The dog ate my homework.

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Photo by Jason Mowry on Unsplash

I didn’t write the first blog for this week, because, I have had some weekend! Now, bear with me as I will tell you all the improbable, (I mean, exciting) things that happened to me that interfered with that most sacred of calling (besides religious calling, a calling to heal and a calling to teach, of course).

Saturday morning arrived as usual, and I got up to milk the cows and … um… roost the rooster. However, since we have neither cows nor roosters, I went back to bed and slept until noon.

I overslept and missed breakfast, so I whipped myself a couple of scrambled eggs for lunch, and decided to get right into writing my blog. But then, the strangest thing happened — an unforeseen solar eclipse … followed by an extremely rare day time lunar eclipse. Naturally, I had to watch them both — but don’t worry, I wore five pairs of sunglasses for the solar one — and it was wonderous.

Just as I was returning home, then about to sit my ass down in the chair, the phone rang — and it was my long-lost cousin, who I last saw on a deserted island, who then turned out to be the leader of the French protest movement! (All the apologies to the movie, Top Secret.) We talked and talked and talked for hours, just to catch up. Then, it was time for dinner.

I ran outside, with my trusty shotgun, and shot the first available turkey I saw. Since it was a frozen turkey from the supermarket meat case, I got a few dirty looks, and the manager gave me a frowning of a lifetime, but that didn’t detract me. We ate well that night.

Because sleep is one of the most vital and healthy things I can do for my body, I went to bed nice and early (around 6:30 in the evening, to be exact). Tryptophan, am I right? Now remembering that I have no farm animals I to take care of, I set my alarm for 10 am, to get enough sleep — a tight 15 or so hours.

However, my wonderful, long sleep was interrupted, rather rudely, by aliens. First the house was flooded with white light, then loud techno-pop music came on, then the little green people came into my room and teleported me to their mothership. Inside the space ship was immaculate, like the aliens had a maid, or a butler, everything clean and silver and I saw no dust anywhere. Oddly enough, I wasn’t scared at all, thinking all the while that anyone who plays a good house mix couldn’t be that bad. I was not wrong — sure they took my temperature, but they did it with a digital oral thermometer. They also took my blood pressure, and lectured me about the evils of high cholesterol. Oh, and they turned me into a DeLorean car, but only for about 30 minutes. Imagine my embarrassment, waking up next to the Autobahn, in Germany, wearing silver pajamas!

Thinking quickly, I pretended to be a fish, flopping about and opening and closing my mouth so convincingly that a giant eagle mistook me for an actual fish, and grabbing me by my shoulders, off we flew to the nest. I used the time in the air to explain my predicament to the to the eagle, using my best German eagle (not my favorite language, that honor belongs to the Peruvian snow leopard tongue — a gorgeous sort of gurgling purr). The eagle was more than happy to fly me all the way to my house (an intense 24 flight, but we sang sea chanteys, so time passed swiftly. This reminds me of a Groucho Marx joke: Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.).

Once I was home, I gave the eagle several steaks to take home to her (yes, it turned out to be a her) babies as payment, then set about to write this blog, even though it was the middle of the night. However, since I was stiff from the flight, I went outside to do some yoga. While doing my favorite pose, the corpse pose, which is laying down on the mat and relaxing, I noticed a burning smell. This came from my neighbor’s house, that was on fire. I grabbed marshmallows, then called the fire department, and since the station is located nearby, they were on it! At one point, I saw a fireman on the roof of that house, lifting his ax, like an overdressed Indian from a Hollywood movie — very dramatic. Luckily, the fire wasn’t that bad, and was quickly contained. So, I put away my marshmallows and went back inside my home.

And that is when I discovered that my foster penguin, Fred, could actually open the lock on his cage, and open my refrigerator, and that he was partial to a sour beer from the local microbrewery. I did not get angry, though. I cracked open one for myself, and we swapped stories of childhood, and wept together, and sang Danny Boy.

However, I still had not completed my blog — but now, you, dear readers, will certainly understand why.

Written by

Writer and storyteller, immigrant, wife, mom, knitter, collector of jokes, lover of cheap, sweet wine.

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