Cowboy here. About 5 p.m. here. My wife just hit the sack. Had a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner, ate nonstop for a couple days. Sar's cooking/baking rate top marks. The imp roasted a turkey, baked a ham, all the fixings, dessert fit for a king. Just a few leftovers. Discovered a pile of little gifts on a chair – guessing that's chocolate from everyone that ate – bribes to be invited back.
Sar ate everything but turkey, the only green item the imp consumed was a key lime pie before we sat down to eat. I made cream cheese omelets for breakfast; Sar ate that, followed by pecan pie, ice cream on top. Today, she washed the dogs, groomed the cats, answered a bit of email, sacked out. The imp's exhausted but catching up on rest so I'm not complaining.
Tomorrow I'll complain. Normal schedule, diet or else. (Someone remind me about the "or else" part.)
That broken wrist didn't slow the imp down as much as I thought it would. I see her rubbing it a bit; she's gonna be rubbing other parts if she's overusing it. Someone remind me what I'm supposed to do to ensure that.
Video conference with Bull in his hospital room. His mother had a spread of food for her boy. Sar wanted to know if possum pie was on the menu. Bull said yes but that he had it sent out our way. I asked the imp what she sent him – it's always a game of one-upman-ship for those two. Sar just arched a brow. Keeping score on that game. Sar matched Bull for consuming pie. Reminded mia bambina he wasn't 100% yet. She teased him a lot anyway. The man said he loved her, still waiting for her to grab those pots/pans, run away with him. The imp said when I got too old to eat peach cobbler, she'd do that. Delivered a swat. They both laughed.
Won't be long before Bull gets some innovative surgery – titanium inserts in his legs. Medics say it makes them good as new. He's up for a few skin grafts on his hands – skin will come from his back. The young man's body is still a bit bruised but his spirits remain high. There are casts on his limbs, some ribald comments written on them, members of his former unit in/out of the hospital room regularly. There's more going on. I'll let Sar fill you in. The imp's writing another piece about her favorite tank-size marine.
Cowboy
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
Pure Chaos
Cowboy here. Next week is our American holiday, Thanksgiving. For some folks, that's the start of the holiday season. Not for my imp. Sar considers 4th of July the end of 1 year's holiday season, Labor Day the warm up for the next one. Halloween puts my wife into overdrive. She consumes enough chocolate, other sugars to take her through the Thanksgiving preparations. Christmas is a whole other event.
The imp is cooking. The imp is baking. The imp is not eating enough. The imp get little rest.
I've been kicked out of the kitchen, our extra large pups standing guard, growling as I try to get past them to grab my woman. I'm keeping score.
That broken wrist makes things a bit clumsy in the kitchen. Volunteered to help out, got rebuffed. Joan de Arc has to do it all herself. Threatened to burn that little backside if she didn't slow down. Finally got her away from the pups, in bed, didn't have a chance to do squat. Sar fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. I let her sleep. Thought about tying the birbantella to the bed – thought about a few other things I could do –- I let her sleep.
We're not going back to DC for Thanksgiving. Arranged to have a video conference in Bull's hospital room. His mother will have a holiday meal prepared for her boy; we'll speak to him via satellite, wish him well. He and Sar can rib each other about eating road kill, who will eat the most apple/pecan pie, other things they tease each other about. This will make both of them happy. Just seeing that young man sitting up, eating whole food, talking, smiling, that will do all of us a world of good. Have I mentioned he's out of intensive care, in a private room, facing a long bout of rehab, some surgery, on the mend. It will be a long haul, slow recovery but recovery just the same. Counting blessings, very thankful blessings.
Having a small crowd over, about 15, smallest crowd we've had in years. My wife is worn out, won't admit it, won't slow down, 15 is plenty. Rethinking tying her to the bed.
Cowboy
The imp is cooking. The imp is baking. The imp is not eating enough. The imp get little rest.
I've been kicked out of the kitchen, our extra large pups standing guard, growling as I try to get past them to grab my woman. I'm keeping score.
That broken wrist makes things a bit clumsy in the kitchen. Volunteered to help out, got rebuffed. Joan de Arc has to do it all herself. Threatened to burn that little backside if she didn't slow down. Finally got her away from the pups, in bed, didn't have a chance to do squat. Sar fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. I let her sleep. Thought about tying the birbantella to the bed – thought about a few other things I could do –- I let her sleep.
