Reckons of Crass Construction

Okay, we don't have a cat. Which means some ravenous, blood thirsty, limb-from-limb stripping, totally heartless animal waited until we were asleep to attack this poor defenseless bird in our flower planter. It was all I could do to hold back a bloodcurdling scream after stumbling upon its withering carcass.


How would you like to encounter a scenario like this on your front porch? Definitely not good for the digestive system. Almost eight hours since I first laid eyes on it and I'm still feeling queasy.

Cleanup suggestions, anyone?

Yesterday, I published a teaser for today's explanation of Sunday's "kick in the teeth," or basically ending the day feeling like a wrung out dishrag. That's quite a lot of temporal references for one sentence. I'm not sure I even understand.

Some of you may have returned to read this article because you're the type of person who enjoys juicy gossip, and/or can't stand suspense, and/or turns to the last page of a murder mystery after reading the first few pages. I'm fascinated by this quality of human nature, especially since it's shared by so many.

Have you ever started off a day full of hope and promise only to crawl back into bed feeling like a limp ineffectual dishrag? Better yet, a limp ineffectual dishrag that's been wrung out and reused so many times it's been tossed in the garbage? That pretty much describes my Sunday ... for many reasons which I don't care to recall.

But before I descend into the bowels of darkness, I'd like to dwell for a moment on what might have been.

As I awoke to a clear blue Sunday sky, birds were chirping, sunshine shined, and all appeared right with the world. I left the house silently cheering tolerable heat and humidity, actually looking forward to watering my garden. It was the first morning in quite a while I can remember not wanting to hose myself down. That in itself was reason to celebrate.

Three errands in under an hour and a half. Time would be tight but manageable.

After a stop in Pikesville, I took Reisterstown Road toward the Owings Mills Mall. In the distance, a siren wailed. Instinctively I knew it meant trouble. Should I continue on Reisterstown or take the Beltway to Interstate 795? An accident on Reisterstown could cause significantly delay while 795 is a clear stretch of highway. And then there was the matter of reputation. Past experience made the choice a no-brainer.

On any given day, at least in my neck of the woods, traffic on Reisterstown Road is a hair shy of unbearable, nay, more often than not it is mind-numbingly excruciating, and therefore to be avoided at all costs. Approaching a green light on Reisterstown and a red light to enter the Beltway, a random thought popped into my brain. The green light could be a sign of synchronized green lights to come. In that split second, I decided the thought was irrational and entered the turn lane. A brief stop and then smooth sailing to the mall.