. Spinning .

So it’s already after 9 am and I was supposed to be out of the house an hour ago, but here I am, all dressed up and on my hands and knees creeping down the hallway with my bifocals on, my left hand carrying a flashlight, my right sweeping the narrow hall carpet for my gold earring that I pulled off when my ring caught in it while I was combing my hair.  No, it gets worse. 

I felt the damn thing bounce off my shoe, so I stand up and check just inside one of the bedrooms, pulling the door shut to look behind it, and whack myself in the forehead quite forcefully.  Run down the hall to the kitchen for an ice cube, but instead grab whatever I find.

Now I’m crawling back down the hall with a flashlight in one hand, and a container of frozen shrimp cocktail sauce in the other, clamped to my forehead.

The birds sing incessantly, insistently this early morning. As if in desperate search of the right trill of notes that will “open sesame” the black night curtain. They do not understand Daylight Savings Time of man, but the alarm clock car engine revved them out of sleep at five a.m., and last week it was dawn.

They persevere, a right of nature and a responsibility, to sing the praises of the sun until, in acceptance of their gift, it at last will rise and warm them in its gratitude for their gifts.

But breeding shines through in the end. 

Just raced home to finish up working on the presentation for tonight, and decided to clean the kitchen floor.  I think guilt that I won’t be home to enjoy the mess for the next four nights made me clean it up for him.  But I grabbed two throw-rugs from the cellar that had just been laundered, and you know how they kind of crinkle up a bit that makes it dangerous until they settle in flat?  Well, loving spouse that I am, I helped assist the process by standing in a couple places with one foot on each end and spread them out to stretch them in place.  Somehow, I don’t think it would have looked quite so offensive in jeans rather than a dress.

But the dress is going, and the jeans are back on for tonight.  Just needed to show some of the female administration that I had some class at least–they always seem a little worried when I sit in their offices with jeans and a plaid flannel shirt.  Little do they know how many years I dressed up to the nines as Susie Secretary and how jeans are who I have chosen to be.

The conference is going very well so far, and I’m looking forward to the next three days.  Thanks, Loretta, for the vote of support in my presentation tonight.  It made me work a little harder to polish it up in an attempt to live up to your words.

Bloodshot eyes from computerizing, real bad lower back pain from standing all day, stiff neck from looking down, super-tired, and go a few more hours to put in.

I wasn’t made for hard work–although I’ve done it all my life.  I really think God meant for me to spend my time sitting around eating bon-bons, but the orders got screwed up somewhere along the line.

Busy, meticulous, nitpicky day today.  Picture framing and printing.  Not as tedious as it sounds when there’s only two things to concentrate upon.  And oh yes, a single April Fool’s Day joke based on storytelling skills.

Still hard at work, though the shop is closed now.  Made a shrimp and clam alfredo sauce for spaghetti and some garlic bread for dinner, then proceeded to eat three portions.

But there was still a portion left over.  I ate it fifteen minutes ago.

I spot the eagle, sitting lower in the old dead tree.  Maybe, as my husband says, he’s always been there, but I always looked for him in the topmost branches, as I go driving daily by.  Even an eagle, I suppose upon occasion, might go down a notch or two.

And there’s a Tom displaying for at least fifteen hens.  The women pay no mind, busy pecking at the newly uncovered grassy ground.  I suppose he came down a notch himself, just doesn’t know it.

But Mr. Cardinal is singing sweetly from the maple tree out front.  His woman flees the nest right by the garage door as I approach.  There’s teamwork here, a couple dedicated to the hearth and home.  But then, with bright red feathers what does he need to strut for?

My man need not strut either.  There’s a morning sparkle in his eye, no matter how I look with morning bedhead and bloodshot eyes.  There’s teamwork here as well.