He's just not that into you, America

He wants your love.  He wanted your vote.  He's just not that into you.

You know the old adage, "Once a cheater, always a cheater,"  but your guy is different.  When you suspected, months ago, that there was a secret server in Trump Tower communicating only with Alfa Bank in Moscow, he reminded you of Hillary's private server.  Her emails are the ones you really want to see.  Sure, he was attracted to Russia, but he never pursued her.

He behaved.  That forgotten, extra server in Trump Tower that was just sending spam marketing for his hotels stopped all communications.  So you let it go.  It was probably all in your imagination, anyway.  But one day, you had that nagging feeling.  You just couldn't let it go. After a little digging, you found another, brand-new server with a new name in the same location and only receiving sporadic communication from one other address: hers.  Russia just won't leave him alone.  But when you confronted him, he stood up in front of all your friends and dared Russia to hack Hillary's emails!  He wouldn't have said that, in front of everyone, if he had anything to hide.

You tried to make it work.  You prayed.  You read.  You wondered if your mom was right and Bernie was the guy for you, after all.  When Hillary tried to tell you she isn't your enemy and she can help you get away from this guy, he became very passionate about babies!  Finally!  He was ready to commit to you and have all of the babies with you.

So you're in!   Sure, it's complicated but what relationship isn't?  His friend Rex is around all the time but that's okay.  It's a tough adjustment making this big commitment and the pressure of all of the babies and their healthcare, you aren't going to make him stop spending time with his guy friends.  It's just, well, this friend Rex has also had a thing for Russia.  So you're not thrilled.  He didn't have an affair with Putin but...Putin's second-in-command?  That guy is totally infatuated with Rex.  Rex wants to spend more time with them but everybody is always against him.  It isn't fair.  If only he knew someone who could relax a few regulations or change a law but don't worry about that.  Russia just sold their biggest oil "jewel" without having to name who they sold it to so there is a whole international mystery there for the world to solve when they aren't watching the Tillerson-Sechin love story. It's like a double-feature.

Try to relax.  Rex is getting ready for his new job, anyway so he'll be busy with that.  Other friends are here, all the time, too.  His friend Bannon?  Of course, you have to keep an eye on him.  He keeps cautioning your guy to be wary of at least half of your friends but he doesn't even know them.  Bannon keeps saying he can tell, just by the looks of them.  You're afraid though, to put any conditions on this fresh, new relationship so you're giving it time.

Your guy just started a brand new job, after all and he is already making his mark!  He is going to be so great at this new job!  He will be the best! We're all going to have tough days, of course but just surround yourself with positive people.  Ask that Louisiana guy out for coffee.  David something.  King? Knight?  Duke.  I think it's Duke.  Try him.   He has some really good things to say about your guy.  That other group trying to keep his attention? Congress?  They're super busy so you'll still be able to distract your guy.

He wants your attention.  So give it to him.  Pay attention.

.

Second Guessing, Parenthood

     Journeys down Memory Lane are full of speed bumps, curves, detours and bridges but it's cool to look back and see how even perceived forks in the road were still part of the same main path.   On my road, I see how the billboards and road signs were clearly there but I must have been speeding by too fast to read them or too busy looking for my exit.

     No.  I am not second-guessing parenthood.   With three children in school (most days), one of them being home sick today, it's a little too late to wonder if we're up for the job!   I'm thinking of R.E.M.'s song, Second Guessing.  If you're going to take a drive down Memory Lane, it's a good one for your road-trip playlist!  I loved the song back in high school.  I didn't own the album but had great memories of listening to it in friends' cars.  I said as much to a guy on our first (second) date.  I've mentioned both the date and the song here, before.  Our very first date was a lunch date in the dining hall so our second date was the first time I got into a car with him.  It wasn't my first time in that car.  I dated a friend of his the prior semester and they'd both borrowed the same car from yet another friend!   I was in a familiar car, with a fairly un-familiar guy, on a date I was pretty sure I didn't want to be on when he popped Reckoning into the tape deck.  As Michael Stipe started singing, I relaxed a little and looked at this guy, again.  First impressions being what they are, I was surprised.  He was dressed for a date, not just coming from class so he was no longer wearing a  t-shirt and a white baseball cap.  Guys who wore white baseball caps didn't listen to R.E.M.  Did they?  Maybe dinner wouldn't hurt.  We went to a little Italian restaurant where he gave the host a fake name, with a grin.  He made me laugh.  By the time we finished dinner, he asked if I wanted to go home.  I didn't.

