I answered the phone two nights ago and heard a familiar voice in full tirade. "I read your book and I said to Bruce that this was mighty fine exercise in FICTION!!!"
"Hi Myles," I was delighted. Myles is the only person in the books whose name we did not change.
"Sweet convent girl, my ass! You had men circling the block looking for you, circling the BLOCK!"
"Only one guy," I started, by My cut me off.
"And John. He was interested in your INTELLECT!!!! That's not what I saw."
He carried on. This was the most wonderful carrying on I've heard in ages. I just let him go.
He began to finish with "...and what are you going to say when the other's find out about this fiction ?"
"There are no others," I told him. "They've all gone to distant places. Besides, I changed my name."
We yelled a bit more and I laughed until I went weak.
I have no fear of Myles. He's the greatest of story tellers.
Besides. I know his stories very, very well. They put my pallid adventures into fine print. It's wonderful to have a old friend.
The Road to Zimbabwe - memories of travel & romamce by John & Nancy Blignaut
Finally! Here is how to order the book.Go to www.lulu.com and type 'The Road to Zimbabwe' into the search bar on that page. When you see the book you can hit 'Preview' to see the first few pages. The alternative way to go to the book is to copy this URL into your browser: http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/the-road-to-zimbabwe/9760834
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Oh Well...
I've given up on politics, the coming of the Lord (sometime in May) and our nation's bankruptcy. I am more concerned about my spelling and the fact that my dogs have figured out new methods of bullying me.
I get up every morning and read, think and pray. Don't tell anyone.
Everything is calm until I hear the thump of a large body hitting the floor upstairs Winnie is awake and moving. She trots downstairs, checks over the other dogs and tells them to get moving. Then it's outside, bray at all that moves until I let them back in.
Mickey prances around until I get out the insulin and needle and most importantly the treat. I shoot him up, give him the fake bacon and start to clean up. Winnie and Nook creep in and start lurking. Nook is lousy at lurking, especially since he sticks his head into the pan on the stove at every turn. I dump the expensive healthy nuggets in their bowls and prepare to get dressed. Then it starts. The dogs cast disgusted eyes over me and retreat. Their food remains untouched.
I wait it out. These damndogs are too spoiled for words, let them starve.
Winnie waits patiently, keeping Mickey close by. Damndog, she's worked something out. The very second Mickey's insulin reacts with no food she herds him to me.
OH Shit! I say, Mickey's have a something attack and Marguerite the nurse said I should give him sugar! Then I run around an look for syrup, honey, anything. Encouraged, Mickey shakes harder, his eyes implore me. He loves sweets. So I try to reach the sugar.
In the end, alls well, but I am informed that he must EAT in the morning.
Winnie assures me that finely grated fresh Parmesan mixed in the kibble is acceptable.
(Oh. I just found the spell check on this thing. Great.)
I get up every morning and read, think and pray. Don't tell anyone.
Everything is calm until I hear the thump of a large body hitting the floor upstairs Winnie is awake and moving. She trots downstairs, checks over the other dogs and tells them to get moving. Then it's outside, bray at all that moves until I let them back in.
Mickey prances around until I get out the insulin and needle and most importantly the treat. I shoot him up, give him the fake bacon and start to clean up. Winnie and Nook creep in and start lurking. Nook is lousy at lurking, especially since he sticks his head into the pan on the stove at every turn. I dump the expensive healthy nuggets in their bowls and prepare to get dressed. Then it starts. The dogs cast disgusted eyes over me and retreat. Their food remains untouched.
I wait it out. These damndogs are too spoiled for words, let them starve.
Winnie waits patiently, keeping Mickey close by. Damndog, she's worked something out. The very second Mickey's insulin reacts with no food she herds him to me.
OH Shit! I say, Mickey's have a something attack and Marguerite the nurse said I should give him sugar! Then I run around an look for syrup, honey, anything. Encouraged, Mickey shakes harder, his eyes implore me. He loves sweets. So I try to reach the sugar.
In the end, alls well, but I am informed that he must EAT in the morning.
Winnie assures me that finely grated fresh Parmesan mixed in the kibble is acceptable.
(Oh. I just found the spell check on this thing. Great.)
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Oh Dear.
My spelling is terrible. I need to figure out how to fix the errors.
I'm listening to the radio and an English lady is talking about "our" generation-flower children, hippies and other such. She asks how we got here. Why did our generation change so much?
I lived through all this, but I could never identify with my peers. I was always watching.
Getting old is a pleasent surprise.
John says that as one ages, one becomes distilled. People become more who they are. It's interesting.
I'm listening to the radio and an English lady is talking about "our" generation-flower children, hippies and other such. She asks how we got here. Why did our generation change so much?
I lived through all this, but I could never identify with my peers. I was always watching.
Getting old is a pleasent surprise.
John says that as one ages, one becomes distilled. People become more who they are. It's interesting.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Arizona
My baby brother lives in Arizona. I'm worried. Arizona is a pea tarty state. It will soon be mandatory to carry the state approved weapon: a Colt 45. I hear that car liscense plates now tout the virtues of the pea tarty. Pea Tartiers are very, very strange.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)