It never rains, but it snows

Actually, yesterday it did both for a while. We could see the lawn and trees greening up like Bruce Banner in “The Incredible Hulk.” It was heavy, wet stuff that kept me indoors, moving pixels around VeloNews.com and furniture around my office, which had begun to resemble a rummage sale at a crack house run by a retired newspaperman. I was starting to feel crowded, like a Republican asked for a fact. Thus, a bunch of books I never read are headed for the library system, and some furniture is bound for the thrift store. Only I remain to tell the tale.

If there was a downside to the precip’, it was that our roof sprung a leak again yesterday. I was headed for my rocker with a largish bowl of Mom’s chile con carne when I noticed a couple of wet spots on my sweats. “You spastic tosspot,” I thought. “You’ve either pissed yourself or spilt perfectly drinkable wine on your drawers.” Then a third drop drilled me in the bald spot, which is pretty easy to hit in that it starts around my upper lip. Oh, shit. Straight down out of the ceiling fan this time.

Into the attic I go with a bucket and a headlamp as Herself makes a terse call to the roofers who plugged the holes around our solar array the last time we had a decent snowfall. The bucket proved more useful, although the roofers are certainly a pleasant outfit, if one has a hurricane and an insurance company close at hand.

With that in mind, we’re keeping our fingers crossed for a tornado, hailstorm or falling satellite, as Uncle Sugar has announced his plans to jam both forepaws and one cloven hoof in our pockets come Wednesday. Happily, it’s a small roof, and we already have the bucket.