Can't Find One

I have looked high and low and I can not find an Art Gallery Page-a-day calendar anywhere. I went to Barnes & Noble, they didn't have it and offered to order it. The very next day I got an email saying "oops, sorry, no can do." So I went online and tried to get one through their website; they emailed the next day to say "sorry" too. I even went on the Page-a-day website and they're out too. I knew I should have bought one at full price last fall but I was sure I'd be able to find one either at Goodwill for $2.99 or on clearance at B&N after Christmas. I'm thwarted--and a bit peeved that not one if out there for me to have. One! All I need is one, and can I find it? No. I bought a thick book of stock images at Goodwill this afternoon so I've got plenty of pictures at hand, but you know how you get focused on something and just can't let it go? That's where I'm at right now. I unearthed the 2008 Bonaire week-at-a-glance calendar just now while I'm ripping The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo so I can put it on my Walkman to listen to when I drive to Madison next weekend. I'll write to the Bonaire pictures until I'm over my fit of pique about the calender thing.

January 2--Prickly Pear. Marlon pried open one eye keeping the other closed against the glare of the sun. His face felt bloated and stiff and he could tell that he was lying on the ground since small stones were digging into his back. Through the barest slit he saw the blue Caribbean sky and a vivid yellow-green prickly pear cactus right in the center of his view. Marlon groaned and levered himself up on his elbow. Even that small movement brought tears to his eyes and made him dizzy. He saw swimming dots in front of his eyes and his ears buzzed. As his mind regathered itself and catalogued his parts, he realized that he had started to become one with the place where he lay. The glint of sunlight on chrome showed him his treacherous mountain bike that had dropped its front wheel off the pavement in a moment of inattention and flung him into the patch of prickly pear. With deliberate care he pushed himself to his feet feeling every cactus thorn and small piece of gravel that had invaded his flesh.


It's not fabulous, but it's a start for the new year.
--Barbara