As ever, I'm sleeping in my chair. I wake up, to write a post around a picture I took, and go back to sleep again. I cannot believe the number of spelling mistakes.
It's going on all over again. How I love this little bird, and look at it and smile, and wake up atain some minutes later. Go back, to correct atain to again, but fall asleep.
Several weeks ago I woke with a bloody nose. Dry air. I bought a small humidifier for my small apartment and all seemed well, except there was no further way to enjoy that delightful stream of wet, cool air streaming from the little slot atop my humidifier.
Until one day I picked up Alberta's beautiful pie bird. I told the sweet little fellow that now that I no longer have the ability to bake a pie, it surely will never whistle the completion of a pie. I offered it the chance to just to whistle; whistle to its heart's joy; to whistle until its decals melted away.
I positioned it over the exit slot for steam and waited a very few seconds. Steam soon accumulated and poured from its beak. But nothin else happened. No whistle. No drops of perpetration. I lifted it off. Stone cold.
That is the output of a cool mist humidifier.
If I were writing this again, I might not spend the time correcting errors. Now it is well past bedtime.