North of the Red River

Hitting the brakes

2012-02-13T22:07:00.000-08:00

Simon and Garfunkel's "59th Street Bridge" song, aka "Feeling Groovy" seems to fit my life at times. This past week was one of those times.

"Slow down, you're moving too fast," I love the words to the song but I don't necessarily heed them.

At work, we have initiatives and campaigns and work plans and more. There's always been a fire in me to compete. Work is no different. We're a team, but really, we all want to be team leader. Or some of us do, I guess.

At home, the house has to be perfect, look perfect, feel perfect. That means more projects than I can handle all at once.

Just like work.

So when you're moving too fast, you ignore the warning lights that tell you you're about to hit a brick wall. That's what happened last week.

I have a high tolerance for pain is really code for I ignore it. I had been taking more Tylenol than usual, and kept promising myself I'd go see another doctor (the current one being fodder for another post.) But I had meetings to attend, and more work plans to finish and so I didn't.

The pain in my side finally got the best of me. The doctor sent me for tests. Then more tests and then I hit the brick wall. Hospital. Surgery. Talk about moving too fast, I hardly had time to take in what was happening.

The good news is that if I take it easy, I'll recuperate and live to go back to my harried life. The bad news is that if I don't, I might not get a chance to go back.

So for now, I'm going to allow myself sometime for "feeling groovy." I am taking sick leave, so I'm going to try to not check emails or voice mails. I'm going to slow down and get well.

"Slow down everyone
You're moving too fast
Frames can't catch you when
You're moving like that" ...Jack Johnson

Giving Thanks

2011-11-20T10:18:00.000-08:00

Each day this month, a few friends have been using their Facebook status to post one thing for which they are thankful. I haven't been doing that, but I like that concept.

I'm usually the first one up in my house every day. As I slowly stretch out the stiffness that's becoming more prevalent and ease into my day, I try to take time to be thankful. Sometimes, it's just simply the aches and pains and being able to get up for another day of life. I use my morning shower to pray and "talk to God" and I end by singing a song I taught my children when they were little, "This is the day that the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it," (Psalms 118:24)

Often the rest of my family, who are not "morning people" ask me why I'm always such a good mood in the mornings. Well, why not?

My husband and I are blessed. We have a home, we have our health, we have wonderful children and grandchildren, friends, jobs and one another.

A couple of years ago when neither one of us had full time jobs, we "visited" our daughter's and then our son's homes, and we house sat -- because we did not have a house of our own. That was rough, but we made it through. And, it made us appreciate wherever we call home even more.

We might not be in the so-called "1 percent", but we are thankful for where we are in life.

My friends have mentioned other things in their daily status posts, such as rain, football games and snow. I concur and add, baseball season, newborn babies, technology, sunsets, sunrises, my pets, my vision...the list goes on.

Make your own list. Think about everything - even the simpliest things that make you smile, that make your life easier, that take your breath away - and be thankful not just on Thanksgiving, but everyday.

Change of plans

2011-10-23T10:19:00.000-07:00

My husband and I have a cat. Marley is 16 years plus and has lived an eventful life. We acquired her while in college at the University of Missouri. I worked at the student newspaper and my husband and daughters came down to the office to meet me for lunch. I was running late. Big mistake.

Becky, the staff business manager for the paper, had brought a basket of new kittens to the office in hopes of finding homes for them. My husband was never really good at telling our daughters no. So by the time I arrived, we were the proud owners of not one -- but two -- kittens. One was Marley. The other kitten lived only a few months and died from an infection acquired at the vet's office when he went in to get nuetered. Marley thrived and moved with us after college to Texas, then back to Missouri, then Oklahoma, then Florida, then back to Texas. After our youngest graduated from high school, she officially became my husband's cat. She's traveled across the country at least twice and spent a few months with my son's family in Pennsylvania when we were traveling. Marley is part of the family.

Over the past few years, we've "sat" for a few months, our son's dog, Dixie. And, when my eldest daughter and her family lived with us for a while, Marley tolerated their beagle, Snoopy. So we've never been a household without pets.

Occasionally after emptying another vacuum canister full of animal hair, my husband would grouse, "After Marley goes to kitty heaven, we're never getting another pet." I, who suffer from persistent allergies including dog and cat dander and hair, wholeheartedly agreed as I popped another pill and reached for the inhaler.

That was the plan anyway. Then a few weeks ago, we were in downtown for a festival. I was heading to find the restrooms and we walked by the Humane Society's trailer. In each window, there were puppies of varying sizes and shapes.

I stopped to look -- I'm always a sucker for cute puppies, though I never planned to adopt one. Well, because we had a plan.

The I saw her. A tiny little brown Chihuahua. She was not a puppy, anymore, but I wasn't sure she was much more. She made eye contact. I looked away and oohed and aahed at the other puppies. "That dog is watching you intently," a man standing beside me said, pointing to the Chihuahua. "She's cute," I said. "But I can't have a dog. I have a cat, and besides, I don't like Chihuahuas."

He put his hand near the window. She backed up. I reached up and put my hand on the window, she came back and put her little paw up on the window. We made eye contact again.

My husband came up. He liked the little dog. "The dog likes your wife," the man said again. Then, he looked at me. "That puppy picked you. You at least have to hold her."

My husband said, well, let's just ask. Big mistake.

The woman from the Humane Society explained that these were dogs and puppies who had been in the shelter for a while. If not adopted, they would be euthanized the next week, so the adoption fee was cut in half.

I held her. I filled out the paperwork and paid the fee.

Sammy is now part of our family. She sits on a pillow on my desk while I write. She jumps for joy when I get home from work and she refuses to let anyone else walk her if I'm home.

My husband dotes on her and buys her gifts whenever he runs to the store. Marley tolerates the intrusion and soon realized that means she gets more treats too, because we can't favor one "child."

I find myself doing things I said I'd never do like shopping for a doggie sweater because she shivers in the cool morning air. I let her sleep on my bed. I'm head over heels in love with this little dog.

I have to hire a sitter, or call ahead to the hotel to make sure she can travel with us when we head out of town. I get up earlier than I'd like on the weekends to walk her. Yep, our lives are more complicated with another pet. And, we love it.

So much for plans.

Explosions

2011-07-31T07:41:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting on my bed in my pajamas and my house is screaming at me. "Get up! Clean me! Organize me!" I'm choosing to ignore it right now. And, that's likely what got me into this mess in the first place.

I envision my house to look like the pages of those beautiful rooms in Good Housekeeping or the Ladies Home Journal. I certainly tried to create a zen-like retreat in my bedroom. Calming color on the wall, plush bedding, no t.v., check. It was going well, then my closet exploded.

I don't know how all the shoes and clothes that once fit into the organized space that was my closet just don't fit anymore. The run-off has found a corner in my bedroom. My husband dragged one Rubbermaid tub into the corner and filled it up. Then two tubs. It created quiet havoc and I promised to sort through those and put things up and throw things away. Then my home office exploded.

I dragged home T-shirts for a community project, and contained them all neatly in a basket. I brought a few files to work on and put neatly in a file box by the basket. Some how things got messy and now the files are in two boxes, some are in stacks on the floor. It's been hot upstairs in the office, so they are in my bedroom, next to the overflowing basket that now contains remnants of the T-shirt project. But that was OK. Half of my bedroom was still "zen." Then my living room exploded.

My once magazine-perfect living room has toys scattered here and there in corners from the grand kids recent visit. I'm currently "babysitting" my daughter's two small dogs and they manage to leave crumbs and drag in souvenir sticks from outside that also have found their way under the coffee table by the fireplace. Is that a rock on my couch? My brother is visiting, and he casually throws the pillows on the floor here and there to spread out on my couch.

Explosions.

So, I have a plan today. I have to respond to all these little explosions. I have to sort my closet, get it organized and throw out things. The office is next, and then the living room. That was the plan this morning anyway. I empty one plastic container, feel pleased and drag it out to the garage. Wow. There's no place to put it. The garage exploded.

I think I'll start with coffee first, then check groupon to see if they have any deals for maid service. I have to make a plan, so I sit at my computer, staring at an empty screen, trying to decide where to start first. I think my head just exploded.

Summertime

2011-07-27T19:14:00.000-07:00

Breathe it in. Summertime. Late nights at the ballpark. Burned hotdogs. Burned you. And, ice cold watermelon on a hot afternoon.

The summers I remember from my children were filled with adventure that we found ourselves. We went to church camp and vacation Bible school. We often made the summer trek from Lubbock to Fort Worth to spend time with cousins and Aunts and Uncles. When we got older, my brothers and sisters and I worked on the farm, helping my dad by "chopping cotton." It was hot, and it was hard work. But it meant we would have money for school clothes. We still had fun.

Summer has changed. It's changed, not just because we're in the middle of a record-breaking drought and on our 30+ day of triple digit temperatures. It's changed because we're grown-ups. No more summers off. Most adults in the country maintain a manic pace at work year round.

I took a vacation recently and enjoyed a bit of summer. I read two books. I got up earlier than anyone else and found a beautiful lake to fish. I enjoyed doing nothing. I caught fireflies with my grandkids. I went to the neighborhood pool and let a bucket of cold water drop on me over and over again. I learned new knock-knock jokes. I watched a lot of baseball. I ate ice cold watermelon.

For a short while, I loved summer. Now, I'm once again fighting traffic and trying not to feel like I'm suffocating in my work clothes as I make a mad dash from my car to the oasis of an air conditioned building.

My grandchildren are now back home. But I don't want to let go of the joy they find in a summer day. So, I'll have to fight the urge to scream when I see the temperatures climb higher and I worry about my electric bill.

I need to go to the community pool and stand in the middle of a fountain, take a wild ride down the slide again or just let the bucket dump the water.

I just need to act like I'm on vacation any time I get a chance. I need to embrace the little kid that still lives inside me.

I wonder what my neighbors would think if I used the slip and slide on the front lawn after work tomorrow?

Stay cool, ya'll.

Fashionista

2011-05-19T09:07:00.000-07:00

I'm in the midst of a two-day middle-of-the-week "vacation." I needed some time to deal with personal things. On the top of my list today -- cleaning out my closet. I really hate to part with clothes. But sometimes you have to take off the rose-colored glasses and take a close look in the mirror.

"Whoa, whatever made me think that looked good on me?" -- Into the giveaway pile goes my once favorite pink jacket.

Going through the closet makes me wonder what those two self-proclaimed gurus of fashion on "What Not To Wear" would make of my fashion choices. I shudder to think, but would likely welcome the advice.

I don't know how I came to be "my age" without a clear definition of my fashion style. Unless comfort is a style. My clothing choices often would cause my daughters to look at me incredulously and ask "Are you wearing that?" Well, yes I am.

I'll never be a fashionista, and am fascinated by the whole concept of finding "your style" as the gurus say.

My little granddaughters are fun to watch as they develop their own sense of style. Their parents dressed them in pink and Disney princess style when they were younger. Then the older girls discovered Hannah Montana and High School Musical. But they've now outgrown that and don't want to wear clothes with "someone's face on it" as the 8-year old said. GD1 now likes to wear trendy clothes with lots of accessories.

GD2, now 7, is still trying to find the style she likes. Hopefully, she finds it before she's my age. She's still loving the princess dresses, but also wants to be like her big sister and wear cooler clothes.

The 4-year-old has always had her own sense of style. She loves to wear black...and leopard print...and princess dresses. Not all at once, of course.

My grandson is leaning toward the hip-hop style -- minus the saggy pants. He's reed thin anyway, so he's always having problems with his pants. But he loves the bling -- chains and such and caps that are way to big for his head. But he also likes polos versus T-shirts, unless the T has a logo for his favorite game, WWE or sports team.

Their fashion preferences will change as their interests change. I saw my son go from being a surfer/skater to wearing country shirts and tight jeans and then reverting back to his beach bum wear. My middle child dresses better than I do, but she's always been the conservative, go for comfort, with the occasional foray into trendy one. My youngest has always been the fashionista, and she always looks good. Of course, I do still have some blackmail photos of her wearing camo and stripes at the same time when she was about 8.

But whether we let our inner super model shine or simply wear the most comfortable clothes we can find, the most important thing is that we find our own sense of self. I think I've done that.

That won't stop me from trying to find the fashionista in me -- she's in there, somewhere.

A Rolling Stone

2011-04-13T16:44:00.000-07:00

Growing up in a small town in west Texas, I would often daydream of the day when I would leave and explore new and wonderful places. So I guess you could say I've always had a bit of wanderlust.

"Son, Papa was a rolling stone. Wherever he laid his hat was his home." Norman Whitfield and Barrent Strong might not have had me in mind when they wrote that song, but in a way, I've always understood the "papa" in that song -- well, maybe not the extra family and all, but definitely the ability to travel and call new places home.

I ran off and got married when I was just 17. Ran off from small town Texas to small town Montana. But everything about Sidney seemed exciting and new. I finished high school there, and then embarked on a traveling life. A job with an oil exploration company took me to exciting places such as Buffalo, Wyoming, where my son was born and Glendive, MT, where my eldest daughter was born. For 8 years, I roamed from Montana to Wyoming, North Dakota and Colorado. A two-month stint in Albuquerque, taught me that New Mexico was not the place for me.

Eventually, I headed back home to Lubbock. I was in the midst of divorce and pregnant with my third child, who was born in Lubbock. I found a job, enrolled in college and decided that I was home to stay. Fate intervened. I met and married my husband while he was stationed at then Reese Air Force Base.

He had his own travel past, having grown up in Kansas and lived in Oklahoma, Texas, California, England and Japan. Two rolling stones who kept moving.

A little more than a year later we were living in Japan. That became "home" since we lived there more than four years. The Air Force moved our family to Virginia, which quickly became another home for four more years. By then, my husband was ready to retire from his military career. Still in our 30s, we moved to Missouri and enrolled at the University of Missouri. Three years later, I graduated and took our family to Odessa, Texas. 10 months later, we moved to Amarillo. After another two years we moved back to Missouri until the newspaper in Oklahoma City lured me to the Sooner State.

Are you keeping up? We're not done.

OKC was home and still feels like home. As do Japan and Virginia. But my husband's job opportunity took us to St. Petersburg, Florida. We lived there for two months before the economy tanked in the state. Three years before the reality of not having full time jobs led me to come to Texas to work for my current employer. Back home again.

AARP recently transitioned into seven zones and I wasn't until I was talking to our new regional vice president that I realized, I'd lived in every state in our region, and had ties to Arizona.

I will always love Texas. But I know this is not where I will retire. We love Florida. We love the Pacific Northwest. We think about retiring in a foreign country or a tropical island. Every place is unique and has something great to offer.

Sometimes we feel guilty because our children seem to be following our pattern and moving to new states every few years. As we grow older the need for "roots" grows stronger.

But then, the wanderlust returns. Son, "mama was a rolling stone."

Exploring

2011-03-21T20:43:00.000-07:00

Despite the fact that I no longer make the majority of my living as a writer, inside me lurks the heart of a reporter and the soul of a writer.

Maybe that's why every now and then I'm struck with a need to explore. Whether it's stopping on a whim at a historic marker or simply searhing who such and such person is, or was, to have a park or highway or building named after them.

Driving back to Dallas recently after a particularly long and not-so-fruitful day of business meetings in Waco, I glanced over and noticed a building that looks like a flying saucer followed only a half-mile away by a neighborhood of domed buildings that look more like igloos in Alaska than a house in Texas.

I drove on and at the next exit, got off the highway and turned back. Some things need exploring.

