How fortuitous. I got up at 10:30 AM, and started my coffee and am now settling down to do my Daily Prompt, and with my first sip of wonderfulness it’s already 11:02. I only need to sit here and wait for an hour before I’m qualified to answer the prompt.
Until then, I’ll pick my nose and watch the wind blowing the pine trees back and forth. Pup hates wind. Yesterday when I took him out, he did his business and then paced back and forth. He wanted desperately to have his full walk, but on the other hand he was terrified of the booming sound of the wind, certain that there was a dog-eating monster lurking somewhere in the woods.
Oh speaking of monsters, did WordPress send the Easter Bunny to give us a visit at 12 noon? Is that what this is all about? Ah, now I’m on to you. I can tell you right now that you will not have many friends in this house, even if you brought me some nice hard boiled eggs (hint hint) so I can have my breakfast. Pup is going to make a scene.
I took my 85-pound labrador retriever to meet Santa many years ago when he was about 1 year old. He gave Santa a look that could kill, and Santa gave him a look back acknowledging that look. And then he hopped off of Santa’s lap. But somewhere in my memorabilia is the picture of them, dog frowning and wanting off, and Santa wondering if he would live to see another one of these stinkin’ dogs, repeating to himself “keep thinking about the money, keep thinking about the money.”
The little one, my current Pup, I’m pretty positive, might have made it onto Santa’s lap, but he’s such a fearful dog he probably would have cringed and quivered, and then slid off his lap, tail between his legs, and slinked back to Mummy.
However, if Santa made a house visit, things would be different. Pup would be bolder. He would start with a cacophony of barking, and then he’d hone in on an ankle or hand and give Santa a good nip. Of course then we’d have a potential law suit on our hands, or at the very least a $100 medical bill.
Pup doesn’t discriminate. He wouldn’t just do that to Santa, he’d to it to all strangers. However, I predict he will be more inclined to get even more out of control with the Easter Bunny in our house than a normal human.
Oh goody, it’s 11:26 now, 30 minutes till Easter Bunny. I hope he knows to knock on the back door and not the front door. A person (or animal) has two choices when they come to my house: wade through the mud to the back door, or find their way to the front door through ice and snow. Neither choice is a pretty one, but I think mud is safer, don’t you?
Every Easter my mother-in-law would gather a bag of onion skins from the grocery store and slow-boil a pan of eggs with the onion skins. The onion skins made beautiful Easter eggs — I think using onion skins to color eggs was a Russian tradition. Then she would package them and take them to the family Easter gathering.
I remember right after my father-in-law died, she was in bed not feeling well. I knelt by the side of her bed and took her hand, kissing her forehead, and asked her if she’d like me to make the eggs for her. She said “ok”. She was so tired with grief that it broke my heart. So I began a day of driving back and forth to the grocery store, trying to follow her EXACT directions. I didn’t want to screw a thing up. Medium or large eggs were unacceptable. They had to be small sized eggs. She was also going to make kielbasa and sauerkraut, and her directions were precise. I wrote them down, but there were things that she assumed I knew that I didn’t. Of course I didn’t, I don’t know a thing about cooking. But for the sake of love, I’ll at least make an attempt. I guess I made her paranoid with all of the dumb questions I was asking her, because she got out of bed and made them herself.
11:38 now and I’m still sitting here typing. Do you know what this prompt reminds me of? It reminds me of the people who call me and say “Hiiiieeeeee, wat’cha doin’?” Like, what am I going to be doing in 20 minutes that I’m not doing already? Staring at the peeling paint on my walls and reading old notes on my white boards?
If the Easter Bunny is coming, I’d like two hardboiled eggs. None of this chocolate-send-my-blood-sugar-through-the-roof crap. Whenever Hubby buys candy or chips I give him an ultimatum “Take these and hide them. If I find them I will throw them away.” I know I should remember the hungry people of the world and not throw away food; but the days of cramming my face full of candy and junk food are gone. They just make me feel sick and filled with regret. Spaghetti is the only exception, I’m ashamed to say. Spaghetti is at the top of my food pyramid.
It’s noon! I just walked around the house, looking for Mr. Easter Bunny, and I don’t see anything but the neighbor across the street walking around HER house with HER coffee — probably looking for the same thing. Is she a WP blogger, I wonder?
Actually, I’m pretty sure I know where the Easter Bunny is. He’s on the trail, cursing, trying to scrape dog shit off his feet.
So much for getting my breakfast from EB, I’ll have to wait till Hubby gets home from the health club.
May everyone have a wonderful Easter!
At noon today, take a pause in what you’re doing or thinking about. Make a note of it, and write a post about it later.