It's Time to Play The Family Feud (Or, How One Family Conquered the Family Feud Audition)

“The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.”
― Eleanor Roosevelt

I am nothing if not a taster of life.

For some time, the delightful DP and I have been hankering to get an audition for our favorite TV dinner pastime, The Family Feud.  We have been meaning to send in an audition tape for forever but, like with many things, I just didn't get around to making The Big Idea into reality.  However, when the announcement came that The Feud was making its way to Charlotte to audition families, we knew the time was now.

And so I did. 

Here's what I wrote:

We are a modern day mini-Brady Bunch blended family from Greensboro, NC. We watch Family Feud as a family EVERY NIGHT from 7pm to 8pm while we're making (and, sometimes, eating) dinner! We all shout out the answers to the questions while everyone makes fun of me for shouting out the same answer OVER and OVER. I am Kelly Patterson, a 46-year-old mother of two boys and stepmother to two girls. I am in marketing and I do a little writing on the side. The Husband, age 50, is my new husband who is the father of two girls and new stepfather to my boys. He manages a shop that restores classic BMWs and teaches High Performance Driving School instructors. (He can drive FAST!) DP is his beautiful daughter, a 22 yo college student who lives with us. She'll be in Serbia until December 7 on an internship with the US Embassy there. My son Thing 1 is 17 and is a marching band leader who is searching for colleges and my son Thing 2 is a cool 15 year old who thinks he is a whiz kid at the Family Feud. We would love to come audition in Charlotte, NC! DP said she could FaceTime or send a video for auditions! Yes! Pick us! Pick us!

And, guess what?  THEY PICKED US!

Unfortunately, they wouldn't allow a FaceTime audition so we enlisted MP, The Husband's youngest daughter, to join us.

And so for a few weeks, we watched The Feud with a new, more discerning eye.  We (and by "we," I mean "me") analyzed the outfits of the contestants (they're always color-coordinated and the women always wear dresses), practiced channeling our inner Average American to get the top 5 (or 6, or 7, or 8) answers and even rehearsed our aggressive X signs with our arms to taunt our family opponents.

When audition day came, we. were. ready.

We made our way to the Omni Hotel in Charlotte.  Our young charges looked g-o-o-d dressed to impress.  MP brought her Fiancé and The Husband's tiny grandson as Cheerers-And-General-Hangers-On.

We navigated the always-harried Charlotte traffic and eventually found our way to the lobby of the Omni where we were instructed to follow the herd of Family Feud wanna-bes to the our family audition room.

Inside the room were about 50 or so eager families.  Some may have been a little too eager and hyped up on Mountain Dew (and I'm referring to the 'shine version and not the caffeinated version).  Those Woo Girls jumped up and hollered at the slightest provocation.  They made me glad I wasn't part of their family (I know, it's mean, but it was in my head!).

The rules were explained to us.  No video.  Excitement was mandatory.  Family huddles were also mandatory as was smiling.  Two rounds of questions for two families at a time with each family getting the opportunity to go first.  No buzzers were available but there was a bell because...well, people wanted to PRESS SOMETHING.  On-deck families were called to be ready so that delays were minimized between rounds. Check. Check. Check.

We watched.

The VERY first family had a team member who COULD NOT REMEMBER the things her family members had said.  When they were repeated to her, she would inevitably use one of them.  We couldn't decide if she was doing it on purpose to get more camera time or if she really was missing that many brain cells.

We watched some more.

For the next two and a half hours, we sat while teams of families went up, answered their questions and left the room with high fives and hoots aplenty.  The noise was nearly migraine-inducing between the buzz of the activity in the front of the room and the bored families waiting for their turn in the back of the room. While the other families were up, the Things studied their Family Feud questions.

We watched. And waited.

Finally, it was our turn.  We channeled our energy and made our way to the front of the room.  We wrote our name on the whiteboard (as previously instructed) and posed with smiles for the camera.  The Husband was our Team Captain and he steadily placed his hand on the table and one hand behind his back (as instructed) for the first question.  "One hundred people surveyed, top seven answers on the board.  Name something in your home that you want to remodel."  DING.  The Husband answered, "Kitchen!" with enthusiasm.  Number one answer!  The question went through our family, one by one, until we finally gathered our three strikes.  The other family had the opportunity to steal...and didn't!  We won that round.

Round 2.  "100 people surveyed, top eight answers on the board.  Name something people do more of when they're worried."  DING! I get the question and I immediately say the answer that popped into my head, "DRINK!"  I totally thought I had it.  Because WHO DOESN'T DRINK MORE WHEN THEY'RE WORRIED?  Stupid 100 people don't, apparently, because that answer wasn't on the board.  That was OK, though.  The other family got the question and we formed our Mandatory Family Huddle.  Our ace in the hole, MP, came up with our team answer but we needed to shout answers at our captain when the other family struck out.  They did.  We came out of our huddle and started yelling answers to The Husband.  He turned and gave our answer, "They BITE THEIR FINGERNAILS."  Ding, ding, ding!!! We won the round!

Our host thanked us.  We exited the noisy, hot room and found a bigger-than-life-sized picture of Steve Harvey to pose with.

So. Awesome.

It was a great deal of fun to be a part of the audition process. Our chances of getting on the show look slim (because there were SO MANY PEOPLE!) but, hey, how many families get the chance to say they had a shot at The Feud?

Our family can now say that we played a little bit of The Feud.  We missed our DP but there will be the chance for OTHER Great Family Adventures again.  I feel certain of it.

Still winning.  This blended thing is totally going to work out after all.

Ode to the Chateau Graphite

“Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us, or we find it not.”
― Ralph Waldo Emerson

Author's Note: Pronounciation of Chateau Graphite:  Shat-OH Gra-FEET (like the French, right?  Hush, it's TOTALLY LIKE THE FRENCH.)

This weekend, we said goodbye to a friend.  As the friend slowly moved out of the driveway, I felt a wave of emotion wash over me.  We had done so much...seen so much...weathered so much, really.  But the friend was destined for new things and different experiences with new friends. And so, we parted ways.

Obviously, I'm not referring to a real, flesh-and-blood person but the Fleetwood Graphite Pop-up Travel Trailer.  That pop-up has been there for so many of my face-aching-from-smiling, side-splitting happy moments over the last several years.

