The birds are singing...

...outside and there is an ice dagger growing down from the eaves outside the window in front of my desk. I wonder how long it will take before it finally snaps off and how long it will grow. The mountains are behind a sheer white veil and the sky is blue behind the grey-white haze. Sunlight peers weakly through the clouds gaining strength as the day grows older. Day is perfectly balanced with night for this moment and the hours of daylight grow stronger sending curls of anticipation shooting through me, coaxing me outside into the cold with promises of warmth and sun and growing things. That's what the birds are singing about.

The birds were silent yesterday morning as the snow storm moved closer, but the squirrels still raced up and down the trees, probably keeping warm. I worked night before last so I could finish work early yesterday. My new tables and a microwave were delivered. The delivery driver was late, but that gave me plenty of time to finish touching up the walls where the color looked a little thin. Up and down the ladder until my legs ached, repositioning the ladder, painting, touching up and generally getting a lot more exercise, I hustled to make room for the new furniture. I was too fussy and didn't get done, but the driver was nice enough to take away some boxes for me since he was so apologetic about not being here on time. Ben, the driver, was sweet and I told him it wasn't a problem waiting and not his fault. He got caught in traffic. He smiled and thanked me and drove off whistling. Makes me wonder how other people reacted when he was late.

The landlady came up to look at the paint job and said it looked like it belonged in the bedroom, but my bedroom will be Wedgewood blue with gold accents and sheers. I'm not sure if I like the green yet, but when I got the furniture moved around and the pictures back on the wall it began to grow on me. I suspect once I get the trim and woodwork done, the stenciling along the ceilings in place and some area rugs in there it will look fabulous. It's looking good now. I need to get bulbs for the lamps but the candy apple red of the bases is just the right touch. I can't wait to put up the red wine sheers and maybe give in an buy a couple sofa parasites (that's pillows to the rest of you) in bright primary colors.

Well, back to work to earn enough to pay for this smorgasbord of decorating. Enjoy the day.

Minding my own business...

...doing my work and the Evil One decides to send me a provocative message and a link for watching a man playing with his balls. How can I be a productive worker when he's sending me stuff like that? Between the jokes and quips and puns and the general enjoyment of chatting with him, I have a feeling it's a good thing I worked last night.

But now here comes hypatia360 and a guy with real balls. Stick it out to the end and you will be rewarded with even more balls. I'm never going to get any work done today and I have a microwave and tables being delivered this afternoon.

That is all. Disperse.

Oh, the pain...

The spring-like weather is gone and it has been snowing steadily since yesterday. The snow is so heavy with moisture it can't even drift on the winds whining past the windows. It falls to the ground like a beer swilling, barrel-bellied Super Bowl Sunday, pizza and snack machine drops into his favorite recliner in front of the TV. Everything is mounded and drifted with white and the air is heavy with sheets of falling crystals. My mountains are invisible behind the white out drapes of a winter storm on this day before spring and the cold battles with the meager heat from my space heater. The landlady turned off the furnace when the weather got warm.

And now there's work to do and my fingers and hands and every muscle attached to those muscles and attached to every other muscle in my body are throbbing and aching from painting this weekend. I have to put the living room back together before the new coffee and end tables arrive tomorrow afternoon and the laundry is still humped on the bed because I didn't have enough energy to fold and hang and put it all away. Needless to say, there is also work to be done and I will be focusing on that since this weekend I have to focus on putting together and putting out another issues of the Ø-Beat newsletter for the local ham organization. My plate is full and my cup runneth over. There are worse things in the world. Like...

I'll think of something when the rest of my brain wakes up. For now, I'm off to bring the space heater closer, put some breakfast in the oven, and take a long hot shower before tackling the day and evening's work. I may even get to bed by 1 AM tomorrow morning -- and I still have Ostara to plan for and celebrate. I was hoping for daffodils and tulips and crocuses and amaryllises and...well...spring.

So that's how you do it...

I knew before I crawled into bed last night that a day of painting had affected every single solitary muscle in my body -- and not in a good way. But that was just my first impression. My second impression was that I was still alive because everything hurt like a chronically aching tooth all over my body, except for my jaws. I didn't talk much yesterday because there was no one to talk to and because I was resting my vocal cords from the strain I put on them a few days ago when I sang for over six hours (my version of spring fever) without warming up first.

But how do you warm up for painting?

Wax on-wax off? The Miyagi painting method with a brush?

Wouldn't work. I was used a roller and an edging pad. Different set of muscles altogether. I did find I prefer the two-handed method of using the roller, which is a good thing because my triceps (that part under my arm that hangs and sways heavily in the least breeze or with movement) are equally sore. Somehow I managed to even work the muscles above my glutes. My back doesn't hurt, but the muscles on either side of my spine and along my sides definitely took notice of the activity. My feet, legs, knees, shins, calves, thighs and hamstrings definitely got into the act, as did all the muscles from my fingertips to my shoulders and back. Strangely enough my neck isn't sore either, just pleasantly relaxed. Must be all those years of holding my head up. I have not been this tired and sore or felt this energetic, despite the sharp reminder of yesterday's activities, since I lifted weights six hours a day six days a week in my twenties.

Suddenly, a light bulb goes off in my head as I argue with my body about staying in bed and rest my battered body instead of getting up and adding insult to injury. I worked out with weights and machines, swam, walked, sweated, grunted and groaned for thousands of hours and didn't get this much of a workout. I don't think it was because I was in better shape back then but because painting is more of workout. Instead of doing a three-day split working upper and lower body alternately, going from machine to machine, free weight to free weight, painting is much more efficient. Even taking breaks and not working quickly, I have found the secret. Painting is how to lose weight, improve muscle tone and increase lung capacity (by gulping fresh air with your head out the nearest window to clear the lungs of paint fumes).

There are other benefits to the painting workout. More people doing the painting body tone program would need rooms and houses to paint. The increase in painting would mean a boost to the painting manufacture industry. More color. More tools. More business. You could set up a gym in the nearest derelict house or building and paint, thus giving the neighborhood and the property a boost in look and appeal, making it more attractive to potential buyers looking for an affordable property, which would also drive out the criminal element, scurrying from the color and light like roaches in the kitchen when the light is turned on, thus bringing down the crime rate, raising property values and giving new life to old neighborhoods. I imagine once all the houses and apartment buildings are painted, you could start all over where you began because you'd be tired of the old color. Everyone wins. Healthier, fitter bodies and profound social and urban impact. What more could you want from an exercise program?

Okay, who wants to write the book and pose for the photographs? It's a billion-dollar industry just waiting for some far-sighted entrepreneur. I'd offer, but I have to go finish painting the living room, move around the furniture and collapse for as long as my bladder holds out.