Nothing equals nothing

Two hours in the wee hours of the morning I walk through the house, with a cup of hot chocolate in my hand. I take that with me and go back to bed where I read a few pages of a book that so far is uninteresting. I hope as I turn the pages something in the plot will grab my interest. Nothing grabs me. I slip lower under the covers, turn off the light and sleep until 8:30 a.m.

The first thing I see from my bedroom window is a layer of white on the trees, road, rooftops and cars.

This is enough of a shock to send me back to bed and cover my head. But I don't do that. I gripe to myself about Montana springs, which I add, "Montana doesn't have spring, it has six months of winter and the other six months are divided between summer and fall. At least that's been my observation for the past 60 years. So why am I gripping," I ask myself."

"I gripe because I don't enjoy the white fluffy stuff and grey overcast days" is my answer. I make a cup of tea and sink into my favorite spot on the couch to watch "Good Morning America." It's half over on Ch. 11. I change to Ch. 4 to get a longer version. It's a program I've watched since David Hartman hosted it.

"It's too cold today to go to the store, and we don't need anything that we can't do without" my not-yet-awake brain tells me.

Hubby returns from his regular morning session at the IGA Round Table. "It's cold out there," he announces. I give him my usual "vacant morning" look. I know it's cold out there. The temperature reads 30 degrees. I'm surrounded with white.

He is self-sufficient. I think, "That's a requisite that should be in marriage vows." A picture of a minister asking a couple at the alter if they are self-sufficient hit my humorous cord. My dark mood lightens.

He eats a slice of chocolate cherry cake that I made late the night before. In one hand he holds plate and fork. With the other he opens the dishwasher. "Are these dishes clean or dirty?" he asks. I say, "Clean. Set those in the sink. I'll take care of them after I empty it." If I'm not here when he has dishes he finds a space for them. I find them when I unload the clean dishes, which is no problem. I'm so glad Hubby is self-sufficient.

I settle to write a note to a friend to ward off the effects of the bleak day. I come to the word sciatica, which plagues me periodically, and I couldn't remember how to spell it.

Dictionary at hand I thumbed through C and S. "When one doesn't know how to spell a word one can't find it," I mumbled. I didn't correct the word in my note. Later that day I found Sciatica. I said a few bad words to the founders of English spelling.

By mid-day a green layer outside has replaced the white. Rooftops are various colors and cars on black tarmac roads are their original colors. The temperature is up a few degrees.

I still have no desire to go to the grocery but I need drug store items, runs through my head, now unfrozen by rays of sunshine.

On my way to the drug store I stop at the Bigfork Eagle office. Two happy dogs greet me. I rub their soft coats and tell them that they are beautiful, which they are. I visit with the personnel and leave with a copy of the current newspaper.

I park a distance away from Bigfork Drug and walk to the entrance. Bitter wind in my face chills me. Shopping at our local stores is a pleasure as clerks are friendly and can be found to help with ones needed items.

I wander through the store and find what I need. Karen at the check out counter looks at four boxes of tissues. She brings to my attention that two boxes at $1 each are 250 count and two boxes at 99 cents are 150 count.

"Do you want to exchange those two?" she asks. I take the 99-cent boxes back to the shelf for two $1 boxes.

I explain to Karen, "I was color coordinating to suit the rooms," I said "green for the bathroom, brown for the kitchen, pink for the bedroom and blue for the den. Why do I bother with color coordinating boxes of tissues, it's such a brain extracting and mundane thing to do?"

"I don't know why you do it, Barbara," she answered with a smile. I smiled too at my foolish nitty-gritty decisions as I left the store.

The raw wind took my breath away. I hurried to the car and was glad to enter the warmth of home.

Hubby came in from the garage where he spent most of the afternoon. I unload the dishwasher, load our few breakfast and lunch dishes, ready the Bigfork Survey to mail and make an effort to balance my checkbook. The bank and I seldom agree on my balance. I shrug my shoulders.

I answer, "It's been one of those nothing days."