It's Too Darn Hot!

So, this morning I was making my mom a pot of tea.

I boil the water and pour it into the waiting carafe, and five minutes later mom starts to pour a cup, and the water is clear. Seriously, I didn't put a tea bag in the pot ... first time ever, I think.

So, we laugh, and I pour the water from the carafe back into the kettle, boil it again, put a bag in the carafe, pour in the water and set the carafe on my island to steep ... and, of course, I got busy and forgot about it.

An hour later, I finally notice the carafe and decide to remove the tea bag before leaving the pot with mom; and, somehow I manage to drop the spoon into the carafe, which luckily doesn't break, but now I can't get the spoon out because IT'S TOO DARN HOT IN THERE!

At this point, I wonder briefly if I might be getting old, before I remember that it's more likely I'm sleep deprived; so, I take a deep breath; and, we laugh again.

I use a second spoon to remove the tea bag from the pot and mom finally gets her cup of tea ... but, the carafe is still holding the first spoon hostage.

Rodent Revenge

CBC reporter, Brett Ruskin, was bitten this morning by Nova Scotia's famed groundhog, Shubenacadie Sam (a sort of rodent revenge, I thought) and, I found myself laughing out loud.

I did not find Ruskin’s injury humourous (although, in hindsight, organizers might have seen it coming) or the circus atmosphere of the Groundhog Day ceremony and aftermath to be entertaining (it was, as always, unnecessarily frightening for the unfortunate groundhog): I laughed when Ruskin temporarily lost his composure, on-air, and interjected something like, "Forget the prediction, I'm bleeding."

Groundhog Day has long been my favourite day of the year; because, regardless of the whole six-more-weeks-yea-or-nay thing, it figuratively gives me hope that spring is out there, somewhere. For many years, though, I've disliked the unfortunate circumstances thrust upon the poor captive rodent.

Terrifying a shy marmot monax (the groundhog’s Latin name) simply for entertainment value, just seems cruel to me; and, since the CBC reporter was injured in a greased-pig-style stampede to corral Shubenacadie Sam - who’d suddenly tried to escape his captors and literally go over the wall - I thought Ruskin rather deserved the beleaguered groundhog’s defensive bite.

All laughing aside, continuing to assign knowledge of spring’s arrival date to a shy prognosticating groundhog, who uses the inconclusive shadow-or-no-shadow method, seems antiquated and unnecessary. After all, spring arrives on March 20th every year, one way or the other - Always has, always will.