     We agreed to go see a movie and ended up at Parenthood.  Who goes to see a movie titled "Parenthood" on their first date?  Halfway through the movie, he asked if he could "have" my hand!  No weird stretching to get an arm over the shoulders,  no slipping his hand over mine but actually asked first.  Who does that?  Still holding hands as we walked out of the movie, he asked if I wanted to go home.  I didn't.

     While trying to figure out what to do next, I think he noticed my glances at the daiquiri stand and suggested we go back uptown for drinks.  We went to O'Henry's, had long island iced teas and talked and talked until the bar closed.  Then we said we should probably call it a night.  We didn't.

     We drove down to the French Quarter.  Along the way, at a red light on Canal Street, he kissed me.  The guy who, when sober, politely asked if he could hold my hand, simply leaned over and kissed me.  He will deny that. He told everyone that I looked over and kissed him.  I didn't.

     We parked the car and walked down to the river.  We sat on a bench and talked until the sun came up along the Mississippi river.  By then, we were getting a little tired and decided it was time to go home.  A full twelve hours after the date-I-wasn't-going-to-go-on began, I made it back to my dorm room and shut the blinds so the morning sun wouldn't keep me from going to bed.  I didn't have to worry about waking my roommate as she was out-of-town for Labor Day weekend.

     The thing about these trips down Memory Lane is that they're pretty quick day-trips and you can read the signs when you're going this direction.  The signs letting me know that second-guessing was available with each and every exit?  The flashing caution sign announcing Parenthood Ahead?  There they are.  There was a point along this road, almost twenty-two years ago where I married that guy that asked for my hand.

     This was the point, twenty-six years ago, where two roads merged.   I only remember it was the Saturday before Labor Day but now we have Google, which tells me that back in 1989, that would have been September 2.

Reality Bites

"A little learning is a dangerous thing." --Alexander Pope

We still do not have a yard.  We have mud.  A little bit of grass is beginning to emerge here and there but it's mostly a vast expanse of mud and puddles bordering our new pool.  I remembered seeing a post or two on Facebook listing flowers and plants that deter mosquitos.  I remembered marigolds but did a quick search to see if the post had any basis in fact and what other plants would work.  Different sites gave similar lists so I headed out for pots and plants!  I couldn't find lavender in the garden center and forgot to look for an actual citronella plant (I didn't think to search the lists while actually at the store) but found marigolds everywhere.

I put pots of marigolds on my upper deck a month ago.  I did not buy any of the large, pretty, colorful flowers as we already had large black bumblebees out there.  (They tend to freak my kids out a bit.  I've reminded my offspring that while they're sweet, they need not worry about a bee mistaking them for flowers so they'll be fine.)  I put marigolds up there and was happy that we've been able to sit up there without many mosquitos!

Later, when talking with a landscaper, I asked him if it was true that lavender would deter mosquitos like marigolds.  He didn't know of any plants that actually deter them and reminded me that my deck is higher and mosquitos prefer to stay low by the ground.  Okay, maybe my marigolds weren't helping but I figured they weren't doing any harm, either so I left them on the deck and yesterday, bought many, many more to plant near my pool.  While I was planting, the kids were having fun in the pool but had to duck once in a while to avoid a pesky wasp or two that were scaring them.  (What happened to those big, fuzzy bees?)  I suggested we take a break and go sit up on the deck for dinner. They could stay in their wet suits but get up and away from the pool and the bugs.  They climbed the stairs half-way and stood there, waiting for another wasp to stop circling the deck, then went to sit down.  My youngest started yelling that our dog "pooped on the chair!"

