I am a huge fan of the Ellen DeGeneres Show and I especially love it when they invite random viewers from the Ellen audience onto the stage and have them demonstrate their quirky hidden talents. I am speaking of the talents you can only impress your family and friends with, (and Ellen fans).  One day after watching the show I began to reflect on the hidden talents I tortured, I mean shared, with others during my life.  

My first hidden talent was not unlike every other child around the age of 4; the legendary armpit fart.  Come on, how many times did we do this when we were young and it always made us burst out into a fit of laughter. If you were really talented, like me, you could even use the back of your knee to make this disgusting but highly enjoyable sound.  It was demonstrating this wonderful talent that I first heard the golden parenting rule…..once is funny…twice is silly….and third time is a time out.  * Side note...I let my seven year old read this before I posted it and she looked at me impressively and said “You can do that!”

My second hidden talent was the ability to burp the ABC’s when I was in 2^rd grade. Occasionally to this day my parents will make futile attempts for me to bring this talent back even though I officially retired it once I got interested in boys.  Not that the boys weren’t impressed.  Oh, they were.   I had many invitations for visits to the sacred boys’ only tree house to prove my belching abilities but I always declined; the tree house was never decorated to my taste.   

My next hidden talent was the ability to walk on my hands when I was 11.  I could walk all the way down the street. This talent was achieved through years of gymnastics practice, a lot of money, and then the realization that I was too tall to ever have a chance of gymnastics greatness.   

My next impressive ability was to recite all 50 states in alphabetical order. Actually, it is a song I learned in the 6^th grade that I have never forgotten.  Don’t ask me why?  They do not even teach this particular song to our students anymore. This stuck in my head for some strange reason and every once in a while I’ve had the chance to entertain people (my family) with my wonderful rendition of this elementary school song. The first time they were impressed but now … not so much... I think they even used the word annoying the last time I tried to prove my abilities. I’m keeping it to myself for now but one day if my memory holds up I’ll spring it on my grandkids, and when they look at me in awe, I’ll simply say “that’s the way grandma rolls.” I can hardly wait!

These days the word talent is replaced with the word skills, and these skills consist of being able to iron a shirt……(while I’m wearing it) and brushing my teeth without messing up my lipstick and pulling into the obstacle course we call the garage without running over the skateboards, scooters, and bicycles.  

Sometimes as I race through the grocery story on a moment’s notice I can’t help but wonder…is this my new midlife talent…. Balancing my pharmacy needs vs. my grocery store needs and putting on a smiling face all the while my daughter burps her ABC’s  and makes fart sounds under her armpits to my embarrassment.   I guess sometimes you have to pass the torch. 

When I was ten years old my parents forced me to live in what I called “unlivable conditions.” If I could have only coerced someone to call Child Protective Services on them at the time I am convinced that my kids would now be accepting Christmas presents from an entirely different set of grandparents. Even though I have put this horrific time in my life behind me I still like to remind my parents of  the pain they caused.  I am willing to share my story as I remember it so that perhaps I can help other parents to not make the same mistakes mine  did, however, you need to know that parental guidance is advised, this could be extremely upsetting to the pre-pubescent  population.

Sometime during my fifth grade school year my parents made the decision to move our family into a new home.  Not only did they not consult me regarding this huge decision but they failed to mention that this “new” home was actually built in the early Jurassic period.   I quickly figured out when they used the term historic that was actually code for prehistoric. I’m sure a giant T-Rex had already claimed the bottom bunk in my room.

It only got worse from there when my parents informed me that the previous owner had actually DIED in our recently purchased home. Two things came to my mind. This must be the reason I watched my mom regularly filling out those forms for the Publishers Clearing House.   We obviously had bought a clearance home and although I could totally appreciate a discounted price on anything I totally draw a fine chalk line around a deceased person being involved in our new residence.  Secondly..I did not want this to be my  “new home smell.”  There is not enough Tide, pot roast, or scented candles in the world to make the smell of some dead old man go away.

It  didn’t take long upon entering this antiqued dwelling  before I noticed several  things that bordered on cruelty. First, whats up with the door  that was attached in front of the entry  door which they called a “screen door”. Have we moved into such a bad neighborhood that we have to screen our visitors?    Next,   where was the huge,  fuzzy and  soft rug  called carpeting I was so used to?  This floor was dark and wooden and made loud creaking noises when I walked on it.   How in the world was  I supposed to pretend I was  Farrah  from Charlies Angel’s when you could hear my every move!  This was totally unacceptable and I immediately placed  an imaginary  call to Bosley.  

