It's OUTDOOR BLOGGING time! OK, it's in the sixties and cloudy, but here I sit, a glass of wine on the rickety table beside me, Kate digging to China a few feet away; the birdies are chirping, the grill is smoking, and the tension in my neck abating. Life is good. For the moment.
Pause a moment if you will and think kind thoughts for Friend B, a friend of this blog, who got some incredibly nasty medical news this week. Stage 4 lymphoma metastitized to the lungs the docs think; but they can't quite pinpoint where it came from; and apparently that's key for treating it. The biopsy comes due within the next few days. Pray he has the luck of Carl Lacy, who emerged from chemo without his hair but with his good humor intact, and is currently in remission, or whatever they call it before you hit the five-year "cured" mark. If you pray, please pray for B. He has two children who need their father.
Speaking of grace, I highly recommend this book. Lamott is the best Christian writer going, in my opinion; her struggle is mine, and yours too. She falls, literally; she gets up, she screws up, she kicks her son's bedroom door in in samurai mom mode (I've been there, sister); she sends nasty emails to the unsuspecting and undeserving. She wonders why God lets bad things happen to good people (see Friend B's situation), she apologizes profoundly and with humility, and like the Dude, she abides, often with wit. UO says Bird By Bird is a great book on writing, also.
The Littlest Offering is fluttering about behind me, between the porch and the backyard. She picked some crocuses and brought them to me, asking me to identify them. So we talked about how one leaves naturalized crocuses and daffodils and snowdrops and other spring bulbs to flower in the "wild" as it were, so we can enjoy them. Too late: Kate ate the crocuses and TLO is sad. But now she has a long stick, which Kate attacks, and they play tug-of-war. I have one small sip of wine left and it's getting chilly, so I will move inside. I can't believe it's Palm Sunday already. That means we might need to shred palms in the Undercroft tomorrow.
Dally needs her stitches out...her "wound" has healed up really nicely, as best I can tell. Stil have to make the appt for the EKG.
Pretty much every morning before work one of us throws Kong for the dogs. I know I should be leaping into the shower and charging out the door to show my careerist enthusiasm, but really, as much as I like my job, the time spent at home with the dogs and kids is so enjoyable...and such a relief after a day like today where I was focused from the time my butt hit the chair at 9 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. when I left work to make the bank run. I know I will get used to this and toss off days like this with nary a thought, but today....today, I thought my head would explode.
UO has finished grilling the steaks and goes inside, trailed by Kate. "You don't want to stay with Mummy?" he asks her. Well no, dummy. Dally, on the other hand, stays out with me, in her Dally way, as if I were an idiot child needing encouragement to do a simple task. I don't know what it is she thinks I should be doing; but whatever it is, I'm not doing it. I'm on my own time now, dawg.
Speaking of own time, I highly recommend the Canadian tv show sometimes on Sundance and IFC Slings and Arrows. I might have mentioned it before, like last year (but I'm too lazy to look it up). It's a satire about Canadian theatre culture, loosely based on the Stratford Festival in southwest Ontario. Long before there was Shakespeare in Central Park, there was Stratford, named for yes, that Stratford. It's brilliant (especially the first season) and profane, and like nothing on US TV. Buy all three seasons; it's only $50 US. You'll be glad you did.