My explorations have taken me interesting places. I've loved the quirky Wall Drug in South Dakota; scoured the shelfs of a country store in Missouri then gone to the counter for a bologna sandwich wrapped in paper that tasted like a gourmet meal when eaten on the front porch sitting in a rocking chair. I've run through the jungle with U.S. Marines in Okinawa, watched baby sea turtles hatch under the light of a full moon on the beach, spent the night in a converted school house in Missouri, and sat around a campfire with civil war re-enacters in Virginia. I'm not discovering new worlds, but each exploration has a story and for a writer - a story stretches the imagination and feeds the soul.

So I drove back and took the exit to Italy, Texas off Interstate 35 between Waco and Waxahachie. I found a safe spot to pull off and took some photos of the "flying saucer," which I've since learned is a monolithic dome. Dubbed "Starship Pegasus" by its original owner in 2005 and operated as a family arcade, the dome is now a private residence. Curious, I thought and drove further down to learn about the igloo community. I stopped when I saw a sign on a few small domes that said "open." They were models open for viewing. The rental office -- a much larger dome -- sits across the street.

This was supposed to be the wave of the future -- 30 years ago. The domes are made of concrete with a polyurethane insulation sprayed on the outside. It is hailed as a "green" alternative by the company owners who say it uses less energy to heat and cool. The homes in the area varied from a large "home" of many domes constructed in a Spanish stucco style. Another was a fairly large dome and boasted a large front porch, a dome patio and dome storage unit, along with a three-vehicle carport. Most though were the studio or one-bedroom models that in reality were a little too small for me. My favorite was the grain storage grouping painted to look like a caterpillar. Domes can certainly be fun.

I got back in my car with a little more knowledge and something to think about beside the stress of a long day at work. I likely will never live in a monolithic dome, but if I ever see one in another part of the world, I'll know it's not an igloo.

I might feel an urge to explore on my next road trip across Texas. I'll let you know what I learn.

Volunteers

2011-03-09T17:01:00.001-08:00

I've been spending much of my time this past month recruiting and meeting with potential volunteers to help with AARP's work in Texas.

I wish I could say that I have a really phenomenal method for recruitment, but my methods are similar to casting a net into the ocean. I send emails and mail postcards, then cross my fingers.

Occasionally, I'll hear nothing. Sometimes I'll get a hundred responses and then the process of calling and meeting begins.

As I finish yet another round of interviews, I'm overwhelmed by the quality and talented pool of people who respond. Retired doctors, parents who have raised their children, business owners, accountants, educators...the list of talent and experience is long. They want to give us their time -- for free.

This time the responses have been a little different. Almost 99.9 percent of those who raised their hand to volunteer are still in the work force. They don't want to wait until they reach retirement age to become passionate about improving their communities.

Without hesitation, the majority of people who sign up to be volunteers say they want to "make a difference." They recognize the impact and power of working on the grass roots level to raise awareness and educate others about issues being debated in the state and U.S. Capitols. And, even though many have never knocked on a lawmaker's door to discuss these issues our new volunteers embrace the challenge. They absorb the training and messaging provided and take time to learn even more on their own. They rise to the challenge.

People who volunteer give more than their time. They share their passion, their knowledge, their talents and their heart. One thing AARP -- long term and new -- have in common is the desire to make a difference and the belief that one person can make that difference. Because of that, I often find most are involved in other organizations or their church as volunteers. I'm lucky and honored when they choose to share some of their time with us.

In the past four years that I've worked with AARP, volunteers have made me laugh and cry and they've inspired me.

I'll continue to be amazed at the wonderful people this job allows me to work with and meet on a daily basis. To quote a current AARP commercial, "When I grow up..." I want to be just like our volunteers.

Crazy Doc

2011-02-01T08:31:00.001-08:00

My husband and I consider ourselves among the fortunate of Americans. We've always had health insurance, even during periods of umemployment. One of his benefits from a lifetime career with the military - we can buy insurance from Tricare. It's low-cost, affordable and has always provided us with good doctors and good care.

The biggest problem with Tricare is that like most managed care plans, there's the physicians within the system, and those outside - which means we pay more in co-pays, deductibles etc. So, we've moved and now have to find a new "primary care manager."

We go to the user-friendly Tricare web site and plug in our zip code. Unlike the handy-dandy star rating hotels get beside their name when you search for a place to stay, doctors listed on insurance web sites have no star rating. Over the years, we've devised our own system. I prefer female, but occasionally will let my husband have his way and find a male physician. Location and proximity to home is important, guessing that the majority of the time when we'll need to travel to the doctor's office will be when we're sick, we know we don't want to have to drive across the metro for an office visit.

Then, I call the office. Does he/she take new patients? How long does it take to get into see the doctor if I'm really sick? I ask about partnerships and hospital affiliations etc. This call also lets us know about how friendly and seemingly organized the staff is -- an important factor considering that you'll spend more time with the office staff than you will the actual doctor.

Enter Crazy Doc. He seemed ok in print. Graduated from a good medical school, licensed, couldn't find any immediate complaints online. Staff seemed ok. So I made an appointment and off I go to see the new doctor. I had a legitimate complaint. I seem to be acquiring more and more food allergies and wanted to get to the bottom of this. I had just had a physical a few months ago and everything checked out great, so I wasn't worried about my blood pressure, sugar levels etc.

I get to the doctor's office and notice I'm the only one waiting. Good sign, that means it's a short wait. I was wrong. I can hear a doctor -- or whom I think is a doctor -- in the back talking to a patient. Hmmm. A well-dressed woman comes into the doctor's office. She's with ABC pharmaceuticals and wants to meet with the doctor. She's informed the doctor only meets with pharmaceutical reps during certain days at lunch.

"Do you have a budget for lunch?" the receptionist asks, unabashedly.

She does, so they settle on a date and the receptionist kindly gives her a couple of suggestions for the food.

Wow. That's brash. Deduct some points for staff behavior.

I see a patient leave, and soon I'm called to the back.

I don't wait long before the doctor comes into the room. He's a big, bulking man. He's dressed in a rumpled white coat that looks two sizes too small. He looks over my chart and asks me why I'm here.

You get headaches?

Well, yes...but I'm under stress at work, so I just take aspirin and deal with it. That's not why I'm here...

So how tall are you?

I tell him.

How much do you weigh?

I tell him.

He repeats it, adding 10 pounds.

No, I correct. him. Look, I know I'm overweight, obese, I'm working on it, ok?

Working on being obese?

No, working on losing weight...

This conversation persisted for more than an hour. He didn't want to talk about my allergies, insisted I had high blood pressure, then looked at my chart and said it must be wrong. He went on to push me about lap-band surgery. I told him, no, I know I need to lose weight, I'll do it. He kept on. I remembered the lunch deal and then wondered how much he was getting to send patients on to the surgeon for lap-band surgery.

I got a headache, and put my hands to my temple, closing my eyes.

You have a headache?

Yes, you gave it to me. I need to go, do you want to talk about my allergy problem?

He changed the subject.

I got annoyed and told him I had to leave for work.

Did I mention that when he actually talked to me, he closed his eyes throughout most of the conversation?

Crazy doc.

I'm looking for a new doctor now. And, I still don't know why all of a sudden I'm allergic to food I've always eaten like fish, cantaloupe, eggplant, kiwi etc.

Pizza Night

2011-01-15T16:00:00.000-08:00

We could have called Pizza Hut or Papa John's, but "pizza night" is much more fun when you create your own delicacy.

Ask all three granddaughters what they want when we do order out, and they all say "pepperoni" or "cheese". Give them their own ingredients to choose from and they get creative and their own individuality shines through.

G1 - She chose marinara, cheese and loaded the pizza with sweet banana peppers, meat and olives.

G2 - She created a work of art. On top of layers of marinara, cheese and meet, she used red and green bell peppers to form a flower.

G-3 - In typical 4-year-old fashion, she had a little help with the sauce and cheese. Then she used olives to create a smiley face on top of her pizza.

While the pizza was cooking, they gobbled up the raw vegetables and cheese that they had not put on their pizzas.

The pizza? Obviously delicious. There were no leftovers.

Seasons

2010-09-05T15:37:00.000-07:00

I'm well into month No. 4 in Texas and have almost survived my first summer in the sweltering Dallas metro heat. I wasn't too worried about the heat. I grew up working in the fields under the West Texas sun. Now the tough part is coming.

Can't quite figure out why none of the neighbors' trees are losing their leaves, yet our tree is changing color and losing its leaves. Yes, it's still hot here.

Nonetheless, the falling leaves and the orange and black Halloween displays are reminding me that fall and then winter are near. Yes, this is the time of year when I get so excited about all the fun stuff ahead - Octoberfest, Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas. But, I'm worried. I fear winter.

If you remember, I whined like a big baby last year when the temperatures dropped in the Tampa Bay area. To be fair, we didn't have heat in our house. But while it was in the 40s and 30s in Florida, it was a sustained cold in the Dallas area, including snow on Christmas eve. I've always been of the mind that if I want to see snow on Christmas eve, I'll shake a snow globe. The real thing, I'm fine without.

Only time will tell if this is a normal "mild" winter in the metro area, or another unusually cold season. I've unpacked the old sweaters, dusted off the boots and they sit in the closet - ready. Now, I'm checking out the airline sales and wondering if I should start booking flights now, or save my miles and book a flight the next time the weather forecast is snow.

Fortunately, part of my area in Texas includes El Paso. I think it's warmer there. I might be in El Paso a lot.

Learnings from Texas

2010-06-23T20:24:00.000-07:00

I've been in Texas a whole month now. I wish I could say my return to the Lone Star State has been smooth sailing, but I'd be lying. Any move is hard. But a move back to the rough and tumble Texas has been even harder.

First, I've learned that Texans like to drive big trucks. Actually, they just plain love to drive. The congested highways and streets are a testament to that love. Texans also love to drive fast. I might just have learned that, but my insurance company has it engraved in stone somewhere because my rates have more than doubled. I guess beach bums and retirees in Florida must be safer drivers. That's lesson No. 1

Texas men come in two breeds - gentlemen and jerks. Sometimes there's a bit of both in them and that is true whether they are cattle ranchers, firemen or business types the city. A Texas man is the only one I know who will stay in an elevator and hold the door open, even if it's not really necessary, until all the women on the elevator get off.

That's the same man who will make you feel like he's about to smash his big, black, pick-up truck into the back of your Pruis if you drive too slow. Lesson No. 2.

Texans love their state. They proudly display the Texas flag and many even recite the Texas Pledge right alongside the Pledge of Allegiance. The state has that cool "Don't Mess With Texas" bumper sticker and I almost believe it. But I've seen too many Texans throw their empty Dairy Queen wrappings on the highway to buy into that folklore too quickly. Oh, wait...I think that pick-up truck had Oklahoma license plates. Lesson No. 3.

There's many more lessons that will be ponderings and musings for more blog entries to come. I started this blog when I lived in Oklahoma, hence the name "North of the Red River." Then, I moved to Florida, way down south of the Red River, but I kept the name. Now, I'm back home and I'll still keep the name. Just because I like it.

I love Texas, even though it feels strange to call it "home" again. In the past month, I've cried, I've yelled, I've yearned to go back to the white sandy beaches of Florida that I love so much. And, I might someday. But for now, I'm here. And, like it or now - I'm a Texan. Lesson No. 4.

Full circle

2010-06-08T16:31:00.000-07:00

Big deep breath. Life has been a whirlwind the last few weeks. Sometimes you have to go with the current instead of fighting it, and that's what I did. An opportunity presented itself in Texas, so I applied and here I am. I officially live in Dallas, though I still have a house in Florida.

It's strange. I'm from Texas. I grew up here and the thing I like the most about being in Texas is that it's close to our friends in OKC. And, I'm heartbroken to leave Florida. Though, I'm slowly accepting that this is a temporary, needed move that I'll enjoy before heading back to plop my feet into the sand.

More about the job next time.

Sunrise

2010-04-13T16:46:00.000-07:00

Sun rising over St. Croix. This was the view from our room at the Pelican Cove Resort.

May I have another...protein shake?

2010-04-08T05:12:00.000-07:00

For the record, I hate diets. Off the record, I had no choice but to start one this week.

I do have mirrors in my house, and I sure didn't like or even recognize the woman I was seeing in those mirrors. But the full impact of my weight issues hit me last week. A promo lured us to watch The Biggest Loser -- and it hit me. I could be on that show. Albeit, not as one of the larger contestants, but nonetheless, I could be there.

I toyed a little with the idea of applying to be on the show. But I'm the much more of a private humiliation type of person, so not likely.

Being 50+ish, my husband and I have both been battling the belly bulge. I dare say, I never thought my belly would ever be as huge as it was when I was 9 months pregnant - I was wrong. OK, maybe not that big, but it was getting close.

So we researched and both agreed that we needed a diet that would show up some quick results, then transition into a lifestyle.

We're on the Fat-Flush Detox plan. A protein shake for breakfast (not Slimfast) and another for lunch then a healthy meal in the evening consisting of lean protein, a vegetable and a salad. Four days in and we're doing well. The only concession -- we both refuse to give up our coffee in the mornings. Other than that, it's not been difficult to handle cravings. We've found ourselve munching on a mushroom or a piece of cauliflower in the afternoon or evening if we feel a need to munch. It's amazing how satisfying one mushroom can be.

This is not a starvation diet. We're not hungry. Just breaking the snacking habit that got us to where we were.

Today, we're adding exercise to the regimen.

We stay on this plan for two weeks before switching to stage two, where we add a limited number of complex carbs.

So far, the only downfall is making myself drink that second shake during the day. I'm sort of sick of plant protein shakes.

We'll keep you posted on our progress. Because men suck, hubby is losing his belly rapidly. I'm the only one who can see a difference in the way my clothes fit.

I just want to like the woman in the mirror again.

Hitting too close to home

2010-04-07T15:35:00.000-07:00

Driving to work every day, I inevitably see the man or woman holding a sign on the side of the road. They look you straight in the eye, challenging you to look away.

I often have to fight back the urge to ask - "How did you get here? What happened to land you on a street corner, begging for money?" I've watched enough news reports to be jaded and understand that most of those people reached that point in life because of addictions to drugs and alchohol or have other mental health issues.

Occasionally, something will be different. I saw a young couple one day with signs. The young woman had tears running down her face. The young man, whom she clung to with one hand, had hidden most of his face. They looked ashamed. I gave them money.

Another time I saw a mother with two young children taking refuge from the heat of the day under a downtown bridge. Backpacks and a wagon were nearby, and the mom kept one hand on those while warily watching the "regular" homeless. My heart broke.

Still, homelessness has never really hit home.

Last weekend, my husband and I were enjoying the Grand Prix races and killing time in a local pub until a storm passed. We found a great table on the sidewalk protected from the rain by an awning. I love people watching, so it was an ideal place to sit and watch people walking by.

I noticed a woman, dressed in a flowing flowery dress. Her hair was pulled up and curly trendrils fell to her shoulders. I noticed her because she was so feminine and pretty -- seeming out of place in the uber cool downtown crowd.

Then I realized I knew her. I worked with her at my part-time job with the local MLB team.

I said hello and she quickly grabbed a seat. After introductions, she told us that she had been at a free concert after church and was heading to a museum. During the conversation, it became evident that she knew the downtown area well.

She told us she was homeless. But was thankful that she had recently moved from "tent city" to the Salvation Army shelter. I didn't know what to say. How do you say, I'm sorry you lost your home?

After a divorce, she was laid off from a long-time job. She started a job hunt, like millions of other people and soon found herself drowning in unpaid bills. Eighteen months later, she lost her home. Anything that she hadn't sold, she put into a small storage unit and lived in her car. But a part-time minimum wage job doesn't pay bills. She lost her car, and put her possessions in a cart.

She soon learned that she had to reach out for help available. She got use of a phone number where prospective employers could leave a message. She uses computers at the library to check emails and send out resumes. On weekends, she attends church, visits museums and takes in free events. During the week, she volunteers at a museum and the history center when she's not looking for a job.

