Nah - that's OK. I didn't really need that heart anyway...

It's cold in Austin tonight. Damn cold. We're supposed to inch into the teens sometime before the sun comes up, so to prepare, I put an old blanket over the plants on the porch, brought a few of the less hardy inside, and got out the extra blanket for the bed. About half an hour ago, my landlord called to remind me to let the faucets drip tonight. (Austin pipes do not handle freezing weather well.) So I popped outside a bit ago to grab the styrofoam faucet covers from the garage.

Yesterday was really windy, so I had closed the people-sized garage door (which often stays open) and I had to nudge it a little to get it open. Except it wouldn't open all the way. So I pushed a little more. And pushed a little more. And then heard a loud scrabbling noise above my head. I looked up and saw fur and figured it was a stray cat looking for shelter for the night.

And then I realized it was a big cat. And it wasn't really cat shaped. And it had a black mask over its eyes. At which point I yelped as I realized the racoon hanging by his (or her) claws from the wood above my head was probably just as scared as I was, but I was far less likely to bite him over the whole deal.

So I ran back inside to hide. Because I'm a chicken.

But I left the garage door open. Because it's cold tonight and even the critters who scare me need a place to crash.

Mmmmm. Springtime in Texas. It's currently 65 degrees outside, the sun is shining, the sky is blue, the birds are chattering and whistling at each other. I've got all the windows open and the cats are torn between sleeping in the afternoon sun and watching a blue jay foraging around in the front yard. I'm about to make a cheese, onion, and tomato sandwich and curl up with a book out on the front porch.

Did I mention it's February?

Note to self - Let Corey arrange my love life from now on. Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match!

The tradition of St. Valentine's Day dates back to the Roman festival Lupercalia in which the end result of some dog and goat sacrifices was that two guys in loincloths ran around the city smacking people with whips made from the flesh of the sacrificed goats. Those struck by the whips were said to be granted fertility.

So I shortened that up a little, but the basic gist is still the same.

And now - 1500 years later, we send each other Hallmark cards, flowers, and make single people feel even more single.

I don't know about you, but I'd rather spend the evening watching those two guys in the loincloths...