Poor Punxsutawny Phil. He gets blamed for the most miserable 6 weeks of weather most of us experience. Somehow I can relate to the old bugger.
First, being called a groundhog is a very nice description for something that is scientifically known as a marmota monax, or in more common terms a woodchuck (yes of the “how much wood can a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood fame”.) Kin to the Southern squirrel which is often called a tree rat. Rodents one and all.
Forget the fact that Phil is actually a rodent, and that he lives in a tree stump, Phil and I have a lot in common. There has been only one Phil since this craziness began. There is only one me. I have proof of this fact from the internet and my friends.
Phil runs from his shadow. Until I am able to lose about ¼ of my volume, I too will continue to run from my shadow. I am on the lookout for a shadow about the size of Carrie Underwood, so if you spot one no one is using, let me know. I have dibs on it.
Phil is an early riser. Just look at all the people who come to see him at 2 a.m. every February 2nd. I too am an early riser. Not because people come to see me, but rather because I need time to paint my face or my shadow would be the one running in fear.
Phil lives in a wooden stump. I live in a house made of wood.
People are always mispronouncing part of his name. Punxatawny is often pronounced and written without the “n”. I can’t tell you the ways Argersinger has been mangled both verbally and in written format.
Phil has a fur coat, though its beauty is in the eye of the female type Phil. I would love to have a fur coat, beauty is not optional and must be beautiful in the eyes of me.
Phil has one day each year that is totally his, his claim to fame day. I have one, my birthday, if anyone remembers it. No claim to fame, but mine just the same.
Phil gets blamed for some bad stuff that happens between February 2nd each year and whenever winter leaves. Not only that, he also gets blamed for good stuff not happening. I get blamed for stuff all the time. No particular time of year needed.
Phil may not be able to predict good things, like the end of winter. I am unable to predict anything, including where I might end up when I travel to new places. Phil’s predictions of bad things to come are legendary. I gave up predicting and just expect similar outcomes.
So, on this February 2nd of whatever year it is, let’s celebrate Phil. Let’s also celebrate me. Chocolate, wine and money will do instead of decorations, letters and cards.
From the life and mind of:
Wanda M. Argersinger
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