"I'm thankful to have a place with a roof at night," she said.

She told us about agreeing to an interview with the St. Petersburg Times. The article was about the working poor. Her supervisors saw the article and told her to quit talking about her personal problems because that was not the image they wanted to project. She didn't think she had a job to go to on opening day.

I love baseball. I love this team, and I still work and cheer for them. But the games have lost their luster.

Birthdays come and go, but wrinkles stay forever

2010-02-24T05:18:00.000-08:00

I don't remember every birthday I ever had, but some memories do stick around.

On my 10th birthday, we were visiting my grandparents - my father's parents. We went to town for some shopping and my dad bought me a pin for my birthday. It was a cat, bejeweled with clear glass, except for the black stones that made up its eyes and nose, and it was shiny. I loved that pin. It was the best birthday ever, because in our family, you did not normally get presents any other time of the year except Christmas. So it was a thing of envy for my other siblings.

My mother let me have a party on my 16th birthday. Yep, we are Hispanic -- of Mexican descent -- but I never heard of a quincenera until I was an adult. But "sweet 16" now that was another thing.

My 18th birthday - I was "legal" and able to buy booze in Montana. It was my senior year, so buy booze, I did.

My 25th birthday. I was officially old. That's right. Every commercial on t.v. for Oil of Olay creams told me the product was for "women over 25."

My 40th birthday. I had just graduated from college. I had a new career. I was young, the whole world before me.

My 50th birthday. I spent it at a Gridiron show, singing and dancing about politicians etc. Then the following Saturday, I met my friends for brunch at my favorite French bistro in OKC. It was wonderful and special.

Today: Well, heck. I'm working most of the day. Then, I might venture out to dinner and a movie. I think I'm getting too old for birthdays. Right now, they're a reminder that my life is closer to the end than the beginning. Damn, I just depressed myself.

Happy birthday to me.

Holy cow, I'm on a streak

2010-02-10T19:58:00.000-08:00

I've never been an everyday blogger, even way back when I first starting blogging and was all giddy about the idea.

This year I'm slowly returning to the habit. And, I've realized that I'm on track to beat my 2009 record -- not hard. I blogged a whole 14 times in 2009.

I was going to give this up. After all, we've heard that blogging is like spending all your time looking in the mirror -- nobody cares but you. We've heard that "Blogging is for old people." Well, that's a no-brainer. We've established my entry into the "one candle will do" age bracket a few years back.

So, I'm going to keep blogging. Maybe no one will read this, or maybe I'll use my wily public relations skills to lure people from Facebook and Twitter to this site.

Now to find topics to write about. Today is easy. Since I'm on the topic of blogging, I've been reading old posts from my site and from other often read sites. We've been through a lot. It's a diary of our lives. Friends and loved ones have died. We've shed tears. We've laughed til we cried, and we've just laughed.

So tweet away and post your status updates, but if you want to chronicle your life - blog.

Blogging is for old people...

2010-02-08T12:23:00.000-08:00

Just when I think I'm hip and keeping up with the youngsters with my Twitter and Facebook accounts, they throw this at me: Blogging is for old people, Pew Study says.

The study goes on to imply that one of the reasons Facebook has beaten MySpace as the social networking of choice is that MySpace encourages blogging. And today's younger set does not like to blog.

That says one of two things. Either 1: most of our youth are too illiterate to actually write a cohesive paragraph of more than 140 characters or 2: they just don't want us to know what they are really thinking.

That sounds like teenagers.

This brain was made for writing

2010-02-05T09:26:00.000-08:00

I blogged twice in January - sweet. I'm ahead of the game. Okay, maybe not.

I do feel like I write all the time. My job - I write (not all the time, but a whole heck of lot of the time) news releases, web articles, blog posts, speeches, talking points, fact sheets, media plans, tweets and on and on. My life - I write blogs (obviously not this one) and work on my book and work on my screenplay and tweet and etc. etc.

But that's all good. I'm lucky that I get to do what I love for a living.

Only sometimes is there a glitche. Take this morning for example. I'm in the middle of getting ready for work. When something catches my eye that reminds me of a scene I'm working on. I stop and evidently stare into space for sometime because my husband shakes me out of my reverie -- "Are you ok?"

"Oops, sorry, I was writing in my brain."

"You need some paper."

Together - yet not

2010-01-23T19:59:00.000-08:00

We spent a nice evening at my daughter's house celebrating her birthday. She and her sister, (our other daughter) spouses and friends wanted to have a few drinks and crank up the music. But we called it an early night and brought our grandson home with us so they could have some adult time.

So we're sitting in the tiny living room of our beach cottage. I'm on the Internet. My husband is doing his daily puzzles from the newspaper. Mason? Well, he's 8 -- and wired. He brought with him: a laptop, a PSP, a Nintendo DSI, and a bag full of games, movies, cords of all kinds. He switches between the computer and the PSP, wearing his head phones most of the time.

On the flat screen T.V., Tim McGraw is singing his way through all of his hit songs. So we sit close, enjoying being together and enjoying our own thing.

Ah, technology.

Time keeps on slipping, slipping...into the future

2010-01-22T06:37:00.000-08:00

Wow, it's 2010, and I haven't even made a New Year's Resolution. So take 2009 and ditto.

Actually, this year I've decided to work on the "bucket list" again. Time is going by too fast and I can't help but feel like I'm on a deadline. (I guess literally)

So on this year's bucket list:

Mardi Gras (Hubby's bucket list includes Daytona 500 and I think these conflict, so I might be doing "speed week" in Daytona, instead.)

High school reunions (reconnecting with old buds)

Dallas Cowboys game on Thanksgiving

Finish a screen play and a book. (This might happen -- I'm close!)

Run a marathon.

Celebrate 25 years of marriage!

There's so much more, but I don't want to get too crazy.

So bring it on, 2010. 2009 pretty much sucked, this year: It's going to be better.

The truth about YoVille

2009-12-17T05:07:00.000-08:00

I'm addicted to Facebook games. There, I said it. That's the first step to recovery right?

What I'm really trying to do is manage the time I spend on such applications. They are fun, and they are stress relieving. But like with any other electronic toy or activity you can spend too much time on it.

So "they" say.

Maybe I'm just bowing to the pressure from the pious folks who claim they've never ever succumbed to a Facebook request to send a drink or poke someone, much less play a game. On FB, they grouse about such folks as I. Some columnists in the paper even call the millions of people playing FB games "losers."

Really?

Hmmm. A recent study showed that playing games like Bejeweled, which apparently requires the use of both sides of your brain relieves stress. Considering our current economic state, two wars and the ever-growing concerns about climate change, I'd say relieving stress is a pretty darn good idea.

And, I have another theory on some of the games like Farmville and Yoville. Farmville and Farmtown allow us to escape to a simplier time. We plant, we grow, we harvest and all is well. Ever notice there are no droughts or hail storms to wipe out your crops in Farmville?

This past year when I was first kicking off the freelance gigs and was making only enough to pay the basic bills, it was a tough adjustment from the substantial salary from the year before. Savings were dwindling, so there was no "shopping" or money for Starbucks even. We went from a gorgeous pool house to house sitting other folks' gorgeous homes while our stuff sat in storage.

It was hard. Then, I discovered Yoville. In this virtual world, I could spend as much money as I wanted. I lived in a nice loft, so I spent time decorating. I learned to increase my fortunes. Then I bought a beach house, and then a nice house in the suburbs. It was only later in the year that I realized that this virtual game had helped me survive a year with little shopping and not having my own home.

I still occasionally play the game. I never let it consume me, but I think it was an important piece to my emotional well-being this past year.

The truth about Yoville and all games is that if it helps you cope, then play. The only "losers" in my book are the people who think they are superior to the rest of humanity.

For the rest of us humans, I'll see you in Yoville...

Dear Santa

2009-11-29T07:10:00.000-08:00

I realize my list is a bit early this year. I'm usually a procrastinator and wait until the last minute. But I need to get a head start on the gift requests this year because I don't know where I might be come Christmas. So you might have to plan for early delivery. Thank you.

This year I want:

To quit wasting my time growing virtual fruits and vegetables and more time growing the real thing.

A full-time job for my husband who desperately needs one for his own mental well-being.

A permanent abode filled with my furniture and stuff, preferably with a large workshop/studio area (see below.)

For 60 pounds to magically drop off my body and 10 years off my face -- you can do that right? You having that Christmas magic and all?

To spend more time on my writing. There's so many books in my head, now just need to get them to paper.

More time with friends.

More time alone with my hubby.

And now the greedy list:

Tickets to MLB GAMES

A Table Saw

A jig saw

A router

An easel

A great video camera.

Of course, if you could give me the winning numbers for the next maga-jackpot lottery, then I'd take care of the rest of the list.

Thanks Santa, I'm looking forward to hearing from you soon.

Hymns

2009-07-26T07:13:00.000-07:00

Every Sunday morning growing up, I would be in church. The Southern Baptist preacher would have a scary fire and brimstone message, but the hymns were always more gentle -- well all but that "washed in the blood" one -- a visual concept a little too real for most kids.

I've always found a great comfort in hymns. And, anytime we move and we have to find a new church home, I always listen to its music.

A lackluster performance by the congregation who mumbles instead of sings, usually indicates a church in need of spiritual renewal. That's not a fact -- just my opinion.

Whether at home or in church, I always feel closer to God, when I've sung a few hymns praising His glory. Hymns that remind me of those long ago Sundays. I guess it's just my concept of "worship."

So regardless of what your faith is -- sing on my brothers and sisters. Sing on.

Sharks and Sunsets

2009-05-28T11:39:00.000-07:00

Nothing is more relaxing than enjoying a beautiful Florida sunset.

My husband was also fishing fromt the beach -- one of his favorite things to do aside from drinking wine or beer while he watches the sunset. He was excited when he felt a bite and was struggling to get the fish on to the shore. It must be a big one!

It wasn't until the fish jumped as he reeled it in that he saw the reason behind the exhilarating fun in pulling it in. He had landed a black tip shark. Small - a baby- about 18 inches long. Long enough and strong enough that we had a hard time getting it off the hook. Even small sharks bite.

We finally got it off and carefully put it back in the water.

No one wanted to wade into the water after that, so we finished off the evening by sitting in the beach chairs and drinking our beer.

Fun, yes. Relaxing...not so much.

Launch

2009-05-12T08:54:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I did something spontaneous. We've always wanted to go and had never been to see a launch in person. So, we loaded up and made it just in time. It was a cloudy day, so the shuttle soon disappeared. It was still cool.

Sometimes, it's nice to make "someday" today.

One month to live

2009-05-10T21:12:00.001-07:00

What would you do if you found out you had one month to live? I'm reading a book right now that challenges people to examine their lives and live life to the fullest.

On Day 5, it's got me thinking.

So, what five things would you change if you knew you only had one month to live.

I'll share more next time.

New blog -- like I don't have enough to do

2009-03-29T11:17:00.000-07:00

Just thought I'd share this other project. I'm getting emails from folks submitting their stories, so it should be fun.

In the meantime, this will continue to be my writing palette.

But check this out, share your own story:

http://jobhuntersdiary.blogspot.com/

Can someone hit pause, already

2009-03-28T14:42:00.000-07:00

Someone started talking to me about April Fool's Day, this past week. What? "You plan early," I said.

Nope, it's next week.

This year is going too fast, so can someone please hit pause?!

and a half....

2009-02-09T20:46:00.000-08:00

Did you ever ask a child their age? If so, you probably got a "Five (anywhere from here to age 18) and a half," or "Almost six" as a response.

Ask an adult. You're not going to get the "...and a half" add on unless it's a 99 year-old waiting for a milestone birthday.

Definitely not from me. Because in a few days, I'll BE another year older. I don't want to add halves or any other number to that. Yes, I know the alternative is worse, but the shine has worn off the old AARP card and the discounts just aren't that great.

So, I'll stick to a slight nod and acknowledgement of the day and the jump in numbers and move on. No sense in dwelling on it.

Of course, I still want presents.

Taking the path of opportunity

2009-01-23T07:40:00.000-08:00

A fellow co-worker and I are both going to lose -- or rather I should say -- our jobs are going to end next week.

Panic is setting in a bit, but we've also been discussing the options - the possibilities - of being able to decide where to go next.

If the traditional job is not open, I'll probably go work whereever, save some money and then finally take the hubby up on the plan to buy or rent an RV and head out across the country. See things we haven't seen before.

I've never seen the Grand Canyon. My husband has never seen the Colorado Rockies. We both want to go to Boston. I've never been to L.A. (the airport doesn't count.) I want to show him where I lived in Montana years before we met.

We've also toyed with the idea of getting some work visas and living in Europe for a while. I'd like to see the place he lived before we met. I'd like to see the Eifel Tower and eat Italian food in Italy, kiss the Blarney stone. The list goes on.

Maybe it takes us back to the bucket list, but there's a lot of things we haven't seen. A lot of things we haven't experienced.

I'll likely start with Mardi Gras next month. I've never been and I've always wanted to go. So I'm going.

In Florida, I've been lucky to have worked a job for the past 18 months that allowed me to travel all over the state. But there's still a lot of things on the list.

So, not getting a full-time job might just be a blessing in disguise. I'll keep you posted on our next adventure.

Change

2009-01-20T21:18:00.000-08:00

I've thought long and hard today amid the festivities of the inauguration about change and history.

It's hard to put into words. I think, I, as a person of color, never realized just how much the election of President Obama meant to the Black community until I attended the Florida Classic in November. It was there, I realized the enormity of the outcome of the election.

I'm Hispanic and I was thrilled that someone other than a gray haired white man was going to be leading the nation -- I'll admit that. Though, I generally base my vote on whom I think will actually make a good difference.

I was a late bloomer as it were to the Obama camp. I think it wasn't actually until he had sewn up the nomination and I heard him speak in Tampa that he actually convinced me that he was the man for the job. By that point, really, it was a matter of McCain convincing me that the maverick I once knew no longer existed.

But I digress. I realized how much Obama meant when I started thinking of the history of black America. I share part of that history because Jim Crow laws often affected me and my parents too. To be told that you are not good enough to stay at the same hotel, eat at the same cafe, go to the same school and overcome that to become President of the United States of America -- that's monumental.

So today, I shed a few tears alongside those in the Capitol Mall. I shed a few tears of joy.

It's been a long time coming. That does not mean Barack gets a pass. I expect him to keep campaign promises. In fact, maybe I expect a bit more. Because the pride, the expectations, the honor of many Americans are riding on his shoulders.

Don't let us down.

Be all that you can be...

2009-01-15T08:11:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting in my car, behind a long line of other cars waiting my turn to pay the toll and whoosh...speedy fellow flies by under the SunPass sign. Wow, I've always wanted to be one of those people who have a Sun Pass (insert any other toll pass name here). But I don't use the toll roads enough to warrant the hassle.

Maybe it doesn't matter. Don't you ever just want to do things, well just because you always wanted to try it.

Things ilke being the people dressed in glitz and black for a swanky night out who show up and use the valet at a restaurant or event?

I've always wanted to be person who leaves the comfort of home behind and lives in a Europe just for the experience.

How about being the adventurous type and taking up scuba diving or skydiving?

Sometimes all it takes is a little courage.

Not too long ago, I convinced my hubby to get dressed up in his suit and I donned a beautiful dress that I had snatched off the clearance rack at a very expensive store. We looked fabulous. We went to one of the most expensive restaurants around, fell in line in our dusty PT Cruiser behind the Mercedes and BMWs and handed the valet our keys -- "never mind that book bag, just move it aside. Sorry about the sticky stuff on the gear shift -- it's just gummy bears."

