Thursday, August 30, 2007
You think you’re ready. You know the possibility is there. You can handle it. You’re prayed up. Then the phone call from the doctor tells you what you suspected all along, and you find out maybe you weren’t ready after all.
That happened to me yesterday. Remember the quarantine, the biopsies, all that? Well, I had another biopsy on Monday that confirmed a diagnosis of B-Cell Lymphoma. Not the best news in the world, but not the worst, either.
Two things I’ve learned since starting this crazy journey in June:
Number one, life is short, use fluffy towels.
Okay, maybe not real deep, life-changing words here, but it’s what I’ve learned. When my husband dragged home these cheap towels, I didn’t complain. But after the health issues, I decided, when you’re going through something like this, you just gotta have thick, fluffy towels.
Number two, life is short, eat chocolate cake.
I can merely type the word “chocolate” and gain weight. How wrong is that? To make matters worse, we have this restaurant in town that makes chocolate cake that is out of this world. I drool every time I pass it. Now I ask you, does it really hurt to have a slice of chocolate cake once in a while? No. I say give the woman her cake—especially if that woman is me.
Of course, I know that I’m not in this alone. God walks every step with me, showing His love to me in so many ways—usually through wonderful friends like you.
And there you have it--what I’ve learned on this recent journey. If I come up with any other words of wisdom, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, I have a piece of cake calling my name.
posted at 3:00 AM
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Last week, I happened to watch the news in the morning when there was a court hearing for Lisa Nowak to possibly remove her ankle bracelet. She’s the astronaut who went across the country in a NASA diaper with paraphernalia to “Take Out” her competition, if you believe the prosecutors, or to “talk” with her rival, if you believe the defense.
I can’t help it, I feel for her. The woman snapped, and what working mother who has reached Astronaut status wouldn’t go crazy at some point? Can you imagine how obsessive you have to be to get to that level? Dating her, is like dating Alanis Morrissette, you are asking for trouble. And she was married with three kids, so maybe not the best choice, regardless. But I digress.
After watching the trial, I gotta say, I had no sympathy for her "victim" whatsoever. The “other” astronaut is not pretty. She’s vengeful and if I might say so, she sort of had it coming the way she taunted an emotionally-fragile Nowak. At this recent trial for Nowak to remove her ankle bracelet, Colleen Shipman, the other chick, testifies that she takes comfort in knowing the ankle bracelet is there. And she was scared of Nowak, though she lives in Orlando, came to Houston FOUR times, and each time she says it, she looks at Nowak and says, “to see my boyfriend”. Okay, I know these people are really brilliant, (Nowak has her Master’s in Aeronautical Engineering) but Shipman is nothing more than a junior high snot, and I personally wanted to take her out after watching her.
Let’s get one thing straight. He might be your boyfriend, but he hasn’t married you. Nor, does he obviously care if you’re scared to come to Houston, because he isn’t going to Orlando to see you, is he? He’s also the type of man who would have an affair with a married mother of three, so if you’re thinking you’ve got a big prize there, I have news for you. Thank God no one was hurt, is all I can say, but when you taunt the mentally unstable…and expect them to act normal, you're as nuts as they are. And quite frankly, I'll bet you half the NASA astronauts have Aspergers or OCPD. Look it up.
I have a lot of passion here because I grew up with a mentally retarded brother who attacked when taunted. He was nearly six foot and about three hundred pounds, and people made fun of him. Um, hello? Who is the mentally unstable one? Where's the survivor instinct when you need it? That's sort of how I feel about Shipman, "Hey, stupid!"
I'm just tired of the mentally ill being fodder for entertainment. My guess is that Britney Spears is bipolar. Which is made worse by drinking, and in the manic phase is often accompanied by outlandish sexual behavior. She needs help. But we'd rather watch her fall, and I just don't get that.
