Battling the Elements

So far, the Minch family has experienced life in 2010 facing fire, flood, and famine.

Did I mention that I caught on fire in January? Yeah, that was a tremendously scary and surreal moment. It's sort of amusing now, but for a minute there, I must admit I was worried.

It was a Sunday morning, around 11:30. Ed was off running errands and Cameron was still sleeping. I had done some walking on the treadmill, jumped in the shower, and when I was finished, headed downstairs to put some water on for tea. I trotted down the stairs in my favorite terry cloth bath robe, which I have had for many years. It's my go-to robe upon getting out of the shower, drying my hair, styling my hair, and putting on perfume before I dress.

I turned on the gas stove to heat the kettle, and if you have a gas stove, you know that upon lighting them, they always ignite with a "woosh." As I started to walk away from the stove, I noticed that my right sleeve had caught fire. It happened so fast, and to top it off, I wasn't even sure how it happened.

If you've never been on fire, let me tell you, your first reaction really is not to "stop, drop, and roll." Your first reaction is to start flailing the body part as if you're trying to disconnect it from your body. As I flapped my sleeve in the air (which was only feeding the fire), I quickly realized that I needed to stop doing that and smother the sleeve from oxygen. So, like an idiot, I patted the sleeve against my body, because at this point, the fire was manageable. However, as I did this, other parts of the robe also began to ignite, and spread like wildfire. Why it never occurred to me to stick my arm under the sink, I"ll never know. Eventually, I grabbed the kitchen towel and patted myself down. I did think about ripping the robe off my totally naked body and stomping the crap out of it, but being the practical mother I am, I actually thought about which would be more traumatic for Cameron to see. His mother totally in flames, or his mother totally naked. I assumed it would only be a matter of time before he came rushing down into the kitchen to see what all the commotion was about, because I was certainly uttering the phrase "Omigod, omigod, OH MY GOD!" over and over and over.

Fortunately for me, the fire dissipated as quickly as it had started. As I stood there in the kitchen, I looked around at the burnt debris that had fallen on the floor and the smoke rising up to the ceiling. I quickly opened up the doorwall for fresh air to circulate, turned on a fan or two so the smoke alarms wouldn't go off and wake up Cameron (who was still sleeping!), and then headed upstairs to put on a different robe.

As I regained my composure and started to relive the events in my head, I began to examine the robe. There was a definite brown tinge to the surface of the faded black terry cloth. To my surprise, however, not only was it on the sleeve and front of the robe, but it was also on the back! This could only make me think that the back of the robe was on fire as well. As I mentioned, it all happened so fast, which made me think something had to have accelerated the ignition. Then, it dawned on me. My robe was probably covered in remnants of hair spray and perfume, which I always spray on my wrist. I was basically a human Molotov cocktail. When the gas stove was lit, it sprayed out and, as I brushed my sleeve past the stove, that's when it caught fire. Once the chemicals from these items were burned off, the fire went out. Lesson learned. From now on, I am very careful not to have dangling sleeves on when I light my gas stove. They get pulled all the way up to my shoulder. I kid you not.

A few weeks after the fire, we experienced a leaky ice maker/water dispenser valve on the refrigerator in the kitchen. Unfortunately, it wasn't brought to our attention by water pooling on the kitchen floor from under the fridge. For goodness sakes, that would be too easy. We discovered it when I headed down into the basement on a Monday morning to get on the treadmill. As I approached the bottom of the stairs, I heard a strange noise, which I couldn't quite put my finger on. Turns out, the strange noise was water dripping from multiple soaking wet ceiling tiles. When I realized what I was seeing, you can only imagine the look on my face, the words that came out of my mouth, and the speed in which I flew up the stairs screaming Ed's name. Thank God he had not left for work yet.

At first, we didn't know what the hell was happening or where it was coming from. We did have the presence of mind to turn off the electricity in the basement, however, since overhead lights were drenched in water. After running around frantically, checking sinks, and vents, and closed off rooms, we realized that right above that spot was the refrigerator. Sure enough, ran upstairs to pull it away from the wall, and "voila!" The water was leaking inside the fridge, filled up the bottom pan, and then proceed to spill onto the floor but traveled right down the cracks of where the hard wood floor meets the wall. Thus, pooling under the hardwood floor, soaking into the subfloor and then dripping down into the ceiling tiles below. We don't think it had been happening for too long, since Cameron had just been downstairs the night before to empty the garbage.

As we surveyed the damage we realized that it could have been a lot worse. Just a few ceiling tiles. For whatever reason, I had an eerie calm in my demeanor. I reminded myself that I have some friends who are currently going through way worse traumas in life, than this. The loss of a spouse, the painful goodbye to an ill parent, the loss of a job, etc. This little disaster was just a part of life.

So, with our "chin up" attitude, we set about cleaning up the mess. After a couple of days, we began to realize that the worst of the situation was how it was affecting the hardwood floor boards in the kitchen. They began to "cup." The center of the boards were concave while outer edges raised up. This created an uneven surface. After doing some online research, we were encouraged when it said that many times this is a temporary condition of the flooring until all the moisture is removed from the wood. It also offered some suggestions on how to expedite the process.

