Excuses Excuses

Real life sometimes shoos a guy's literary muse into a dark corner. It sometimes even shames a fellow into turning off his Apple and taking up tools in the eternal quest to reduce the world's ugliness. Such as:

The hideous nature of the wall is not obvious in this photo, but trust me on this one, Sidney. It was awful -- ancient stained and pocked plaster board, a cruddy material at best and worse when installed by a short-order cook in his spare time.

The ugliness reduced, replaced by the Cowboy Corner and Family Museum.  Honest wood holds western dreams in .30-30 and .22LR.  Framed document is a grant of Kentucky land to the first of my line to appear in the New World -- just in time to do battle with King George in the Virginia Continental Line.  The chair is from Missouri's Salt River country, c. 1900,  built of native hickory sticks and splits by my GG grandfather's hired man.  Other knick-knacks -- especially the hand-tooled holster --  memorialize a little sister who died too young.

And that's most of what I did this week instead of trying to write.  I am soooo pleased with myself.

However, I do, in fact, realize that it's time to get back to life's most noble calling, savaging the asses who govern us.