As God is my Witness, I Thought Turkeys Could Fly!

Saturday dawned with a blanket of snow on the ground. A thin blanket, but a blanket nonetheless. Monkey's priceless reaction as she opened the front door: "Wha'?" By 9:30, the sun was out, and most of the snow was gone.

The day was spent making pies for three birthdays (lucky for me, only one pie), and disappointedly watching the Terps lose at home to the dreaded Dookies. At least the pie came out good. Here in Central Standard, the sports lines were all abuzz over the news of Mizzou men's basketball "coach" Quin Snyder's resignation...or firing...or something. All we really knew was that after claiming he was not going to resign on Thursday, he seemed to resign on Friday. All the university would say was that Snyder was not going to coach the team on Sunday. Which sort of left Saturday unaccounted for. Not to mention Monday. Sunday morning's paper reported that the university bigwigs let reporters into a meeting just long enough to report that the board of bigwigs voted to hold the meeting in private.

"You may leave, now," they told reporters. "When we are done we will leave without making either an announcement or a comment."

Now, it's all cleared up. Quin is gone. Resigned? Fired? Sabbatical? I am still not sure, but if it is a sabbatical it is permanent. Many a fan will miss Quin's gold ties and floppy hair. Some may even miss his husky post-game voice. Others may even miss his impeccable ability to generate unsubstantiated rumors all about town. (He has unsubstantiatedly been reported doing the most lascivious deeds imaginable. Well, except for that one. Wow, you have some imagination!)

At any rate, it's a good bet that few will miss his coaching ability. Evidence suggests Snyder's game plans consisted of drawing X's on the chalkboard, yet forgetting to put any arrows next to them. This led to a good deal of standing around by his players, who often looked at the ball (if it was passed to them), and, knowing nothing else to do with it (no arrows to direct them, you see), chucking it up from thirty feet away from the basket. (This led to a good deal of the team's fans chucking things up, too: their hands, their hats, their seat cushions, their lunch.) Sometimes it went in; when it didn't, having had no arrows drawn to direct them, they often watched the ball carom off the backboard and into the hands of the opposing team. Seeing the other team running up the court, they did have the natural inclination to chase them, but they often had no idea what to do if they caught them, or what to do if the other team dribbled around them (again, you see, a lack of arrows). Whoever the next coach may be, I hope he (or she) has the good sense to draw some freakin' arrows. These men need direction!

But, I digress. Saturday evening consisted of a lovely dinner at Mr. and Mrs. Fishing Buddy's, with Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Bryant in attendance (and their new babe, Harrison). Mr. Bryant smoked a mean salmon, and Mrs. Fishing Buddy made some great lemon dessert thing.

After dinner, Monkey and I took our pie to Coach B's house, where we belatedly arrived to celebrate the birthdays of Coach and Mrs. B and Boring Election (who made a damn good cheesecake--I haven't enjoyed so much dessert since...well, I may never have enjoyed so much dessert!). Coach B is working on his Master's in administration. He says he'll be done in May...or August...or sometime; he's not sure. Many of us who were at the birthday shindig are hoping he remembers to hand his final project in. Actually, we're just hoping he remembers that it's due. Some time. In the future. We think.

Today, the Osculator and I drove out to Swan Lake National Wildlife Refuge, where we saw 10,000 snow geese. Well, really, we saw the snow geese in a corn field about six miles south of the refuge. Apparently, geese can't read. But they did ask us for directions. Osculator spotted a flock of wild turkeys in a corn field, too. Birds seem to dig corn fields. More than wildlife refuges. Hunters, however, seem to dig wildlife refuges. We saw and heard a bunch of them.

Non-sequiter alert! You wanna buy a bagel? Talk to my wife.