I’m Not Actually the Goddess of Snow

In the past week, I’ve spent quite a bit of time attempting to expand my technological horizons. I’ve been looking for Google Reader alternatives, trying to adjust to the new phone, and attempting to commit myself to not suck on Twitter now that I’m all mobile and connected. I’m @CapDistFun, by the way. Just in case you want to test me. I had two different friends who texted me after the phone post to see if I could actually text back. I scored a 50% on that particular pop quiz.

All of this learning is rather time consuming, but I am having the occasional light bulb moments in between wearisome periods in which I stab ineffectually at my screen. I also read in the good old-fashioned newspaper today that my daughter M could be messaging her friends using her ipod. Um, hello, where have I been? So that’s something else to learn. And then monitor and discuss and teach, I guess.

Years ago when my now-in-high-school nephew was a toddler, he believed that I was in charge of making the rain. I didn’t even live near him, but his mom reported that on rainy days he would insist that I had planned it that way. I thought it was charming, really. It made me feel like a little bit like a goddess. These days, my cat Isis appears to believe that I’ve ordered up the weather. She will meow and scratch to go out, and then when I open the door she stares up at me accusingly, resentment shining like tears in those green-gold eyes. Sometimes she’ll step outside, circle slowly, and come right back. Other times she’ll walk to a different door in the house, hoping I can do a little better with that one. It’s gotten to the point where I’m apologizing before I turn the doorknob. I was raised a dog person, and this cat is generally sweet, demonstrative, and dog-like, but if I don’t produce some spring for her soon, she might disown me. I tried to make up for it by planting some nice fresh catnip, but it hasn’t made much progress yet.


Actually, as I was typing this in, I was apparently forgiven.


There was quite a bit of rolling around on my desk. Then a lamp knocked over. Then some kneading of my thigh.


All of which means that I’m supposed to report to the sofa and create a cozy bed made up of fluffy blanket and thighs. And since I haven’t delivered a satisfactory weather product for her today, I’d better report to the sofa.


  1. @Matt, her tastes run more to chipmunks and moles. In fact, her absolutely favorite is just to scare the hell out of the chipmunks and bring them into the house, where they scare the hell out of us.

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