Y'all, I've been on a DRY SPELL lately---I don't know what's happened to my words, but I just haven't seemed to HAVE any. I can't think of a subject, I can't find anything interesting to say, and somehow it's not seeming to bother me as it should. I've hardly ever been so down that a little bit of Verbal Remedy couldn't help, and the Dispensary has been closed.
Anything I've posted in the last little bit has been just plain flat, or culled from the reams stuck back in storage from whiles ago. Maybe it was the dark of January, the lingering cold of February, the incessant rains and pours and clouds---I'm just DULL.
Today's sunshine and a whole lot of house-cleaning, as well as an unexpected half-hour visit from Sweetpea and her Mama on the patio, have done a great deal to lift the personal clouds, and just now, Chris came back with two Flea-Market CDs and downloaded them onto my player---an infectious Jelly Roll Morton and, of course, a Joe Cocker. I just loaded the dishwasher to Chain of Fools, doing the Michael-dance with the little sparring steps, the windshield wiper side-slip flipping drips from my big ole pink gloves, and the roof-waves and a fairly good tailfeather-shake, in a big red apron in place of the coat.
Chris picked up Sweetpea's little tambourine, and it was like a vitamin pill for a bit there---dancing and music and all that clink and rattle.
When it finished, Chris came into the kitchen and gave me a hug. "You smell like cookies," he said, Bless his smarty-pants Heart.