One suggestion was to turn up your thermostat to 80 degrees, while turning off your humidifier for a period of time. When Ed approached me about whether I would be willing to give it a try, I had mixed emotions. My first thought was how all my cost cutting electric and gas saving measures I applied to the household in January and February were going to go right out the window by jacking up the thermostat to 80 degrees. Then, I was secretly giddy when I realized that I would not have to walk around the house wearing multiple layers of clothing with blankets on top of me while watching T.V. The biggest concern, however, was weather or not I could really stomach being in such a warm house. We keep our thermostat at 68 degrees during the day and dial it down to 60 at night. In the spirit of saving repair work having to be done to the floor, I decided that I could handle it for two or three days. And so it began.

Of course, we were not allowed to turn up the thermostat until Ed was showered, dressed, and out of the house on his way to work. With overactive sweat glands, he would have been a mess. Unfortunately, for me, I really had nothing that had to be accomplished outside of the home, thus, leaving me here to withstand the heat.

At first, it wasn't so bad. If I had short sleeves on and wasn't moving around too much, I was good. However, when I needed to get on the treadmill downstairs, that was a different story. I walked while wearing my iPod and at some point I noticed that the Jordan Sparks/Chris Brown song "No Air" was playing. They sang about not being able to breathe, which started to make me feel like I couldn't breathe. Eventually, I had to open a window to let some fresh air in while I finished my exercise. When I walked up the stairs and opened the door, I was hit with a wall of "heat." It was also quite noticeable whenever I entered the house from outside. When Cameron and Ed came home for the day, they both changed into shorts. That night we dialed down to 60, but I don't think the thermostat ever broke 73 during the night. Ceiling fans were being used to the max.

The next day, things started to change. I found that my use of Vaseline Intensive Lip Therapy increased about 200%. I began to receive enormous shock of electricity when I went to turn on a light. Frankly, I was amazed that my lips did not spontaneously combust due to all the petroleum jelly they were coated in. When Stanley saw me approach to pet his fur, he turned and ran the other way. Later in the day, I noticed that my contacts felt glued to my eyes. Then, as I was standing there drying my hair, my nose started to drip blood. It took me by surprise, and I began to feel like I had been exposed to some toxic chemicals, like Jack Bauer in 24. I also began to worry about Stanley and whether or not he would be okay. Although he seemed to be relishing in the heat, I made sure to put down some additional bowls of water around the house to ensure he drank plenty of liquids. I even let him drink out of my water cup (yes, I got a new one out for me). I started to feel dehydrated and needed to get out of the house.

While I was out and about, Ed called to see how it was going. He asked me "Is it hot in there?" To which I replied "Duh! Does a bear shit in the woods? Of course it's hot in there. It's like Arizona in there! I could be drying my own fruit slices on the counter tops for homemade trail mix if I wanted to."

By the third day, I could take it no more. We continued to leave the humidifier off for a couple of weeks, while blowing a fan directly up into the subfloor from underneath. We have since had to turn the humidifier back on due to serious dry skin patches forming on my face and sinus problems for all.

I am happy to report that the flooring has improved greatly. Whether it will ever return to its normal state, remains to be seen. However, at least the damage has been lessened. Also, our current DTE bill was $70 less than the previous month, in spite of the increased temperatures and round-the-clock fan blowing.

On the famine side, Cameron is thrilled that I'm over my empty-the-pantry-fridge-and-freezer kick. I resumed grocery shopping in mid-February and my SweeTart jelly beans have been available in stores for a couple of weeks now. With all the stress I've been under, I've been popping them like pills.

My biggest concern now is whether or not it's safe to leave my home for a trip to Florida. We've had so many freak occurrences here of biblical proportions, I'm afraid I'll come home to find a house full of locusts.

Happy 16th Birthday Cameron!

Today’s posting requires two photos. The first photo was taken of Cameron and our friends’ dog, Roxanne, in 1997 when Cameron was three and Roxanne was their newly acquired puppy. The second photo was taken 12 years later at the end of last summer. Look at how much they have grown and changed. Poor Rox, she’s about 84 in dog years, and her sweet brown face has gone white with age. Unfortunately, for Roxanne, she got off to a rough start when one of her owners (Mike Meyer!) accidentally ran over her while backing out of the driveway. Luckily, as you can see, she survived the incident.

Fortunately, for Cam, he got off to a much better start. We only allowed him to lick chlorine tablets and swing a golf club in the house, which caused shattered glass from a broken picture frame to fall down and slice his toe open (requiring stitches). Not bad, really, considering that Cameron has always been our little “envelope pusher” and dare devil.

At four he was riding a two-wheeler. At five he was playing organized roller hockey, and at seven he mastered down hill skiing, without the use of poles, because who needs poles when your center of gravity is only two and a half feet off the ground? At nine he gave surfing a go when we went to Hawaii on a family vacation. That’s probably why he switched to snowboarding. At 10, he took up the violin and is still going strong in the high school orchestra, after having completed three years at the middle school level. At 15 he started playing organized football for the first time ever in his life. What he lacked in physical stature, he more than made up for with hard work, determination, and commitment.

While I’m watching him play the violin in concert with those long, lean fingers, I think to myself “Who is this boy that can read music and play so beautifully, but can’t clean his room or remember to put the toilet seat down? How does that work?”

