Sifting through the pits...

So much for my bowl of cherries. Nasty cold blindsided me Monday, and kept me curled up in a feta position on my memory foam all day. Didn't even eat anything, that's how lousy I felt. I managed to rise up from my bed of pain and make the first session of my eight week class, thank HP, because otherwise I would have had to drop it. Not one that can afford any absences. And once again, today, I made it to Art History, to catch up with those slippery Egyptians, Khufu, Khafre and Menkaure, try to get back in the saddle. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, you would think that having two dogs would mean some puzzlement over the messes all over the house, but not so when one of them is the Pickle. Honestly, I chose this little hellion because of the ten serene years I have spent with her big brother Boo, thinking that this puppy would be mellow and sweet as he is. Alas, not so. If it is down there, Pickle will find it. Stuff out of the waste paper basket all over the living room floor. Stuff out of the pocket of my book bag all over the office floor. Stuff off the coffee table all over the bathroom floor. And let's not even mention all the stuff that winds up on the back lawn. I am fond of baskets. I have lots of them. Most are in various stages of being shredded, slowly, by teeny tiny teeth. You can see the wheels turning in that tiny mind, just waiting for me to turn away. And my attention has not been on her nearly enough lately, as I wend my way back to health. Oh, well, it's temporary.