The torture only got worse when I walked into the bathroom.  What kid wants a large white porcelain bathtub with feet but no shower I ask my mom!! She then hands me a long white rubber hose and informs me that this will now be my shower source.  Needless to say, it did not work out so well . Combine a rubber hose with a bad attitude add some inexperience with scalding hot water and what do you get…..a very large blister on your thigh.   I warned you this would be disturbing.   

You might be surprised when I tell you that I have chosen to forgive my parents for this dreadful experience.  If fact, as an adult and homeowner I find that I can actually appreciate the things that I hated so much in the old home; the history, the  original  hardwood floors with their creaking noises,   the big front porch with its screen door, and even the clubfooted bathtub. Also,  it is possible that if I could request a shirtless Ty Pennington  screaming into his bullhorn “Coroner, move that dead body” I could even appreciate poor old Mr. Bennet who died peacefully in his bed in the home he loved so very much.   

Ever since my return from our family vacation  I have been feeling a little down.  As a matter of fact I’m downright depressed. However, after much reflection,  and minus the copay, I have managed to  self diagnosed myself.  I have a terrible case of the vacationing superhero blues; or VSB.

I have had the wonderful opportunity  to have been a superhero three times this summer, however,   I have not made this transformation totally by myself.  I have “people.”  These individuals meet me at the gate which is a prelude to my new planet.   They instruct me to remove my mortal shoes, check my galaxy  papers, and transport me through a vertical oblong  portal so to speak. They will know if I am not mentally  ready for my journey by a sounding alarm.  No alarm goes off – good – let me now grab my cape (which looks amazingly like a scarf) out of the grey bin, place it around my neck and BAM…   I move along to the next travel phase with anticipation and joy.         

What happens at the next phase you ask….(I knew  you would ask this question because I now have the ability to read minds.) This is where I enter the gynormas silver chamber, pull my very long legs up close to my chest, hold my bladder longer than ever and  fly through the air at magnificent speeds oblivious to all the distractions (my kids) around me.  Once I’ve landed on my new planet the transformation is complete and I now will experience unbelievable  powers.  What are these powers you ask….I become invisible to dirty laundry, grocery stores, and bickering  kids.  I acquire the ability to fend off ringing cellphones,  tourist traps,  and the battle of the bulge.   I can  see through hotel room doors, empty wallets, and cheap T-shirts.   

I am in a faraway land where I experience  very little aches and discomforts, no bloating,  or bad allergies. No matter how painful that two hour long horseback ride in the mountains will make my gluts  feel  I awake two days later feeling refreshed  and  after a few super hero vitamins (advil) I  have the ability to grab the fantastic five (my children) and leap right back into that postcard.

 Believe it or not  I can  jump in 50 degree pristine white waters in the Arkansas River  weighted down by an oar, a slick raincoat, a lifejacket, three kids, and an underwater camera and only lose the ability to speak.  In this magical  world I  can carry  the weight of the universe  on my shoulders all day and never miss a shop, a world of spontaneity where a little white ball can change my whole course. 

Last but not least, I have super intelligence skills which comes in handy for extremely difficult tasks  like folding maps, finding restrooms in a moment’s notice, and analyzing luggage that has obviously  deceased in size since my arrival.

Yes, being a superhero is a truly amazing experience.  The only challenging part is rotating through the exit portal, hearing little voices say “hello, MOM, back to earth….”and coming face to face with my archenemy…the villain known as Reality.

Once you read this story you need to pass it on to six people. If you fail to do so there is a possibility that you will have bad luck, not be considered a good Christian, have absolutely no patriotism or will foresee a life of bad fortune.You must forget about your beliefs, pet peeves, your extremely busy days and your lack of stamps, and remember to forward this on within seven days.If you fail to do so the other 36 people, who you are told are counting on you to follow through with this forced obligation, will miss out on a rare opportunity to be involved in what no one likes to call it….a chain letter.

It showed up in my mailbox last week. Addressed to me with no return address I opened the envelope quickly out of curiosity. I pulled out a lottery ticket with a note that read “tag your it!!! The note gave specific instructions, time limits, and a positive outlook on what I consider just something else to add to my already busy schedule.

