Bandwagons

Maybe it's because I'm a Gemini, but I'm way too good at jumping on passing bandwagons! I just leap right on, ride a ways, and then have to slog back to center and start over.

What the heck am I talking about?

Distractions. I get an idea--for example, yesterday, I decided I needed some Emergen-C, vitamin C in 1000 mg packets, because I'm coming down with something and I'm leaving for New York on Thursday morning and being sick is NOT an option. I got the Emergen-C, all right, but having just had houseguests, I decided I needed better sheets, too. The kind that don't wrinkle in the dryer. To make a long story slightly shorter, I went out for Vitamin C and came back with a truckload from Linens and Things. I'd read somewhere that those Kong toys will keep dogs occupied for hours, so of course I had to stop by PetSmart because, while Sadie and Bernice have everything ELSE under God's sun, they didn't have Kongs. (They ignore them.)

Good heavens. Here's me, slogging back to center...

Here Comes the Sun--and Althea!

My friend Althea is arriving today on a plane from New Mexico. I treasure all my friends, but there is truly no one like Althea! She's a powerful healer, a diplomat, an inveterate traveler. I never know quite where she'll be next--Sri Lanka? India? You just never know with Althea. She's the best mimic I've ever met. She brings her sweet little dog, Ti Amo, everywhere she goes, within the continental U.S. anyway. He stays in New York with her brilliantly talented daughter, Ava, while Mama leaves the country.

Althea is funny.
Althea is a voice for Peace.
Althea is gentle and good.
Althea is creative to the max.
Have you guessed? I LOVE Althea.

Tomorrow, Annie ("Kodak") and Cindy ("Mrs. Jones) will complete the gang. Life is good.

And the sun is out.

I am one happy woman.

Lake Doings

All danger of having my hair declared a national forest, or even a park, is past. I had the haircut and the color job, and all is well in LindaWorld. I didn't reach my writing quota, but I did write a very good scene. Since I left the hero, Wyatt Yarbro, about to ride an unridable horse, I am eager to get back to the book.

Sadie and Bernice are napping on their office dog beds. Since the sun is out, I'll be able to take them for a walk later. They LOVE that. Last night, a dozen or so young boys (8-12) had a party down on the beach, complete with a hot dog roast over a bonfire and some game involving throwing frisbee-like items. Sadie watched from the front windows, barking and barking--I think she was trying to wangle an invitation! From a Beagle's perspective, few things are more attractive than hot dogs and boys throwing things. Sadie is so sociable that I felt a little sorry for her.

Yesterday, it was the hair. Today, it's the carpet cleaning people. (Blame the Yorkie.) My dear friends, Althea, Annie and Cindy are coming for a weekend visit, and I want the place to be presentable. We plan to laugh, cry, shop and drink a lot of cosmos.

More tomorrow.

There's Something About the Lake....

That makes me introspective. Since I tend to live in my head too much anyway, this is not necessarily good news. Today, as I was writing in my journal, next to the fireplace, I got to thinking about attitudes. How they're behind even the smallest action.

For instance, I need a haircut (my hair is in immediate danger of being declared a National Forest), and I have an appointment to have it cut and colored this afternoon. It's rainy out. I don't like leaving the dogs, since the lake house is still new to them. I'm a little under the weather, literally and in the Freudian sense. I'm dreading that drive into town! I'd rather stay home, write in my Uncle Harry chair, play with the dogs, and a thousand other cozy, soup-bubbling-on-the-stove kinds of things. Does it do me any good at all to dread the appointment? Not a bit.

Attitudes are essentially choices, at the beginning, and their ramifications are far reaching, though often very subtle, leading to either a positive experience or a negative one, or that vast mediocre space in between. So I'm choosing another attitude. I'm going to focus on how much better I'll feel, not needing a whip and a chair to control a bad case of helmet-head. I'll be grateful for Lisa, my hairdresser, who wades in with her scissors every six weeks or so. And won't it be nice to come home again, and be joyfully greeted by my beloved puppers?

OK, I'm good with the haircut.

Talk to you tomorrow.

Cozy Day With Rain

Today I'm writing on my laptop, in my "Uncle Harry" chair, by the fireplace, with the dogs curled at my feet. Life doesn't get much better than that, folks.

The chair is so named--it is a Morris style recliner, very comfortable--because it reminds me of the chair my beloved uncle, Harry Bleecker, always sat in to read his newspaper and drink his coffee. My mother's eldest brother, Harry was a gentle soul with a broad Bleecker smile. Although he was tall and skinny, he always played Santa Claus at the church Christmas pageant in Northport, passing out little bags with candy canes, oranges and nuts in them. My brother, Jerry, climbed up onto his lap one year, looked past the mop-beard to see that famous smile and those kind eyes and said solemnly, "You're not Santa. You're my Uncle Harry."

He was sweet and funny and profoundly good, our Uncle Harry, and endlessly patient. We miss him very much, but his legacy of kindness lives on. He was an adult all his life, having grown up in the midst of the Depression, and as young as ten, laid awake nights wondering how he would feed his younger brothers the next day. Wherever he is, I know he is surrounded by laughing children, who undoubtedly know that, indeed, he's not Santa. He's Uncle Harry.