I love you. I'm proud of you. Happy Holidays. Here, I have bought you a present.
Among the list of phrases that bring warmth and joy on the solstice, the following does not rank:
WARNING: THUNDER SNOW POSSIBLE.
What. the. fuck. Thunder snow? That's not weather. That's like...a 3rd level spell in some video game, or a boss's final attack.
Gaia has attacked you with Thunder Snow! Take critical damage, and admit you are a small and measly bug in her sight.
The motto of Maine should be: "If you like lake-effect snow, get a load of me!"
At least we are home and bundled up and I have mocha-pistachio cookies in the oven. We bought our first artificial tree this year since we're leaving--supposedly, if the blizzard doesn't block our way--for Cleveland the day after Christmas and can't leave a needle-dropping tree while we're gone. It was surprisingly hard to decide to buy a fake tree. Christmas trees have all this resonance for me, beyond smell and decorating. Getting my own tree has always felt so grown-up and competent to me--possibly because I remember the tree falling off the car onto the highway when I very small and my utter panic that it would get hurt, and thus getting it home always seems like a huge victory.
My mom says that when I was something like four, I "helped" her bring in the tree in the snow and when we had set it up in the living room and brushed off the snow, I put my hands on my little hips and said:
"See, Mom? We don't need men!"
Small Cat is essentially the same as Big Cat, obviously. I don't even really look much different.
Anyway, we'll be decorating our small plastic tree tonight. In a blizzard. With Thunder Snow. I love my life, and am a little afraid of it sometimes.