The note did give you an out.You can always return the ticket to the original proprietor. Its written clearly …..if you are unable to have any spontaneity, if you are a stick in the mud, if you don’t really care for these people and are too good to participate in this then please return the unscratched ticket within seven days to your friend who will now think unworthy of you.

I have officially been challenged.

Hand to the forehead what shall I do.I’ll be honest…I do not like chain letters of any kind. I do not like them in my email, I don’t like then in my box, I think they are all a sham, I do not like them scam I am!!

Look, don’t mess with my karma, I know who I am, if I want to send you something ,I’ll bottle up some jam. I honor the flag and our soldiers in war if you want to question me then come to my door; I listen to God; not some envelopesigned Rod,and if not participating makes me poor then I’ll shop at Walmart du jour.

But it is FUN the letter says.

I love FUN!!

I just hope my chosen six friends that will soon receive an unmarked letter from me in their mailbox will think the same thing. 

I have my own  reality show every day in my house and I want  TLC, Discovery Health, and The Oxygen Channel to know that they are missing out.   Who knew that all you had to do was to be outnumbered by your children and you could possibly have your own family starring on a hit series and draw a salary.  Where do I sign up?!   Move over Jon and Kate and your hate, Octo Mom, and The Kardashines, there’s a new family in town; and we like to be called the Ogers.  This name was given to us during a summer vacation when we made reservations for dinner and they mistakenly left off the first letter announcing us overhead as  the Ogers instead of the Kogers.  We unofficially became a family of large, green , and big headed monsters.  Sadly, it kinda stuck with us.  Anyhoo..the Oger family has two adults, five kids, (three teens in the mix) two dogs, one mischievous cat, and one fish that thrives on neglect.   Can you say… good TV!    

Have you ever witnessed five kids fight for computer time, haggle over the last handful of Doritos, or their personal time on the trampoline? Drama people!   I haven’t even mentioned the dilemma over the front seat of the car; commonly called shotgun.  There’s verbal fights, toilet plunging, unaccountability, tattle telling,  nerf wars, and wrestling matches.  Mix that in with some craft projects , chores, ding d*** ditches, toilet paper wrapping and Hannah Montana  obsessions and you have  a hit show.  I’m sure we’ve had a Family Feud, cheated death a time or two,  ate something disgusting, been in Jeopardy ( and Survived) , Amazingly  Raced to Blockbuster to avoid late charges and I know I’ve uttered the words “Deal or No Deal” a time or two.  

If Forensics is your interest I have many names for  what I know will be a ratings success.  How about..Who left a bloody band aid on the stairwell, Why does the last cookie have teeth marks on it, Are you  drinking out of the milk carton, Did you really brush your teeth or just run water over the brush, Name  that smell, or last but not least…Explain to me why that’’s NOT a hickey.   

You could also have the opportunity to watch a woman  be a slave to her laundry room , a taxi cab confessional,  personal shopper,    grocery store buyer, mediator, negotiator,   writer, fitness enthusiast , animal waste engineer,  Iron chef,   and America’s next wannabe top model.

Let’s see have I covered everything?  How about  daily whispering to my dogs, find the lizard the cat brought in,  Scooby snacks, SQUIRELL!!, Beta Wars,  and Woman Vs. Wild.

As I see it, my family room is filled with undiscovered celebrities and I am willing to place my hands in the cement and be honored with my square on the overpopulated suburban chalked up sidewalk and wait for my next paycheck.    

My grandmother passed away from complications due to Alzheimer’s three years ago and my mother and father were her primary caretaker s for the majority of her serious illness.  It eventually became too hard on my mother resulting in her own health being jeopardized so they moved my grandmother into a nursing home. It was the most difficult decision my mother had ever had to make; but it was the right one.   Having had a great deal of exposure to someone living with this disease I witnessed firsthand the tricks my grandmothers mind would play on her.  My grandmother could not remember where I lived or even my husband’s name however; she would share a story with you about her “recent” six month hospital stay for Tuberculosis in great detail which was a factual story that actually took place 55 years ago.  Even though the family knew my grandmother had bore two children, she always claimed that she had three kids. She would mention the third child, a son, quite often as her disease progressed.  There will always be a cloud of mystery surrounding this firm admission however we have never researched this disclosure and probably never will. We all felt that some things were better left unsaid.  Prior to the Alzheimer’s taking over she had never spoken of this third child before. That was her decision so we agreed to respect it despite our curiosities. 

