Postcards From the White Apocalypse

This morning, boys and girls, your friendly, neighborhood Puddin woke up and was thrilled to find that the Mayans, despite all the doubts and rhetoric, nailed it.

What?  Oh, no, clearly all that “end of the world” business was 100% pure, unadulterated bunk from the word “Go!”.  Or whatever the word “Go” is in ancient Mayan. 

Come to think of it, what language did the ancient Mayans speak, anyway? 

Oh well, that’s not important right now.

What is important is that although it appears there isn’t going to be so much of the earthquakes, volcanoes, tsunami, and fire and brimstone falling from the sky in a shower of hot debris, those wacky Mayans still hit pretty close to the mark.  In my eyes, at least.  You just have to overlook the disappointing lack of an army of 150 foot-tall stone statues come to life with burning red eyes serving as vessels for ancient gods bent on destroying the wicked civilizations of mankind.

Okay, so, yeah, in that sense this business has been a little bit of a let down.  Fine.

But!  But!  When I woke up this morning and look outside – using the mysterious, traditional method of actually “going to a window” – I was met with something that made my head overflow with the shiny happies of a thousand My Little Ponies mixed with a sky full of Double Rainbows and a million firefly pixies.  Or something.

What I mean to say is, sometime in the course of the night, while I was all sleepitimes and irritating the Puddinette with the Snores of Doom, Old Man Winter arrived.  No, wait, he didn’t just arrive, he materialized in a swoosh of special effects and swirly capes, and kicked that awful cold rain straight back to, well, let’s say wherever they’re keeping the Ancient Gods of Vengeance with the smoky eyeballs.

It’s four days to Christmas, mofos, and outside, I found this:


Today is the winter solstice, there’s a dusting of snow on the ground, and All is Right With the World.

So, no, the Earth didn’t fly apart in a spectacle that would make George Lucas jealous, but it’s apparently a New Day this morning, a sort of turning-of-the-page.  Which, to my understanding, is kind of what this whole Mayan calendar rollover thing was supposed to indicate in the first place.

In other words, get out there and revel in the dusting of holiday-approved weather, and make use of the new start.  Because whether or not the Mayan calendar business was actually, you know, a thing, every new morning is a chance to make yourself new again.

And that always better with snow.