Letters to Holly

Thursday, June 14

One Week Out

This time next week, I'll be in Charlotte, checking into my hotel and wondering who to contact to set up my booth. I don't have much left to do. I need to make price signs and pack. That's really it. Buy some snack food. Grab some folding money. We're going to visit My Mom for Saturday, and I'm now feeling pinched for time to prepare for convention. It's Your Sister's idea, but I wish we could just wait to see her on July 1, when the Birmingham gang drive up.

We were invited to a bar trivia night for Tuesday, and I went. I declared that Your Sister would go the next time, but she's not into it. However, I did manage to shoo her to the local yoga class, which she has tried to get to for almost a year now. She's really winding down from summer. She wants to slowly release the deputy each morning to school, and I have to steer him toward the door and the car so I can get to work on time.

Bar-Trivia Trivia: I was told by a trivia teammate told that a third teacher is telling people Your Sister is about to move away. Like out of state. I responded by saying I had heard nothing about this. I'm not surprised by the gossip nor the source. That teacher, by the way, moved away. Like out of state. Seems like she's burning bridges behind her.

Picture of the Day
Almost time to pack.

Monday, June 11

Seven Year Itch

Your Sister is recovering slowly from the dental procedure, but the antibiotics are killing her.She's pounding down yogurt and ginger ale to keep her system working right. She was miserable last night.

The Deputy is suddenly much more verbal. He's aping words with relative ease and babbling sentences as he pretends to read aloud. He was apparently very helpful and communicative to the babysitter on Saturday. We were away to a friend's house; he wanted to show of his home theatre with our Star Wars blu-rays. I took him a 4-pack of comics, a gesture I can't do too often. Those things are too costly to hand out.

I'm very close to finishing the major convention chores. I need to assemble the rest of my four-packs (98 left; I sold one last weekend online). Both the babysitter and the Saturday host asked if my work is for sale at the local comic store. And it is. The store owner told me Sunday that he'll put my full-size comic on the shelf with the other comics. THE SHELF. I'm big-time. I'll do maybe two more sheets of cards and two more sketches to sell, and I'll be done with the big big stuff. I still need to make table displays & price cards and pack.

I continue to get chiropractic and legal mail following the crash. I'm glad they don't have my email. The body shop has the estimate and is ordering the parts.

Your Sister hoped to buy the boy a glider bike (a short bike frame with no pedals), but the store she went to sold their floor model the day before. They've ordered another, and he'll have one in time for his birthday.

Sunday was our jailhouse-a-versary. It seems unlikely, but there have been enough mile markers to make the time credible. The deputy's obviously the big one, but the theatre and volleyball and comics and Olympics all mark the span. If I hadn't kept that envelope in which she sent me the local paper's Halloween banner, and if she had moved in the time between that letter and the one I mailed her when I was suddenly alone a few year's later, none of this would have happened. I don't think the comics would have happened. I'd be a bachelor theatre stalwart in Greenville.

Picture of the Day
They started work on Iron Man 3. Should come out next year. I think.