Given recent events, I thought I’d close this week out on a lighter note.
Last night as I took the garbage and recycling bins out, I noticed there was something in the air that promised that a sharp drop in temperature was coming. (A promise that was fulfilled, by the way.)
Well . . . I thought. It is the time of year for it, after all. Pretty soon I’ll have to stop taking out the bins while barefoot . . .
Admittedly, one of the reasons I was originally reluctant to mention Carrie Fisher’s passing was because I felt the focus was too much on fan reactions, and not enough of what I felt should be the primary concern, namely, “How is her family, particularly her mother, holding up?”
I guess we can now consider that question answered.
R.I.P. Debbie Reynolds.
Because so many other people were commenting on Carrie Fisher’s passing, I wasn’t going to, but then I noticed how many people were getting the details wrong.
The other day Carrie Fisher drowned in moonlight, strangled by her own bra.
My laptop appears to be in the process of dying. Hopefully this shall be a slow process until I can get a replacement here, but we shall see. In the meantime I’ve back up all my data and will continue to work on my current laptop as long as it lets me, but I’ll also use this as further motivation to hit that chore list around the house.
It’s a bad sign that I’ve only been at my post-Christmas chore list for a little over an hour, and I’ve already had to stop myself from building no fewer than ten woodsheds . . .
Well . . . it’s sunny and 79 degrees Fahrenheit outside my window right now, but I see people have strung lights in their palm trees.
Must be Christmas time again . . .
For the record, I don’t want anyone out there to think that I was dismissing my son’s fears the other day . . . because I wasn’t.
First off, there was no fear in him when he told me there was a monster that lives in the mirror; he was just stating a “fact.” (“Monsters” feature in a lot of his stories right now, you see.)
Second of all, he was telling me this so I’d know how to fight it with him if it ever stepped out of line.
“Dad!” my son yelled at me this morning. “I need your help!”
“Really?” I asked, feigning surprise. “Wasn’t it just two hours earlier that you told me that, and I quote, ‘I never want your help in doing something in this game ever again!”?
“I didn’t mean literally!” was his response.
My thoughts regarding mirrors prior to becoming a parent: I’m watching you, mirror; just don’t try anything and there’s a chance we can both be happy when we part company.
(I loathe mirrors . . . and before anybody says anything witty, I do like garlic, so my aversion to mirrors has nothing to do with that. I just don’t like mirrors, that’s all.)
My honest first response to my son telling me that a monster lives in the mirror: “It’d have to be awful skinny . . .”
Technical difficulties, please stand by until the tech arrives tomorrow.
Candles & Curses 