We sipped our water and read the menu -- then we ordered appetizers and a glass of wine each. It was fun and delicious. We sat on the patio and watched the moon rising over the gulf, listening to the conversations around us. We laughed and had a great time.

I often hear people say, "oh, I've heard that's a great restaurant, but it's way to expensive." Don't let it be. You don't break the bank and feel guilty afterward. Have an appetizer; or coffee and desert if you don't want to carelessly blow a huge amount of money on one dinner.

Use, the good china. Dance under the stars in your back yard. Take risks. That's my motto this week.

I've been letting stress paralyze me for a couple of weeks, but the past few days I began to remember that you can only let it paralyze you -- it doesn't happen on its own.

So, now, we're seriously plotting a possible jaunt for three months to "live and work" in Europe later this year -- hey, what better time than when you don't have jobs to tie you down?!

And, I'm buying that Sun Pass today.

Calgon take me away

2009-01-10T18:18:00.000-08:00

Did you ever have one of those days? Well, the first week of 2009 has been one of those days.

I'm stressed to the max because my job is ending on Jan. 31 -- I did get a reprieve it was scheduled to end the last week in December. Hubby's job with the campaign ended the end of November. We've both been job hunting nonstop. Nothing. Nada.

Scary stuff folks. Here we are two people, each with two college degrees and we will have no job. Can we survive? Sure. But we'll have to cut back -- way back. That also means we might have to move to a cheaper house.

This wasn't supposed to happen to us.

And, I know that things will look up. We'll probably both find jobs soon and I'll be worried that the sky is falling unnecessarily. But for now, those fears seem very real.

Coupled with that some other family stress stuff that I can't talk about, only to say it's those we love the most who often break our hearts.

This too shall pass.

Thanks for listening guys. Thanks.

How many days til Spring Training?

2009-01-03T17:36:00.000-08:00

Feb. 12. Yep. That soon. Kiss the Christmas tree and cookies goodbye and start thinking spring training.

This will be the first year St. Petersburg won't have a team here for Spring Training, but fortunately, Sarasota, Vero Beach, Charlotte etc aren't too far. I'm thankful that Florida has managed to keep a few teams despite the mass exodus of baseball clubs to Arizona.

I've been to Arizona in February -- not fun. They get dust storms and temps range from cold to hot -- so I don't understand it.

But money talks I guess. As it is now, the Orioles are still shopping and negotiating with cities to come up with bucks for renovations and such at ball parks. In this tight economic environment, municipalities are digging deep to compete and keep some of the revenue generated by crazy people like me who count day the days til Spring Training.

Should be a fun year in Tampa Bay since we managed to have a team in the Series this year!

Come on down Yankees -- opening day -- should be fun.

Newspapers -- maybe we've got it all wrong

2008-12-23T07:08:00.000-08:00

More than anything in the world, I miss working in a newsroom. I miss being a reporter and following a tip that leads me to a great story. I miss the challenge of putting all that information into a concise story that might make a difference. A story that might light a fire -- story that will make people care.

I always like to tell the story of being in fourth grade and talking my teacher into letting us write a school newspaper. The Duncan Times was born and I became a journalist. In the past few years, months, weeks and days, I've seen too many of my fellow journalists -- good writers and great writers -- lose their jobs. Newspapers are dying, we are told.

We can't let that happen. Try to find something on the WWW that you saw last week. Try. It's not easy and it's not always there. Try sharing your online "news source" across the dining room table on a Sunday morning as you sip coffee with your significant other. Yeah, right.

More importantly, think about our history. My guess is when you think of historic events, you remember photos or headlines you read. You can still find those. They are still there. Inscribed. Newspapers record our history, much like, or maybe better than the books we use in classrooms.

I'm scared for the future of the industry, but then a bright light in New Jersey, gives us hope. I'm sure there are others like this paper. Here's the column from the International Herald Tribune:

U.S. newspaper shuns Web, and thrives
By David Carr

Monday, December 22, 2008
With 2008 drawing to a brutal close on the media beat bankruptcies, daily newspapers that are no longer daily, magazines that are downsizing into brochures a little ray of light appeared in my e-mail inbox. It was from a newspaper owner, of all people.

Into the teeth of a historic recession, the newspaper had just published the biggest issue in its history. The product is double-digit profitable, and it has been growing at a clip of about 10 percent a year since it was founded in 1999, right about the time the Web was beginning to put its hands around print's neck.

Finally, I thought, a story about a print organization that has found a way to tame the Web and come up with a digital business approach that could serve as a model. Except that TriCityNews of Monmouth County, New Jersey, is prospering precisely because it aggressively ignores the Web. Its Web site has a little boilerplate about the product and lists ad rates, but nothing more. (The address is trinews.com, for all the good it will do you.)

"Why would I put anything on the Web?" asked Dan Jacobson, the publisher and owner of the newspaper. "I don't understand how putting content on the Web would do anything but help destroy our paper. Why should we give our readers any incentive whatsoever to not look at our content along with our advertisements, a large number of which are beautiful and cheap full-page ads?"

Other publications much larger than TriCityNews have been wondering about pumping resources into a medium that does not seem to show a promise of returns any time soon.

Writing in The New York Observer, John Koblin pointed out that when Forbes, Portfolio and Fortune went through recent retrenchments, the Web staffs were hit the hardest. That may be just an old print reflex, but there is a rational argument to be made that the part of the apparatus that has a working business model, declining or not, should receive the resources.

At a time when Web entrepreneurs like Nick Denton of Gawker Media are predicting a 40 percent decline in Web display advertising, it's probably not a great time to be indexing into the Web either.

And there are signs that the free ride for consumers may be coming to an end. I started getting notices to renew my subscription to The Wall Street Journal and its Web site and waited, as I have in the past, for the deeply discounted offer. It never came. And according to company statements in October, paid subscriptions for The Journal's Web site were up more than 7 percent from a year ago.

A few caveats before we turn back the clock on publishing history. TriCityNews employs 3.5 people (the half-time employee handles circulation), has a print run of 10,000, and has a top line that can be written in six figures. Still, by setting rates low almost 10 years ago and never raising them or offering a Web option, Jacobson has built a reliable cadre of advertisers who call for ads, sign up for full pages, and pay in advance. There are no people working for sales commissions.

Editorially, the newspaper is boosterish "we want people to think of Asbury Park as the center of the universe," he said with notes of skepticism typical of alternative weeklies. There are six columnists in addition to the full-time staff, and they write with a mix of attitude and reporting that Jacobson describes as a "plog," a blog on paper.

The low cost of entry on the advertising side means that almost anyone a bar, a retailer, a gym can afford a full-page ad, and the preponderance of them leads to an elegant-looking product.

"I don't allow our name to be used on any kind of content on the Web not bulletin boards or listings or anything," Jacobson said. "I don't want anybody to connect The TriCityNews and the Internet. I don't want anything that detracts from the paper and the presence of those big, beautiful full-page ads."

Unlike other alt weeklies that borrowed heavily and consolidated newspapers in the hopes of creating a rolled-up Web product, Jacobson prefers to publish in a medium that pays for itself.

Creative Loafing, a chain of weeklies based in Tampa, Florida, bought up The Washington City Paper and The Chicago Reader and moved aggressively to invest editorial resources online. The chain filed for bankruptcy in September.

And Jacobson is more than happy to be known as the Fred Flintstone of the publishing world. "There may come a time when the Web is all there is, and we will try to adapt," he said, "and if we don't, well, hey, we had a great run. But right now, the Web makes no business sense for us."

Many people would tell, and in fact have told, Jacobson that he was bound to go the way of the eight-track tape, but from what he has seen, there are a lot of routes to obsolescence.

He said that as a consumer, he's not a print snob; in fact, he no longer buys the physical version of newspapers he once did. "I just get on the Web site, I look at what I need to and I never look at the ads," he said.

There is no doubt that readers benefit in all sorts of ways from digitized journalism and searchable listings online, but that ease of use has not been accruing to the benefit of the publications that provide that information, or very often, their advertisers.

When it comes to brand advertising, print has a strong track record. Advertisers like the analog presentation in TriCityNews for the same reason they come back in droves to Vogue.

Jacobson, 47, is a former lawyer and politician he was a New Jersey assemblyman in the '90s who started The TriCityNews in January 1999 with $15,000 he had won in a personal injury lawsuit. The company is called Limited Risk Inc.

"Right after we started, the dot-com bust happened and we have been running scared ever since. We live off the land and run it very lean," he said. "There is no debt, our office in downtown Asbury Park is very small, and we have never raised our rates, so people tend to stick with us regardless of what is happening in the economic cycle."

The three full-time employees met for their annual Christmas dinner the other night.

"All of us," Jacobson said, "are pretty happy with our lifestyles I was able to quit practicing law quite a few years ago and are thankful that we seem to have secure jobs and what seems to be a good future in a pretty tough industry."

It's just beer...but

2008-12-09T07:22:00.000-08:00

Drink something other than Anheuser Busch products. Seriously.

When I first heard about the Anheuser Busch InBev merger, I was skeptical. A foreign company owning an “American” company usually means loss of American jobs.

But they assured the Missouri lawmakers and the public and the stockholders that this was not going to happen. No sir, we’re keeping the jobs in America.

Yeah, well, it didn’t say that in the contract obviously. And the bottom line is the almighty end all.

So now, the new Belgian owners of Anheuser Busch are shrinking the headcount in the U.S. by 3,000.

The company plans to lay off 1,400 mostly at the St. Louis headquarters by New Year’s.

InBev is also trying to shuck the trademark “Busch Gardens” theme parks in Florida and Williamsburg.

What is not surprising is the recent ads for a Busch lager, which hails the “American” beer.

Maybe, it’s still made by Americans. But my guess, not for long. I, for one, am going to be very careful and NOT buy or drink any Anheuser Busch “InBev” products. Yep, even the Stella beer that I used to like before InBev bought Busch.

That’s the least I can do for the 1,400 folks who won’t have a job next year. Thanks Belgium. Thanks Missouri lawmakers. Thanks a lot.

Unsolicited hotel reviews

2008-11-25T05:41:00.000-08:00

Home sweet home – the past year that moniker has been applied to countless hotels that just feel good after a long day at work. Each location I’ve traveled to this year has been an experience and adventure. Sometimes, the hotels themselves are adventures – some good, some bad.

I can’t even count the number of hotels I’ve stayed in throughout my life, but some clearly stand out. I was thinking about that today after I checked out of the Marriott in downtown Orlando and headed home to St. Petersburg.

Some of my favorite places to lodge have been military-run hotels or resorts such as the Hale Koa or Bellows Air Force Station in Hawaii. Hard to beat a lux hotel on Waikiki Beach or a private cabin right on the beach on the windward side of the island. That these are military facilities has helped us afford to stay at places where we might not normally have been able to visit. From temporary lodging facilities to trailers (aka cabins) at the Lake of the Ozarks, military-run hotels have one thing in common – they are clean and efficiently run. No bad experiences – well, except the time at Reese Air Force Base when we stayed in TLF before we left for Japan. The staff had placed hot pink mice poison that looked a whole lot like candy under an end table in the living room area. That proved too tempting for our then two-year-old who ended up having to have her stomach pumped. Thank goodness she liked to share, which alerted her older brother and sister to the fact that little sis was eating something she found under the table. Whew.

This year, we’ve stayed at too many hotels to count. The worst were hands-down in other parts of the country from the flea-infested room at a very nice Holiday Inn in South Carolina to a bed-bug hotel in Illinois.

Hampton Inns while clean etc. have the hardest beds ever. I won’t stay there unless it’s a last resort or the whole crew is staying there.

The Holiday Inn in SC not withstanding, we usually stay at HI because for the most part they are clean, have comfortable beds and you can’t beat the pillow menu. The point rewards are great too. Marriott Hotels also top the list of great places to stay. But by far, our favorite chain hotel is the Embassy Suites. The 10 days we stayed in Boca Raton earlier this year were made bearable by the great hotel and staff. We were running around from event to event, and it was always great to come back to a great space with a small living area so you didn’t feel like you were at a hotel. The breakfast buffet and “manager’s reception” are super. We stayed at the Embassy in DC too and it was equally as great.

By far our favorite hotel – not for the amenities – but for the history and surroundings was the Mayflower Hotel in Washington DC. If you are a presidential history buff, stay there.

The Hotel Cass (Holiday Inn Express) in Chicago was also another historic hotel. Free breakfast and you can’t beat the location from great shopping and restaurants and night life. It’s about three blocks to the House of Blues, practically next door to the famous Pizzeria Due (Unos Chicago Pizza), and Starbucks is right across the street. If you don’t mind walking about four blocks, you are right in the middle of the city’s downtown shopping mecca and only about 10 blocks to the beach. Great hotel – the view stinks and the rooms are small, but the boutique hotel is nicely decorated and you won’t be spending a lot of time in the hotel anyway. Beds are great.

So there you have it, my unsolicited hotel reviews. Next time, we’ll talk Priceline…

"South" of the Red River

2008-11-18T04:05:00.000-08:00

Native Floridians are a rare breed in Florida. It seems everyone hails from Jersey, New York, Ohio and somewhere else “up north.”

Occasionally I run into another displaced Texan and we commiserate on all the Texas things we miss. Then we acquiesce: We’re glad we live in Florida.

The truth is I have a habit of falling in love with where I live. When I lived in Missouri, I embraced the history of the state. Working at the state Capitol and covering historic elections, the death of Gov. Mel Carnahan and being one of only a handful of people in the Governor’s office when Roger Wilson was sworn in tied me indelibly to the state. I loved its hills and rivers and spirit.

Then I moved to Oklahoma. Now embracing Oklahoma was a stretch for a die-hard Texan; but I did embrace it. Mostly, I fell in love with the people of Oklahoma. Tough. Pioneers. Survivors. I still extol the virtues of Oklahoma City whenever anyone dares to dis the state. I left with a heavy heart and even cried when I heard the song Jimmy Webb and Vince Gill wrote for the centennial. Happy Birthday again Oklahoma! (Nov. 16)

Now, I’m in Florida. I have traveled to every nook and cranny from the Florida Keys to Pensacola, from Brooksville to Miami and every town in between. There’s something inherently fun about driving across “Alligator Alley” and catching a glimpse of a gator.

There’s something indescribably wonderful about living where people go on vacation. Sure, we gripe about the tourists, but there’s a pride in knowing that people want to come vacation at your home. I even feel bad if it’s raining when I see families coming out of the hotel. I almost as if we must apologize for the less than perfect weather.

I’m still discovering this great place. I love it for all its quirkiness. I love it for all the independent and “one of a kind” folks who live here.

I’ve become a huge fan of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers and the Tampa Bay Rays. We root for the Florida teams (unless they are playing the Big XII teams, of course).

I’ll always be a Texan. I’ll always love going down to Marfa and watching mysterious ghost lights bounce of the Davis Mountains. I’ll love the sounds and the crowds at a Friday night high school football game in any small town; the flat landscape of the South Plains that lets you believe that on a clear day you can see forever; and I’ll always love the excitement of attending the Sand Hills Rodeo in Odessa, Texas and knowing it’s the first rodeo of the season.

But for now, I’m comfortable being a “Floridian.”

Jingle bells in my head

2008-11-17T06:50:00.000-08:00

On the way to school this morning, my granddaughters and I sang Christmas carols. Yes. It's way too early and every year the "Christmas season" gets longer and longer -- almost like the presidential campaigns we just survived.

Nonetheless it was fun, but then we switched to Bob Marley songs and that was way more relaxing. Christmas carols at this point remind me that it's almost the end of the year, that I haven't accomplished everything on my "to do" list -- write a novel, lose weight etc. -- and that I've not even started shopping yet!

I think I'll take it one step at a time. I'm going grocery shopping today -- well, maybe tomorrow.

Happy holiday season ya'll! Have you bought your Christmas cards yet?

