Lydia Aswolf

Often mistaken for coincidence, synchronicity plays a huge, HUGE part of our lives, and most of us don’t notice what it’s guiding us towards at all, though we usually get a nice big smack in the face that makes it all ring true…so that’s what Suzanne and I are going to be tackling tonight on Psychically Correct..if you’ve noticed any coincidences in your life, give us a ring, and we can not only tackle what’s coming up, but what those darn synchronicities have in store for you!

10pmEST.

http://www.themixtalk.com

Don’t be late.

Lemme tell you, it’s been a bad February.

First, the damn ice storm hit, leaving us without power for eleven days.

I can assure you, the highlights belonging to February aren’t good, but highlight them I shall.

Let’s start with sitting on a ice cold toilet in the middle of the night.

Obviously, I am a female.

On those nights when the toilet loomed large and cold in my life, I cursed that fact.

I did not try pissing standing up.

That little feat I’d tried.

I had a twin brother, and it looked sooooo cool to piss standing up.

So I tried it, around age four.

As you might imagine, didn’t work out that well.

So I found myself around midnight, glaring at the toilet as if it had done something to mortally offend me.

I then clutched my flashlight, taking deep breaths before exposing bare ass and plopping it on toilet.

After taking the plunge, my teeth would chatter.

Then up I went, shuffling back into the freezing cold bedroom I could see my breath in.

In case you are wondering, I did wash my hands after using the bathroom, in part because our hot water heater worked, and I needed some feeling in my hands before I grasped the flashlight and attempted a hasty exit.

Nature’s calls (always collect, always necessary to answer) in the middle of the night didn’t do wonders for my sleep habits.

Making my way into bedroom, and throwing myself down onto sheets so cold I thought my ass might develop frostbite, didn’t help my general attitude…nor assist in getting a good night’s rest.

Then again, nor did staying clean.

I decided one night, I couldn’t take it anymore, and had to shower.

I made my way into our bathroom, which does not have a window (no witnesses, you understand) with a flashlight clenched in my hands, and a sincere need for warmth and cleanliness.

As I disrobed, I made a potentially fatal decision.

A foolhardy decision.

I decided to shave my legs and armpits.

By flashlight.

In a room that greatly resembled a cave, so dark it was.

I did the deed.

I clutched a flashlight in my teeth and shaved my legs and pits.

I could see what heat was left steaming away from my body, but by God, I got it done.

Now that’s dedication.

I stood the tiny flashlight up, so there would be more light, then made for the shower.

Knowing our hot water heater is elderly and cranky, I knew I had only minutes to spare.

So I soaped up, rinsed off, and started to clamber out of the tub/shower combo.

Then the flashlight went out.

I don’t own a particularly large bathroom, so this was disconcerting indeed.

I stumbled over (incurring a lovely bruise I’d witness the next day) the wastebasket to the flashlight, shaked it like a cat shakes a mouse, and cursed at it.

Bowing to my awesome fury, it wisely decided to furnish further light.

I dressed, came out, and was privy to my children giggling at the sight of steam coming off my head.

But by God, I was clean dammit.

After the power finally came on, I figured we were set.

Nothing else could happen, right?

The week after we got power back, our toilets clogged up.

The kids had clogged it with wet wipes for their asses.

Now, for the record, my husband Brian is rarely wrong about anything.

He was wrong this time, and believe it or not, I was right.

I’d told him you can’t flush those goddamn wipes.

We got it fixed, but oh, at a price, dear reader.

At a price.

A week later, Brian was doing dishes (yes, he is a God among men) when the water gushed forth from the pipes under the sink.

After gathering towels we would immediately have to launder to clean up the flood created by our burst/fucked up pipes.

A trip to Lowes (more money) and a painful, painful experience on both behalf of Brian and myself, and the pipes were fixed.

That was a week ago.

Today, Brian came into the bedroom after getting kids to school (I did mention he’s a god among men, right?) and informed me the furnace was running nonstop, but without providing heat.

He had to call the heater dude, or whatever you call em.

Who promptly came over, fixed it, and informed us the bill would arrive shortly.

There are five days left of February.

The first week was without power, second week brought plumbers, third week brought hard manual labor for Brian and myself, and this week brought the heater dude.

Five days left.

If I don’t get to blog again, you’ll know I’m probably floating in my basement.

At this rate?

It’s due to flood within the next few days.

I did it again.

You might recall that for Valentine’s Day, hubby and I gathered up all the logs, branches, and assorted debris the great KY Ice Storm deposited on our lawn, then burned it all.

