How it is With Dad

So, usually, this is how my day goes. I get up when hubby leaves for work, sometime between 7 and 7:30am. I drink a big glass of water (rehydration), get a cup of coffee (preferably in a crappy give-away type mug with a computer company or radio station logo on it) and drag myself into my home office where I attempt to be spontaneously creative on either one of two levels (writing or design) depending on what is on my action list. I know that I exercise (do yoga, water aerobics or walk) almost every day at 9:30, so I attempt to make the first two hours of my day the most productive.

I have this terrible handicap of sort of having a one-track mind to a certain extent. Once I get up out of that chair and go "out" into the world, take a phone call or otherwise get distracted, I am completely unable to get back into anything else at the same level of intensity. Whether it is designing a newsletter, writing a short story, working on the blog, or working on marketing materials for my business. I am done once I stop the train. So I try to save the more mundane things for the time after my routine is broken. Like phone calls, cleaning, and family stuff.

Inevitably, like today, one or the other of my parental units will call around 8:30. When my mom calls it is just to tell me every little thing that happened to her since the previous phone call, and a lot of stuff I have heard on the previous call. This morning it was my dad. He needed a form off the internet. Now, he is 82 and runs his own business. He has a nice computer in his home office. He has internet service. He has NO idea how to use any of it. No matter how hard we have tried to teach him. So he wants to know if he can come by. So around 9am I am interrupted by a knock on the door. What he actually needs is a form that he printed to be filled out with a typewriter and returned to the state of Nevada. Hmmm.... And he wants to wait because he's "already on this side of town". NOTE: Our town is small. Really. 8 stoplights in the whole town, I think. Population around 8,000. But after living 12 hours away in Pennsylvania, we now live "all the way" across town from them. (this isn't by accident, btw) This is maybe a 10 minute drive, but terribly unappealing to my dad, a.k.a. the most impatient man on earth, because he hates the "traffic" around the town square. (which cracks me up since I spent 18 years living in Nashville where there really is traffic.) So he limits his trips. Which is apparently a major inconvenience when he needs something done at the drop of a hat.

I know the obvious solution here is to say "no", but have I mentioned that my dad was in sales almost his entire life? You do not. say. no. to this man. It doesn't work. He is the salesman every company wants and every consumer dreads. From furniture to cars to insurance, he's done it all. Except for real estate which he never considered because "it isn't an impulse buy and I don't like waiting on people." See? Impatient.

So with my day today sufficiently hi-jacked I asked him please to just leave it for me to figure out and I would run it by his house later. To which he replied, "well, I need it done today" to which I responded "well, it is only 9am, there's a lot of day left." Then, "Well, soon, OK?" me "I can't bring it until after lunch, is that soon enough?" "Oh, sure yeah, if you can't get to it until then."

My life, honestly...

Confessions

I just recently lost a lot of weight. I do not intend to get into how much, what I weigh, or how I did it. But what I will say is that I lost it all this summer, relatively quickly and it didn't involve surgery (I am too chicken) or becoming a speed-freak. Why bring it up? you might ask. Justifiably so. But there is a reason to my madness.

This isn't a "weight loss" blog, so I don't plan on getting into particulars. Bless all those ladies out there who do. Their courage amazes me. The truth is I am chicken to show before pictures. I am embarrassed to tell my beginning weight. And really? I have just lost it, I haven't maintained it for more than six weeks so I don't consider myself any kind of expert. But what I am? 14 weeks later? I am proud of myself. And I guess in my own little way, I want to let people know that of the million things I didn't accomplish this summer? I got something done that has been on my list for at least 5 years. I was never able to accomplish this much or come this far  no matter how hard I tried. And dammit, I am proud of myself.