My Golden Retriever is capable of a lot of mischief but actually climbing up on a patio chair to do that?  Not likely.  I came up to investigate and did find something on the chair but it was not put there by my dog.  I stormed into the house, complaining that I've been trying to avoid chemicals but I now we had a mud-dauber nest on a seat cushion and no spray to kill those suckers.  My husband said he thought we had hornet killer in the garage but while I went to get it, he took care of the nest.  He went out with a fly swatter and swatted the one trying to protect the thing, scraped it off the chair and kicked it somewhere!  (I asked what we would do if it was still full of wasps but he said he stomped on it!)

It was gone but the kids didn't want to sit there, any more.  One went inside and another came back down to sit by the pool, beside the large pots of marigolds as I went back to planting.  I finished the pots up with ivy around the edges, just as a deer came by to investigate!  (I'd forgotten the deer as I was planting my large pots of salad for them!)  The deer left, I cleaned up, poured a glass of wine and got back online.  I wanted to read more about marigolds and see if they really would deter any insects, at all.  This time, I read a little further.  One site said that both mosquitos and many gardeners dislike them for their strong smell but they are a good plant to place by windows and doors to keep the mosquitos from entering your house.  The same site cautioned, however, not to put them on patios or around a pool as the large orange blooms can attract wasps.

It does look like poop.

An open window

Sometimes you just have to sit back and listen.  Often, you need to pray.  Some days, all it takes is opening a window.

I did not sign up for the first class of the day, today but at the last minute thought I'd try to run over there.  By run over there, I mean last minute shower, grab a cup of coffee and pray I had time to make it over to the House of Seven Gables.  (Those of you who know me, know that this is how I operate even though it rarely, if ever, works out successfully).

By the time I got my coffee, I realized I had 4 minutes.  Still not feeling 100%, trying to run (with coffee) clearly wasn't worth it.  I checked out the library board, went back to my room, opened the window and realized how to make the old draft (the one I'd shelved and resolved to let go) work.

Months ago, I saw this Tweet from Donald Maas: "It is THE event of the year for fiction writers, space is limited.  Registration opens today.  Go.  Just. Go." with a link to Writer Unboxed.  I was pretty certain he was talking to me, specifically and I signed up.  I thought I was meant to attend his workshop but perhaps I was just meant to be here.

*Side note: I write historical fiction and am loving this hotel.  If in any doubt however, you know you're staying in an older hotel when you open a window and find you could get out through it! ;)

Jack, the Butterfly

I wish I were smart enough to be able to craft children's books.  Admittedly, it irritates me when my husband says I should write for children. He offers it as a suggestion because children's books are short.  (I am eternally "almost finished" with my current draft.)

I spend much of my day with children.  Every evening, I read to at least one child.  Thus, my husband believes that I KNOW children's literature.  When I have time of my own to write, however, I want to create something that I would want to read.  I wouldn't even know where to get inspiration for picture books.

There were very few "slow" or "boring" days this summer but on one of those rare days, my youngest was bored and had no one to play with.  I found him in the garage, talking to a small caterpillar.  He showed me his new friend, and I asked if he had a name.  He looked at the little green guy and said, "Jack."

I suggested we relocate Jack to the garden as he would starve in the garage.  My son was a little worried he would lose him in the garden but didn't want him to die in the garage so we scooped him up and moved him. My son stood, put his hand over his 5-year-old heart and said, "So long, Jack.  I will keep you in my heart, forever."

He will, too.  Five-year-olds, especially mine, do not forget.  Just in case, though, he did draw Jack's portrait so he would always remember him!  (The creature flying above Jack in this portrait is a bird.  My son began talking to a bird in the grass after he drew Jack's portrait but the bird quickly flew away.  Josh added him to this picture of all the friends he made and lost, all in one afternoon.)

My children, unlike myself, are artistic.  Another reason I do not consider writing children's books is the number of illustrations!  How would I find an illustrator?

