Believe it or not I am still writing you from the living room of the Weston Playhouse. A year ago today, the Playhouse was ravaged by Hurricane Irene and devastated. Miraculously, thanks to a lot of generous people–in both time and money–the playhouse has completely recovered. You’d never know it even happened except for a small plaque in the basement. Cheers to all who helped and supported them.
So why are we still here, you ask? Fair question, and no, we have not moved here forever. The people who own the guest house we stay in invited us to stay another week and we took them up on it. And by “we” I mean me and Charlotte and Beazer because Rob had to go back down and play rehearsals for Evita on Broadway, although he’s coming back up tomorrow night. On Sunday the kids and I took off and drove to our friends David and Robert’s house (which is beautiful–not like “oh your house is so nice” but like, “oh, so your house is going to be featured in magazines?” David and Robert are the definition of gay New Hampshire chic in the best “Martha Stewart meets Paul Bunyon” kind of way.)
David and Robert have added to the charm of their home with the perfect accessory; a golden retriever puppy named Archie. He is adorable–although that word really doesn’t begin to describe him–he is a ball of golden fluff perfection. Like puppy cotton candy. As much as Charlotte and I enjoyed Archie, he only had eyes for Beatrix who was the equivalent of a running squeak toy, made perfect because Beaz is in a dresses-only phase, making her easy to catch and tug on. She loved it, until she didn’t and then we had to send them to their separate corners (only I can’t crate Beatrix. I mean, I could, but then I would be writing from jail).
Because this is how all stories go, as soon as we got back to Vermont Beatrix spiked a fever. For those of you who are long time readers, you know that 99.9% of the time, if Rob leaves town, Beatrix gets sick. One would think that I would refuse to let him leave, but I have that eternal optimist thing that I inherited from my Dad that makes me believe THIS TIME WILL BE DIFFERENT. It isn’t. Poor kid. She looks like a wet noodle. I hope she didn’t give it to Archie.
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The kids go back to school next week, so count on this blog starting up in an official way on Monday, September 10th. The plan for now is to kick things off with a back-to-school story that is as of yet unnamed, but I am pretty excited about. It will be a good old fashioned serial story with dumb pictures and cliff hangers, so get ready. There will be homework. There will be quizzes.