Until I get my current manuscript signed off, I'll only be posting here once a week. I just have way too much on my plate right now. I've been teaching, helping a handful of other writers with their novels (while neglecting my own) my husband's traveling again and I'm playing the role of a single parent.

That said, yesterday afternoon I took the beast (aka Sully) for a long walk. I needed a break and he'd sure earned one, watching me write all morning. I followed a path down to the river and like most days lately, it was gorgeous (not a cloud in the sky) other than the minus 18 degree weather!

Seconds after taking this snapshot for my stepdaughter (who hasn't seen Sully for a while and misses him) he suddenly lept through the air and flattened me on the snow-packed ground, thinking I was playing some kind of game. (Ever been flattened by a 165 lb dog? Trust me, you feel like you've been hit by a linebacker.)
Winded, I stayed where I was, trying to catch my breath. Then I heard a faint whi-z-z-z-ing sound and an orange frisbee sailed through the air above me in a perfect arc, only to disappear somewhere off to my left.
Of course, like a beacon he couldn't NOT respond to, Sully took off after the frisbee just as a group of people (laughing like crazy) came thrashing through the bush next to me, equipped with the requisite snow pants, hats, gloves and boots.

Here's the interesting part... All through the bush behind where I live are metal chain-like contraptions like this one (some are on the edge of trails, others stuck back in the bush where you can barely see them.) I'd heard they were used for a sport called frisbee golf, though I'd never actually seen anyone use them. And yet here was a group in their thirties, deep into a competitive game... in the middle of winter! And no, they weren't drinking.
After we managed to wrestle their now almost unrecognizable frisbee back from the beast (which took the better part of five minutes because Sully thought we were playing some kind of game) they sheepishly admitted they'd called in sick that morning to play, something they did once a month, no matter what the weather was like.
At first, I thought they were nuts. Frisbee golf? In the middle of winter?! And yet as I watched them tear off after that now-horribly-chewed frisbee, you could tell they had a passion for it, so who am I to judge? Maybe this once-monthly-game helps get them through the winter without popping pills for depression. Maybe their jobs are boring as all get out. In some ways, I guess I can relate. Try taking away my writing -- the one passion that gives me more fulfillment than I can put into words -- and I'd be calling in sick, too.