The politics of hate

2008-11-03T13:45:00.000-08:00

Good morning, it's Monday before the election. You take your cup of coffee, grab the paper, turn on the morning television news shows or the radio and it begins. Ugly, hateful television ads bashing a candidate's integrity and life. It's enough to make me want to vomit.

The opposing candidate's cheerful voice says, "I'm so and so and I approve this message."

The anger in the ad takes my breath away so early in the morning. Did you really? Did you really listen to this ad and then approve it?

Then, you sir, have lost my respect.

At one time before the current debacle we call the President, I might have voted for you. I admired your courage, your tenacity in being able to survive so long in enemy hands and stand up for what you believed was right.

But in the past eight years, no truly, in the past year, I've seen you melt like putty in the hands of an unscupulous campaign machine that will do and say anything to win.

I see you blink at the camera. You seem confused, lost. And, I realize that you have lost control.

If you win tomorrow, I hope you find the courage that you had so many years ago to take back your integrity.

If you lose, I hope that you are able still to find the courage to continue on the right path. I hope you have not completely sold your soul.

If you cannot do this, this country will be the worst for it. So my prayers are with you because at one time, you were an honorable person. I'm not sure who you are right now.

Back in the saddle

2008-10-26T05:28:00.000-07:00

Blogging has been on my mind a great deal lately. Mainly, it's the little ideas that pop into my head, "Hey, I'd have something to say about that." But yet every day, I find less and less time to actually blog. I'll blame it on my job. I'll blame it on Facebook, Twitter or the multitude of "social networking" venues out there. I spend too much time there, partly because of work and partly because I've found many of my friends and old friends use those tools.

Still, I've clung to the blog, though I haven't actually blogged in a while. But, I've missed it. So whether anyone reads this or not, I'm going to continue my blogging. Call it my very public personal diary. It was after all through blogging that I found my friend the Diva Even before I met her face to face, she made me laugh, she made me cry. Her blog is always a good read.

I might not blog as frequently in the coming weeks, but my goal is to post at least once a week. Good columnists do that, don't they. That's the other thing. I'm going to adopt a column style of writing. One topic and stick to it sort of thing. For that particular column anyway. That was always my intent when I first began this blog a few years back.

In the meantime, for those who care, I'll give you an update of my life since early September.

We moved. Not from Florida, but away from our beloved Sunset Beach. My daughter, her husband and our grandson are now living with us for the next year. It's our way of helping out until they both finish their studies in 2009. So we found a larger house. It's still on the water, though on the other side of the peninsula that is St. Petersburg. So now, we can catch a sunrise.

My job with Divided We Fail is winding down since the election is approaching. It's bittersweet. We feel like we're going to finally see some of the fruits of our labor as whomever is elected works on policy, but it also means I'll be unemployed come Jan. 1. In these economic times, that's terrifying. Yes, I knew the job would end, but I expected it was going to end last year and maybe I should have found other employment at that time. But I've loved the job, loved the challenge, so I guess I wouldn't change that for anything.

That's about it in a nutshell. I'm still traveling around the state of Florida, though, we've ventured out some in the past few months to South Carolina, Virginia, DC and other parts. Some columns might focus a bit more on travel -- a good respite from the storm of politics that usually surrounds my life. Hopefully, some of you will tune back in to read.

East Coast Tour

2008-09-03T20:08:00.000-07:00

Wow, it's been a busy month. After Fay, we fled up the coast to South Carolina with the Champmobile for the beginning of the East Coast Tour. South Carolina was rainy and not a lot of fun -- no fault of their own, just the effects from FAY.

Now, we're in DC and looking warily behind us at Hanna, Ike and Josephine. I'll head home on Sunday, hopefully just before we get hit by Ike. Hopefully, I'll head home Sunday. Hubby heads up to NY with the Champmobile.

More about our travels in DC soon. I'm working on starting a new site about my adventures as a newbie in Florida. Should be interesting -- at least I hope so!

Our BFF Fay

2008-08-19T19:08:00.001-07:00

I've been in Florida for one year and two solid months, and finally I get the welcome mat rolled out. Yes, we were a bit excited about our first "hurricane." Keep in mind, our family is a veteran of South Pacific Typhoons, so this one should be a breeze right?

First, you have to decide whether or not to GO. We live in evacuation Zone A, so that means we leave period. The Gov. called a state of emergency. Then, the County folks issued a mandatory evacuation order for the Gulf Beaches. So we complied. I found a couple of rooms at a local hotel in a non-evac area. We opted to stay close versus making the mad dash across the state, though we did toy with the idea of Jupiter or Orlando because projections -- all of the projections showed those areas being missed by the winds and rain.

We enjoyed the family hurricane party at the hotel. We way overpacked and loaded our cars with enough water and food and batteries to feed a small army.

But the hurricane did not come. We haven't gotten a drop of rain.

Jupiter? Orlando? They got slammed. And, now it's likely that they will get slammed again if our BFF Fay decides to actually turn into a hurricane in the Atlantic and do an encore visit to Florida. Where she will go is anyone's guess. Weathermen in Oklahoma might have those tornadoes figured out, but hurricanes are a totally different thing. Where's Gary England when you need him?

So for right now, we're all fine. Ray and I are supposed to drive up to South Carolina with the CM, but we aren't sure that's going to happen because our BFF is supposed to follow.

You know the hardest thing about evacuating? Deciding what to leave. Looking around your house and thinking, "I might not ever see this again." Yeah, I'm rethinking this whole living on the beach thing. I like the sound of a non-evacuation zone.

Crimefighters

2008-08-12T19:04:00.000-07:00

My grandson's been an avid fan of McGruff, the crimefighting dog, since he was little. I used to have a hand puppet and M would want us to wear that thing for hours. We finally took to hiding McGruff so we would be wearing the dang thing on our hands, and talking like McGruff to boot, for hours!

But guess who we happened to run into during our trip to DC earlier this summer. You guessed it.

10 school resolutions for the slacker mom

2008-08-06T07:24:00.000-07:00

Thought I'd share this amusing blog column by Kelly Smith and Sharon Kennedy Wynne, St. Petersburg Times staff writers

About this time every year, we fall into some kind of glue-stick trance while fawning over and stroking all those organizing gizmos in the back-to-school aisles. And that same old feeling comes over us: This school year will be different. This year we'll be on top of the chaos. We'll make perfect school lunches. We'll have oh-wow ideas for every school project. Every other mom will think we're so cool.

Oh, cut the crap.

We are so over it. Truth is, between crazy work and crazy home, we usually end up overwhelmed, tired and barely holding it together. And feeling enormously guilty about it. So this year, we're not going to try to be one of those smiling ubermoms. And we're not going to feel guilty about it.

Here are 10 back-to-school resolutions for the slacker mom. Repeat after us:

• I will not do it for you, so do it yourself. Don't like PB&J in your Hannah Montana lunch bag? Then pack something else. And this extends to basic household stuff. Soggy towel and scuzzy undies left on the floor? Fine. Hungry and Mom's stuck at work? Mac and cheese, hubby dear.

• I will not sell wrapping paper or candy. Nope, nothing. We'll write a modest check instead. Heck, we'll have all our friends and family write checks, too. Just, please, no more cookie dough in the freezer.

• I will volunteer for ONE event. Maybe a field trip. No Fall Festival booth, and nothing that involves a cash register. Yeah, yeah, we hear all the ubermoms crying, "No fair, that's why we get stuck doing everything!" So true.

• I will not nag, bicker or bribe. Homework not done? See how that goes over at school. Breakfast untouched? Gee, hope you packed your lunch.

• I will not argue over clothes. Wear whatever you want, kid. Pick it out the night before, change your mind 20 times in the morning, whatever. But don't expect to get it ironed at the last minute. That's why God made Downy Wrinkle Releaser spray.

• I will not stick an erasable calendar on the fridge. Because after we fill it in once with important dates for September, we'll never look at it again. Until December. Ditto on the color-coded file folders.

• I will make no excuses when my kid's project looks like Tinkertoys. At least compared to SuperKid's to-scale replica of the White House with remote-controlled motorcade and swinging doors. At least my kid did it herself. Sure, we'll offer ideas and support (awesome toilet paper roll thingamajig, honey!), but we refuse to do it for her.

• I will not run a shuttle all over the county every afternoon. Pick ONE after-school sport or activity: piano lessons, soccer fields or karate class.

• I will not be a hairstylist. If you choose a 'do that requires gel or braiding, you better be willing to learn how to do it yourself. We'll only get yelled at when it's "not done right" anyway.

• I will not stress about my child's reading level or giftedness. It's the teacher's job to teach and my job to create a supportive atmosphere. So there will be no flash cards unless the teacher requests it.

Absence

2008-07-19T12:33:00.000-07:00

When I first met R, I was happy being single. I avoided anything near committment because of a failed marriage that had ended horribly. So I dated.

But on the night we met, I was just hanging out with friends. We had gone to the Carol of Lights on the Texas Tech campus and decided to hit a bar -- one of those trendy upscale yuppie bars of the 80s. I ran into a friend who knew someone I was with, and that person happened to be with R. As the evening progressed, R and I started a conversation. It was a mutually, unspoken switching of dates as the evening wore on. R gave me a ride home, and asked for my number. Could he call? Sure. What time? Time? I'd never exactly had a guy ask me what time he could call. How about 2 p.m.? Sure, he said.

The next day friends and I hung around my apartment because I had told them about the guy I'd met the night before who had asked what time he could call. He called. 2 p.m. on the dot.

On our second official date, we were in the car heading to a restaurant for dinner. He started talking, telling me that he had been single for a long time, and never thought he would meet the girl he knew he would want to spend the rest of his life with. Wow. I thought. He's giving me the old kiss off, BEFORE dinner. Uh, not exactly. R was talking about me. I freaked. I want to go home, I said. He took me home, but kept calling every day.

I'd tell my friends to answer the phone. I'd been introduced to R by his first name. So I instructed my friends to tell him I was not there. He called and said, this is R. My friend gave me the phone. He was charming. We went out again. And again, and again. We got married four months after we met. That was more than 23 years ago.

The only time we've been apart was when he was in the Air Force. The last year of active duty, he was gone almost a whole year, stateside, to Germany, to Saudi Arabia. When he came back, he left the military and we went to Mizzou. We took classes together, we worked together, we hung out. We still do that. We both work at the same place, we go on all trips together.

Except this week he took a solo trip for the campaign. He's in Iowa. He left Monday. We'll meet up again Tuesday in Chicago. I'm counting the days, hours and minutes.

His absence has left a vacuum in my daily life. He called me this morning as soon as he woke up. He still sounded groggy from sleep. Hey, he said. I just wanted to hear your voice. It made me happy and sad at the same time.

I miss my buddy, my love, my best friend. Can't wait til Tuesday.

Back at ya

2008-07-18T20:36:00.000-07:00

The blog posts are coming slower. I've been wrapped up in projects like work and my dedication to having two writing projects done by the end of the year. I don't know that I've been missed. No one has sent out a Missing Person Report, so I'm beginning to wonder why keep the blog.

Not that letting go won't be hard, but a few friends have done that and I'm thinking it might be time.

That said, I'll share this:

As I'm driving home on Fridays it gets more and more irritating to dodge the tourists who slow down and then speed up only to slow down again. Yes, they are lost. They always are. Today, one particularly annoying driving kept stopping to read his map. I noticed the Virginia license plate and it made me laugh.

You see, when I lived in Virginia I learned that a particular hand gesture and not the Cardinal is the Virginia state bird. Virginians would yell out there windows with an obscenity followed by "tourist" then show you the state emblem.

As I swerved to dodge him yet again, I was tempted to welcome him the way any former Virginian would have, but I maintained control in consideration of the 7-year-old in my backseat.

Instead, I waved and smiled. "Back at ya, bud!"

Aargh, yet again

2008-06-17T03:07:00.000-07:00

One year. We've been in Florida for a whole year now. So this year, we gathered our most piratey outfits and hit the streets during Pirate Days in Madeira Beach. Aargh, matey.

Have a magical day

2008-06-15T08:18:00.000-07:00

Just wrapped up another weekend of work in Orlando. This time we were at the Walt Disney World resorts for two conferences. The kids tagged along (aka grown children with their children) and we got adjoining rooms. They went to Disney World while we went to work. Bah! One weekend soo, I'm going to rebel and take off completely and go to the House of Mouse myself.

The kiddos though had a wonderful time. M -- here to visit for a few weeks sans parents -- is super proud that he road the "coasters" and can't stop talking about space mountain. He did, however, mention that there's two things he doesn't like about Florida -- sunburns and that castle. He's a boy, what can I say.

The girls were in heaven with Cinderella and the gang. They got photos. And, K-bear met her heros Buzz Lightyear and Woody.

To quote K-bear: "Dreams do come true." Yes, she's four, and she really said that.

Here are some photos:

Two of my favorite people

2008-05-24T20:50:00.001-07:00

Picher revisited

2008-05-12T10:29:00.000-07:00

Wow. I'm stunned. We've called folks we know who live in and around Picher. When I wrote the last post, I felt anger that this small town had to endure so much. I liked the story, and it was more a story than a news article, written by the AP reporter.

Now, I feel sadness. The article now almost seems like a prelude to the obituary of this small town. Our hearts and prayers go out to all the residents and families affected by the tornado.

Picher, Oklahoma

2008-05-10T16:27:00.000-07:00

the first time I saw Picher, OK was more than 23 years ago. I was shocked at the piles of mining debris -- called chat, I later learned. My husband -- then my boyfriend, who had grown up near Picher, just shrugged it off. I demanded to know why the mine hadn't been forced to clean it up. I still wonder why we, the taxpayers of this country, have to continue to clean up for an industry that lined its pockets with money on the blood, sweat and health of every day working men and families.

I ran across this article today -- great story -- but it brought to the surface that rage and shock I felt in December 1984 when we drove through Picher.

Cinco de Mayo

2008-05-05T14:41:00.000-07:00

This weekend, work took us to the big city of Mascotte, Florida. We had quite a debate going on about what to call that little town -- Mas - cot- te -- Mas - coat -- but were told it was Mas - cot, you know like the New Orleans Hornets' flaming mascot, Hugo.

The event was a Cinco de Mayo festival that had the traditional Cinco de Mayo stuff. Awesome Mexican food -- an amazing feat in Florida! And the traditional mariachi band. But when the Mariachi band starting playing Jimmy Buffett's "Margaritaville," I took out the camera and recorded for prosperity. Only in Florida.

Enjoy!

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Time out

2008-04-23T03:00:00.000-07:00

Some weeks fly by, others drag on. Last week was a particularly slow week, got Sunday off and then started another slow week, packed with so much work it's hard to find time to get up out of my chair and go to the bathrooms sometimes. Working this weekend too, but somehow I'm looking forward to getting back on the road. Of course, I have to be careful what I wish for...I'm on the road next weekend too, and the next, and the next. Whoa.

Anyway, that all leads to this: I'm taking today off. Completely off. Yes, I'm up at the wee hours because I'm a morning person and that's what I like to do. The sun will begin to shine in a few minutes and I plan to go for an early morning beach walk. Then home for a leisurely breakfast and coffee I can linger over. The blackberry is off. I'm not going anywhere.

That reminds me: This weekend we went to watch the Rays play the White Sox. Rays were wiped out 6-0. At the bottom of the ninth, the Rays were at bat. Two outs. Two strikes on the batter. Grown-ups decided it was time to go, so we started gathering up our stuff. Five-year-old C-bear was watching the game intently (we were close to the field). She says, "No! We've almost got this! Sit down, we're not going anywhere!" Ah, the optimism of youth. We stayed til the end of the game.

