Chiming

Were I to teach any portion of the world to sing (like me), I am not sure it would sound much differently than the screechy starlings, random blue jays or other domestic birds within earshot.

I heard my wind chime explode at 6:24 a.m.  I feared it was sabotage, evidence seems to reveal bolt failure.  That wood must be horribly compromised.  Sigh.  I hate knowing that any extra work I take on, even if full time and in the middle of the night, is going toward something bland as roof replacement, instead of Amsterdam.

The Netherlands have become my spring code word for escape.  Tulips, Van Gogh and whathaveyou (canals) sound fine.  I can see in person what I learned about in class the other semester.  I can make up for having to work through (skip) a number of otherwise more favorable social and educational alternatives.

I would like to be able to afford seven billion sodas.  We would have to find something to do with the trash, however.