Febyooerry Beguines

Ah, February. When we are forced as a country to come to terms with how rayciss America is. Because why else would those politicians assign Black History Month to the shortest month?

We were spared the ice sheet that fell down on Texas, Arkansas, and Missouri, and we were grateful. We’ve been down that road before, and it ain’t something we want to repeat. A couple of years after we bought this farm, we were hit with an ice storm. The fences around the chicken coop were bowed over to the ground, having become glittering drapery for the poor beleaguered girls inside the henhouse. Massive limbs from the old pine tree outside the bedroom were dropping every few minutes, cracking like rifle fire as they gave way, a frightening sound and sight. And did I mention we lost power? Several times?

Mrs. Orr’s daffodils are up a few more millimeters, and the sight of those little green nubs in the frosted soil gives me hope. Life, as they say, finds a way.

We attended a Christmas party in early December, and along with the flu we caught, we also came home with a nifty gardening basket my wife won. One item in the basket was an amaryllis bulb. She planted the bulb and we’ve been incredulous at the speed with which the thing has grown. It’s about two and a half feet tall and has bloomed out in the last few days into an eyepopping glory. See the photo above.

I talked to a little lady today, and as so often happens, I ended up asking her about her dog. She said, “I have to put her up in the other room whenever company comes over. Otherwise we can’t do shit.” Why is it that this particular scatological word inevitably arises when people discuss their dogs? And why do Fox News’ female anchors all have out-of-control eyebrows, too-short skirts, and mean-ass faces? I mean mean. They all look like they would shove me down the escalator just to get to Starbucks. Their skirts all look like they have to expend 340 calories per quarter-hour just keeping their knees clamped together. And their eyebrows all look as if they were (1) applied with a small paint roller or (2) constructed with filings from an Iron Mike toy. Remember those?

I spent a fair amount of today pondering one thought: What is my true aim in this life? That is to say, what do I believe is my true aim? Not what some catechism says, not what some thinker explores. Me. What do I truly believe is my chief goal in this life?

Stillness and silence can so often be unsettling. But I can endure both. At least I think I can. I have the luxury of choosing to flick the switches. Some do not.

Tomorrow is Groundhog Day. And we all know how that works out, don’t we? I don’t even like Sonny & Cher.

~ S.K. Orr