Forty-nine years ago, around 5 in the evening, our second son was born. (The day was Sunday, instead of Friday.) My husband was hunting. My doctor was playing golf. My mother was on call. She rushed over, told them to get that doctor off the golf course, and my husband came home just in time. This was an especially sweet time, since our first son lived only two days. So HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SON #2. He calls himself #1, which I suppose basically is true, unless you count angels.
It's another Friday. They sure roll around in a hurry. No good news to report. My mg historical returned home yesterday. With a FORM no thanks. Not my name, the story's name, or the anonymous person who sent it back. Guess they must have hated it. It's still at a couple of other places, but I think I'm going over it again and see what it needs.
I'm about ready for the Muse Online Conference. Ninety-five people have signed up for my workshop. Yikes! I hope I can say something halfway intelligent.
A calico kitten has adopted us. When (if) she gets tame enough for me to handle, I'll take her to the vet and let them fix her. We certainly don't need any more wild creatures around here, but I can't let them starve. I get so angry when people dump their unwanted babies in the country. We've seen it over and over again, and we either have to take them to the animal shelter, or keep them (which we have many times). Can't let the coyotes, wild dogs, or bobcats dine on the little ones.
Have a great weekend everyone.
Happy Writing.
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