Sin and mental illness are not funny, but combine them, and you’ve got an entire “Entertainment Tonight” episode. Sigh.
posted at 7:06 PM
It's still my day to blog so I've got to say something about the Vick fiasco. Especially since I actually know something about the "sport" after researching it for INTO THE DEEP. I think people have no idea just how bad it is. Did you know they steal small dogs, someone's precious pet, and let the fighting dogs rip it apart to get their blood lust up before the fight (I left that out of the book, it was just too horrible.)
I hope they throw the book at Vick. So what if his football career is over? It's a cruel, horrible sport as bad as the Roman cruelties in the Coliseum. I'm so glad the spotlight is being focused on this topic. It's about time!
posted at 6:15 PM
I realized this weekend that I'm still afraid of high places and here I thought I'd conquered it. A garage roof doesn't sound that high, does it? From the bottom of the ladder looking up, it's a piece of cake. That kind of thinking got me into trouble when we were painting our 2 1/2 story house too. I climbed all the way up on some scaffolding and then couldn't get down. I had to climb in the attic window to get down.
Yesterday I was afraid I was going to have to have Dave knock out the second story window and boost me through it. But I finally had him kneel in front of the ladder so I could hang onto him and then swing my leg down and get it settled onto the rung. I couldn't have done it without him though. I'd have had to call 9-1-1! And that brought home to me just how important other people are to conquering fear. We're told to buck up and just do it. Ignore our fears and press on. And sometimes we can. But sometimes, we're at the top of a roof looking down the ladder and we know without help we'll never make it.
While I'm waiting for my edits from Ami and Erin, I'm reminded how I wouldn't be writing the suspense stories I love without them. Or without Kristin telling me I could do it back in the days when I was writing only romance. Or without Denise and Diann telling me the story is fabulous when I'm sniffing the air to see where the stench comes from. Or without my writing friends who hold me up when I'm about to fall. Or without my extended family making me get up when I fell down in the early days. Or without YOU, dear reader, who join in our friendship here and laugh, cry and mourn with us.
So lurkers everywhere, unite! No need to fear to speak--you're among friends. Now is your chance to say thanks to someone who helped you face your fears and win. Or if you still have a fear, it's diminished when it's shared so tell us and you can brace yourself on our shoulder.
posted at 9:58 AM
Monday, August 27, 2007
"Yes, I'd like a large Baja Blast please," I say to the talk box at my local Taco Bell.
"We don't have that right now."
It's the only reason I chose Taco Bell. They carry my favorite soda that, incidentally, is only carried at the restaurant.
I pout a little and order something else, wondering out loud to my kids if they discontinued the drink.
It wouldn't surprise me. It started with my favorite pink lipstick in high school. Next was my favorite de-frizzing hair product. Then there was Pepsi Light, my favorite soda that was Diet and Pepsi with a hint of lemon. Discontinued. All of them. I get wary now when I settle on a product, wondering if the manufacturer will dangle this product just long enough to get me addicted then jerk it off the market. Either that or I have weird taste and love unpopular products.
Mostly, I think I'm just jinxed. So if you have a favorite product, don't get me hooked on it. It may not be around much longer.
posted at 10:22 AM
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Passion! Adam was my passion in high school. With all the seriousness of life, I would love to be stupid about something again. One of my very favorite memories is a college field trip to San Francisco's Ocean Beach in college with my paleontology class to visit the rock formations. My best friend Beth went with me because we were seeing Adam Ant in Concord afterwards.
When we get to the beach, it has since become a nudist beach and the professor can't show us the rock formations because there are naked formations in front of it. And he's getting ticked. This can still make me giggle right out loud seeing his frustrated expression. Life never goes as we expect, does it? We obviously got more of an education than we were expecting that day. LOL
But back to Adam. My daughter watches the Stand & Deliver video on YouTube now and she swoons, "He looks nice, Mommy." Okay, so he's a robbing highwayman in the video, but he does, in fact, look nice. The giggly child in all of us should never go away. People get old and they get too serious!
This year, I'm 41 and I'm going to the David Crowder concert in the same venue I saw Adam 24 years ago. Gosh, that is pathetic and cathartic all at once. What do you do to keep your inner teen alive?
