Shake the ziggurat
The extended version of my family grew a little, overnight. Another “grandie” on the tree. There’s enough of them, now, that I can start planning that baseball team I’ve (never) wanted. Given that family reunions are rare, in my circle (the last one dates back to 2005 and only included a segment of that circle), I doubt we’ll actually lob any softballs, but the possibility is there. In any case, welcome to the newest member (and all those who joined before; I realize that I didn’t give you mention at the time).
Around the house, the dog and I spent the afternoon waiting for the recycle truck to stop at the end of the lane. OK, not so much me; the dog was waiting. He has a need to greet with loud shouts (not exactly catcalls, given his species). The truck, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to notice. Dog deaf? In other canine news, we learned that the doppelganger dog from two doors over is no more. He was here to see the house on the very first weekend; I didn’t recognize the swap on the first glance, but since he didn’t answer to his name, I had finally put the story in working order.
Happened to call up “my” old newspaper, from the archives just to review the story that almost ended my academic sojourn before it had any chance to take root. An exposé, poorly received by the important people on the pyramid, had left a small group of us waiting to be sent home without supper or citations. That didn’t happen, but I learned that a free press can shake even the most top-heavy ziggurat.
