Behind the Eight Ball
No matter how well I plan, nothing turns out the way I intend it to. For example, I should have new holiday bar soap up on Etsy, a few perfumed poppets completed, and that perfume solid in wee ceramic vessels done and done, but I don't. Being away and speaking and teaching has put a lot of new ideas into my head, ideas I've been rolling around and working out how to make a reality. I don't feel quite so shackled by the little Podunk area I live in anymore. Anything seems possible now. These ideas have occupied a lot of what I see as my future. Nothing grandiose or ego-driven, just something steady and consistent and viable. They've occupied so much of my time that I've been slow in getting holiday stuff ready. Throwing a working trip into the middle of the American holiday process (Thanksgiving I was sitting in an airport in Houston waiting for a connecting to Panama) has really flubbed things up creatively. I did not hit the ground running when I got back. I hit the ground in deep contemplation and crippling jet lag.
And then I got a dog as an early Yule gift. Well, I didn't get the dog, my husband got the dog, I just received the dog. A puppy, actually. A wee pug puppy I call Charlie. Charlie's a 'girl' pug. Seven weeks old and full of sass and silliness. She's occupied a lot of my time in more recent days. Paper training is a joke for this dumpling with legs and a fully functioning digestive system. She leaves poop in not-so-strategically placed spots, popping them out like a Pez dispenser on the run. She keeps me awake at night whether she's sleeping in her box bed next to mine, or in my bed on my head, chuffing and snorting and honking, her wee legs bicycling as she dreams of -- what? I don't know. When I ask, she just stares at me with her Marty Feldman eyes, winks, and then backs away after a wet snort to dispense another strand of pellets along the front of the sofa.
So today I'm hopeful that a nice batch of bar soap will be completed. I need to run out for supplies, and then it's on. Unless I am waylaid by the walking colostomy bag.
And then I got a dog as an early Yule gift. Well, I didn't get the dog, my husband got the dog, I just received the dog. A puppy, actually. A wee pug puppy I call Charlie. Charlie's a 'girl' pug. Seven weeks old and full of sass and silliness. She's occupied a lot of my time in more recent days. Paper training is a joke for this dumpling with legs and a fully functioning digestive system. She leaves poop in not-so-strategically placed spots, popping them out like a Pez dispenser on the run. She keeps me awake at night whether she's sleeping in her box bed next to mine, or in my bed on my head, chuffing and snorting and honking, her wee legs bicycling as she dreams of -- what? I don't know. When I ask, she just stares at me with her Marty Feldman eyes, winks, and then backs away after a wet snort to dispense another strand of pellets along the front of the sofa.
So today I'm hopeful that a nice batch of bar soap will be completed. I need to run out for supplies, and then it's on. Unless I am waylaid by the walking colostomy bag.
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