Stooping below puns on a snowy evening: If you can't beat 'em, alliterate 'em

This RV/Travel/Adventure Geezer type is getting tired of trying to tiptoe around the topic of terrible temps with temper-ate tantrums regarding tumultuous torrents and tempests on his Teapot. Thus, I'm inspired by Frost (Jack, not Robert) to pen you a silly post.

Stooping below puns on a Snowy Evening

Illicitly alliterating illustrious illustrations

of

Illiterate illegible illegal elucidations

 that

elicit unintelligible oral tribulations

from

Illegitimate intellectual master-debaters of Oration

On a brighter, and somewhat higher ground note:

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound's the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep. 

R. Frost

Life's Little Adventurer's and the BCB Gang trying to squeeze lemonade from lemons…playing in Snow!

Today the BCB Editor and his lovely Playmate packs bags (not to exceed 45 inches, measured width, plus height, plus depth) and ramble to the gambling capital of the world, Viva Lost Wages. Sin City, baby! Yes, we'll be leaving…on a jet plane, don't know when we'll be back again…  Actually, we do know, but I  couldn't resist a little Peter, Paul and Mary to cheer us up on this otherwise dismal damn day! I know, you tire of weather related posts from bloggers across this great land. Trust me, I'm trying to do my part by getting "out and about," but the eye of the whirlpool hurricane keeps sucking me back into its vortex. 

We are called every so often to reconvene with family lest we slip the bonds of common DNA. Familial ties can wane like shrinking harvest moons, to infrequent casual relationships that reach little beyond Christmas and Birthday, thoughtfully brought to us by Hallmark, Google, and Facebook's Geni, with their incessant streams of spam reminders.

So the BCB is taking to the air on gossamer wings, flying from Lost Wages all the way to Philadelphia, Pee Aaa…where, through the miracle of speed of flight we will have the immense pleasure of rejoining the same fucking storm endured all this past week...all over again. Of course there is the family thing...good tidings, love and warmth around tables filled with food and bottles emptied of wine. (Fireplace lights…now). 

Throughout this weeks cold snap I have steadfastly held to my "long pants be damned" mantra in the face of rain, sleet, snow, and happy hours that last into the dark of night. But going east is a deal-breaker. I'm taking only long pants! You see, I once came within inches of death by cold…trying to have a little frisbee fun with the nephews at a family Thanksgiving reunion in Toledo, Ohio. It's insidious, how a balmy 45 degree day (shorts and tee shirt weather in Lovely Ouray) and a little damp breeze off Lake Erie "Feels Like" ten below zero. In spite of wearing every piece of clothing allowed by disen-generous airline carry-on policies, I was colder than I've ever been in my life...including waist deep snowshoe trips above 13,500 feet on Red Mountain Pass, temps near zero degrees. Gee, it really is the humidity.

But, in the spirit of Thanksgiving and TRADITION...I will in a few short hours from this post re-endure the week's storm…again...this time as a NorEaster…blowing up pant leg to boxers. I will subject myself to the rigors of the Cheap Seats, fly without peanuts, pay extortionist prices for drinks diluted with too much ice, sweat through layers of clothes I couldn't cram into my "Summed Aggregate" 45 inches of carry-on baggage...enough to survive eight days in the east...cope with four hours of flight in the "No Class Seating Section," all in order to embrace Love, Family, and Thanksgiving. And that I do it by plane, on the busiest of holidays, when I swore I'd never fly again after the last boondoggle, and do it with good cheer…well, it demonstrates the depths of love and commitment this Geezer has for loved ones, even if they do reside east of the continental divide. As long as there is enough adult beverage to drown a water buffalo, I'll be there. Set my plate and fill my glass. 

Now fasten your seat belts and pour a hot toddy; daddy is a reluctant flyer...