August 31, 2009
I have to re-schedule the Lanyard Workshop/Planning Session set for this Friday (9/4). My aunt had a turn of bad health, and my mom and I decided to visit her this weekend. We will resume the following Friday (9/11). By then I will definitely need to re-stock the inventory. I took a dozen to Tomball on Saturday and will have 100 lanyards headed to Houston this weekend. I need to send another 25 or so to Indiana, and of course these don't include the individual orders we need to fill.
Thanks to everyone for all their help with these monster orders: particularly, Kristen and the PACAA workshop in Pennsylvania, Terri and Amy in College Station who help each other follow one of the mottos of Erin's Dream Lanyards ("Friends don't let friends bead alone."), Laura, the champion and record-holding lanyarder (who is personally responsible for making 100 lanyards over the past few months), Mary Ann, Madge, and Janice who have helped with the finishing effort for this collection. And thanks to all my other beaders and lanyard hustlers. We are making a big difference, and from what I can tell from messages I'm getting, many more people would like to figure out a way to pitch in.
I am working on ways to make that easier. In the meantime, email works great if you need lanyards, want to make lanyards or supply beads, need information, or have ideas you want to share.
Tomorrow is my first day back in the classroom since last December. Willie and Teddy have done their best to keep my mind off the return.
Willie noticed (wrong verb, but I can't think of a stronger one, perhaps tumbled to, discerned, discovered? Is there a verb form of Eureka?) that one of our neighbors--no, not Mr. Goat-keeper or Mrs. Emu-keeper--released a herd of domesticated bunnies into Willie's Wildnerness recently (I don't know why, but he does this occasionally when he gets tired of feeding the herd and cleaning their pens). Anyway, the nature area behind the pond where Willie likes to cavort and sniff good dogly odors has all of a sudden morphed into Willie's Wilderness Wonderland of Soon-To-Be-Feral Hasenpfeffers.
I took him out for a spin down to the compost pile the other afternoon, and when I turned left at the end of the driveway towards the compost pile, he bolted right. By the time I caught up with him, he had covered about 300 yards. I found him by following the huge scores left in the dirt as he gobbled up the ground in huge, galloping strides. He called it his "scratched earth" policy. I think I can still hear echos of his call to me from the distance "catch me if you can."
I will say that he has convinced me that he has overcome the disability caused by his recent cervical stenosis flare up. Those weeks of limping and subdued behavior were a front to get me to let down my guard.
Teddy's approach has been subtler, but no less effective. Her first form of misdirection to distract me from my impending return to work involved a purloined loaf of blueberry/peach bread. . .left unguarded out of sight, but not out of Teddy's range on the counter by the stove. I didn't even notice its disappearance until Wednesday morning when Walter wanted to know where I stored it when I put away groceries. I found scraps of wrapper scattered around back in Davis's room, but not even a crumb of breakfast bread. Every morning since then, Walter has looked down at Teddy and said "A little slice of blueberry/peach bread sure would taste lovely with my first cup of coffee, don't you think Teddy?"
Yesterday, I caught Teddy in flagrante delicto (see meaning number 1, not meaning number 2 in Merriam-Webster). I found her red-handed (red-pawed?) behind almost shut cabinet doors under the kitchen sink, trash can tumbled over, the powerful scent of canned tuna wafting through the kitchen. Only her plumed tail visible. Dogs in trashcan? Nothing new. Twelve pound dog in upended trashcan, wedged in tight space, with dog-protection rubber bands still around the doorknobs of the cabinet doors where the trashcan is stored? We have had dogs in the house for the entire twenty-five years of our married life, including labs, a rottweiller, and some pretty effective chow hounds. NONE OF THEM ever raided the trashcan under the sink, even if we left the doors wide open, much less had them snoot themselves past taut rubber bands holding the doors firmly shut. Does anyone sell burglar bars for the trashcan cabinet?
Actually, I think they have been watching C-SPAN a little too much. When Teddy saw that I had work clothes, not house shorts on when I came down this morning, she hopped onto my lap and presented my with a petition. She and Willie have demanded that I hold a Town Hall meeting so they can air their grievances. I think they just want to make sarcastic signs and harangue at me. I may just let them, though experience with recent townhall events tells me that they don't actually want to hear my explanation, and problably won't listen to me, even a little bit. Maybe I can postpone.