Passing Fancy

I must like this post. This is the second time I've reprinted it.

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Midwestern leaves, exhausted from dressing up every day for the gala event of Autumn, slip into soft brown dressing gowns and fall any which way into heaps and piles for their winter slumber.

The sun decides it has lavished enough radiance on us to last through next year. It grants a few gracious hours but transfers the bulk of its favors to another hemisphere that has impatiently waited its turn for light-drenched days.

Creatures that abandon the Midwest and follow the sun call anxiously to each other to hurry. Snow is coming! Hurry! Those animals required to stay spend waning days gathering food and fatness to themselves, driven by an uneasy urgency. Male deer, knowing that late fall will shed their enticing, entrancing antlers as ruthlessly as it sheds leaves from trees, parade in front of females, libido-impelled to ignore dangers of shotgun blasts and headlights.

The ground feels the warmth seep away, sparing only a bit for some hardy mums and asters. It steels itself to endure the crushing weight of tractors, rakes, and combines, hugging the knowledge that soon a comforter of snow will shield it from raw winds and ravaging machines and it can rest and recuperate till spring.

Then comes the wind. It bullies from branches the few leaves that were hoping festivities would resume. It shouts down the birds who spent the summer singing in the dawn until, recognizing an adversary with greater endurance and endless reserves, they give up altogether and are silent.

The glorious extravaganza of a Midwest autumn is over. It won’t celebrate again till next year. It retires to dream up the perfect date, theme and invitation list for Autumn 2013, and allows Fall to work out last minute details with Winter on the exact date the White and Ice Festivities will commence.

Passing Fancy

Midwestern leaves, exhausted from dressing up every day for the gala event of Autumn, slip into soft brown dressing gowns and fall any which way into heaps and piles for their winter slumber.

The sun decides it has lavished enough radiance on us to last through next year. It grants a few gracious hours but transfers the bulk of its favors to another hemisphere that has impatiently waited its turn for light-drenched days.

Creatures that abandon the Midwest and follow the sun call anxiously to each other to hurry. Snow is coming! Hurry! Those animals required to stay spend waning days gathering food and fatness to themselves, driven by an uneasy urgency. Male deer, knowing that late fall will shed their enticing, entrancing antlers as ruthlessly as it sheds leaves from trees, parade in front of females, libido-impelled to ignore dangers of shotgun blasts and headlights.

The ground feels the warmth seep away, sparing only a bit for some hardy mums and asters. It steels itself to endure the crushing weight of tractors, rakes, and combines, hugging the knowledge that soon a comforter of snow will shield it from raw winds and ravaging machines and it can rest and recuperate till spring.

Then comes the wind. It bullies from branches the few leaves that were hoping festivities would resume. It shouts down the birds who spent the summer singing in the dawn until, recognizing an adversary with greater endurance and endless reserves, they give up altogether and are silent.

The glorious extravaganza of a Midwest autumn is over. It won’t celebrate again till next year. It retires to dream up the perfect date, theme and invitation list for Autumn 2012, and allows Fall to work out last minute details with Winter on the exact date the White and Ice Festivities will commence.

It Could Happen Tomorrow. Batten down your cow.

It was bound to happen.

The east coast couldn’t stand letting the west hog all the attention. Rumor has it they used stimulus money to hire an earthquake. Unfortunately they could only scrape together enough to eek out a 5.8.

You know of course that stimulus money had nothing to do with the earthquake. That is just a bit of whimsy in which The Prude indulges from time to time.

But she admits her anxiety level is increasing.

Because apparently earthquakes, bored and restless with wreaking havoc on the west coast, have decided to take their rampage elsewhere.

They swaggered east and started a rumble.

They tossed cars upside down, trashed grocery stores and drove fearful citizens scrambling for the dubious safety of their homes.

Police were powerless to stop this particular brand of hooliganism.

The fracas took some time to die out, and whole sections of country were in upheaval.

But all bullies have a yellow streak.

The earthquakes heard that Hurricane Irene was heading their way and Irene was tougher than any police force with riot gear.

So the earthquakes are lying low, waiting for another opportune moment to gather strength and victimize another innocent and helpless portion of our nation.

And though they were blessedly oblivious to the Midwest this time, who knows?

Ruffian types may think cow tipping and cornfield destruction a new way to get their kicks.

What earthquake wouldn’t want to rattle the complacency of Chicago and Milwaukee?

All those windows to break…

Yes, The Prude is concerned. She used to sit in her house, watching on TV the destruction wrought by rogue earthquakes and think ‘It could never happen here.’

Oh, those famous last words!

Maybe we could scrounge up enough stimulus money to hire a minor Lake Michigan  hurricane.

Possible fallout if earthquakes tyrannize the Midwest

Papa's Girl

A week or so ago The Prude wrote about the teen girl tendencies of the weather.

She has been driving us in the Midwest to distraction with her mood swings this summer.

But.

But today is one of those days that her mood has swung to sweet and gentle.

She is positively gushing with goodwill and love toward humankind today.

To those of you at this moment enduring one of her ‘WAAAA! Nobody loves me!” squalls, or a blazing hot tantrum, we here in the Midwest apologize. We will think of you as we bask in her balmy breeze and warm smile.

We have to take advantage of this before she changes her mind.

So The Prude is letting you all off the Readin’, ‘Riting’ and ‘Rithmetic Wednesday hook.

She just wants to share one little tidbit of info she got from

The Book of Origins by Trevor Homer

‘The First Word

In the beginning was the word - John 1:1 *

After studying a thousand languages researchers in Paris have come to the conclusion that papa was the first word ever used. They discovered papa in seven hundred of the languages studied.’

The Prude will now leave the building and spend her time enjoying the glorious mood her Papa has coaxed from His Weather.