Just another day in paradise

2008-04-13T13:12:00.000-07:00

I've lived on Treasure Island for nine months and counting. And, it still takes my breath away when I step on the white sand beach and look in either direction. It's like living in a postcard. The reality of living here is often more complex than a postcard can capture.

Our neighbors here on our neck of the beach all have their little quirks. One of them, an elderly lady with weathered skin usally clad in a swimsuit, cover up and flip flops, greets you with "Just another day in paradise." She rarely says it with a smile. Just a matter-of-fact.

Not everyone on the beach is retired. Most of us hold jobs, if not 9-to-5, still jobs that take us away from the beach. Daily chores and other things get in the way. We don't get to watch as many sunsets as we would like.

The neighborhood is diverse -- not ethnically perhaps, but none the less definitely diverse. Retirees, waiters, waitresses, bartenders, a writer, an artist, a nurse, a sports agent -- we all live in close proximity touching on the fringes of each other's lives.

One neighbor, one not liked by anyone on the block for many good reasons, was found dead in the house he lived in two doors down a few weeks ago. It's sad, he's not missed. The older woman who had invited him to live with her, only to find herself shipped off to a nursing home while he stayed in her house has returned home. Just another day in paradise.

One retiree walks his two dogs every day. He limps as he walks. We were chatting with him one especially beautiful sunny day when all the neighbors were out and about. He mentioned his late wife. It was the anniversary of their marriage. They had one son. He died many years ago, said the neighbor, the loneliness and sadness of his losses spilling over into his eyes. Just another day in paradise.

Spring break has been hard. The crowds move from the local beach bar into our driveways and we're constantly yelling at drunk tourists to move their cars. Just another day in paradise.

I'm looking forward to May and June. When the sweltering days and the hot Gulf water temperatures began to creep up, forcing the tourists from up north -- and Tampa -- to find refuge elsewhere.

All this complexity can wear on you. Then I walk on the beach, look around and soak it all in. Just another day in paradise.

In the fast lane

2008-04-08T04:38:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, the Gran Prix series was held in St. Petersburg. I gave hubby tickets for the whole weekend as an anniversary present. He loved it. I went with him for a while on Friday afternoon. It was fun, you get pretty close to the drivers and cars in the Paddock area where you are actually allowed to walk.

I don't know a lot about racing. But I've sort of been a fan of Danica Patrick for a while, well, because she's a woman and she drives fast -- faster than most guys. But Helio C. is always a fave too.

So, we went over to Danica's car. It was crowded with lots of moms and dads and their little girls who clutched Danica posters or a camera. Danica comes out of her trailer, glances at the crowd -- no smile -- and jumps in her car for adjustments. She gets back out, ignores the calls for autographs or photos and gets back in her trailer. She does stand at the front of the trailer long enough to pull her racing suit off the top part of her body earning her cat calls from the men -- the ones without the kids. She smiles and walks out of sight. She materializes again, only to briskly walk past the crowd to a waiting vehicle to take her to the track.

OK, this is my first time at this race. So I'm not surprised. She's busy. She's working.Those are the excuses I give her, because I've admired her for so long. Never mind that she left several little girls in disppointed tears.

Then we head over to Helio's area, figuring he's probably already gone too. So, I'm surprised when he's standing by his car, posing for photos. Smiling, he walks over to fans and shakes everyone's hand, signs autographs, poses for more photos, hops on the scooter he rides to the track and poses for another photo. Wow.

I have a new favorite driver. Helio was that way all through the weekend. I cheered for him to win -- he came in second. Danica finished 10th. Good for her. I'm always thrilled to see a woman breaking into a male-dominated field. Still...I think that she could give five minutes of her time to make some kids very happy. But I guess we all have our "working style."

23 years and counting...

2008-04-05T14:50:00.000-07:00

April 2, 1985. The wedding was set for June. Planning was going nowhere. We were getting opposition from friends and family. Stress was building. We KNEW this was right, why couldn't anyone else get over the fact that we had become engaged only after two months of dating? This was month four. We had just moved in together and the parents were freaking out. Never mind that we were both in our late 20s and hadn't lived at home for years.

So we decided to get married. We called two friends to join us as witnesses and we drove from Lubbock to the big city of Tahoka, Texas. We had called ahead and the justice of the peace was expecting us at the courthouse. We did everything in one day, license, etc. The JP talked to us about his latest fishing trip in East Texas. We both got more nervous. This was the second time for both of us. The first time hadn't been great for him. For me, the first marriage was disastrous. This was a huge step. The right step, but huge.

The ceremony started. I seemed calmed, but kept moving the heel of my shoe around in a nervous motion. It broke off. We laughed. We made our promises, to love, cherish in good times and bad. We celebrated our first anniversary with the wedding we didn't have the year before.

We're still laughing. Still cherishing. Things have changed. We've raised the children that Ray adopted as his own. We now share grandchildren and memories, good times and bad.

My hubby, who has almost no romantic bone in his body made me cry recently when he bought a framed painting, underneath the sentiment: "Come grow old with me. The best is yet to be."

I believe it is. After a week of pain and doctor's visits from my accident. He's been right there, helping me get dressed, holding my hand when he knew I hurt. And on our anniversary planning a three-hour dinner cruise complete with wine and roses.

Marrying him was the very best thing I ever have done.

The best is yet to be...

Who knew?

2008-04-05T00:23:00.000-07:00

It seemed like I used to have a lot more time to blog. I should have more time. But in reality, I've been trying to write and work on my book. One of them, anyway. And, I've been traveling for work. Here's an update for anybody who cares, though my guess is that the continued long absences from blogging have diminished my readers.

Mid-March: The Jazz in the Gardens in Miami was a fun event. Lesson learned: Don't volunteer to ride in the back seat of an F350 pickup for five hours. It's a bumpy ride.

Easter was wonderful, first time with the granddaughters. Spent part of the day on the beach, of course.

This past weekend -- last weekend in March -- headed to Tallahassee for long-awaited launch of the Champmobile.

Well, yours truly, managed to dislocate her shoulder while riding on the CM during a parade. Truck moved, felt myself slipping, grabbed podium, truck moved again (F350's aren't exactly smooth moving vehicles) out popped the joint. Ouch. Big ouch.

For lack of better transportation at the end of the parade, when I finally let people know it happened because being the P.R. person, I sure as heck didn't want the news to report that the parade was stopped because the CM had to have an ambulance meet it enroute. Yep, the ambulance took me to the hospital. Embarassing. Well, I would have been embarassed if I hadn't passed out from the pain when they moved me to the stretcher.

So, now I'm in a sling and trying to regain motion without pain in the shoulder. Not a spring chicken, so apparently, I'm not as resilient as Candace Parker, a basketball star playing for Tennessee that in a recent NCAA final game dislocated her shoulder, not once, but twice, in the course of the game. And, she continued to play. Yep, compared to Candace Parker, I'm a wimp.

Start spreading the news

2008-03-12T07:34:00.000-07:00

Gina and Will are married! Had a great, wonderful, exhilirating time with friends this past weekend. It was great to be in the Big Apple (and Jersey where we spent the bulk of our time) again. My favorite pasttime there is still riding the trains and people watching. And the best part of the trip was seeing friends that we communicate with long distance and getting hugs and first-hand contact. Everyone is off and running on their lives -- we all realized that some of us had known one another for almost 20 years, the others for 15.

We talked for a while about the "cog" in the center that's kept us all in touch, and who has, in many instances, been the impetus for us to know each other. It's Gina. Much like my friend, Kevan, is the center of a whole group of people, G is that way in this group. It's usually easy to identify those people too. In OKC, I knew another person like that - S -- she keeps this huge group of people connected. Cogs keep the world turning. We need people like them in our lives. So who are the "cogs" in your wheels of life?

Goodbye to the Frozen Tundra

2008-03-05T00:09:00.000-08:00

I'm a football fan, and through the years I've cheered for different teams. I've been a fan of the Dolphins, the Denver Broncos and most recently the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. I've always liked the Raiders because they are the bad boys.
I don't even mention the Dallas Cowboys, because, that's more than being a fan. That's a consistent religion. That has never changed.

The past few years though, I've always cheered for the Green Bay Packers, for one single reason: Brett Favre. Now he's retiring. So, I, also, will be retiring my "fanship" for that team. It was great while it lasted. He'll be missed.

Happy Birthday thoughts

2008-02-25T06:52:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was my birthday I was 21 years old (plus 30). Ouch, on the number. But the day was casual and great. Hubby and I spent the morning slowly getting around. Found a great seafood place for lunch and then headed over to the waterfront for the Clearwater Blues Fest. Fabulous.

Then headed over to our son's house, where we had great Italian and a pink and yellow ice cream cake. We watched the Oscars and headed home. Low-key, perfect day.

Got some presents too!

Great column

2008-02-19T11:04:00.000-08:00

AARP pushing its 'Divided We Fail' platform
Alex Rose
Midland Reporter-Telegram
02/16/2008

AARP is pushing hard for its "Divided We Fail" platform.

The organization is asking members of Congress, as well as all citizens, to take the pledge, which asks our candidates to give us action and accountability on health benefits and lifetime financial security.

The platform states that all Americans need affordable health care. All Americans want an emphasis placed on wellness and prevention efforts and need to have choices when it comes to long-term care. In regards to our finances, it is imperative that Social Security be strengthened, more incentives be made available so workers can save and all Americans need to have tools to manage their finances.

These are all wonderful ideas --ideas that no one will deny are necessary. The question is how and when? AARP believes that our two political parties working against each other will not get the job done. We have to find a way to work together, and we need to start this in our own communities. In order to make our communities livable, we certainly need to be working together.

When I pulled up the 221 members of Congress who had taken the congressional pledge or written a letter of approval supporting the Divided We Fail platform, I was disappointed to see only nine names from Texas and these were names outside of our district. We need to contact our representatives and ask them to support this platform. We want to make sure our candidates give us action, answers and accountability on health and lifetime financial security.

Please write to your congressional representative and ask him to support the Divided We Fail effort by signing the congressional pledge. We need to move our nation forward in a bipartisan fashion to address these urgent needs. They can sign the pledge on www.dividedwefail.org.

It is also interesting that AARP has come up with a Divided We Fail mascot -- Champ -- part donkey, part elephant (rather clever, I must say)-- who represents the heart of this campaign. It has the philosophy that for too long donkeys and elephants have bickered and quarreled and wallowed in partisan gridlock. Meanwhile, we, the people, have suffered. Health care is a mess and long-term economic security is at risk. It is time to put an end to it. You can get Champ gear if you wish -- T-shirts, hats and cards.

You can visit the AARP Web site (ww.aarp.org) and find out more information about what the pledge is all about.

©MyWestTexas.com 2008

NYC, here I come

2008-02-17T05:30:00.000-08:00

Just purchased tickets for our trip to NYC. I'm excited. We haven't been there in four years almost! It's just hubby and I, heading to my friend G's wedding. NOW that I'm very excited about. Typical G-style, she's planned everything perfectly to the last detail, thinking not only of herself but of the experience she's providing for her guests. I can't wait to meet her hubby-to-be. Much deserved happiness and we're absolutely thrilled to be included! Bonus is that it gives us an excuse to go back to NYC and it gives us a chance to see folks we haven't seen since college.

This week, though, much less glam trip. I'm headed to Tallahassee tomorrow. I'll be there for about three days working from our state office. Should be fun to get to know Florida's capital city. I'll post some pics.

Just "kid" ding

2008-02-13T11:44:00.000-08:00

After visiting his favorite pediatrician, "Dr. Amanda," my daughter told our little grandson that he should have asked her how her baby was doing.
He asked, is she married? My daughter said yes, well then he wanted to know how babies were made...so she told him the stork brought the baby...and he said, "Yeah right, a dork didn't bring the baby!"

My four-year-old granddaughter, K-bear, pointed to two heart-shaped stickers on either side of her shirt. "Look! I have bipples!" After the initial shock, it was hard to keep a straight face.

Primary Week highlights

2008-01-30T02:19:00.000-08:00

It's all over but the lawsuits that are sure to come when the winners of yesterday's Florida primary challenge the delegate situation. Clinton's going to want the Democratic delegates. McCain might need that extra 54 GOP delegates that are being withheld. We'll see, the real fun might be yet to come.
One thing for sure, it's already been a fun week. Some highlights:
1. Champ, the Divided We Fail mascot, dancing at the Jan. 28 DWF rally in Broward County with Mitt Romney's grandson, Parker, aka "Mini Mitt". For a two-year-old, the kid has some fancy dance moves. Cute.
2. Standing outside of the Clinton fundraiser in Miami with our signs on Sunday night, and gaining media attention for our campaign.
3. Spending a whole week with campaign co-workers, having a blast and still liking them after the week was out.
4. My son reading a book about how America selects a president to his daughters. The next day, they accompany him to the polls as he votes. He reminds them that he is there to choose the next president. K-Bear peaks into the other room and sees a gray-haired gentleman. She gets excited, "Daddy, I saw the president!" No convincing her otherwise, and she tells the story about seeing the president for the rest of the day.

Gotta love politics.

My first movie

2008-01-28T04:43:00.001-08:00

I'd make a lousy traveling salesman

2008-01-26T20:10:00.000-08:00

Did you hear the one about the traveling salesman? Yeah, well, probably not since Jack Benny told that joke. Har Har.

I sort of feel like the punchline to that joke this week. I'm T-I-R-E-D. Having loads of fun, but weary of travel. Tomorrow, from our Boca Raton hotel, we're migrating to Miami and some of my most unfortunate colleagues get to go to that bastion of gray wonderment called The Villages in central Florida. So all things considered, I can't complain that I'm going to Miami.

I'm not excited though. Just tired, and miss my granddaughters madly. 3 days and counting.

Red shirt brigade

2008-01-25T12:47:00.000-08:00

Boca Raton -- The Divided We Fail volunteers and staff are beginning to be a mainstay in South Florida. The familiar red T-shirts with the Divided We Fail logo are popping up everywhere. Did you see them behind "Morning Joe"? Tim Russert noticed and took a pledge card. Red shirts, plus the purple "Champ" elephonkey were spotted on the Today show, at the airport with Huckabee, at the Embassy Suites with Giuliani, in Little Havana, Pensacola, Sarasota...the list goes on.

One lady shouted, "The red shirts are coming! Geez, I feel like Paul Revere."

We're worn out, feel like we're making a dent with some candidates, and more importantly getting the message out. I've given away so many of the Champ buttons I wear I don't even keep count anymore. www.dividedwefail.org

When was the last time you were this happy?

2008-01-19T04:53:00.001-08:00

Missing the Grid

2008-01-18T19:08:00.000-08:00

This is the month that we would be in the throes of rehearsal for a badly written, badly sung, funny and fun show to be involved with in Oklahoma City. Dang, I miss the Gridiron.

GOP candidates are expected to pour into the state after Saturday's South Carolina primary. Still no Democrats. They are sticking to the ban. Hard to believe they would go out of their way to disenfranchise voters -- the DNC. Almost enough to make me change parties, 'cept my family would disown me. I'm going to hate voting for the GOP candidate in the general, but I've decided. If the Dem nominee doesn't come to Florida, I'm voting for the other guy. OK, maybe I am. We'll see.

Go to www.dividedwefail.org -- sign the pledge.

Diva's Game

2008-01-16T20:53:00.000-08:00

Playing a fun game from a post by Redneck Diva

Go here and the name of the first article is the name of your band

Go here and the last four words of the last quote is the name of your album (that's c.d. for you young ones)

Go here and the third picture is your album cover.

Here's what I got:

Band: Spencer Compton

Album: Love It Into Greatness

Good grief

2008-01-10T22:43:00.000-08:00

Do you have electionitis? I think we -- hubby and I -- most certainly do. Any given time of day, pundits are blaring in our house, dissecting the races, the candidates and each other. That gets old, but nothing's more fun than watching the election returns.