Apparently I got too close to the flames..a combination of enjoying the extreme warmth, and watching the coals burn brightly.

I knew my hair was a bit stiff, given that I’d washed it that morning.

I like to tell people I was born with terminally straight hair.

I own a brush, but I can barely find it, much less be bothered with using it.

This is what terminally straight hair is good for.

So, I just figured I’d accumulated a good deal of smoke in it, and kept staring into the fire, absorbing the warmth.

On a run to the bathroom in the house (I’m not such a primitive I squat by fire) I looked in the mirror and decided it was time for the brush.

I found it in my bottom drawer, buried under sweatpants (hey, I work at home ppl, comfort is KEY), totally forgotten.

As I brushed my hair, I noted a odd smell…one that was evocative.

It reminded me of the time, shortly after moving to Kentucky, I had singed part of my eyebrows and bangs off.

I’d never used a gas stove before.

So, when I threw the flame on the stove and bent to light a smoke.

Hair began falling.

I worked outside of the home at the time, so the reception I got the next day was one of high hilarity.

I joined in, as one of my few good qualities is that I can laugh at myself…just don’t piss me off.

This was the same smell of fried hair.

I noted with amusement that quite a good amount of hair was coming off, then wandered back outside.

Told hubby, who remarked that my hair actually looked quite good, sat down…a little farther from the fire this time, thank you very much, and went back to watching flames.

As I sat there, I reflected on the many ways one could burn oneself..and in my own twisted feminine mind, wasps came to mind.

I learned early and well to leave the wasps to themselves..but as usual, I had to find out the hard way.

My twin brother and I decided to throw some rocks at a wasps nest one day…which goes to tell you sometimes the increased parental environment we have today can be a very, very beneficial thing.

We were probably eight or nine years old, out in the great outdoors, parents in the house doing whatever parents do.

We grabbed some rocks, aimed very nicely, might I add.

Then hell itself came down to greet us.

I don’t remember where they got my twin, but I sure as shit remember one stinging me right under my left eye.

We were smart enough not to say much to our parents.

They had the attitude if you did something stupid, what you got, you deserved.

I think that’s a good thing, don’t you?

That was the only time I voluntarily pissed wasps off.

Why I did it in the first place I don’t even know, as I’d had a close call with wasps when I lived in the foster home in my much younger years.

All I know is we were in the car driving…and suddenly my ass hurt.

Yes, my ass, which was safely (or so I thought) ensconced in jeans.

My foster parents, who were not exactly angels come down from above, told me they’d see what was wrong when we stopped.

I wasn’t really willing to wait that long, as it felt like sharp little knives were sinking their way into my buttocks at the time.

So as the car moved, so did I.

I unsnapped my seat belt (gasp) unzipped my pants and let fly, literally.

There were no less than four wasps in my pants.

How they got there, I just don’t know.

I never will, but it’s going to be one of my top ten things to look into when I get to the Other Side.

My other brush with wasps was incurred while trying to get two of my kids, now nearly eighteen and nineteen, to swim in deeper water.

For whatever reason, they weren’t to thrilled about it, so I decided on a day at a local lake, to try and acclimate them to water over their legs.

This involved utilizing a handy raft that I knew they were dying to get out to.

I combo waded and swam out to it, and sat up on it, smiling invitingly, while wasps began earnestly stinging my inner thighs, ass, and places I dare not mention.

I dared not show any hint of distress, less my objective not be reached.

Then again, at the same time, I pondered, as the wasps continued exploring regions best left to my husband, that it might be more dangerous still to have Nik and Kam come out and discover just exactly what welcome party was awaiting them.

So I weakly threw myself into the water, keeping a smile firmly planted on my face, and went back to the kids.

They didn’t realize anything amiss, though Brian was aghast, as well he should have been.

Those damn wasps deprived him of one of our favorite pastimes, after all.

I shudder to think of what other perverse delights wasps or fire have in store for me.

I pray that my trial by fire (tee hee) and stings is over.

I’m well within my rights to be afraid, as you can read for yourself.

I don’t make a habit of playing with fire.

But somehow, I always manage to get burned.

So, I’m the toilet tissue stocker in this house.

We have anywhere from three to six guys in the house, and yet I use the majority of toilet tissue; therefore, it is incumbent upon me to restock it.

Yesterday, I found myself peering into the closet to locate and grab a roll of our Charmin.

I stopped in my tracks when I noted that printed on the package, was a fucking bear bent over with toilet paper bits stuck all over his furry ass.

