Why don't we hear from Benjamin Franklin tonight, since we haven't heard from him lately. And also because KEM likes to give you the gift of a quickie blog every once in a while. And also because she is too poo-poopey-doed to write anything original tonight. Yeah, so the truth worms its way to the sunlight. She's pooped from going to bed at 5:00 AMish the last two nights. And also from watching USA Figure Skating Championships. Anyway, Benjamin wrote a very nice little poem:

Hide not your talents, they for use were made.
What's a sun-dial in the shade?

KEM probably would have written it like this:

Hide not your talents, for use they were made.
What's a sun-dial in the cotton pickin' shade?

I think my version has more rhythm, my apologies to Mr. F. Of course, I would never have come up with a smart little poem in the first place, so easy for me to improve upon Ben's brilliance.

Speaking of cotton pickin', I may just skip all my cotton pickin' little chores tonight and start fresh tomorrow. Like they say, The chores ain't goin' anywhere. I think Monday should be my big cleaning day. I'm tired of having the grim thought every day of the week, Umm, I didn't get my housework done yet. It'll probably kill me to do it all in one day, but the trade-off will be mental freedom -- Ahh, the house is clean and now just light maintenance. Isn't that a thought to hold tight to? Of course, if I'm killed off, mental freedom probably won't be doing me a whole lot of good.

Okay, don't forget to bring forth your talents to the light of day, just like the little worm of truth. I don't suppose the worms froze to their demise in our chillinesss, do you? They were cozy deep underground.

COZY, SHADY LOVE,
KEM