I have known words for a long time – a really long time, and just a few seconds ago I thought to myself — you don’t have to wait for it, I’m going to tell you right now: I thought to myself “Gee, devil is spelled with a D in front of evil. Does this have some meaning?

I’d say so. How could I go all this time without seeing this before? Stupidity is a quick answer, but not really accurate since when it comes to academic matters, I am not a slow learner. I’m not real smart, but I’m not real slow . . . so, why have I not been making jokies and puns about devil and evil and the Big D being D(emon) and fitting right in with evil. After all, evil can be scrambled to spell vile . . . and for that matter veil and live, so there seems to be a lot of coincidence here.

Goodness sake, I could have started a whole new philosophy – for English speakers, at least. I could have written an essay that would have driven my senior English teacher completely bonkers. I believe I did a fairly good job of pushing her in that direction. What a missed opportunity. But then again, I did live through my senior year without her leaping across her desk and pounding me into the floor.

You know, if you take the emon out of demon and jerk its tale, you can get OMEN – remember that movie???

The odd thing about all this is that it doesn’t make my head hurt at all.

I forgot that before we had the burying blizzards of January, we had some early lingering snowfalls that covered the final pile of leaves that had not made it out to the street. I remember thinking at the time of that first early snowfall,”Well, as soon as it melts off, I’ll scoop them on the tarp and get them out of here.” It didn’t work out that way.

What I have out there just inside the gate is a semi-frozen mashed down pile of yucky leaves. I just pushed all the cliches about journeys and first steps and Rome and its one day caution out of my mind, and let my shoulders slump as I whimpered.

It’s in the 40’s and I, we all know, am in my mid-sixties, so I just scraped off the top layer that was melting and shoved it over to where someone can tarp it in the dark of night and get it out of here. Of course, that is just the top layer, remember. I have exposed the next layer which is still frozen and will wait for it to become slushy enough to scrape up. And so forth – although I think it’s going to take more than just a fourth try.

Another fact for Ripley’s Believe it or Not: People drop a million things in the cold snow when it’s below zero and don’t want to stick a hand in to retrieve them. They do not dissolve; they stay right where they are and wait.

I need to think of a yard-cleaning scam. Oh, that’s so awful. What is more awful are the scam ideas that are percolating in my brain. Devious, conniving . . . worthy of evil gnomes.

Summer is at school; we saw a police car with flashing lights in the parking lot. Normally, I just might have come home with a tale of oh-who-knows-what-I-would-embellish about the cop car. This morning, I just came in, got a soda and found a comfy place to sit.

I am not at ’em yet; heck, I’m barely up.

Perhaps the car kept its lights flashing because this was part of a drug bust, and not just a small traffic violation. On my way out of the lot, I saw another police car behind me, which turned off to join the other one. I could have pulled into a spot, pulled out my iphone and documented the story of the century! But I just came home and minded my own business. Is this the end of Little Rico?

Last year, when I would go over to the nursing home, Kathryn, Clara and I would look out the window at drab, drab, seemingly endless March, and sigh, “It feels like March is never going to end.” Now, this year, with snow, ice and cold since January, topped off with “the nasal cold from Hell” and last Wednesday’s “Here’s a bucket of slush in your face!”, I am thinking that Wow, already March is half over. And, today, for the first time in a month, I made it back over. Kathryn was at a St. Patrick’s Day party. She had two cupcakes and I had a green cookie and we both had a bit of green punch.

Knocking on wood, I plan to go back on Wednesday. It’s supposed to be 50 degrees. Maybe a funnel will lift me . . . Obviously this winter has spooked me.

Although it got up to 50 degrees one day this week, we will be down at nine this evening, which is better than the seven in an earlier prediction. Shane did find a lost Wubba at the fairgrounds – a lime green one, totally frozen. It is thawing in the kitchen and we will see if the squeaker was in suspended animation or if it is kaput. Freezing Wubbas in the chest freezer might be a good little research project, but I doubt it would be as gratifying as the Peeps in the microwave adventures.

Der Bingle likes his Peeps stale, so we have a Peeps cellar, so to speak, with vintages properly marked. You need a password to be allowed entry and there is a hidden escape tunnel in case the Feds decide to raid our establishment. At the Foo Bar, they use frozen Peeps as ice cubes and/or swizzle sticks. It’s a very sophisticated crowd.

Yesterday, today, maybe even the few days before . . . I seem to be on a road to nowhere.

I have no idea what has come over me; I am not talking like myself. In fact, that “here” in the title? Well, I heard my mind pronounce it “cheer”. Yes, you can bet your bottom dollar on that one, Bob, or Boob, or whoever you are.

This wet March snow is already slush on the roads because the temperature has been right around 31 for most of the day. BUT, that old thermometer is agoin’ to start fallin right down to -5. Woo-Hoo. Oh, I believe the Woo-Hoo is a flashback to the normal AmeliaJake. Ignoring that, however, I’m going to keep on typing and tell you that after it hits -5, it is going to start back up again and will reach 27 sometime tomorrow. Ain’t that a hoot? No, of course it isn’t and Rose just slapped me across the face. I believe I needed it; she says it doesn’t matter what I believed, it’s what she knew. That’s my Rosie.

SLAP

Ah, yes, this weather apparently brought out some deep part of me and as Rose says, “Beware the Ids of March.”

SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP

Okay, just wrap me up in a comforter and we’ll pretend it’s a straitjacket.

I took Alison to work this morning in the beginning hours of our March snowstorm. Such a simple little sentence. Here’s another one: When I pulled in for gas, the wind had flung so much icee-type snow on the pump, I had to claw it off with my hand to find the place to put my card. Then I hunched down below the level of the car as I pumped the gas, making certain to keep my back to the wind. I turned into the wind once and my hood filled with air like John Candy’s pants on the mast in “Summer Rental” – well, maybe it’s the wrong season for that visual. But the gist is – it was impressive.

However, as I was sharing the experience with Der Bingle on the phone, I became aware of the hard truth of that old cliche – You had to be there.

I thought I’d better get it right out there in the post title, because my good moods are fleeting. Unfortunately, I do not have the slightest idea what I want to do with this rare situation. Maybe I should make up a whole new life and tell stories about it. True stories, well, relatively speaking; they wouldn’t be outlandish. No volcanoes, no Nazis, no dinosaurs or aliens. Ruling out aliens might be a little premature, however; don’t want to hamstring myself too much.

Actually, for some really weird reason, I am envisioning a Thelma & Louise laughing launch into space . . . with this huge air-filled landing pad. These good moods are dangerous.