Oh Cameron, you are a funny, funny boy. You’ve got a wicked sense of humor, however some times it gets you into trouble. Remember when you hid behind dad’s easy chair and scared the bejesus out of him. He was so mad. But, we got more of a laugh out of him trying to be mad than scared. Dad doesn’t do mad nearly as well as mom, right? Remember when you put baloney in my CD drawer and I started to smell something funny and wondered what it was? Remember when Alex was trying to be a hard-ass by smashing the bedroom door up against the wall (and you just happened to be in between the two) and you accidentally popped him in the nose? That was funny, mainly because you thought you were going to be in trouble, and instead we yelled at Alex for being a bully. Remember when you told our new neighbors that you had a baby brother that lived in the basement? Remember in fifth grade when out of the blue you said you were running for student council president and I thought "sure you are" and then you won! Shame on me. Remember when I made that bet with you last week that Bode Miller would win the gold and unbeknownst to you, the race had happened hours earlier and the results were already reported? Shame on you! That was a good one, until dad told Alex to text you that it was a set up.

I can’t believe you are already 16 years old. So grown up, and so....not. The time has absolutely flown by and yet it seems like an eternity since you were born. I'm thrilled that you have matured into a wonderful young man, and yet not ready for my baby to be a young man, mainly because that makes me an old woman. Don't forget, Cameron, everything I expect from you is because I love you. If I didn't think you could do it, I wouldn't expect it. Continue to strive for excellence and don't settle for average. Keep working hard at school and sports like you have been doing this year, and don't look for the easy way out. This doesn't mean life has to be difficult, just challenging, so at the end of the day you can feel proud about what you have accomplished. Today, you should feel proud. I know I do. Now go clean your room!

Olympic Inspirations

Nothing like the Olympics to make you feel like an underachieving, overeating, couch potato slug. I continue to be astounded at what some of these athletes can do with their bodies, at high rates of speed and, in some cases, altitude.

First off, the mogul skiers. Last week we watched in awe as men and women were just ripping down a steep mountain hitting gigantic moguls one after the other. Along the way, they paused enough to ski off a ramp (twice), to leap into the air and perform some ridiculous somersault. They would hit the ground running and continue down some more moguls. It was outrageous how fast they traveled down the hill, all the while keeping their heads level while their knees bounced up and down faster than you can say “arthroscopic surgery.” I was so sore from just watching that event, I had to take some sympathy Tylenol and break the heating pad back out. Seriously, how do these people have any hip and knee joints left?

Next up was speed skating. My dear, sweet Apolo Anton Ohno. He is so adorable, I just want to scoop him up and put him in my pocket for luck. Watching him skate makes me so nervous, though. The velocity at which these short track skaters travel around that teeny tiny oval ice rink is crazy. The racers start off all spread out, and Apollo likes to hang back in the beginning so he can check out the competition. Then, with only a few laps to go, he makes his move. Zipping, scooting, and cutting people off like a New York taxi driver. I start screaming at the TV set “he’s not gonna make it, he’s not gonna make it!”, because he’s all the way in the back with so little time left in the race, and then boom! Next thing I know, he’s in front and I’m thinking “how’d he do that?”

Moving on to lugers, I have come to the conclusion that they are not even of this earth. Can you imagine someone explaining to you how this sport actually works? Ok...first you need to put on this skin tight unflattering outfit which might protect you from serious ice-burn, however, we can’t guarantee that. Besides, your skin getting ripped off your body will be the least of your worries. Next you sit on this flimsy-ass sled, and try to push yourself as hard as you can down the track. As you begin your journey to hell, you’ll want to lay down on your sled (which, by the way, only has room to support your back) and put your legs on either side of the runners for support and steering capability (as if there’s a snowball’s chance in hell you’ll actually be able to control anything). Since there is no support for your head, you’ll need to keep it at a 17-1/2 degree tilt so you can see what you're going to crash into. Because the track is made out pure ice, you may find yourself travelling at speeds upwards of 80 to 90 miles per hour, so for sure you'll want to wear a helmet.

A couple of weeks ago, leading up to the Olympics, I caught part of the women’s figure skating competition that would determine who was going to be on the United States’ team. I distinctly remember sitting in my comfy, cozy bed seeing skater after skater do incredible things with their bodies that made my toes cramp. One incredible move I witnessed time after time was them twirling (very, very fast, I might add) on one foot all while grabbing the blade of their other skate (behind their back, I might add) and then they pulled their leg up and back until their hands were held high over their heads....spinning faster....balancing on one leg...perfectly balanced. Did I mention they did this on one leg, with the other leg pulled up behind them over their head? I mean, it’s one thing to be balanced on one leg with your other leg in front of you (like when you're shaving your legs), but behind you? That totally makes you want to lean forward. But they were upright, straight as an arrow. As I watched this move unfold, I remember thinking “what is she doing?....where is she going to put that leg?....oh, no she didn’t!.... get out!” The crowd rewarded them each time with a thundering roar of applause and cheers. At some point, I began to feel so incredibly motivated and inspired, I found the energy to jump up with enthusiasm and headed all the way downstairs into the kitchen to make some popcorn. Normally, I would ask Ed to do it, while twirling my hair and looking so Perils-of-Pauline helpless-like, but I felt truly inspired to do it all on my own.

