See Judy Run. Funny Funny Judy.

There are many things I've been planning to blog about recently.

But, then my mind explodes.

What IS going on here?

I don't know.

It seems that I am not getting things accomplished at all this summer.

This is the pillow I made that has an almost completed matching duvet. The pillowcase needs a hem.

A-hem.

I guess I'm the someone who is supposed to finish this. It was, after all, my idea.

My plan was to use it in the old crib we were going to refinish sometime this summer. You know, "THAT SUMMER" that only exists in ones head during the long cold days of winter. I sort of imagined that THGGM and I would collect everything we needed, and together we would work on this project in our lovely garage which has plenty of room for projects like that. Together we would reminisce about that long ago day that we sold our 1966 Buick Le'Sabre to buy that crib for our first born. Like old married couples do, we would stop for coffee and a cookie as we were flooded with happy memories of days of yore. It seems that after 31 years together we would both remember on those long cold days of winter that we don't actually work well together. Oh well. This is only our third grandchild. Maybe we will get it done in time for a GREAT grandchild.

Well. Would you look at me? I just never seem to lose hope.

Now, if you do not like gross stories, stop reading now.

In my quest to rid my cat of fleas, I've taken to brushing him two to three times a day, outside. If even a gentle breeze blows our yard comes alive with swirly tufts of fur. Uncle Barb loves to be brushed. LOVES it. If THGGM is in the back yard, Uncle Barb (remember, i had nothing to do with his name) will stand at the back door and meow to be let out. THGGM is not pleased with this. If there ever was a question about my being the neighborhood crazy cat lady the question has been answered. I TALK to my cat while we do this. It helps distract me from what I am actually doing, which is combing out fleas one at a time and smashing them. On several occasions I have smashed out an egg. I thought that was weird enough.

But, in my world, nothing EVER seems to be weird enough. No.

Now, I DO wear glasses, and one would think that would serve as protection, except that I cannot see anything up close with them on, so, my life has been reduced to peering over the tops of my glasses while trying to see tiny things.

Fleas are tiny things.

Their eggs are even tinier.

Today, I deftly smashed a flea and POPPED AN EGG INTO MY EYE!

Remember, dear reader (i seriously do not think that anyone besides ME is ever going to see this, what with the warning and all) that my eyes do not tear.

I tucked Uncle Barb under my arm and while blinking furiously made a mad dash into the house.

By then the egg (about the size of a grain of sand only it's NOT sand, it's a flea egg!) was resting comfortable in my eyelashes.

Had someone asked me this morning how I planned to spend my day, removing a flea egg from my eyelashes would not have entered my mind.

See Judy spin and twirl. See Judy get dizzy. See Judy fall over. Funny funny Judy.

Let's see.., there was more to be told, but we shall leave Judy here, in her fallen-over state, to rest where she lays.