• It was there for a tequila-laden day that bled into night when we listened to music, swapped stories and waited for our chicken to fry in the howling wind.  We took a magical wintry walk through the snow-covered forest and returned to the warmth of the cozy pop-up.  That weekend, we were the only (foolish?) campers to brave the weather in the Grayson Highlands.
• We spent that one weekend just...sleeping.  We were so exhausted from just living our lives that we slipped away to Stone Mountain State Park and slept.  We didn't even hike that weekend...we just took a short walk and returned to the pop-up for another nap.  It was a welcome relief from the demands that reality forced on us at that time.
• There was the time when we hosted our non-camping friends in Hot Springs.  We shared wine and laughter but, we found out later, did not share the love of the camping experience.  One of our crew found the entire thing distasteful with cold showers and dreary weather.  But she later decided to give us a second chance anyway in more hospitable conditions...and without the pop-up.  She is one of the people we love best in the world now.
• Then there was the time when we saw other people heading out early from the campground.  We shrugged and proceeded with our dinner. The next morning, with tent poles collapsed and easy-up shelters along with our dishes blown askew and a mix of snow/sleet coming out of the sky, we realized our mistake.  We gathered up the shrapnel as quickly as we could, ushered the kids into the warmth of the pop-up and had bagels before making our getaway with our gear a little worse for wear.
• The pop-up was a central figure as base camp for our wedding this April.  We gathered a few close friends and family members into a camping circle and said our vows.  Appropriately enough, we retired to our little pop-up, exhausted but happy and certain we'd taken the right step for our future.
• We traveled cross-country with Things 1 and 2 in the pop-up.  By the end of two weeks, we were a well-oiled machine of handle-cranking, window-zipping, slideout-pulling, bed-making people.  We slept in that pop-up in Tennessee, Illinois, Nebraska, Colorado, Utah and Arizona.  It was a great place to rest our weary heads in the city, in the plains, on a high mesa and near the Grand Canyon.  

It's funny how much an inanimate object can become a part of your personal lore and even, perhaps just a little, become enmeshed with who you are...at your core.  This pop-up was a part of our falling-in-love story.  And it showed us how much we share the love of the Great Adventure and how much we want to carry that impetus on into our future.  I'm an emotional creature.  I had a little hitch in my chest as that little home-on-wheels eased away.  But I also had a smile on my face because, now, the pop-up is off to Great Adventures with a couple of grandparents with three active grandsons.  We know that the new memories made with the Chateau Graphite will last a lifetime for those little boys whose future surely holds s'more-sticky giggles.  Our collective lifetimes have certainly been made richer by it. Roll on, little pop-up.

For now, we're prepping the Minnie Winnie for new memories of our own...for we are camping people and the wilderness always calls to us.  And there are Great Adventures around every corner on every day.  There are still face-aching-smiles, belly laughs and coffee-and-wine-drenched weekends to be had. And, instead of my usual hashtag of #StillWinning, it has become filled with the promise of #StillWinnie.

25 Things I Learned Camping Across the Country

“No man needs a vacation so much as the man who has just had one.”
― Elbert Hubbard

The Four of Us at Mesa Verde National Park's Cliff Palace

The Husband, The Things and I have logged just over 5,000 miles together on the road for our Great American Family Road Trip, or, as The Husband named it prior to our Great Adventure, the PTSD (Patterson Tilyard Southwest Debacle).  Admittedly, I was a wee bit nervous prior to our travels.  We’re a newly forged family and I’m not always sure how the Things are going to take my Alpha Male husband.  To my great relief, we’ve made it all the way across the country and back and I think the boys have a firmer understanding of who their new stepfather is and are even able to joke around with (at?) him. 

Completely exhausted from the last year in which we have prepped a house for sale, sold the house, built an addition, moved our families in together, we opted for this Great Adventure many months ago.  We packed our things, loaded up the trunk and camper and we left the Eldest Daughter in charge at the homestead, keeping watch over our faithful hounds.  The two youngest Things came with us, mainly because they, unlike their fully grown step-siblings, simply don’t have a choice in the matter.  “We’re going and you’re going to have fun, dammit.”

We’ve missed our other children and our puppies tremendously along the journey but I’m so thankful we’ve had this Great Adventure together and for the things we’ve learned along the way.

1.     The boys have three food groups.  The Husband likes to cook.  He likes to cook things people like to eat.  He has finally determined that the Things have three favorite food groups:  bread, meat and sugar.  At almost every meal, he assessed whether they had at least two of their food groups and would announce that since they had bread and meat or bread and sugar or, in the case of pancakes and bacon one morning, bread, meat AND sugar, they should be satisfied.  He is working on adding vegetables to their required food group list.

2.     The Kum & Go convenience store makes teenage boys smirk.

3.     It’s good to have an itinerary.  The Husband is a Planner.  He is, in fact, the ULTIMATE planner.  This seems to be a great comfort to Things 1 and 2.  Finally, they have someone who doesn’t say “We’ll just wing it!”  In deference to The Husband’s hard work prior to our adventure and to the Things’ desire to know exactly what is happening each day, I compiled our journey into a handy three-ring binder so they could see how far we planned to travel each day and the things we would be doing (enduring). 

4.     The book IT by Stephen King has some uncomfortable sex scenes (we found that out listening to the audiobook).  Oops.

5.     We can set up and take down camp in record time.  Prior to this Great Adventure, we went through the pop-up camper and streamlined our tools.  We organized everything with efficiency in mind and included only those things we really need.  Yes, a wine tool is something that we really need.  OK, maybe it’s just me who needs it.   At the first site or two, The Husband showed the Things the order of business and, by the last camp site at The Grand Canyon, we were all a well-oiled machine.  The boys grabbed tools before they were asked and everything was put away in the same place every time.  (See number 3…remember how extraordinary The Husband is at planning?)

6.     The restaurant/saloon in Leadville, CO called The Silver Dollar has really terrible service.  Like, terrible.  I wanted to go there because I couldn’t go as a kid (duh, it was a BAR).  During the day, it’s more of a restaurant.  A terrible restaurant.  When I enunciated while giving the (terrible) server my order, the Husband asked if I was using my Colorado accent.  Before I could answer, the (terrible) server answered (she thought he was talking to her). “I’m not even FROM Colorado.  I hate it here. I’m moving.” 

