Crueler than April

Word on the street is that the Warden did not take kindly to yesterday’s comments in my blog, so until I find a way to conceal references to home life from certain fellow bloggers, I deem it wise to spend time on more inane subjects. Thus today’s blog.

A joker once said that April is the cruelest month. I wish to contest that. I’m voting for May—at least May in Minnesota. The promise of spring teases us each April, but this May I think we’ve been made a laughingstock. I guess I wouldn’t mind so much if I didn’t have to fight the elements for my livelihood. Every spring and every fall is the same story though. Builders pull the heat out of houses each spring, because we’ve had our 90 degree day and our stretch of near-80 degree days. Summer is here they reason, and they can save a few dollars on LP gas. The reverse scenario will play out this fall.

So there I sit or stand or pace or open the windows or close the windows, watching wet mud stay wet. Even I don’t have enough hot air to dry out a house this time of year. I leave that to certain younger members of my household. But I love her dearly.

Let’s see. Was that enough drywall talk to bore away certain fellow bloggers? Oh Warden? Are you out there? Seems pretty quiet. I think I’m safe. Back to the bathroom. Actually, I’m done in the bathroom. No, no, no. Not in that sense. I mean that I finished painting. I was Michelangelo tonight, doing the ceilings. I wasn’t on my back like the master, but rather on my tiptoes. And my color selection was rather limited, basic white. Reminds me of snow. So maybe tonight was the snow job.