In Which Our Craftiness Is Tested, Or Brrr It's Bleeping Cold Out There

My house is warm with fam'ly, but outside

The wind roars bitterly, and it's damned cold.

When it's just me I let this matter slide,

Throw on another sweater, but, cajoled

By those I love I cranked my thermostat

Beyond the 60s. Then, 'cause there are drafts,

We nailed up a big blankie to combat

The frigid air from my back door. Such craft

As exercised here might seem to exceed

Our daily quota, but we're smarter yet!

When planning for the grocery run, indeed,

We planned for turkey soup and whatnot. Bet

We still have to go shopping Friday? No,

We roar, you cannot make us go!

In Which I Gloat Over A Partial Success And Reflect On The Character Flaw It Revealed

Were I as patient with my fellow man

As I am with a motherboard, some screws,

A graphics card, a processor, a fan

(Or three), it's very possible I'd choose

To be a social worker. As it is,

Deep breathing only and a will to try

Again when tiny screws were dropped -- such biz

As this and only this sufficed. Oh my,

I won't say it was easy; I've not built

A PC since the early nineties. Plus,

'Tis far from over yet. All still could tilt

When I first turn it on and have to fuss

With BIOS settings, for, you see, I will

Be making this a Hackintosh. The thrill!

In Which I Channel My Inner Sangamon Taylor For A Moment

I'm mighty but there's really just so much
A woman on a bicycle can do.
This afternoon was an example such
As we may rarely see. I needed through
A busy surface street -- the Greenway's not
Entirely discrete from auto routes --
And it was one thick stream of cars, a lot
More, driving faster than typically suits
A jaywalker's or cyclist's need to slip
Across. While waiting, sev'ral cranky cars
Lined up behind me, honking. I'd have flipt
A gesture but I saw my chance (not ours),
Stared down a biddy, pulled a Sangamon.
She stopped for me but then roared blithely on.

In Which The Sonnet Queen Knows Things You Don't

I take a confidence seriously,

And that is why in confidence I'm told

So many things. But I still get to squee

As long as I disclose naught. I won't fold

Or bow to pressure put on me to spill

My knowledge, but that doesn't mean I can't

Gloat on this page, say neener-neener, thrill

Myself, if no one else. Go on and rant

And call me tease; I care not. I have got

At least two secrets, and the day's yet young.

I won't say whose, nor any of that rot.

No clues escape my fingers, nor my tongue.

When comes the day that you're allowed to know,

You shall. Till then, just listen to me crow.

In Which I Indulge My Dork-adence

My chores are done, though there is more to do

(There always is, no?) and as this cool day

Is my last off for this week, I eschew

More toil and opt instead to go and lay

In my yard swing and relax, drink and read.

I've pomegranate tea and Richard Holmes'

The Age of Wonder. Envy me indeed!

I've liberty to dream as my mind roams

Across the stars and seas alongside such

As Joseph Banks and Herschel, Mungo Park

And Humphrey Davy. I enjoy so much

These chances just to read 'til it gets dark.

And once the sun is down I've still the hope

Of stargazing with my small telescope.

In Which I Allow Myself A Tiny Puff Of Smug

Although I will admit it's mostly due
To my big purchase in the month of March,
E'en still I get to chortle now at you
Who eye tomorrow fretfully. So arch
Am I because my taxes are long-done,
The refund gained and spent on little things
Like pots and pans and freezers and, yes, one
Or two more friv'lous bits. A new house brings
The need for such as these. I knew it would,
And so I did my taxes just as soon
As ever even possibly I could,
Full knowing the refund would prove a boon.
Regardless of the wherefores or the whys,
I get to gloat while you all strain your eyes!

A Turn No Longer Taken

At Hilltop Avenue, I do not turn;
I stay on Dell Range for one more half-mile
To reach the place where now my home-fires burn.
I pass that old left turn with quite a smile!
I smile still more when soon I see ahead
The famous doggie on his famous roof
(A navigation aid I choose instead
Of street names). A contented dog is proof,
I think, of a contented home. One block
Past him I turn; Hilltop now far behind,
And I approach a proper house. The shock
Of knowing that it's mine's still new. I find
It not too hard to bear. It's got that spark
Of joy; gone is the Vertc'al Trailer Park.