Dear Reader,
I had a few precious hours to write poetry today, but all Word Raccoon could do was whine about how chilly she was. Going indoors would not have helped.
We did write several poems, but they were mostly about the atmosphere: mowing on a Friday instead of the Tuesday schedule, thus noise and scents; one called Rick Springfield, Shirtless (based on a comment someone made about him; and I actually used the word coy in reference to spring in another one and WR fell on the porch floor laughing.)
I titled one poem “Budro.” Silly.
And in a new poetic low, WR watched a bird watch a mower and wrote about it.
We touch the poetry, and sometimes it touches back.
Sometimes not.
In other “distinctions” today, I reached two goals on the Fitness+ app: I met my daily move goal (gee, wow), and I completed my 25th “cool down,” which earned me a badge. A virtual badge. For a cool down. WR still crowed as if we had really done something.
Oh, and I also ALMOST finished papering that short accent wall in the kitchen. The second roll of paper arrived, I used what I could, but due to matching issues, I was short and WR gleefully pushed the “order” button for me to get another one heading this way.
(She also reordered an outlet cover so that the outlet covers in the kitchen will now match. I think she noticed how that builder grade beige one made me sad. I told her I would gladly cover it myself since I’ve made some kinda fun ones in the past, but she said no, no, that she wanted them to look alike. They are both Klimt inspired and that kinda say it all – his work is my color spectrum and my inspiration for both fashion and decorating, if I’m being honest.)
Do I mind “almost” days?
Sometimes. But now, on the sun porch, no, I don’t, not today. I’ve had a couple of Oreos. I’ve made the house look better. I’ve created something that didn’t exist on the page until I put it there.
I have pledged to take the rest of the weekend easy. And I think I will. While one project seems to lead into another on the house front, what happens when I run out?
Maybe we should write a poem about that, WR.
The happiest of weekends to you, Dear Reader.
Drema
Wait, I need to water the flowers. Make a note, adoring public.