People! People! People!

Okay, okay, okay. So, the blog has turned into some odd obligation that I avoid like the weird cousin at Thanksgiving dinner. It could be that life has been so dreadfully dry that I need a three month break to glean information but that isn't true either. I just didn't feel like it. But I did today and this just might be sustainable.

Update (it's tacky but effective):

--It's June--I vaguely recall a spring that was hotter than two rats…well, you know…in a wool sock. June's here and it's lovely cool spring-like weather. Stupid global warming.
--The nine freckled girl and I went to Belize a few weeks back. It was lovely, breezy, and very relaxing. I spent the majority of my time lounging in a hammock. We were happy and tan and well rested.
--Tac, the Great Dane, is growing exponentially. We have deconstructed her kennel and now allow her to roam throughout our little city house during the day; causalities of said freedom:
1. My sleek caribou coffee leather mug holder. Is. Completely. Gone. We assume she's eaten it but lack the evidence (gross) to prove it.
2. Two Bibles, one pocket sized the other serious-study-size
3. Harper Lee's "To Kill A Mockingbird" (I believe this is a vendetta which I will explain below).
4. A blanket
5. My flip-flops (I'm still upset)

The Mockingbirds. Tac wakes up ridiculously early; I suppose I would too if I took naps all day. So at 5:30 she tip-toes (as well as 95 pounds of klutzy-and-not-so-sharp K-9 is able) up the stairs to see if we're awake. Which we aren't. But she sticks her cold, wet, dog nose in our eyes, just to make sure. I arise, don the closest pair of shorts and shirt (I have made some fashion STATEMENTS lately) and head for the morning walk. We have 45 minutes of unadulterated dog/dad time. It's great. So, we walk through the various sprinklers/misters which soak Washington early in the morning and begin our endeavor to exhaust each other. A brief side bar, Tac likes the sprinklers, she's discovered that sprinklers output water, which is her FAVORITE thing ever. She spends several minutes sprinting from sprinkler head to sprinkler head chomping at water like an idiot, while I, the dolt, am dragged behind looking like a the I-have-no-control-over-my-animal kind of owner in front of the Capitol police (we started taking another route). Sooo, yes, the mockingbirds. We like to walk on the National Mall, it's cool in the morning and empty (except for joggers) and Tac and I can trot along and enjoy the crunching gravel under our six feet. Until we get to seventh street. There is a magic line at seventh street, once crossed you enter the crazy birds of North West (we're South West snobs ourselves). Yes so, said kamikaze mockingbirds begin dive-bombing my beloved blue horse. Now, admittedly, Tac's not that bright, nor anywhere close. So, a bird flying down to pelt her on the backside must be…a toy! We spend the next several minutes trying to escape the assault while Tac, deep in thought, contemplates the toy's new direction. This. Happens. Every. Day. We return home. She sleeps. Wakes at lunch. Destroys something sacred.

I love routine.