I have "sacrificed" all summer long. I have had iron clad willpower. I have sipped on lemon water while everyone else ordered delicious looking menu items.  I missed having 'fair food' at no less than 3 county fairs (possibly a good thing), opting to bring a lunch cooler with me everywhere I went containing the likes of cucumber with mustard chicken, garlic lemon shrimp, sliced apples, and blueberries. I passed up wine at the monthly wine picnics, not to mention all the goodies brought by all my friends. I GAVE UP CHEESE, for the love of Mike!

In retrospect, it really wasn't that hard. Willpower. Food creativity. Sticking to it. Yeah, my stomach growled at me. Yeah, I got really tired of grilled chicken on a spinach salad. Yeah, I could never eat a grapefruit again and be happy. And having to plan every last meal, and needing to know what lunch was so I could get dinner started.  But what was hard? Was accepting in my own brain what was going on. It took me weeks to catch my brain up with where my body was. I'm honestly not sure I am there now.
 
I have been resisting the past several weeks. Fighting an urge to post about my loss and pat myself on the back until today. In the shower (of course), it occurred to me that it just isn't about that. I feel compelled to share this because I am changing. I am happier. I feel good about myself in the longest time. But my brain? Still doesn't get it. After my first 6 weeks' loss (which was really significant), I went into my closet thinking that everything in there probably still fit me. It took a friend saying "Girl, you need to start wearing some skinny clothes" to make me see that it didn't. I literally went through my closet and tried on every single thing until there was a pile of clothes as tall as me needing to be donated or otherwise recycled. Only then did I start getting that it was real. It was happening. People gave me clothes to fit and cover the in-between times. That was 8 weeks ago.  I have put on pair after pair of jeans this week and had to toss them in the new pile of donations. Finally last night, I went through every item in my closet again. Another pile waist high, including most of the clothing that was given to me not two months ago. And still, it is hard for me to grasp.

Don't get me wrong, I am by no means finished with my journey. And I have been so lucky to have support and encouragement from those around me. Specifically my husband, but also my 2 friends Amy and Debbie, who I told when I told no one else, and later from all my friends when it became obvious what I was doing, and most of my family. My mom of course, being who she is, expressed her disapproval of the quick losses in the beginning, waiting to tell me how proud she was until it was obvious I wasn't kidding about it this time.

But this whole process really makes me think about self-perception. When I was thin, in my younger life, I always felt fat. When I was heavy, I never saw how fat I was, I saw myself as bigger than average. And when I was fighting so hard to change, I was utterly unable to see and acknowledge the progress I was making. Even writing this today I can admit that were it not for the hoodie I put on today? The one that wrapped all the way around me? Yeah, I still wouldn't believe how much I had changed. So I started thinking during my shower, maybe it is like that with a lot of things in life. You can make changes in your life, but how long does it take you to "see" them? Or believe them? And accept them? Things like turning your life around, making a decision about a marriage ending or beginning. Accepting or leaving the church. Starting a new career. Moving to a new town and trying to fit in. Is it just a "fake it till you make it" situation?  Life is change. So why does it take us so long to catch up? Or is it just me?

Disparity

Today's post is my entry into this week's 100 Word Challenge, hosted by Velvet Verbosity. The 100 Word Challenge is an exercise in which we write exactly 100 words in response to the weekly prompt word. Click the link to read the other entries–good stuff over there! 
This week's prompt was "greater". 


Isn't it supposed to be 

what parents want for their children? 

For them to achieve something 

greater in their lifetime? 

All I want is for you to be proud 

of the way I've lived my life. 

I have struggled to be more 

positive, accepting, and educated. 

But it turns out all you want 

is for me 

to be just like you.

I am always changing and evolving, 

never the same me. 

Yet you remain the same you, 

too stubborn to change. 

You want me 

to stay the same. 

I wish you 

could change. 

In the end 

we are both 

disappointed.

Truth in Advertising

I really think I use the "LOL" way too much. Seriously. I think all these abbreviations and emoticons are causing us to bend reality just a bit. I came to this realization when I was reading a blog post today that really, truly made me laugh. Loudly and uncontrollably. Suddenly LOL just didn't seem enough anymore.

