It's Fat Super Tuesday, and there is a storm passing through, and the lights in the house have flickered twice, though they haven't gone out yet.
The cats are unsettled. They don't like stormy weather, and we've been having it all day.
This morning we were awakened at 6:00 by our town's severe weather siren, so we stumbled downstairs and listened to the radio to learn if there were tornadoes on the radar, bearing down on us like dementors in Little Whinging. No tornadoes, but the temperature then was an unseasonable 65 degrees. At mid-day it was down into the high 50s, now at nine p.m. it's back up in the mid-60s again. It's expected to dip below freezing sometime tomorrow. Very strange.
My state doesn't participate in Super Tuesday voting (tho we love our Fat Tuesday celebrating) and I'm glad for that, because I don't like any of the presidential candidates and I'd rather only have to hold my nose to vote once this year.
Anyway, whoever gets into the White House is going to have a whole lot of manure to deal with, and probably no pony to make it all worthwhile, and I wouldn't wish the job on anyone I really liked.
As for the Fat part of Tuesday, it's the last hurrah before Lent, and tomorrow Christians of all sorts will appear with smudged foreheads to mark the occasion of Ash Wednesday. Fat Tuesday came early this year, falling near the pagan festival of Imbolc, the midpoint between winter solstice and the first day of spring, the day we in the west call Groundhog Day.
But the forsythia in my yard don't know from Fat Tuesday, or Ash Wednesday, or Imbolc, and they're budding already, and the first daffodils are stirring beneath the soil, pushing up dirt in anticipation of spring, or the weather that mimics it, at any rate.
Meanwhile the storm outside continues, and the lights have flickered once more. But the sirens are quiet, and the cats have finally settled down. I hear Obama took Georgia, and Clinton won New York, and Huckabee did well in Arkansas, and McCain everywhere else.
Happy Mardi Gras.