Yeah, this was one of those weeks where the first word I said to my boss on Monday morning was a Very Bad Word; There was warm-enough weather to partially melt the ice stalagmite that grows on the walkway beside my house (and under the monstrous icicle that hangs off the side of my eavestrough); the melted water flowed onto the driveway and I took an unstable step where it had re-frozen and came crashing down on my knee, which now looks like it’s trying to grow a mighty lump of it’s own. This slapstick was happening as my gentleman associate and i were on the way to the funeral home for visitation for his uncle – a guy who, while we didn’t see him often, I quite liked. King Louie has peed (overnight?) in the house two days in a row (again) because… i don’t know? He won’t pee outside when it’s too cold (except he does pee – maybe just doesn’t pee all the pee?) I get that when you get old, your bladder decides when you go. but dude, neither of us want you to have to wear dog diapers, so can we just stop that pls? I’m pretty sure that I’m allergic to one of the plants in my house, because my eyes (and the lids around them) are burning and itchy. And my tears seem to be made of hydrochloric acid right now too. So yeah, it’s been a week – and we’re only slightly over the hump.
So it doesn’t *really* surprise me that I didn’t realize that Grati-Tuesday was upon us until I was looking at it in the rearview mirror. Oops. So this week, we have a Thankful Thursday instead. Like a snow day for an event. Tuesday I wasn’t feeling charitable enough to marshal my thoughts into anything that wasn’t snarky, even if I did remember to try to write, which I did not. Not because I don’t have things to be thankful for, there’s *always* things to be thankful for. But because the snark is the dominant trait some days.
So here we are. Holy Spirit Activate!
This week, I’m thankful that my gym (and perhaps more specifically, the pool) have reopened. I spent my 45 minutes on Tuesday evening with my floatation belt and a glorious 80’s soundtrack, and I felt much better for it.
When we got to the funeral parlour, you could hear laughing all the way down the hallway, and I said to my G.A, “This is a perfect sendoff for your uncle” who had a great loud bellylaugh. That’s how Celebrations of Life should be.
New Neighbours! The house-next-door, which, after our beloved Miss Martha moved out, had a series of… suboptimal owners. Well, the last fellow was a decent guy who was doing major renovations to repair all the stupid, not-to-code, downright dangerous “renovation” hacks that the previous (see: Suboptimal) idiot owners inflicted on that house. And now, a lovely young woman and her young daughter and little dog now live there.
Stanley Tucci. I’m reading Stanley Tucci’s Taste: My life through Food. Stanley Tucci is writing my experience. It is so good. SO GOOD! Thank you, Stanley Tucci for wrapping such eloquent and hysterical words around what it is to enjoy and endure life with your Italian Immigrant family. Srsly. So good. And I’m only on page 43, and I’ve cackled aloud and had to read passages to my gentleman associate already.
So yes, for every week full of suck, there’s a balm full of gratitude waiting to get put in the game. In semi-related news, it’s Golden Retriever day, and really, since Louie is half Golden/half Great Pyrenees, I can’t think of a better thing to celebrate today (puddles of pee, notwithstanding)