I had such good intentions about writing a Sunday Salon post today. I took the morning off from church (I confess, I’ve been taking most Sundays off from church lately), got up early, did my 30 minutes of aerobics (have I told you how addicted I’ve become to my morning workouts? surprising, really…), then ate a healthy breakfast and took the dogs for their walk. It was a glorious fall morning here, and it actually stayed sunny and bright all day long, in contrast to most of the days we’ve had this month where the sun makes a brief appearance first thing in the morning and then disappears for the rest of the day.
But then, things started going awry. As soon as we returned from our walk, Molly decided to perfume herself in something quite nasty. If you have a dog, you’ll know what I mean. If not, then I’d best not go into detail, or you’ll never get a dog, and I really think everyone should have a dog, no matter that they do occasionally do rather disgusting animal-like things.
At any rate, her little adventure meant she had to be bathed, which is quite an ordeal when you have a dog with long, silky hair. I was rather worn out at the end of it, not to mention I had to hold my breath for the entire first half of the bath so as not to be stunned into olfactory distress.
Then it was lunchtime, and Jim needed to eat ASAP as he was rushing home from church and then dressing in his tuxedo for a concert this afternoon. I had promised him lunch on the run, and the emergency dog bath had rather interrupted my plans in that direction.
At last he was fed, handsomely attired, and on his way. Molly was huddled on the bed, shivering, because she’s afraid of the hair dryer. I collapsed into my favorite chair and munched on a sandwich. Somehow, I no longer felt like writing.
And anyway, what does all this have to do with books?
Only that my morning reminded me somewhat of the book I’m reading right now.
It’s The Longest Trip Home, by John Grogan (who wrote Marley and Me, a rather popular tale about another dog who likes to get into mischief). This book is a memoir about Grogan himself, who, incidentally, grew up not far from me here in southeastern Michigan. As a matter of fact, he and I were born in the same year, and so many of the experiences he recounts in the book seem very familiar.
Grogan’s book (which came to me by way of TLC Book Tours , and will be properly reviewed here on November 3, 2009), is a delightful look at the life of a normal midwestern boy, growing up in a middle class Catholic family. It’s full of the stuff of ordinary life, written in Grogan’s trademark colloquial and humorous way.
In the wake of some rather traumatic happenings in my life this summer, it’s comforting to read a book like The Longest Trip Home. And it was actually comforting to have just a normal Sunday morning around here, with a dirty dog being the biggest disaster.
I hope your Sunday was equally satisfying.