I realized that sometimes I read something that will make me smile. Sometimes it causes me to do that silent laugh thing. And occasionally I will do a soft chuckle. But rarely do I EVER truly laugh out loud. And I will still comment "LOL". So is it a lie to post LOL? When I didn't really laugh out loud? It is definitely an exaggeration. Or am I just overthinking?

I think I am going to lobby the general public for a couple of additions to the internet vernacular:

SLTS (Silently Laughing to Self)
YMMS (You Made Me Smile) or maybe just MMS (Made Me Smile)
GFAC (Good for a Chuckle)
RDLOL (Really Did Laugh out Loud)
MMLAS (Made Me Laugh and Snort)
JCSL (Just Cackled So Loud)
SCOMM (Spit Coffee On My Monitor) or the alternate SCOMN (Spit Coffee Out My Nose)

Anyway, spread the word. I am launching a one woman campaign for Emotional Truth on the Internet. There will be a day. Maybe even a telethon. It will be huge. Al Gore is at the ready. So is Brad Pitt.

PS–Can you tell I am doing some serious procrastinating ?

Your Love is Like a Red, Red Rose

Thanks to Judy over at Zebra Sounds, I found this beautiful piece of poetry. Check her out, she always posts a Five on Friday with the most interesting things that I never would have found on my own.


The poetry is from the mind of WordsWorthInc, which I was visiting for the first time, but I am sure I will be back another day. I am in awe about how ordinarily he captured extraordinary love. Please take a look at his site. Good stuff.


I rarely wax poetic about my beloved hubby and our relationship. I am just not into mushy, gushy sayings and love poems. I am not a "thine eyes are like a starry night..." kinda gal. I feel like we show each other our love every day in our actions, words and touches. 


But this verse below? It is the perfect sentiment for how I feel about him.

Verse: Song

there are

many songs

i sing

but yours

is the only one

I know by heart

and i sing it

always

every day

softly

when you

are here

and loudly

when you

are gone

to fill

the space

without you

everything i love

in this world

is contained in

that song.

My So-Called Life

My mom always came up with plenty of creative activities to keep us busy. She was home with us until we were both in school. And even then she was always home with us after school. She hosted Girl Scout meetings and birthday cookouts, Halloween parties and sleepovers. We did crafts, went for walks and gardened with her. I say all this because I just don't remember being one of those kids who was put in front of the television as a way of being kept occupied. Of course the best we had back then was View Master anyway. Yes, kiddies, this was pre-VCR, Beta, DVD, etc. ('Cause I'm young like that.) Anyway, my mom was always involved with us. Despite all that, despite my love of reading, maybe even because of it, I became enamored with the television and everything it stood for. I grew up on television.

I was a voracious reader from a very young age. My parents rarely read anything other than sales journals, magazines or the bible. (yep, Palin-style). They didn't ever get, and don't to this day, my love of books. But my mom did her best to keep me stocked up on Whitman books and anything else age-appropriate that should could buy second-hand. Some of those book I remember reading 3 or 4 times at least. Nancy Drew, the Hardy Boys, Trixie Belden, they were oldies but I loved them. I had bookshelves in my room stocked to the rafters. But when I ran out of something to read, and I did frequently, I watched television.

I became embroiled in the happenings, attached to the characters knew the weekly schedules by heart. Of course, in the pre-cable stone age we only had 5 channels and that included PBS but still. (UHF!!! Right?!) I remember watching Wide, Wide World of Sports on Sunday afternoon. I remember being allowed to stay up "late" (past 9) for Carol Burnett on Saturday nights. And who could forget the movies every Sunday evening on The Wonderful World of Disney? Just seeing Tinkerbelle fly across the screen you knew this was something you were watching just for you. A kid. Once a week.

