Although I’m a teacher, there’s nothing I enjoy more than a good snow day. I blame Colorado for this.

I grew up on the Western slope of Colorado in the town of Hayden (a bit West of Steamboat Springs). Although we got lots of snow and could even cross country ski in the deep snow on the athletics fields, we never got a snow day. In nine years. Not once. In a place that gets snow measured in multiple feet. None. In nine years.

This meant I had to walk to school and home in the snow (up hill, both ways) and actually do homework.

We did, if I remember, get one day cancelled because of the flu, but that doesn’t count.

Because of that, I’ve maintained a certain amount of resentment about snow days. Two years ago, around this time, we got one, and if we get another one then tomorrow (Tuesday) is the best day for me personally as I have four classes in a row.

Also, our youngest’s class has been sent home for a few days to enjoy flu days. (Note: our youngest does not have the flu, just free time.)

Here’s the situation now:

Snowpocalypse Now in Saitama.

A post shared by DL (@d.e.lively) on Jan 22, 2018 at 3:59am PST

Thus far, school has already been pushed back an hour and morning chapel has been cancelled. Now, I’m hoping for a bit more snow by morning. And at least one closed train line…

She Who Must Be Obeyed’s birthday started with police and ended with pizza.

Our Central Asian neighbors have been moving/breaking up for two days now. I’m not sure how many of them live there, but it seems to be an awful lot. A couple days ago at least one of them started to move out and that involved a small truck and shockingly slow loading. Then loud voices ensued last night and right after midnight, as SWMBO’s birthday was starting, there were police involved. Things got quiet after that.

The morning was normal. I made breakfast and our youngest washed dishes and then I worked on the project I talked about yesterday.

Our oldest went to a university open house, hopefully to find a cheap school she can attend that doesn’t require her to study now.

After that, I offered to buy supper, but our original plan was almost literally drowned by torrential rain that was hard enough it sounded like hail.

Eventually, pizza and other things were acquired and our oldest arrived safely despite massive train delays all over the system and a happy birthday was had.

It’s early in the holiday and I’m already not sure what day it is.

This is something that usually happens toward the end of the holiday when I’ve run out of things to do or we’ve just come back from visiting the in-laws.

This time, though, I think that because I’ve already established a routine of babysitting, work and time wasting the days are already starting to seem the same.

(Note: the “time wasting” is actually the “work” I’m forced to do even though no one actually seems to check it).

To break this up, I’ve planned a few outings with out youngest. The problem is, she also has a few activities planned that are related to school. (Note Deux: As I’ve written before, the Japanese educational system does not understand the concept of “vacation”.)

This means that the extra planning serves to break up the usual routine. It’s not very helpful, I suppose, but it is something different.

Can’t be bothered today, even though this is post 1195.

I had noisy students who wanted to study a different class and even when I offered them a choice “finish this then you can study anything” they chose to play and talk. Some of them didn’t even study the other class

Some of them finished the work and then to study. Some didn’t work at all. . Others ran out of time whilst they waited for their friends to finish.

Eventually I finished and came home.

I had intended to review a notebook today, but then something happened and I can’t decide if it means I’m psychic or clumsy.

For the past couple months I’ve noticed a lot of people trip as they walked down the sidewalk. This gave me images of me tripping and falling, which is something that used to happen at least once every year–it’s also a tradition that I scuff new shoes on some structural oddity on the road–but I realized, as I watched the suffering of others, that for the past few years I hadn’t fallen down or even had an embarrassing trip. However, the image of it happening has been stuck in my head.

Today it became more than an image. Of course, six bottles of collectible ink were involved.

After doing my “work” for the day, I headed down to Tokyo to go to Takashimaya department store in Nihonbashi to acquire some ink for some customers. I proceeded, with no trouble at all, to the fifth floor and actually found a clerk quite easily. (Note: I should have realized this was an omen so one strike against psychic.) I can tell that the staff are now used to dealing with ink hoarders as the clerk didn’t blink when I requested a couple bottles of flavors and she instantly told me which ones were sold out. (Note: I take credit for all this. Long story.)

I stuffed the ink into my book bag, much to the chagrin of the checkout clerk who wanted to give me a carry bag. She seemed especially concerned when I was forced to shove the package down with some force to get it past some of the crap I carry.

After completing the transaction, I headed back downstairs and out Takashimaya’s impressive front entrance. However, as I turned in the direction of the crosswalk, I discovered that Takashimaya’s entrance is not level with the sidewalk when I rolled my ankle on the raised step.

What happened next was an odd hop, a loss of balance, a flop to my hands one elbow and knees, a loud slap, and a surprising amount of pain. After I recovered I shifted to a seated position on the sidewalk to reset my nerves. I told the concerned on-lookers I was okay. (Note: as everyone who’s rolled an ankle knows, you don’t feel the real pain until later.)

After that, I went to one of the best liquor stores in the world where for a couple hundred yen I was able to sample a couple expensive bottles of bourbon. (Note: I count this a trip to a medical clinic.)

Luckily, the ink was intact. My instincts caused me to fall in a way that protected the bag, hence the inexplicably injured elbow. This instinct came from my father who used to say as he was carrying his cameras across slippery sidewalks:  “If I fall, grab the camera, not me”.

Of course, if I’d listened to the checkout clerk and placed the ink in a Takashimaya carry bag, I’d now have a broken glass collection and six highly decorated small boxes, so that’s one strike against clumsy. (Although I suspect my instincts would have changed my landing style in that case.)

My ankle is okay, albeit a little sore. I do have those odd scuffs on my elbow and knee where the fall drew blood without damaging my clothes. (What evil is this?)

Now, though, I’m afraid to carry the ink to the post office.

Warning: This post contains a great deal of profane language.

Watching Fixer Upper, where everyone’s reaction to their newly renovated home is “Oh my gosh” has me thinking about Boy Scout camp and matters of justice.

When I was at a Boy Scout camp about a thousand years ago–I think it was the now defunct O. A. Greager Scout Ranch in Western Colorado–there were a lot of rules involving earning feathers that would help your patrol, and eventually your troop, earn rewards, albeit usually in the form of more feathers.

One of the rules I had a hard time accepting was that “gosh” was acceptable as an expression of surprise/disgust, but “geez” was not. Uttering “gosh” would elicit no reaction, but uttering “geez” was treated as if the speaker had said “shit” or “fuck”.

The logic, as I understood it, was that “gosh” was far enough away from “God” that it did not count as a swear word. (Saying “God” in reaction to something earned demerits.) “Geez”, however, was considered too close to “Jesus” and therefore counted as taking the Lord’s name in vain and earned demerits.

My reaction to this logic was “That’s bullshit.”

Even if they assumed “Geez” was spelled “Jeez” it was still farther away from “Jesus” than “Gosh” was to “God” as the latter required fewer letter substitutions. However, the Scout Master at the time insisted that it was different because “Gosh” didn’t lead to “God” whereas “Geez” could easity lead to “Geezus H. Christ”.

My argument was that “Geez” was not “Jesus”. Only “Geezus” was “Jesus”. (These are the kinds of things that seem important to you right after you’ve earned demerits for saying “Geez”.)

Eventually we all got used to the arbitrary rules. I mean, geez, they were still bullshit, but we got used to the fuckers and no more demerits were earned, at least not by me, and at least not for swearing.