Catching Up

Yesterday I had to teach Mr. GG that classic childhood poem: “Spring has sprung, the grass is riz. I wonder where the flowers is?” He’d never heard it. Makes you wonder what kind of education they get in those fancy New England prep schools, doesn’t it?


Since it has been so balmy, and I am in a good mood, I got up this morning and made up an impromptu little cheer for my beloved, that involved him going to work to battle Forest Service monsters, so I could stay home and goof off. It featured the words, slay, play and YAY!. He was so moved, that he gave me THE LOOK, and said, “Yeah, you are the only one for me”. I think he meant that in a good way. At least, he said he might be home for lunch. He also quizzed me on the origins of one of my favorite expressions, “What fresh hell is this?” which I managed to work into his cheer. It is from Dorothy Parker, the mistress of snark, and I tried to explain the Algonquin Club, and New York humor in the 20s and 30s, but he equated Algonquin with Chautauqua, and I just didn’t have the energy to elucidate. I was still on my first coffee. Besides, he started telling me technical stuff and I zoned out.

We made an amazing discovery last week. It was Godiva Salted Caramel candy bars. This is not a discovery our physicians would laud, since these things are addictive and rich beyond belief. It was pure accident that we wandered down the candy aisle in Rite Aid and found them for 2 for $5.00. I have since learned the regular price is about $4.00 a bar. It was not an accident that Mr. GG returned to Rite Aid and purchased more this past weekend. Luckily he has been walking to work and I have been going to the pool, but I am pretty sure we would have to enter Triathlons on a weekly basis to offset the effects of Godiva bars.

The baby invited me to join Pinterest, which is addicting… it is a virtual, visual bulletin board that you “pin” things too. Anything you want. I got motivated when I found out Anne McCaffery died last November. I had no idea. I loved her books. I have them all until she let her son start writing them with her. What is up with that? Clive Cussler is doing the same thing with his son, and I’m here to tell you that the writing gene is not an automatic given for these offspring. No indeed. Anyway I had to pin an Ann McCaffery book up, and then I had to add a couple more of my faves, and then I started fooling around on the internet until I got tired, so I had to play some Spider Solitaire to transition me into bedtime, and whoops, there went another Sunday evening.

Actually there went another week. It felt like late May around here, and my diurnal rhythms are screwed up, but it doesn’t matter cause I have Mr. GG out working so I can putter around. Life is amazingly good. Maybe I’ll go make up another cheer.


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