Over the weekend we watched downhill, slalom, Super G (which stands for Super Good) and combo racers. Since Ed and I are skiers....well, let me rephrase that....since Ed and I HAVE skied over the years (using our skis we bought for ourselves as Christmas gifts to each other in 1989, which are now considered obsolete antiques), and have been to the giant slopes of Boyne Mountain (which, granted, is not quite as giant as Whistler in Vancouver, mind you), we do know a thing or two about skiing. And one thing we know for sure is that we could never even come close to doing what these people do. I said to him while watching one race "Could you imagine doing that?" to which he replied a pure and simple, yet emphatic, "No." There was absolutely no hesitation whatsoever in his response. We would most likely become the poster children for the "agony of defeat" video clip that would go viral on YouTube for all the world to see.

The physical strength and fortitude of these athletes is truly incredible. The adversities they have faced in the way of accidents and injuries, some of them life threatening, requires a special determination. The sacrifices they and their families have made over a lifetime, the hours of practice put in day after day, and the physical pain they endure for an opportunity to represent their country truly makes me want to "go for the gold" and walk an extra mile on the treadmill. However, let's not get all crazy. After all, there is no shame in getting a bronze medal, you know.

Finding Your Comfort Zone

Last October, Ed and I celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary. Who da thunk that the quiet chemist and the feisty Filipino who met on a blind date would last this long?

We were set up by his high school friends, Adam and Stacy. I guess they stopped by his house one night, having just got home from working the afternoon shift, and found him sitting on the couch in his underwear eating mac and cheese out of the pan. Immediately they thought...."hmmmmm, you need a life, or a distraction at the very least." So, they put their scheming heads together and Stacy, whom I worked with, thought of me. I’m sure she said something like “I work with a girl who is having a bad month. She recently spun out on a patch of ice and wrecked her car, had her wisdom teeth pulled out and while on her pain medication she freaked out at work, and just got dumped by a guy she was dating. She’s currently pissed off at the world and hates men, and since you're such a nice guy, you would be perfect for her!” And Ed, who loves a good challenge, said “uhhh...ok."

Having moved back from New York City a few months prior, let’s just stay I was still in cynical NYC mode. When you live and work in a city which is teeming with people from all over the world, you aren’t really afforded the opportunity to stop and make eye contact and form friendships with very many of them. You're constantly moving, running, and hustling to catch a train, bus, taxi, or just cross the street. You're basically in competition with lots of people every day to get where you're going as efficiently as possible. These types of daily goals don't allow for friendliness. “Sorry, no time to make eye contact.” Making eye contact might mean you'd have to say "hi" or strike up a conversation. Who has time for that? Besides, for all you know they just might be a Ted Bundy or Son of Sam wannabe, so you adjust your friendly mid western attitude, keep your eyes down low, and just keep moving.

When Stacy asked me in a sing-songy voice what I was doing on an upcoming Friday night, I suspiciously and bluntly asked “why”. When she said she wanted to fix me up with a guy she knew from high school, I immediately asked “what’s wrong with him?” After she some-what assured me that nothing was wrong with him, I stated that I would need to see a photo first. I just wanted to be sure he wasn’t a dorky doofus. What can I say? It’s no surprise that many of us are shallow in our mid-20‘s. Upon seeing the photo and asking a multitude of questions, I agreed. On date night, the first thing I did was check out his shoes and decided he was okay (I have unique standards). We had instant chemistry and felt so comfortable with each other right off the bat. Needless to say, the blind date went way better than I had anticipated

Twenty-three years later we are still together. Like any couple, we have experienced so many of the ups and downs of what life has to offer--my diagnosis of breast cancer at age 25, a year of chemotherapy, the birth of two healthy children, the painful loss of his parents, the aftermath of a tragic car accident involving a son, the loss of a job after 20 years of service, our firstborn’s high school graduation and transition to college, the health woes of my parents, and the all too sudden and too soon loss of good friends. We have been fortunate to have travelled the world together--London, Paris, Australia, Hawaii, California, Florida, and New York City.

Over the years we have laughed about how our lives and priorities have changed. In the beginning, a great Friday night meant heading out to the bar to hook up with friends. After you are married and have kids, a great Friday night could consist of your two-year old, that you are in process of toilet training, “poopin’ on the potty.” You are so ecstatic at the turn of events, you feel the need to call every relative and take a photo for the memory book. Thank goodness, for my friends and family, that Facebook didn’t exist back in the early 90’s when I had toddlers.

As the kids begin to get a little older--elementary and middle school--you reclaim some of your social life. This means you get to play euchre with your friends, have a couple of beers (and then some), stay up late, sleep in late, go on family outings where everyone can participate, like ski trips, Cedar Point, sporting events, and Florida vacations.

By the time the kids reach high school and college age, your energy level and priorities have changed again. You look forward to the end of the week and the nights you can just stay home. You're comfortable with not having to compete for attention, get dressed up, or do things you don't enjoy. Your time becomes more precious and you make wiser choices on how you want to spend it. You also begin to make choices based on function not fashion. At this stage in your life together, you have no problem going out in public being the king and queen of dorky doofuses. Forget that you didn't want to date one. Now you are one. Heading out to watch your kid play football for the third week in a row in the cold, rainy, and windy weather forces you to channel the puffy Michelin man look again and again and again. Your umpteen layers of long johns, a sweatshirt, ultra-warm winter jacket, ear-flapped ski hat located under several layers of hoods, and a rain poncho over the whole package that makes you look like a circus tent sitting in the bleachers is what finding your comfort zone is all about. And, when you run into someone who hasn't seen you in years, you might find yourself initially trying to explain how you don't normally look like this, but then you think better of it and say to yourself "screw it...who cares?"

