Tuesday, May 2, 2017

I'll Take It

Well, phew, as my Russian grandma never said, not once in my presence. She was more of an "oy veysmere" kinda worrier. So pardon me while I start this blog over. "Oy veysmere," as my Russian grandma might say, "we can put the picket signs away... for now." The SJG was ready. I'd practiced my walking and my not-very-good chanting. I'd even relocated my red WGA 2007 strike shirt in the back on a closet, which in and of itself was a miracle. I was ready to give it a good wash when, spank my tush and call me Chana, the two sides reached a "tentative agreement," which is a much bigger miracle than me finding my strike t-shirt, but for dramatic purposes, let's just say two miracles are better than one. Most days, we get zero miracles. Yesterday, two: A lost tee. A tentative agreement.
The photo that made us fall in love. 

And wait, there was a third miracle, one I would've missed if I hadn't received a thoughtful email reminder. According to my veterinarian, Sir Blakey, Rescue Pup/Squirrel Chaser Extraordinaire, turned four on Monday. Why didn't I remember this? It might have something to do with the fact that hubby and I made up a birthday for the spunky lab mix of questionable lineage. He arrived at our doorstep sans birth certificate. It was a miracle he found us, and vice versa. Unbridled joy and sleep deprivation followed. I'm just hoping Sir Blakey will forgive my absentmindedness. Next year, I'll do better.

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