We're not going back to DC for Thanksgiving. Arranged to have a video conference in Bull's hospital room. His mother will have a holiday meal prepared for her boy; we'll speak to him via satellite, wish him well. He and Sar can rib each other about eating road kill, who will eat the most apple/pecan pie, other things they tease each other about. This will make both of them happy. Just seeing that young man sitting up, eating whole food, talking, smiling, that will do all of us a world of good. Have I mentioned he's out of intensive care, in a private room, facing a long bout of rehab, some surgery, on the mend. It will be a long haul, slow recovery but recovery just the same. Counting blessings, very thankful blessings.
Having a small crowd over, about 15, smallest crowd we've had in years. My wife is worn out, won't admit it, won't slow down, 15 is plenty. Rethinking tying her to the bed.
Cowboy
Sunday, November 07, 2010
Saving the World
Cowboy here. Have I ever mentioned that my wife could be teaching at the U.S. Naval War College? The imp is a pro at stealth, a wizard at making herself invisible, plus she fights dirty. No apologies out of that pretty mouth, no "oops, sorry," just plain fisticuffs.
We were at a local canine obedience trial, brought our pups along. Sar did a demonstration, a little flair on top of the ordinary stuff – sit, stay, down, heel, come front, etc. Our dogs follow verbal commands as well as hand signals. Sar had them heel to her side by scooting backwards instead of going around her, had them dance by balancing a paw on a shoulder, a few other stunts.
There were several professional trainers at the event, all challenged to take an unknown dog, untrained, perhaps unruly, teach it to sit/stay or down/stay. All performed well. After that, the owners were to follow through. One very young dog – a pit bull – didn't do so well. The owner got frustrated, used the leash to smack the dog on top of its head, kept smacking it.
Sar went nuts. Before I could react, my wife ran over to the man, kick boxed him in the chest. He went down, the imp snatched the leash, smacked him on top of his head. She smacked him about 3 times before I was able to grab the birbantella, haul her off the guy. Police came, ticketed the guy for animal abuse, turned the dog over to animal control. The officers took 1 look at Sar, that innocent face in place, had trouble believing the imp could put the man down with 1 swift kick. That's my wife, saving the world one canine at a time.
Got home and discovered Sar's hand was swollen. My frustration bubbled over, admit I lost my cool for a moment. Delivered a hard swat for jumping into a fray that was none of her business. Emergency room, x-rays, 2 fractured bones in her wrist. Promised retribution when the pain wore off. The imp shrugged then kicked me, got behind the rott, dared me to retaliate. Announced that I'd dump her twinkies stash in the garbage. Heard the gun cabinet open. Think we should unleash this sprite on our country's enemies. Sneaked up behind her, hauled her off to bed, made her beg for mercy.
Cowboy
We were at a local canine obedience trial, brought our pups along. Sar did a demonstration, a little flair on top of the ordinary stuff – sit, stay, down, heel, come front, etc. Our dogs follow verbal commands as well as hand signals. Sar had them heel to her side by scooting backwards instead of going around her, had them dance by balancing a paw on a shoulder, a few other stunts.
There were several professional trainers at the event, all challenged to take an unknown dog, untrained, perhaps unruly, teach it to sit/stay or down/stay. All performed well. After that, the owners were to follow through. One very young dog – a pit bull – didn't do so well. The owner got frustrated, used the leash to smack the dog on top of its head, kept smacking it.
Sar went nuts. Before I could react, my wife ran over to the man, kick boxed him in the chest. He went down, the imp snatched the leash, smacked him on top of his head. She smacked him about 3 times before I was able to grab the birbantella, haul her off the guy. Police came, ticketed the guy for animal abuse, turned the dog over to animal control. The officers took 1 look at Sar, that innocent face in place, had trouble believing the imp could put the man down with 1 swift kick. That's my wife, saving the world one canine at a time.
Got home and discovered Sar's hand was swollen. My frustration bubbled over, admit I lost my cool for a moment. Delivered a hard swat for jumping into a fray that was none of her business. Emergency room, x-rays, 2 fractured bones in her wrist. Promised retribution when the pain wore off. The imp shrugged then kicked me, got behind the rott, dared me to retaliate. Announced that I'd dump her twinkies stash in the garbage. Heard the gun cabinet open. Think we should unleash this sprite on our country's enemies. Sneaked up behind her, hauled her off to bed, made her beg for mercy.
Cowboy
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