Bemused, I pondered on all the commercials I’ve seen of the family of bears who apparently have great difficulty in figuring out how much toilet tissue to use, or just don’t wipe their furry asses effectively enough.

Is this who we are becoming as a people?

We have to make cute little fuzzy cartoon equivalents who are confused as to how to use their toilet tissue?

Are we really that afraid of our bodily functions….or is  the ad department at Charmin on crack?

Obviously we can’t be that darn afraid of our bodily functions, because we have Enzyte commercials which I find vaguely amusing…and my favorite pregnancy test ad is the one where the huge pregnancy test has a tremendous torrent of simulated piss gushing down upon it…I actually giggle uncontrollably everytime I see that ad.

But something has gone amiss.

Judging from the ads for every darn condition one could have….mild conditions, stuff you shouldn’t probably risk stroke, heart attack, constipation, difficulty breathing or urinating for.

Do we really need a crutch that badly..that we are willing to suck down a pill because we have to visit the potty more often as years go by?

I mean, I thought that was normal.

But apparently, aging and gravity itself are abnormal.

That’s why we have plastic surgery and infomercials, right?

Brian’s favorite infomercial is for a miraculous girdle.

They take great pains in showing rather rotund women before and after.

The difference, I will admit, is extreme.

But then again, it’s so extreme, there is no way on earth, anyone knowing these rotund women wouldn’t be able to figure out they are wearing a girdle..as their bodies have undergone a tremendous metamorphosis.

As Brian put it, “Their tits were hanging at 145 degrees in the before. After, their tits are at 45 degrees. Someone is gonna notice that.”

Then we have the malicious glee of plastic surgery and the celebrity world..if you haven’t seen it yet, one of my great guilty pleasures is awfulplasticsurgery.com.

I’m not at all campaigning against feeling good, or more youthful, or you know…healthy.

I’m just saying sometimes the extremes just aren’t worth the possible death to get the results you want.

But what the hell am I going on about anyhow?

Remember?

Awhile back I tried to stop smoking?

After the ice storm, when I got back to work.

I went right back to smoking.

In my own book that makes me just as dumb, if not dumber than Catwoman out there, Bob from Enzyte, or the poor actors who hawk the herpes pills that make outbreaks less often and more bearable.

Guess we all want what we will never, ever have.

Glowing health forever.

Total pleasure with no consequence.

Maybe one day, we’ll figure out that isn’t possible.

As I head out for yet another smoke break, I know that won’t happen anytime soon.

Tomorrow night, God willing and power you know, being intact, we are gonna have Reverend Bee join us on Psychically Correct…after three frikkin weeks, it’s about time we got back on air!

Look forward to taking your calls and questions, as well as chatting Bee up!

We got the paper.

One radio station managed to broadcast, on our third day.

So, we found out that 55,000 ppl in our area were without power.

That gas stations were being overrun for supplies.

Long lines ran for kerosene, and generators were sold out.

The fact is, our stores don’t carry generators as a rule.

Mild winters in Kentucky have always been one attraction of living here, and something we who live here now know we have taken for granted, at our considerable expense.

In fact, the radio station would sound the alert when a new shipment of generators came in.

Gas was also in high demand.

Luckily, there was no gouging, but it was still a ugly, ugly picture.

Normally, my mood would be sour indeed, at all this.

However, I woke to find I could see my breath in my own bedroom.

From that point on, the third day was a grim fight.

I had baked the day before, now I had to find a alternative way to keep the house warm.

My goal, dear readers, was 70 degrees Farenheit or above.

So, armed with a gas stove, I went for it.

I boiled a huge pot of water all day.

I heated the oven at regular intervals and opened it to gust out hot drafts of air.

I even heated a smaller pot of water to boiling, then carried it out to the living room so hot gusts of air would circulate.

My kids could care less, but my hubby looked on in concern.

He was right to be concerned, as water droplets were beginning to run down the wall as the thermostat crawled above 70.

When it hit 75, I squealed in delight, startling my kids out of a earnestly played game of Uno.

I was also exhausted from running back and forth with pots of boiling water, but who cared?

It was warm, and that warmth was heaven.

Brian and Aaron went out in the afternoon to get a new inverter, some groceries, and see the sights.

This was after we found out two neighbors remained, and one was more than happy to give us a jump.

Apparently, trees were down everywhere, everything was coated in ice, and the stores that were open, were bustling.

They came home beaming, with a new improved inverter that carried more amps, so would be more worthwhile to us.

Brian told me he nabbed the last inverter right as someone else was coming around the corner looking for one.