All three kids are finally in school full-time, so on the four days that I am not going into the school as volunteer librarian (to read more picture books to more children) I fantasize about using those hours to craft grown-up, full-length sagas.  I keep meaning to get to those drafts right after I throw the kids' clothes into the washing machine, wipe toothpaste from the bathroom counters and empty trash cans that have been decorated with basketballs or zebra stripes.

After taking the dog for a long walk recently, I decided to clean up the backyard.  I paced the yard, thinking about the next chapter I really am trying to work out in a current draft.  While I searched the yard for piles of dog poop and thought about escaped slaves in Florida, one lone, beautiful butterfly kept following me.  By that time, I smelled.  A sweaty human who had played with a dirty, smelly dog and was holding a bag of excrement cannot possibly smell like ANY type of flower this butterfly might be trying to find. He kept flitting in my face, darting back and forth.  He would not get out of my face. I stopped thinking about Civil War battles, thinking instead that the butterfly looked like so many butterflies in so many children's picture books.  He circled my head again until I stopped, smiled and said "Hi, Jack."  He did a little spin in my face and flew away.

(This butterfly was not drawn by my son.  This is a close-up of part of a picture my daughter drew years ago.  It now hangs on a wall in our library/den/office so I have something to look at when I can't think of what to write next.)

Parental guidance 2

One of my big challenges in parenting is recognizing that my child may not be able to be ANYTHING they want and guiding them towards areas that are similar to the skills and talents I see in them.

Having said that, my children can be anything they want to be.  I stand by that.
Having said that, some careers are going to be much easier than others.

Tonight, I heard myself say to my son, "There is no successful career path out there where you can procrastinate, find the loopholes around the work you should be doing and blame your mistakes on others."

As I shook my head (hoping he thought it was in dismay over the as-yet-not-completed homework), I realized that there is a career path where one can succeed with that particular skill set. And my son is charming enough to get enough people to vote for him.

It's all in how you say it...

For better or for worse, I have a tendency to pick up "local" accents wherever I go.  I don't mean to do it, it is just a bad habit.  (Not a problem until I hang out TOO long with friends from Canada as they start to look annoyed.) ;)

After 12 years as a military wife, you never know what I'm going to say!

Anyhoo....it comes with perks.  Like drinking with my little brother one night and he says "with each glass of wine, you sound like you come from somewhere else!"  Or...the cab driver in Miami, the other day who was listening to me talk to my kids.  He finally asked "where are you from?"  When I replied, "I was actually born here," he shook his head and said "that's not it."  I said, "We live in Indiana, now.  Do I have a MidWestern accent?"  He nodded and said "THAT'S it!" *sigh*

Although I grew up in Florida, I acquired my "southern" accent more during college in New Orleans and it seems to show up again around family in the South, or when I drink.  Ahem.  So... I am going to feign innocence (as even the older kids are giving their little brother a "break" on this one) as it isn't TECHNICALLY wrong for him to ask, "What the Hail?"
(Right?)

History repeats and it's a blast!

I am praying for the Russians who were in or near the recent blast but was also intrigued by some of the comments in this article.

"We would expect an event of this magnitude to occur once every 100 years on average," said Paul Chodas of NASA's Near-Earth Object Program Office at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena, California.

The only novel I have actually pitched begins in Ukraine and Russia, one day before the Tunguska event in 1908.  This blast was not in the exact same location but globally speaking, not far at all and roughly 105 years later.

I Can See Clearly Now

It is time to accept that the Mid-Life-Conflict is a battle I can't win.

In other news, the resolution and clarity on both my laptop and phone are amazingly clear.  Who knew?

This Ole House

I want to tell you a story involving a sunken Civil War ship.  There is another story I'd like to share with you about two sisters--who've never met--which is also set during the Civil War.

Writer's Block is not my problem.  Lack of time is occasionally a problem.  Three kids and a dog have a way of needing something when I could be writing, along with all of the volunteer gigs, meetings and chauffeuring that go along with said family.  Still, those are obstacles that can be overcome.

