Didn't I mention?

Wow...what a difference a couple of days of R & R can make! I look back on my last couple of posts and think "whoa there, kinda snarky, huh?" Those who know me best are probably already on to it. They know that when the stress builds up in my life I have a tendency to get...um...a little hypercritical (a little? they sneer)...perhaps a tad sarcastic?(noooooo......reeeeeeeeeally?) That said, I don't have any change of heart with regard to my previous posts. But I do have to wonder whether or not they may in fact put off some of the folks I hope to get to know better out there in blogville.


What's done, is done...I have no thoughts of removal or retraction. I do, however, find myself in a much more positive frame of mind after 2.5 days of uninterrupted eating, drinking, snoozing, sunning and general relaxation on the quiet shore of a little pond in central Vermont. No kids, no cell phone, no internet, nothing but me, my best bud (who also happens to be the Mr. to my Mrs.--for 21 years as of tomorrow (holy crap!)) and my loyal doofus of a gigantic black lab to distract me from absolutely nothing! Pure heaven! I have returned, if not reborn, then certainly refreshed, and pleased to report that I have a slightly less acerbic viewpoint than I have of late.


I also probably gained a few pounds.


A small price to pay for bliss.


And now, well, I'm home again. The work emails were all waiting patiently for my return. The cats have finally stopped giving me attitude for leaving them behind. The chickens continue to lay (what? I didn't mention that we have chickens?) The garden is not much weedier than when we left it. The washing machine is working overtime to make up for it's unaccustomed down-time this weekend. I put in a half-day working to clear out a house I had staged. I wish I could say it's because it sold, but, alas, the contract has expired and the owner has decided to rent it out to try to recoup some of his losses. (The end of last year turns out not to be the best year for building houses on spec--who knew?) My family room was looking like a spur-of-the-moment yard sale with furniture, faux plants, assorted dishes and household goods stacked on every available surface. I've ploughed through most of that, just left a bunch of chairs in the room. I should probably call some of the neighbors in to watch the Sox (what? I didn't mention that we are Red Sox fans?) if they're even playing tonight.


Ok...so you ask: how can you call yourself a Red Sox fan and not know the schedule? Easy, I say. I'm married to Mr. He knows when every game is. So do my sons. Baseball schedules fall into the need-to-know department. I don't need to know, 'cause I'm gonna find out sooner rather than later anyway. To give you an example...#1Son called the other night. Not to say hello...or even to ask for money. He called to ask his father if he had been watching the game. You know, the one where the rookie, Clay Buchholz, made his second major league start and pitched a no-hitter? I was somewhat unaware of the history in the making...I was reading blogs, actually, heh heh...and Mr. casually asked if I realized what was going on. I looked up at the tv screen, noted that we were ahead and mumbled "uh-huh". He then reiterated...."do you realize what's going on???? Look at the zeroes on the scoreboard!!" "Uh-Huh...so?" Well, he then said he couldn't say....and left me hanging.... It took me a second to figure out. He wasn't going to say it....because he might jinx it! That is a TRUE RED SOX FAN. Let's face it, only a TRUE FAN holds the power to change the outcome of a game by saying something untimely or jinxie (is that even a word?) For 21 years I have been married to a TRUE RED SOX FAN.


Back to the yard-sale detritus that graces my home...an extra-special thank you to my ab-fab fave blogger of all time. You know her as Peggy, As She Is. I know her as Peggy, As She Really Is. Well, Ms. Peggy, up to her eyeballs in scholastic beginnings, advanced wound care and running the timeclock for Secret Admirer's attempt to break the record for Walker racing while under the influence of really good painkillers, took the time to help me to clear this stuff out of the aforementioned spec house. This woman who gets precious little time to herself, hauled ass from Podunk to Hickety Hills to accompany me to Blandsdale to remove all traces of my excellent staging skills. She rocks! Who could ask for a better baby sister? (what? I didn't mention that Peg is my sister?)