Afternoons after school it was Gilligan's Island, The Brady Bunch and a whole load of cartoons like Tom & Jerry and Woody Woodpecker. And through the week I watched things like Happy Days, Welcome Back Kotter, and Little House on the Prarie. Back then, there was little that was off limits. But there was only 1 TV in the house. And believe me, if dad didn't want to watch it I didn't see it. There was no TiVo or DVR.

I always wanted to be on television when I was a kid. Not an actor–literally in a television show. At Al's with Richie Cunningham, or the basement apartment from Laverne and Shirley, or on the island with Robinson Crusoe.  I wanted a cool mom and dad like Mike and Carol Brady (although now that seems debatable, the cool part). I wanted to go live with Doris Day and her father and that big, shaggy dog Nelson. Sometimes I pretended I was in those shows. I wished I could do magic like Samantha and Tabitha.

To this day I have issues with expecting life to be like a television show. Nice and tidy, all wrapped up within 60 minutes or less. Problems should resolve, hijinx should ensue, or magic should happen. My friends should be like Monica and Rachel. ('cause let's face it, I am the Phoebe here). My workplace should be like Ally McBeal's, filled with interesting and unusual characters. But alas. Life is life, I really do realize that. I do have to go to WalMart. I don't have money for that fabulous feather wreath I found. My husband, though he loves me more than life itself, doesn't know how to do "romantic gestures".  I have a mountain of bills to pay.

So what if my mom is more like Roseanne than Doris Day? So what if my friends are more like Designing Women than Sex and the City. This life of mine? It is all I have. I am learning to appreciate everything and everyone in it. One of the hardest things in the world? Accepting people for who they are, where they are. I really do like my life, but I still wouldn't mind living in the TV for a week or so. Especially since we haven't had a vacation in 2 years. My life...

The Arbitration

Today's post is my entry into this week's 100 Word Challenge, hosted by Velvet Verbosity. The 100 Word Challenge is an exercise in which we write exactly 100 words in response to the weekly prompt word. Click the link to read other entries. This week's prompt: "jars". 

He entered the room, twenty minutes late, with coffee. He'd stopped at Starbucks, killed ten minutes chatting up a young barista who had caught his attention.

“You're late” she remarked, tapping her manicured fingers on the mahogany table where he'd tossed his paper.

“Am I?” He smiled, amused at the thought of riling her. Her scent filled the room and reminded him how she'd kept her girly things in bottles and jars, all lined up on the dresser. Wondering how to ask an indelicate question delicately, he sipped his latte and took her in head to toe. “Nice shoes, new?”

The Unusual One (in Which I Preach and Alienate)

Every year on 9/11 I take a moment, light a candle, and remember. As if I could forget. But you know, if you didn't lose anyone that day, if you were that fortunate, you just don't think of it everyday. There are those who are forced to think of it. Who are without their children, parents, husbands wives, on and on it goes. All those people were just there to work. Even the first responders who never made it out. They started their day as they would have any other.

I am not, as most of you know, a "religious" person. But I remember standing in front of the small tv in my bedroom that morning 9 years ago and staring at the picture. I couldn't believe what was happening.I remember the quiet outside our home when all flights were grounded and we no longer had the BNA flight pattern buzzing overhead. I will never forget how erie that was. I remember taking food and cases of water to the airport, to people who were stuck there. I felt helpless, as if there was nothing I could do that was "big" enough. I ended up lighting a candle each day and saying a few quiet words to wish peace for those people and their families, and send healing energy their way. I continued this pattern for weeks, possibly months. I don't even remember how long now. But every year on 9/11 I still light a candle.


There is so much fur flying right now over this church in Florida. The thing I can not for the life of me figure out is this, how does this help ANYTHING? It just seems hateful and spiteful and pointless to me. In the immediate post-911 days we all felt our country pulling together. We felt it growing closer, stronger. Or was it just me? Now, nine years later, I don't think I could have imagined then the divisive world we live in now, despite so many steps forward. 


