40 Days

Footprints in the wilderness.

All right, so after a sleepless night of listening to Bernice making muffins and getting her nails caught in the "dough", I decided it was high time for a clippin'. Here's a little shred of wisdom from me to you: True love is clipping someone else's toenails. I loved someone enough to swallow their gum for them once when they had a panic attack of the stale-gum-and-no-garbage-in-sight variety. But I never ventured to cut anyone's toenails. Until now. I am happy to report that I successfully clipped all of Bernice's kneading nails...even the tricky non-digits in the back.

So... an update on the passing of time and my top 10 list. In addition to the clippin'...I also pulled a book down from the top shelf, looked at sweater patterns in knitting magazines, checked my skymiles balance, and started organizing my music library in itunes. And the fact that I am writing about it amounts to somewhat of a blog revival, so I'm aces high today I'd say.

The sad news of the day is that Rockman Gary is no longer with us. I took a walk up the Rattlesnake with my mom today in hopes of finding him there. I can only gather that he suffered a rather crushing winter season himself. Or perhaps other eager beaver dogs like our Stella here, clumsily dismembered him in their pursuit of refreshment. The good news is that, to the best of my knowledge, Gary's namesake is still alive and well. Only a trip to the up-and-coming farmer's market will verify.

Now...I may have missed seeing my rockfriend/brother-in-law, but I did not leave the wilderness empty-handed (or headed). Mr. Tick here decided that he would also like to try making muffins...on my head.

Luckily I caught him before his nails got tangled in the dough. I do not love Mr. Tick. I would not clip his toenails. I would not even swallow his gum. I just had Boy help me seal him in a Ziploc, deliver a crushing blow with a wooden spoon, and deposit him in the trash outside. Just when I think I really can become a nun, a little bug appears and sends me dancing and screaming in search of the nearest male. I guess what I need is a convent in a skyscraper.

Funniest thing. I no sooner finished typing when Bernice spied a spider and went a-hunting. Maybe there's something to that whole cat-lady thing. Oh, heaven help me. My options are not looking good.