An Aries Knows (this site is more fun when people read and comment)
You would think in Houston there would be so much competition for your home repair dollar that companies would court you, woo you, treat you right. You would think wrong. We have been in our house nearly ten years, and I have accumulated many tales of “service” people. Service. Ha.
The latest: Tale of the Tree Surgeon
Continue reading “Joys of Home Ownership”
1. Why does a HUGE roast cost half the price of three small boneless, skinless chicken breasts? Is it the beef people’s revenge for those clever cows?
2. Why am I still not a vegetarian?
3. Is the current flea infestation at my house the fault of the Suicidal Cat Next Door and its sibling, Cat With No Name?
4. Where did the cookies go?
5. Will I ever get this book proposal to my editor?
Even though I usually want to be just like Tim, apparently Famous Author Rob Byrnes (scroll down that page for Rob’s commentary on coffee) is edging his way into my unnatural obsessiveness. Today I got up and realized we were out of coffee. But even in my befuddled state, I remembered that there were some beans tucked away in the freezer. I got them, ground them, and proceeded to make coffee. Or so I thought. The coffeemaker. Is. Dead.
It’s raining. And Denece e-mailed me two articles on the perils of neoconservatism. They were long and made me think too hard. Before noon. You know, life is easier for sheep. Just going along, doing what they’re told, without regard for how it affects the rest of the planet. And oddly, they can afford plumbers.
I still don’t want to be a sheep, though. Thanks, Denece.
I won’t be watching any television today, and I have a feeling my friend Nora won’t either. I had no idea that she took the election so hard until I saw her at our booksigning. I love the way friends can still surprise you (in a good way) after—eek!—I’ve known her thirteen years. Doesn’t seem possible.
I’ve got so much e-mail to catch up on since emerging from the writer’s cave I lived in for the last year. All my business stuff is organized and under control, but my personal correspondence fell by the wayside. Plus I have phone calls to return. So…here I am, writing in my live journal and wondering what CDs I put in at four in the morning in preparation for today. Sounds fairly mellow so far; I’m still in decompression mode.
The writers’ meeting went well. Grievances were aired without whining or casting blame. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits, personal relationships undamaged, and writing relationships a little more seasoned. There are still things that vex me, but I’m just going to have to live with that and move on.
I can’t wait to see Jim and Timmy when they get here tonight. It’s been nearly two years since Tim and I saw Timmy, and nearly a year and a half since we saw Jim. Not only will we have the personal enjoyment of a reunion, but this is where ideas are born for Timothy James Beck.
Of course, Timmy’s flight was delayed. It’s always an adventure when he flies here. But still, by midnight tonight, the four writers will be together and entertaining Tom and the dogs.
If the coffee in your pot is cold, and you pour a cup and put it in the microwave, and get distracted and leave it in too long, then take it out and put two packets of Sweet and Low in it, it will foam up, bubble over, spill across your countertop and down the front of your cabinet to the floor.
So don’t do this.
It was five bags of leaves. But yes, sir, yes, sir, four bags full doesn’t sound as good.
Tim and I just filled four lawn bags with leaves we raked up. OK, I filled one and he filled three. Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full.
Now that my mother has moved into her own place, I’ve moved my office from Tim’s apartment back into my old space. And even though it’s nice to be home and have the dogs breathing behind me, and even though Tom made the space better than it used to be, and even though I know Tim was weary of me being in his space… I still miss it. Tim has good energy, and I appreciated being a part of his home.
Plus… that left him without online access, so he’ll have to bring his laptop here to be online. Which doesn’t bother me at all, but I know what it’s like to be displaced.