That's Punxsutawney and Murray, if you're keeping score at home (and if so, why; and if not, why not). I know someone who not only was born on Groundhog Day, but was born in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, and has spent a lifetime enjoying the looks of incredulity with which that news is met.
What's a little spooky, to me, as if basing predictions of additional winter weather on the appearance or non-appearance of a furry animal's shadow isn't already goofy enough, is how much time flies and yet also remains exactly the same.Speaking of which and also having nothing to do with it at all, (think Alternative Facts) my brother, Adam, celebrates his two hundred and seventy-eighth birthday tomorrow (he was born an old soul), and at the time of day he goes running, there are NO shadows of any kind anywhere in this hemisphere. Or groundhogs.
I know we all missed Stephen Tobolowsky at last night's banquet but considering how much the only constant is change but how constant that change has become, I'm sure we'll meet again before that Second Sitting. I'm not sure what happens if someone other than Phil sees his shadow. Six more weeks of chocolate bunnies, I fear.
-bill kenny
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