Bailey doesn't look sick, does she? But we think that she's in a good deal of pain. During her treatment for a recent bladder infection, she became obstinate about getting up and going outside. I thought it was a behavioral issue. Now, I think that she is showing signs of arthritis. I had to pick her up and carry her out of the house on Sunday, and carry her to the gate so we could go for a walk. She gave a scream when I put her down. I didn't have a choice, when I call her for a walk, or to go outside to pee, she turns and attempts to find a hiding place. The same kind of reaction we're used to when she realizes that we're going to give her a bath. It is so weird, stressful, heartbreaking. Time for the vet. Rolf says he's heard Glucosamine and chondroitin are supposed to be very good. We don't know if greyhounds can handle it. We'll see.

The sign is at the beginning of the trail. It's a new sign, and about time. It is almost four miles around the lake, and if you didn't check out the path at the dam, you might find that you had to turn around and go four miles back to where you started.

Lake Accotink view from the marina. They'll bring the peddle boats out soon. The first weekend of June there is a Cardboard Boat Race Regatta here. It's one of the most joyous events I've ever seen.

This is the Lake Accotink Dam, in Springfield, and the flooded bike path after a big rain.

We were watching Amercan Idol on TiVo, at 8:45, and I got up to get another drink.

"What are you drinking?"

"Vodka."

"If you're thirsty, you should have water."

"I already had water."

"Why are you drinking?"

"I'm thirsty."

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. "

"Are you going to tell me?"

"There's nothing to tell, I'm fine."

"Are you drinking because you're: a) lonely, b) bored, or c) depressed?"

"No. I'm fine . . . I just wanted to have another drink, and if I don't have one now I can't have it because it will be too late."

"You're really beginning to piss me off."

So, I sat the drink down on the sofa table behind us. And I didn't drink it.

Until five minutes later.

7:45 pm Wednesday Drunk

I went to five AA meetings last week. Two on Thursday and friday, one on Saturday; and on Sunday, I insisted on having mimosas to celebrate our fifth anniversary of the day we put a contract on this house. I'm sitting in the back yard now, on our bargain basement priced Martha Stewart garden set overlooking the lake, listening to the birds, looking longingly at my empty martini glass.

Rolf is picking up Chinese food on his way home. Bailey is sacked out in the sunroom. That's all she does these days . . . except for pee on herself and everywhere else. I keep her in the basement during the day. She can't hold it until I get home from work anymore. But, mostly, she's using a pee pad. The worst part is she won't come when called. She just starts shaking and refuses to get up. It's so strange. She's just come off a course of antibiotics, so the pee problem isn'.t as terrible as it was last month. But she is scared to death to go outside. And since we're trying to restrict her water intake until we get home, and then insist that she go outside every and and a half hours, we have a lot of attitude to deal with.

There's a big robin in the yard, a few feet from me, yelling at me. It must be the daddy. Or maybe not. Their nest is in our bay window that looks out from the dining room overlooking the lake. And neither mommy or daddy is sitting on the eggs. Man, the eggs look like they're cartoon eggs. So big and blue.

I applied for a job today. I hope I get it. It's at the company I worked for before this job. If I work there just for two weeks, I'll be fully vested in the retirement plan – it will be like an eight thousand dollar bonus. I shoulda known.

I haven't seen my folks in a while. They haven't called, I haven't called. But I did invite them up for brunch on Sunday. I hope they're doing well. I last saw them on my birthday, January 28^th. I'm a bad son. Shannon, CFB, and their daughter Briana have moved out from Mom and Dad's into their own house. Which is great, and it sucks. But now there's an empty apartment available in their basement. I hope a nurse moves in.

I'm directing two shows in the next twelve to eighteen months, and I don't have a music director for either of them. Wow, the politics of getting a music director is hard. Do I really have to make each candidate believe that he is my first choice? I've really really got to get that set.

The end.

Robin's nest on the windowsill.

It's 5:15 Saturday. I'm sitting outside looking at the lake. Couples and families, some with dogs, are walking on the trail, always stopping on the bridge to look at the lake. There is a small tree in bloom, but otherwise the trees have not leafed out yet, so the view of the lake is is clear. Most folk are wearing sweatshirts, but I'm sitting here in shorts, tee shirt and sandles. It's not cold. The sun is still shining, but soon it is going to rain.

Puck and Memae came over last night for dinner, cards, and guitar hero. That was a blast.

Rolf and I spent the afternoon working on the yard, which is a mess. But it will come together.

I went to the bank this morning with the Springfield Community Theatre folks this morning to sign new signature cards. We're planning our next season to include a 50th anniversary gala. It was the first that Frank had heard of it. He was one of the original members of the group, back in the 1950's. The funny thing is, he said this wasn't our 50th anniversary. Anita insisted that the group was incorporated in 1957, but he says that they didn't incorporate until much later. Oy. The 50th anniversary gala is the center of our resuscitation plan for SCT, and it might not make any sense.

We have a full board now. I'm directing the next show. It's a cabaret called Pet Pouri, Song Stories of People and Their Pets. I'm trying to put together a team for that now, and also for the following show I am directing, for another group, called The Musical of Musicals. So, theatre wise, I'm pretty busy.

I haven't seen my folks in quite a while. I feel guilty about that, so I'm going to go down tomorrow, maybe, and see how they are doing and check out the garden. I hope all the daffodils I've planted over the years are doing well.

Well, not much to say. I'll try and get back into the groove of blogging.

All the best,
Vig

I think, I'm back. Hi.

Hello. It's a beautiful spring afternoon. Almost evening. Rolf is on his way home from work. Bailey is lounging on the deck, and I'm sitting in the sunroom, sliding glass doors open, watching the the geese and joggers on the trail. Oh, and of course, I'm having a martini. Perfect.

Now, If I could only stop at one . . . ha!