The sidewalk was full of acorns again," I grumbled, entering the house to refill my cup of coffee. "More than the load I swept up just a few days ago."
"Sure sign of a cold winter," grunted my Aunt Toogie, without looking up from the morning paper where she was deciphering a sudoku puzzle.
My lovely wife, Grace, inquired with a grin, "Which sign? The abundance of acorns or Dalton grousing?"
"Acorns," Toogie chortled. "Dalton whining is an indication he’s probably running low on Maker’s Mark."
I let the gibe pass but made a mental ‘note to self’ to check on my supply of bourbon and vermouth. For now, I settled on a kitchen barstool with the sports page and a hot cup of joe.
"Years ago," Toogie continued, "folks put a lot of stock in nature’s signals forecasting the weather, especially the winter season. The colored band on a wooly bear caterpillar was another indicator."
"I remember that," Grace replied. "If the black band was wider than normal, a colder winter was in store. Or was it a narrower band?"
"Wider band," Toogie answered, setting down her newspaper. "A wooly bear is black at each end with a reddish brown band in the middle. It’s that middle band that predicts the weather."
"My daddy used to say," Toogie continued, "spiders in the house in the fall was another tip off we were in for a wicked winter."
"Really," Grace mused. "I have been picking up a fair number of those lately."
"And thicker than normal skin on apples and tomatoes is a dead give away," Toogie pontificated, now waxing like a broadcaster from The Weather Channel.
Leaning back in her chair, Grace called over her shoulder, "Dalton, are you listening?"
"Don’t forget Punxsutawney Phil, the groundhog from Pennsylvania," I scoffed, picking up the sports page and stepping toward the den.
"Oh, don’t be such a ninny," Grace shot back. "Sit down. This is interesting. You might learn something."
Captured by the vortex of the discussion swirling around the kitchen table, I settled into a chair next to Grace.
"Now, isn’t it fascinating," Grace queried, putting her hand on my arm, "how nature provides these subtle, yet profound, prognostications?"
"I guess so, although to tell the truth, I hadn’t much noticed."
"Precisely the point I was about to make," Grace exclaimed, becoming more animated. "People miss these cues in today’s frenetic world, but folks years ago paid attention to such signs."
When I didn’t respond, Grace continued, "Animals get it. Look at all the squirrels we’ve had in the yard lately. They are stocking up on acorns for the coming chill."
"That’s another signal of a cold winter," Toogie chimed in. "Bushy tails on squirrels."
"Bingo!" Grace declared, resting both palms on the table. "I rest my case."
As I pondered how the pesky squirrels who had chewed my outdoor light cables had suddenly become weather wizards, Grace mused, "Speaking of a long cold spell, you haven’t written a column for the paper in ages."
"I wrote one about our grandson Charlie a while ago."
"It was a touching one," Grace replied. "But without it, you’d be zero for the football season to date."
"I’ve started a few columns, but just could not get them completed," I explained. "I guess I’ve got writer’s block."
"Poor baby," Toogie gushed sarcastically. "Dalton’s got writer’s block."
"How about all the topics in the news," Grace offered, coming to my defense. "The economy, the flu, the healthcare debate."
"It is a humor column," I sighed. "And there is nothing funny about those."
"He’s right," Toogie piped up, now apparently on my side. "Forget the flu. What those knuckleheads in Washington are doing with healthcare is enough to make you sick!"
"Toogie and I can help you come up with some ideas," Grace suggested. "How about the airline pilots who overshot their destination?"
"I got a better one," Toogie cackled. "How about our governor and his Argentine escapades?"
"Actually, I started a story on that," I replied. "But I mislaid it."