Musings on time and puppies

Tomorrow is the last day of August. I'm not at all sure where the month went. It seemed to just happen, without any startling moments. Okay, launch of my new book was a high but not startling--I knew it would happen. Otherwise, the days just seemed to blend into each other. Sometimes I think this is good--I don't want to be thinking, "Omigosh, is it only Tuesday?" You know what they say about time flying when you're having fun, and I guess that's what happened to me. But at my age, I always hear "Time's winged chariot drawing near." A big part of me doesn't want time to pass that quickly. I think I have to learn to savor every minute, but I do savor special moments: reading an interview with me on a blog this morning--http://lisahaseltonsreviewsandinterviews.blogspot.com/2011/08/interview-with-mystery-author-judy.html--check it out because I thought it read pretty well. And this afternoon, with Jacob standing on the porch, waving at the crossing guard, and calling "Mr. Booker, Mr. Booker." I explained the guard was too busy directing traffic and helping people across the street to hear him. We finally agreed that Jacob could go to the curb but not step off. To his delight, Booker finally saw him and called, "Hey, buddy!" Of course, every student at that school is Booker's buddy, but I didn't tell Jacob that.
Maybe time goes by so quickly because I'm occupied with animals (more than with writing, though I wish it was the other way around). I'm running this geriatric center for a dog and a cat--today I scraped my thumb with the sterile needle I was about to use to infuse Wywy. Bled and bled, and tonight it's sore. Sometimes I wonder if it's like a nursing home, where they're waiting to die, but both Wywy and Scooby have a good quality of life and I work hard to ensure that. Wywy can still get enraged by the puppy, but Scooby plays with her a bit. Again, I need to slow down and sit outside while the dogs play. I try to balance time with them, and this afternoon I left Sophie with Jacob and kept Scooby in the office with me. He was nervous and wanted to go to his bed. My neurotic dog! Can't do much about the cat except try to keep him healthy. Happy? Who knows with cats?
Sophie is a joy and a trial. We were at the point that we had one accident-free day and several with only one accident, but now we've regressed. Countless accidents today, even when I'd just taken her out. One was because I missed her signal but she gave no signal for most. The classic wisdom of grab her and whisk her outside does no good--by the time I make it to the back door from the office (her favorite pooping ground), she's forgotten the urge. Then again, right now she's curled at my feet, as sweet and calm as she can be. I just worry that she'll never be housebroken. It's been years since I housetrained a puppy, and my attempts with older dogs have been a failure. I'm a bit at my wit's end here--and a bit nervous.
I think back though to days when I watched mindless TV because I didn't have much else to do, days when I went to bed really early out of boredom, days when I didn't have much to do at my desk, and I thank the Lord for all the work that's piled up, for all the things I should do and haven't gotten to, for the busy life I have. I guess that's why time is flying--and I really wouldn't have it any other way. Life is good.

Daylight savings time, writer's doldrums

The time switch certainly did not work to my advantage this weekend. Jacob fell asleep on his own bed at nine (old time), so I struggled him out of his shoes, jeans and underwear and was about to put on a diaper when he fell out of bed, which woke him thoroughly. He declared he was not asleep: "My eyes were open!" Not. So I got him settled in bed, watching Star Wars. I thought I'd let him stay up a bit so he didn't wake me at six; besides, he'd fall asleep again, but no, he'd just taken the edge off. He promised me however when that DVD was over, he'd go "Night, night." Wrong! When it was over and I turned of the TV, he had a meltdown, wanted Mommy, etc. We called her, he calmed down a bit, and settled in bed, I thought. Pretty soon he came into the office announcing he wanted to sit on my lap. When I finally asked if he wanted to sleep in his bed or mine (dumb, dumb question), he said mine. We settled down, except I had to get up to get Froggie and Puppy and then again to turn off the kitchen light. He fell asleep quite quickly, but then he was all arms and legs and elbows and knees, and he slept crosswise on the bed. When I tried to move him, it was like moving a boulder--dead weight. I remembered the time when I was about his age and my grandmother came to visit--she slept in my bed with me. The next morning, she, a very neurotic woman, complained that I kicked her in the belly and made her ill. It's a tiny bit of guilt that stayed with me for years until I realized it was her problem, not mine.
This morning, I was sleepy, but Jacob woke at 8:30 (9:30 the old time, thank you) bright and happy, and we had a delightful morning. We did discuss last night's meltdown and decided to revert to our old rule: the TV goes off at 9:00--he calls it nine-oh-oh.
I've still got the rejection blues, pondering what to do with my mystery--self-pubish, go the small press route? I know that I rushed into a contract with an agent, so delighted to have someone interested in my work that I didn't ask the right questions or enough of them. This time I want to be deliberate and have a plan. I won't do another agent search--the manuscript has been shopped to all the obvious publishers, so what agent would take it on? But I'm convinced that Skeleton in a Dead Space has as much merit as many of the mysteries I read. And once again I'm distracted from the work-in-progress, which now has a title: Deadly Greens, A Blue Plate Cafe Mystery. I'm reading a book right now about establishing your social network platform--maybe I'll be inspired. The coming week is busy enough too that maybe I'll snap out of my doldrums. It's not like me to linger in them.