Barracuda Ringers and Sundry Goods

I feel it wouldn't be prudent to allow an entire month to elapse between blog entries, so here I am, hopping back on board the Internet for something other than purchases, e-mail and Facebook quickies (get your mind out of the gutter and check your dictionary, people!).  And yet again, I find myself in that same late-night quandary (no, not the "should I tune-in to Jay Leno or  re-runs of Law & Order: Criminal Intent" debate): go for the much-needed sleep, cuddled against the warm body of my deeply slumbering husband, OR follow my  heart to Blogger for a rendezvous with words and readers?

Though I've been away, my thoughts have not strayed far from this forum.  In fact, a healthy chunk of my everyday mental time is spent composing sentences and paragraphs about my hours, days and weeks, crystallizing events in my mind and breathing written life into them for you folks out there on the other side of this here screen.  Unfortunately, these brilliant and witty compositions don't always get the outlet they deserve.  Lately, 24-hours have not been enough to house all that I must do and all that I desire to do; unearthing that elusive 25th hour remains the impossible dream.  Every now and again, I believe I've managed to grasp it . . . hanging by my fingertips on the hour hand . . . only to be rudely awakened by my bobbing head when my neck muscles follow the lead of my droopy eyes.  Like NOW, for instance!  Ugh.

One of my last entries involved a tornado event which hit our town relatively lightly -- mainly tree damage and roof issues -- in comparison to the same-day monster twisters which wreaked total havoc in states like Alabama.  Well, life itself has been a series of mini-tornadoes in the Valdez Household within the past month.  Hank the Wonder Pup has evolved into, perhaps, the most long-term and demanding of these gale-force life storms!  How could I have managed to disregard teething, whereby one's new cuddly puppy begins to resemble a gangly toddler with disarmingly endearing floppy ears and barracuda-like pearly whites?  It takes a half-hour just to toss all those chewy toys, ropes and squeaker and sticks, into the doggie 'toy box.'  Or so it seems.  While Hank is partial to the section of rope attached to a cushy purple squeaking box, his owner -- if she was a canine instead of a human -- would relish sinking her sore choppers into the heavy black rubber mini-tire I came across at PetSmart last week.

I miss my loyal band of readers.  Though you are small in numbers, you are mighty in your curiosity, loyalty, and reliability.  Please, don't fail me now!  YOU tell ME what should come next in the blogs.  Do you want an update on Baby Brother Gary?  Are you salivating at the mere mention Sarah's graduation cake and all the elements of party, family, food and fun which accompanied it?  Are you wondering about the invasion of the 13-year cicada and the anxiety they have caused within my eldest child?  Or, perhaps, JUST perhaps, my mother's health is of interest to you?  Or the spilled paint caper in our carpeted stairwell?  Or my husband's new job?  My musings on military families?  Well?  Let me know.  Sooner than later.  I'll get started on connecting those dots and coloring the pictures.

While I'm anxiously awaiting your input, it would be best for me to get on with the bedtime snuggling.  My head is bobbing more than fishing line with a biter below the water's surface!  There!  Did you see that?  Chin-jerking to music that even I can't hear.