I'm going to dance with the King of Sweden.
Alternatively, one of these days I'm going to cut you into little pieces. Bonus points to anyone who can tell me where those lines come from, and the answer to one is "What I thought I heard when that song played."
They say (who is this "they" person anyway?) that laughter is the best medicine. I'm inclined to diagree. Hard work is the best medicine, at least where I'm concerned. Laughing while working hard is better, but it's rare enough.
Saturday was a misery. A monstrous storm was struggling it's way across the state, and wrecked what was, for me, going to be a wonderful springtime day outside, working to bring some order and beauty to the benighted moonscape that is my yard. Not so. So, I spent most of the day moping around. Constructive stuff, you know.
Sunday, however, bore promise, like the new green grown covering your rosebush after what you thought was a disastrous pruning accident. I worked. I worked like a slave in high cotton, to use a saying from down heah. I washed cars. I swept the garage, and the driveway. I polished the new chrome bits on Rita's engine, and I even did a little mechanicing on her. I cleaned, I organized, I washed seventeen British tonnes of laundry, I rearranged a bunch of crap from out my garage to neat places in my shed (my bucket collection was getting out of control) and I otherwise worked myself into sheer and ecstatic exhaustion.
And since today turned out to be as poor as piss in your boots, I remedied it by...wait for it...working!
Without boring you with all the details, most of which will be of interest to only me, I transplanted a wheelbarrow-full of iris bulbs to one of the two token swamps I have (grey-water runoff areas) which as a byproduct helped me one step further along in repairing my overgrown front ditch banks, I dug up some troublesome weeds, and discovered that two of the three transplanted wild Easter lilies (I blogged about them last year, they're called hymenosomething or others...) I stole from a roadside ditch are not only growing but spreading! YES! He shoots, he scores!
So. Get yer arse out there and plant something. And if you can't plant, transplant.