I didn’t feel bad.

You get awfully selfish about your own survival in such things.

We knew there were shelters opening, but we figured Brian could use the inverter to sleep with the cpap he uses.

So when dark came, Brian hooked up the inverter and we had light, and were able to charge the portable dvd player, the ds lites, and as I was still boiling water and using the oven, we were warm.

I listened to my mp3 player and relayed word for word, what reports were coming in.

So many without power, shelters setting up as fast as could be done in the adverse conditions.

Reports of fires, of a 93 year old man dying of hypothermia after a night spent in a home without power or heat.

Estimates that it would be three to four weeks before power was restored.

Not even two hours later, the battery in the van died.

We groaned..another night without Brian being able to use his cpap.

A quick word about the alarm this caused me.

I bullied Brian years ago into getting tested for sleep apnea because of the severe risk associated with it.

Stroke, heart attack, death.

I asked my oldest son to run up and ask our neighbor if he’d mind jumping the battery on the van again.

I had to.

I am a solitary creature, and a very private one…though you wouldn’t know it to meet me, or hear me on the radio.

I generally shun overt emotion, but…

I don’t know how I could live without Brian.

He’s my other half, and life without him is something I cannot contemplate.

That’s all I have to say about that.

The neighbor gladly gave us a jump, and poor Brian had his machine.

I say poor Brian because he had to get up every other hour to start the van, or turn it off, to make sure he could use his machine at all.

But he was able to use it, and that’s what counted more than anything to me.

That night, we had hardly any good news to go on, or so it seemed at first.

Our power might not be restored for weeks, and sub freezing temperatures were forecast to hit in a few days.

Water was running down our walls as a result of me attempting to heat the house to normal temperatures, threatening mold and mildew in the near future.

The battery on the van was dicey at best.

We needed the inverter which attached to the battery in the van.

We weren’t made of money, and I was frankly terrified of what just surviving might cost.

Then again.

We were all together.

The kids were laughing and playing, well fed, and comfortable.

My husband would survive this night, with the help of his cpap.

My oldest son would return to work the next day.

I would bake tomorrow, instead of coating the walls with humidity laden moisture.

We would survive.

(Sorry I didn’t post this yesterday, my Valentine’s Day consisted of assisting Brian in cleaning up the backyard, which was liberally coated in both large and small branches alike. After all were gathered, we spent our Valentine’s Day watching a fire that burned for hours…we even roasted hot dogs and had lunch outside as we gazed inside of the flames and enjoyed the flames. I can’t think of a better way to spend the day with your sweetie..can you?)

Our modest house (I told you I’m not made of money, dammit) on the third day of the KY Ice Chronicles.

No newspaper.

Conditions were too rough, and there were too many trees down for my paper dude to deliver.

So I didn’t know what was going on in the world around us.

We had a lovely thick coating of ice on the ground, and lo and behold, we chose a hill to live on….which seemed good at the time, because we rarely get ice or snow, but now this decision had come back to bite us in the ass.

Add to that that trees were down all around us, and you don’t get fun times ahead.

So it was, I thanked God that I had charged my mp3 player.

I turned it on and fiddled around to find someone broadcasting.

Turns out the radio stations were down too.

All of them.

My husband, Brian, hadn’t gotten a good nights sleep.

He uses a cpap which runs on electricity, because he has sleep apnea.

One night without it had left him in rough shape.

The three kids who were at home, were thrilled.

Aaron, my son who will be twenty next month, didn’t have to go to work.

Liam, my seven year old, and Reilly, the baby of the family, who’s six, were in rapture at not having to go to school.

We had lots of ramen noodles, chips, and I am a baker.

So I baked cookies.

Our gas oven and hot water heater worked, so I baked all day, to keep the house warm.

In between batches of cookies (chocolate chip, if you are wondering) we played Candyland, Chutes&Ladders, Uno, and other assorted card games.

I would rather not see another card or board game again for the next six months, if I can help it.

When I say we played, I mean without end, and there is always the one kid who gets pissed if he loses..thus you have to keep playing and even cheat so the one kid will win.

That was fun.

Then the plotting and planning on how the hell we were going to heat the house at night came into play.

We thought we were covered, you see.

While we didn’t have a generator, Brian had picked up a inverter he could run off our car battery to run his cpap.

We actually didn’t think of it the night the power went out, because we were so enthralled with the trees crashing and falling, and because we were morons.

We actually believed, after the sky lit up in beautiful greens and blues from transformers exploding, that the power had a chance in hell of going back on.

