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This week having turned out to be not-at-all as expected, I am wishing I had checked into some sort of volunteer thing I could do today, while so many of my fellow humans are indulging in flurries of shopping. But on Tuesday we got word that my father-in-law, aged 97 1/2, might be failing, and so we hurriedly put Danny on a plane to Pennsylvania. The good news is that by the time Danny got there they had discovered, and started treating, a bout of cellulitis, and by Thanksgiving morning he had rallied enough to get dressed (including a tie!) and go to the diningroom with everyone else for the big meal. So we had something significant to be thankful dor.
However, it also meant I did Thanksgiving largely by myself (although Julie and Joe did a lot of clean up). It also means that I am on epic-drag-the-dog duty today and tomorrow, which rather cuts into the day. But when you become the family of a high-energy dog, you become responsible for epic drags, and I'll get a couple of miles of walking-and-sniffing in (since Emily's back problems started, the old standby of taking her to a park and throwing fly balls for an hour is no longer an option--she'd gladly play fetch, but she'd want to leap, and that's not good for her), and get some job-search and writing stuff done.
Julie and Joe have three days of Dickens Fair this weekend, which meant I got to see my daughter putting her hair up in rags last night (today she has lovely Victorian sausage curls). I am planning on going on Sunday: Joe, who plays a defrocked C of E priest, does "church" on Sunday mornings, in which he addresses the Creator as "Dad," and mentions how much 'e'd like a little bread of the daily persuasion... Last week's sermon was on the second set of Ten Commandments (don't cook your goat in the milk of its mother), and this week's will be on rampant consumerism. For a thing he and Julie worked up themselves, it's rather taken off, and they have a good audience every week.
Still trying to decide if I should put on Regency dress and wander around like the ghost of Miss Havisham...
However, it also meant I did Thanksgiving largely by myself (although Julie and Joe did a lot of clean up). It also means that I am on epic-drag-the-dog duty today and tomorrow, which rather cuts into the day. But when you become the family of a high-energy dog, you become responsible for epic drags, and I'll get a couple of miles of walking-and-sniffing in (since Emily's back problems started, the old standby of taking her to a park and throwing fly balls for an hour is no longer an option--she'd gladly play fetch, but she'd want to leap, and that's not good for her), and get some job-search and writing stuff done.
Julie and Joe have three days of Dickens Fair this weekend, which meant I got to see my daughter putting her hair up in rags last night (today she has lovely Victorian sausage curls). I am planning on going on Sunday: Joe, who plays a defrocked C of E priest, does "church" on Sunday mornings, in which he addresses the Creator as "Dad," and mentions how much 'e'd like a little bread of the daily persuasion... Last week's sermon was on the second set of Ten Commandments (don't cook your goat in the milk of its mother), and this week's will be on rampant consumerism. For a thing he and Julie worked up themselves, it's rather taken off, and they have a good audience every week.
Still trying to decide if I should put on Regency dress and wander around like the ghost of Miss Havisham...