Monday, June 3, 2013
Wake Up! It's Monday. Again.
That rushing sound is the clock hands trying to be a fan. (I know a complicated joke about that... another time) God, it is such an "older" person cliche that time speeds up as you age but, kids, I'm telling you, it surely does. Yesterday had just gotten started when I looked at the clock and it was after noon, so I went out and mowed. Then I came in, tossed around a few (okay, 6, no, 7) loads of laundry and, poof!, it was 6 PM. In 10 more minutes it was 9 PM. How does that happen? I did get a lot done--the above mentioned laundry (that was an ongoing project from noon to about 9), I mowed the lawn (which takes about an hour and is a mile of walking [I pedometer-ed it once]), started filling out the multiple screens online to start getting Social Security on my birthday and dug out my birth certificate, marriage license, a W-2, and a deposit slip so that my appointment at the SS office tomorrow afternoon will go smoothly, put Post-its on the recipes I want Durwood to cook out of one of our pile of WW cookbooks, and zoomed to Walmart for ingredients for tonight's supper. It's a chicken-cheese-rice-mushrooms-salsa-sour cream (but we'll use plain Greek yogurt) casserole. I'm looking forward to it. Durwood made a rhubarb cobbler; it's like those chocolate mud cake things that make their own sauce but with rhubarb. It's yummy. I could have finished the pan but there's a reason Grandma called it "spring tonic," it, uh, moves things along if you eat a lot of it.
I found only one poppy plant at Stein's the other day and scooped it up. It's a different variety than the others I have but, look!, it's blooming already. I'd like more poppies. There was an article in yesterday's paper about a local greenhouse across town that I want to stop into; I'm betting they'll have everything I want since they plant their own, not depend on "corporate" to ship they their inventory. I need (NEED) more basil, more flowers too.
June 3--Hungary, Shield. The projectiles buzzed past like angry bees, their three points more lethal than any stinger. "What do you think?" Drake's eyes bored into my face. I could feel his intensity. "I've read one sentence, just one. It's a good one, though. Give me a chance." I waved him away. "Go walk around the block. Walk around two blocks. Let me read without you breathing on me." He huffed and went to stand at the window. "It's raining." I smacked the pages on the table. "You won't melt. Put on a slicker, grab an umbrella, and go." "But I'll..." "You want me to read this?" I brandished the sheaf of pages at him. He nodded. "You know I do." "Then let me read. I can't do that when you hover. Go have lunch at Marty's, it's noodle soup day. Come back in a couple hours." He sighed and grabbed a too-big slicker from the peg in the stairwell. "I do love noodle soup day," he said as he went out into the downpour.
Now, that's more like it, a real start to a story with characters, conflict, setting and soup. What could be better? Okay, time to smack some pictures on this thing, change the font (I'm not a fan of Times New Roman, I like Arial much better), read through it once, post it, and get going on my day. There's a paycheck in my future! You know I love ya more'n my luggage.