So, as dark came, we hauled out candles and such, and Brian carefully trudged across the ice laden lawn and driveway to hook up his marvelous inverter.

We turned on the light, and it worked…success at last!

Except, a hour later, it stopped working.

The battery was dead.

All but two other neighbors remained, and we hadn’t seen hide nor hair of them…so we weren’t sure if we could get a jump or not.

The kids had begged to sleep in the living room.

As their rooms, and my own bedroom were freezing cold, we let them.

They begged to let Brian sleep in the living room with them.

Brian, knowing it was going to be a truly shiteous night, agreed.

I tried to sleep in our freezing bedroom, after downing two tylenol pm and hoping for the best.

I heard the giggling and chattering in the living room.

I hoped that Brian could get out the next day.

He could possibly get another inverter, a few food items, and a new car battery if it came to it.

Though this didn’t fill me with glee.

I support my family by myself, and while my price per minute looks huge.

I am not knocked down with clients every time I sign in.

I only accept one out of every twenty clients, because we good/legit psychics are bound by rules.

I accept those I can help, and don’t sell fairy tales or bullshit.

I enjoy a good reputation because I make sure I can help, and am “seeing” correctly before I allow you to pay me.

But all the lovely ethics, morals, and following the rules I am bound by, doesn’t leave me with much in my pocketbook.

Not that I’m really asking for pity, I figure if the whole world worked on the principles I’ve kinda based my life on, it would be a better place.

Then again, I can be a awful bitch if crossed.

So it was with worry in my heart, I tossed and turned and prayed to God it wouldn’t cost Brian too much to get what he had to the next day.

I prayed the power would come on.

I prayed my family and myself would stay safe.

I prayed, and I invite you to pray, for a client of mine who has cancer and is in chemo now.

I prayed for a friend on a board I belong to who had at the time a lung transplant that her body was rejecting, and was going through horrific pain and misery at the hospital.

She died yesterday.

Which puts the pitiful saga of the KY Ice Chronicles where it belongs, doesn’t it?

I will continue my blog about the third chancy day of the great KY Ice Chronicle tomorrow.

But for the rest of the day, my thoughts and prayers will be with Lesley’s family.

I know she transitioned easily and is pain free on the Other Side.

But they don’t.

They lost a truly amazing soul.

So did we all.

Was gonna do KY Ice Chronicles Day Two, but I got distracted by all this furor over the chick who gave birth to eight kids, and had six at home.

Lordy me, CA residents and the federal government are helping this chick raise her kids, and even worse, she was allowed to have all of em?

Here’s my two cents…

We in the States pay for older men who can’t get their dicks hard to have Viagra, right?

They go on to have kids they don’t stand a hope in hell of raising, right?

So um, where’s the furor over this shit?

Other ladies pump out kids and use the state and federal government to “pay” for them.

Where’s the furor over that?

In recent memory, a chick who pumped out seven kids (not at one time, guess that doesn’t count) who subsisted on federal and state aid left the kids at home while she and a friend partied.

Someone was proactive enough to report this.

When social services visited the home, there was no food.

But there were teethmarks on the window frames, which were wooden.

Where is the furor over that?

Loads of people are homeless or about to be, and yet we are still handing money to the banks who didn’t do squat with it in the first place..much less help those hit hardest by this horrific economy.

So forgive me, if I don’t join too much in the hoopla surrounding some sad sack who had to reproduce madly to feel loved.

I think there are much more important concerns at the moment…and since we are basically footing the bill for it all…

I gotta get my ass to work.

You and I have people to support.

I got up early, which sucks, as I tend to try and sleep until 9am or 10am, if not later.

What got me up early was the kids hoots and hollers of joy that school was certainly going to be cancelled tomorrow.

As I looked inquiringly (and a little grumpily, to be honest) at my husband, Brian, he said “They are expecting 4-8 inches of snow tonight.”

Brian is not a man of too many words.

I like that, because the crucial information is crisp, concise, and clean.

In the morning, that’s the only communication I tend to understand.

Now, 4-8 inches of snow here in Kentucky is a ginormous amount, enough to make every person head for Walmart to stock their cabinets and speculate with glee if they will have work or not.

4-8 inches of snow is usually enough to close Walmart and McDonald’s…that’s how Kentucky views snow..with mild hysteria and a dollop of joy at the possibility of getting out of work.

As is the norm, and as you hear a great deal from people in ANY state.

The stupid assed weathermen got it totally wrong.