The real problem with getting those stories to you is The One that is in my way.  I started a story years ago with no clear idea where it would go.  I've picked at it over the years until last year, decided that I would absolutely whittle that sprawling mess into a story.  It has evolved so much over the last year but still needs so much.  I need to set it aside and work on a story I can finish--and maybe even sell.  Right?

I have been comparing my stories to homes.  If you have a finite amount of both time and money, the best bet might be to purchase a new or newer home that is complete and has no obvious issues.  There may be another house that you really love but it is much older.  Parts of that roof need replacing, it might not have air-conditioning--there are likely problems with the foundation itself.  But it has character.  It has history.  It speaks to you.  (Yes, I've done this to my husband every time we have moved.  We always end up with a new(ish) home that won't suck up all of our time and money but it doesn't stop me from pulling him over to a 150-year-old house, "just to look.")

Maybe that is why I can't let this crazy book go, or at least not yet.  It isn't just a little fixer-upper.  It is a messy, crumbling mansion with termites and a leaky roof.  The floors are slanted.  But I can work on it whenever I have the time and don't need to apply for a permit, get paint in my hair or even find goggles and gloves.  When it is all fixed up, there will be more to it: who knows what is hidden in the attic?

Listen up

'Cause we know sometimes words have two meanings.

Sometimes, you need to make sure you are hearing the right words.

After enough of my daughter's music this afternoon, I gratefully flipped back and forth through a few XM channels, confident that I'd find music that my 4-year-old son could sing (repeat) without any concerns.  While I rarely land on the 80's station, not much else was on my standard stations and I thought Bananarama was safe.  I drove home, oblivious to the familiar lyrics while I ran through the rest of my evening schedule in my head.  My son was happy--he liked the song and bopped along.  I thought all was well until he kept singing after I'd turned the car off.  As it turns out, other words rhyme with "Venus."

As I was composing this blog post, my older son came over to tell me about a conversation at school today.  If you read this blog often, you know my kids attend Catholic school and today was a day when Father visited the classroom.  My son wanted to let me know that Father instructed them to avoid "sidekicks" and mediums (as they practice black magic).

Momentary grace

We all have that sense--satisfaction--when we have done a good thing.  I always hope I can accumulate grace--that I might bank points, if you will--to counter all of the missteps that I make.  Most of the time, I just pray that I can break even.

Yesterday morning, I took the dog for a run.  Upon returning, I grabbed her water dish to rinse it out.  As I looked down to turn the faucet on, I saw a wasp clinging to my running shirt.  I screamed (I tend to conform to those girl stereotypes only when it comes to bugs) and shook my shirt to knock him to the ground.  By the time I had my foot poised to squash him however, I realized that he had just been hitching a ride and hadn't taken the opportunity to panic and sting me.  So I backed up, grabbed a cup and scooped him up.  I opened the sliding glass door and shook him out onto the deck where he promptly flew away.

I felt satisfied.  Proud.  Benevolent.  I washed my hands before grabbing the flyswatter to go kill the giant fly that had been pestering my daughter in the basement.  My brain didn't catch up with the irony until after the fly had fallen to the ground.

Last night, I pondered whether one "save" might cancel out the other "thwack" as I fished a fruit fly out of my wine.  At least that guy went numb first.

Run for your life!

I am standing in my kitchen, telling myself it is time to exercise.  It is time for all of us to exercise.  (Not you--everyone in my kitchen.)  I need to go for a run with the dog and the 4-year-old needs to run outside.

We should have gone earlier but my son requested pancakes and I made them.  Far too many of them.  I am hungry and if I do not go run soon, I will eat them.  But instead, I am standing at my computer, reading this true, real, fascinating article.  Before I can finish the article, I see the grin on my 4-year-old's face.  The grin with an index finger in the middle of it.  The grinning child with the finger in his mouth is standing in the kitchen, trying to block my view of the tub of margarine with a 4-year-old-finger-sized canal running through it.

