So, the month of March was interesting. Bit of a cancer scare. The threat runs in the family. Beautiful eyes. Mordant wit. Cancer.
So, we did the usual dance. Inconclusive. We danced again. Nada. Then We
I got my "get out of jail free" card last week. And any cells that were even
thinking about being cancer are gone now.
The good news came on Thursday. Friday was our tenth wedding anniversary.
There was much rejoicing.
We drove to Santa Cruz on Friday and saw what was, I swear, the very last
Monarch butterfly left in the nesting grove near the beach. The ten thousand
others have gone to Mexico by now.
We called him Bob.
We think that Bob was left behind to lock up.
Bob was quite the wild guy in his youth but he's very responsible now. I
worry that Bob has become too responsible. In fact, he's headed into
earnest and he's approaching grim. I've advised him to travel, see some
friends. Lighten up. You don't have to help *every* flower, Bob. Just be
decorative for a while.
To my credit, I think, I *had* worked on the stress quite a lot before the
Doctor got that funny look on her face. I wrote the notice officially
canceling the Witches Ball, prior to that, really I did. In fact, I wrote
it over and over and finally took out the flinty bits that were sticking out, like caltrops, in certain paragraphs. These were made of earnest. And a bit of E-goo. Sharpened by Feeling Let Down by Certain People Who Should Have Known Better. When I go all Victorian capitals like that, it's not good. Not good at all.
The staff deserved a celebration and public thanks. I'm glad we could end it that way.