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
FAME, ER, SORT OF
I live in a small town. Everyone knows everyone here so I'm starting get get a little, er, well-known. I'm starting to catch people glancing at me then looking back again and whispering to whoever they are with and then they look too. At first I wondered, do I have dirt on my nose? Is my hair a mess? Then I realize they know I'm a writer. My picture has been in our small town paper quite a lot lately.
You'd think my writing would be no big deal. When people gush about it, I usually say, "It's just what I do for a living." Do people think authors are any different from anyone else? It's hilarious! If they'd been here at my house this week, they would have seen a very different picture from some image they have about me.
We've had rain. Tons of rain. We've got an attached garage on our old Victorian and the roof is almost flat so it's got roll roofing on it. Dave has been wanting to replace it because there's this big old tulip tree in the side yard that has dropped limbs on it and poked holes in it so his garage leaked. Well more than his garage leaked this week. It blew in somehow and I had leaks ALL OVER the laundry room. The wallpaper is coming down from the ceiling. I had pans and buckets set out all around the floor but there were too many drips to catch them all so I threw down towels.
The glamorous life of an author? Um, have you had to think up a way to kill people lately? It's HARD WORK! I'm trying to come up with two new plots right now and my poor brain is nearly smoking. Think of me as a ditch digger. I just use my mind instead of my back. Hmm, maybe that's why it's always so hard to lose weight. LOL
posted at 7:18 AM
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
The glossy folders and sharpened pencils and sticks of glue--all labled with names--are safely nestled in new bookbags, ready for the first day of school. And, can I just say, it can't happen soon enough.
Yeah, yeah, I've enjoyed having my kids for the summer. I've enjoyed the extra time, the board games, the vacation, the spontaneous field trips, but enough's enough. I'm ready to have the house to myself, ready to focus on writing, ready to stop saying "stop it" five hundred times a day, ready to have two consecutive thoughts, ready to grocery shop alone, and ready, yes, for peace and quiet.
I'm ready for my comfortable routine after they've left for school, for a quiet time that's actually, um, quiet, for fifteen minutes of writing without twenty interuptions. I'm glad for summer, but boy, when this time of year rolls around, I'm ready for the kids to go back to school.
So, God bless you teachers, but they're going back tomorrow, and I'm having a chocolate party.
posted at 9:01 AM
Monday, August 20, 2007
Okay, I like to eat as much as the next person, but what’s with the restaurant portions these days? I feel like I’m living in Flintstone land. Remember when Fred would order ribs that could pull over his car?
My husband and I recently went out to eat. He was late, and I ordered an appetizer. We don’t normally do that, and I thought it might be fun. Before the server brought out the appetizer, though, she took our meal orders.
When our plate of nachos finally arrived, it was big enough to take over our table. I may never be able to eat nachos again. For the rest—of—my—life. Okay, maybe no one said I had to eat all of them, but well, they were there, and I was hungry . . . .
So by the time they brought out my salad, which could have served a small wedding reception, I had to ask for a box. That’s right. Didn’t eat a bite of my salad (which would have been much better for me than the nachos, by the way).
I suppose they bring enough food to feed a country to justify the hefty prices, but it’s getting ridiculous. And then there are always those restaurants that give you a different plate for everything you order. Once my husband and I ended up with 15 dishes at a table for two. I pulled up more chairs so we looked like a party of six—with four people on a potty break.
The time has come to order one meal and split it. Now if only I could get him interested in chocolate cake as a main course . . . .
posted at 11:00 AM
Saturday, August 18, 2007
A show of hands, how many of you are happy that "High School Musical 2" is over! Oh my gosh, the hype -- my daughter screaming Zac Efron's name. I tried to watch a little of it with the kids and their friends, but really, it's like a dog hearing something I can't. I don't really get it. I am, after all, over twenty.
