Occasional Reader sent my writing partner and me stuff ... and such stuff. And he wrote an article for our history blog that represents spectacular research. His article solved one of our "to be researched" questions in expert fashion.
This is super. It also means I'll be abandoning satyrs, goats, Greek gods, Old Testament parallels and such for significant rewrites of things. Such fun. These "bits" materially improve our book. Thanks Occasional!
Hold a sec, guys. I need coffee. ... okay, I'm back. Miss me?
So, as I was saying: I'll be doing some serious fixit stuff based on Occasional's research. First, however, I must clean my desk. It's messy ... again.
Now, on to other things, the first of which is an enquirery into Harry's well-being. How are you Harry? Where are you Harry?
Then there is this:
Week before last was a bit rough with long hours at work, a trip to see my Aunt and Uncle and to help them with some confusing paperwork. I'm still not sure we got that right. One never knows with state agencies. Along the way I engaged in a little road archaeology.
Old roads fascinate me. I got lost in the Cascades following an overgrown logging road. I was a pre-teen and it was scary, but I walked myself out of the forest after about three hours. I think I told that whole story somewhere on this blog. Anyway, to one's right when driving into the city where Aunty lives is a long straight row of trees. It's isolated from the highway, but you can get down there by turning at a shopping center, driving to the end of that road and then walking down a restricted service road. There's also a bike trail for part of that. The road is more direct.
There isn't much to see except the old roadbed and a largish weir box from the 1920s. It's city land and open to metal detecting. The only problem is I don't have one of my own and didn't borrow one for this trip. Still, it was interesting.
Before I left, Knobby Knees and I had one of our rambling discussions about everything and nothing. Along the way I mentioned that I needed some new panties. That drew no more reaction than suggesting I needed new dish towels, and I didn't expect it to. (New shoes would have been a different matter.) So, anyway, I get home. The house is empty. I make coffee. (Did I mention that God invented coffee?)I head to my work room planning on plopping my rather scrawny butt onto my desk chair and writing. I can't plop though because there is a pretty package on me lumpy chair.
I regard it speculatively. (I'm certain I'm related to Sherlock Pixie.) The tape is crooked; the ends are folded into triangles but not neatly. The bow is slightly askew. I don't check for watermarks, but I recognize the paper as left over from wrapping a present for my dad and his wife late last year. The wrapping isn't as messy as it would be if one of the youngest of my children did this. Daughter three wouldn't have bothered to wrap it. Daus 1 and 2 like those gift sacks with the glossy print paper. There are at least three of those in the catch-all closet. There is, then, only one conclusion. The Knobby Kneed Scot went shopping and bought me something.
When we were newly married I sent him off to the store to buy some necessary things. (Read: Sanitary Napkins) I thought he was going to faint. Now that we have five daughters, three of whom also use "necessary things," he's used to it. But ... I wonder what kind of courage he mustered to wander into Victoria's Secret and buy me three pretty "Cheekies." At least I don't have to go panty shopping at Wal-mart. He probably paid three times what I would have, but they are undeniably pretty. I like them. Isn't he sweet? For a pervert I mean?
“Cheekies” as you may imagine show … umm … well a bit more butt cheeks than granny panties do. (More than a bit more, actually.) I’m not sure that my scrawny, little butt warrants the exposure, but since he’s the only one to see it, it’s okay.
So ... Harry, I'm worried about you. Tell me what's going on. ... And Occasional .. THANKS FOR THE STUFF!
I’ve decided that were I single and looking, and I could find one … I’d date a satyr if he were cute, had some self control, and knew how to play checkers.