A ROUGH COUPLA DAYS
When a major figure in the UFO field dies, the rest of the community undergoes a major gut-whacking tremor. And in the case of Dr. John Mack, the sudden death of this distinguished scholar and one of ufodom's few (perhaps only?) reputable academics to openly tackle alien abduction makes the loss all the more shocking and painful. And again, it highlights the transitoriness of life--something Don and I have been discussing every morning this week. Ah, well--life. . . life . . . life . . . death. Then life . . . life . . . life . . . (I just re-read Siddhartha and my fixation on the inevitabilities and the ineffabilities and incongruities and infinities and imponderables--always present--just escalated into sleep-disrupting intensity. (Note to self: Must take an extra melatonin tonight and throw in a Unisom.)

Then, night before last, Buckwheat and I are laying on the bed, me reading a Dean Koontz novel and my big tan cutie snoozing. But not for long. All of the usual sudden, Buckwheat starts wriggling and squirming. He buries his face in my comforter-covered thigh, shaking and snorting. He begins scratching like a herd of fleas have just declared Feast Day on his bod. I'm concerned. Ten minutes later, I'm a tad panicky--little bumps are popping up all over his face and extremities, making his fur look like a distant shot of the Afghan desert. His Shar Pei genes became pronounced. Between fits of squirming and scratching, dear Bucky looks at me forlornly: "Mom, do something." My dog has hives!
Well, it's 11 p.m. by now, but Don and I get dressed and rush our poor boy to the all-night pet clinic. Huge hypos of steroid and Benadryl later, Buckwheat's mood has smoothed out. We're still shaken, but get to bed before the sun rises. The next day he sleeps. Today he's normal.

Me, I'm heading that direction. The boat, tomorrow, shall help.

DID IT WITHOUT DON!

Buying a boat is one thing. Setting up a new scanner and loading software and successfully scanning your first photo is something else! My first scanning coup was an illustration for the next issue which I emailed Nancy last night as the show ended. I was nearly as tickled as when we first signed the papers for Past Sins! (The boat-- and the book, as a matter of fact, though the latter certainly didn't take my signature.) As a test for this blog entry I copied a photo from 1949 or '50. That's me with Daddy somewhere in the California mountains during winter.
Little did I know that day what lay ahead. (Though my fingers were in my mouth and so that particular lifelong habit was set.)

We Deserve It. Really.
I hope we're not being bad kids. But we've never had a honeymoon. We've never had a real vacation. As Don is tired of hearing from me, WE NEVER GO ANYWHERE!! But that's about to change! Deep breath: Here goes . . . {{{{Don and I bought a boat!}}}}--She's a charity boat and was moola less than she's really worth--so call it an investment! And this pretty li'l investment we can go to Catalina on!! Also use the baby as a second office, since it's right near the home of our esteemed colleagues and friends Bill and Nancy! Don and I are about to burst with joy and excitement, I tell ya. Buckwheat has taken to it like the ol' sea dog we know he can be. Below is a pic here so all of you can get uber-green with jealousy. No one's gotten green with seasickness as yet--well, we haven't taken her out yet, as the engine had "bad gas" and had to be taken to a clinic--but I did have a bout of food poisoning. That's another story. Puke city! This was in conjunction with some data inputting, so maybe my lazy self was just rebelling and decided to purge. You see, I have just realized that I'm moving into life these days from a really organic level. More about that later.
Meanwhile: Doesn't this just twinkle your eyes and make you long for the sea?
SEE:

AAAAAHHHHHH!
It's over. Done. Finis. History! That incomprehensibly huge mailing, incorporating flyers and papers and stickers and zip-code sorting to the point of insanity, is now a memory, and I am decompressing with a small glass of wine and an evening ahead of me with absolutely no plans. Yeah, it's Friday, it's Labor Day weekend, and perhaps Don and I should have a trip planned--we do, on Sunday, whoopee!--but at the moment I want to catch my breath. Tomorrow I visit the sometimes suffocating Inland Empire to attend my newest grandson's 1st birthday. Cute little Gus, I love you, and your brother, Roy.
And your Dad, energetic reservist who's just been activated by the U.S. Army for a year, and thank the wonderful omnipresent God for his assignment NOT being in Iraq! In fact, Eric will be posted at Ft. Irwin, the Army's main combat training center. As JAG, I hope he'll be far, far away from the guns and bombs. I'll find out more tomorrow.