That’s what being in your comfort zone does for you. It gives you peace of mind. You don’t care how you are perceived on the outside by others. As a couple, being honest and secure with yourself, as well as each other, is a wonderful feeling. Being able to laugh at each other and cry with each other is what finding your comfort zone is all about. Being consistent in your relationship and staying true to your core values while navigating through the good and the bad is what finding your comfort zone is all about.

I recognize, however, that perhaps I can become a little too comfortable and may need to "shake it up" every now and then. One day I picked up Cameron from the school and he asked me "why are you all dressed up". I look at myself (because I guess I forgot what I was wearing) and stated "I'm not dressed up, I'm just wearing stuff." He said "well you have on nice jeans, a jacket and real shoes." In my defense, I had on a black blazer that has been in my closet for years, jeans that I wear all the time, and some black boots. I guess he's used to seeing me in my scruffy Uggs and a ratty-ass sweater that I sometimes grab as I'm heading out the door for such casual occasions as picking my kid up from practice. I realize that finding my comfort zone doesn't mean I have to become complacent. For that reason alone, I'm thinking about shopping for a new poncho for next year. Perhaps one with vertical stripes that would make me look less puffy while sitting in the bleachers. Although, stripes might make me really look like a circus tent. Hmmmm....maybe stripes aren’t the answer. Maybe something in camouflage is more in line.

Oh Happy Day!

ALLELUIA, ALLELUIA, AAAAAAALELUUUUUUIAAAAAAA!!!!!

Today is a snow day....a bonus day....a freebie. An extra Saturday, thrown in after Tuesday. Well, for students and stay-at-home moms it is. Well, maybe I should clarify that...stay-at-home moms with kids over 14. For you moms with younger kids, it might mean more work than rest because those younger kids are higher maintenance. Sorry! After you have survived the terrible-twos, sassy-sevens, and tenacious-twelves then, and only then, will you be able to enjoy a true snow day. The true goal of a high schooler on a snow day is to fly as low under the radar as possible. Sleeping in....staying in their room....being quiet, and not looking or stating "I'm bored." Nothing strikes fear in a teenager more than the thought of their mother giving them something to do on a snow day....like help your dad shovel the snow, do some extra studying or homework, or clean your room.

We found out last night that school was cancelled via Cameron and the Facebook hotline. Of course, due to the source of the information (teenagers with a vested interest), this was going to require further confirmation (at least on my part). So, we logged on to the school website. Then we received an automated call from the school district. Then we saw it scroll across the bottom of the TV screen during the news. Aint technology grand? Ding.....bonus day confirmed.

Of course, then this raises the question of what is a better bonus? Finding out the night before and knowing in advance you don't have to set your alarm, or finding out the morning of and then crawling back under the cozy covers? Hmmmm.....that is a tough one. When I was in high school, we didn't know jack until you got up to your alarm, dialed the rotary phone, and then tried to get through the myriad of busy tones on the school hotline. Nowadays, kids know school is cancelled before the superintendent does. Works for me!

Fortunately, for little Eddie, he has a wonderful new boss that allows him to work out of the house on occasions such as this. That's the other wonderful part of technology (sometimes). Email, cell phones, conference calls, webcams, etc., all make it possible to do your work from home as opposed to physically spending hours making it into the office and then more hours making it back home. So, being the good little employee he is, he set his alarm and got up hours before the Camster and me. Then, after taking care of some business, the testosterone kicked in and he headed out to the garage to bond with his big-ass snowblower. He really hasn't had much opportunity to spend time with it this winter, so today was a special day. Of course, I had to follow him outside in my robe to witness this manly moment. Suffice it to say, he did not find it amusing when I asked him why he was wearing safety goggles. "Do you think you might get your eye poked out by some flying snowflakes?" At which point, he cranked it up so as to quickly drown out my voice. Being the good neighbor he is (and seizing the opportunity to spend more time with his toy), he continued to clear the neighbor's driveway, sidewalk and mailbox areas after taking care of ours. He has now showered, shave, and has real clothes on and is back at his computer working. Such dedication. I'd for sure be working in my pajamas.

I checked in with Alex, and although they experienced the same snow fall as us, classes go on as regularly scheduled. Snow days at college are very few and far between. I would think that when you are on a campus of only 1,200, they are practically nonexistent due to the superior snow removal skills of the maintenance crew that my tuition dollars pay for.

I plan to spend my snow day hopping on the treadmill and then perhaps catching up on some of my DVR'd shows. A couple of those include Oprah episodes that I taped to watch with Ed and the boys. Today might be a good day for that. One is on texting (and cell phoning in general) while driving and the other is on diabetes and how it is becoming a growing epidemic in our society due to poor eating habits. For me, education is key and these two topics provide a teachable moment. They hate it when I watch Oprah.

As far as I know, Stanley will be spending his snow day like he spends his rain days, sun days, and every other damn day....sleeping, eating, and pooping. Aaaaahhhh...the life of a cat. He rarely smiles, like the cats in the photo above, but I believe he secretly is thrilled with his life, as I am with mine.

Life on the Frozen Tundra

Since the end of the holiday break and the return of the eldest man-child to college, I have fallen into a deep energy and money conserving mode. I have decided to work with what I have and have been keeping a journal of my efforts over the last month.

