In my imaginary world, all those with RSS feeds and email subscriptions to BETWEEN THE SHEETS of paper searched daily for an update. Words of wisdom! Where are they? ACK! Where is she hiding?
No? Didn’t even notice, eh? (Waving to my Canadian buds.)
In my imaginary world, I choose delusional over stark reality.
Picture me doing my parade wave to greet my gazillions of faithful readers. Queen Elizabeth would have shipped one of her carriages had I asked. I call her Betsy. She calls me Peasant. She skips the “L” to demonstrate her British wit. I’m sure of it.
I have been hiding for a week. We can call it a sabbatical (because that sounds lofty), or a vacation (because that sounds fun), or a mental health week (because that sounds accurate.)
Brinda Berry’s awesome series PIMP MY WEB PRESENCE arrived in my inbox well ahead of schedule. Someone (we’ll call her “Bertha Higgenbothem”) got caught up in LIFE and failed to perform the highly technical and complicated task of copying and pasting Brinda’s article.
Monday’s are CRAZY busy with blog posts. Brinda’s second TWITTER Pimpdom Post deserves an attentive stage. She’ll be back on Wednesday. My regular BETWEEN THE SHEETS of paper returns on Friday.
A quick snapshot of my week and the reason for my absence.
I had company from Pennsylvania–the state that birthed and raised me. Two crazy-fun first cousins and their two sons. I think that makes the sons first cousins, once removed. I just call them a hoot. I LOVE those guys.
The male contingent from Pennsylvania took off for West Texas to hunt on Monday. My husband stayed behind. Not to annoy me, but because we had a MAJOR pending event with our eight-year-old yellow lab, Sydney. She blew out her ACL while chasing tennis balls. Our big girl needed surgery. Surgery scheduled for Tuesday.
A chat buddy (we’ll call her “W. T. Cluck”) and I spent
minutes hours far too much time debating what drugs mood-enhancing anxiety-relieving medications we could slip into his coffee without getting thrown in the slammer. “W. T.” rocks orange, so she’d be okay with the jumpsuit. Me? Not so much. So, I behaved. Poor guy. He was a nervous wreck about his little girl.
Cousin Robin, sister Willie and I did what self-respecting women do on MY last days of freedom. We went to the casino to win our fortune. Didn’t happen.
On Tuesday, in the hours before Sydney returned from her successful surgery, we went to Billy-Bobs; billed as the largest honky-tonk in the world. And we rode “the bull.” I have some history with Billy-Bob’s from my single, wild-child, belly-up-to-the-bar days, but that’s a story for another blog.
Sydney came home the day after surgery. (ACK!) The vet scared the
crap heck out of us with the potential consequences of improper attention. And, we were told we’d have to keep Sydney and energetic Molly Wog separated for the ENTIRE healing period of ten weeks.
We chose not to crate Sydney (because she lived in a crate for the first year and a half of her life at her former home). We also chose not to make her wear that hideous collar because of those big, brown eyes. She seemed to be broadcasting “if you love me, you’ll take this hideous, scratchy collar off of me NOW!”
SO! John’s study is now Sydney’s crate. We are on 24/7 watch to make certain she doesn’t pick at her wound. Molly Wog suffers separation anxiety. She hears “blah, blah, blah” when I tell her Big Sis is sick and can’t come to see her. AND, our land-line phones have become our intercom system.
I am the concierge desk. “More coffee in the infirmary?” “Small hand needed to cram pill down large dog’s mouth?” “Bathroom break?”
Closing note (from the infirmary). If the dictionary was the only reading material available in the Loo (as Betsy calls it), all spelling bee champs would be adult males. Draw your own conclusions.
Additional note (shared wisdom!). When the concierge at a hotel says “my pleasure” before disconnecting? He or she is lying.
OH! Since this post includes dog tales. Click the link below if you’re in the mood for a good laugh. Me? I’ve got serious Dog Training Envy for the owner of these pups.
So! What’s up in your writing world? Did manuscript protocol change while I was gone? Are semi-colons (like bell-bottom jeans) now back in fashion? Did Rhett Devlisht add a new device to his rhetorical harem? Did anyone reading this get (EEE!) published, agented, recognized, locked out of the house dressed only in underwear?
Leave a comment so I can entertain myself between writing sprints with W.T. Cluck and concierge service requests!