7.     This country is big.  The Husband and I knew that prior to this Great Adventure, having both traveled all over the country.  However, the Things had never experienced THIS long of a road trip.  They saw corn (a lot of corn), desert, mountains, and the wide Mississippi river.  They saw elk up close.  They ran across a bearded lizard on a mesa in Colorado.  They felt the high dry heat of the desert and they stood high on the rim of the Grand Canyon at sunset.  When I was a teenager, I cut out an article from the Reader’s Digest entitled “There is No God?”  The article began with the statements, “There is no God.” It went on to say that the mountains just formed themselves, the animals just arose out of nothing.  It went on like that for a bit and then talked about the glorious beauty of a sunset and how the curves, hard edges and soft, flowing hills are so perfectly aligned against the sky.  It ends with “There is no God?”  I hope that the Things saw the grace and beauty of the earth with an omnipotent presence in mind. 

8.     Museum bathrooms really ARE clean and nice.  We found this out after eating the Maid Rite sandwich at the Mark Twain Dinette in Hannibal, MO.  ‘Nuff said.

9.     I don’t want to live in Nebraska.  Or Oklahoma.  Or Arkansas.  There are probably more states on that list but I guess there’s a reason I moved back to North Carolina.

10.  We can all get along.  As I mentioned, I was a little nervous prior to the trip.  The Husband is a very different parental figure than I am.  But, in almost no time, the two boys had aligned with him to mock me about my rule-following (Hello?  Crosswalks were invented for a reason) or my ridiculous morning-person greetings.  I hope they figure out someday that we went on this Great Adventure for them.  I hope they know how much love he pours into all he does even when he seems all gruff on the outside.

11.  Thing 1 has a new road name:  Trailblazer.  He earned it deciphering maps at Mesa Verde National Park.  Thing 2 is now Two Dogs Hunching.  But that’s just because of the joke.

12.  Satellite radio is a gift.  Even high in the mountains in the middle of nowhere with no cell signal to be found, our Sirius XM worked like a charm.  We listened to blues, classical, hip-hop, pop and, mostly, the Husband’s choice of Classic Rewind or Classic Vinyl. 

13.  There are no (few?) overweight people out west.  They either make better food choices or hike their butts off during the 2 months of summer every year.  This does not make me want milkshakes any less.  Nor does it make me want to move at all in 100-degree heat.

14.  I don’t miss TV.  Period.  Thing 2 has downloaded Mad Men on Netflix (don’t judge me…we’re talking about some of the more questionable things happening on the show) and is watching that during long driving stretches.  But, for the most part, we don’t have TV and don’t miss it. 

15.  You can move past mistakes.  So, SOMEONE left our National Park Pass at home.  I mean, someone PLANNED for it, paid for it and conveniently put it in a folder MONTHS prior to the trip and then someone just went off and FORGOT IT.  (Can you guess who forgot it?  Remember the one of us who is much more likely to just “wing it?”)  I felt bad about forgetting it and thought The Husband was mad (and, still, I think he was, a little) but we worked through the snafu.  I am a huge mess.  Always.  I speak before I think, I fall down, I spill things and I…well…I FORGET things.  We worked through it.  And I guess we will keep working through it. 

16.  There are people who drive with goats inside their personal vehicles.  True story.  We saw it.  And then we made up a goat-song parody to Prince’s When Doves Cry (re-titled When Goats Drive).

17.  Sometimes, lessons in opening and shutting truck doors are required.

18.   Raccoons are little bitches.  With cute hands.  And they try to steal peanut butter.  And they leave paw prints on coolers.

19.  Along the same vein, squirrels will bite.  They will. I have proof from the brochure from the Grand Canyon. And they probably carry diseases.   In fact, squirrels are the only dangerous animal they mention. #Validated.  That didn’t stop anyone from continually making fun of my irrational fear of squirrels.

20.  Camping on top of a mesa is cool.  Best. Campsite. Ever.  You should try it at Colorado National Monument.

21.  Farts are funny.  Always.

22.  A little bit of a schedule is good for me on vacation. A lot of schedule is too much.  This vacay had a perfect amount of schedule. 

23.  A 100% acrylic poncho that makes one resemble Clint Eastwood can be had off I-40 in Texas (or was it Oklahoma?) for about $10. 

24.  Coming home again is sometimes the best and most satisfying reward after a Great Adventure. 

25.  Best. Trip. Ever.  I am thankful…always.

We Are Family: Lost and Found Sisters

“If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance.”

― George Bernard Shaw

I am a word person.  Always have been.   I've been in love with vocabulary for all of my conscious life.  And, for that reason, when I want to get to the heart of the matter, I always go first to the dictionary.  Merriam Webster dictionary defines family in this way:

As you can see, MOST people don't need to look this one up since its popularity is pretty darn low.  Only 1% of people who consult MW are looking for the word family.

"Family" is a deeply personal word and one that conjures up a lot of different images for people.   It can be a warm word that means love, laughter, Thanksgiving dinner, adventures and fun.  It can be a sad word conveying loss or shame.  Or, it can be painful and filled with scars, tears and silence.  It can even be hopeful, fat with the promises of marriage, babies and future domestic bliss.

For me, family is a complicated word.  My mother was never married to my biological father.  My stepfather told me when I was six that HE was not my father but didn't bother telling me who was and threatened my life if I told my mother I knew.  And I spent more than half of my life wondering about who the REST of my family was.  What was my father's name?  What did he look like?  Did he ever think about me?  Did he have a REAL family?

The truth is simple but often complicated when it comes to families.  In truth, my biological father held no legal or moral responsibility for me.  He walked away clean after signing away his parental rights at the request of my mother.  He was kind enough, along with his lovely wife, to meet me when I was 36 and came looking for him.  We have developed a nicely loose relationship over the last years and I am grateful that I now have answers that haunted me for so long.

But life is never neat and tidy.  I met B, one biological half-sister and connected immediately with her.  Nature vs. nurture was answered immediately for me when I met B.  We have so many similarities from the rhythm of our speech to the fact that we both named our youngest sons "Jackson." B had a full sister, L, who wasn't ready to meet me all those years ago.  Two other half-siblings were (and remain) lost to me.

My life, since meeting my father, has changed dramatically.  It was the impetus for change in me and in my choices.  It was almost as if I needed that missing piece to clink into place before I could get down to the business of living.  When you know where you come from, it seems to be easier to envision where you might go.

A few weeks ago,  I heard a ding announcing I had a new message.  I looked and the message was from Kelly L.  Kelly.  She told me that she was the biological daughter of JL and was looking for other siblings she might have.

Kelly L.  Kelly L.  Kelly L. 

