Hello to all,

I write in the mornings while drinking green tea, which I buy in bulk. My tea is more robust than the bags I buy at the store. The ideas pour out of me as I peck at the keys. Inevitably, the picture in my head becomes distorted, and the tea makes me want to pee.

The quick trip to the bathroom gives my cache of thoughts to alien in my head as I release the last mug of tea. Upon reaching the top step, I hear, “What’s up,” or “Whatcha doin?” from my loving wife in her craft room. It is like needing her permission to come upstairs during the daylight hours. After several years of doing this, I have run out of snarky responses.

Turning into the bedroom, Ginger, the queen of the house, wants me to acknowledge her to gain permission to pass. This includes a pet tax. If the proper scratch, rub, or attention is not paid, I hear moans of discontent until I pass through to go back to my writing.

I suppose Tammy’s need to know where I am in the house stems from our early years of marriage, when I would scare her. She would be sitting in her world, allowing me to sneak up on her and scare the bejeebers out of her. I found more joy in catching her in the showers with a hand around the curtain. Thirty-one years later, her internal proximity meter always tracks my whereabouts, seeking for me to gain permission to pass.

Then again, it might be that she has been a mom for twenty-two years and needs to control everything in the house. Nobody is allowed to do anything without her prior approval and permission. Everything evolves around mom and is done on mom time. Therefore, everyone needs mom’s permission to continue with life.

He Has Risen,
Danny Mac