If you're over twenty and even if you're not, I got my copies of the Trophy Wives Club and I'd like to give five away so if you're interested, email me at KristinWrites@gmail.com and I'll mail them to the first five addresses I get. And don't worry about me with your addresses, I will be lucky enough to get them to the post office, I am not organized enough to make a mailing list. : ) Happy Saturday!! Soccer season is starting. : ) Kristin
Thursday, August 16, 2007
IT'S ALL ABOUT THE HYPE
I'm a writer. I talk about writing, look at what other writers are doing, pay attention to the market. And I've come to the conclusion that's it's all about the hype and not necessarily the reality of anything. It was brought home to me this week when someone else claimed to have invented "boomer lit." Excuse me? Diann Hunt was writing boomer lit for women (and calling it that!) long before anyone else in CBA ever thought about it. Her book HOT FLASHES AND COLD CREAM came out in 2005, a good year before any other humorous books for women in that age. And she's still the best. But she doesn't have the flashiest website, the biggest speaking platform (for which she's very thankful!) and she doesn't toot her own horn. But she should. She's the best. Read BE SWEET and you'll see what I mean. She just keeps getting better with every book.
We see it with other things too. Diets, a subject near and dear to my heart. It's all about the one who screams the loudest at the moment. And I'm just as much a sucker as anyone. I'm always looking for that new "magic bullet" that will make the pounds magically melt off. I still haven't found it, have you? LOL It usually takes a word I particularly hate--exercise. Or skin care. There's always something new and exciting claiming to reverse every beauty problem you have.
We're so gullible. We never make up our own minds. We just follow the advertising like sheep. I'm one of the worst so I know. I've been attending a class at church called The Best Question Ever. And that best question is What's the Wise Thing to Do? Well the wise thing is to get my butt out of the chair and exercise. It's to have only ONE small serving of foods I love. It's to cut out sugar altogether.
Why is it so hard to be wise? LOL It's really not all about the hype--it should be about making up our own minds. I'm such a sucker. LOL How about you? You have any weaknesses you'd like to share?
posted at 7:35 AM
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Is it just me or is flossing the cruelest daily medical recommendation ever? Maybe it's because my teeth are a little squished together or maybe I'm just a wimp, who knows? But I'm not sure how a waxy piece of thread a millimeter wide can induce such dread.
"Have you been flossing?" my dentist asks me when I visit.
"No." It's been the same answer for 13 years, so I don't bother with excuses.
He pulls out the dreaded piece of thread and wraps it around his fingers. I don't even hear the lecture because I'm busy pressing my head into the padded headrest until I can't possibly get any further from his hands.
Then he starts the torture. There is a moment of terror as he wiggles the thread between my teeth trying to separate these babies like they're conjoined twins. I close my eyes and wince. Eventually he will break through, but the question is, how hard will that thread strike my gums? One thing I know for sure: there will be blood.
I can hear a faint snap as he breaks the barrier and then the real fun starts. Is he digging for China or what? I consider biting down on his gloved fingers. Hard. Instead I squeeze the chair's arm and tell myself to relax. Only 31 teeth to go.
Somehow I get through the ordeal and even manage to smile and say goodby to my dentist. But always, as I find myself leaving the chair and standing in front of the reception desk, I find myself asking the same questions. Am I really paying for this? Do people really do that every day? I have enough things to dread already, thank you very much. And please, if you're in the dental profession, spare me the lecture. I've already heard it.
posted at 9:09 AM
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Why is it that sometimes words just come out wrong? Please tell me it happens to you, too. I mean, I can be talking to someone and all of a sudden, my tongue just takes over and says something completely different than what my brain tells it to. Like you haven't noticed.
Case in point:
I’m filling in at the front desk of work and the receptionist takes a break. I answer the phone and they ask for an attorney who is currently talking on another line. So I say, “He’s on the other line, could you hold just a pinute, mease?”
Could you hold just a PINUTE, MEASE? Who talks like that?????
And then there’s the time a friend was watching a beauty pageant on TV and I said, “Look at him sitting there with his hung tanging out (of course I meant “tongue hanging out”).
