Happy Beethoven’s Birthday!

Even Beethoven’s birthday is failing to cheer the household today. Everyone has been slightly nauseated all day. The dog isn’t well (he’s on a steroid to clear up that tracheal irritation and an antibiotic to clear up the bronchitis, but it makes him lethargic and not wanting to eat–and it’s not really supposed to) and that affects us all. He filled up with water from the steroids the day we were gone, but he seems to have gotten rid of that. His vet had a bunch of alarmist “possiblys” based on his blood work (elevated liver enzymes just like hubby’s, hmm), but I don’t really think it’s any of those wild things. If his lungs would just clear, poor baby.

My mother also has been coughing, hubby is at work trying not to throw up, and my uncle (her brother–also brother to my aunt who just passed) has a wrinkle in his cornea that’s causing a black shadow in his visual field. All of us put together wouldn’t even make ONE good one. Perhaps it’s the cold front that moved in; the weather doesn’t stay the same for three days in a row.

But anyway, we SHOULD be happy on Beethoven’s birthday. We’re going to keep on making the good ol’ college try.

Calling in a pizza. Sometimes you have to break that glass “in case of emergency.”


Author: shalanna

Shalanna: rhymes with "Madonna" and "I wanna," and is not a soundalike with "Hosanna" or "Sha-Na-Na." Aging hippie with long hair, husband, elderly mother, and yappy Pomeranian. I've been writing since I could hold a crayon. I started with fiction, which Mama said was "lying." “Don’t tell stories,” she would admonish, in Southern vernacular. “That's all in your imagination!” When grownups said this, they were not approving. So, shamed, I stopped telling stories for a few years--rather, I stopped letting anyone read them. I'm married to a fellow computer nerd who doesn't really like hearing about writing, but who reads sf/fantasy and understands the creative drive. I'm actually a nonconformist/hippie still wearing bluejeans and drop earrings and the Alice-in-Wonderland hair with headbands and sandals. Favorite flavor is chocolate/orange, favorite color is either Dreamsicle orange (cantaloupe) or bubble-gum pink, favorite musical is either Bye Bye Birdie, Rocky Horror, or The Producers . . . wait, I also love The Music Man. Is this getting way too specific and irrelevant yet? Obvious why I don't sell a ton of flash fiction, isn't it? To define oneself, I always say, it is good to make a list. How about a booklist? Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird Frank and Ernestine Gilbreth, Cheaper by the Dozen C.S.Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (all the Narnia books) J.R.R.Tolkien,The Hobbit/LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy Gail Godwin, The Odd Woman F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby J. D. Salinger, Catcher in the Rye (before dismissing it, actually read it) George Orwell, 1984 Kurt Vonnegut, Cat's Cradle Donna Tartt, The Secret History Mark Twain, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn James Allen, As A Man Thinketh Mark Winegardner, Elvis Presley Boulevard James Thurber, My Life and Hard Times The Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum Winnie-the-Pooh/House at Pooh Corner, A. A. Milne Peter Pan, J. M. Barrie The KJV and NIV Bible (each translation has its glories)

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