Friday, February 29, 2008

Two-thirds of the way there......

The blog, and everything else, has been neglected. This past two years has been a time when all energy focussed on the doctoral program, where I'm working harder than I've ever worked in my life. Two-thirds of the way there now, the next hurdle is defending the proposal. I feel so passionately about my project that even if they reject it, I'll go ahead and complete it on my own.

Almost every evening, every weekend, is devoted to reading, writing, re-writing, reorganizing, reading...oh, I said that already. But it is true. And yet, there is a plus side, as I'm learning to evaluate written materials rapidly, search for what is pertinent and skip that which is meaningless. I've found that my instincts are being honed and that what I've determined to have validity is recognized by other, more experienced scholars than myself as having value.

But there are still moments. The p-car was delighted to go for a run not too long ago when the need for a sanity break overwhelmed me. There is nothing like a roadster run, no matter how short, to soothe the soul. The roadster smell which is unlike any that of any other car model, I know not why, sets the tone for the drive. Settling down into seats that are so close to the pavement just feels right, and then the always prayerful turning of the key. Most of the time, it leaps to life and there is the engine roar that seems so close-- because it is--and off we go. However, it is now back under its car cover, waiting patiently for this doc-stuff to be over so we can go back to tinkering and petting and driving.

And speaking of pets, Cujo is always there. In this recent spate of rainy weather (which he hates!) he has wandered outdoors of necessity, and returned at a gallop, leaping into the warmth and safety of the bed, where he has layered the pillows with mud. It turns out that in sloppy mud, his chest serves like the prow of a ship, and coursing through it, he gets covered in mud.

Cujo, by the way, is my grand-dog. He was owned and named by my son, who envisioned a fierce protector in this minature daschshund. And Cujo can be fierce, but only if he has to be. He recognizes that most of the creatures in the world are larger and faster than he is, and that fierce is a poor choice under those circumstances. With the addition of children to my son's house-- all soon larger and faster than Cujo-- we decided that he needed to relocate, and so he lives here with me.