Yes, I missed last week. No rant. Too many things going on. I worked with an artist to get the front and back covers done to my new book, The Children of Raven’s Reach. I had an attack of the sciatic nerve and had to go to the chiropractor to relieve the pain. Busy week! By the way, the cover for my book is outstanding!

Here I am, and it’s Tuesday morning. I need another appointment with my chiropractor to finish the job and I’m recovering from granddaughteritis as I had one of my granddaughters for the weekend. She’s thirteen and, well those of you who have dealt with a thirteen-year-old know and the rest of you will just need to find out. It cannot be explained in words. It’s one of those things that has to be experienced to fully understand.

It started with pizza. I told her that if we had a good time Friday afternoon and Saturday, I would take her out for pizza Saturday night. Well, she exhibited exceptional excitement over that, and her behavior was exceptional as well. She was so good, she saw the sink full of dishes and without being asked, pitched in and cleaned them up. So, Saturday night I took her to Kirk’s Ferry, the only place in town to get a pizza. I’m glad they are also very good at making their wood-fired pizzas.

I ordered a beer and she ordered a root beer, and we got down to the business of picking out which pizza to order. I used to be a pizza cook and I developed an appreciation for a wide variety of pizzas. Kirk’s Ferry had an excellent selection of pizzas and since I was very hungry, my eyes kept wandering to the “The Works,” pizza that had Canadian bacon, peperoni, sausage, black olives, mushrooms, bell pepper, onion, and fresh tomato.

I knew this would be a little much for her and I would have been satisfied with almost any of the other picks available. All except one. As a pizza cook and connoisseur, I came to believe that putting pineapple on a pizza was a sin. It just doesn’t seem right! Of course that was the one pizza she would pick. I was asked if I wanted to make it a half and half and I declined the offer. I figured I would sin so I could be closer to my granddaughter. Don’t ask me the steps I took to get to this illogical conclusion.

Despite my misgivings and religious beliefs about pineapple on a pizza, I found that this particular sin was good. They used fresh pineapple instead of canned and there was enough cheese on the pizza to choke my chow hound. We’ll be getting to her shortly-

Anyway, we had a good time, and the waitress had brought two of my books, Enchanted Shores, and We Won’t Forget You Mr. McGillicuddy to the table for me to sign. That made the choice of pizza by my granddaughter more palatable and made my evening as well.

After dinner we went back to the house and my granddaughter sat on the couch while I rested in my easy chair. I leaned back, closed my eyes, belly full, true contentment enfolding me along with a certainty that I would hear nothing from my thirteen-year-old for at least a few minutes while I digested my dinner. My mind was wandering to some old black and white clips I had been looking at lately featuring Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers tap dancing. In my dream, I pushed Freddy boy aside and was dancing with Ginger when I heard what at first sounded like tap dancing coming from the couch.

I soon realized the sound was a little too wet sounding to be tap dancing. It was more of a slurp than a click. As I opened my eyes, there was a giggle and a “phhhhhht!’ Nutmeg, my big dog was slurping up my granddaughter’s face like a little kid licking on a snow cone on a hot day.

“Nutmeg!” She shouted then more giggling and slurping sounds and a phhhhhht! I realized this last sound was due to the young lady trying to keep Nutmeg from deep kissing her. The dog didn’t succeed, but she kept on licking making those loud slurping sounds.

“Why is she doing this?” My granddaughter asked during a break in the almost continual licking.

“It was the pizza. She loves Canadian bacon with pineapple,” I answered hoping that next time she would choose another type of pizza.

From past experience, I knew the correct answer. After a fine meal she tried to kiss me like that. I was able to keep her tongue from deep diving into my oral cavity. Nutmeg had to settle for ferreting out the little bits of food I had stored in my beard for later. Anyone need a facial?