As I understand it, you’re meditating right now, right? You’ve up and left for Buddha Camp up north and left me to deal with the crazy people at work. And the citizens who call me while I’m there, too. (I’m pretty sure the people you’re with right now call it something else, not Buddha Camp, maybe something like the Buddhist Autumn Retreat, but I like your way better. It makes me think you’ll chant songs around a campfire and roast soydogs on long sticks, while carefully and humanely shoo-ing mosquitoes away.)
And we can’t talk for eleven days? Dude. I get so used to today’s methods of communication — we must email each other more than twenty times a day. I have JUST learned your phone number, since I never use it, and when I do, I just pull it up on my cell phone. But up there in the thoughtful woods (are there woods there? There should be woods), you’ve got no access to a computer, and your cell will be turned off, and for the first time in five months, I won’t be able to talk to you.
And you won’t know what I’m blogging, either. Hah! I’m going to steal your dogs from your brother (okay, borrow ’em) and dress them up and take pictures of them! Yeah!
Miss Idaho would like you to know that even in California little five-pound dogs need sweaters in the winter.
Okay, I know that one’s store-bought, but I also know that you learned to knit just so you could make her sweaters for the snow. Softie. (But I’m glad you learned to knit. SO glad. I love it that you can intelligently discuss stitch patterns with me. That’s rad.)
I had a fine Thanksgiving, by the way. I woke up and had bacon and eggs. (Makin’ Bacon? Now there’s a cool item. I swear. That bacon is perfect.) Then I came to work and had some ham that a coworker had brought and some mashed potatoes from downstairs, provided by the officers’ association. Then I ate a lot of cake. It would be better if you didn’t ask how much I actually ate. I brought an apple pie, boxed from the supermarket, which is still sitting in the back room. Oh, well.
So in terms of Thanksgivings, this one wasn’t particularly outstanding. But seeing as I don’t like pumpkin pie, dressing, gravy, cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes, or green bean casserole, Thanksgiving is usually something of a white-plate yawn anyway (white turkey meat, plain mashed potatoes, and bread with butter make up my plate every year). I missed my family something fierce, though. And you.
Oh, if your dogs could talk. Rather glad they can’t. Have a good, wise, and compassionate week, okay? And have a soydog for me.
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