Damp and Darksome

a summer storm in Promised Land, described in FFOG opening chapter

Rain roars on the roof and muddies the gutters. It stays dark all day. Outdoors smells nice in the mornings, but the rivers and rills and ditches are flooding. We kinda enjoy the excitement until our socks get wet.
The book is out, finally. It's doing OK, considering how slowly deliveries are moving. After all the rush and work, it's anticlimactic. I am low.   
I bought new winter gloves, and lost the left one immediately. Always the left glove. My left hand is cold all the time. 
I miss my children, and my mom. I miss a few things about Christmas.
I ordered a new English-speaking computer, and it was swallowed up somewhere between UPS and Spanish Customs. I had to cancel the order. My old computer, this old trusty HP from 2014, is almost dead. I have a shiny red Dell, but it doesn't speak English. And even after 13 years of full-on life in Spain, I still do not have fluency enough to drive a computer in Spanish.

Evil people have taken over in England and the USA. No one seems to know how to stop them.
I am on a wait-list for an operation to remove my gall bladder. Maybe after the operation I will not be so splenetic. We shall see. Meantime, it hurts a lot. I wish it was over. I hope I can get the operation before Brexit takes away my health coverage. Life is complicated.
Christmas is almost here. Pilgrims are coming. Very wet pilgrims. 
It's raining so much the sewers are backing up. Our upstairs toilet doesn't want to flush. When the wind blows, water comes in beneath the front door. 
The dogs are healthy. They sing trios every morning in the barn to wake us up. I walk them to the Promised Land, and they vanish into holes at the rabbit warren. They are having the time of their lives, undermining the fence that keeps them off the fatal four-lane Autopista beyond. 
At home, the living room is draped in cats. They are making Paddy unwell. 
I had new photos for this blog, but the server rejects them. No can do. 
We have a little plastic Christmas tree, and I have a few gifts to put underneath it.
Maria Valle and Joaquin invited us to dinner Christmas Eve.
So even with all the sad-making circumstance, we'll be OK.
The sun will come back.
It always has, so far.