Sorry I'm so late.
I was busy blowing stuff up.
I went away on a hunting holiday. I missed a wild pig (badly) on Sunday night, but shot many quail on Monday. It was kinda-sorta a work thing, but with a bunch of outdoor writer buddies (who, of course, gave me several minutes of grief over a very fine petite Syrah for missing a 30-yard broadside shot at a 170-pound pig).
I'm starting to show my age.
Which will be 44 on Tuesday (at 12:29 p.m. exactly).
I have horrible tendinitis in my right forearm.
I got asked if I always had that much gray on my temples.
My back hurts.
But I'm going to show everybody.
I got a voicemail from the head of the mentor program in town (like Big Brothers/Big Sisters), and she wants me to take part in a fundraiser between her organization and our county women's refuge.
Dancing with the Stars, Shasta County Style (which must mean Country and Western dancing).
I'm going to do it.
Great cause - and I've got several months to practice.
Plus, I don't mind making a fool of myself for kids and abused women.
Dance lessons, anyone?
Oyi! My hip....
Twist and Shout? - The literary twist considered
2 hours ago