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The power.

I was working in my office yesterday when a student dropped in on a professor across the hall. They were having a totally reasonably volumed conversation. Honestly, it wasn't bothering me, and they weren't being loud, but I was reading and my left hand made some bizarre independent reach for something on the desk that it didn't find. I looked at my hand, and the shape it was prepared to wrap around, and realized it thought it was going for the remote. It was going to press mute. As if I were reading a Rock of Love recap and the Snuggie commercial came on. Same exact maneuver.

I'm embarrassed that I hear more TV voices than human ones most days, but still, I wouldn't mind having the power to quiet things at will sometimes.

Professional development.

Compiling my evaluation, trying to tell the story of a person who should stay on here. More student comments from last term (one of which I'll include in the report, the other I'll just hang on to in my head): "I had bowling this semester, but I enjoyed coming to this class more" and "Also, her hair is neat."

I get my highest scores in response to this prompt: "The instructor was interested in the subject." I think I like that about me.

So much depends.

Three poets just walked down the hall, arguing over where to put the stresses on the word "wheelbarrow."

Cleared.

Men and their snow removal systems! I told you I hired a plow service, and it's been marvelous. They've come twice – that magic first time when they transformed by driveway from an ice cave back into a place I could park my car, and once more. They're not spazzy about plowing; a couple inches of snow doesn't send them running over here, and thank goodness because they charge money, and as long as I can get my car out, I'm cool.

But I look out my window on Saturday to see a neighbor clearing my driveway with his four-wheeler. (Not my usual four-wheeling neighbors, but a dad who lives diagonal from me. He's usually a snowblower guy.) And I'm all annoyed now. I mean seriously? The second I call in professionals he wants to help out? Not that my driveway has been his responsibility all winter by any means, of course. But I was just starting to love the idea that this snow plowing was simply a business endeavor, and he goes and makes it all about something personal again. Now I have to be grateful.

One chili pepper.

I came into school in a snowstorm today for a committee meeting (check me out, I have committee meetings now), so I got a start on my annual self-evaluation, which involves reading student course evals. It always makes me nervous to open the envelopes, even when I know a particular class went just fine. But the comments are rarely a surprise. I already know that they hated the grammar quizzes or loved the book. My favorite comment this time: "I do think she would benefit from a few education courses though." Perhaps. I mean, for surely. The one I'd hang on my wall if it weren't written by one of my (clearly well-taught) fiction writers is, "[Sweet] is dead sexy, but needs to show more leg."

Full measure of happiness.

Today, it's pretty outside – blue sky and double-digit warm, and yesterday's big snow is still white. It's a whole new world with a whole new president.

It's also the day my little girl finally gets to take out her starter studs and put in any earrings she wants. She reminds me how lucky I am: I have this very option every morning of my life. I do. In fact, I have lots of options every morning. Might do me some good to remember that, and to actually gussy things up once in a while.

Plagued.

The snowflakes outside my office are as big as crickets.

I didn’t even flush an ice cube.

Schools are closed here today (and over a lot of the UP) because of cold. I had a list of errands to run today, but I can't quite make myself go outside. I can get more Modge Podge in the spring.

Housebound.

I know I exaggerate sometimes, but I was literally trapped in my house this morning. The doorknob lock on my front door reacts badly to cold, and I couldn't unlock myself to go out and shovel. So I needed to head out the back instead. But that door was frozen shut. I couldn't pull it open for the life of me. I kept walking back and forth between the doors and wondering which window I should escape out of if one of the cats started a fire before I'd figured things out. I kept trying both, pounding and kicking the edges of the back door, and breathing hot air on the front doorknob. I was about to get out the blowdryer when my assault on the back door grew to a level panicky enough to actually get it to budge.

So I busted my way out the back, tromped around the front to get the shovel and spray some WD-40 in the lock, and cleared away the snow. But only as far as the driveway, because Plow Guy is coming today. He could have been there already for all I know. I have butterflies at the prospect of sliding into a clear driveway upon my return. And I'll pull up with clean teeth. How could the evening be better?

Someday, a personal chef.

Today was the first day of the winter term. Had two classes today, and I think they went well. Lots of good scar stories – plenty of dog bites and eye punctures. Lots of talkers in the second class. We barely made it through the 18 introductions in an hour and forty minutes.

But more than just starting to teach, it felt good to get up early, put on something besides sweats, and shoes that lace up. To go to my office and print things. (I was really starting to OD on the jigsaw puzzles.) So I got ambitious and made all sorts of other appointments for other things that take place somewhere besides my couch. Tomorrow alone, I'll get my oil changed and go to the dentist before and after work. I even finally broke down and called a snowplow service. Yeah, I'm going to pay for it. Because even though I shovel the top level of snow, there's such a big hill of packed ice at the end of my driveway that I stall out every time I come and go. My car is short. It's time.

The guy on the phone was nice. He said he'd take a look at "the property" and call me back this afternoon. Which he did. "It looks like it hasn't been plowed yet," he said. True. So there's a little extra charge for their first visit – tomorrow! – and he'll have to bring over a front-loader or some such massive machine. Thanks.

If this works out, like if they come when I need them and I pay them and I don't worry anymore, I might look into finding someone else to work on the closet. Perhaps my luck could change?

And the booby prize is?