My family has always lived by the philosophy of never losing your sense of humor. It has been successful for getting us through some tough times.  It was during these tough times that my mother would often call me and  share either something heartbreaking or at times something humorous. As distressing as this disease was the only thing we could do was surrender and laugh at times.    I remember many nights my mom and I  discussing  at great length how in the world to hide a particular feminine care product away from my grandmother.  For some reason she was convinced that they were giant band-aids that needed to be affixed to whatever was ailing her.  She would try to accompany my mom out of the house with a large amount of her body covered in these liners and my mom would unsuccessfully try to explain to her  that this was not appropriate.   Simply not supplying the source did not work. She would obsess over this product all day long constantly reaching for her purse trying to make her way to the local Walmart to make a purchase. Her doctor finally told us to simply give in and accept this new self medicated belief that had found its way inside of my grandmother’s head. After all, she was not hurting herself and it did seem to soothe her. You see, in my grandmother’s mind, it really did make her feel better.  She truly believed that these “oversized rectangle bandages” helped lesson the pain caused by her many real and imaginary aches.    We had to admit that spending time around the house with these attached to her body was tolerable and it certainly did make her relax. The buzz of the doorbell however could unleash a swarm of activity, a few explanations, and some strange looks. (Thank goodness my parents had sympathetic  neighbors.)  There also was the time my mom unknowingly entered the public world with one attached to the top of her shoe.  I’m sorry but that was funny.  My dad and I still giggle over that.

I mean no disrespect to my grandmother by sharing these stories.  At one time she would have been the first to laugh at such absurdity.  For all the times we shed tears for the pain that this horrific disease caused it would have been so much more challenging if we could not have found laughter to help take the heaviness off.  Share your stories, I encourage it.

 After spending close to fifty  dollars and watching a mildly entertaining movie my husband, daughter, and myself left the theatre clearly disappointed.   Driving home we noticed the skies to the east of us were quickly becoming dark and threatening and as we got closer to home small raindrops scattered across our windshield.  It was strangely bright to the west though.   As soon as we turned left onto Bruton Orande Rd. my husband saw a magnificent rainbow. Of course I’ve seen rainbows before but never this close.  It was almost as if we were right under it.  As we turned onto the Methodist Church’s parking lot so I could snap a picture we noticed the secondary rainbow right above the primary one.   With the sun shining brightly behind us I quickly took the shot. The rain started to come down with great force at this point but we didn’t care.   We were giddy and enjoying this beautiful sight that was right in front of us.  

 While my husband and I were oohing and aahing over the brilliant colors that were before us I noticed that our daughter was not joining us in our delight, matter of fact she continued to play her Nintendo DS only briefly looking up.  I couldn’t believe it.  My daughter who will sit at the kitchen table for hours drawing pictures of rainbows was not at all interested  of actually seeing one at close range.  “LOOK”, I say.  “Isn’t it beautiful”!  She looks up from her game and with forced enthusiasm  gives me a “Wow”. Perhaps if the Mario Brothers were jumping on top of this colorful spectrum  slaying dragons we would have received a different response. 

Some say the rainbow is the “Gateway to Heaven”.  If that is true then how symbolically perfect that we found the end of the rainbow at the church.  The ground where the arch ended was indeed a golden glow; hence, the pot of gold.    Maybe that’s the answer to the commonly asked question by children and adults alike; is there really a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.   Indeed there is , but you have to be a visitor in God’s house to receive your riches.     

All of my family and closest friends know how much I dislike confrontations. In fact I will try to avoid them at all costs, sometimes even sacrificing my own feelings only to spend time out of my day stewing and being disappointed in myself for not speaking up.  But last year I had a Towanda moment (if you have seen the movie Fried Green Tomatoes; you know what I mean) and you know what: it felt liberating.  Last year I did something that I have never done before.  I had a confrontation with a complete stranger and this time I did not ignore or make blind excuses for their rude behavior:

