Thank you US, Canada, France and New Zealand, Scotland, Korea and everyone who has read this blog. Let’s start with spinach. My husband arrived last night after a long weekend with his family. I was to ill to go with, so stayed home with the dog.
I made a wonderful dinner and asked if he wanted spinach. No. I took two endives out of the frig, sauced them with his favorite, bottled ranch dressing (I would have made another vinaigrette from scratch). He loved it. The conundrum (word of the day) is why would one not like spinach cooked briefly in olive oil and garlic and topped with parm, and like raw endive? It’s a stronger vegetable, probably better for him but not according to Popeye.
We have a shootout at the Not OK Corral this week. Both want a new Sheriff in town. Both want sole rights to everything the new Sheriff has done before. It’s called intellectual property. Forever, birth to death even with a short-term contract. That’s a no go for me. Been there, done that, and I’m his Annie Oakley, word-wise sharp with a pen, not a gun.
I’m a smart gal and know that if the Sheriff has offered to share ownership of his prior published work that’s a great deal for the client because he has 100% ownership rights now, and a book that has been published. It is printed and bound and on the table. Before they hire him they want the rights.
I have one word, copyright.
We’re in the holiday season and things shut down, People talk about giving thanks, but they leave people who have gone through their rigamarole for months at risk of him leaving for a better offer. One can hire the smart guy but not hijack or harness his mind.
I learned in high school not to date the cute guy, or the jock, just date the fellow smart one. It took years of my inner geek to find my soul mate. He arrived last night, and walked the dog while I finished dinner. No spinach. Marrying the smart guy means we can have lifelong conversation. Over sixteen years, fifteenth wedding anniversary soon. Cheers! Dee