I can't remember if the snow has ever lasted this long in the 30 years I've lived in Amarillo. Usually, it snow and three or four days later it's gone. This year the temperatures have been low and the sun has been obscured by clouds, so the Texas Panhandle version of the frozen tundra has yet to melt.
Usually, after a snowfall, we have a week of warm weather, teasing us that spring is right around the corner. We're now coming up on the latter part of February and there's no sign of the traditional warm week. Will everyone have to escape town during spring break to get the snow to melt? Is this the beginning of climate change in the Panhandle? Will we have to wait for spring break to get some warm weather into the area?
I hope this is just an abiration and that the normally warm February will return next year.
No more snow!

One of the great benefits to living in Amarillo is that when it snows, it rarely lasts for more than three days. That way you get your opportunity for some snow and winter weather -- if that's what floats your boat -- and then it goes away.
One healthy snowfall a year is plenty. Actaully, I could probably live well enough without any snowfall at all. I don't really need four seasons: Three is OK; two's nice; one is near impossible here. Even when I lived in Hawai'i, the second season -- what we'd call winter, called for us to hose down the sidewalk every couple of days unless it rained in the morning. If that happened, we'd just have to sweep the water into the gutter.
So now we're waiting for the temperature to rise up high enough to melt the snow before it gets too dirty. Ick. Dirty snow or dirty slush makes for really, really dirty cars and you'd have to wait for a bit until you can wash the car. Just think: In just a little while it'll be spring and all of this will have faded to become just a memory.

My wife Tanya got back last night from a 4-day trip to San Diego and a teacher's conference. It was her first time in California and she wanted to see what it was all about. She kept on the go throughout all the free time she was able to wrest from the conference. She did see quite a bit and couldn't wait to get home to share what she saw.
I was glad she got home safe, sound and on time. Even though it was only four days, I missed Tanya. I didn't do anything special while she was gone; there was nothing I really wanted to do without her.
At then end of the week we'll celebrate our 12th wedding anniversary, a record for me because my previous high was only six years. A dozen years might not sound like much to the longer-married in the area, but it went by so quickly for me. I'm impressed. I'm also thankful I've been able to celebrate two anniversaries since I was diagnosed with cancer, so each one is impressive to me. I hope to have many more.

It's been a few days since my wife Tanya took off for a workshop in San Diego. The night before she left she was like the Iron Chef, making dishes in the crockpot and in the oven to be frozen and thawed at the proper time. She made three dishes, afraid I won't eat properly while she's gone. She's worried that my eight-pound weight loss would continue if left on my own.
I tried to tell her not to worry -- for her to take the time away as a caretaker's respite. In addition, there was some leftover spaghetti I had made. So I feel I've got plenty of food, so much so that there will most likely be left over when Tanya returns.
I also had planned to make manicotti and tuna casserole while she was gone. Tanya doesn't like either dish, so the only time I make it is when she's not going to be home for dinner, which isn't very often.
She also had our network of friends checking up on me to make sure I don't sleep too much and that I'm eating. The last time something like that happened I caught pneumonia and was hospitalized at M.D. Anderson Hospital in Houston, resulting in an 11-day stay instead of the three we were supposed to take. I really don't want to do that again -- ever.
So I'll eat when I'm supposed to; nap within reason and when Tanya comes home, she'll be happy that I didn't screw up.

Yesterday was a day of mixed emotions for the football fan in me. My wife Tanya hates the time of year between September and February because she loses her husband for nearly six months of Sundays.
I really thought the Cowboys could take the Vikings, or at least make it a good game. It was neither. I've had a dislike for the Vikings ever since I lived up in Minnesota. The Vikings would beat up their division rivals but lose when it counted -- the champion games or the Super Bowls. They were like the neighborhood bully who would strut along his block, but once he got outside his territory, he'd get his butt kicked.
I've been a long-suffering Jets fan ever since they joined the old American Football League. I watched the game with no expectations other than maybe they could stay close and make the dream of a victory a little closer to reality. I was beside myself when they actually won.
I'd like to see the Jets beat the Colts and the Saints beat the Vikings. I may get one wish out of two. Two for two would be too much to ask for.

For the last four days I've felt like crap. Let's call a spade a spade.
I can barely muster the energy to type in my own name (and I've misspelled it more than once today). What do you do when you're not 100 percent? Do you call in sick, only to have that day's work added to your daily duties? Or do you try to tough it out and go into work, only to realize you're not at your most creative?
I'm usually in the latter group. I don't think weariness is contagious and I'd better snap out of it before Thursday, my deadline day. Maybe I can become instantly brilliant in one day and turn my ordinary prose into masterpieces of the written word. Don't laugh too loudly, it could happen.

This morning I was rudely awakened by vicious feline fighting sounds. I was not very inclined to get out of bed to find out who was involved, but I figured it out when Gracie, the alpha female, retreated to my side of the bed and Al, the whiner, was advancing slowly upon her.
I yelled, "Al," which was enough to stop him momentarily. But after a minute or two I heard hissing and knew they were back at it. I rose up on my elbow and hollered, "Al!" He retreated to another part of the house and began loudly whining as if to say, "Why do you always blame me?"
Well, Al, it seems whenever there's a serious disagreement among the three of y'all, you're involved. Gracie rarely moves from her perch on the back of the couch, so for her to be driven from it, it must have been something serious. I still don't know and I don't care, but it messed with the last precious hours of Monday morning sleep, which started my week off just dandy.