Day One

Oh, the sadness. In conjunction with the holidays being over, my parents heading off to Florida for the winter, the return of children to school, early morning risings, and short, cold, dark days, I have sunken into despair. I realize that I must overcome this by getting myself back into a productive routine focusing on the future and new goals. With Alex now off to college for the last five months, I realize that it is no longer necessary to keep three refrigerators and a stand-alone freezer stocked to the gills with nourishment for him and his brother (mostly him, however). This causes me to lose my elite status at Kroger and Schwans. It also prompts us to realize that it's time to get rid of the refrigerator in the garage. The fridge in the basement really goes unused and the standalone freezer definitely needs to be defrosted. There's so much ice forming on the top of the shelves, it's starting to look like a cave with some hefty stalactites hanging down.

Day Four

It has been several days now since the arctic blast has settled over the land and I find myself not leaving the house for a week now. Why should I? It's too cold and I realize that in consolidating refrigerators, we really have LOTS of food in this house that needs to be consumed. I realize that I have fallen into the habit of stocking up, but not depleting. Therefore, I have decided to use up what we have in the pantry, refrigerators and freezers before doing any major grocery shopping again. I have informed the men of the house of this decision, and they seem to be on board. This also works out well with me not wanting to leave the house.

The cold, darkness of winter (and that ridiculous December DTE bill) has found me leaving blinds closed to keep the house insulated and lights being used down to a mininum. The husband is getting irritated with me because I keep turning off lights that he is using. Sorry! I have also fallen into a routine of putting on my jammies by 7 p.m. and wanting to spend the evening upstairs in our cozy, cozy room watching TV. Ed has an easy chair and ottoman that he can sit in and read. My mantra for the month has been "I love my bed." Besides, this means we can turn the thermostat down and lights off downstairs, hours earlier!

Day Seven

In an effort to maintain some sanity, we have decided to force ourselves to go out and socialize with friends. We brave the elements and head to the varsity basketball game one night and the hockey game the next. We also visit with friends on their bowling night. I realize that it was fun to interact with real live people and think "we must do this again." However, I can't deny that while out, all I can do is dream of my down comforter calling my name. I have also picked up a bad habit of using the heating pad on my back and shoulders because it feels so good. Initially, Ed dragged it out to help soothe his back, which was on the edge of going out. However, after he offered it to me one day, there was no turning back. Note to self: must break this addiction, the heating pad electricity is offsetting the other attempts at conservation.

Day Twelve

Met friends for coffee this morning, thanks to a mini warm-up. The challenge of preparing meals with existing foods in the freezer, fridge and pantry is going rather well. I find myself thrilled beyond belief when I get to consolidate and throw out another box. I warned the husband, however, that he may come home one day and discover that we are having Pop Tarts and hot sauce for dinner as the selections dwindle. His reply was "I would love that!" He would make such a great pioneer. Then I realize that I would too, if there was heat, a little bit of electricity (for my heating pad), pillow-top beds, and down comforters.

Day Fifteen

The college boy has returned home for the weekend. Not really to see us, however, he does manage to make time to join us for dinner (free food). He comments on how long my hair has gotten, and I remind him "I just saw you two weeks ago. How much longer could it be?"

This is a holiday weekend, thanks to the great Martin Luther King, Jr. and the U.S. government for wanting to celebrate his birthday on a Monday instead of the actual day. I squeal with delight knowing this means "no alarm clocks." I know, I know. Shame on me for not honoring a special man in a more meaningful way. However, I like to think I was keeping his "I have a dream" speech close at heart and wanted to experience it in the literal sense.

Day Twenty One

Last night we ventured out to our monthly euchre gathering. Growing weary of "creative meals" I was greatly looking forward to some delicious food and drink with friends. Although, I do not find myself growing weary of curling up with a great New York Times crossword puzzle and my DVR, I know it is essential to reconnect with mankind. One of the couples is preparing to leave on a Caribbean cruise. I secretly find myself loathing mankind.

Cameron had a friend over to keep him company. I started running around the house turning on lights and opening a blind or two so his mother wouldn't think we're so morose and weird with our house all closed up and dark.

Being out the previous evening, and with nothing on the calendar (until 6 p.m.), finds us in our pajamas all day. Except for when Chuckles calls to see if we'll be home so he can return our borrowed card table and chairs. I pretend to sound perky and dressed. I mention that there is "no rush in getting them back" however, he doesn't go for it. With Ed off to pick up Cam from baseball conditioning, I am forced to get out from under the covers. Oh, the humanity.

Later on in the evening, we venture out to Ed's company party. It is a long drive, but I am anxious to meet his new friends and coworkers. The younger child has been left at home alone and is in the midst of preparing for mid-term exams. I promise him I will bring him a cannoli. He is thrilled. When I return with two, he is over the moon.

Day Twenty Two

Three weeks into our journey, I decide it's time to venture south to Krogerland to replenish our dwindling food and supplies. Only perishables will be bought--fruits, vegetables, milk, and perhaps SweetTart jelly beans if they are available. However, they are not--only stupid Valentine's Day candy is out along with a small selection of Cadbury Egg crap. I fear I will have to wait at least another few weeks before the arrival of my beloved jelly beans.

Day Twenty Five

Mid-term exams are upon us (well, technically they are upon Cameron, not us). He is busy studying hard. For whatever reason, there are only 1/2 days of school during midterms, and no school on Friday. Apparently, they are too exhausted to complete a full day of school. The morning is spent laboring over exams while the afternoon is devoted to napping and the evening to studying. He is his mother's child.