My breath caught in my chest.  She HAD MY NAME.  I have always joked that Tilyard is the only legitimate name I've ever had.  I was Kelly S. on my birth certificate.  My mother started calling me Kelly N. after she married.  When I found out my biological father's name, I said I COULD be Kelly L.  And, finally, I took the name of my (now ex) husband, I legally became Kelly Tilyard.

But Kelly L.  Kelly L...

After I breathlessly read the message to The Boyfriend, I must have looked at him somewhat wild-eyed.  He gently said, "Well, are you going to answer?"

I did answer.  I told her that I was his biological daughter and that SHE was, indeed, my half-sister.  We connected quickly and I spoke to her the first time the next day and we pieced together the little we both knew.  I found out that she had met my biological grandmother also and had pictures of our biological father from when he was in her life as a young girl.  I won't share her story here because it isn't mine to tell, but I know that we were mutually thrilled to have found another long-lost half-sibling.

She wanted to meet.  After all, she was finding a sister whom she didn't know existed and...well, so was I.  And, after all, we share a name!  We arranged a meeting of a big group of our family,  our father, his wife and their two children...our two half-sisters.  I had already met B but was thrilled that L was ready to meet me, too.

We had a good day, the six of us plus Kelly's fiancé.  We found many, many commonalities among the four of us sisters as well as some marked differences, too.  (OK, I just don't like the VIOLENCE of football...)  But that's just the way it is with all sisters, isn't it?

We skipped all the years of petty jealousies, of fights over clothes and boys.  Of pecking order establishment.  But we also missed that bond...that "us against them" mentality.  We missed years of laughter and of tears.  We missed marriages, births, trials and triumphs.  Kelly and I both have brothers whom we are grateful for.  But neither of us has ever had a sister.

I don't know what causes a parent to walk away from a child.  I know that I have no animosity toward my biological father.  Life is complicated.  And it's messy.  I get that.  He did what he did.  And I am who I am because of...or perhaps in spite of...never knowing him growing up.  I know that I can love him for the now that we have.  And I have nothing to forgive...because he did nothing wrong by me. 

But sisters.  I have sisters.   And I have a promise for them...for B...and for L...and for K.  I will always love you.  My door is always open to you. I don't always say the right thing.  I am selfish and opinionated and often wrong...about everything.  I am not great about keeping in touch and birthday cards sometimes remain unmailed for years at a time. But, I will always be on the the other end of the phone or the road or the thought.  Sisters.  From now on.

We are family.  I've got all my sisters with me.  

Thank you, Kelly.  Thank you for being brave.  Thank you for finding me.

Author's Note:  This was a tough post to write.  It's taken me a week to sort out how I feel about meeting two new sisters last week and I feel like I have to be very careful because, again, these stories don't belong to me alone.  Like I said, it's complicated.  But I needed to write it out.  And to share it.  Because families, like life, are sometimes messy.  And it's good for all of us to understand that we are not alone in navigating the chaos.  I, personally, like to bring the chaos close to me.  When I see it up close, I can better understand it.

How do you handle your own complicated family?


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Age is a number with a life behind it

“It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream.”
― Edgar Allan Poe

Today, I woke up with the realization that the woman in the mirror is 44 years old.  44.  Forty-four.  XLIV in Roman numerals.  She has been 44 for some time...but the number is clanging around in her head this morning, ricocheting off memories and dreams.

44 is old enough to know better and old enough not to care.  44 is too old to play dumb and far too experienced to waste time.  At this age, that woman I see in the mirror has finally stopped caring what people think of her but she still longs for them to like her. And she wants them to accept her exactly as she is. She has spent a lifetime pretending to be this for one and that for another and has become content...finally...with simply being herself. 

The woman in the mirror looks back at me with kind, vivid blue eyes.  I appraise her objectively and find her beautiful.  I rarely see her beauty but, instead, focus on her shortcomings.  Her short upper lip curves upward when she is at rest.  It is nothing more and nothing less than how she was made.  It's a part of her and it's only a lip.  It's nothing to hide.  It's nothing to disdain.  It's a lip.  And it belongs to her. 

I wonder why I have spent a lifetime being critical of that woman staring back at me. I realize that she has done nothing more than the best she can.  And, at some points, even her best really wasn't very good.  But every day, no matter what the day before had brought, she wakes up.  She puts one foot in front of the other.  And she keeps moving.  She goes forward...every day attempting to be a better person, a better friend, a better mother, a better employee, a better human being.  She fails.  And tries again.  And fails.  And, once more, she tries again.

She deserves my compassion.  She deserves my patience.  My forgiveness.  I must remember not to criticize her, apologize for her, belittle her or be angry with her for too long.  

She takes life to heart, this woman in the mirror.  She knows her role on the planet is small but that her behavior and her moods impact the environment in her home.  She willingly fosters a climate of acceptance, kindness and love.  She laughs a lot...sometimes too loud and too long for those around her. 

She lashes out at times...usually in fear.  Her fears are deeply personal and related to loss of self.  She fears not being heard, understood, or loved.   She is sometimes sarcastic and curt.  She is harsh and unyielding until she becomes aware of her own coldness.  And then she melts like butter in tearful apologies.

She believes that people are inherently good...even those people who do evil things.  She rails against stupidity and ignorance.  She aches for those who are hurting.  She assumes their pain and makes it her own until she can't bear it and pushes it away.

The woman in the mirror is 44.  She still has a lot left to learn.  She has places to explore, thoughts to examine, things to conquer, and tasks to master.  She is 44.  And she moves forward.

Who is in your mirror?

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5 Things You Should Never Do During Chemo Treatments

“Cancer. The word meant the same to me as tsunami or piranha. I had never seen them; I wasn't even quite sure what they were, but I knew they were bad and I knew in many cases they were deadly.”
― Natalie Palmer

One of my very, very good friends has gone and gotten breast cancer.  She's now inundated with appointments, information, more appointments and the well-meaning actions of the few people she has told.  She's living every single day by putting one foot in front of the other and just getting through it. 

Because she's just not ready to go public, we're going to call her MGFWC (My Good Friend With Cancer) for short.  Actually, we'll just drop it down to MF to keep the character count down.  MF has been through a lot these past few years and cancer is just the icing on the sh*t cake she's been living.  (Yeah, I said "sh*t cake."  And I meant it.) And just a few weeks ago, she had been presented with the chemo treatment facility where her doctor has privileges to treat.  Laughing, she told me about her visit with the Chemo Nurse who showed her around. The sad little room was barren with a couple of chairs and no television or any artwork on the walls.  It was a dreary room intended for an even drearier purpose.

