It’s finally over.

February, that is.  Just a few more hours left of this stinky month.  Go figure that today was cloudy, rainy, stormy, tornado-watchy, and floody. Check out the good stuff, though:

  • Anna made a delicious loaf of banana bread and we’ve eaten so much already I think I’ll just call it dinner.
  • I finally – FINALLY – refilled the bookcases in the living room. The woodwork was done at least two weeks ago and believe me, I have had pah-lenty of time for this task.  What have I done instead?  Hibernate.  Because it’s February.
  • At pick up time, despite the thunder and what I think was a flash of lightning in the distance, I walked to the school, retrieved Charlotte, and made it home.  Without getting struck by lightning or even giving the appearance that electrocution was at the forefront of my mind.

How great is this poem by Margaret Atwood? 

February

Winter. Time to eat fat
and watch hockey. In the pewter mornings, the cat,
a black fur sausage with yellow
Houdini eyes, jumps up on the bed and tries
to get onto my head. It’s his
way of telling whether or not I’m dead.
If I’m not, he wants to be scratched; if I am
He’ll think of something. He settles
on my chest, breathing his breath
of burped-up meat and musty sofas,
purring like a washboard. Some other tomcat,
not yet a capon, has been spraying our front door,
declaring war. It’s all about sex and territory,
which are what will finish us off
in the long run. Some cat owners around here
should snip a few testicles. If we wise
hominids were sensible, we’d do that too,
or eat our young, like sharks.
But it’s love that does us in. Over and over
again, He shoots, he scores! and famine
crouches in the bedsheets, ambushing the pulsing
eiderdown, and the windchill factor hits
thirty below, and pollution pours
out of our chimneys to keep us warm.
February, month of despair,
with a skewered heart in the centre.
I think dire thoughts, and lust for French fries
with a splash of vinegar.
Cat, enough of your greedy whining
and your small pink bumhole.
Off my face! You’re the life principle,
more or less, so get going
on a little optimism around here.
Get rid of death. Celebrate increase. Make it be spring.
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2 thoughts on “It’s finally over.

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