Winter can be rife with trickery. Deep belief that life this side of Heaven lasts forever proves false; lies and subterfuge. This brief moment in the sun would not last the drive’s duration as I bumped along River Road.

I passed over a number of potholes filled haphazardly as though the department of transportation saw them, hesitated and then rallying around for a brief moment, made a weak effort. I give those potholes about a week before they sink; disappearing.

Some fields were freshly turned over, glazing like melted caramel in the tricky sun. They will turn white and butter-creamy cold again before long. The weather is all smoke and mirrors this year.

I observed a hawk sitting in the field on a mound of dirt facing west; feathers moving gently in the wind. He’s watching the slight of hand; the falsehood of the climate and season.

I drove on and then suddenly on the right side of the road, there was a bright green overstuffed couch with one missing cushion. Tricks and lies. The furniture truck must have stopped on a whim and the driver and partner clambered out and sat down in the middle of the field to watch for more tomfoolery.

It’s all out there today amidst sun and flora and fauna and falderals.

I’m driving slowly this winter…

In the end, we realized that the system was purely data hungry. Research had gone from being helpful, a tool…to an entity to be worshipped. More details, more schedules, more numbers, more charts…it was a sacrificial system…a blood lust with minimal return.

Everyone scrambled to print, share, produce, file. Then the lull…then the stream of requests and emails flowed again; brand new, all agog with novelty as if we had never traversed this path before.

Then silence.

After awhile, we divided amongst ourselves…those choosing to fight to change the system went one way. Those choosing to work outside the system…under the radar, through the side door, hand held heavily on the delete button; we went another way.

But could those blasted test scores ever inch upward?

This was the never ending hymn, sung out wherever we were forced to listen…

Funny Valentine: betwixt and between…Janus and green…the shadows of winter bend long.

But as long as violins sound in snow…as long as pink candles in windows do glow…as long as dear Cupid still stretches his bow…the moon she will shine over water and wine…and all will be fine…betwixt me and twixt mine…while shadows bend deeply and low…

I was caught up in the aesthetics of the matter, not the practicality. He could not eat his breakfast…so graciously wrapped, carried and presented to him in his wood shop, on a delicate plate no less. He could not eat his breakfast because his hands were covered in grease.

The thought of providing napkins for him slid through my mind as shilly shally and flim flam.

This is why he builds, and I build differently…

Ground Hog Day…and what of it, really? I mean…really.

Old Man Winter, Lady Snow, Lord Wind and Sister Lake Effect toyed with us and found us wanting. They headed west to the political scene in Iowa, making mischief and they sat down in the middle of the plains for high tea.

They wobbled, adjusted and commented. ‘Pass the frost, please’ and ‘How delicious; layered permafrost with a gropple topping’.

I am bored and so is Phil, our regional rodent…no snow, no shadow, no sun.

Heading north today…toward the city, toward the lake, toward Spring…

Snow has fallen and gone away again.

I look at the pine needles and the damp…having forgotten how pleasant it is to walk around late at night in the country, in the moonlit cold.

I am looking forward to going back to the city…

Another February lies before us, preparing to stretch and unfold gently in the night hours…

Welcome February…the shortest month, rich with reds and pinks, rose petals and white lace with strawberry dipped chocolates…midnight wine goblets in heated restaurants…murmured chatter as we glance out the frosted glass.

Knowing, feeling that despite the most bitter of March gusts around time’s corner, February is winter’s farewell tip of the hat, the ice-wink…and the grand Cupid exit…

‘What are you doing?’ I look at him. ‘I’m counting. You know I count. I do three things or five things. I get a lot of stuff done this way’. ‘3 or 5’ he responds. ‘What is that again?’ ‘I’ve explained this before’ I answer with a sigh. ‘Three things done…Father, Son, Holy Spirit. The spiritual world orders my material world. Five things…Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. The secular experience helps order my spiritual, theological, material world’. He looks at me and chuckles. ‘Sometimes I believe you are nuts!’

I laugh as well. ‘Yes, I am. Determinedly so. Sign me up. Under the column labeled ‘nuts’ write my name in all caps’.

He looks out the window at the snow, the empty street, at the possibility of yet another day looming…working from home, talking in rectangles on Zoom, moving in smaller spaces and cramped quarters…’No, you’re not nuts…just creative in attempting to forge purpose, organization and meaning out of 10 months of shifting sands’.

I look down at my lap. Time to stand up…’One (I throw the blanket off my lap), two (I stand up), three’ (I switch off the reading room light). He watches me walk away. ‘Hey, how many steps into the cellar?’ he calls out. ’13’ I answer. Silence. I continue, ‘I haven’t decided what to do about the cellar. 13 is throwing me off’. Silence. ‘If you go down twice, that’s 26′ he says. ’13 groups of two…Old and New Testament’.

I think about this. ‘Now who’s nuts?’ I query. ‘But I’ll think about it. I’ll think about it’…

I first wrote this ten years ago. The status quo…remains just that…

How did we get here? My little elementary students are supposed to understand differences and similarities between fairy tales and tall tales, remember various characters and plots, master complicated vocabulary and higher level English phonics, take a multitude of assessments and be ready to learn about ancient Asian civilizations and do it in their second language. We are not yet half way through the school year.

This is the definition of insanity. It violates any reasoned approach to education. It is counter-rational to theories of multiple learning styles and intelligences. It crushes the motivation and educational enthusiasm of my students and in the end we have taught everything and nothing.

We remain a mile wide and an inch deep.

After an unsatisfactory couple of weeks in the world of fast food: poor service, incorrect orders, double charges, surly employees…I’ve concluded that Covid has left its mark. Whether or not he and I should have ventured into the world of fast food in the first place, is a post for another day. Feel free to judge.

This afternoon on our way home, after another bad experience…he reached his limit. As we sat in the drive through at the pharmacy he decided suddenly that ‘No hablo ingles’ was the way to go. He drove so I had to lean over to shout the order through the window in English. ‘No hablo ingles’ he repeated. The clerk looked thoroughly confused. I followed through with clarification and with changing our card on file at the pharmacy as required and he chirped happily and stubbornly, ‘No hablo ingles’.

The clerk looked questioningly at me and I smiled back at her and nodded and responded in English. We accomplished the process of picking up our purchase. Just before he shifted the car into drive and rolled up the window he looked one last time at the hapless employee and stated firmly, ‘No hablo ingles’.

We drove off and laughed and laughed.

Feel free to judge…