One of the biggest problems I have these days is the attitude that seems to be taken up by so many people who fit into the white middle class, such as myself. I guess that is why I notice it so much-because these are the people I am around most. It is almost like someone has to lose in order for them to win. Like if I get paid, I feel better that someone has to do without. If someone else gets something, then I resent them because it probably comes at a cost to me. This is such a negative perspective and bothers me in so many ways, but specifically when it is coming from self-proclaimed "christian" people and aimed at folks who mark "non-white" in the racial survey box. Or "non-christian" in the religion box.


Why can't we just all be humans? Why is it more offensive for African Americans to be on welfare than white trash? Some people need help, they need a hand. Why aren't Muslims in Murfreesboro allowed to build a mosque in which to worship when "mega churches" are on every corner? Is their religion excluded from that freedom? Why don't women have the right to make decisions about their own bodies (still)? How does it hurt me or my marriage if gay men and women can marry? It doesn't. (As Dolly says, they have every right to be miserable like the rest of us.)


 I read a quote weeks ago, Tweeted by the Dali Lama. That's right you read that right, the Dalai Lama (or someone representative) actually tweets. I have been thinking about this ever since:

"We can’t overcome anger and hatred by simply suppressing them. We need to actively cultivate their antidotes, patience and tolerance." The Dalai Lama via Twitter

With all the hatred out there masquerading as "core American" values, I had to stop and really think about this one. What would the world be like if we just exercise patience and tolerance rather than anger and hatred? Yes, they are things I have issues with myself. Specifically patience, and specifically when it comes to achieving a goal. I am the queen of instant gratification. But tolerance, I find a whole lot easier. Everyone has their own path to walk in this life. My path can intersect, be made easier or more difficult, run parallel or overlap with other people from time to time but ultimately what I believe is this. At the end of the road, what ever it may be, I hope sincerely that I have always dealt with people in an honest and straightforward fashion, and have always worked to improve others' lives and not make them more difficult. No matter how they choose to treat me. That is not my journey, it is theirs. It is not my business to judge them on the steps they are taking to fulfill their purpose. Can I always do this? Of course not. Do I always attempt to do this? Yes, I really, truly do. Sometimes I fail miserably, but I try to treat everyone with the respect and dignity I feel they deserve as a human being. They can lose it. Don't get me wrong, but I just don't think everyone has to "earn" it. It costs me nothing to give it to them, to give them the benefit of the doubt.

Guys, anger and hatred is sweeping through our country like wildfire. Please can we work on some tolerance and patience? I am afraid to think what will happen if we don't at least try. Wouldn't it be the "christian" thing to do? Wouldn't it be the "humanist" thing to do? Wouldn't it simply be the humane thing to do?

Afterlife

The coffee maker struggles. Sputtering and wheezing it slowly spits out the steaming black elixir. She waits, cup in hand, shoulders slumped. Regrets are strong, like the coffee.

She looks around the kitchen. Sunlight floods through the back windows, the tomatoes in the basket are rotten, the garbage already stinks. She feels humiliated and defeated, like the tomatoes. Past the shiny, pretty part of life. The young, ripe flesh decaying a little each day until nothing desirable remains. So much to give, yet left to waste away. Then, an unceremonious landing in the garbage.

“Is there coffee?”.

She cringes.

Today's post is my entry into this week's 100 Word Challenge, hosted by Velvet Verbosity. The 100 Word Challenge is an exercise in which we write exactly 100 words in response to the weekly prompt word. Pretty fun, click the link to read other entries. This week's prompt: "rotten". 

Is it Friday yet?

So here I sit. It is 2 days after the completion of the holiday weekend and I am still trying to recuperate. Catch up. Feel better. I worked too hard Saturday, I had too much fun Sunday, I felt like death all day yesterday. However, I woke up this morning only feeling like a truck backed over me, so that's progress. Right? I do not feel like doing anything that should be done, I am procrastinating some very important tasks, and I feel horrible for acting a fool at a friend's house over the weekend. Oh, and to top it all off, I was already scheduled to start back on my incredibly strict 6-week food plan this week. And I don't wanna! But I gotta. Just another Wednesday at 213, right?