"We have Wifi," Chemo Nurse said proudly.  I think MF (who, I just found out, has her nephew download things onto her computer because she just doesn't "get it") was singularly unimpressed.  The nurse THEN said that they strongly encouraged interaction between patients during treatment.  MF may have mumbled something about having enough friends and the average age of the other patients being old enough to remember the suffragist movement.

MF then said perhaps I should write blog posts to entertain her during treatment.  So, I shall.  The first one is all about Things You Shouldn't Do During Chemo. I mean, she doesn't have TV.  But she DOES have Wifi.  And she's a freakin' troublemaker.

1. Porn.  The very first thing you should not do during chemo is surf porn sites with your tablet.  If you accidentally knocked the headphone jack out of your tablet, then everyone (including that Chemo Nurse) would hear the...well...whatever sounds it is that people in porn sites make.  Also, I hear those things aren't free and you should probably be saving money for your deductible.
2. Sing out loud.  OK, I REALIZE that when we were little kids Karen Carpenter encouraged us to "sing, sing a song...sing out loud...sing out strong" but, c'mon.  Unless your name is Beyonce or Kelly Clarkson, no one really wants to hear you singing.  Especially during chemo.  Because for goodnesssake people are SICK.  They're already feeling nauseous from that chemical cocktail coursing through their bodies and you over there belting out "My Way" isn't going to help anyone.
3. Scratch yourself.  You might be itchy.  And uncomfortable.  But did you ever notice how, when you're in the room with people who are scratching themselves, all of the sudden you feel itchy, too?  I feel kind of itchy just WRITING about scratching.  Oogie.  No one needs cancer cooties.  
4. Cry.  Nope.  Not the time and not the place.  We'll go to another oldie but a goodie:  "Don't Cry Out Loud," that old Melissa Manchester favorite that begs you to very healthily stuff everything inside.  "Learn how to hide your feelings."  'Cause that's totally what well-adjusted people do.  Like baseball, however, there is no crying in chemo.  Crying is for later with a pint of chocolate ice cream and Lifetime Television for Women.  ('Cause just THINK, YOU could be imprisoned for a crime you didn't commit or have a cheating husband just like those poor chicks on the Lifetime Movie Network.) 
5. Call me.  Whatever you do during your treatments, you should probably avoid any phone calls to me.  This is not only because I'm now working in a highly library-like environment but it is also because I am likely to be fairly irreverent and make wise-cracks about cancer and the other people sitting beside you and Nurse Ratchet and pretty much raise holy heck on the other end of the phone.  And because you're getting cancer treatments and not treatments for some kind of bladder problem, you probably aren't wearing Depends undergarments. This can be a problem for excessive laughter. And I will not be held responsible for the stains on your seat because of that fact.  

I love you, MF.  I truly do.  And I have a lot of faith that you're going to make it through this.  And that your life is going to be amazing.  And that we'll be sitting together in rocking chairs when we're 102, drinking tequila and telling dirty jokes to the staff at the nursing home.

You've totally got this.  And when you don't have the strength...you've got a lot of people who will carry you.

If you like my blog, share it.  Or Like my FB page to get updates.  Or make a comment below.  If you don't like it, well...just try not to hurt my feelings.  I'm sensitive.

5 Secrets To Keep Life from Keeping You Tired

“Winston was gelatinous with fatigue.”
― George Orwell, 1984

Maybe coffee is the answer?

The very last time I remember being exceptionally well-rested was 1999.  Newly pregnant, I was weary due to that whole business of actually manufacturing human life in the walls of my uterus. I slept.  Oh, how I slept.  I would come home after work and climb into bed at 8 pm where I would snooze away blissfully until the snooze button was worn to the nub.

Then, Thing 1 was born and all notions of sleep left with the incessant wailing of the newborn, the finicky restlessness of the baby, the 5 am wake-up calls of the toddler and the ever-present one-ear-open-because-what-if-he-needs-me of the child.  Then came the teenager that wakes me up in the middle of the night with the hushed laughter and murmurs of forbidden late night phone calls, Skype sessions or online video game parties.

My forties came calling and with it endless nocturnal wanderings at 3 a.m.

WTF?

I don't remember NOT being tired. I'm tired right now and I haven't done a damn thing all day except attend meetings, send emails and jot down a few notes. Well, I worked out halfheartedly and slapped together a mildly nourishing, somewhat edible dinner. Short of just going to bed at 5 pm and ignoring the rest of my life, I've got to figure out a way to combat this incessant fatigue that prevents me from being the world-famous figure I am almost certainly destined to be.

I must have a plan. 

1.  Eat fewer fat-girl calories.  Let's take one night a couple weeks ago, for example.  I stopped by the grocery store on the way home.  Famished and exceptionally susceptible to grocery-line suggestive selling, I chucked a Snickers bar on the belt.  I didn't really WANT a Snickers bar but, let me tell you, I WANTED A SNICKERS BAR.  I read the useless, wasted calorie count and the "imma make you fat" sugar content conveniently AFTER I snarfed the bar.  All that stupid sugar makes you feel sooo good and then it makes you feel so very, very, very tired.  And to punish myself, I basically licked water off the counter for dinner

2. Treat exercise like a date to the movies.  I would never, ever skip a date to the movies.  I don't even care what movie it is.  I am NEVER late to a movie.  I always show up early and sit there, breathless, waiting for the dancing popcorn to start its entertaining jaunt across the screen.  And then I am fully engaged in that. But exercise?  I think of any excuse I can to skip it, be late or half-ass it.  But, truly, the more active you are, the less tired you are.  I don't know why it works this way other than the notion that the universe is obviously pitted against me.

3.  Stop trying to control everything.  Very, very little is actually under your control.  And trying to rein in all of the earth and its inhabitants is a pretty big job.  And exhausting.  I am pretty much limiting my little corner of control to...myself.  Sure, I have some influence over Things 1 and 2 but, quite honestly, at this point they're in control of themselves. I have to trust them to make good decisions and use me as a parental consultant on an as-needed basis.

4.  Sleep.  I'm getting good at this one (with the obvious exception of my odd middle-of-the-night random wakening).  If it's not finished by 9, I probably shouldn't be doing it.   Nothing good comes not after midnight but after 9pm.  And that includes cookies.  And one last glass of wine.