Such as the time they got it wrong when the remnants of Hurricane Ike came through, and high winds took down a great deal of trees, roofs, and assorted signage in our town…as well as power.

Power went out for four days in the aftermath of Ike.

What I remember best of THAT period is this stupid asshole saying before the broadcast ended…”We’ll have a few wind gusts tomorrow, nothing to get excited about, and the possibility for some showers.”

That little bastard is branded in my memory.

So much so, I show my teeth in something greatly resembling a snarl when he appears (hey, I am Lydia AsWOLF, after all) on my television screen.

The next day brought a little more than gusts of wind and a few showers.

We watched in disbelief as trees fell around us, as our neighbors homes got trees liberally imbedded in their roofs (I hate my neighbors, so they got what they deserved, refer to Neighborhell USA for reasons)

Four days later, when power was restored.

My teeth were showing and something suspiciously like a growl  was forming in my throat as the little bastard appeared on my screen.

He looked nervous and awkward, which frankly stopped the growl from emerging, as he and the other weatherman traded really underwhelming comments like “I’d never heard of a high wind advisory, had you?” To which his colleague retorted a simple “No” and got on with the weather..which was wrong of course.

But I’ve digressed….all to point out that when Kentucky Meteorologist get it wrong, they go all in.

So Brian and I sent the kids off to school.

Then we waited and watched.

No snow.

Lot of rain.

Lots of ice forming.

But no snow.

I wanted to watch the news in a bad way.

I was full of glee that they’d fucked up yet again, but the ice was making me a little wary.

So I got to work.

Answered my email, talked smack with my colleagues, and dealt with my beloved clients.

But when 4pm hit, my ears all but perked up.

Our news comes on at 5pm, and at approximately 4:50pm, the damn power flickered, then went out.

It wasn’t long after that the cracks and crashes began.

A word here about our bizzarre and yes, very stupid behavior in storms.

My oldest son (20 in March), my husband, I myself are fascinated with them.

Not like the idiots who run out to film tornados, or the reporters who stand in hurricanes.

I have a devious and quite evil desire to see the former sucked up in a funnel cloud live, and the latter to be blown away, literally.

One night, I mildly remarked to my husband during hurricane coverage, as yet another reporter tried to stand and deliver, that it would be great if the pole behind him would suddenly rip in two and behead him.

I might be a good psychic and medium, but I sure spend a lot of time trying to convince my clients I have real nasty streak…and now they know for sure, those that read my blog.

My husband, oldest son and I are a we bit more mild.

We merely go out and watch the action, trying to keep a safe distance.

That we were nearly smacked upside the head with huge branches during the Ike high wind fiasco didn’t really you know, get through when the cracks and crashes began.

So we took shifts.

We aren’t dumb enough to let the six and seven year old out in storms.

So I found myself running outside with my husband to view the source of all this racket.

We saw the amazing progress the ice had made in coating the trees, at least half a inch to a inch.

We saw the trees bowing under the weight, then giving in and crashing all around us.

Most interesting of all, we observed what at first appeared to be green and blue lightening.

It was only later we would find out that those were transformers blowing, all over our modest town.

My son, Aaron would join us for a few minutes, then hubby would go inside to mind the kids, as we were, after all without power.

But we had been smart enough to have their Nintendo ds lites charged, and their portable dvd player, so they were having a total ball, secure and even smug in their knowledge there would be no school the next day.

We were up most of the night.

Because trees were falling most of the night.

After hours of witnessing this, it became a bit more alarming as larger and larger branches came down.

To the point, I was immediately getting up and running to window, if I wasn’t outside, to see where the next one would fall.

We had candles, and flashlights, and Brian had been smart enough to go out and stock us up as soon as he heard the forecast, so that was all good.

When we finally did try to go to bed, we were on edge.

After having experienced four days without power with Ike, we had deep, deep reservations about when power would be restored.

It didn’t really help that branches were landing on the roof directly over our head.

We hoped for the best.

Even when the rain started coming down.

Rain that immediately froze on every surface it encountered.

We honestly thought we knew what the worst was.

Turned out we didn’t.

Well, I MEANT to have Bee on..but this weather is sucking dirty donkey balls…because the lines where we produce the darn show are down..so maybe, if I beg, plead…and possibly bribe her, I can have Bee on next week, if the high wind advisory we are under will let me…

Sorry to all our listeners out there, wasn’t a thing we could do about it last two weeks, but this time it’s not MY area’s weather..but at this rate, next week it might be.

I hope not..but hope in one hand, shit in another, see which fills up first, as hubby always says!