Monday, January 25, 2010


Torrential downpour out there. Wet, wet, wet. And windy. One to three inches forecast. 50 MPH gusts. Rain pelts the windows noisily. Rivulets stream across the cellar floor, bubbling up through cracks in the porous 160 year old foundation. Both sump pumps work overtime, sucking up the flow. Not unlike my musings. Where's a WetVac when you need one?

Self-indulgent, really. These words of mine. Spilling forth. Drip, drip, dripping incessantly. Puddling ankle deep. Sloppy. Water squishing between sockless toes. Rubber soles squeaking annoyingly as I banter about in my LL Bean duck shoes pontificating. A slippery slope.

Apologies, treasured readers. Monsoon season here. Hip waders required. Umbrella vendors out of nowhere hawk embarrassingly cheap wares in colors that defy the spectrum. Five dollars. Worth 50 cents. Buy one anyway. Stay with me while I journey on. Promise there's a pot of gold at the rainbow's end. Doubloons for all.

Cheers! To the leprechaun, green olives ... and tomorrow's sun.

1 comment:

  1. Who hasn't felt this way! You're striking chords.