My family and I were making our way back home from Branson, Mo. after a short vacation. While driving through the winding roads of Missouri and into Arkansas my stepdaughter suddenly became car sick and without warning threw up all over herself and all over the inside of the car.  With the smell of puke permeating the closed confines of the crowded vehicle, we quickly pulled off of the highway into the first parking lot we came to.  It was a white gravel parking lot with a very small quilt shop adjoined to it.  After we all jumped out of the car and started the breathing process again I immediately flipped  through the  internal parenting book, that can  be found inside of a mothers head, and referenced the page( that was already dog-eared) covering  what to do when someone vomits on themselves inside of a  moving vehicle. As I instructed my step daughter to get back into the car, shed her clothes, and grab uncontaminated ones from her suitcase I decided to enter the quaint little quilt shop to ask for a few plastic shopping bags in order to bag up some vomit adorned articles of clothing. As I walk up the steps to the entrance of the store I briefly notice several large signs attached to the front of the shop. They read: NO Public Phone, NO Public Bathroom, NO Food or Drink.  Great, I thought.   NO, hospitality either.  That was just a precursor to what was next.  With a nice smile and a pleading voice I share my situation to the woman behind the counter while  pointing  to my ailing stepdaughter who is outside and then I present her with my request.  Much to my shock and dismay she gives me a scowl that shows me that  she was clearly annoyed and says very rudely ”That child better not track any vomit in my store.”  “Excuse me”, I say with a “oh no you didn’t” look on my face.  She then says it again louder and slower as if she actually thinks I did not hear her correctly the first time.  I was stunned!  I couldn’t have been any more stunned then if quilt lady would’ve puked all over me herself.   Listen, I was taught to be kind to everyone, especially people who come to you in need,   and I live by this motto every day.  I would never think to speak to someone or show such a lack of compassion as she did. Maybe it was the fact that I had just turned the big 40 on this trip or perhaps it was one of those mom natural instincts to protect their young but right then and there I told quilt lady what she could do with her plastic bags and it had nothing to do with “going green”.      

I stormed out of the store with her following me.  She threw the two plastic bags in my direction which landed on the ground beside me and  noticing  our out of state license  plates she screamed “From Texas, figures.”  Even though I had no idea what that remark  was supposed to mean in my nicest Texas drawl  I restated where geographically I thought those bags should be placed.

One by one in silence we all load back up in the car. I turn around and face my children who are now looking at me like I had just announced to them that I had been reading all of their text messages for the past year.  It was a look of complete terror. Being a little ashamed of my behavior in front of them I calmly say…. “Kids…that’s an example of what not to do.”  I then heard in unison a loud “yes maam” from the backseat.  I turned quickly around in my seat so they wouldn’t see the hint of the smile starting to spread across my face.   But quilt lady saw it.  Right before she started chasing the two plastic bags that were now blowing around her parking lot as we were driving away.

Some might say that  I made a poor choice to be unkind to this obviously unsympathetic woman,  especially in the presence of my children.  But I believe something different.   I realized that day that there have been  so many instances in my life where I have overlooked blatant bad manners or rudeness.  I simply dismissed anything that truly offended me because I always felt the need to be extra kind to these type of people.  I do still live by this philosophy however one thing is for certain.  Everybody does have buttons.  One day someone might push yours a little too far.  If it does, embrace it, look that person in the eye,  and tell them to never mistake kindness for weakness again.

 We’ve all seen ghosts in the movies, read about them in books or heard the scary stories on a weekend slumber party.  Maybe you even took a turn on the Ouija board one night and communicated with one of them personally. Whatever your beliefs on this subject I hope you enjoy this true story of a paranormal encounter that I witnessed.  I became a believer in one day.    

 My husband and I are currently in the process of selling one of our investment properties that we purchased approximately four years ago.  I remember the week this house became ours.  I was in charge of updating the look of the house by choosing paint, carpet colors and new flooring.  This particular house was a fairly new home; in fact it was a foreclosure. It was in extremely good shape and did not need much of repairs.   I decided to invite my mom with me to preview the home along with my then three year old daughter in tow.  We started downstairs and walked around slowly inspecting each room.  We then started making our way to the second floor.  As we approached the stairs my daughter decided she wanted to be the first one to climb up.  She hastily jumped down from my arms and started her ascent.  She had climbed to the middle of the winding staircase when she abruptly stopped and sat down on one of the stairs and tucked her head down looking at the carpet beneath her feet.  It was as if she was avoiding eye contact with someone.  My mom and I looked at each other puzzled and then I asked my daughter what was wrong.  Without turning her head she moved her slender arm and pointed to the top of the stairs and said very firmly “there’s a little boy up there”.   It was then that I noticed she was trembling.

