A Visit from the Lint Fairy

Sometimes when folding laundry out of the drier (folding it--as opposed to the usual routine of scrounging something to wear out of it, only to transfer back to the washer without the interim state of being nicely bundled and pressed and in the Schrank) I find such little gifts in my pockets, perfectly formed lint-eggs, prodigal lighters that miraculously still light, shiny clean coins and wrinkled notes. Money is a terribly dirty thing, and one wouldn't want to find rough-handled sums in his pants. These little gifts sometimes make the domestic drudgery worthwhile.

green thumb

My home is the green-house of unwanted plants. Many I've rescued during office moves and brought home, like ugly strays that don't have a chance of surviving the pound. There are skinny, stunted palms that hang on, I think, just out of spite, and weepy ones that grow sideways instead of up and out, despite my efforts to coax them towards better posture--and of course there are those that I've tried to fertilize and rehabilitate with bigger pots, mindful that that that fertilizer is a mixture of tired-out dirt, cigarette butts, ancient coffee pads and bunny poo. In a little cobblestone village without yards or trees, I don't think one is allowed to import enriched soil. My little deformed jungle is fine by me, although I am a little embarrassed for them to share the same space with H's perfect speciments of domestic horticulture.

refreshing beverage

And lo, Johan decreed that there be two drinks: and there was coffee to rule the day and beer to rule the night. I swear, these handicaps and props have the potential to make me crazy. Not that a sequestered evening accompanied with cheap beer is all that shameful, a shared touch of wine makes for a definitely civil time. By the same measure. a spot of tea and some break-beat yoga, a discipline that I've since let slide considerably, makes the mornings seem ceremonial. It's a little declasse otherwise.

VD is for Everybody

Having ponificated before on the stories told by old, decrepid social-networking profiles, one popped up for me that I had forgotten about. I hope that for everyone, neglected personals have true love in their obsolesence. I wonder how Yahoo! knew, but I guess it guessed right after so long neglect.