Quarterly Update?

Yes, yes.  I know it's been four months since I bothered to write here.  It's just that I never seem to have anything much to say.  At least in real life.  Now go visit the "sister blog", Elsetime & Otherwhen, and you'll see where I'm wasting spending my time.  And words. (I write weirdo stuff, just so you know)

So, now a trek into the last few months of my Real Life:

I lost one of my key employees at the restaurant, so I've been on 7 days a week since late August.  That is hopefully about to change.  I've got a plan, should have a day off every week starting a week from now.  Fingers crossed.

In December my third grandchild was born.  Another granddaughter.  She was born a toddler, 10 lbs, 15 oz.
And she is, of course, beautiful.  Just like her mother and siblings.

I'm not one for resolutions, so I didn't make any.

I have, though, promised myself to work harder on my creative writing.  So far, so good.  That means the "sister blog" has been getting a workout the past week.  Here's hoping I can keep it up!

Let's see....

Oh Yeah!  For those that follow my tweets or my Facebook feed, you all know I'm a Christmas tree lover.  I managed to do 14 trees.  I've threatened to let my friends and followers help me with color combos next Christmas.  We'll see if I can remember that for a whole year.

That's been about all the excitement around here.  Hope to be back here sooner. <3

Poop Diary

Today I am writing about poop.  Yes, poop.  Turds and stuff.
It's not my fault. 
An employee and I were talking about our pets.  I was pleased that my less than intelligent dog seemed to be learning the rule of not pooping in the house.  It's been a struggle, requiring the use of treats as a reward for doing the deed outside.

Anyway, as this conversation progressed, we got into the category of cat poop.  I remarked that Sir, my extra-large tomcat, shits er, poops dog turds.  She understood having had a large cat of her own once.

And Herself, Cat, Mistress of All, poops little dry pebbles of poo easily swept up if she chooses other than the litter box.  Not that she would.  Often.  This elicited an "aw" of sympathy for the trouble it must be to pop those dry pellets out.

Then, there is Wee, who in perfect accord with cat mythology, leaves in her litter, perfectly formed little tootsie rolls.  Which the dog never, ahem, attempts to eat. (Did I mention my dog is less than intelligent?) 

We then look at each other a moment.

We are talking about pet poop.

As though this is an important aspect of our lives.

That we can tell which pet is which by poop.


We need affirmation that we are not alone. 

Please.