In payment for my two weeks on the road with my little friends, the beautiful Carol is visiting her friend in Beaufort, South Carolina. She will only be gone for four days – but she figures that is enough time for me to genetically regress into a Neanderthal. To which I answer, “Pshaw, woman.”

So, let’s keep a diary and see who was right:

Thursday: We got up at 4 a.m., so Carol could make her 7 a.m flight. We walked Nellie and Dudley, at 5 a.m. We learned that it is impossible to find dog poop in the dark. Sorry neighbors.

I got back from the airport at six. Back in bed at 6:01. Carol woke me up at eight to tell me her plane was broken and she was still in Akron. I drank coffee and watched cable news until nine and then nuked a big plate of leftover spaghetti and chicken Parmesan for my breakfast. I then spent three hours cleaning the dog hair out Carol’s Jetta. I had to do that because that afternoon I was driving the famous mystery writer Casey Daniels to Clyde, Ohio, for a book event. It was either that or take Casey’s car, which has a dead witch dangling from the antenna.

Clyde was great. I’d driven past it a million times on Rt. 20, always trying to look down Main Street as I passed, to see if it looked like the same Main Street described in Sherwood Anderson’s Winesburg, Ohio. And it pretty much did. The library folks there treated us to a fine supper and then a fun evening in their beautifully renovated old library. By the time I got back to Akron it was 10:30. So, natch, I drove through McDonald’s for a Big Mac, large fries, and a five-gallon plastic collector’s cup of Coke.

Friday: I decided I didn’t need any breakfast. But I did remember to give Nellie her Prozac. Nellie, however, forgot to do a no. 2 on our morning walk. Dudley did his usually three no. 2s. I called Carol in Beaufort and learned that her plane hadn’t left Akron until noon the day before.

I made myself look pretty and then headed off to Hinckley in Carol’s still-clean car. On the way, I stopped at Quiznos to buy lunch for my mother and me. After sandwiches and chips at her old aluminum-legged “dinette set,” we headed off to the bustling metropolis of Grafton, Ohio. My mother is from Grafton and her brother, Wally, still lives there. He just celebrated his 90th birthday, my mother, her 89th. It was a loooonnnggggg afternoon. But a sweet afternoon chatting about people whose names they could no longer remember. Aunt Doris had a cake made with their Lutheran school confirmation photo laser-printed into the frosting. I ate Uncle Wally’s head. I got to see all of Wally’s handmade duck decoys, birdhouses and carousel horses. There were oodles of each.

I also got to hear all about the book Aunt Doris is writing about the history of Grafton. She’s been working on it for four years. “I will be so glad when it’s finished,” she said.

Not as much as the people of Grafton, I thought.

I didn’t get home until almost seven. I took the dogs out. Still, no no. 2 from Nellie. For supper I had the rest of the spaghetti and chicken. And a glass of water because we’re out of milk. I watched the Indians’ game.

Saturday: I’m skipping breakfast today, too. Nellie finally delivered, so that crisis is behind me. She did get loose on our walk and successfully “herded” the neighbor’s minivan. Anyway, today is going to be a busy day. So busy, that I’m writing my diary entry in advance: I have grocery shopping to do, and laundry, and I have to remember to change the sheets and pillow cases, and I have to mow, and Jimmy is supposed to come over to work on my website, and I’ve promised to have coffee with Big Mike this morning, and I’ve promised to have coffee with Manoucher this afternoon, and I’ve promised Carol to do some more painting in the kitchen, and I’ve promised to fill out the warranties for the new oven and cook-top. How much of this gets done is anybody’s guess. It’s Saturday for goodness sake!

Saturday post-mortem: No Jimmy to work on the website. No mowing. No warranty filling-out. No painting. But I did do the grocery shopping and laundry, and changed the sheets and pillowcases, and I did find time to have coffee with both Big Mike and Manoucher.

I also made coleslaw and stuffed peppers for Sunday dinner. And I set the dining room table with the fancy dishes and remembered which side of the knife the spoon goes on. Carol may be out of town, but her parents and I still have to eat. Sunday morning I’ll still have to make my hot peppers, onions and Hungarian sausage concoction, and I’ll still have to clean the house, but as I have a pound of 80% lean hamburger for my supper, all seems to be well in hand.

(Note to self: You keep getting all those invitations to remote book events on the Ohio frontier. Send Ms Clemens a map of eastern Ohio.)

Sunday: I awoke early and walked the dogs, both successfully accomplishing multiple no. 2s. I vacuumed and dusted. Carol’s parents arrived at 10:30. Dudley, who mistakes Carol’s mother for an errant sheep, and tries to nip her heels, had to stay in the spare bedroom. The three of us ate like piggies, watched a little of the Indians’ game. After they left for home I did more laundry and took a nap. Carol’s flight arrived at 5:30 p.m. on the button. And now we’re going to have warmed up stuffed peppers and the rest of the blueberry buckle her mother brought for dinner.

Carol and I will be celebrating Labor Day most appropriately: She’s got to pull a shift at the Beacon-Journal, and me, well, I’m told, I have some painting and stuff to do.