There are many more such times, but I just can’t embarrass myself with them all. It’s one of the reasons I’m afraid to speak in public. Who knows what might come out? I can’t risk it.
Does this ever happen to you?
posted at 3:30 AM
Sunday, August 12, 2007
A few years ago, we had a missionary stay with us. On a plane of 400 people, she was literally the last person off the plane. She was in San Francisco for a class and she was never
on time. Finally, the teacher told her if she was late, or missed one more class, she was out of the program. As we saw her off , I asked my husband, "Knowing what we know now, is it any wonder she was the last person off that plane? It was a sign."
And so it goes with parenting. When you're young and ignorant as a parent, you believe the "experts" when they say your kid should do this or do that -- but as they get older, you come to see, well no wonder that didn't work, I was raising (insert child name here). Example? I had a child who would not eat meat and he was so thin! I worried he'd starve to death. I read all the experts, they told me to introduce new foods at least three times. I should try covering the foods with condiments they enjoy. I should make eating fun by making the meat look like an octopus or bug. Still, nothing. The kid wouldn't eat meat. So I went to my pediatrician and said somewhat frantically, "Dr. Lathrop, Treyman won't eat meat! Only a McDonald's hamburger, that's it!" The doctor was ready to retire, and he responded to my dramatics calmly, "So once a week, take him to McDonald's and buy him a hamburger."
I believe you've graduated as a mother when you learn to listen to your own instincts, and blow off people who judge your kids so harshly, when you become their ally, their staunchest defender when they are wrongly accused. You have great kids who were put on this earth to do whatever God DESIGNED them to do. Not what the experts say they are designed to do.
Treyman is 13 on Sunday. Dang, he's a fabulous kid. Funny! Smart! Gorgeous! (yeah, I know, I'm his mom) but Trey has never been broken easily and he's always had a mind of his own. He was not an easy kid to parent. I have the ER bills to prove it. He'd just wander off. He was afraid of nothing! (In fact, to teach him to swim, I let him fall in the pool to prove to him it was dangerous -- he wasn't going to listen!) Now that he's thirteen, I find this a fabulous trait because he's not a follower. And here's the beauty part about parenting adolescents, the humiliation power shifts. Now, my dancing to an 80's tune in the coffee shop, will send him RUNNING for the door. "Mom, you are soooooo embarrassing!" he says, rolling his eyes.
"Of course I am," I tell him. "I learned from the master."
One of my favorite Trey stories is when our new church held its first outdoor Good Friday service. It was dinnertime, so I told the boys "Let Mommy take communion and then go to the car and we'll get dinner." I took communion with my baby girl in my arms, my boys obediently following behind me like three little ducklings. As we get back to the mini-van, I'm having one of those proud mommy moments that everything worked like it was supposed to! I'm imagining the parenting book I will someday write...
Then, with horror, I notice that Trey has the entire communion loaf of French bread in his hands, and he's ripping it in half to share with his brothers. "It's good, huh?" he's asking them. The hunter was sharing his spoils and he wore the smile of a proud warrior. He never stood still for a moment, and I think the fact that he's alive and well at thirteen is a testimony to the fact that I ROCK as a mother! LOL But oh, the days I sobbed.
The Trophy Wives' Club is starting to ship, so preorder your copy now and be the first on your block to own it. : )
Thursday, August 09, 2007
We’re at the San Diego Zoo, waiting in line for the double decker bus tour when my eight-year-old son begins rubbing my arm. I’m wearing very short sleeves and his light touch is a pleasant distraction from the long wait.
A few minutes later, I become aware that he’s leaning close to my arm—my elbow to be precise. “Mom, did you know you have globby skin back here?” He tugs the skin and stretches it an inch from its home. I resist the urge to yank my arm from his prying hands and look around to see if all our neighbors saw my Stretch Armstrong skin.