I'm being haunted by the gods of Quizzo. We went to the Locust on Tuesday night to play. (It's like the Shaft – live bar trivia against teams at other tables.) I never expect to win at those things, against big tables of regulars, but I never thought we'd be quite so humiliated. We tied for last place, and I seriously considered not turning in the answer sheet for our final round, given I wasn't confident about a single answer. The two questions – from the whole night! – I knew: the capital of New Mexico and Jet Travolta's mother. We also got a question about Woolworth's right, though that was just lucky. The list of things we did not know is long, but includes the following:

• The oldest active army arsenal in the US.
• The senior senator from Georgia.
• What the T and D in TD Bank stands for.
• What two countries border Lichtenstein.
• The Minneapolis indie band who sing the song in the Esurance commercial.
• The Yiddish term for food that is not kosher.
• What the BB in BB King stands for.
• The current name of Stalingrad.
• The parent company of Stouffer's.
• What cartoon Hal Foster drew.
• What cheese is made in the Orne region of Normandy.
• What oil company Atlantic Richfield is a subsidiary of.
• The shortest of the three horse tracks in the Triple Crown.
• The countries on either side of the Tatra Mountains.
• The main crop of Ghana and the Ivory Coast.
• The Titanic's sister ship.
• The musical group comprised of the stars of VH1's Real Chance of Love.
• The country whose national anthem is Jana Gana Mana.

Oh, it goes on. I'm never on a winning team at the Shaft either, but at least there they sometimes ask about game shows or famous books or who bought the old Pizza Hut on US-41. At least there I have a chance.

But like I said, I'm being haunted. When they asked Danny Boyle's latest movie, I couldn't place the name, but I just saw him in on the TV guide when I was scrolling through. Oh, Trainspotting. Then I read a piece about Trent Lott's retirement, when we'd written him down for some other current-senator answer. And just now, I was reading a book review in the New Yorker. They were comparing The Joy of Sex to Our Bodies, Ourselves. If the first is The Joy of Cooking, they said, the latter is the Moosewood Cookbook. Which, they said, "lacks a certain trayf allure." Honestly. This word gets injected into my vocabulary just a few days too late to do me any good.

Trusting you not to look anything up, go ahead and post your own answers to any of them. I'm sure we could have used you. In fact, I'll say without question, I wish you'd been there with me.

Wild card weekend.

I flew into Philly and we headed straight to Allentown, which is much bigger than I'd thought. It appears everybody who lost a factory job there has become a satellite dish installer, because every home has at least four of them. Mostly, what I saw was the inside of a strip mall sports bar, which was good because instead of sinking into a post-fantasy-football depression, I've joined a post-season league (go, Steve Breaston!). The best was watching a game where the home team was winning, which was new for me. I can only imagine the Vikings fans here at The Base. Were they calling out for Gus Frerotte?

It’s always sunny in Philadelphia.

Or at least, it's never snowing. It didn't occur to me when I was packing, it would be spring there. It rained the whole time. And Detroit too, both times I was laid over at Metro: rain and warmish, no snow on the ground. But not here. I drove to the airport in the snow, before the plows came, and when I got back, I had to park on a snow drift and shovel before I could even think about off-roading the Subaru into the driveway. I'm starting to think Marquette is a snow globe on some giantesses dressing table.

And then, all I want to do is blog about it all, but my computer battery was dead and wouldn't charge up. I tried the only two things I can think of – different outlets, and taking the battery out and putting it back in. No luck. I started to wonder if I stole somebody else's charger when I was packing. In which case, I would have felt very bad, plus annoyed because I hate going to the post office for anything.

So I take my laptop to the help desk this morning, and the boy there says, "Oh yes, we see this all the time. All you have to do is take the battery out and put it back in." Which he does, and she's fine. Did I mention I tried this? Seriously, laptop? Didn't I do it with enough confidence or something? All the machines in my life like boys better.

I'll give up the details about Allentown and Quizzo and the Mutter Museum at a later time. Just know that if you're heading that way, you should maybe pack an umbrella instead of big old snowboots like I wore the whole time. Me, always out of season, the right place at the wrong time.

Iron and coke, chromium steel.

I leave for Philly in the morning! At 4:30 in the morning. That's the only bad part. (My ETD is less than six hours away and I'm nowhere near ready, let alone sleepy.)

I've convinced myself that putting lots and lots and lots of kitty litter in the boxes actually gives the cats more volume of litter and thus more days they can last comfortably without me. It may not actually work that way, scientifically. If anybody wants to come visit them while I'm gone, give me a ring.

We'll also be visiting Allentown, you know, filling out forms, standing in line. Though maybe there's more to it than I've heard.

All of this is, as everything is where I live, weather permitting. Think clear skies for me.

Just before the railroad track sign.

If January first is supposed to be a model day for the rest of the year, we did it right. We slept in and started a puzzle. Just like the superstition said, I did a little bit of work, but not too much. I broke the rules and did some laundry. But best was when Hover invited us to the best night-sledding spot in the whole world.

Some guy out off 510 has built a giant luge track out in his backyard that he's got open to the public. Before, we'd only gone sledding on the tiny hill by Whitman, but this place is Olympic, in comparison anyway. It's all lit by little Christmas lights and solid ice, so you go way too fast. They have a fire going, surrounded by old armchairs, and hot chocolate in a warming shack. Little Sweet is a daredevil, so she was up the mountain and down the slide over and over. I only got brave a few times. I spun the whole way down once. The last trip, they wanted to start at the way top, with an immediate drop-off, and I balked. But they made me. Little girl sat on my lap, so I couldn't see where we were going, so when she and Hover started yelling, "Oh no, a tree!" and "We're going to die," I almost had a heart attack. We're all sore today from walking up the mountain and falling down on ice. But happy.

I might have to change my mind. If I were playing Jeopardy for a charity, it might have to be this place.