[8 of 100] Lazy Dog Days
After the never-ending travel yesterday I was glad for a quieter day on this end, where nothing much was expected of me and I didn't have to be in charge of organizing anything of much importance. There was sleeping in, breakfast at a local diner, web-surfing, work, and time with family and friends. I got to see the newly purchased home of one of my best friends from childhood, and played a neck-and-neck game of "Seafarers of Catan." The only bit of pressure I felt was to get the first chunk of my chapter draft to my advisor, which I did as promised and on schedule and about which I am actually feeling pretty excited. I'm sure there are still plenty of kinks to work out in those first 19 pages, but the ice has been broken, an argument is being formed, and after a really wonderful conversation with one of my dissertation groups last week I actually feel confident about what I've done so far and energized to keep going. I'm sure I'll take the respite offered by being in Colorado with the family, but I also know that I'll be able to move forward when I get back to the writing in the New Year and that it won't feel as much like a chore as it will like an engaged exploration.
I hope no one will take it amiss when I say that one of the things I'm most enjoying about being here is the dogs. They are cuddly and funny and affectionate and playful. When they heard my voice this morning they came running into my bedroom and jumped on the bed to visit with me. This is me with Lydia, the muppet dog:
She is a sweet little animal, and not at all the thug-in-a-clown-suit that previous terriers of my acquaintance have been. She cannot, however, compare in awesomeness to Mr. Darcy, whose brilliance continues unabated. I would give you a picture of him too but he is upstairs sleeping at the foot of my mother's bed and I won't disturb them merely to gratify my readers. You will have to wait until tomorrow to see pictorial evidence of his fabulosity.
I would write something of more substance, but I'm too damn sleepy. Maybe tomorrow.
ETA at 4:50am: Perhaps less charming is being woken by one's mother at 4:30 in the morning, frantically asking if you have either of the dogs with you as the front door is wide open and she can't find either one. The fancy electric-lock gizmo that you thought locked the door automatically in fact doesn't do so from the inside and the canine escape artists have gone bounding off into the freezing winter night. Mr Darcy comes after persistent calling, having not wandered too far afield. Lydia, aptly named for Miss Lydia Bennet in Pride and Prejudice, has to be sought for by means of a motor vehicle driven at very low speeds through the sleeping neighborhood whilst her name is called through an open window. Again, like his literary predecessor, Mr Darcy accompanied the expedition in search of the unrepentent Lydia, who came bounding to the car after only a few blocks of searching and calling, completely unaware of the wrongness of her behavior. (It must be said, in all fairness, that Mr Darcy himself seemed to see the incident in the light of a grand adventure than anything else. I feel certain Miss Austen would not have approved.) Now the family, including all its feline and canine members, has been accounted for and everybody but me is settling back into slumber. "Oh well," says your narrator as she settles down to pen this narrative, "at least it wasn't a run-in with skunks."
I hope no one will take it amiss when I say that one of the things I'm most enjoying about being here is the dogs. They are cuddly and funny and affectionate and playful. When they heard my voice this morning they came running into my bedroom and jumped on the bed to visit with me. This is me with Lydia, the muppet dog:
She is a sweet little animal, and not at all the thug-in-a-clown-suit that previous terriers of my acquaintance have been. She cannot, however, compare in awesomeness to Mr. Darcy, whose brilliance continues unabated. I would give you a picture of him too but he is upstairs sleeping at the foot of my mother's bed and I won't disturb them merely to gratify my readers. You will have to wait until tomorrow to see pictorial evidence of his fabulosity.
I would write something of more substance, but I'm too damn sleepy. Maybe tomorrow.
ETA at 4:50am: Perhaps less charming is being woken by one's mother at 4:30 in the morning, frantically asking if you have either of the dogs with you as the front door is wide open and she can't find either one. The fancy electric-lock gizmo that you thought locked the door automatically in fact doesn't do so from the inside and the canine escape artists have gone bounding off into the freezing winter night. Mr Darcy comes after persistent calling, having not wandered too far afield. Lydia, aptly named for Miss Lydia Bennet in Pride and Prejudice, has to be sought for by means of a motor vehicle driven at very low speeds through the sleeping neighborhood whilst her name is called through an open window. Again, like his literary predecessor, Mr Darcy accompanied the expedition in search of the unrepentent Lydia, who came bounding to the car after only a few blocks of searching and calling, completely unaware of the wrongness of her behavior. (It must be said, in all fairness, that Mr Darcy himself seemed to see the incident in the light of a grand adventure than anything else. I feel certain Miss Austen would not have approved.) Now the family, including all its feline and canine members, has been accounted for and everybody but me is settling back into slumber. "Oh well," says your narrator as she settles down to pen this narrative, "at least it wasn't a run-in with skunks."