It's just an introspectively quiet night at home on a Saturday.
The boy was put to bed almost an hour ago and the dog was just barking at god-knows-what out in front of the house. I walked upstairs, looked at him sternly and he wagged his tail. Like I can actually expect him to understand that his little brother is sleeping in his crib and he should keep the barking restricted to outside or something.
Amy returned from Lethbridge this afternoon with a digital camera chalk full of pictures of our soon-to-be new puppy. She's very cute. (Pics to be posted on Monday when I get them uploaded.) Her's name's going to be 'Farley'. This was my suggestion to my wife a number of months ago when the serious idea of getting another dog cropped up. It's my wife's maiden name and seemed like a decent one to assign to a pooch of either sex. (Yes, I realise that it seems a little odd to assign one's wife's name to a dog; and that it could be construed as something less than flattering. Thankfully this is not the case and my darling hazel-eyed-beauty was relatively flattered. So are the in-laws. Score!)
The aforementioned beauty is still out tonight. As soon as she got back from being south overnight, she quickly changed, had some lunch and was out the door for her second evening at a part-time job.
We went to a 'SaladMaster' cookware dinner demonstration a couple weekends ago. We were, and are, in absolutely no position to make that sort of investment in cookware, but my wife's effervescent personality attracted the attention of the fella doing the demo, she went for an interview a couple days later, and now she's assisting at these things. You go girl!
Now I'm thinking that I'll spend the rest of the evening, though it's almost 10 PM, curled up in the living room 'Comfy Chair' with the sixth and final Lymond book. Damn fine series to be reading; it just pains me somewhat that it's taken me almost a year and a half now to get to the end of a six-book series. That would have been a month's endeavour five or six years ago. There is a stack of eight books on my bedside night stand, glaring at me every time I go to sleep. It's like they're saying, HEY! See this dust on my dust-jacket? It's not supposed to be literal, pal. Get crackin'! That's just the one on top. I can't hear the ones underneath because their voices are muffled. I guess that makes them the Charlie Brown books.
Reading and squash. Those are the two things, extracurricular sorts of things, that I sorely miss from when I had more TIME. Apparently it really does keep slippin', slippin', slippin'... into the future.
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