This past weekend, Arkansas experienced a two-day ice/snow storm. The normal state of affairs in The Natural State seems to be: if it snows only, it melts a few hours after the sun comes out; if a layer of ice falls first there will be two days or more of treacherous walking and driving.

There is no way the people around here were not prepared for this. On Monday the weather persons began talking hysterically about the possibility that perhaps a winter mix might move through some counties. Milk and bread flew from grocery shelves, events were cancelled. And when it finally happened, kids and teachers got a free day out of school. (I don’t want to spoil anyone’s fun, but it wasn’t a free day at all, only borrowed – to be paid back on Presidents’ Day, Good Friday or June 1.)

My office was closed and the play at Center On the Square rescheduled, so I am one of those who stayed inside, enjoying the days at home. Here are some of the things I did while snowed in:

The most immediate need was for me to figure out how to potty the dog. I usually take him to the yard on a leash. I crept across my back porch, fastened the long leash to the banister and hooked the other end to the dog’s collar. He could almost reach his tree – which may have been a little frustrating, but all in all his needs were met.

I talked by phone and email to family and friends who wondered how I was faring.

I perused Facebook.

I wrote/tweaked a chapter of my novel-in-progress.

I napped. More than once.

I cooked. Ane consequently found my 1/3 measuring cup which had been lost in the oatmeal box since I made no-bake cookies at Christmas.

I read. Currently reading Wishin and Hopin  by Wally Lamb, Writing to the Change the World by Mary Pipher, and The Gospel of John.

I watched the list of church closings on Saturday night and failing to see my UMC listed, I ventured to church Sunday morning. About 1/2 the usual number of congregants were there and the choir was full. My thanks to United Methodist Men who helped sweet little old ladies across the icy parking lot.

Even if it’s borrowed, an unexpected day off is a blessing I would wish for everyone.

This sounds petty, but I have a sore thumb. It is warm and swollen and looks like it might be an infected cuticle. I don’t know if those things crop up spontaneously or not, but I haven’t messed with my nails lately so I didn’t do it. Last night when I was trying to sleep I could feel my pulse beating in my thumb. I am very right handed and the sore is on my left, yet it hampers my activities more than you can imagine.

Before I went to bed I put some Neosporin around the edge of my nail even though I could see no open wound that might be causing the trouble. I decided to wrap it so the medicine would soak in the skin and not end up on the sheets. Using my right-hand’s pincer grasp, four fingers on my left hand, my teeth and the edge of the lavatory, I was finally able to extricate the Band-Aid from the wrapper.

This morning, I had difficulty doing my hair, since I normally use my left index finger and thumb to support the curling iron and keep it from searing my scalp. Donning pantyhose was a challenge beyond my capabilities.

Yesterday evening at play rehearsal (did I say I’m in The Women at Center On the Square? More information here: www.centeronthesquare.org) the wounded digit kept getting in my way. In one scene, I play the seamstress/fitter and I help the leading lady get out of a dress that has about 20 buttons. Try doing that without opposable thumbs.

Who decides what greeting cards grace the racks of the large Super Center where I do most of my shopping?

I pose this question from time to time when I’m looking for a specific card – say a birthday greeting for my boss. A card that will do for a man, but one that is neither sexy nor sentimental. One that doesn’t refer to body functions he and I do not discuss in normal conversation. A card that doesn’t tease about how old he is, because given his age and mine, that would be ludicrous.

In December, my grandchild graduated from college. Of the five grands who have received a degree, three walked in December. Yet, I could find no card for that occasion anywhere. I had to settle for a generic, non-specific sort of congratulatory message.

Last weekend, I attended a reception for my BFF, retiring after many years of serving the church. When I shopped for a card, I ran into this familiar problem. No retirement wishes to be found. There were two long rows of Valentines as well as the usual get well, sympathy and anniversary cards. Also happy birthday to every relative you can think of, no matter how vague or far removed the relationship. There were cards for bar mizvah, blessings on new pastor, (as well as “we know it’s hard to be a pastor”), welcome new baby, happy about your pregnancy (congrats the stick turned blue?), thank you, I’m sorry, and encouragement as you enter treatment. (I kid you not.) But nothing that said, “Well done, good and faithful servant,” or anything like it.

The good news is that I went to another store and found something appropriate. But the question remains: Who decides to put Valentines out on December 26, or Christmas cards in October?  And with so many personalized messages, why can I never find the card that says just what I want?

Christmas vacation is over. Monday, it’s back to work. During the last couple of weeks around the holidays, members of our large extended family have traveled far and wide. Some made it without incident. Some, unfortunately, had issues.

Most are back home safe and sound, but one thing is surely true. In all this moving about, posessions were probably misplaced. We know about the luggage that left Chicago a day late and the Tennessee hat that is still in Arkansas. In addition, we’ll bet something from Washington State stayed in Montana; D.C. things were left in Arizona; Texas items remained in New York. The irony in all this is that I didn’t leave home, yet I too suffered a loss.

Somewhere in the frenzy of holiday cooking, my 1/3 measuring cup went missing. This is from a set of orange Tupperware cups, old enough to be on the historical register. The 1/4 cup was melted years ago by a young aspiring cook. (I have adjusted to this: 1/2 of 1/2 cup is 1/4) Now I will have to eye-ball the middle of the 2/3 cup when the recipe calls for 1/3 cup.

Many items that strayed off during this season will one day wander home again, yet I have no hope of the lost cup ever being found.  I think my best bet is to put it on my wish list for next Christmas.