Remissedness

I've been too long between posts here, and my bumblest apologies for that. I have no excuse. Just didn't do it.

I did write a fair to middlin' short story that I've heaved in the general direction of Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine, though. Fingers crossed on that one. Starting a second (I've basically figured out the who, why, how and when for the victim, and the approach to the story, including a couple of reddish herrings. Just have to actually write it now.

The entire fam damly has been smacked with some weird cold/flu hybrid, filling sinus and nasal cavities with stick green goop, chest with hack coughy stuff and the throat with sore.

In other words, blechh (<<-- there's no spell check for this word. Trust me on it).

The house echos with sniffs, sneezes and coughs.

Except for the dog, who watches us like we are the sorriest pack of animals she's ever been associated with. I swear, she's thinking about running away to a happier, healthier packs of animals. Like wombats, or tassie devils.

But enough of that.

Spring is in the air. Trees are in bloom. Soon the Jacaranda in the back yard will look like the neighbourhood pimp, decked out in it's finest purple, trying to lure the local insects for, um, you know.

It's been a warm winter, and it's likely that it's going to be a hot summer. It was a very hot summer last year. Some of you fambly members may remember the 42 degree days, sitting outside in the shade, drinking as much cold stuff as possible while trying to keep your hair from lighting on fire. I think it's going to be more of the same. I may invest in ice futures.

Almost two years ago (December 2007) we had a bit of a hail and wind storm, dropping a few trees (one on the house) generally making a mess of the place. There's a stand of pine along the driveway, perfect height to drop on the house. A few were culled, and the trunk, about three feet across, left along the house cut in 8 inch lengths.

We (and by we I mean my wife and son, for the most part) have split these and we've (and be we've I mean me) have been burning them on our co-o-o-o-ld winter nights.

Holy mother of god.

The sap in those pine trees burn like some petroleum by-product. Touching the wood you'd think it was wet, but toss it on the fire and look out. Fire was actually dripping from a burning log.

And there are still about twenty of these puppies along the drive closest to the house. What psycho planted living Molotov Cocktails that close?!?

If there's a bush fire within, oh, I don't know, twenty miles of the house, Lin and I are grabbing the kids, dog and my Sopranos DVDs and getting the hell out.

Hoping it won't come to that,

Cheers,

Tony