5. Practice joy. It may seem like a weird concept to actually practice joy. But human nature allows us to often focus on the What Ifs and the But This Could Happens of life. I prefer to dwell on the infinite possibilities of the hidden surprises that life often presents me as a gift. Last night, I looked up while The Boyfriend and I were heading to the garden for late-night tomato picking and I gasped. The stars were stretched out across the sky in a velvet blanket of wishes and dreams. It was magical. And an instant boost to my weary self.

There are a lot of things we can do every day to ease the weariness of life drudgery that makes us want to forego the bucket list and head for the couch. But the main thing is this: take care of yourself. If you are running around taking care of everyone else first and ignoring your own physical, spiritual and emotional well-being, there will come a day when you are introduced to the wall of life. And that wall will quickly force you to your knees. 

So today, take care of YOU. In one small way, take one small step and reclaim your vigor...your hunger for life. Just say no to being tired all the time.  Instead of folding laundry, read a book. Feed your life. And it will, in turn, nourish you.

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Are You Afraid of Change? 4 Ways to Make it Not Suck

“You miss 100 percent of the shots you never take.” – Wayne Gretzky

Forrest Gump faced a lot of changes, too. 

A little over a month ago, I made a decision to make a big change.  Again.  It seems that I am often reinventing myself and my life to make it look just a little bit more like my evolving vision of who I should be and what I should do.  You see, I'm not comfortable with the status quo.  A claustrophobic person by nature, sometimes the metaphorical walls of my life seem to cave in on me and make it so I feel like I can't breathe.  So, I look around and I see what is making me feel trapped or dulled or uninspired and...well...I change it.  

This time, it was work.

The job that I had was amazing.  It was.  I worked with great people and had terrific clients but...I couldn't sleep.  I was up at 2 a.m. or 3 a.m. or 5 a.m. working, working, working.  And it wasn't that I was REQUIRED to work...it was just that I couldn't stop.  I felt continual self-induced pressure to produce.  And that would have been fine with me if I felt like I was making a difference in the world or maybe if I was building my OWN business but...I just felt like I was spinning my wheels.  So, I found another job.  A great job with terrific people.  But I agonized for weeks over it...over making the change and abandoning people who had become friends.  I was horrified at myself for cutting the bonds of loyalty and leaping off into uncharted territory.  But I wasn't scared of the change.  Now that I'm THERE, I realize I probably SHOULD have been (have you ever read the book Modern Hydronic Heating? yeah, I didn't think so...I'm learning more about HVAC, fluid dynamics and heat transfer than any reasonable person should).  

I love change.  And here's why:  changing my circumstances means that I am still growing.  If you stop growing, you might as well hang up your hat right now and just sit and wait to die.  I'm not ready to do that...and you shouldn't either.  So, if you're afraid of change, you can do what I do.  Or not.  

1. Think of the worst thing that could happen if you make a change.  I mean, think of the WORST THING that could happen.  For me, it was "I'll take this job and everyone at my OLD company will HATE me and the new job will be boring and slow."  Then, I think of what I would do if the very worst thing happened.  "Well, I'll just get another job."  Then, as soon as I've faced the worst thing, I'm completely OK with making the change.  And, yes, sometimes the answer has been, "I might die."  And, guess what?  I still do it.  I'm completely comfortable with death.  
2. Think of the very best thing that could happen if you make a change.  "I will love this job SO MUCH that I'll become the KING of the company and people will throw rose petals at me when I walk in the door!" (I never said that I was a realist, ever.)  But, it allows me to free my mind and just start imagining really cool things that could happen if I just let go of what's comfortable and reach outside of my comfort zone for just a moment.
3. Forgive yourself for all the other bad decisions you've made.  I don't know many of us who have made perfect life choices 100% of the time.  Sometimes, dwelling on those wrong choices stymies us and we freeze, unable to move forward or back because of the fear of making the wrong decision.  But then, hey, see tip #1 above.
4. Keep your sense of humor.  I often use humor as a filter. I have been kept afloat during some of the very darkest, blackest hours of my life by just viewing things from a different angle and, yes, laughing through it or at it or in spite of it.  Change doesn't have to be this big, huge THING.  You can just brace yourself, shrug your shoulders and jump in with both feet and hope that somewhere someone has a life raft or that you'll grow wings and fly. 

But what about the changes we DON'T choose?  What if your spouse leaves you? What if you get a serious illness?  What if you get fired or laid off?  Let me propose this:  the above four things still apply.  Every. Single. Time.  Trust me.

I've lived at 34 different addresses in seven states.  I've been through a LOT of therapy for some screwed up stuff.  I had a kid who had a tumor.  I'm divorced.  Trust me...I KNOW change.   And I still move toward it.  I'm captivated by it.  Because change means that I'm learning, growing and, with any luck, becoming a better me.  A better mom.  A better friend.  A better partner.  A better person.

It's nice to sit in the Rockin' Chair for a few minutes.  Peace.

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Handy Home Repairs at 1 a.m.

“A broken thing can't fix itself.”
― Dean Koontz

I am a sound sleeper.  So, when Mr. McDougal felt the urge to climb up on my face this morning at 1:00 a.m., I was more than a little surprised.  My addled brain tried to compute all the facts and, in a matter of seconds (I'm smart like that), I surmised that the trembling, furry creature climbing on my face was actually an animal who belongs to me and that something was wrong.

"McDougal?" I asked.  "What on earth is the matter?"

Sparky and Mr. McDougal who is now renamed Fire Dog

Fortunately, for my own sanity, he didn't respond but he did start running around in circles on my bed.  This is odd behavior for a Scottish terrier at 1 a.m., especially this particular guy who runs upstairs when I say anything remotely resembling the word bedtime.

Chirp.  I heard it.  The smoke detector.  Snazzum frazzum friggin grumble grumble.  McDougal paused his frantic running and came back for my face, digging under the covers with me and attempting to hide himself under me, trembling.

I refused to play the game.  "No, Dougal, no.  Just no.  I am NOT getting up right now to change the batteries on the detector.  No."  I pulled the covers over my head.

Chirp.

Chirp.

Chirp.

Fine.  I threw the covers off, picked Mr. McDougal up off the bed and set him on the floor where he immediately broke for the stairs. Grumbling the entire way, I marched down the stairs and let both dogs out before I grabbed a kitchen chair and headed for the stairs.

