good intentions.

There is a village on the Island of Grand Cayman named Hell. I have been there. The road to Hell is paved with asphalt, just like the road outside my house.

I was going to bathe cats yesterday, and then I sat down with Any Lane's book, Vulnerable , to read during lunch. Next thing I knew, DH was walking through the door and I had accomplished damn-all. It's been a while since I got sucked into a novel like that. It has vampires. Getting sucked in seems a most appropriate pun. It also has love and sex in quite un-missionary-like groupings, but it's deftly handled and avoids most of the ugly words (Except the f-bomb. That gets used as verb, adjective, adverb, noun and probably dangling participle. It sounds like high-school kids talking.) I am ordering the next book in the series today. Well-written and fully visualized contemporary fantasy. This is not the book to give your fifteen-year-old niece(my book is) but get it for yourself for a spicey treat. Like those jalapeno-stuffed green olives.

I did buy flea bombs, and on reading the directions, found that I have to turn off the pilot lights on any appliances in the rooms to be bombed. So that will have to wait till DH can help, because pilot lights frighten me. No, I don't have nightmares of being attacked by evil pilot lights. I'm just uncomfortable playing around with things that can kill you. I don't even like getting out on the freeway. DH is much braver and more confident about this stuff.

Lucia (rhymeswithfuschia) was talking today in her blog about the way things disappear and materialize, and attributes it to Elvis passing through. That makes as much sense as any other explanation. It's all up to Elvis. Lost those bamboo DPs? Elvis took them. Found a pair of shoes you don't remember buying? Elvis left them. All those mateless socks? Elvis has a prankish sense of humor. I hope he brings back the tattered shards of my memory some day. I have to keep stopping to ask myself, "Where am I going? And why am I in this handbasket?"