So Long. It's been good to know you!

This is my last blog - sigh. It is suggested I tell you what I plan to do.

 In the 20 or so years we raised children, hopefully to be reasonable and decent citizens ( more or less), I couldn't hold to a schedule to save my soul. It just wasn't possible - especially when they were all teenagers at once. Four kids on five hockey/ringette teams, music lessons, soccer games, T-ball, soft ball, camps - those were the givens. Hospitalizations, flu, chicken pox, allergy to sulpha drugs, broken legs, teeth knocked out, teeth purposely broken just to see if they would (Oh Michael - not again. Stop biting rocks. Trust me, your teeth will break.) - those were the expected/unexpected. Life fit around them - sort of.

Sometimes it really did seem they were mice training to be rats.

And there were moments which are funny in retrospect: like the time the boys - age eight and nine - landed up in jail. The two youngest boys decided to steal a toy and trade it for bus tickets. These they used to go downtown. They went directly into Eatons, stole a video and were caught. Time elapsed - two minutes max.
The store detective turns them over to the police. Since I worked with the police daily, they knew Husband and me. (Husband has lived here all his life and grew up with most of them). Sgt. calls Husband. Husband goes to police station and talks to Sgt. Both howl with laughter. Why? Because M asked the Sgt. if he'd take $100 to keep his mouth shut.

But essentially, for 20 years, I didn't know if I was coming or going, been or went. Plans? You've got to be kidding! Hence, not knowing where I am or what I am going to do next has become reality for me. And you want plans?

Okay:
1. First I am going to shed many tears and sobs and get my feathers all wet. 'Madder than a wet hen'. I qualify. Always did.
2. Then I will clean up my office in case I want to find things - other than marks by sticky fingers. The youngest is 33 years old.
3. I will sit down at the computer and immediately get up to handle a domestic emergency. After 25 years in this house, Husband still doesn't know where we keep the roaster.
4. Answer the phone, and for the millionth time, assure somebody Craig doesn't live here. A wrong number - and he doesn't even spell his last name the same way we do. (sotto voice: he never did live here and never will if I have anything to do with it, you total and complete idiot! Get glasses for heaven's sake!). I would miss his buddies though - jerks that they are. Ever wonder what people who consistently dial the wrong number look like? I figure: bald, bug eyes, mouth hanging open, possibly drooling...
5. Then, I will turn on the computer and be told we are out of yellow ink. Send Husband for yellow ink. . Dispose of many dollars. Husband no longer dares to complain. I can be vicious, and/or refuse to cook until I have yellow ink even though we never seem to use it.
6. As per usual, I will hunt through zillions of files for what I want. After saying naughty words and drinking a quart of coffee, I will somehow remember how to retrieve them.
7. I find the file with the wip I want to work on. Don't want to work on it really. Need a nap.
8. Nap with dog, who naps all the time and instructs me in the finer points thereof.
9. Time to do all sorts of stuff because.
10. Realize column/blog is due. Phone Hazel to find out how to get into blog space to write on it.
11. Pace.
12. Write some damn thing and go to bed.
13. Phone rings. CRAIG STILL DOESN'T LIVE HERE YOU TOTAL IDIOT!
14. Phone rings. Despite his stupid opinion, I am not a bitch and I don't really believe Craig even exists - so there.
15. Can't sleep. Get up and read a romance. Go to bed. Hunk in question is not there. Get up and read some more in everlasting hopeless hope.
16. Look up one of Karyn's columns for picture of hunk who is not in my bed. Go to bed anyway, BUT NOT HAPPILY.

Oh you meant writing. Well, I will:

1. Get out of bed by noon because I waited and waited for dreamy hunk so I didn't sleep much. Is it because I am 69 do you suppose, have wrinkles and don't use Olay?
2. Choose a work in progress.
3. Choose another work in progress. Don't like it either.
4. Have a glass of wine in memory of Janet, who is probably walking on the beach with Taz. Humph. Grrr.
5. Decide to find a new idea.
6. Find one and don't like it.
7. etc etc etc
8. Feel profound guilt.
9. Put the roaster away.
10. Dream about being published since it is no go with hunk.
11. Sit on garden swing and try to find out what that soldier is going to do with that ring.
13. Feed goldfish in pond.
14. Go back to first complete draft of something and groan at having to revise.
13. Don't revise
14. Hit by incredible idea.
15. Write (thought I'd never get around to it didn't you?)

So that's about it. I will enjoy researching and writing,  but any revising will be done under extreme duress.

And some day, by golly, I'll be published.

I will miss reading your blogs and I will miss our readers and the helpful comments they have made.

So long. Take care. Stay in touch.

And God bless you every one

connie
constancesampson at hotmail dot com