Rosemary posted some questions/thoughts. I typed up my response to her queries and musings as a comment, went to post my comment, and was notified that my reply was too long. Moi? Long-winded? Go figure. I thought about paring down my reply, or posting it as two comments, then thought better of both options and decided to post it here. So, go read Rosemary’s post, then come back and read this one.
Okay, you’ve read Rosemary’s post, right? If you haven’t, the following will make no sense whatsoever, so go read hers. Right now. And don’t come back until you have. Alright then. Read on.
Yard sale? You have yard sales? I keep threatening to, but can’t quite get organized enough to pull one off, so it’s a moot point for me.
Dog sweaters and coats = acceptable in extreme weather (though Riley wears neither). The rest, not so much.
Because he’s a man. Duh.
Both (even though you said I couldn’t answer). Both. One does not preclude the other.
I wonder the same thing about foreign dogs – why do they have to poop on MY lawn when their own lawn is right across the street?? At least with the turkeys pooping on your cement you can just wash it off with the hose. Dog poop on the lawn MUST be scooped up. Yuck! Riley provides me with more than enough opportunities to engage in that less-than-pleasant activity, thank you very much. I don’t need neighbor dogs contributing their deposits as well.
I neither hated nor loved high school, except when I was the yearbook editor my senior year (loved it then). I like most of the people I went to school with, but was not part of the “in” crowd by any means. I didn’t dislike many people. I just felt spurned by the popular kids. I suppose that’s typical high school stuff. I never went to any reunions until my 30th. I thought by then we’d all have grown up and the cliques would have dissolved. Turns out that wasn’t the case. The cliques were still quite evident, and I was still an outcast. But I got to see my best friend for the first time since high school. Seeing her again made it well worth attending. I went to 7 different grammar schools. I remember the schools, the teachers, and one or two of my classmates, but not much else.
I wish your children lived closer (to YOU, not you to them, because that would mean you didn’t live here). Dogs can help, but they don’t fill the hole completely.
I don’t see you with a black lab, though. I see you with a Jake-type lab. I’ve got my ears open.
He is pretty darned nice, that’s for sure.
I used to like him…. sigh.
Well, you LOOK fantastic, but I’m telling you, there is a lot of evidence to show that a fat-free diet does not lower cholesterol, and that it’s more a factor of simply losing weight than whether or not you CONSUME fat. There is also a lot of evidence to suggest that low cholesterol does not necessarily protect one from heart disease and high cholesterol does not necessarily predict heart disease so much as genetics does. I’m a big fan of bacon. And cheese.
I will pray for you. Men and colds. Bleh.
See above. Men are idiots. Sorry Sling. You’re excluded.
My dad has no middle name either. He must have felt cheated as well. In fact, the only sibling that had a middle name was his brother, Fausto. The only reason HE had a middle name was because the priest said he wouldn’t baptize him because of Dante’s Inferno (Faust). Apparently he felt it was an evil name. His middle name is Vincent. His wife’s family always called him Vince, not Fausto. Dad made up a middle name. He went by Franklyn Thomas Filippi at various times in his life. Funny. He had to doll up his given name too. He is really just plain old Frank Filippi.
I’m half Italian, 1/4 German and 1/4 English. I always say, “I’m Italian”. Why is that? I could be Italenerman, but I prefer just being Italian. It feels right to just be Italian. The only thing that might be AS good would be if I were part Scots. I do have some Scots, but just a drop or two. I think the Scots are as proud of their heritage as the Italians.
Sorry. There is none. Fortunately, I’m not a sufferer.
The 4AM daylight is awesome, given I get up at 4:30. The 8PM daylight makes it really difficult to get Riley to go to bed when we do at 8-8:30. That problem is only going to get worse as the days get longer.
It sounds like Violet gets car sick. Riley looks out the window for a while, then he puts his head down and closes his eyes. I think he gets car sick a little too. The whining and yapping is a sort of bichon/poodle thing… Riley’s bark is piercing and very annoying. Thankfully, he doesn’t do it in the car.
Mother’s Day does not hold the same cachet it once did, that’s for sure. It’s just not the same once they’re all grown up with families of their own. I miss the days of homemade cards, surprise breakfasts in bed, and sticky, syrup-covered faces giving you Mother’s Day kisses.
I like the name. Shall I paint you a sign for your forest?
When I finish A Breath of Snow and Ashes, I will read one.
I want to have lunch with Diana Gabaldon, though I have “talked” to her via the literary forum in Compuserve. She’s a VERY interesting person! I’d like to watch Michelangelo and Caravaggio paint, and ask questions along the way. I’d like to ask Seurat how he had the patience to paint all those dots. I’d like to have lunch with Orson Scott Card and JRR Tolkein because they both created amazing worlds that don’t really exist, and I want to know how they did that. I would like to meet Jamie and Claire Fraser and Brianna and Roger Mackenzie and the rest of the gang in Diana Gabaldon’s novels – but mostly Jamie and Claire. I think I am in love with Jamie.
And yes, I would love to have a ritzy lunch with all my Blogger and Facebook friends, but in Paris, Rome, or Edinburgh. And I think we should all get DROIDs, Kindles, Nooks, or iPads, not so much iPhones. 🙂
None of the above makes any sense whatsoever unless you have read Rosemary’s post, so now, go back and do that for real this time.