Christian fantasy literature, and commentary on assorted subjects
The title of the old jazz classic says it all.
Yesterday, if you remember, was pretty positive and I felt great by the end of the day.
This morning, I went into the bedroom. I don’t go in there all that often, because I spend most of my time downstairs and have been reserving the bedroom for the next big project. I had been in there about 4 days ago, and when I went over to the bed this morning, there on my nice, blinding white sheet were several piles of mouse poop.
I was totally disgusted.
We never had mice in this apartment. Ever. Not in almost 50 years.
Well, now I’ve got ’em.
Does it have to be something every day? Always a new, seemingly monumental problem for me to have to rectify all by myself.
It may not sound like much to you guys, but it’s yet another thing on my plate. I’m running out of patience and my coping mechanism is wearing out. If I could just get a break. A real break.
I’m telling you, if my daughter lived in this state I would have just gone out, turned on my car and driven to her house.
Tomorrow, I will address this. I have peppermint oil, which is supposed to repel rodents, so I’ll bring that into play.
I’ll ask God to give me a hand. I know I will be sweating the Hanta virus while I vacuum it up (I’m a germophobe), but somehow it will get done.
Sorry about the rant, but who else can I complain to?
Have a good night, all.
See you tomorrow.
God bless everybody.
Patty
From March 2, 2025
We expected great things from Mr. Pudding and His Newts. Violet Crepuscular, the Queen of Suspense, had promised them to us! Sort of, at least.
But as we enter Chapter DCCCXXXI (or whatever–ask me if I care), we are informed that Mr. Pudding has been trodden underfoot by the stampeding mammoths, and then picked up and eaten by the Cyclops.
Meanwhile, we have a letter from one of our readers… a Mrs. Hobbity Smith from Fort Mange, North Dakota [sound of envelope being torn open].. I’ll read it for you.
“Dear Ms. Crepuscular, Whoever you are–
“Your misbegotten novel, Oy, Rodney, once seemed likely to blossom into great things. It was wonderful! But I’m afraid the last hundred chapters or so would have turned out better if they’d been written by monkeys.
“I challenge you, I dare you, to write one–just one!–reasonable, entertaining, and coherent chapter of this so-called romance. Ye gods, how many chapters has it been since the title character, “Rodney,” was even mentioned?”
That’s as far as I’m going to read. It really is a very harsh letter. I am told Ms. Crepuscular’s mother used to write even nastier letters to all sorts of people who weren’t expecting them.
How do we keep Violet from seeing Mrs. Hobbity Smith’s letter? That could wind up in a duel!
Today was pretty good. The lovely weather is continuing, and I was able to set up a couple of things that I’ve wanted to do for a long time for tomorrow.
I feel like the inertia that has been bothering me has 
diminished.
So tomorrow should be good, too.
On that note I will close.
See you tomorrow.
Have a good night, all.
God bless everybody.
Patty