Thursday, March 29, 2012

Anybody Got A Flamethrower I Can Borrow?

I'm sick unto death of the crap around here.  Once this rental side foolishness is over and we get back from visiting DD & DIL2 in Lexington next month, the crap gets it.  I bought a book at Jo-Ann the other day (I had a -40% coupon) that I fully intend to open once this flurry of stuff that has to be done gets done and I'm diving right in.  Over the next 3 days there's a list of sewing I want to get done before the month ends (fingers crossed), then I run away for a long weekend with my writer friend,Lala, we have Easter dinner with Jefe & HZ on the 8th, my baby brothers turn 56 on the 8th, I work a lot the following week, then we go to the racetrack, oh and visit the girls too, in Lexington for a weekend in mid-April.  We both need to get out of Dodge.  (And I have to drop off the taxes.  Maybe we can get them ready this weekend.)  Durwood's got an appointment with the pulmonologist tomorrow.  He's been feeling poorly, probably more pneumonia, and neither of us want a repeat of last summer's pneumonia-fest when he got it in May and was finally better in September.  There were 2 or 3 ER visits, one in an ambulance, and any number of escalating strengths of antibiotics and steroids.  Not doing that again if we can help it.  The cleaning lady just arrived and she's starting to transform 1508 from a pit to a place people might actually want to live.  I'm thinking of calling her once we've got our own clutter banished to start with a clean slate, or at least a clean house.  Cleaner.  Cleanish.  No, that's not right, I can do cleanish, I want to start again from clean. C. L. E. A. N.  What I really want is to scrape everything out of the house onto the lawn, sort through it, and only let back in what I reallyreallyreally love.  I reassured Durwood that I'm pretty sure he'd be in the keep pile.  Most days, anyway.

Hey, my writer friend, Carol Wobig's eBook, Poached is Not an Option, debuted on Amazon yesterday for the low low price of $2.99.  It's a collection of short stories.  Carol's an award-winning author, very quiet in person but with a unique and humorous take on life.  Even if you don't have a Kindle you can still get eBooks, did you know that?  You can download a free Kindle app for your laptop or desktop or any Android device.  Free!  So you can read Carol's stories.  Other people's too, but right now Carol's stories are the ones you should be reading and focusing on.

I want to reassure you that the temperature's back where it should be in March in Green Bay, WI.  Generally in the 40s, creeping into the 50s if it's sunny in the afternoon, with a sharp and chilly wind.  Ya know, I'm not really minding it, it seems like the natural way the weather should be, not that flashy, "it's March and 80 degrees" showoff-y stuff we had a week or so ago.  I find I'm more comfortable with a gradual peeling away of the layers of clothes from the "undershirt-long sleeved shirt-sweater-shawl" of mid-winter down to just a t-shirt with a light sweater by the start of summer.  None of this 3 or 4 layers of clothes, including longies and a wife-beater under it all, one day to capris and a tank the next.  My pasty white skin can't take all that vitamin D flooding in so quickly.  Not to mention my never-reliable-anymore hormone levels.  (You know how to make a hormone, doncha?  Don't pay her!  Hahahahahahahaha. [sorry, couldn't resist. that one's for you, Baldrick Vicki!])  And it's freakin' snowing right now!!!!  Well, spitting snow, not actual snowing like a blizzard.  Who ordered that?

March 28--Mexico, Mixtec-Colima, Pair of Figure Vessels.  The little figures nestled in her hands.  One was a pipe, both were ancient.  "Probably from Mexico in the 12th century or just a bit later."  Officer Dale Crispin looked at the detective in his baggy gray suit standing staring down at the corpse rolled half in-half out of a burlap sack.  "Sir?" Crispin said.  Detective Mason shook his head and passed a hand down his face as if to change what he saw.  The strobes of the evidence tech's camera lit up the alley, throwing distorted shadows onto the old bricks of the surrounding buildings.  "We're less than a block from the Neville Museum," Mason said.  He turned to the officer beside him.  "Crispin, go talk to the curator.  See if they're missing a pair of Colima ceremonial vessels."  He turned to walk away but then turned back.  "And an anthropologist."

See?  It pays to stay up too late, a story comes instead of gibberish.  Maybe it was the pretzels.  I'm all about the salty and crunchy these days, in little bits.  Gotta go drop off some tanks and then go to work.  To knit and read or listen, maybe wait on a customer.  Oh, and Mrs. Boss said she's coming in.  Well, that'll slow down the knitting.  Adios, muchachos!

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