Tuesday, February 1, 2011

New Order.

Day one of primary caregiving goes like this: the Toad takes not much morning nap, but crashes so hard for his afternoon one that the kitchen gets half-cleaned, CDs I'm no longer allowed to listen to get dug out, the passive voice gets used, and I get to watch a flock of at least 100 cedar waxwings come through the back yard for twenty minutes and denude La Vieja Nueva's holly tree. I went out to get a closer look and there were so many birds roosting and resting in the Downhill Mouse's walnut trees that their shit hitting the ground sounded like fat rain.

The sun was trying to come through earlier, but I think it's given over to whatever weather this is, which is apparently trainwrecking the center of the country and leaving us largely alone. What they get: feet of snow and breathless disaster live-from-the-scening. What we get: clouds and chill.

Coming up on 90 minutes of Toad nap. What a beautiful thing that is. This gets to be regular, why then, forget about the forbidden music, the countertops, the everything but the waxwings: I'll be outside trying to tack on a few more pages. Tune in tomorrow, then, when you'll hear our hero say: Play, Toad, play. Eat, Toad, eat. Sleep, Toad, sleep. Rinse. Repeat.

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