As I begin writing, I can hear our lab’s stomach seriously gurgling, loudly and often. She just ate, so I’m not sure if everything is about to come back up or simply in the digestive process. Reminds me of the old days when I’d try to crunch out a piece during nap time. Would I finish before the rugrats awoke or would my creative flow be blocked by crying and poopy diapers? Time will tell. I may need to cut this short if dog vomit begins to spew, but I’m willing to risk it for the biscuit.
I’m pleased to announce that we here at Chez Wilson survived the annual family vacay to the beach, where 26 of us piled into a house for one week. The littlest is 3 and the oldest is 77, but we managed to make memories and keep the shanking to a minimum. Actually, I don’t recall any fights between cousins, spouses, or my four sisters, which is really impressive when I think about how much wine was consumed. We had one case of confirmed bronchitis, several painful sunburns and my mom did come precariously close to rumbling with a neighbor group who set up their tent directly in front of ours (and threw fishing lines where the kids were swimming!), but on the whole, it was remarkably relaxing. In fact, the only drama was a live production of “Legally Blonde,” where my 6-year-old niece, in the role of Elle Woods, asked if her toilet-paper boobs were too big. Classic.
Nothing else to report, and I can no longer hear gastro rumblings from The Dog. Life is good.