Happy 2015, reader-friends! Yes, it’s Huckleberry here. The regular story guru is tied up with book deadlines and other daily duties, so I’ve been asked to take over today and pen the annual Wingate year in review. I hope you’ll forgive my use of quite a few photos – my typing skills are somewhat rudimentary, due to an unfortunate lack of thumbs. I’ve tried voice-to-text dictation, but the results are generally just a little ruff.
But, I digress. My purpose as your guest host is to share with you the year in Wingateville, just as if you were here and the two of us were chewing the proverbial fat. Speaking of fat — I like fat. Do you? Fat makes me think of delectable morsels straight from the frying pan…which makes me think of Grandma’s house, as treasures from the frying pan do not often fall my way at home. My year in Wingateville began with a stay at Grandma’s house, while these people squeaked out a ski vacation over New Year’s weekend:
It looks like fun, but I didn’t mind being left behind in Texas. Despite my copious fluff, I don’t relish cold weather. And did I mention that I bunked at Grandma’s house? Grandma and I eat at the Sonic Drive-in together. Grandma’s house is good.
Spring in Wingateville brought a lovely bloom of wildflowers this year. Everyone came home long enough to take pictures. There’s nothing better than having your favorite people all together in one place… unless it’s having them all together in a field of bluebonnets. The man-children clean up pretty well, don’t you think?
That’s my assistant, Little Britches, in the photo. She also loves it when the man-children come home, in particular the big one. He’s been her fella for a long time, but since graduating from college he’s busy with his industrial engineering job, and their four-wheeler riding time together is limited. He’s also busy with other things. These days, when the big man-child comes to visit, he generally has a girl with him:
I like the girl. She’s cuddly and she smells good, in a flowery sort of way. My only complaint, really, is that when she visits, she does not deposit dirty laundry on the floor for me to enjoy. I count on this with the man-children. Used man-child laundry is delightful. Laundry piles are great for sleeping and the socks double as entertaining playthings. The man-children love it when we engage in rousing games of give-me-my-sock. Those can go on a while.
Speaking of dirty laundry, I enjoyed much of it over the summer, as the #2 man-child came home from a successful first year of engineering at Texas Tech and spent three hot, sweaty months working for the maintenance department at the high school. Oh, the odor of attics and crawl spaces and dirty sewer drains! The dampened-and-worn socks! I barely missed Mom and Dad when they left us here and traveled to Georgia and North Carolina for a book awards trip. The man-child and I fared quite nicely. For one thing, we didn’t bother washing the laundry. We just reveled in its presence.
About the time I grew accustomed to the man-child being home, he packed everything (including the laundry) and prepared to leave for college. I attempted to go along, so as to help with driving, kitchen floor cleanup (a big job in a home shared by numerous man-children), and editing English papers.
Just when I thought I had had made my case for the move to college, I was, quite rudely, removed from the truck. With the house strangely quiet, I returned to my usual editorial work here.
No sooner had I finished, than Mom and Grandma departed on a book tour, leaving Dad and me alone. We would have starved to death… if not for Sonic. Have I mentioned that I like Sonic?
Mom finally returned home weeks later, and that brings us practically up to date for the year of 2014. If you’re a book lover (personally, I think they’re delicious) you might enjoy knowing that Mom had three new offerings out this year – Wildwood Creek, The Story Keeper, and most recently A Sandy’s Seashell Shop Christmas.
And that, my friends, is the last of the news. Wherever the beginning of 2015 finds your family, I hope it finds your tail wagging, your food dish full, and your chew-bone stash replenished from the goodies there were under the tree (I found all of mine early).
Love and wags,