Slightly bent, not broken...

It has been storm'n here, and we are getting some much needed rain. Grass is growing, reservoirs are slowly filling, but the clay soil is too wet to plant the veggie garden. If it weren't clay I would be out there planting, cheap therapy...  

Willie and I have been running in the rain, which is fine by me, not so much by Willie.  He has turned into Dad's lap dog. I think the dog biscuit jar by Dad's chair, and scraps from Dad's dinner plate have something to do with it.  Dad has started calling him with... "how's My Dog doing?" and "I'm going to turn My Dog loose on the neighbors darn cats, right after we take a nap."

An early morning run helps clear out a lot of the stuff that has gone on before and since I got back from the girls trip to LV.  It was wonderful to have a few days with the girls, not so much to come back to another !@#$ storm, that again seems to be widely advertised as my fault.  There has been a huge contest going on with mother leading the pack, to see just how many family, friends of mother's, attorneys, and assorted others it's going to take to break me in little pieces. Thankfully the hospice nurse and social worker totally get it, so they  hugged me and wished me luck as they sprinted out the door.

I try to use a little common sense, so I've found that if it's raining too hard to run safely,  another source of mental health balance is to set on top the dog house (in the covered kennel) with a neat scotch and a cigar and listen to the rain...  
The pack seem to have forgotten that I was taught survival skills early on by my late MIL, as she knew I would need them. Bless her. 
I know there will again be sunshine.  Slightly bent, not broken...