Dear Linda Ronstadt,
I ain’t saying you ain’t pretty, all I’m saying I’m not ready to spend hours on end listening to you singing the same song over and over and over. Yes, when you haven’t been powering your way through Tracks of My Tears (mine have already worn a rather deep groove on my cheeks from having listened to you over and over and over…,) you’ve been trying to convince me that we’ll both live a lot longer if I live without you. I want to, Linda, I really do, but J is so enthused about your musical stylings that I’m going to have to control the urge to grab your CD and toss it out the window and onto the snow that is piling outside our door.
Let’s put it this way: we woke up to snow. The Curse of the Toboggan, Snow Shovel, Snow Melt and Snow Chains has been lifted. The only thing we haven’t used yet is the toboggan, but there’s been shoveling, getting stuck in the snow, putting chains on and vivid cursing this morning. The Great Gonzo made it home from work because -and thank goodness for this- his workplace offers rides to employees; we tried, we really tried, but after sliding, slipping, skidding and tramping home through snow, we were incapable of achieving the morning mission. The chains WORK, but this is hilly, curvy-road country, and we had to make a decision regarding which ditch we wanted to get stuck in, with our not-all-wheel-drive vehicle. The hospital has all-wheel-drive, fully-equipped for snow vehicles, and if I could kiss the man who drove The Great Gonzo home, I would, but I don’t think he’d want me to…
So we’re home…with Linda Ronstadt. J’s taken over the basement level and I’ve decided I need a laptop so I don’t have to sit here and type while Linda (or Fake Elvis, Tom Jones or -heaven help me- Barney!) sings. To make matters more interesting, J insists on having the ceiling fans on while the temperature continues to dip outside. We would love to know WHY he wants this, but we think it’s intended to drive us away and leave him with the largest living area in the house to himself. (Bwa ha ha ha HA!)
Yesterday’s laziness has paid off. I feel mentally, physically and emotionally ready for the onslaught of family togetherness. This morning, my husband and I emulated a pit crew at the Indy 500 and put together two shelving units and re-organized one half of J’s bedroom. We would have reorganized the whole thing if it hadn’t been because of God’s sense of humor with the hot-flash thing. There we were, working away in J’s room when suddenly I felt the urge to open the window and stick my upper body out the window, seeking relief from the feeling of “Oh, GOD! This is what Joan of Arc felt like when they lit that fire!!!” that overtook me. Of course, the man in the room started saying “it’s COLD in here!” and, to prevent myself from tossing him out into the snow, I decided to pick my battles and came downstairs…
So here I am…wishing I had never bought any of Linda Ronstadt’s CDs…wondering if this is her revenge for all the times I stood on a coffee table and sang into a round hairbrush, basically destroying each and every one of her songs. J thinks it’s hilarious. He’s sitting there, happily jingling his Slinky (the last Slinky in our arsenal, by the by,) and smiling broadly every time he re-starts Different Drum. I suggested something milder…like Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture or Dvorak’s New World Symphony, but J is adamant. My husband’s eyebrow has started to twitch, the cats have gone into hiding, and I’m ready to walk into the snow and not return for a few hours.
Wish me luck. The forecast calls for more snow. We have roughly 2700 square feet of living space on three levels…it doesn’t seem to be enough space right now. I suddenly feel profound admiration for all the people who lived before us and had no electricity, books, large spaces to confine themselves to when snow fell relentlessly. Of course, they didn’t have Linda Ronstadt or ceiling fans to contend with, but it cannot possibly have been fun to be stuck in a small cabin or hut or even a rather large castle with snow incessantly collecting around them.
I am going to hide now. I think if I lock myself in my bathroom and have the water running Linda will drown…BE DROWNED OUT, I mean. Of course, J can always bring her upstairs…and back downstairs and to the kitchen level. You’d think a person with hyper-sensitive hearing would be sick and tired of this, but we know better, don’t we? There’s that Fake Elvis incident from December…there’s Tom Jones from November…
And if The One Slinky gets tangled beyond repair…oh, LORD!