Maybe I should try writing that Country song I promised Urban Thought if I ever fell down a staircase — you know, a hurtin’ song. My favourite uncle died while the Christmas card for him was still sitting here on the table. A stranger attacked my blog and said terrible things about me. Cai has a stomach bug, and Fergus a cold, so treat-driven walkies training has been curtailed again. When I dragged myself out of the house this morning for a change of scenery, I found out I wasn’t able to pay for the two career books I had picked up. On the way home from that humiliation, I was addressed by a street person who, when I didn’t respond, thumped a large branch on his park bench. Stunning. Simply stunning.
But never mind. I think I’ll join Cai in a moment, maybe with one of those career books.
You see, I called E.g., and she said to meet me at the coffee shop near the bookstore. She bought me a bagel sandwich, and then we went over and I showed her the books and she bought them for me.
And I did get the dishes done between the bookstore humiliation and going back out again. And there’s leftovers in the fridge for supper tonight. And I sent my wonderful son a cheque as a graduation gift: he has finished an eighteen-month intensive program to become a surveyor. He’s already working for a large organization, currently building a new highway. And he likes his job. And I’m so proud of him. And I’m so glad he’s at least 21 years ahead of me in knowing what he wants to do for a living.
Whoa! Where’d that sunbeam come from?