The sun came out today and I felt it was a special enough occasion to open the blinds for the cat. He thanked me appropriately by begging for some of my ham sandwich and drinking out of my water cup. He is so unclear on the concept of how to express gratitude. We continue to work on those behavioral issues. So far (after seven years), no luck.

I must admit that this cleansing of the pantry is very, well, cleansing! It has really forced me to think about some of the crap that I purchase--like instant maple/brown sugar oatmeal. I tried to eat it, but it was horrible. In all honesty, we really have had some decent meals and it has forced us to try different things. However, the longer we go, the more challenging it becomes. For instance, tomorrow we are having popsicles for breakfast.

Theres No Crying in Baseball!

As my boys would say "Want me to call it?"

"Call what?" I reply.

"The waaaaaaahmbulance!" they say, smirking because they think, for whatever reason, that I am whining about something and feeling sorry for myself.

So today I'm taking a page out of their book. Suck it up, Mark McGwire and quit your crying, you big baseball baby. You made the choice to consciously take steroids for 10 years, and now you wanna boo-hoo about it during interviews? If you're going to come clean about cheating, then man-up and come clean as to why you cheated and how it influenced your game.

To say that you only took steroids to help you get healthy from injuries and that it didn't help you get stronger, bigger, and hit harder or influence your game in any way is like saying the parts they put in the bionic man were only to help him walk again and they really had no effect on his ability to jump higher, run faster, and create the spinoff "The Bionic Woman." Preposterous!

July like Olympic athletes Ben Johnson and Marion Jones, who were stripped of medals and records after it was discovered they took performance-enhancing drugs, you should be stripped of your achievements as well. To allow you to be in the Baseball Hall of Fame would be like allowing Tiger Woods into the husband-of-the-year hall of fame. You cheated. Don't you know, cheaters never prosper? Well, they do for a while, like Bernie Madoff, but in the end they get what they deserve.

It's really disheartening to see how many athletes are giving up their integrity for a deal with the devil. Drugs, gambling, extra-marital affairs. I realize they are not perfect, but don't you think for the amount of credit they are given, money they earn, and kids they influence that they should at least try a little harder? Perhaps that is the problem. They are given too much money, too much credit, and too much influence. Somehow, we forget that they are human, just like us. But worst of all, THEY forget that they are human, just like us.

Let Me Be Brief

The eyes of the world are on Detroit as the arraignment of the Christmas Day terrorist attacker gets underway. As we all know by now, the young Nigerian attempted to blow up Northwest flight 253 en route to Detroit by packing chemicals into his underwear that would be used to set off an explosion. He is being indicted on charges that include using "weapons of mass destruction" and attempted murder. In short, he had WMDs in his BVDs. Thus, he has been dubbed the "Underwear Bomber."

From a practical perspective, I implore the media, can we PLEASE call him something other than the "Underwear Bomber?" I understand, the guy from a couple of years ago became known as the "Shoe Bomber" but the "Underwear Bomber" and photos of his blown out underwear in the paper and on the news keep conjuring up images of dirty underwear and burnt testicles that I don't want to think about. How about the "Boxer Bomber" or "Grundy Grenader?" Somehow, those undergarment terms don't sound as disgusting.

What's in a name? Everything. After all, wasn't there a conscious effort to change the name of the Swine Flu to the H1N1 Flu because it was giving pigs and the pork industry a bad rap? Can you imagine when word got out that pictures of this guy's underwear were being published for all the world to see? I'm sure the people at Hanes and Fruit of the Loom were holding their breath and saying "Please, please, please....don't let it be one of ours." What a marketing nightmare that would be to have to recover from. Yeah, it would be free publicity, but certainly nothing like the free publicity the outer wear company is receiving from using President Obama's photo in their Times Square advertisement. They say there is no such thing as bad publicity, but I think Tiger Woods and the boxer brand name of the "Underwear Bomber" would beg to differ.

Global Warming? Hah!

It's raining reptiles! I read that it's so cold in Florida, iguanas are falling out of the trees. Apparently, the frigid temperatures are causing the cold-blooded reptiles to become immobilized and lose their grip on the trees. To see these comatose chameleons, click here.

The Secret to Friendliness and Fun

Did you ever notice while out on the water in a boat, fishing, drifting, tubing, cruising, how friendly everyone is? Every boatload of strangers that passes by you waves, says "hello", tips their cap, smiles, or perhaps even gives you the right of way? People being friendly, considerate, and easy going. Exchanging simple pleasantries..."how's it going?.....beautiful day, huh?....catchin' anything?"

Now, can you imagine transferring that image and attitude to people as they drive in their cars (especially in the winter), rather than in their boats in the summer? I don't think we'd even know how to react. It's interesting to note how different, yet the same, the two really are. Driving a car is a lot of "hurry up and wait" while driving a boat is more like "hurry up or wait....whatever you want....your choice."

Of course, why wouldn't you be pleasant and cheerful while out relaxing in a boat, feeling the warm sunshine on your body, drinking a beer, and keeping cool thanks to the mist of water that occasionally spritzes up in your face? The tropical smell of suntan lotion, the sounds of motors whirring and water splashing, music playing and people laughing. For most people, spending time on the water is an opportunity to get away from it all and relax. This makes us happy and friendly.

