And Gutenberg Lived Here: On Time, Its Essence, And Cha-Cha-Cha.

31- 12- 2017 here.

Still

And time for a quick look back at:

  1. Workin’ nine to five

And every other bizarre moment

of a

to others odd, but to me fulfilling,

way of life-

except, of course,

for the time I take off for to cook meals I have carefully researched to make healthy,

and nutritious,

and then have to put marg on,

since I am married to a man who doesn’t eat catsup,

or sauces,

but will eat almost anything,

even,  gasp! tofu,

if you put enough marg and spices on it.

2. And then there is:

time to write, of course,

and the music,

sometimes work, almost always joyful-

unless someone thinks that because they are the main preacher in a large cathedral

they thus have the right to pop up,

unannounced,

and play the banjo with us.

Or ask us, in front of an audience,

to sing the blues brothers with them-

or set their confirmation class, all young men,

in the soprano

to sing with us.

Hey, such is life.

Where else do you get to sing Just A Closer Walk,

and people applaud.

3. Then there is time to watch the news-

five minutes of the short broadcast,

before the craziness of all the murders,

and the thoughts that we know people in those cities-

London, Manchester, Paris,

and have even known people who had to pull small exchange students

age fourteen,

from an attack in a London tube,

sets in,

and gets to be too much,

But then, of course, there are the happiest moments of the day:

mealtime

or coffee,

with Harold,

laughing about funny events of the day,

or about something  his bright students said,

or something we watched in our mystery hour-

after many many years married to this man,

he has finally,

finally,

finally,

developed a taste for murder mysteries.

Yeah!

Even if he does insist on asking

scientific

or analytic

questions,

like why there are all those bizarre ways of murdering someone

on a sweet-tempered show like Midsomer murders.

Hey, burned as a cookie,

stabbed through with a blunt niblick-

almost nothing is from the registered poison lists-

really…

Actually,

one day, while playing the game,

his thoughts about a murder in a linear accelerator being a bit unworkable,

we had some thoughts about someone being found,

head buried in an ottoman,

dog teeth marks having ripped open the hole he is stuck in-

hint:  the Corgies done it.

But I think I’ll leave that for Midsomer.

If they ever get over their restructuring of the show-

hey, maybe the dog Sykes ripped the ottoman?

And stuck the new producer in it?

Anyway,

so this has been, for us, a year of

WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD.

Mostly due to the fact that a freak hacked my computer,

stole several of my book ideas,

and is now turning them into disgusting dog stories.

Featuring copious bad sex (they wrote that part, not me)

and a lot of blood and anger and violence (also not me)

and replacing the church (a marvelous baroque mini-cathedral)

by long descriptions of a white-tiled sterile kitchen.

(Maybe this person should eat before they write?)

And now, get ready,

the latest is that my book Murder At St Margret In The Fields,

about a conductor doing a special concert

for the consecration of the ancient monastery bones

found when expanding a church,

has apparently made its way onto a (fake news?) proposed for publication list-

due out supposedly in October,

Probably with sex with a fireman

in an ossiary.

I even got an “apology”

As a poke, no less.

Like I said, this has been a year to remember.

I’m sure it will find its way into a book.

In the meantime, though,

Harold and I still enjoy the little absurdities of life.

And looking back over my blogs this year,

we had a lot of them-

In January, for example,

I wrote about the elections, death in Stars Hollow, vampires, and the math of Christmas.

In February,

sexbots, pacing in the novel, the rehearsal comedy, hefelump gravy in the work canteen,

and donuts and cannonballs,

March was:

purple dumplings, pbj sandwiches, electronic clothes, hacking, and paleo-flirting

April: Easter minkies and other traditions, the epic battle of the Easter phylo,

and ‘elementary, my dear Watson.’

Which the great Sherlock never actually said.

And as for the rest of the year:

I won’t bore you with a list-

but perhaps you would like to see the rest for yourself?

If so,

you can find me, as always, at Dunnasead.co

which is,

as I just decided,

where you can find me

next week, ff.

If the good Lord’s willin’

and the creeks don’t rise.

Oh, and happy New Year to all of you out there.

And please keep the prayers

and good thoughts

coming

for all those decent, kind bloggers out here,

just trying to tell their stories.

Without hackers

and crazies,

and stalkers.

May this be the year of decency on the blog.

Life is good.

copyright dunnasead.co 2017  All rights reserved.

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