There comes now that brief interlude when the ball is not in my court. They might hate what I did, but between the time I send it out and I get the responses, it's like buying a lottery ticket -- the possibilities are gravid with delicious maybes. They could hate it -- but maybe they'll love it. It's still possible.
Managed, too, to get our new cell phones more or less programmed. Numbers moved over, my flintphone ring tone blue-toothed in, and my wife's choice for her ring, the opening for "Let it Be."
Never thought I'd have the wherewithal to create a sound file, upload it into my computer, then send it to my phone -- and actually make it work.
I could, if I were ambitious, create a separate ring tone for everybody in my phonebook, but if I hear the thing, it's only going to take a few seconds to figure that out anyhow, when I open the clamshell and see the caller ID. Or just answer it. I can stand the suspense that long. Besides which, if I pass out ten ring tones to ten different people, I won't remember which one I gave to whom anyhow.
They are just phones, and I won't be spending much time talking, nor on the net trying to tap anything in using the alpha-numeric keys and cycling through each one for a choice of letters. I still see an iPad in my future ...
I'll recycle the old one, the new company will send part of the proceeds for such to a local children's hospital, so I'll strip out the SIM card and ship it off in the prepaid envelope. Three years old, it's an antique, maybe they'll put it next to one of those crank-operated wooden-cased jobs from the old party line days: Harold? Is that you listening in on my call? Git!
Still raining on and off, been doing so all week. I look for breaks to hurry out and walk the dogs. They don't mind walking in the rain, but it's easier if I don't have to chase them around when we get home to towel them dry.
My wife has pulled the plug on her job. Told her boss she is going to retire, and now it's just a matter of scheduling it. Probably around the end of the summer, to tie up loose ends on her projects. That drive to the airport to the new office building has been a killer, given Portland traffic, and while that's not the only reason, it was one more brick on the load. She's served her time, she's ready to move on.
I expect she'll take maybe a whole day off before she fills up her dance card. Her list of things she wants to do goes round the block.
Me, I intend to keep cranking out words until I fall over.
Well, I guess I need to get back to Siblings while the other stuff percolates. My editor at Ace hasn't exactly been pounding on the door demanding to see it, but if I get it done, I'm gonna show it to somebody ...
And so, as Vonnegut was wont to say, it goes ...