Dear Madame Zoltar

Hello, my wild strawberries! How are you? We’re supposed to experience temperatures above freezing for the next few days. Won’t that be nice? Be sure to watch your step and wear your galoshes. A thin layer of water on ice makes it that much more slippery. I find it dreadful to have to maneuver about at this time of year. Just walking down the sidewalk can be treacherous. I am so grateful for those people who shovel their walks and driveways. Thank you for all that hard work. Salt sparingly, my friends, and don’t expect salt to melt the last three snows which haven’t been cleared.

I have been dreading this part of my blog, the part where I root on our magnificent and salient Packers. The game this past Sunday could not have been more heartbreaking. As the resplendent Packers fought back from staggering early setbacks, my chest filled with pride. The fourth quarter saw point for point battles. And then, in the final seconds, it appeared that all was lost as the Cardinals’ kicker, Mr. Rackers, approached for an easy field goal. At that exact moment, my loyalty to our beloved team overtook any sense of responsibility and I placed the Curse of Kronos on Mr. Rackers just as he kicked the ball. Of course, it shanked wide of the uprights. The Packers then had possession of the ball, with just a few seconds on the clock. I expected a Hail Mary play from our offense, which I would ably assist, and clinch the game. But no, after the snap, both sides knelt for the clock to run out and go into sudden death overtime. Why? Why would we give up possession of the ball for the toss of a coin? We had the ball, we had time to snap it and make a play. Why didn’t we? What would we have risked that we didn’t risk by going into overtime? And we would have gone into overtime, anyway, if we didn’t score. I’m sorry, I was so flabbergasted by these events that I didn’t rightly understand what was happening. I got up to get some tea. When I came back, Mr. Rodgers was being stripped of the ball. I cried and cried. My poor, poor Packers. I am so sorry.

There were no Dear John letters or eviction notices in this week’s mail.

Dear Irregulars, you know I write this blog because I want to help others. If my insights and abilities can alleviate someone’s suffering or put a worried heart at ease, then I am glad to do it and expect no reward other than the customary, nominal fee. If nothing else, I strive to be uplifting and optimistic in my outlook. I desire what is good and right for everyone. I want my blog to influence your life positively. But, I must admit, that can be difficult to do in times like these. There seems to be little good news out there. And my predictions are not particularly rosy, either. Short of putting all of Racine under a spell (I’ve thought of it many times), I don’t know what I can do to brighten your day. So I resort to amusing videos in the hope that they might distract you momentarily from whatever unpleasant tasks you may need to perform. Like this one, entitled Christmas Tree Rocketry:



In another nod to the boys’ brand of humor, here’s The Human Firecracker [Caution: Language Advisory]:



I know, so puerile, yet the laughter is contagious. My son has done that more times than I can count. And he wasn’t even drunk.

Don’t forget to forward your mailing address to: madamezoltar@jtirregulars.com.

Have a wonderful week, my dears. Enjoy whatever breaks in the weather that we get. I’m already counting down the days to March. Hyperion!