my alternate reality

I hear there was a big sporting event on television? I'm one of the very few in the USA who cannot be counted in the ratings numbers. I'm not a sports fan, and no one even pretends I am and invites me to a party. In past years, I've done long distance drives or gone shopping during this time period--because there's no one on the road or in the stores. I usually love these moments, when I get the highway or grocery store to myself. It wasn't meant to be this year.

The professor was away on business and after a few days of all dogs, all the time, I was looking forward to human companionship. You see, I'd already knitted this mitten out of the special Grafton Fiber Batt with the great color transitions--but the mitten was too tight and I want to use every bit of this batt, so here's what it looked like before I ripped it out. I'll try again when I get my patience back, I figure.

So, ok, no problem. Then the professor calls from the airport and says, "Umm, not feeling so good. Maybe a fever. I'll call you when my plane gets in." About 4 calls later, the professor lets me know that he is about to drive home, without his luggage, and nope, not feeling any better. I start defrosting that chicken broth, the kind I have saved for this sort of occasion.

The professor drives the 70 miles from the airport and just about falls into the shower and bed. It's about 6 pm. Dinner was practically non-existent, but I got soup into him. I walk past the living room---and someone (I'm not naming names here, but the pawprints looked like Harry...) has had an accident right on a dog bed that matches the living room and that Sally's been favoring. There are Harry sized wet pawprints all over the wood floors. This looks like someone's sick or vindictive. Harry's prone to the latter.

The professor starts moaning upstairs about whether he should cancel an important meeting on Monday. I put the dogs outside and start mopping parts of the living room and hallway and while I'm at it, why not mop the kitchen floor? The dog bed is hard to clean...the outside cushion and sheet inside pop in the washer, but the cotton and wool batting on the inside is soaked through...no small feat. I wonder if the dogs have been doing the water chugging competitions again. I throw it away. All of it. At this point, I've seen enough illness for one evening.

Everyone lets me sit quietly by myself on the couch to watch a Jane Austen special for just a little while and regain my calm. Then Harry goes outside again and starts barking his head off --- and I start yelling into the darkness of the backyard. It wasn't good.

I'm getting into bed around 10. Everyone else here is in their bed (or crate). The phone rings. "Hey, we found the professor's luggage? Can we bring it by at, say, midnight? We'll leave it on the front porch."

The professor thinks this will be just fine until morning...but Harry disagrees, so after midnight, our little man dog barks to wake us up to go get that suitcase. It was a long night.

I did finish my second zafu, this one is bigger still and made out of Icelandic wool, and I'm hoping that I'll be able to get it safely to the art gallery. I'm hoping the black cloud that's been hanging over this household has moved on already. I'm thinking that maybe next year, if I'm invited to a party? It might be safer just to go.