So, needless to say, I am really looking forward to Friday. Already. All summer long I have spent most of my Fridays with Mom. Now that Labor Day weekend has come and gone, I feel kinda sad that summer has just about left the building. As if something has come to an end. I am still reacclimating to the South after being in PA for 4 winters, and I suppose I still have that Pavlov-type response to the thought of fall and winter. Ouch! It hurts! Gray skies, weeks without sunshine, snow on the ground for months, below zero temps for days on end.  I keep trying to remember that the summers here are much more long and drawn out and the fall is longer, warmer, and full of sunshine. But I miss summer already.


However, the end of summer means that Mom and I have to find something new to do on Fridays if we want to spend time together. This summer we've spent the majority of Fridays together in her "hot rod Dodge" tooling around the countryside, looking for yard sales and occasionally being stopped by the police. (See above link for details) I have picked up some great deals including the following:

Great light fixture for my dining room: $3
(we're remodeling a house–again. In case you don't know. Yay! Us! **insert eye roll here**)

Antique cookbooks from the 1950's with the owner's notes and scribbles in them. I am such a cookbook geek, I got so excited over these. I think they were maybe .50 each.

Speaking of antiques, check out this way cool hat! No real purpose for it, just liked it.

My new Oh-so-Mod Computer bag. This was $1. Doesn't look to be used at all. I LOVE this bag. Skulls and poodles, what could be better than that? I know! Wearing my snazzy pink hat when I carry it!

And last but not least, best deal of the summer hands down? My boots. BRAND NEW Justin Ropers. $1 Seriously! Never been walked in. I literally asked the woman if that was the right price tag.  Now let me put a disclaimer here, lest anyone peg me for a geographical stereotype. Anyway, I do not, repeat DO NOT a) listen to country music b) go to country bars c) wear a cowboy hat, boots, chaps, or the full getup out anywhere in public, **not that there's anything wrong with that–any of it–to each his own**. HOWEVER, I do love a good pair of boots and I own about a dozen pair, everything from Doc Martens to fur lined winter boots to "fm's" that usually sit in the closet and never get worn. But I had been looking for a long time for some Western boots that weren't **too** cowboy-ish, pointy, or ornate. In fact, since my favorite pair got stolen right out of my car in a downtown Nashville parking garage in 1992. Miraculously, these fit the bill. They are actually better than the stolen boots, and they will be too cute with skirts! I grew up riding horses and living in the country so I am allowed, even though I am now a card-carrying "city girl". And I do listen to Dwight and Lyle, so there's that.


So, anyway, that is what I did with my summer vacation, how about you? Mom and I were discussing what our Fridays will be when the weather gets too cold. I guess we'll bake or eat. That will be great for my weight loss. She doesn't like movies or shopping, doesn't get manicures, and won't go to the theatre, concerts, or museums. Those are all the things I like to do. I don't go to church, that is the thing she likes to do. Apparently. So we'll see what the future brings. I think all that is left? Cards, quilting, or jigsaw puzzles. Good times! In the meantime, I am going to enjoy every Friday that is left in the warm weather season, because Christmas will be here before we know it.

Speaking of which. Check out this super snazzy blender my mom scored for $2! My blender started leaking and I was in need of a new one. This is what my mom comes up with. I am literally afraid to use it. It is from 1966, in the original box and all the paperwork still in it. What do you think Oster would do if I sent in the warranty card?


Anyway, Yee-Haw, ya'll! Enjoy the rest of your summer.

Aaaaahhh....Weekend. Yay??

Working on bills today and wondering exactly why we love Saturdays so much. I mean, most of the time Saturday is just chock full of all the things you don't have time to do during the week like grocery shopping, house cleaning and laundry. But still, even someone like me who isn't gainfully employed looks forward to the weekend.

