Saturday, March 23, 2013

Should We Really Blame a Rodent?

Punxsutawney Phil 

TMZ, you missed it. I found him and I got the scoop straight from the reclusive rodent who has been in hiding for weeks now.

Some might think that being the celebrity that Punxsutawney Phil is that he would winter in the Florida Keys or perhaps even somewhere in Brazil.

Can you imagine my surprise to spot him in a local cafe in Mayfair, Texas? At first I wasn't sure. It could have been any groundhog...wearing sunglasses. Then he ordered a "pop" with his Waldorf salad. The jig was up!

For one, NO ONE in these parts calls a soda "pop". It's always called a Coke, even if it's not a Coke but a Dr. Pepper you're wanting. Second, a Waldorf salad? Really Phil. You're worse at hiding out than you are at predicting the end of winter.

It seems the poor fella came here to Texas hoping that he could just blend in with the other prairie dogs, take in the local culture and eat some really good Tex Mex.

Turns out he's getting as much grief from the locals about his unfortunate announcement of an early spring. It's got him pretty stressed out and the Tex Mex is only aggravating his acid reflux.

So he is asking for his privacy during these confusing times and has issued the following statement:

To whom this may concern, which is apparently EVERYONE! I am but a lowly prairie creature who has been thrust upon a stage under the false pretense that I can predict the end of winter. By seeing my shadow or not seeing my shadow I am as the tradition goes, the decider of seed planting, garment storing and pedicure scheduling. 

I am under no obligation to reimburse individuals for lost personal days scheduled for picnics in the park. Gardeners are on their own for ignoring instructions on seed packets that clearly state to wait to sow until 2 weeks after the last frost. 

I am deeply sorry for anyone falling for such a silly charade. I'm a groundhog. Get a life people. And please, I respectfully ask that you leave me to live mine in peace. 

I sorta feel bad for the little guy. We were elated, uplifted and singing Phil's praises back on February 2nd. For the first time in years, people were cheering his name. We all thought that we'd have an early spring.

Then this last blast of winter rolled through and we turned on him. We turned on him like potato salad in the sun. We turned bad.

I'm sorry Phil. And I promise not to disclose the location of your new whereabouts. I would just be weary if someone invites you over for gumbo.

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Anger Danger

When you trip on something, do you immediately jerk your head around in anger to see what had the nerve to stump you? I do it every time, which is ridiculous. Am I going to have it out with the table leg?

Anger is dangerous. It's no surprise that anger falls smack dab in the middle of dANGERous. 
Holding on to a grudge, bad feelings or displeasure is just weight that our spirits can't afford to hold on to. 

My mother and I talked about this topic today. My mother suffers from Chronic Fatigue, Fibromyalgia, Severs Arthritis and a sick sick sense of humor.  I explained that I had recently read articles describing the link between chronic illness and anger.  

There is a pattern to my flares with Sjogren's Syndrome. I usually am in denial at first, then I feel anxiety. Pain usually brings on feelings of either irritability or anger. When I catch myself doing this I know it's time to retreat and take care of myself. 

Usually the only thing that can pull me out of a funk like that is looking at pictures of baby animals. That and videos of people falling. Forgive me. As long as no one gets hurt I am amused. That's that sick sense of humor genetic thing I get from my Mom. 

Today I'm shaking off the last twangs of a flare by reading one of my Grannie's books on Ireland. It's The Little Big Book of Ireland published by Welcome Books. It's a compilation of everything Ireland from folk tales, recipes, poetry, blessings and curses. Yes! Curses. 

Love Grannie's bookmarked pages. 

No wonder why the Irish are a spirited lot. They can let go of anger- just let it fly off the tips of their tongues. While I don't condone this behavior, I am at awe of their moxie. 

May you break your kneecap going down the steep step of your rosiest garden. 


Six eggs to you and a half dozen of them rotten. 

and then 

May your spuds be like rosary beads on the stalk. 

and when you're really angry

May your hens get disorder, your cows the crippen, and your calves the white scour, and may you yourself go blind so that you'll not know your woman from a haystack. 

So, a happy St. Paddy's Day to ya! Go about it without anger or you might fall on your arse!