Ever heard of the "best-laid plans of mice and men...?"
I was all set to finish up restoring a quilt, get some paperwork done and polish off all my errands... when Daughter #1 called: she'd dislocated her knee, doing the twist at a rockabilly concert in Boulder. (Hey, if you're going to get hurt, do it up right!) She felt terrible, and wanted to know if we could watch Jack the dog.
To make a long story short, Daughter ended up here for the weekend. (Charley was thrilled that Jack came along -- we are now into Chapter #37 of the "I'm a bigger, badder, more important dog than you" tournament, and both dogs have been having a wonderful time chewing on each other.) And, wouldn't you know it, we also had to fill in for Saturday night's worship team, as well as do our usual stint on Sunday morning. Three batches of music.
Then a committee meeting and lunch afterwards on Sunday. Sigh.
Other than a few precious hours with Daughter, munching pizza or drinking tea, we haven't had a weekend. The house looks like a bomb went off in it, including a decorative motif of dirty dogprints. (It snowed most of Sunday. My poor plants, newly planted in a flush of optimism, in our 70s temps? Everybody but the tomatoes and a few of the basil looks like they'll make it, thanks to the greenhouse, and coverings.) I hope to get the dishwasher loaded before I take Daughter to the doctor this afternoon.
The quilt's done, right? And the paperwork? Surely you jest.