I'm
sitting here trying to think of something to write about. I don't do
Christmas so that's out. I'm sick of reading and writing about our
culture's social problems. I can't whine about winter since we
really aren't having one yet and I just did a post on the state of
nature around here.
I
suppose I could write about the big bathroom being out of commission,
a slow draining toilet pulled up to reveal the nightmare of a
corroded flange and rotten sub-floor and that the sink in the little
bathroom has barely any water pressure and the pipes leak and need to
be replaced.
Or
that the puppy goes in for her 'fixing' tomorrow at 8 AM and the end
of her confinement to the house or leash. Not sure who will be
happier about that, her or me.
Or
that the chandelier cleaning, abandoned last winter when it got too
cold because I was doing it outside, has accumulated dust and
cobwebs again and I must now start over. At least I moved it from the
garage and into the house several months ago.
Or
the new light fixture I bought this past summer for the spot above my
computer and still have not installed because I'm afraid it won't
give me enough light when I work on dim days.
Or
that the squirrels wasted no time in accessing the new totem bird
feeder I was sure they wouldn't be able to get on.
Or
that the attempted repair of the last Botanica by re-firing it to
mend the crack failed as the piece just cracked
again in a different spot and burned
the yellow out of part of it (something that I am at a loss to
explain or understand and really isn't apparent in the photo).
Or
that I made potato leek soup last Sunday and it was really good.
Well,
maybe I'll be more inspired another day.
