Skip the Futzing

I thought that by instituting Middle-aged Musings Monday, I could take it easy on Monday. Kind of like I take it easy on Friday with Lame Post Friday.

Then I started thinking: Wrist to Forehead Sunday, Middle-aged Musings Monday, Mid-Week Musings, Lame Post Friday, Running Commentary Saturday and the newly discovered Non Sequitur Thursday (I know that puts them out of order, but I wanted to mention Thursday last). Am I writing a Mohawk Valley blog or am I just futzing around?

I guess today I’m futzing. I did not write a post on break at work. I wrote about a page on my novel that will probably end up being quite unusable, if I even finish the novel, which at this point looks doubtful.

Now it sounds like Wrist to Forehead Monday. OK, everybody, just put away your miniature violins, I’ll stop.

As a matter of fact, I dragged Steven and Tabby on a walk just now, thinking I could write about that. It was cold but not too bad. I had attempted a walk with Tabby on Sunday while Steven was at work and it was quite uncomfortable. We made it around one block and that was enough. Tonight’s walk was further and quite enjoyable.

I pointed out to Steven every Christmas decoration I noticed. Then I noticed myself doing that and apologized for being annoying. Steven didn’t mind. He really is a very good husband. Tabby, of course, wanted to stop and sniff almost every post, tree and patch of grass possible. We try to strike a balance between letting her enjoy herself and not taking all damn night about it.

At one point we could hear footsteps behind us so tried to pick up the pace a little. That is a noise that can sometimes make you nervous, especially after dark, but Herkimer is usually a pretty safe place, and for heavens’ sake it was prior to six p.m., not the witching hour (that may be a run-on sentence but I think it’s OK). Then I heard a car next to us click like somebody had used a key fob, so I figured that was footsteps’ car.

As we approached our house I heard wheels behind us, so looked back once or twice. If if was somebody on a bicycle I wanted to get out of the way. It was a lady with a stroller.

“Snowy! Snowy!” the kid in the stroller yelled.

“Every white animal isn’t Snowy,” the lady told him.

I turned around. “No, this is Tabby,” I said. Usually Tabby would want to meet the kid at this point, but we were in front of our house and she was into being home. The lady explained that her mother has a white cat named Snowy, so her boy thinks every white animal must be Snowy. We wished each other a good evening and she continued on her way while the little boy kept yelling for Snowy.

I asked Tabby if she wanted to change her name to Snowy, but she did not seem interested. Steven was pleased that we had walked for almost a half hour. As for me, I have written some 500 words and that almost always makes me feel better. Let that be a lesson to me: next time, skip the futzing.