|This is a picture of the flooded Houston Temple taken by a Brother Boyd. When I find his first name, I'll post it.|
In reality the last two months have been crazy busy. We have a new Temple in town, which means we've been attending the cultural celebration, dedication, and visiting the new facility. It's a GORGEOUS place. More than that, it's a place of deep worship and unsurpassed peace. (It's not the one pictured above. That one is simply tying two thoughts together in a lovely way.)
Actually I don't come on this computer until after I've written all day, usually. I find it's much more productive to do that rather than sit for most of the day and rummage through other writers' newsletters telling me about their 15 new books and how I should join their million-chore extravaganza chucklecopter book giveaway. It greatly cuts down on my own productivity and ability to buy their books.
And what really bites my tail is when these authors decide to use something devastating like the flooding in Houston to sell their books. "I'm giving half my royalties from this book to the victims in Texas." My question is, how do they get their ten cents to where it needs to go? Also, I get my royalties quarterly if I'm rolling in luck. They must either have a better royalty system than I do, or they're just capitalizing on a horrid situation. If the last, I am disgusted by their mercenary practices. If the first, I bow jealously to a superior system.
|I couldn't catch the clouds of hoppers that jittered up with every step I made.|
The monsoon rains have made our random-generated pumpkin patch (leaves the size of dinner plates) explode, but have now gone away. I'd gladly take about a foot of Texas's water. I had to duct tape the hose back together to water the patch. Anywho, because of these giant leaves and succulent stalks, our yard is now full of grasshoppers. They're EVERYWHERE chomping into the stalks and hopping up my skirt or shirt. Bleah! And the pumpkins are dying off. I'd rather the grasshoppers die than our surprise pumpkins. (We toss our pumpkins off the roof and the spot near the wall is where we tossed the carnage.)
And on to a downward dog position. I'm on here in the morning to research Leptospirosis, a dog/human disease that kills dogs. You get it from dog or wild animal feces or urine. I'm petrified that my sweet dogeroo might have sniffed the wrong puddle. My dog pees on every vertical thing...sigh. I'm sure other dogs do that too. My oldest son kindly took our dog to the park where he loves to chase balls. And pee on things (the dog pees, not the boy). Now the dog is coughing a little bit, has some mild diarrhea, and seems depressed. I wonder how you take a dog's temperature. I'm guessing it's through his bung hole. I think I'd rather row around Houston. We might have to look into a vaccination. And a rowing vacation.
Welp. I'm off to write. And call a vet. And smash about a bazillion mosquitoes. The grasshoppers are a write off. Except I'm smashing the one that just jumped down my cleavage while taking the picture.