Stoking the Fire

I have not left home all day, so I have no rants about road rage, local denizens using the byways as recreational areas, surly and/or toothless gas-station chicken-servers, poor clippers at Great Clips, or the world in general conspiring against me.

Most of the day was devoted to laundry, and intermittent petting of my new puppy, Juno. This was her first full day out of her pen. She made the most of it, sniffing around in the yard amidst the chickens, snoozing in a puddle of sun on the porch, giving the big dogs a wide berth, keeping a wary eye on the cats, and snuggling under my chin like an infant each time I went out to pick her up. She is now safely ensconced back in her wire and wood hut, to slumber on her freshly-aired afghan through the chilly night.

I have inserted several irons into the fire this evening. An entry has been made (under my actual name) in Chuck Sambuchino's The Worst Storyline Ever Contest. I found out about it here. Sixty words was an exercise in paring for this ol' gal. One thing I am not noted for is my brevity. Even this post about having nothing to post about is growing lengthy. If further inspiration strikes, I might just submit a second entry. Don't cost nothin'. And two per person are permitted. There were 188 of them last time I checked.

Heating up to a red-hot glow in that virtual fire are two rods I will refer to as Soup 1 and Soup 2. The deadline is October 3 for Chicken Soup for the Soul's "Messages From Heaven" topic. I can't let such an opportunity slide. My grandma went to all that trouble to come back and make my lilacs bloom in September, and to open the kitchen door when Hick was installing her old cuckoo clock onto our wall. She deserves a shot at recognition. And I can't leave out my dad, what with him patrolling our home and sending us visual, auditory, and olfactory messages for the first six months after he passed away.

Time to go stir the embers.