The garage sale will begin at 8 am tomorrow (although we all know that people will be in the driveway well before that). Hopefully, I will be too busy to notice the cold seeping into my bones, or making so much money I don't care how cold it is.
The fat lady's concert will start at 1:00, and I for one will be very happy it is over. Whatever is left after 1 pm will be carted off to Goodwill or the dump (I promised myself!). My cats will be ecstatic; they will once again be able to lie on the tables in the garage and survey their domain, safe from the neighborhood dogs, and I will have 3 weeks to get the garage back to working order for the first flower job of the year. Hooray!
In honor of Valentine's Day and in spite of the sour poem I posted earlier, I am leaving you with a poem I always wished had been written about me:
My girl's tall with long, hard eyes
as she stands, with her long hard
hands keeping
silence on her dress, good for sleeping
is her long, hard body filled with
surprise
like a white shocking wire,
when she smiles
a long hard smile it sometimes
makes gaily go clean through me
tickling aches,
and the weak noise of her eyes
easily files
my impatience to an edge - my
girl's tall
and taut, with thin legs just
like a vine
that's spent all of its life on a
garden wall,
and is going to die. When we
grimly go to bed
with these legs she begins to heave
and twine about me,
and to kiss my face and head.
by e.e.cummings
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