Cheese Fries, Books, and Sympathy . . .

When I wrote yesterday’s post, I was bummed.  But some things happened later on to turn the day around and I thought I might share ‘em to balance things out a little.

First, my friend Cha Cha sent me this picture because she’d know I’d appreciate it:

How could I not cheer up, knowing that Richard Scarry was right and Gold Bug is real?*

We also went out to a late lunch (her) – early dinner (me) and commiserated about our day.  Misery really does love company.

And cheese fries.

When I got home, there was a package waiting for me:  Stephen Jay Schwartz, whose Murderati challenge I won a while back by guessing books by their first lines,** sent me not just the promised hardcover of Beat,*** his newest Hayden Glass book, but a copy of the previous book, too!

And  he inscribed both.

Unexpected books, kind words, and the reminder of a victory . . .  That’ll cure a Monday.

And then, of course, a bunch of you took the time to send me sympathy here and e-mails there and poems and one hilarious-in-retrospect story that trumps my brainfail all to hell but I had to promise never to tell anyone, ever, I mean it.^

Thanks, everyone.

Aaaaand to cap it all off, there was half a container of this left in the freezer, which was a minor miracle, let me tell you:

While I attacked the contents with a serving spoon partook of this miracle, I managed to rework more of that lost scene and fix a bit of Pigeon.

Not such a bad day after all .  . .

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*If you don’t know what I’m talking about, go get a Richard Scarry’s Big Book of Something and look for Gold Bug.  Waldo is an upstart whippersnapper.

**No idea how I won, except most of the books are favorites of mine and I could see several of the titles across the room from me.  I’m still kicking myself over missing the Raymond Chandler and the Sherlock Holmes story.

*** I love this book and loaned my original copy to a friend who says he can’t find it, though I sincerely doubt this.  Doesn’t matter now—he can keep it.  But he’s never getting his mitts on my copy of Boulevard.

^ So I won’t, don’t worry, but I’ve been giggling all day and won’t ever be able to look at a lemon again . . . You rock, and don’t forget it.  And you’d better write that down yourself or I’ll swipe it.

Random Thursday: Sunny with a Chance of Photos

It’s Thursday already?  Where does the time go?

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Writer Bling!

This is, you will note, a magenta, molded plastic, ballpoint quill pen, which my friend Grace bought for me at the Stratford Shakespeare Festival:

I love it. It has good heft and sits in my grip well—the ink flows nicely, too.  I wrote part of my revenge scene with it.

Little known fact: silly pens help with writing serious stuff.  It’s true.

And the pen goes very well with my new scribble book, which I found at Border’s for $2.99.  There’s foil on the cover!

I love writer bling!  Especially shiny bling!

oooooOOOOOooooo

Doing the Happy Geek Dance

I found out the voice of Smaug in the new Hobbit movie is being done by Benedict Cumberbatch, who caught my attention in BBC’s Sherlock and never let go.

He’s on my personal list of actors I would gladly pay scale—hey, librarian’s salary—to read the telephone book, should no erotic poetry Shakespearean sonnets be at hand.

He’s also starring in a screen adaption of one of my favorite John le Carré novels, Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy.

                 

I am replete with squee, y’all.**

oooooOOOOOooooo

Talenti Gelato:  The Best Ice Cream Ever, Grocery Store Freezer Division:

I’m not kidding.  I bought it on a whim this past weekend because I liked the screwtop lid—I am a simple person—and I love milk chocolate ice cream, which is difficult to get around here.   That night, I sampled a spoonful.

I’m fond of ice cream.  We have an emotionally satisfying relationship.   I’ve even been known to down a whole pint now and again.  And again.

But please believe me when I say that I’ve never been tempted to describe ice cream as a holy experience—and I’m not tempted now.

This is a pint of sex.

oooooOOOOOooooo

Shifting gears, now.

Can anyone tell me what this is?

It’s growing at the end of our driveway.

I thought it was a lily of some sort, but I really don’t know.

oooooOOOOOooooo

If I was three feet tall . . .

Sunny was bored the other day, and I was busy, so I gave her my camera.  This is what life looks like when you’re knee-high to a duck:

 First of all, you’re a lot closer to your feet.

 And turtles.**

                 

Tall people always put money, car keys, and phones out of reach. And art appreciation is a real pain in the neck.

 But one can always create a three-dimensional interactive floor collage. This one is called,
“A Few of Sunny’s Favorite Things”:

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*And before a few of you comment, I am not a cougar—I respect his talents as an actor.  And anyway, he was born in 1976 and the fact that I knew that date off the top of my head is not relevant in the least.

**Yes, turtles are the serendipitous, unplanned theme o’ the week.  This one was my birthday present a few years ago from my MIL, because nothing says affection like a sixty-five-pound concrete turtle.   His name—the one he came with—is Shelley, though before we moved him out of the way, his nickname was Ouch-Damn-It-My-Toe.   I love him.