The art of napping, week end update, and a duck

There is an art to napping. I've always though so. These pictures prove it, don't you think?


Hidy Ho Bloggers,

I dunno where the week end went...or for that matter where February has gone to so fast. I seem to have very little to show for my time these days. Okay, I did make a path to the washer and dryer and did a veritable mountain of clothes this week end. I even put them all away. That is to say, stuff is re-jammed into all my dresser drawers and squeezed into my closet. Remember this maxim. It is very useful to the organizational challenged like yours truly: If it's out of sight, it must be right. Thank God in Heaven above for closet doors.

I spent quite a few hours formatting and editing my poetry book manuscript. I read about a hundred pages of Charles Frasier's book, Thirteen Moons. Watched a very funny episode of the BBC/HBO show, Extras as well as the film Idiocracy and the Oscar telecast. Had dinner at PF Chang's with Danny my daughter Laura, and her friend. Made cookies for the theater students at Rollins College. Went shopping for new chocolate brown sheets and comforter (my concession to sleeping with dogs), checked out what's new at Borders and Books A Million, ate some of the cookies I made for the Rollins theater students, and went to Universal Studios Islands of Adventures theme park and Ikea superstore.

Okay, so I was busy. But I didn't cure the heartbreak of Psoriasis, discover a new planetary body, come up with a viable plan for global warming or even conquer my ice cream addiction. Or get Chili to quit attacking the dog training clicker for that matter. Oh well. Maybe I should just take a cue from Baby Alex, Danny, Abby, Ginny, and Chili: Don't worry, be nappy.

Here's a brief poem from my write side:

THE DUCK
The duck is not a graceful bird,
mystique he's surely lacking
no singer of melodic song
he makes incessant quacking.

His gait on land is awkward
as he waddles to and fro
unlike the eagle he won't soar
above the earth below.

He flaps content above his pond
he has no yen to roam
with bugs, a crust of bread or two
he's happy right at home.

He glides across the water
serene upon the surface
yet underneath the waterline,
webbed feet, kick with a purpose.

The droplets fall right off his back
his worries seem so few
he just keeps swimming back and forth,
with nothing else to do.

Rejecting all complexity
avoiding care and strife
a man might emulate the duck,
and lead a simpler life.

Live long and prosper.