The snow began falling here at the house by the Parkway at 11:35, Eastern Time. Because of the several days of bone-cracking cold that preceded today, every farookin’ flake that hits the ground is sticking. If the weather predictions are accurate, this should slow or stop for a couple hours, and then we get the blizzard, which will dump a couple feet of this shit the powdery white stuff on the ground.

We made the obligatory run to the supermarket this morning with the rest of the nutbars who feel that they cannot survive 24 hours without five gallons of milk, three loaves of bread and four dozen eggs. We went, not for home-supplies, but rather to pick up about a half dozen things for mother-in-law who refuses to inventory more than three days’ worth of food in the house, and she was down to the last day’s worth. Crazy? Yep, but I have learned over the years which arguments are worth having and which are not.

Anyway, in the supermarket, my assignment was to go directly to the deli counter to pick up a half pound of Schickhaus (It absolutely must be Schickhaus, and it must be sliced thin), and a quarter pound of provolone cheese. I plucked my number from the number dispenser and saw that I was number 76. The people behind the counter were working on number 20. Hell, I only had to wait for 56 people to buy a quarter pound of this and a half pound of that. “Yo, is da ham nice? Lemme see. OK, gimme a quarter pound.”

Actually I had to wait for fewer than 56 people, because it turns out that many people play “deli-roulette.” They pick a number when they first enter the store and then continue shopping, checking in now and then on the current number of the person being served. The good news is that the oldish ladies who work behind the counter strictly enforce the “two holler” rule, and if you are not there, they move on to the next number and the absent-when-called person is schnitzled.

I suppose I could have taken a couple numbers and as my turn approached sold the lower numbers to the newcomers. Probably a bad idea though, because if caught trafficking in deli numbers, I could well be beaten to death.

So, I waited….and waited…and waited, and finally was blessed with the receipt of a half pound of bologna and a quarter pound of provolone, clearly life-sustaining supplies. One does what one must, I suppose.

So, for now, I think I will crack a book for a while and try not to think too much about what’s going outside or the prospect of snowblowing all this stuff tomorrow.