And it's not her.
We all know that.
She discussed implants versus permanent bridges with me. The permanent bridge sounds pretty all right to me. I will (I will!) make an appointment with the other guy to discuss these options.
When we were done, I paid up and flew out of that office on wings of joy, feeling as if I could now conquer Mt. Everest. I drove to the New Leaf, saw my Billy, bought Tryptophan and cheese and Tamari. On to Publix for other stuff, then Costco for olive oil and gasoline and a brand new pair of men's cargo shorts! I was home by 11:30. I unloaded it all, changed into my new cargo shorts feeling tres chic, put on my gloves and went out and cleaned the henhouse, put down fresh hay. I made myself a lunch, ate it, and the boys arrived.
Then I got busy.
They ate approximately fourteen snacks apiece and drank approximately twelve beverages. We went across the street to play with Leo, the dog who lives there. We played on the play set. We gathered the eggs. We fed the chickens corn. And crackers.
Here are my very cute farmer boys.
My god but I love those children.
We watched some TV. We built a city with blocks. We changed a poopy diaper. We washed hands and faces. ("Tank-you," said Gibson.) We ate some more. We drank some more.
They were only here for three hours and when they left I felt like lying on the floor because the bed was too far away.
But I did not. I made a shot of espresso. I washed the snack bowls, the glasses, the pan I scrambled an egg in for Gibson, the blender I'd made him a smoothie in.
I tidied up.
I wrote a few pages.
And now here I am.
I am very excited about dinner tonight. I am going to make a sort of Eggs Benedict with asparagus. Fuck cholesterol, this is happening. I watched a little video last night of Jamie Oliver demonstrating how to make perfect poached eggs and I am going there. Seems like the most important part of the whole deal is very fresh eggs. Got plenty of those! Perhaps mushrooms will be involved. Maybe even spinach! Something different that I have never made instead of one of the four things it seems to me that I am constantly making. Clam spaghetti, beans and rice, pork chops and sweet potatoes, stuff with chicken in it.
Of course I make more than that but as every person on this earth who cooks seven dinners a week knows, it is so very, very hard to come up with new ideas.
Maybe we should all discuss this more often. It would be a public service, don't you think?
All right. Animal pictures.
Sorry about the quality of this picture. I know. It sucks. However, I have designated that white chicken as Cha-Cha. Her comb is noticeably larger than Chi-Chi's. That's Butterscotch behind her.
Miss Nicey who is still the first young chicken to greet me although she does not exactly want to be held anymore. But she's still mighty nice.
All right. These two are sad. So sad that they could easily be used on those late-night commercials which plead with you to send your money to some organization to help these poor dogs find their forever home. These dogs HAVE found their forever home. And they are going to live forever.
Again, crappy picture. I am having issues with photography. Don't judge me. Please.
That is Dolly. She is the smaller one. She walks like five feet a day. That's not only the distance but the speed. It is so painful to watch her making her way from the bed she sleeps in in the library to the door and down the steps when she goes outside. When we make her go outside. Which is difficult.
Yes. She is sweet as pie.
Yes. She can still bark.
Sometimes she even lays down outside in the sun for a nap.
Buster. Dear god. I mean...really? Does that look like a happy animal? He walks as slowly as his sister although every time I feed Maurice, he makes his way to the kitchen and as soon as she steps away from her dish he gets down on his belly and slides under the butcher block counter to eat whatever is in her dish.
Then he vomits.
They are both so very deaf and blind but their sense of smell is quite intact. And, as I said, they still bark. And when Jessie gets in tomorrow they will be overjoyed and they will show it.
To round things off, picture-wise, here is Maurice.
Her mama and daddy's joy.
(Gag, gag, gag. True.)
GODDAM IT! I'm a crone, I needed a cat.
And she is such a fine one.
All right. I'm going to go cook that dinner. The cardinals are taking little dips in the birdbath, Mr. Moon is home, the evening-time crickets are cranking up a racket, and I could not ask for one thing more.