A Quick Update on Mr. D’s Lost Ponytail

This is really not an update, because I never informed anyone that my husband, the dear Mr. Demonic, had a ponytail, much less a lost one.

I only bring this up because a couple of posts ago, when I was mentioning Mr. D’s silver-topped head, I remembered that he had his ponytail (from his high school, hippie days) stashed somewhere in house. I thought I would look for it, photograph it and show it to all of you here in the cyberworld that he did indeed have very brown hair. In fact, Mr. D’s hair, upon graduation from high school, was much longer than my own upon my graduation from the very same institution in the same year but a thousand miles away.

The ponytail was (I thought) safely secured in my hope chest, the very same one that contains every letter we wrote to each other while dating (about 1500 total), as well as my original Earth Shoes of 1975, and the rose petals of every bouquet he gave me. Imagine my surprise to find it mysteriously vamoosed.

Perhaps I had taken it out and put it somewhere else? That has happened in the past. The Demonic household has managed to procure so much junk, it’s amazing. Even though I make it a special point to throw away “stuff” with regularity, we are still inundated. We have had several things turn up missing over the last couple of years. For example, my mother-in-law’s ashes, a half dozen old swords – collectible, but not worth much, money, one of my paintings from college. Some of the missing we have attributed to Ms. MiniD’s friends, some we just don’t know.

Alas, but after overturning the entire house, I have failed to locate Mr. D’s ponytail. Mr. D doesn’t seem very worried about it. We still have the photographs to prove that his hair was long and brown.

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Back to General Silliness…

My husband, the Dear Mr. Demonic, went out of town yesterday. I think he’ll be back today. He’d better be back before the symphony tonight, as we have a date.

I use the opportunity for an empty house to do things I don’t usually do. You know what they say… “when the cat’s away, the mice will play…” Well, I’m guilty as charged.

I used to do crazy stuff while he was away, like paint the bathroom or buy unfinished furniture and finish it. I don’t mind painting small bathrooms, and I really needed that little cupboard that I stained cherry to match my kitchen table. Ah, but that was years ago. My current take on the painting situation is that they have professionals that can do that, and much quicker too. As I get older, I find that I “need” less junk. I used that cupboard to store linens, and now I have decided to give my tablecloths and place mats to the Goodwill. The cupboard followed suit.

My initial plan last night was to knock off a couple thousand words on my novel. I really want to get to the end so I can start editing in earnest. Oh, but how plans can get waylaid…

First, my daughter, the Ms. MiniD, called from California. This call was nice; bubbly, full of news. She was positive, for a change. Of course, she was positive that she needed money, which was one of the purposes of the call. (The major purpose, if you want my opinion.) But it was not all “Mommmmeeeee, I love you Mommy!” which is normally how a call begins if she wants something. (Oh, she wanted banana bread too. I guess that chocolate zucchini cake didn’t sit well with her, although her roommates chowed it down.)

Ms. MiniD also thanked me profusely for sending her David Beckham poster. It’s a monster of a poster from Pottery Barn Teens, and she loves the Becks (or whatever they call him). Then she went into a long launching of how she needs to get a job, and how she hasn’t filled up the gas tank in her car since I left there three weeks ago. I was amazed at her resolve to let her tank go down to fumes before filling up again. Luckily, in California, there is no hint of hurricanes, so their gas prices will stay the same – high. Ours has already gone up 30 cents in anticipation of a storm that hasn’t arrived yet, and we live in the freakin’ Tundra!

I didn’t want to cut my daughter short. After all, I don’t get many happy phone calls from her, so I let her talk about her roommates, her classes, the food at the school, etc. This was a nice bonding experience, but the call cut into my precious computer time.

After the phone call, I got up to stretch my legs and get a glass of wine, when POW! the muscle in my neck (on the right side) spasmed. I had been fearing this happening for a while. It’s happened before, and I can tell when it will happen again. I have to blame my current condition on carrying a huge purse. My doctor says I should stay away from heavy purses, and usually I do. I started carrying this massive tote on my trip to the Left Coast four weeks ago, you know, to have everything handy just in case. After I got home, I neglected to change purses.

Wine and Advil go great together, but the pain was too intense for a long sit-down with the computer. I managed to write a book review that I needed to get out, and that was it. The situation called for another glass of wine, a ThermaCare wrap, and digging the heating pad out of the junk drawer. After a night of sleeping with a rolled up hand towel under my neck, I feel a little better. Not much, but a little.

As for the general silliness, my internet ex-boyfriend (MIB) and still-friend and I participated in some real whacko nuttiness on the instant message the other day. Our conversation took a turn to the weird and funky. We decided to collaborate on a sci-fi fantasy novel set in space. As he is the bona fide scientist, he will provide expertise on the technical aspects, and I will concentrate on the interpersonal. The funny thing is that we live thousands of miles apart and have never met. We plan on never meeting until after the book is published. Maybe not even then.