Damn Those Men In The Basement

You know, I think of this blog as more of a place for me to put my writing than I do as an actual web log.

Sure. I write about my life and my family and what's going on with us but I like to imagine that what I'm mostly doing is writing essays. Little bitty tiny essays that might start out with the weather or the dogs and then end up being about something so much bigger.

Or sometimes, it goes the other way. I start out big and end up tiny.

But the truth is, when I sit down to write, I rarely have any idea what I'm going to say.
Stephen King, in his excellent book about writing (which is titled, remarkably, On Writing) says that it's the "men in the basement" who do all the work while we're sleeping or thinking about what to cook for dinner and then, when we sit down, all of their work spills out on the page.

Some days, those men in the basement have been down there sweatin' their manly asses off and those are the days when things just drop into my lap and I congratulate myself on having some sort of magic, some sort of juju to share.

Then there are other days when the men in the basement have obviously been lying in the hammock drinking beer and watching reruns of The Brady Bunch because there seems to be nothing in the hopper whatsoever and today, well, today is one of those days.

Blame the men in the basement and for god's sake, quit buying them beer and TURN OFF THAT DAMN TELEVISION!

I have neither personal stuff to talk about (or that I care to talk about) nor any great, grand things to say about the world or humankind.

I was thinking about doing a things-that-annoy-the-piss-out-of-me post but hell, with temperatures in the seventies, and the azaleas beginning to bloom, how much can you really get annoyed at?
Okay. Here's one thing: Packaging.
And that's enough about that.

And Lord knows I've already discussed spring enough and it's not even really spring yet so I need to save something for when it really is.

I would talk about the bar but there seems to be a Plan B going into effect and I don't want to discuss it quite yet because, well, it's not set in stone.

And so, since nothing is poking my brain or heart or soul enough right now to make me want to go into great poetic detail about it, I'll give you that photo above which is a picture of a type of clover that grows here all on its own which I think is actually called four-leafed pink sorrel. Little Harley came over this week and I introduced him to it because children love to eat the blossoms. My own kids did and called it "sour flower" because it has a slightly sour candy taste. Harley agreed that it was delicious and ate a handful. Sometimes I try to pull it up but sometimes I just let it go. They actually sell it down at the Native Nurseries so I guess it's a "legitimate" plant and besides, it's the only thing that'll grow under the magnolias.

Besides, it's pretty.

And here's an azalea from the front yard:



All the pink things seem to be blooming now. The white ones can't be far behind.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll take off all my clothes and go roll in the nice warm dirt in the sun because it's supposed to start storming with hail by tomorrow and then be down in the thirties again by Monday and I'd like to soak up some Vitamin D and happiness before it all disappears again.

The men in the basement and I will be back soon. Until then, happy Friday, y'all.

If I'd known you were coming, I'd have baked a cake.

But here- try some of these sour flowers. Tasty, huh?