During my recent trip to Orlando -- hubby was at a conference while I was working -- we met up with some of my campaign cohorts in the hotel bar to watch the New Hampshire returns. Fairly soon, we had side bets going on who was going to beat whom. Kucinich versus Thompson; Rudy versus Ron Paul; Clinton versus Obama. Fun stuff.

In the end the big winner was the one who took the ever-growing pot of Gravel guesses. A buck bought you a guess on how many votes Gravel would get by the end of the night. If he went over, you were out.

The whole evening was proably a sad commentary on what this election has become: entertainment. Britney who? Paris? Dubyah, who? We're all too busy paying attention to the latest poll, and we won't have learned. Next week we'll be watching the polls just as closely as before they proved to be just plain wrong.

But let's hope we don't all get too involved that we don't notice Bush's new strategy in Iraq, his visit to the Middle East and what Congress is passing while everyone else is too busy being entertained. Don't get me wrong. I absolutely support and love it when people pay attention to the electoral process. Just not at the exclusion of everything else.

That said, who'll lay a buck on Thompson dropping out after South Carolina. I still think Kucinich can take him...

Live each day

2007-12-29T18:48:00.000-08:00

This is the time of year that makes me sad. The experts say that's typical, but my sadness is not necessarily full-blown depression. It's a sad twinge of leaving something behind. Taking stock and then realizing that maybe we didn't accomplish everything we wanted during the past year.

But this time of reflection is also a time of hope that this year, I'll finish half-completed projects. Hope, that this year I'll find time to pick up my paintbrushes again, finish that novel or find the job of my dreams.

When I get melancholy, I usually end up tuning in to country music. If you need a good cry, listen to country. There's bound to be a song that makes you tear up. A good cry is cathartic.

Tim McGraw's song "Live Like You Were Dying" was the song today. But it also made a lot of sense. We wait so long to do so many things. We don't use the good china every day, we don't take things off "the list" until it's too late. I thought about people who give in and live with regrets of what they wish they could do. They wait for a rainy day, for a special occasion and, then it's too late. Even 100 years is not so long after all.

So this New Year, my resolutions won't have so much to do with losing weight or finishing projects, as much as DOING. Yes, I still want to finish that book and those projects, but I also want to run a marathon, learn to speak a new language, go hiking in the mountains, laugh a little more, get extra hugs every chance I can. I want to hold those I love a little closer and tell them I love them more.

My wish for you my friends is that you all take stock, resolve to live your life to the fullest, take chances, grab opportunities, love more. And, as always, Take time to watch the sunsets along the way. Happy New Year.

Who needs snow?

2007-12-26T07:28:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas, ya'll. It's been a long, hard month, but we had a nice Christmas. Just us and son and his family. Missed are daughters, but it was nice that we recently got to see them. Here's a few shots of our family Christmas. After dinner, we lugged kids and chairs to the beach. The guys fished, we looked for seashells and the little ones made sand angels. Who needs snow?

And, if you need a little more incentive to come visit, here's a ditty for ya.

Betty Lou

2007-12-05T10:35:00.000-08:00

When I first met my mother-in-law, I wasn't quite so sure she liked me. OK, I sort of knew she didn't like me. From the hyper stressed-out "no, no, no" when R picked up my suitcase that first visit home -- before we were married -- and she thought he was taking the suitcase to his room to her "sharing" photos of R's first wedding with me -- after he and I were married, the first few years were rough. I remember, after only a year or so of marriage, vowing to never talk to her again.

Fortunately, I did talk with her. During the past 20 + years, I've come to admire and love her. She's my husband's mother and she did a fine job of raising him and his brother. They are both good men. She became a grandmother to my children.

Betty Louise was the best darn cook I ever met. Pretty much NOTHING she ever cooked in her life was healthy for you, but it sure tasted good.

When she was ready to move from her apartment to an assisted living facility without a kitchen, the one thing every one of my kids asked for when asked if they would like to have anything was the big pot she used to cook chicken and dumplings. I never have tried to pretend I could cook as well as Betty Lou. And, I've worked for years on a cookbook taken from her handwritten recipes that I'm hoping I'll finish by this weekend -- at least a shortened version of it. I want to give it out to her friends and family at her funeral.

She died yesterday, and the past few days have been a blur. I'm so exhausted that I can't think and I've tried not to cry. I've been pretty successful until I read this post on my son's MySpace blog.

It's gonna be a long weekend trip to Oswego, KS

Divided We Fail

2007-12-03T09:50:00.000-08:00

Friends, I'm sharing our latest ad. Go to http://www.dividedwefail.org/ to learn more or get involved!

Thankful

2007-11-21T18:57:00.000-08:00

Because I know I won't have time to post anything tomorrow, here's the list of things I'm most thankful for today:

1. My family

2. My friends

3. My mother in law coming out of hip surgery today.

4. Getting over the cold that has sidelined me most of this week

5. My job

6. The Tigers kicking KU butt this weekend

Highs and Lows

2007-11-17T18:34:00.000-08:00

Again, it's been forever since I blogged. Here's a list on the highs and lows of the past month:

High: Got to go to a Jimmy Buffett concert. Totally a Florida experience. Loved it, fun. If you get a chance, ever, go. Stay sober and watch the fun. Cross one off my list.

Low: Mom-in-law took a turn for the worst. We ended up having to go to Kansas and move her from assisted living to a nursing home. We chose one in OKC because family, friends etc. offer support there. The ideal would be to move her near us where we can go visit every day. Joint family decision though, so that was not to be.

High: We did get to see some friends we left in OKC. It was nice to be back home again, even under the circumstances.

Low: We got bumped off a tight connecting flight in Dallas.

High: We got some vouchers for air fare and a ride in First Class on the way to Tampa.

High: We moved into the new house two weeks ago.

Low: We've gotten to be here a whole five nights. Still have no furniture except some borrowed stuff, and since we spent so much money going home for the whole moving Hubby's mom thing, we probably won't get our furniture out of storage until after the first of the year.

High: The couch we have here is comfortable to sleep on. And, we're buying a new bed later this week.:)

Note: The trip to Oklahoma was bittersweet. Oklahoma feels like home. But Florida has my job -- a great job I love. It has my three wonderful granddaughters and it has the most beautiful views. Most importantly, for me, it doesn't get so cold here. That means I'm not in so much pain all the time (arthritis is a real pain).

And, and one more high: The Missouri Tigers are RANKED in the top five in the nation. Of course the fact, that KU is ranked higher is sort of a big low. But that will change on the 24th. Fingers crossed. Go Tigers!

Halloween 2008

2007-10-31T19:04:00.000-07:00

Cowgirl Little spider

Scratch one off the list

2007-10-30T18:41:00.000-07:00

Sometimes the things on our "want to do," "must do," or "must see" lists are simple. For my husband, the car enthusiast who can remember every tiny difference between a 67 versus a 73 model of the same car and can recite every car he's ever owned, his dad ever owned, his brother ever owned etc, one of those things was to drive on Daytona Beach.

I didn't even know you could do that. He did, and mentioned it as we took our time back from a weekend work-a-thon in Jacksonville. We drove down A1A, stopping often to watch kite boarders and the waves in the Atlantic. He mentioned it.

Let's go, I said. So, he drove as far down as we could and then backtracked some more. Scratch one off the list.

Pink hair and accessories

2007-10-16T16:24:00.000-07:00

Met my youngest in San Antonio a couple of weekend ago. The week leading up to our "girls weekend," A kept calling. The first call though, came from my eldest daughter S:

"Mom, A wanted me to call you and tell you something."

"What!? Don't tell me she can't come, the flight is paid for, the hotel is paid for..."

"No, it's not that. It's something else."

"Just tell me."

"She got two piercings. One on her nose, another is a 'Marilyn Monroe' piercing."

"No more tattoos?"

"No."

Okay, I can live with that. In my past experience with kids and piercings is that they don't last long. Said child usually gets bored and the piercing goes away.

Second call:

"Mom, hi. I need to tell you something."

"I know about the piercings."

"Oh, uh, are you mad."

"No, you are an adult. I don't understand why you have the need to mutilate yourself, but it's your body."

"Well, there's something else I need to tell you."

"Oh God. What is it?"

"Well, I wanted to get some highlights in my hair and we sort of had an accident." (My daughter is in beauty school - the trip to San Antonio was to a 'hair show.')

"Ok..."

"It's pink. Hot pink. Not all of it, and I think we might be able to put some low lights in it to tone it down, but it's pink."

"Did you want it to be pink?"

"I wanted pink highlights, but it sort of went all over."

"Well, did you get any new tattoos?"

"No, just pink hair...and the piercings. I think I look pretty hot."

"What are you, a cartoon character?"

Despite the calls, the confessions before she saw mom so mom would not freak out, we had a great, fun weekend. I sort of like the pink hair. The piercings not so much. But she's still my daughter -- pink hair, accessories and all.

I think might dye my hair blue before she comes to Florida this Christmas...

Are wires coming out of my ...?

2007-10-06T06:30:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I blogged. The ol' blog that I truly mean to revamp into a Florida incarnation has almost become a casualty of my constant travel. But here, I am at the airport -- blogging. Not probably the most useful thing I could be doing, but cool nonetheless.

Still it sort of freaks me out -- a child of the 60s and 70s who used to think a transitor radio was cool -- to be so "wired." I know I've blogged on this before, but just think how different things are. I carry a cell phone -- two actually. My blackberry offers me the Internet, constant email -- and GPS. Now I can blog at the airport on my laptop.

Freaky.

I'm headed to San Antonio this weekend -- Hello ya'll! Meeting my youngest for a fun girls weekend. Hubby is pinch hinting on the campaign trail for me. He's in Fort Myers this morning, video taping a Rudy G. event. Then he's headed to Miami -- I think.

Yep. It's like that. Travel is a constant and I learned yesterday that between Jan. 29 and the November election, I'm going to be almost constantly on the road. Good thing I have those wires coming out of my head. Communication is a good thing.

One more thing before we begin to board: We found a house this week! I'll post some photos next week. We had narrowed it down to two: one pristine, perfect -- not near the beach; two: our new house. Less than 100 yards to the beach. Shall we say the house has "character" and leave it at that. TLC will be needed. But we had to make a lifestyle choice.

Since we travel all the time, the house on the beach will be better. Of course, that's what I'll tell myself when I try to cook a big meal in the small galley kitchen and think about the big kitchen I gave up.

Compromise. In the meantime, Texas, here I come.

Stepford or Utopia?

2007-09-21T18:30:00.000-07:00

Sometimes watching the Andy Griffith Show, I long to live in a small town where you know your neighbors and every important holiday is celebrated with friends in the town square. But this week, I stared that dream in the face and what I saw was rathering frightening.

Welcome to The Villages, FL, the perfect town. The buildings are perfect. Downtown has lots of shops and restaurants. The town square was decorated in red, white and blue bunting in honor of the presidential candidate visiting. A "weathered" building near the water added to the authentic atmosphere of a quaint, safe town.

Neighborhoods with gleaming sidewalks and manicured lawns and almost identical houses -- each with a screened or columned porch -- completed the picture of utopia.

The surrounding retail and chain restaurants all perfectly fit in with the schemes of either a Spanish mission or a southern lake community.

The cars all glistened -- no dented old cars with bad paint jobs here.

A perfect community for those 55 and older. Though, by law, since they've incorporated, the city has to allow at least 38 percent of its inhabitants to be 50 years and younger. We didn't see any of those people during our visit. Though, the high school was equally as manicured and perfect as the surrounding neighborhoods.

Most of the 55+ folks who live there also drive golf carts to events down town. Some sported chrome wheels and fancy paint jobs. The names of the owners, frequently were part of the paint scheme.

But there's a darker side to the Villages and communities like them; permanent Walt Disney Worlds for old people. But reports like the one issued today about the amount of AIDS meds paid for by Medicare crack the perfect facade. That's right folks. STDs are rampant in Utopia. More alcohol is consumed in The Villages than most college campuses. It's no wonder that at 2 p.m. in the afternoon, a nice silver-haired granny was downing liquor shots at the bar of the restaurant where we ate a late lunch.

The "Bait Shacks" around the town square look quaint. On closer inspection, we found out they were actually bars. Four of them, each at the corner of the town square. I guess when you're 55+, you don't want to walk far for a drink.

This community isn't that unique in Florida, though. The TrumanShow was filmed in a community just like this on the Florida panhandle - Seaside, FL. A real town, not a sound stage.

I definitely don't want to live in the perfect town. Only one member of our group said they would move there. Not me. I want the real world, not an escape route to a la la land.

My travels around Florida are giving me an interesting view of this state. I love the capital city, Tallahassee, with its moss-covered trees and old mansions. Though, whatever possessed Florida to turn its beautiful historic Capitol building into a museum and build an ugly high rise building to represent the state's government eludes common sense.

The country roads between Tampa and Jacksonville with tall pines and rambling country ranches and farms with orchards are Florida. The Everglades are so overwhelming that you don't know where they end. I love it all: Miami with its foreign flair and Orlando with its parks. Then home, of course. Our own rag-tag beach community. Even southeast Florida - Boca Raton - with its "hurry up" attitude jutting against the laid back beaches is interesting. Florida is a quilt with many layers and pieces. I'm sure I'll find more of them.

But The Villages will definitely take honors in being just plain creepy.

Today is International Talk like a Pirate Day

2007-09-19T06:50:00.001-07:00

Aargh matey:

http://www.talklikeapirateday.com/transl...

If mothers ruled the world

2007-09-18T20:28:00.000-07:00

Sally Field made a good point -- well as much as she was able -- about if mothers ruled the world. If mothers ruled the world there probably WOULD be no war. Mothers don't want to send their babies off to die. At least most mothers don't.

What else would be different if mothers ruled the world?

No more dirty underwear on the floor.
Everyone would eat dinner together.
PTA meetings wouldn't start at 5 p.m.
Child molesters would be shot after the first offense, none of this register offender crap. (hey, a tigress does protect her cubs)
We would all have shorter work days and longer family time.
Our children would leave home, but live nearby

That's just for starters...so finish the thought, "If mothers ruled the world...?"

Mormons and such

2007-09-17T17:55:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about Mormons -- members of the Latter Day Saints denomination -- lately. Probably because I'm spending a lot of time at campaign events lately and Mitt Romney actually visits Florida - a lot.

But I digress...which reminds me I have great admiration for folks like Melessa from the blog by that name, and my long-time friends Kimberly and Tim. Wonderful people. Most Mormons fall into that category of wonderful, NICE people.

None of the them is of the "Big Love" ilk.

Yet, all these nice Mormon folk are seen as outsiders by those in the "mainstream" religions. You know those who believe that you must believe in Jesus as your personal Lord and Savior. My friends tell me that Mormons do indeed believe in Jesus. They believe he was a prophet.

That alone has prompted many of sermon from the pulpits of good Christian churches. I remember once, in Canyon, Texas, at a METHODIST church where the preacher went on and on about all the Mormons going to hell. My daughter, who had friends at school who were Mormon, asked me, "does that mean J...is going to hell?"

I fail to believe so. Yet, that belief sometimes goes against the grain of everything we are taught in Sunday School. You MUST be born again. You MUST believe in Jesus as Lord. Or you are going to hell.

Again, I fail to believe that nice, good people are going to hell. While the likes of some " born again" preacher who hates Mexicans, Asians, Blacks, gays, and anyone who didn't make enough money or come from the right family goes to heaven (any resemblance to any living person is merely a coincidence, I was just using that imaginary preacher as an example.)

So because I refuse to believe that someone will go to hell just for being a Mormon, does that mean I'm going to hell too?

