must look like an entering yeti):  “Ask me if it’s cold.”
Exchanged glances.  Then, dutifully, someone recites:  “Is it cold?”
Momentarily I act nonplussed, as though the question made no sense.  “Is it -- ‘cold’?  Relative to what?  It isn’t cold relative to Pluto;  this would be like a summer’s day to them.  On Pluto, the oxygen is in a solid state, like peanut brittle;  to breathe, you have to break off a chunk and chew.”
Everyone allowed as how we’re lucky it isn’t that cold right here right now.

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