Me.  On a chair.  At the top of the stairs.  At 1 a.m.  If that doesn't sound like a recipe for disaster, I don't know what does.  I spent the next 30 minutes trying to figure out how to get the detector away from the ceiling, studying the wires holding the detector to the ceiling, reading the warnings about electrical shock, Googling "how to remove A/C connector from smoke detector" and cursing my aching neck, trembling arms and the people who invented smoke alarms.

I assume I have changed these batteries before.  But I obviously suffer from PTSD from the last time because I don't recall anything about the incident.  Sure, sure...I KNOW the rule about changing the batteries when you change the time, blah, blah, blah.  But does anyone actually FOLLOW that rule?  Or do they just wait until the damn thing starts chirping? 

After I finally managed to disconnect the alarm without falling off the chair or down the stairs, I took it downstairs to find a battery.  Since I'd already labeled a container with "Masking Tape and Batteries," I knew where to look.   I found the battery and managed to install it without Googling how to do so (trust me, it's an accomplishment).

I pushed the "test here" button and was immediately sorry because a) it didn't turn off until I figured out I need to push the "hush" button and b) SERIOUSLY, who invented these screechy things?

OK.  New battery installed.  I mentally patted myself on the back and made my way back to my chair to reinstall the detector.

Chirp.

OK.  Wait just a goldurned minute.  I CHANGED the battery.  I DID what I was supposed to do!  I did!  I quickly decided it was chirping because it longed for connection.  It just needed to be reunited with the wires supplying its little load of electrical joy.  So, I figured out how to reattach it to the ceiling and climbed back down off the ladder, looking up at my handiwork with pride.

Chirp.

OH MOTHER OF PEARL.  Furious, I stomped back up on the chair, pulled the thing back off the ceiling and finally managed, without frying myself, to remove the A/C connector once again.  I marched back down the stairs and let the dogs in.

The detector will be fine in the backyard until morning.

If you like my blog, share it.  Or Like my FB page to get updates.  Or make a comment below.  If you don't like it, well...just try not to hurt my feelings.  I'm sensitive.

Learning To Be A Hugger

“I don't do hugging. I don't like people touching me ever when there's no treat involved. It's too intimate and it bothers me.”
― Katja Millay

Hugging practice.

I am not a Hugger.

There, I said.  I 'fessed up.  But here's the tricky part:  I so desperately WANT to be a Hugger.  All the Huggers I know are terrific people.  They basically pull you into their very essence and transfer a little bit of love into the nonexistent space between your bodies.  I want to be like them.  I want to be warm and cozy and invite people into my personal space.

And, yet, I can't. 

I didn't grow up hugging.  I can't recall every really being hugged as a kid.  I mean, there were awkward, arm-patting, loose "hugs" when people you knew were leaving for a long time.  But there were no loving, squeezing, "ohmygoodnessIloveyousomuch" hugs.  My mother was never a hugger so I didn't get that "precious little girl" doting either.  And so, I didn't hug.  Hugging was weird to me.

My roommate in college was (and, frankly, still is) a Hugger.  She was confused by my standoffishness because she is one of those serious Huggers.  She respected my space for many years but has since told me on various occasions that she will violate my personal boundaries sometimes when circumstances require it.  And, secretly, I like it.  Shhh.

When my children were born, I was determined to make them Huggers and wrapped them up in hugs and squeezes as often as I could.  Making them feel cozy and loved was my number one priority.  I succeeded with one who hugs continually, firmly and with wild abandon.  The OTHER would prefer that you keep your distance, thankyouverymuch. #Fail.

With The Boyfriend, I am a terrific hugger.  I hug him all the time.  And HE is one of those good huggers.  He's a wrap-you-up kind of hugger.

With other people, I'm working hard on becoming a hugger.  There are so MANY people in this world that I absolutely LOVE.  I adore them.  I kind of think that standing awkwardly two arms lengths away while offering them a smile and a firm handshake is probably not conveying the message I want to communicate.  I want to say, "OH, how I LOVE you, you incredibly person who I am so blessed to be a part of."  Instead, I smile abashedly and shuffle my feet while mumbling something about the weather.

When I am face-to-face with an actual Hugger, I get a little giddy because I know that I have NO CHOICE but to be swept up in their warmth and delicious expression of human joy.  I wait for it and then, after a nanosecond of tension at the space invasion, I fight every instinct in my rigid body and allow my arms to wrap around them and...for the briefest of moments...I squeeze.

So now I practice.  I offer awkward hugs to a variety of people in a variety of circumstances.  I'm getting a little better.  My hugs are a little firmer.  My tension is less noticeable.  I'm working on it.

It's a goal.  I'm gonna be a Hugger.  Someday.  Somehow.  So, watch out.  Next time I see you, I may just wrap you up and squeeze you. 

If you like my blog, share it.  Or Like my FB page to get updates.  Or make a comment below.  If you don't like it, well...just try not to hurt my feelings.  I'm sensitive.

Going Home

“Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.”
― James Baldwin

Be it ever so humble...

I have lived at 34 different addresses.  This means that 33 times in my life, I have packed up all my worldly possessions and moved them to a different location.  Apartments, houses, rooms.  There were times when my family moved in with grandparents. Once, between duty stations when my ex-husband was in the Navy, we shipped all of our stuff to the next location and I remained unfixed and transient, waiting for the next address.  There were many, many addresses. But none of them truly ever felt like...home.

Home.  I spent the vast majority of my life  attempting to understand what it was about this word...home...that made people want to go to it, miss it, return there or remain there. 

Tonight, I felt it.  Actually, I've been feeling it for a while now.  My address has been the same for almost 13 years...a record times 3+.  For many years, even though every single box was unpacked, this didn't quite feel like home either.  But something changed.

I changed.

I spent my life pursuing safety.  I escaped to safety as a child in the pages of books.  Somewhere else.  Anywhere else.  When I became an adult, I fled still to escape.  I escaped the feeling of being trapped by getting into my car and driving out into the world until I was so turned around I had to rely on maps to get me back.  I escaped my own unhappiness that I had created through a series of choices, wrong turns and wayward thoughts.  I escaped who I thought I was and who I felt myself turning into.

Until, one day,  I stopped.

I stayed.

I began to spend entire days...at home.  I would wake up and putter around the kitchen, making coffee.  I swept and cleaned, lovingly.  I watched Thing 1 and Thing 2 bouncing on the trampoline and found an unrecognized smile affixed to my face.  I began seeking reasons not to go but to stay.  And at the end of long work days, I looked forward to returning to my place of rest, of restoration.