“Her arms are gooshy too,” my middle son loudly chimes in. Apparently, my arms have inspired a new word. Her arms are gooshy too, I mimic silently to myself, wagging my head. Who taught these kids about honesty anyway? It’s highly ove .
It’s then I become aware that my youngest is not really caressing my arm. More like squeezing the back of it gently. I realize he’s been doing this all along, as if he finds the texture intriguing. Like one of those stretchy pillows filled with tiny Styrofoam balls that you think you can squeeze just once, but then once you do, you can’t stop.
Okay, so maybe my arms are a little . . . softer than they used to be but does that mean I qualify as a human squish toy? Apparently so. Nonetheless, I have declared arm-squeezing off limits. And all skin is going to remain right where it is. Gravity is doing enough stretching, thank you very much.
posted at 9:34 AM
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
I’m decorationally-challenged. Couldn’t tell laminate from hardwood if you paid me. Granite from formica? No idea. The difference between a Van Gogh and a paint-by-numbers by my granddaughter (hey, she’s good, okay?)—clueless. Hand me some carpet squares and I’ll use them for welcome mats.
I mean, come on. They want me to figure out what paint color to use in my living room by looking at a sample smaller than a credit card? Please.
The truth is I can go into Pottery Barn, Rustic Hutch, any of those beautiful home decorating stores, get inspired out the wazoo, buy a bunch of stuff and once I get it home--I have no idea what to do with it. I’ve perused Pottery Barn magazines, home decorating books, you name it, but to no avail. It’s just not in me.
Now for those of you who can transform a room with a throw pillow, I’m happy for you. Just don’t walk in a dark alley at night alone. I’ve been known to go crazy with paint cans.
I should live in a sod home. Dirt floors, no-nonsense walls, small rooms with logs, that suits me. Stuff a few cracks with chewing gum, and I’m good to go.
Our son and his wife are visiting this weekend. They just bought a new home and they also purchased some software that allows them to “decorate” their home on the computer to see exactly how something looks BEFORE they go to the expense of actually putting it in their home. It even shows up in 3-D. Amazing. Next thing you know, a life-size Martha Stewart will be sewing curtains in our living rooms.
I’m excited about looking at this program. If it’s as good as they say it is, I’m getting it. Though I doubt I’ll be able to decorate on a computer, either.
Maybe I should just give up and live in a cave.
posted at 8:10 AM
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
I'm not a huge fan of mornings. Never have been and yet, throughout my life, I have been surrounded by those sunny people who call 5:30 a.m. and actual time to live through. I'm not a late sleeper, but I'm not really foraging for food until about ten. I have a son just like me, and he looks at food and cringes before school. My mom tried everything. Making me pancakes in the form of smiley faces, Grandpa frying me an egg and sticking it in my face at 6 a.m., but to no avail, I am not a morning person.
In the college dorm form, they asked me, "Are you a late night person?" Well yes, thank you for noticing I am. And with my roommate Arleen, there was marital bliss. We were content to order pizza at midnight and rush to an 8 a.m. class. That was fine living as far as we were concerned! So why didn't I think about this simple question when I got married?
DH is up at 5:30. Worse yet, he's ready to make the bed at 5:30, which involves a slight logistical problem, as I'm still in it! Saturdays have always been an issue. By nine, I'm dressed and ready to go out for coffee. Half of my hubby's day is over and he doesn't drink coffee. When I'm getting my second wind at ten p.m. and ready to clean the bathroom, he's zonked for the night.
He tried to change me. Early on, he really had an Ozzie & Harriet view of life and suggested I come to bed at ten. I'd feel better, he swore. So I would go to bed, stare at the ceiling, wait for him to fall asleep and then go watch Letterman.
People don't change. My DH still goes to bed with your average toddler, and I still read books late into the night (now with a handy book light). There were times of course, this came in handy, with small children for example, but now that we all want to sleep until 7 a.m. on summer mornings, I find I'm getting more annoyed with age.