 To my knowledge there was no one else in this house except the three of us but perhaps there was a little boy upstairs.  I had after all called several contractors to take a look at the house for my upcoming projects.  Maybe they had stopped by, as I had, with their own child in tow.   I hollered a loud “hello” but heard nothing in response.  It was then that my daughter informed me that the anonymous child had run into one of the bedrooms. 

I scooped up my daughter and we all slowly made our way to the top of the stairs.  Looking around I spotted nothing unusual in the vacant house.  We casually entered one room and eyed it suspiciously.  My daughter remained silent.  We walked over to the next room and peered inside.  Nothing.  As I began to tell my bright eyed child that her imagination had taken over  she points to the closet and states   “he ran in there and shut the door”.   Okay, I have to admit I was getting a little spooked now.  My mother’s face told me she was too.  I slowly grasp the door handle to the closet.  I open the door without looking inside but instead choosing to look at my daughter.  She remains silent and her expression does not change. My mother shakes her head letting me know that the closet is empty and I shut the closet door letting out a huge sigh of relief.  Just as I start to give my daughter a  big hug to make her feel better she asks me if I too saw the little boy  in the closet floor playing with his toys.   Seeing how I do not have a Do-It-Yourself Ghostbusting Kit in my possession,  I decide it is time to leave. My mom and I walk quickly to the front door.  As we exit the home my three year old starts crying and telling me that we can’t leave the little boy inside the house all by himself. She is visibly upset and tells me that he is standing by the upstairs window watching us.  She is pushing at my chest trying desperately to be free of my arms.  I get her in the car and my mom and I drive away in silence. 

We return home and resume our day without mentioning the little boy.  The next day however my daughter begins telling her daddy about the little boy. She shares with him that the little boy pulled her hair.  This is something she did not mention to me. She claimed that the boy pulled her hair when she was on the stairs.  Perhaps that was why she stopped so abruptly and sat with her head down, I thought to myself.   I was becoming extremely uncomfortable with this whole supernatural experience but I was about to be dumbfounded.  A few days later I invited a friend of mine to accompany me to the house to inspect the new hardwood flooring that had just been laid.    I did not mention the spooky phantom child to my friend.  As we were admiring the floors she suddenly pointed and said “Oh, no”.  I turned my head to see what she was eyeing and there on the freshly stained floor were two small childlike footprints.   They were positioned right in front of the upstairs window.        

My daughter has never spoken of this encounter again.  I’m sure it is long forgotten in her mind. My husband and I had the home leased for four years and we never received any calls from our tenants about any misguided souls.  I plan on having the floors redone next week so the only thing left of this haunting will only be in my memory and maybe a few scary stories at some future slumber parties.  

We woke up this Saturday morning in late March with anticipation and trepidation of this dreadful day.  The elements were not in our favor.  We tried our best to move through our morning without dread or fear but we all knew what was in store for us.  As the time drew closer we started our preparation for the task ahead. We load up in the SUV and arrive at our destination.  Before we exit the vehicle we make eye contact and without using any words we all know what each other are thinking. 

The winds are fierce and brutal. They whip us from every direction.  We strain and extend our bodies forward as if we are hoping for an invisible rope to pull us to safety.  We cannot go back.  We have made a commitment that we must honor.   As we pass the other families on our route we notice that we all wear the same face, that of determination and amazement.    Determined to teach our children that we must fulfill our obligations and amazed that anyone would let us knowingly suffer through this bitter cold.

 We are almost there.  We push forward across the grassy field to our designated spot.  As we greet each other you can see our breath with every word.  We all acknowledge that we are insane for braving this horrid weather but we all have something in common, that is, dedication.

 I notice all the different colors and patterns from the many blankets that the families have brought to shield themselves and their children from the inclement weather.  You realize quickly that if you have neglected to cover up any part of your body at all it will scorn you to the point of burning.   Your eyes drip and you don’t know if it’s tears from utter unpleasantness or because the winds are ripping through your face.   All the while you are thinking why..why…why didn’t they call off this obligation ?  We could have rescheduled it.  I’m sure they had their reasons.  This day must have been so crucial to the livelihood of so many people that to cancel or reschedule it would have created mass chaos for the entire town.   We will all accept this as we utilize our inventory of Kleenex, hand warmers and winter hats.  I overhear one small child tell her parents that her feet have fallen asleep.  We all know that frostbite has set in.