BUSY PEG

News of her website is traveling. Spent yesterday morning on Twitter doing some PR, somehow connecting with the TV critic for the LA Times, a big fan (who knew?) and who promptly favourited and retweeted. He appears to have thousands of followers so, excellent news here. I predict a slow build.

Peg gave a phone interview last week and three more requests have come in, one from Canada. The Berkshire Eagle (local paper) came today at 9:30 AM prior to her ear, nose and throat appointment, to do a piece for both their online and Sunday edition. I've set it up so that the reporter, Jennifer someone, who Peg says is about 12 and didn't seem to know the first thing about anything (how do these people get hired?), will SKYPE me this weekend and then when her copy's done, send it to me to check facts, spellings, and that she can string three words together. Peg doesn't need any more "Peg Lunch and Alan Dunce"stuff in her life. 

The way it works now, any fan mail coming in to her site is directed to me at my e-address until we sort out the CONTACT heading better. I then forward to Peg's email, in order to file it, and also to Bonnie, so she can print it for Peg to read. Since she is not yet overly au fait with the new iPad, no surprises there. Bonnie has in fact purchased Peg a stylus for the New iPad. Prediction: this will work very well until, approximately every twenty minutes, it will disappear under a pile, or roll into the garbage, which Outside Bob will then take to the bins at the end of the drive. And Bonnie will be sent to buy a new one.

I took Mabel out today, by myself, since am not currently speaking to my son, who is currently behaving like an asshole and pissing off not only me but DK as well and his lovely girlfriend (son's girlfriend, not DK's), the son who refused to come walk the dog with me, the son who has had four days off from work to "get his act together re his future" and who has spent them either in London socializing or glued to TV series on his laptop. I can't recall the last book he's read. The Very Hungry Caterpillar?

So I trotted out down Lodge Road then headed left on the track into the forest at Hoist Wood and ambled along, part woodland walk, part freshly-mown meadow, then out to the windmill and along the slatted boardwalk through the salt marshes along the Dunwich Sluice then finally up the big hill to The Bench, which looks out over the reedbeds to the sea and to Dunwich far off to the right. It is where I go to think. Sometimes in the rain, sometimes in the sun. Today was sun, and Mabel on my lap. It is the bench where I have yelled and screamed, on occasion, and wept, and where I take in great gulps of air while I sort out the next step, whatever it may be, regarding son, husband or parent issues. They have all led me a merry dance at one point or another--wait for the book (s). But The Bench helps. "In memory of Bun and Mac" it says on it. Don't know them, but like them. I wish my name were Bun. 

What's been praying on my mind a lot since I came home was last week's dash into Hinsdale Post Office where the Postmistress, who had about four teeth, smiled and said how much she liked my hair.

"My hair?" 
"Yes! It's so cute, the bob. You look just like the Little Dutch Boy!"

I should be mourning my Dad but it's all I can think of. In fact it's ruined my whole trip thinking I look like the logo on a can of paint. Having it all cut off next week. Fuck the postmistress. I wonder how "Bun" wore her hair.