He's sneaky but he's honest.  "I ate butter.  I like to eat butter."

Sigh.  It's time for a run.

You can't judge a book by its cover...

...but you can get more readers if you pick the right title.

You can certainly increase your blog traffic by picking the right title!  I am very thankful for my few loyal readers but maybe I should include the words "Navy," "Secret" and "Weapon" in all of my titles!
(I am not complaining--I have neglected this blog terribly.  I get page views every day, so I am happy with that, for now, even if they are often in the single digits.  Having said that, I had over 250 a few days ago!  I can't say it was the spectacular writing--there were only two sentences!)

For more fun: I was searching for an image of a book cover to include with this post and found these amazing book sculptures!    

While I am one who hesitates to dog-ear my pages, this artist has certainly brought new life to outdated/older encyclopedias and dictionaries!  Check them out!

The Navy's secret weapon

I know I am not the only one who thinks of Mr. Limpet when there is a story about bomb-detecting dolphins.  Of course the dolphins were well trained!

Food for thought

I just logged on to begin a post about inspiration at this time of year and found this one--still sitting in my drafts from the week after Thanksgiving.  It appears that I have been working on the same idea for a month now.  (I'll post the new one tomorrow).  Happy Monday!

I pray; I attend church; I find the Bible fascinating though I'll admit I don't open it on a regular basis.  I have taken enough women's bible study classes to know that I would not care to attempt what this woman did.  Sure--I could try but it would be like trying to sit through algebra class again.  You know, it would be HARD.

During a recent homily, a priest suggested we treat Advent more like Lent.  (He admitted he did not expect anyone to find this Homily popular.)  Rather than enjoying the Christmas season now, he suggested we use it as a time of preparation, contemplation and repentance.  Then, on Christmas Day we would be ready to celebrate the birth of Jesus and continue to celebrate for the following eight days.  (His suggestion to the children that they request presents for eight days in a row DID seem a bit more popular!)

Finishing my book is important--to me.  The universe has bigger issues to worry about.  You have bigger concerns.  The book is important to me but not as important as family.  More interesting but not as important as getting dinner on the table tonight.

I knew completing a NaNo novel this year would be nearly impossible but absolutely impossible if I did not try.  I quickly decided to use NaNo as a way to get many more needed words into the WIP I am revising and watch the little blue bar move to the right, at the same time.  Even with that cheating mentality, I did not get enough words into the WIP let alone start a new project.

This time of year is busy enough.  Every year I say I need to let something go but end up doing everything halfway.  So I took the laptop with me on a trip to Florida for Thanksgiving with my kids.  (I had a fantasy about leaving my kids with their cousins and finding a Starbucks in my hometown.)  Instead, I let my son play games on the computer (the one computer he is never allowed to touch) and watched my youngest play in the dirt.  Aside from my son's time on the laptop, it was a mostly unplugged, unscheduled weekend with family.  It wasn't perfect but it was perfectly good.  Twenty years from now, my son won't remember if I finished my book this year or not but he might remember playing football with his cousins in the yard.  He will remember the pie.  Sweet Mercy, there were so many different delicious pies!

I have worked on the WIP.  It still isn't done.  It is not ready but it is better.  I am learning to slow down and listen more (and if a main character in the book learns that lesson along the way as well, that's just gravy).

Stalked by some bad battery karma

Every parent who has seen the Toy Story movies knows where the writers got the idea.  There is some toy, somewhere in your house, with a dying battery.  Batteries do not die quietly.  Toys do not come equipped with a "low battery" light or a status bar, telling you just how much time is left.  Toys...turn psycho.

I am not talking about the toys on your child's floor, nor the ones lying on the top of the toy box.  Those toys have been played with recently.  Those toys have received attention.  Those toys are good.

It is the toy you haven't seen for a while.  Maybe it isn't at the bottom of the full toy box but it is wedged in the middle, somewhere.  In the middle of the night, while your family is sleeping, that toy will beep for no reason.  When the children are in school, the dog is napping and the house is quiet, that toy will talk.  And if you should dig for that toy, find that toy and hold that toy it will stop.  (Think Rex in Toy Story 3: "He held me!  He actually held me!)

