No, that means you’ll spread the wealth around!!
And on that note, I think it’s time to wind down. I’s tahred…
{{{wet one}}}
Hope that PT goes well and you feel better, rosie.
I went into Nashville today to heathenate after my committee meeting (I serve on the volunteer committee). Like baker, it helped salve the grief of the past week. Our meetup celebrated our three year anniversary this month and the service was a nice retrospective. For whatever reason, a couple who are friends and I keep winding up with new young people at our table for the meal after. Two of them today were a brother and sister from Mississippi. The brother is looking to relocate to Nashville (he’s a musician) and the sister is university shopping here. We were giving them pointers to day jobs and places to live. 
I would also like to read that sermon Baker and yours too swampy If’n y’all would post them.
I went down to Tír na nÓg. They ran out of Guinness:eek::eek::eek::dubious::dubious::dubious:
Obligatory song
Dinner is rainbow trout with rosemary and thyme, with orzo with a lemon, white wine, and butter sauce, with spinach with garlic and rosemary.
[Horshack]OOH! OOH! OOH![/Horshack]
And glad Attila is doing better. And please link to the sermon.
I feel ya. I’m a lousy housekeeper under the best of circumstances, and I’ve been really down in the dumps lately, and I’m afraid I’ve dragged the house down with me. I’m so overwhelmed that I don’t even know where to start. I really think it’s gonna have to be hiring someone to get me on track. (But I have to hire a stranger, even though I get hives just thinking about having a stranger help me clean my house. The thought of someone I know actually seeing my house in this condition is even worse…)
Glad to hear that the Hun is perking up. Like yours, my current critter is the first I can ever remember having a birthdate for - she was sort of a rescue, but from a friend who was going through a divorce, and couldn’t leave a 130-pound dog with separation anxiety home alone while he worked twelves. So Pandora will be 5 on January 29 - she’s 3 weeks older than Littlest Miss. But as a giant breed dog, I know she’s a middle aged pup now, and I dread the inevitable. (We lost our last Pyrenees rescue to osteosarcoma when he was only 5 or 6, so I worry about my sweet Dumb 'Dora.)
Gearing up for another school week here - ate “lupper” from Dairy Queen after picking up Girl 2.0 from her weekend Geek Convention. (They placed highly enough to compete in the state robotics competition, but alas! The armada team didn’t finish their cardboard and duct tape boat during the time allotted. It’s usually fun to watch the 2-person crew try to navigate those across the swimming pool. I think there was a Rube Goldberg machine competition as well, and maybe Punkin Chunkin’, but I haven’t seen those results yet.)
Got the Littles to bed now, so I’m going to force myself to tackle the mountain of unfolded laundry now. Sigh…
Dad and Mother dragged me to Cotter, Arkansas (near Mountain Home, if that is any help) to fish for rainbow trout. G-d, I hated camping, and fish. Eating fish still smells to me like cleaning out a really bad aquarium.
That’s one thing that I’ve made a conscientious effort to change since I’ve moved. My last apartment got pretty ugly at times, what with a commute of 65 miles a day and the fact that it was upstairs and hard to get stuff up and down.
This one, I’ve set up a cleaning schedule. Of course, any mess made is strictly mine. 
Iffn you ever find yourself in that situation again, see if they have some used Quaker State.
Puter & software was giving me grief; finally just delivered the engagement video I spent far too much time editing because the software kept locking up. :mad:
Great. Now I have a fever. Low grade, but still. :mad:
Well Peaches I just finished a mountain of laundry today so you have my sympathy.
I already don’t wanna go to irk tomorrow. Why me? Why?
if they semlt that bad, your parents were feeding you rotted fish.
Apparently you’ve never had a proper pint poured by a bartender from County Armagh.
If only it were just my mess. It seems like cleaning house is a big waste of time, when, for every one mess I clean, the girls, dog, and/or husband create 3 more. It is un-possible to keep up some days, and I feel too defeated to even try others.
Miss 6 is running a fever and feeling puny, so we’re sitting up together. She’s playing a game on the tablet, and I’m just reading stuff on Facebook. I’m ashamed to admit that I was looking through pictures posted from a friend’s family members’ memorial service, and judging the tackiness of some of the flower arrangements. Lily caught me zooming in on photos, and asked what I was doing. I told her that I was figuring out which florists to avoid.
(Seriously. My regular florist retired last month, and I’d be mortified if I sent a funeral arrangement that looked like one of those plastic and Styrofoam set-ups from the dollar store. Or a potted plant that looked like something growing in my pitiful yard. As a woman who owns 2 deviled egg trays specifically for funerals, along with summer and winter funeral dresses in 3 sizes, I have standards, dammit. Looks like I’m taking my business over to Eddie for the next unfortunate necessity, because Colonial must have a blind designer these days.)
butters, I’ll go to work for you tomorrow, if you’ll come finish my laundry. Pretty please?