I blame Loverboy. We ARE all workin' for the weekend. We are just trying to get through the Monday-Friday drag so that we can spend 48 hours away from our dumb-ass annoying co-workers. How do I know this, you might ask, seeing as I am my own co-worker? Because. I have had many jobs in my life. And many dumb-ass co-workers. Really.

Like the guy who sat at the desk next to me and had OCD. Every day he went to lunch and left one sheet of paper and 3 pens lined up perfectly on his desk. Every now and then I would tilt one pen about 5 degrees just to mess with him. As soon as he walked in the room he would go straight for it, he had to straighten it immediately, making me laugh hysterically behind my office wall.

Or the older lady whom everyone in the office called "Mee-Maw". The first 2 weeks I worked there, I thought she actually was the grandmother of the girl who trained me. But no. They all just called her Mee-Maw. She was so very sweet, but there was no doubt that she was a ditzy blonde in her day. I have no end to the hilarious stories I could tell about Mee-Maw, not the least of which is the time she bought a Flow-bee to cut her husband's hair. But the thing I remember most was our supervisor coming out of his glass-walled office and RUNNING across the bullpen to her desk. I looked up to see Mee-Maw (who was well into her 60's) standing on her desk furiously twisting the fire sprinkler thingie. The boss asked her what she was doing and told her to get down from there before she killed herself. She innocently replied "Well, I was cold and I thought I could turn up the heat." No joke.

Then there was the girl who had nothing to do. Seriously. She would come in and finish her work and rather than helping someone else who had too much on their plate (like the rest of us did) she would put a report on the desk in front of her and stare at it all day. The rest of us were working 60 hour weeks.

Oh, and how could I forget the girl who kept a gun in her filing cabinet. Yes, I have had no end to strange co-workers, I wish I had kept notes all these years. So I guess weekends are our gifts to have a break from these co-workers, get some things done at home, and spend time with our ever-delightful families. Yeah. No crazies there.

Speaking of which, my husband just came in from outside saying, "Did you get my text? I texted you from the lawnmower." My life, honestly....

Kissing Strange Boys

She was not in the habit of kissing strange boys. And this boy was strange, no doubt about it. He danced like the crazy homeless man she had seen on the streets of Nashville. But on him it was cute, sexy even. 

She touched her fingers to his hair, soft and blonde and hanging over his shirt collar like yellow silk. Fine, thin hair that he would lose someday in the not so distant future. She always could predict those kinds of things. Strange though he was, when he moved his lips to hers she accepted and returned the kiss.

Today's post is my entry into this week's 100 Word Challenge, hosted by Velvet Verbosity. 
The prompt was "fingers".

September 1

Some have asked me why I haven't been posting as much lately. It seems I haven't had time for much of anything. I have been keeping busy with design work, which is good. Three project deadlines over the last two weeks. Not that I am complaining, keep the work coming! Mom and I haven't had our Fridays lately, for one reason or another. First I was busy, the next week she had company, one week it rained, and this past week I was just too lazy to get up at 6am. Finances are keeping hubby and I close to home these days. His truck required a major repair for the second time this summer, so that really cut into the budget. However, being ever-so resourceful he bought the part himself and recruited a friend to assist in the driveway repair job. (So lucky I am to have a handy man!)

 Needless to say I am lacking in original stories to tell. The few things I have gone out and done involve really good stories, but ones which I am bound by the "girlfriend code" not to tell. I had to say goodbye to my morning water-cise classes because the people were just aggravating and the evening classes, full of button down professionals, are much smaller and less raucous.

Patience, grasshoppers! My life is nothing if not incredible (or incredibly strange) and I know something blog-worthy will happen to me soon. Hubby and I have a 4 day weekend coming up and Friday is payday. There's some trouble just waiting to happen. Oh, and I start taking a yoga class next week. There must be a few stories in that.

Meanwhile, take a look at the new post on hubby's blog. He steals all my good material.

Honestly...