Monday Morning

Now that I’m retired, Monday Mornings just aren’t the same. They’re exactly like every other day, but different. I used to wake up on Mondays eager to ride the red snake to Portland where I would assume a position much like the one I’m in at this moment. Poised professionally behind a computer, clicking away at one task or another, and waiting for the phone to ring so I could solve my first mystery of the day. Now I’m poised in my pajamas, and my clientele consist of my lovely bride, three dogs, and whoever wishes to call seeking help.

The dogs don’t generally have any issues with computers so they’re easy to assist. All they need are full food bowls so they’ll have something to argue about during the day. And water.

Hmmmm. Wonder what happened there. Some sort of melancholy thing, I guess. Way too serious. Perhaps the reason I went down that road was because Diane left me alone for a while yesterday when she went to church to meet with some of the ladies to hold a prayer vigil for a friend. Her name is also Diane. She went to the hospital last Thursday for chest pains, and wound up getting a 5 hour session of open heart surgery. She had an aortic aneurism which normally kills folks outright, but she survived. The vigil was to pray for her recovery because she hasn’t yet awakened since the operation. The doctors are optimistic, but it’s one of those things that that’s hard to fathom. Bad things just happen so quickly so treasure every second you have.

I’m writing a book about history. Not the way you learned it, but the way it really happened. From the beginning. So far it’s five chapters long, but it’s only 10 pages so there’s some filling I need to add. Shouldn’t take me more than a couple more days and I’ll be done with it.

Today I took Ziva & Ozzie to the vet to get their rabies boosters. I put a big red leash on Ozzie, and black on Ziva because they’re supposed to be on a leash in the office. I told the attendant that the dogs were twins and I used the different colored leashes so I could tell them apart. They figured it out right away, though, when I had to put the dogs on the scale. One at a time. Ozzie weighs 6.4 pounds. Ziva weighs 74.4 pounds. And, when you look closely, they don’t look much alike at all. The doc said Ziva was overweight, which didn’t make her happy, but she took her shots well and decided going to the vet wasn’t all that bad because she got treats. Ozzie wasn’t having anything to do with the treats and gave the doctor his Elvis lip when she tried to pet him. He can do that on either side of his face and it looks pretty scary. So, I had to hold his nose until she was done.

When I got home I put on my three day old working clothes that have been laying on the bedroom floor for three days, and went out to whack some black berry vines. I quickly learned that the gloves I was wearing weren’t up to the task of protecting my tender little fingers very well. I was constantly pulling thorns out of them. What made them stick in the gloves was the points that imbedded themselves in my skin. Apparently the thorns have been trained from birth to leave a small piece of themselves behind when pulled from human flesh. Now I have little black dots on my fingers and hands. I took a couple of shots across the face with some unwieldy vines, too, and Diane wouldn’t let me come back into the house until the bleeding stopped. So, I just kept working. Finally, at 5 pm, Diane said I could come in to eat supper. She figured it had been long enough for the blood to have solidified on my wounds, and she was right. Now all I have to do is wait for the wounds to fester so I can pop the rest of the thorns out of them.

Now its time for bed, and there I must go.

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