But my latest silence-stopper?  The potty. 

Yes, for the THIRD child, I bought a potty that sings when you, well, you know.  Except this one doesn't.  It can--it simply won't--because no one uses it.  Little guy uses it as a stool to step up to the sink.  He uses it to hold his books while he uses The Big Potty but he does not sit upon it.  So it has no reason to sing.

What to do if you are a potty with no reason to sing?  Well, sing for no reason at all!  It is 11pm.  Everyone, including the dog, is asleep except for me--and the potty.  So it sings.

Moving past Teeewwwsday...

Hey, boys and girls!  It turns out, you're never really too old to have a theme for the day!

My youngest came home from preschool yesterday with an alligator pouch he'd made (full of "A" pictures) and an alligator dance.  You won't be surprised to learn that it featured a big "chomp!"

On the way to pick up the older two from school, I heard a little more chomp chomping from the back of the car.  This time, it was the dog.  Hers wasn't so much an alligator impression as she was trying to taste the DS game left in a cup holder.

We picked up my son first and while he mourned the loss of his Mario game, we picked up my daughter.  She placed a tiny present into my hand: the bracket that held her braces to her back molar.

I admire my friends and relatives who are dental hygenists and dentists.  I have never had any desire to put my hand inside anyone's mouth.  So after trying to coax Playdoh out of the dog's mouth a little later, I decided to open the wine, declare that I was off-duty and ordered pizzas for dinner.  (Yes, one was cheese-free!)

Who moved my cheese?

We talk about the "first 12-hour date" but that wasn't really our first date.  The first one was a lunch date.  I had a cheeseburger (and fries, I assume).  He had an apple.

The following summer, I decided to try giving up meat for 30 days. Those thirty days turned into two decades, although for years my husband tried to wait me out, convinced it was "just a phase."

Just a little over a week ago, my husband decided to go on a "plant based diet" for 30 days and invited me to join him.  He eased into it--the first day he just avoided "anything with a face or a mother."  It's been a vegan week since--no dairy, no eggs.  Unless you count the "butter" on our popcorn Saturday night.  I don't.  (Elaine Bennes covered the whole "is it real butter" issue for us, a while ago!)

We'll see how long this phase lasts!  I know he'll make the 30 days--he sticks to his goals.  He gave up wine for 40 days.  (He invited me to join him on that venture, as well, but I couldn't commit to that one.  This latest kick is much easier.  Wine qualifies as "plant-based.")

Our first lunch date was during the week before Labor Day, twenty-two years ago.  If you had told me then where I'd be now, I never would have believed it.
I never would have seen myself as someone who could give up cheese.

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An amendment for my loyal readers:

I was notified via facebook of an inaccuracy in this post, this morning.  I have some great friends (with amazing memories!) who, apparently, do pay attention to what I write here.  My own memory is not so good and I do not fact-check my posts well enough.  I regret to admit that I have not completely avoided meat for two decades.

I tried.  I failed.  

Nearly two decades ago, I was working for J. We were working quite late one night and he bought dinner for everyone.  I was hungry famished.  I was tired.  There were no veggie options and I caved.  I confess--I ate a turkey sandwich.  Nineteen years ago.  

As long as I am confessing (and before my family members rat me out) I also ate a bite of kielbasa on Easter.  In 2008.  My son saw it and has proudly told everyone that I am not a real vegetarian.

I am a fraud.  Now you know.

Whether the weather bothers you or not...

...it bothers my kids.

The tornado warning ended officially at 10:15pm but tell that to the kids!  We are all fine but they have pulled the sofa beds out in the basement and are quite comfy!

A house on the next street over WAS hit by lightning today so I guess I can see where they'd be a little concerned.  Guess I'm not getting much work done and/or sleep for a bit...

...but we're good.  Goodnight!