Ten-Finger Exercises

Dis 'n dat, a la mood

First, a little rant about reviewing. Do you find that reviews from newbies often lack substance? Just got one, much like the last three that have appeared from new people unknown to me, that said something like: "Terrific story! I loved it!" and then gave me a 4. Or fewer words yet: "Wonderful!" That earned me a great big 3.

There, it was a very short rant.

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I am an introvert. I do not particularly like large parties, unless I know lots of the people pretty well, and even then I go because Bill loves any excuse to be social.

Years ago, I went to mandatory Christmas parties for the large company my first husband worked for, or, before that, officers' club parties. I hated the former more because I was such a nobody. His co-workers might as well have looked right through me. Actually, I caught his boss always shaking my hand and looking past me for someone else to talk to.

The newly introduced person usually asked, "Are you a housewife?" and I was, and that was that. I used to wish I had some good opening lines, like the opening lines of a good book, that would stop the person in his tracks, intrigued by whatever I had to say. How's that for a dream?

I thought of telling people I was a romance writer, or a sex therapist, or an artist who always imagined what new people looked like without their clothes. But then I decided that only the creepy ones might stick around after those lines.

So I thought about telling people I did market research to determine what would most attract women to a new line of motorcycles, or I flew my own plane, or was writing a book called You're Okay, I'm Okay, God's Okay.

My latest mental amusement along this line would be to tell people (mind you, I've never done any of this) that I don't have to work, that I work only to make money to travel and to collect plot material. That is at least closer to the truth than any of the others.

Radical change of subject here: back to ranting. I bought a turkey because they're on sale, even though we'll be out for Thanksgiving. I cooked it today, and Bill said he thought it was done long before I expected it to be. I checked out a turkey website which said the interior temp now only needs to be 165 degrees, they've decided. It was indeed done. So what did he do? He went to the bedroom and is taking a nap! This is the man who keeps me awake until midnight when he finally decides to turn off the light.

When I finish writing, I'm going to go fix myself some dinner, whether he's up or not. Then I'll dutifully take the rest of the meat off the bone and package it for freezing, leaving some out for him. Then I'll take it down to the freezer, and iron shirts and watch some old episodes of Gray's Anatomy that I missed, due to the Tivo taping CSI which runs opposite. Then I'll come read blogs.

I intended to do several sewing tasks yesterday, but he wanted me to see various things he'd found online about the cruise we'll be taking, the shore excursions, etc., plus special Google Earth features, and whatever else intrigued him.

In case anyone is wondering about the cruise, after I said we'd wait until we go to Florida to see his new grandson who'll be born in January, I obviously didn't wait. I've always met people in the hospital and hospice who regret having put things off till retirement because it didn't happen for them. The week I made the reservations, I'd run into two of those. Then I saw that one of our patients wants her ashes sent back home, which is back east somewhere, to Wren's Funeral Home. That clinched it.