So take my advice. Marry a man who goes to bed at the same time and find one who drinks coffee! : ) This is Elle and me when we were dragged out early to the beach. Even after Los Gatos Coffee that morning, I was ready for my nap! Which I promptly took on the beach after this picture was taken.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Some days are just too much fun. On Saturday morning I visited my Amish friends in LaGrange. There is such peace in their home, and they are the sweetest people. They fed me chocolate chip brownies and spearmint tea from their garden (Sarah knows how much I love it!)
After that visit with them, we met our buddies the Hunts for Diann and I to do a booksigning in Shipshewana. It was like seeing Di after a separation of several months--we squealed and hugged for about two years. Oh wait, it WAS a separation of several months! She's been in quarantine. But let me tell you, she looked GOOD. And we were talking and laughing so much at the signing, we actually sold some books. LOL
I know what you're asking--did we go sign books dressed like this. Er no. I know you all think I'm the outgoing one, the one who would get up on stage in a moment and speak. But let me tell you that this whole dress-up gig was DI'S idea. I was just peacefully minding my own business walking through Ship after a buggy ride when we stopped to see a sign for Photo Designs by Sarah. The poster showed a set of pictures before converting to Amish and after. Before I knew it, Di was dragging me into the shop. AND OUR HUSBANDS WERE FINE WITH IT! I'm not sure what that says about them. LOL But it was a TON of fun! Sarah put this wig protector things on our heads that made us look like quail (I've got a blackmail pic of Dave before the wig went on) and the clothes were oh-so-comfortable! Being Amish is sounding better and better. LOL Anyway I highly recommend the shop if you get up to Ship. My husband is the tall one in the picture with the flowing beard. LOL Jim and Diann are on our left. Did you realize it was us before you got to this point? LOL
One thing I noticed in my day as Plain was just how simple and happy life can be without worrying about all the garbage we immerse ourselves in. Even our buggy ride opened my eyes. With the windows out, we smiled and waved and talked to passersby. We weren't encapsulated in our car, separated from the people we passed. There was such a community feel. My Plain friends are all about putting other people first and their children reflect that too. Now if the bishop would just give me a dispensation for my computer. . . LOL
Rachel (AKA Colleen)
posted at 7:39 AM
Thursday, August 02, 2007
I’ve had a stinkin’ summer: six weeks of quarantine and two lung biopsies--my driver’s license expired July 31 (haven’t had a chance to renew!), I have an upcoming root canal, and I’m scheduled to do jury duty next week.
But today is my birthday and I plan to . . . .
It’s a great day because I’m not wearing a mask, and I’m not scheduled for a hospital procedure!!!! WHOOOHOOOOOO!!! But best of all, I’m surrounded by family, friends—and oh, yeah, my husband is taking me to DeBrand’s tonight!!!
So help me celebrate! Share a happy birthday memory!
posted at 7:01 AM
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
MEN AND HANDBAGS
There is a puzzle that I've never understood and it recently came to the fore again with Kara's boyfriend Mark. Here's how the scene came down:
Me: "I'm getting worried. I haven't heard from Jim about Di's biopsy. And I don't have Jim's cell number, only Di's.'
Mark: "You might try calling her number. He might answer it."
Me: "Good idea! If he doesn't call by eleven, I'm so calling."
Mark: "On second thought, if Kara's phone rang, I wouldn't get in her purse." He shudders and gets this deer in the headlights expression.
Kara: There's nothing scary in there." (She's laughing.)
Mark: "There's just something about a woman's purse. It's mysterious and scary."
Now my husband concurs with this view. I just asked him. He said, "Some things you're better off not knowing--like what's in a woman's pocketbook." When I laughed and asked him what he might find he said, "A murder weapon!" LOL
But seriously, if he needs something from my purse, he carries it to me holding it out like it might bite. And even Mark acted out how he'd take the purse to Kara if her phone was ringing in it. And he held it out the exact same way Dave does. I know not as many men as women read our blog so maybe we'll get no answer to this perplexing question, but anyone have an idea from where this phenomenon comes? I think it's hilarious!
posted at 9:35 PM