Happy Days

Last year we had a quiet house. Just GB, myself and one of the offspring. The two peacocks off about their business, one in sunny Spain and the other residing with his lady love in the same city but it might as well have been on a different planet. There was no oonce-oonce music, no damp towels gathering mould under beds, no size 12's lying around waiting to be tumbled over, no dirty dishes growing mould beside the couch. Tasty edibles always available. It was very nice. And quiet.

But, now, they are back. The fruit of my loins, the reason for my existence for so many years, for various reasons, have returned to the nest. Oh joy of joys.

The damp towels are breeding. The bedrooms seldom see the light of day before noon. The oonce-oonce is a constant background rumble. The fridge is always empty. The lights are on all the time. The dog is ecstatic. The friends call constantly for entertainment and to help empty the aforementioned fridge. Late nights. Sore heads. These things, you might say are all part and parcel of family life. And you would be right.

But you know what drives me crazy?

The 27 odd socks that I counted today.

Spring

Funny how a seemingly innocuous, random, run-of-the mill visit to a medicine man can stop you in your tracks and turn everything slightly upside down, inside out and every which way but the way you expect it to be.

Today, as I closed the surgery door behind me, I watched my life passing me by as I waited for it to begin.

Auto-immune disorder. No cure. Live with it.

O.k.

Bring on the dancing girls, raise high the roof beams, throw off the winter woollies, smell the rain, shake off the hibernating cobwebs.

To hell with the to-do lists, I'm busy breathing.

Lizard Fatigue

I suspect that lizards really only come into their own when the sun shines. They don't much like the cold weather. Frost, snow and ice are like the kiss of death to some of them.

Credit to Mr. Newberry for his diagnostic skills.