I came home tonight and spent time digging in my garden, feeling the earth slip through my fingers while somehow binding me to it.  I unhurriedly put herbs and vegetables into the ground and sang while I dug my toes into the cold ground.  Thing 1 bounded out, leaped over the deck railing and ran over to where I sat happily planting.  I looked up at him, with the house looming over us in the growing darkness and I smiled.

Home.  I get it now.  And I know I'll take it with me when I go.

If you like my blog, share it.  Or Like my FB page to get updates.  Or make a comment below.  If you don't like it, well...just try not to hurt my feelings.  I'm sensitive.

Things I Think On Road Trips

“because he had no place he could stay in without getting tired of it and because there was nowhere to go but everywhere, keep rolling under the stars...”
― Jack Kerouac

I do a lot of traveling alone.  Mostly, I travel for work but I also have been known to simply get into my car and drive.  North.  South.  It doesn't matter much to me as long as the road is my faithful companion.

The problem with traveling alone as an extrovert is that, well, there is no one to talk to.  I have been known to have long (and, I have to admit, absolutely fascinating) conversations with myself as I speed past highway signs, billboards, and annoying motorists driving slowly in the passing lane.  

As I drove along today, I made notes to myself (talking to that bastard Siri).  I wanted to be sure that I captured the true essence of a road trip alone.  I'm pretty sure after you read this, you'll want to go ahead and sign up for my next trip.  Don't be shy.

Welcome to my stream of consciousness.  (You're welcome.)

1.  Meghan Trainor is an ass-kicker. OK, so Meghan Trainer is a baby.  She was born after I was an adult and I totally want to be her.  I was listening to her song to her future husband.  She told him, "Hey listen, I work, too.  And I am not going to cook.  That's just not something I'm good at.  And I expect you to pull your weight in this relationship.  And here's what I deserve.  And you're just going to have to accept it.  But, hey, if you treat me right, I'm going to be a great wife.  And I'll make you happy.  But this is not a one-way street."  This from the same girl who brought booty back.  I am in awe.  Her self-confidence is enviable.

2.  It takes approximately three hours to go full-circle on the Fleetwood Mac station on Pandora.  I was listening to songs that apparently just hummed over and around my brain but whose lyrics never really stuck.  I hummed happily along and burst into loud vocals when the chorus hit.

3.  Speaking of lyrics, what in the hell do the lyrics to Elton John's Tiny Dancer mean?  "Hold me closer, Tiny Dancer.  Count the headlights on the highway.  Lay me down in sheets of linen.  You had a busy day today."  Was Elton high?  How is the Tiny Dancer holding him close if they're on the highway?  And do they have a bed in the back seat where the linens are kept?  And how did Tiny Dancer's day come into the picture?  Is the Tiny Dancer a mini-ballerina?  I just kept picturing a palm-sized angry chick in a pink tutu doing laundry.

4.  There may not be a single Starbucks between Concord, NC and Savannah, GA.  I looked.  Hard.  At one point, I asked Siri.  He responded,  "Listen, Princess, (side note: yes, I asked Siri to call me "Princess."  And, yes, Siri is a dude in my phone.) there is a Starbucks.  But you'd have to go north 29 miles."  Listen, even people who barely know me understand that coffee is actually the main component in my blood stream.  I NEED coffee like meth heads need...well...meth.  I had to settle for travel center Dunkin' Donuts coffee.  Starbucks people, are you listening?  Off-highway Starbucks locations are not optional.  They are a necessity.

5.  Travel centers are my dream.  I truly do want to be a female truck driver.  I think I would be a fabulous truck driver.  But I need a handle.  Do truckers even use CBs anymore?  I wonder if I could have a special horn as a truck driver.  I also think it would be fabulous to use the showers at the travel center.  I'm half tempted to use them even now and I'm NOT EVEN DIRTY.

6.  Driving drunk will cost you $10,000.  I learned that from a highway billboard.  Unfortunately, if you are drunk and reading that billboard, it's already too late for you.

7.  Which brings me to adult superstores.  I put this one on Facebook today.  Why are so many adult superstores advertised on billboards?  Are random people driving down the highway thinking, "You know, I could really use a blow-up doll, some handcuffs and some cherry flavored underwear. Oh, LOOK.  There's an adult superstore conveniently located just off the highway! Bonus!"

8.  Do people wash their cars on road trips?  I'll be honest:  I rarely wash a car.  Stella has been bathed maybe three...four times in the entire time I've owned her.  I believe the rain usually does the trick.  I mean, why on earth do we HAVE rain if not to serve as nature's car wash?  So, I saw a lot of cars from north of the Mason Dixon which were FILTHY. They'd obviously been through a lot of terrible weather and I felt sorry for them (though not as sorry as I feel for all the people who are still in the weather).  But, THEN, I saw this car from Nova Scotia.  You KNOW the weather is for crap there.  And yet...THAT car was spotless.  Did he stop at a car wash?  Was he like, "Hey, I think I'll stop for a sandwich and a car wash"?  If so, why is not in a hurry to get where he's going?  Is he sad to be going south?  Can he not wash his car at the end of the trip?

9. The farther south you go, the more you see billboards for communities for "active, older adults."  Listen, as far as I can tell, the real active older adults are those ones with the dirty cars north of the Mason Dixon.  Those buggers are out shoveling and trying to stay warm and alive.   That's where the billboards need to be.

10.  When did people start moving over to the other lane for stopped police vehicles?  When I was little, I don't remember anyone moving over to the left lane to give the police room.  Now, everyone is like, "Whoa!  We need to get over!  That car is stopped 15 feet over on the shoulder!"  I mean, it's polite.  But when did it start?  Was there some rulebook distributed that I'm not aware of?

And it went on.  And on.  And on.  For five hours.  I talked (out loud) and sang and even danced a little.  (To answer your question, it is not as easy to do the Cupid Shuffle while driving as it is to enact the Zumba moves to "You need a BAD GIRL to blow your mind...bang bang into the room...")  And I was sorry that I was all alone.   Because I obviously needed to share.

You're welcome.  Again.

And, hey, happy 2015.  Let's talk.  It's been too long, really.

If you like my blog, share it.  Or Like my FB page to get updates.  Or make a comment below.  If you don't like it, well...just try not to hurt my feelings.  I'm sensitive.