Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

So they say. Especially these two.

Shown here exhibiting no gumption to go for their morning run because morning hasn’t arrived yet. Maybe at 10:30 or so it will. I heard the newswoman remark that even today, winter solstice, expect the sun to set nine seconds earlier than yesterday. Ohh kay. So I’ll need to gather up my towel, the sun block, and the fold-able chaise lounge and leave the beach today at 3:41:09 instead of 3:41:18. Gotchya.

In reality, today I am housebound. Waiting for UPS to arrive to deliver the wine. Eighteen bottles I think. They demand an adult signature else it’s back on the big brown step van where it will get cold and bounce around for hours until finally it’s delivered back to the warehouse, scanned and scheduled for another try the following day. Failing that, they will leave a Post-It style admonishment on the front door: COME GET IT YOURSELF. And then add, somewhat passive-aggressively, Merry Christmas. Because it always happens this way. You wait and wait and wait, and then think, Okay, I can sneak out for an hour and run the dogs. Sure enough, you get back home and see a little yellow sticky on the front door: Sorry we missed you. Inevitably!

As if there were not enough triggers this time of year to point our mood toward the doldrums, the Packers had to go and lose their first game. So long 19 wins in a row. So long perfect season. I pity the Bears coming to Lambeau field to play Christmas night. My guess is the Cheeseheads are going to bring out some special kind of Whoopass for that game. Look out. And then we (yes, “we”, much to the chagrin of my sister who insists that since I no longer live in Wisconsin I have no business inviting myself into the collective “We”) will have locked up home field advantage throughout the playoffs. Meaning the road to the super bowl necessarily will go through the Frozen Tundra.