Cracker barrel of tears

2007-09-16T11:21:00.000-07:00

Do you ever find yourself looking for the familiar? Last week I was a little homesick. This feeling was likely increased by the nervousness I was feeling about my impending trip to Miami.

Miami's always been a larger than life location, like Hollywood or New York City. I was going there for work. I'm new to this public p.r. position, so I was worried that I wouldn't live up to the expectations of the headquarters people that would be there.

I was worried that I wouldn't fit in with the beautiful people I was sure lived there. The two co-workers whom I had met from the Miami office did nothing to dispel that myth. They are both gorgeous Latinas with flowing hair, perfect bodies and runway-suitable clothing. I was worried that my Spanish wasn't going to cut the mustard (or plaintain) with the folks from Univision and the other media. I was nervous.

So on the way to Miami, I had hubby stop off for dinner -- at Cracker Barrel. This place is the same where ever you are. From the wooden rocking chairs to the corny shirts in the store, we could have been in Oklahoma. I order a sampler that provided me a variety of country fare to taste.

When I bit into the chicken and noodles that reminded me of the ones my mother-in-law used to make, the tears started. My husband didn't know what was wrong. I couldn't explain. I cried because my mother-in-law's memory has long softened. She can no longer cook the delicious meals that I wouldn't even attempt to cook. I cried because the old Gene Autry song playing in the restaurant made me long for the days when we had to run to keep up with my dad. I cried because the fried chicken reminded me of Sunday dinners, cooked by my mother for our big family.

I cried because I'm missing "Big 12" country.

Yes, I like Florida. Yes, I like my job. And, on any given day the beach and view of the water still take my breath away. But I was nervous and scared, and sometimes, the familiar is a good place to hide.

I wiped away the tears and laughed at my silliness -- crying at Cracker Barrel -- and we headed down the road.

I popped in a Dixie Chicks c.d. and sang loudly as we came into the city, which is as wonderful as I expected. The familiar for this Texas gal worked.

I survived. My Spanish was not near as bad as I thought. My clothes were fine. The bosses were thrilled with our work and the D.C. delegate sent me some flowers and a great note the day after.

Maybe the tears helped after all. I think I'll make it a habit to have dinner at Cracker Barrel every once in a while.

Miami Heat

2007-09-08T21:56:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Miami. The city has been immortalized in our minds through television shows (Miami Vice, CSI, etc.) So I've been nervous and excited about my weekend here.

Yes, I'm in Miami! Work (Univision presidential debate) is keeping me busy, but I got a chance to slip away this evening. I headed to downtown Miami, and being the tourist that I am headed over to Bayside near the Port of Miami.

Fun. Great food, and live music everywhere. The lights, the colors, the language, the Latin music, people dancing...it was fun. A bit overwhelming, but fun.

Tomorrow night, we're headed to Little Havana to meet friends for dinner. Fun.

And, yes, we thought about you tonight, Bart. You would love it.

Things I never talked about as a teenager

2007-09-06T17:51:00.000-07:00

Being a teen in the 1970s meant changes. After all, the 60s generation had taught us to rebel. Some of my peers pushed the envelope, wearing bell bottoms and "hot pants" and talking openly about smoking pot. They challenged authority.

In high school, there were some things I would never have talked about or heard discussed even by those who were wilder than most.

Even when I left the sheltered life of Abernathy, Texas and moved to Sidney, Montana for my high school year. Yes, I had run off. Gotten married, and was married in high school my senior year. That was pretty risque for back then. I had rebelled.

In Sidney, my circle of friends were different. There was Meredith, the feminist who refused to wear a bra even though she really needed to wear one. Marty and Jill, the actresses. Everyone was different -- something never really celebrated in the cookie cutter world I had lived in before.

But still, some things we never talked about.

Which brings me to today. Hubby and I were sitting on a bench at the mall, deciding where to head for supper. A group of teens, young teens, probably about 14-15, some barely one year past puberty, were standing in front of us. They were all dressed the same, boys and girls, in wrinkled T-shirts and baggy jeans with long, stringy hair.

"Gay, or not gay?" asked the tallest of the group to one of the shortest boys in the group. "I'm not gay," says the little one. "I can prove it." He pulls out what is obviously a note from some girl that they all hoot about.

Tall boy points to another one in the crowd. This one a girl, "Gay?" She shakes her head, no. "Bi?" she says yes, looking embarrassed and yet at the same time as if she's seeking approval. She gets approval and a high five and a hug from another.

The game continues. They openly talk about sex acts that still make me blush.

Maybe it's my 50 years, or maybe it's our changing societal mores. But those were definitely things that I never would have talked about -- OK, or even known about -- when I was in high school.

I pictured my grandson and granddaughters a few years down the line, at the mall, talking to their friends. I shudder. Progress, I don't think is always for the best...

Picture of the Day

2007-09-04T18:58:00.000-07:00

Bad hair day? Or the same hairstylist? Smile

Sunday afternoons

2007-09-02T17:26:00.000-07:00

Sunday afternoons were always fun growing up. All the work of the week was completed on Saturday. Sunday morning we would all go to church -- Sunday school included.

My mother, like all good Baptist wives -- would put a roast in the oven before getting herself and her children to church. After Sunday dinner, we would all play or listen to music, while our parents too a "nap." Occasionally, my parents would allow us to go over to a friend's house on Sunday afternoon. Parents would be consulted and the friend, always from our church, would be deemed acceptable. We would be returned to our parents at the six 0'clock service. All good Baptists go to church twice on Sunday.

I loved those Sunday afternoons hanging out with the Sotos or Reynas -- they had cute older brothers so that was always the house of choice.

When my childen were growing up, we followed the same traditions -- "nap" included. Being Methodist though, we rarely attended church more than once on Sunday. We did however, usually have a big roast for Sunday dinner and created our own Sunday tradition of going to a Sunday morning buffet at the club on base.

But my children have lost those traditions. First, much to my disappointment and to my mother's criticism, my children don't go to church regularly. They don't take their children to church. They usually sleep in until noon, and breakfast might consist of frozen waffles or the occasional trip to one of the breakfast places like Dennys or IHOP.

There's no big Sunday dinner. Sunday afternoons are spent catching up on laundry and other chores too numerous to fit into a work week when both parents work.

Of course, things vary. Sometimes they go to the lake or the beach or movies. That's nice when they can take time off to be families.

My husband and I have fallen into a routine lately, I hear you do that when you get older. Saturday mornings we head off to a local place for a cheap breakfast then finish our chores. Sunday afternoons, we spend reading the paper over more coffee than we should drink at Panera, or scouring the bookstores in the area. We still go to church -- not as often as we should. For a while there we were caught up in the laundry and getting ready for the work week thing. Now we're trying to recapture Sunday afternoons. I think I'll have a talk with my children about those Sundays.

Sunday afternoons are important.

I miss my friends

2007-08-30T19:07:00.000-07:00

A few months ago when the move from Oklahoma was looming, I dragged my feet. I didn't want to do it. But then I got here, settled in -- well sort of -- and have really taken to the beach and Florida.

Flying in from Tallahassee last week back into the Tampa Bay area, made me realize that I really am beginning to think of this as "home." The blue/green waters of the Gulf and the bay looked beautiful, as did the white sand beaches of the barrier islands and the peninsula we call home. I realized that I was to the point I could identify many of the beaches from the air. Home.

I love the new job. We love being around our granddaughters and our son and daughter-in-law. We love all the opportunities to see sports of all kinds here.

But what we don't have are our friends. I miss my friends. We love you all. I missed giving Kevy a big hug on her birthday. I missed listening to Cheryl talk about Savannah, or talking politics with the Johns and Ben. We miss the Gridiron gang.

I guess in order to make this truly "home" we'll have to start venturing out of our comfort zone and making more friends. But for now, I'll have to settle for promises of visits -- soon. The good news is that it's gonna be cold in other parts of the country soon, so they'll come :)

Caucus this

2007-08-29T18:26:00.000-07:00

What do you have in common with Iowans? Or is it Iowians? You know, those folks who pretty much decide every four years who the next president is going to be, or at the very least who YOUR two choices for president will be. Yes, that Iowa .

According the latest U.S. Census Bureau reports, Iowa has 2.9 million residents, roughly about 1 percent of the U.S. population. They have 93,000 farms that grow corn, soybeans and hogs – lots of hogs. Almost half of all Iowa residents live in rural areas. Only 21 percent of Iowa residents have a college degree.

John Wayne, Herbert Hoover and Glenn Miller are all from the Hawkeye state. The nickname is a tribute to Native American leader Chief Black Hawk.

Almost 95 percent of Iowa residents list “white” as their race, and the median household income is $44,000 a year, near the bottom of the U.S. Census’ definition of “middle class” (20 percent of Americans who fall in the middle earning $40,000 - $95,000 a year.)

So what do you have in common with the people who play a big role in electing your president?

Maybe nothing. Maybe a lot. But still why do most Americans “follow their lead” when it comes to presidential candidates? That’s right if a candidate wins in Iowa or New Hampshire – they are likely to go on to win their party’s nomination. Heck, just look at what happened with John Kerry in 2003.

Clearly most people are tired of it. State legislatures are trampling over each other to see who can schedule an earlier primary. But then there’s those pesky “national” folks who are trying to ruin everyone’s fun.

The Democratic National Convention just smacked Florida Democrats for saying they are going to hold their primary on Jan. 29, the same day as South Carolina . The DNC says if Florida holds the election that day, their delegates won’t count. That’s right, they WON’T count toward the Democratic nomination. Never mind that Democrats, who haven’t controlled either house of the Florida Legislature for some time, had little to do with setting the primary. Never mind, that a major constitutional amendment is on the ballot that day, sure to bring more voters to the polls. It won’t count.

Why? Well, because those national folks like tradition. And, tradition says only folks who live on a farm, with no college degree, in the Midwest can make a bigger splash in the presidential election. It’s in the rules. (Now, don't go all nutty about that last bit. I have friends who live in Iowa, and I like farmers. My dad was a farmer.)

Me, I’ve decided I might just vote for whoever comes in third, fourth or maybe even last in Iowa ’s caucuses.

When the sun goes down

2007-08-26T20:32:00.000-07:00

So, I've been in a funk when it comes to blogging lately. So instead I'll share some sunset photos. Each day is different. Enjoy.

Unsavory Grace

2007-08-26T17:34:00.000-07:00

When I first heard about the TNT show "Saving Grace," I was intrigued. I love Holly Hunter as an actress, and the show is set in Oklahoma City.

I'm watching, but it is getting more unbelievable and annoying. Okay, not that the premise of an angel appearing out of nowhere is believable neccessarily. But it's the show's portrayal of Oklahoma and Oklahoma City that's really disturbing.

The show is not filmed in OKC. That's clear to anyone who is from the area. And, then there's the fact that the show depicts Oklahomans in two ways: Well, first all Okies are hicks according to this show. And they are either 1. hard-drinking alcoholics with lots of baggage or 2. Pious church-going people with lots of baggage.

And, notice that OKC is also depicted as a cow town. Stockyards, yes, there are those in OKC. But heaven forbid some network actually admit there's an urban area in Oklahoma. That there's culture outside of the "Cowboy Hall of Fame." Yes, it's still called that on the show. I guess research isn't part of the script writer's job.

And though HH has always been one of my favorite actresses, I really don't want to see her have sex each and every show. Geez.

I had high hopes for this show. Not so much anymore.

Wattstax

2007-08-19T11:49:00.000-07:00

In 1972, I lived in Abernathy, Texas. I was 15, living in a sheltered environment. My life revolved around the 45s spinning on my turntable, school, church, family and friends. Vietnam was a part of our daily lives, but my life was far removed from the turmoil experienced by others across the country.

In Texas, you conformed. In my family, you conformed. I had no desire to burn flags or protest a war that some of my older cousins were fighting in -- it was just part of life. My biggest ambition in life was to write for the school paper and make it to the Friday night football game. Marcia Brady was my idol.

Yea. Pretty lame.

A world away in the Watts neighborhood of LA, they were "remembering" the Watts riots that had taken place seven years before.

Hubby and I recently went to the Beach Theatre's screening of Wattstax -- a documentary including footage of that concert. We laughed at the fashion that reminded us of outfits we used to have "back in the day." And, we listened to these folks. I wondered where they were, these people who lifted their fists and shouted along with a young Jesse Jackson, "I am somebody."

A struggle that I was not a part of -- desegration touched my life only slightly. I didn't know about this other struggle and I somehow feel guilty and impotent at the same time. I feel guilty that I lived in my sheltered world and knew very little of the world outside of my own neighborhood -- or even across our small town in the area of town known as "the Flats" where many of the black people in town lived. I feel impotent in that there's been no turning point for the Hispanic community -- I'm not talking about the new immigrants to this country, legal or illegal. I'm talking about the Hispanic Americans, be they "Mexican" or whatever whose families/ancestors settled in this country centuries ago among the Irish, French, Germans, British. I'm talking about the ones who centuries later were still considered outsiders by those "American" people in the community.

I remember instances of understanding we were different than the Bradys. We spoke Spanish occasionally in our home -- my parents strongly encouraged us to speak English at all times so that we wouldn't have an "accent." When I was in first grade, I remember helping another Spanish-speaking student with something the teacher was saying. I repeated it in Spanish to the student. I was "caught" and sent to the office and paddled by the principal. I fluently spoke TWO languages and was punished for it.

We were the same as our neighbors, yet different.

I remember a high school girl across the street from our house. Marla. Marla was white, caucasian, etc. Our upbringing was very similar. Our fathers provided for their families through farming, yet moved the family to town for better opportunties for the kids. We cheered for the same team every Friday night. We loved the Cowboys and Tom Landry. We listened to the same music, and caught Cardinals games on the radio. We attended the Baptist Church. We ate Hamburger Helper during the week and roast or fried chicken every Sunday.

I know all that because that's Texas. It's what you did. We were all the same.

Yet, Marla NEVER spoke to me. Not when we walked down the sidewalk in the same direction. Not at school. I was Mexican -- or so I was told where I grew up. Never mind that Mexican means "citizen of Mexico." I've never been to Mexico. I don't know anyone who lives there. I never even knew what "Cinco de Mayo" was until I was older and lived in Okinawa, Japan and met a U.S. Marine Corps Colonel who just happened to BE FROM and a citizen of Mexico.

The only talk about civil rights that I ever remember at my home was the year my elementary school in Floydada, Texas was desegregated. The original plan was to move children from Duncan to the black school. I remember my parents were upset because the kids who were being moved were the "non-white" Hispanic kids. That changed and the black school was closed and all the students were eventually brought into all the schools. I didn't understand it.

A few years ago, I asked my mother about the "colored " and "white only" signs and how they affected Hispanics before the Civil rights era. She didn't and wouldn't talk about it. I know that not all hotels or restaurants welcomed my parents. But we don't talk about it.

That's why I've really taken to heart lately the journey that the Black community has gone through. I think in many ways, the Hispanic community still lags behind. Those of us whose ancestors came to this country along centuries ago, still havent' found a way to accept our differences, and still haven't found a way to find our equal place in the history and the future of this country.

More to ponder as I continue on this journey.

Times they are a changin'

2007-08-18T15:01:00.000-07:00

Time has a way of slipping away. I know I've said that before on this blog, but sometimes it overwhelms you. For example; many readers of this this blog will remember the little redhead grandson of our college newspaper's advisor who terrorized people during a homecoming parade by throwing -- like a missile -- the free keychains we were using for promotion. That "little kid" will be a sophomore at Mizzou this year -- journalism. Go figure. Feel time slipping under you like sand, yet?

My oldest grandchild entered first grade this week. He's reading and wearing "Heelys" and just being a boy. Our granddaughter will start kindergarten this week. Wow. Wasn't it just yesterday they were babies. Time flies. Here's a few pics of the kiddos.