A burned out clutch at an ATM has kept us Green Bay-bound for the holiday. My father leaves tomorrow, alone, free range turkey-less for Michigan, and Ryan and I are holding back, hoping to find a way to get a car repaired before Sunday (as he has a meeting on Monday; it also happens to be my first day at the bookstore). I'm sad not to see my grandmother, and I'm also sad that Penelope and Zephyr are kenneled (though exercised five times a day, advertisement states) when they could romp around with their pals Sassy and Chance.
Who are not, by the way, pictured above. Instead, I bring you Lanie (the black lab in the second picture) and Madison (the husky-collie-golden-lab mix in the first and third picture), my parents' geriatric dogs, the dogs that were my puppies when I was a teenager. Now Madison has cancer, or something along those lines (the vet is not certain, and could only be if he cut her open, and no one wants to put her through that now), and leaves my father guessing when it comes to eating--lately, it's only been McDonald's hamburgers. Lanie is still hanging in, though she has these horrifying cysts that give her a camel hunchback. Aging gracefully, you see.
This is the way it is though: staying awake with the novels I meant to read and pass on to my grandmother, knitting little washcloths and dishrags (and other, more secret projects), fighting to stay awake, restraining myself from borrowing the family car to rescue our dogs from boarding so they can come romp here in the snow and kick me out of bed, as they are bound to do.