Snowpocalypse Round 2 hit yesterday, followed by ice.
Did I mention I love snow? Yeah, probably my fault that the country is getting slammed with the white stuff. It was all that pining and whining for snow through the month of December. And I'm not going to apologize. The world needs to slow down once in a while.
Couple of admin type thingies. 1) If you are hosting your blog on Blogger and you don't set comments to allow for anonymous and Name/URL commenters, I can't comment on your blog. I'd set up yet another Google account, but honestly, I'm up to my eyeballs in internet accounts to manage. So you'll understand if I leave this one up to you.
2) Be sure when you add your link to the Linky Tools that you're adding the URL for the 100 Word post, and not the main URL for your blog. If you do the latter, people are going to have to dig to find the right post.
3) Hoping you'll forgive me for being late AGAIN. I don't have much of an excuse other than the usual OH-MY-LORD-I'M-BUSIER-THAN-SQUIRREL-IN-NOVEMBER. You understand.
I was in Maine this past weekend. Did a little snowboarding and a little football watching. Patriots got clobbered and won't make it to the Super Bowl this year, but Ton-Fifty-One's charming character just might. Look out NFL!
Back Yard Super Bowl
Heaving the tattered Nerf football straight up into the air as high as he could, the boy waited for the kickoff to come down between the telephone wires into his arms, and surveyed the defensive obstacles in front of him.
He faked out the stationary oak lineman, spun away from the oncoming rush of the oscillating sprinkler safety, juked the shrubbery cornerback, and high-stepped over the garden hose goal line into the end zone, fourteen yards from where he began.
“I’m invincible!!” he shouted as he raised his arms to signal touchdown and began his victory dance.
“Next stop...the NFL!”
Let's see, what's on the bookshelf? Ah. One of my favorites, The Virgin of Bennington, by Kathleen Norris.
"Beyond the reason given, that these poets, many of whom were college professors, did not have the credentials to teach in the New York City schools, Betty sensed "a reflexive bureaucratic resistance to any idea extrinsic to departmental thinking." She wrote Freund that "we found ourselves explaining that we were not trying to teach a course on how to scan or to differentiate rhyme schemes; in fact we found ourselves explaining that these poets are articulate." Once she got the courses going, however, they proved popular with the teachers."