Cow Catapulting Cowarts

Saturday most of the family gathered at Jennifer’s house for an impromptu party for no other reason that we haven’t had a get together since Christmas. Pat is down with a cold and fever. Jennifer grilled steaks outdoors and we all brought in food of various sorts with no coordination or planning.

It was a feast.

Eve gave Donald a Monty Python Cow Catapult so we all gathered round the table shooting cows into the air and catching them. Growing tried of that, we placed bits of dry dog food in the catapult and shot it across the room to see Jennifer’s five little Mexican dogs that nobody can spell scramble for the tidbits.

Great fun.

It doesn’t take much to amuse Cowarts.

Pat’s six-year-old niece was there having a blast but no one could get a word in edgewise because of the chatterbox. Jennifer said that she couldn’t imagine how Ginny and I raised six kids without resorting to drugs or drink. She asked how we avoided drowning one or another of them in the bathtub… I told her that we were going to, but some other kid always interrupted.

It really does take the grace of God to raise children. I can’t imagine how we did it… but here we are with them all grown and now they are our best friends.

Helen came with Donald and she told me that with the pressure of her regular job, she is not able to illustrate the book we’ve talked about.

On one hand, I’m disappointed because she’s so talented and does such a fine job and makes it look so easy.

On the other hand, I’m relieved because I get to do the cover design myself.. So when Ginny and I got back to our house, while she dabbled in the kitchen, I tried a few things with graphic files on my computer and had a blast. I really believe I can do this.

I resist learning new things because they stretch my mind and my mind does not like to get stretched.

In thinking about what a help Helen and everyone else in the family has been to me in my writing projects, my mind began wandering back to recall how many wonderful people have helped me in the past… I like to think of myself as independent, a lone artist sitting in my lonely room creating great literature — What a false picture. Dozens and dozens of people have helped me over the years. I write while standing on the backs of many good friends that I had almost forgotten in my arrogance over being a self-made man.

A writer does not work alone — but those people are the ones who can’t spell Chihuahuas.

Anyhow, all evening Ginny nestled down on my shoulder as we snuggled under a blanket laughing at British comedies on tv. It’s been a wonderful day.