Fantasy Snow

The snow has melted across our fair county in all but the most stubborn of spots like the bottoms of ditches and corners of yards. The robins are out picking through the gutters for nesting materials or food. We have had some sporadic sun and I would like to declare winter over and spring's arrival! We are all outside running around half-naked with flowers in our hair. The children are outside, half-naked as well, ripping out handfuls of verdant Ohio grass and joyfully throwing it in the air like confetti. I'm totally lying.

There have been, at least, two recent instances when the snow has melted and then we get hit by a storm that dumps half a foot of snow. Then we get flooded because Mother Nature royally effs up and decides to dump rain thus melting the snow and saturating the ground to the point where we have giant pools of water just sitting with nowhere to drain. So now it's muddy, gloomy, and still cold. I don't believe for a minute winter is over. We aren't safe from snow until May.

This is my proposal: instead of playing Fantasy Football we should play Fantasy Snow. We can bet on which month the snow starts, we can draft specific days or weeks when we think there will be consistent snowfall, we can bet on which month it ends. Will it snow on Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter? I don't know. LET'S BET ON IT! We can guess the inches when a storm is forecasted. We can get the entire Midwest and East Coast together and pit our states or cities against each other during the Snowmaggedons. Governors would be forced to give a regional gift to the state with the most snow accumulation during moving stormfronts. It would totally change the way we think about snow. Instead of staring out the window cursing the snow we will stare out and throw our fists in the air screaming, "SNOW! KEEP SNOWING! I'VE GOT A HUNDRED BUCKS RIDING ON THIS STORM! TAKE THAT PENNSYLVANIA! YOUR FOOTBALL TEAMS SUCK TOO JUST LIKE YOUR SNOW!" Then the power goes out and you can't get online to check the bets and stats. I admit it's not the best idea in the world but it's got promise. There is some hope and luck involved when you play fantasy sports and that's exactly what you need when faced with a harsh winter.


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This Midwestern Life Eats a Pączki

On Fat Tuesday I ate my first pączki, a traditional Polish pastry. I don't remember pączki last year before Lent but I guess they are a big deal around these parts. There were even newspaper articles and pączki dances so naturally I had to see what these pączki were all about.

I was stopping by the grocery store for milk when I spotted a whole table piled with pączki. I warily circled the table trying to decide if I should bother buying a food David wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole then I went for it. Live to win! Buy the pączki! I carefully selected apple filled pączki hoping I would be able to force some on David and not have to consume all the pastries myself.

In Southern California pączki isn't a common pastry so I wasn't sure how to pronounce it. I asked the gentleman behind me in line who was carrying two boxes of pączki to my one. He told me it was pronounced "poochkey". I came home and consulted Wikipedia; there were some other pronunciations so I guess he wasn't wrong. Maybe he was using some regional pronunciation.

David was horrified by the box of glistening, iced pastries. He wouldn't touch them just as I suspected. He wasn't even dissuaded by the normalcy of the apples. Of course, I had at least three pączki and was sad I hadn't purchased cherry-filled or cream cheese-filled considering I was the only one inhaling them like I was sugar deprived. Finally, David broke down and tried one after I danced around with the box saying, "We are in Cleveland now! This is what Clevelanders eat! You have to try a little bit!" He said, "This is just a jelly donut." It's true they are similar to jelly donuts but they are made slightly different so they last a little longer than donuts. I should go back and get myself a box of cherry filled pączki. After all, I'm in Cleveland and I have to fit in, even if that means not fitting into my pants.