I insulted Word Raccoon today. I knew I would, though I didn’t mean to, and yet I needed her to clean the damn bathroom. The upstairs one.

I lulled her into safety by giving her a snack and a cup of coffee and the promise of a real breakfast after Barry’s Zoom meeting was over.

She thought she was going to grab a shower.

Once upstairs, I shoved a magic eraser into her hand and a bottle of bathroom cleaner.

She was not pleased.

To say the least.

She huffed and puffed, but I told her once she was finished, we could read. So she got to spraying. 

Afterward, she really did get that shower, and I sat in my new reading nook and read. I stumbled upon the perfect solution for the chair full of stuffed animals (NO ONE is going to take my Minions and my few other cuddle buddies away from me; I’ve done all the paring back I’m going to do), a recently emptied decorative shelving unit nearby that I’d been meaning to send elsewhere. Not now.

Mid-read in the craft book we’re still reading, I was struck with a poem I had to write immediately. I covered WR’s eyes. It was entirely too early for that sort of imagery.

Later, after doing all the things (making a proper breakfast, working out, paying bills, etc.), I read some more and came across a lovely bit of translational trivia that I want to share here, but it’s so lovely I don’t think I will. I wish I had a silk bag with a list of the names of those who would enjoy it most embroidered on it. I’d hide my favorite words and thoughts in it. 

Some treasures just want a certain audience. And vice versa, I think.

Anyway, we wrote a couple more poems.

We submitted poetry to two places.

We washed, dried, folded, and put away laundry.

We ordered necessary household items.

We wondered where the day had gone.

We contemplated the anatomy of a poem, starting with the title, naturally, and held each piece up to the light. 

We carefully considered enjambment and WR started thinking about jam. 

We corresponded with various loved ones.

We made a list of places we’d like to send our poetry to before the month is through.

We panicked seeing how late in the month it is.

We wondered WHY the Libby app insists on sending us all of the books we have requested at the same time, especially when rearranging books on our physical shelves has meant we’ve put reverent hands on so many we’d like to re-read recently. 

(Psst… we understand the REAL reason Libby does what “she” does, but we just want to complain.)

We also wondered why we are so far down on the latest Grisham hold list on Libby and why we haven’t put ourselves on our local library’s hold list for the same book, which is still long but much, much shorter.

And now WR is giggling because she knows some of you are judging her for liking Grisham, and she does not care in the least. Well, it depends on who you are.

And why is WR insisting we say “we” in this post when it’s mostly me and my writing imp knows it?

Today was giving pandemic.

WR agrees.

But the porch lights, which go on at sunset, are turning on an hour later nowadays. Trust me, I’m paying attention.