We got a fierce hankering for some steaks cooked on the grill over the weekend.  As usual, when I am most in need of a beef infusion, I found that we were out of propane.  I hopped in my man-van and headed to the store.  Despite the strange look from the lady at the propane exchange (you know, the look – “it’s February, are you seriously grilling…in the snow?” ), I ordered up a propane tank to go.  “If you’ve got the money, I’ve got the time” she said and happily took my $20.66.  I hefted the propane tank into the man-van and headed for home.  To properly prepare myself for the task ahead of me, I buckled up and tuned the xm radio to the Willie Nelson station to stir my inner cowboy.  Willie and I were  “On the Road Again”, and I could already taste the smoke and the hair burned off of my arms, mixing to create that oh-so familiar outdoor grill aroma.

Somewhere along the way home, the propane tank must have fallen on its side and rolled against the sliding side door.  Willie and I were having such “Good times” that I didn’t hear the move.  I jumped out, slung the door open and the tank fell, handle down, directly onto my left foot.  I instantly saw stars and began to cuss a blue streak.  I really needed a swim in a “Whiskey River” to cut the pain.  I was certain the tank had split my shoe and exposed the inside parts of my foot.  Oh my word did it hurt.  Anyhow, I finally was able to stand up and hobble to the door so Emily could see my “Blue Eyes Cryin’ in the rain”.

Now, a mere foot amputation is not enough to keep me from my steak, so I sucked it up and cooked a couple of perfect steaks (which the kids doused in ketchup) and went on with my evening.  The next morning, however, was a different story.  It was severe pain, even compared “To all the girls I loved before”.  Yesterday, I decided I needed to get it x-rayed (yup, the pic at the top is my foot) to make sure it wasn’t broken.  If I didn’t, I knew the pain and doubt would be “Always on my mind”.

It turns out that a machine such as me cannot be damaged by a mere propane tank falling on my foot.  I guess some of the tendons of muscles or something are bruised but I am apparently all in one piece.  I will just have to hobble through a few more days until it all heals.

Oh yeah, all of the things  in quotes are titles to Willie Nelson songs…despite his love of “herbal remedies” for pain, he is still a pretty cool singer…but Gravity…she’s a nasty bugger!

Most people have pretty much the same list of favorite holidays – Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, 4th of July, etc.  I know of very few people who put Groundhog Day anywhere on their list.  Well, Groundhog Day is my second favorite holiday after Christmas.  I am absolutely serious about this.  I grew up a mere 60 miles from Punxsutawney, PA, home of Punxsutawney Phil, the one true Seer of Seers, Prognosticator of Prognosticators and Weather Predictor Extroidinaire.  Many towns and burroughs claim to have weather telling critters but they are all frauds.  It’s blasphemy…BLASPHEMY!  Anyhow, some might say that my affinity for Phil is related to my hometown favoritism or my pride as a former Pennsylvanian.  I tell you the truth when I say that it means so much more to me than something as trivial as geography.

To get to the heart of it, let me give you a little background on groundhog day.  First, the modern Groundhog Day tradition is centered around a groundhog named Punxsutawney Phil.  For the past 123 years (his longevity made possible by his yearly consumption of the elixir of life), on February 2, Phil  emerges from his temporary home on Gobbler’s Knob, located in Punxsutawney, PA, to predict the coming of spring.  According to the tradition, if Phil sees his shadow and returns to his hole, the United States will have six more weeks of winter.  If Phil does not see his shadow, spring will arrive early. 

The tradition really precedes Phil, however.  The holiday, which began as a Pennsylvania German custom in southeastern and central Pennsylvania in the 18th and 19th centuries, has its origins in ancient European weather lore, wherein a badger or sacred bear is the prognosticator as opposed to a groundhog.   The holiday also bears some similarities to the medieval Catholic holiday of Candlemas, which takes place on or around the same date.  This is ancient stuff and not to be taken lightly!

So, why is Groundhog Day so important to me?  Around this time of year, I absolutely begin to crave summer.  I get a mild case of the blues each winter as the days get shorter and the nights get colder (along with my wife’s feet!)  I always view Groudhog Day as the turning point.  Regardless of what Phil predicts, my hope for spring renews on Groundhog Day.  Spring is near and I have survived another winter.  I begin to come out of my hibernation and try to figure out how to shed this hibernation weight.  I start to wonder how my bees are faring through the winter and I anticipate their buildup and the budding of the maples.  I run through garden configurations and summer projects and I can almost smell the daffodils as they peek through the fading snow.  Spring hope starts for me on Groundhog Day.  I am counting on you Phil!

Late breaking news:  Phil has predicted 6 more weeks of winter.  Rats!