Somehow, even though this IS the Motor City, the allure of being in your car just isn't the same. Chances are, you are not doing it as a form of relaxation. You are probably going to work, school, or an unpleasant doctor or dentist appointment, or you ARE working, because you make your living by driving.

You may be running errands, going grocery shopping, picking up the dry cleaning or picking up your kid. Perhaps you're on your way to go Christmas shopping, or returning Christmas gifts. You're fighting traffic, following drivers who aren't paying attention to what they should be doing because they are too busy yapping on their cell phone, eating their lunch, or worse yet, texting.

When you're driving in your car, you're generally doing it with a "let's get down to business" attitude. I got stuff to do, I want to get there, do it, and get back in a timely manner. I have no interest in "cruising" around town and being friendly. As the commercial says "get in, get out, get on with your life."

It is fun to think about what it would be like if we could act like "boat" people while in our cars. Of course, this behavior wouldn't come easy and naturally like it does while at sea. It would take some real practice and work.

Can you imagine, sitting at a traffic light and the guy in the lane next to you or across the intersection from you turns to you and waves and smiles and raises his travel mug to you in a toast? You would be astounded and creeped out all at the same time. And yet, when boats pass each other this kind of activity happens all the time.

Perhaps, while you're filling up your gas tank, someone engages in conversation and asks "How's it going?" and all you can do is think to yourself "Do I know you?" Of course, if you were filling up your tank at the local marina, you'd be chatting away with the fellow boater next to you talking about the weather, the fishing conditions, or the ins and out of the waterways. You don't really experience much idle chatter at the gas pumps when filling up your car, like "Hey, about that Ford Rd. Whew, that is one tough roadway to navigate." Once again, you'd be thinking to yourself "Yeah, whatever dude. You're weird, quit talking to me. I don't have time for talking."

Water and sunshine, they have a magical effect on the human psyche, don't they? You know what else has a magical effect (beside chocolate!)? Music. I've said it before, that music has the ability to transport us to a special place and time in our memories, whether they are happy, sad, or bittersweet. Over the holidays, while up north with friends, we happened upon the movie "The Sound of Music." When Alex was little, that was one of his favorite movies, and even though he probably wouldn't admit it, I think he enjoyed watching parts of it again while he played cards with his manly snowboarding buddies. I know I enjoyed it, even though now I have to sing "I am 16 going on 49...." that part was a little depressing. I can remember my parents taking us kids to see that movie at the Mai Kai theater and it was a big deal for me.

Music can create such a communal attitude among people as well. I realized that when I happened to catch a snippet of something on Oprah this week. It was a repeat episode that was featuring some highlights and favorite moments of Oprah's and one of them was from her 24th season opener this past September. I really don't watch Oprah on a regular basis, however, I don't know how I could not have seen or heard about this event on TV, the web, in the paper, in a magazine, or via an email, because it was pretty cool.

What happened was, she had the Black Eyed Peas on to perform in concert in the streets of downtown Chicago, and they and her producers surprised her with a mob flash dance of over 20,000 people! If you're unfamiliar with the term, a mob flash dance is when a large number of people perform the same dance moves to a song, like a massive music video, but it happens rather subtly and unassumingly. I have seen one video via an email of people doing a mob flash dance in a train station. It's fun to watch the reaction of those who are not in on the dance and seeing their faces when they suddenly realize that something magical is going on around them.

As I watched the clip, I didn't know what was going to happen. So, being totally clueless was part of the fun. As the BEP's started to sing "I Gotta Feeling" and do their thing, I noticed (like Oprah had noticed) that there was this one chick in blue up at the very front of the stage dancing like a mad woman. Everyone around her was just standing there while she was going to town. At first, I thought "Wow. I guess she's really into it." It hadn't really dawned on me yet that no one else was dancing. Then, little by little, more groups of people started to join her in the same dance moves starting at the front of the group and moving all the way back down the multiple city blocks they engulfed. Twenty-some thousand people all doing the same moves in unison. It was sooooo cool! And, what was really fun to watch was Oprah's reaction as she realized something special was happening, all without her prior knowledge. She looked like a little kid on Christmas morning jumping up and down for joy because she just received a pony. It was fun! Then, watching the faces of the people who had just completed the dance and their sense of satisfaction of surprising her with this incredible gift was equally fun.

When they were done playing the clip, she spoke to the producer/organizer of the flash mob dance and he talked about how something magical happens when people dance, and I thought "he's right". Whether you are at a Jimmy Buffet concert acting out "Fins", a wedding doing the YMCA or the chicken, or at a country bar doing a line dance. There is something fun about dancing with strangers in a group. Somehow, they become a little less strange to you.

Some people who actually participated in the flash mob dance were in the audience and they talked about the experience. One gal said people were friendly, even though it was crowded and elbows were flying here and there, and in one portion of the dance each dancer placed their hand on the sweaty back of the person next to them as part of the routine and it was a real moment of "community" for her. She lamented that if people could be like that all the time, there'd be no fighting.

I guess this is why Ellen Degeneres always dances at the opening of her show because it makes her feel good and it's fun. I guess this is why the hit show "Glee" has become so popular, because people break out into song and dance and it's fun. And, I guess that's why we're always suckers for the macarena or the chicken dance at wedding receptions, because it's fun. For more fun, click here to see the Oprah flash dance. It will make you smile. You know why? Because it's fun!