Ditto

Gah!  This is another reason why I don't own a pet, besides the fact that I don't really like them (only Porter and I don't want to own her, just borrow her every once in a while), they get up too danged early.  She was whining and clicking her nails pacing on the floor.  That means potty, I think.  She doesn't really have an "I need to go out" signal so I assume everything means that she's going to have an accident any second so I vault out of bed.  She probably does it on purpose, thinks it's funny when the flabby old woman flings off the covers and, in just her underpants, galumphs down the stairs to let her out.  Yeah, not a pretty sight.  (Ahh.  I wound DS's antique clock from Mom so it just chimed.  I like the sedate sound of this clock's bong.)  DD called last night since she missed me last Sunday; this time next week we'll be rolling down the highway in Durwood's battleship of a van (is an Uplander a van or an SUV? *shrug*) to visit her.  I can't wait; we can't wait.  It'll be good to spend a few days with DD & DIL2 where it's warmer.  It's 29 freakin' degrees out there right now.  Twenty-nine!  Brrr.  I just went out to give Penny fresh chicken feed (hee) and water and nearly froze.  And there was no egg--for the second day in a row.  Either she's discovered how yummy fresh eggs are (yeah, they do eat their own eggs if they get a taste for them) or she's depressed because her people are gone.  I do not for one minute think chickens are smart enough to get depressed. I might believe that she's lonely--might--because she's alone now and was used to having Henny around to be her pal, but depressed? No way.  I just had a brain storm (okay, it was probably just a light sprinkle), I think I'm going to go load up my old backyard fireplace and the little pile of wood in the back of Beverly (I'll use a tarp so she doesn't get too dirty) and bring it here so I can have a fire at night.  It's chilly enough and a fire would be nice.  I can sit and watch the stars and sing old cowboy songs... um, no, won't be singing cowboy songs, it's been a while since I've been out on the range (never)... but I can talk to Porter and smell woodsmoke and enjoy the night.  Plus it's a very sneaky way to get that fireplace and wood out of my yard and into one where it'll be used more than once a season, I am certain of that.  I'll even bring my own chair and a blankie so I don't get cold.   I know just where I'll put it too, way in the back of their deep lot so it's out of the way and yet close to the brush pile that will make awesome kindling.  I could use a nice, muscle-exerting chore to sweat out my slump too. That'll be good.  I'll get right on it--once the day's a bit more ripe, like into double digits.  Hmm, maybe I can convince Durwood to let me load up some of the wood, and the wheelbarrow, into his vehicle so I can do this in one trip and not have to try and cram it all into Beverly.  I don't think she'd hold it all in one go, especially with the wheelbarrow.  I'll think upon it.

April 11--Japan, Bust of Warrior, NaPoWriMo, use all 5 senses.

Echoes of long ago fighting
reverberate in the pottery skull
Stink of battle clogs
the fine nostrils
Empty sockets watched
the horrors of war unfold
Battle cries from that silent
mouth spurred on his men
Insulated by armor
he felt no physical pain
There was no balm
for the inner hurt

There isn't still
                               --bam
~~~~~
I realized that I haven't been signing my poems.  I like the "bam" signature because it's concise and punchy and attention-grabbing, and that's the way I want my poems to be.  Don't often get there but I'm keeping on keeping on.  I am one determined cuss.