Jingle bells in my head

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Picher revisited

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

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

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!

<

Time out

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

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

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...

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?

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.