A hawk, a quail, the promise of spring
It's been difficult to be inside, as the weather has been unbelievably fantastic here, and every one has spring fever. We're pretty spoiled in Nor Cal. The winters never really get that cold, and are still relatively short. The next few days look like 70 degree weather, which means two things: 1.) all of the cute boys emerge from their cocoons and 2.) allergy season is here. Last year I went to the allergist and I had the pleasure of getting a series of shots to test what exactly I was allergic to. The allergist first writes a series of numbers on your forearm with a pen. The number amount depends on what they plan on testing you for. Then, she pulls out this little tray full of individual needles. Each needle corresponds with a number written on your forearm, and each needle has a specific allergen, like essence de cat or l'eau de pollen. Then, the sadistic bastard pokes you with each needle. Do the math. That's 40 shots! Pleasurable it was not. Then, if you are allergic to something, the spot that the needle was inserted will swell up in response to how allergic you are to something. I ended up getting these huge, nasty welts that lasted for three days. I found out that I was truly meant to be a city dweller, because because I'm allergic to most of nature (certain groups of trees, grass, pollen, and flowers). I might as well be Bubble Girl.
Yesterday I had a lovely brunch with Mrs. Sellner and Cuckoo. I drove into the Sunset to pick up Cuckoo and it was miraculously sunny. Every body was out and about; it almost looked like a normal beach town. It was even sunny for the entire weekend!
Anyway, Cuckoo and I trekked down to the vast, flat, expanse that is the South Bay, and ate at Hobbee's in Campbell, which is known for their blueberry coffee cake. Yum! Mrs. Sellner is active in community theater and both Cuckoo and I have sat through many musicals to show our support. Her latest endeavor was her first choreography gig for a kid's musical. At brunch, Mrs. Sellner sadly informed us that she wasn't able to get us tickets, and although I was kind of disappointed, I was secretly delighted to not have to sit through an afternoon of children dancing and singing off key. Yes, I'm a grouchy beast.
News on the query rejection front: I got my first handwritten note last week from the editor at Self magazine. It was a minor step up from the last rejection, which was just a signed form letter. I got a short "Thanks for your thoughts" at the end.
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