I’d procrastinate with a decadent second cup, and number the list in red, its order dictated by daylight, work area, difficulty and desire to execute. Little did I know, in the next several years, I would make hundreds of such lists and consume hundreds of cups of coffee. After checking each chore off with red ink, I would use those pieces of paper, those lists of blood, sweat and tears, for fire-starter. Nothing in the north goes to waste.