...because she says the darndest things. Every day, including today.
Kristen, standing at the counter, making dip out of picante sauce and sour cream, banging quite loudly on the glass bowl as she stirs. When she finishes, she says:
"I had to be a real cook. Real cooks make lots of noise."
Friday, July 28, 2006
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Kristen says the darndest things
I've decided to make this a regular feature. It's not difficult.
Emilie is coming home from LA tonight. She's been gone a week. Kristen and I were sitting in the parking lot of Schlotzky's this evening eating our drive-thru meals because we could. It's been a little cooler the last few days and we could actually turn off the car and open the windows without turning green and screaming I'm melllllllltinggggg...
So, Kristen asked when Emilie and her friend were getting home and I told her in about an hour or two.
She said, "I've kind of forgotten what she looks like."
This, her sister of 9 years.
I said, "That's kinda crazy! How could you forget what your sister looks like in a week?"
She said, "I have lost-term memory."
EDIT: Waddya know, I don't recognize her, either. Someone stayed in California and sent this mysteriously mature looking creature in her place.
Emilie is coming home from LA tonight. She's been gone a week. Kristen and I were sitting in the parking lot of Schlotzky's this evening eating our drive-thru meals because we could. It's been a little cooler the last few days and we could actually turn off the car and open the windows without turning green and screaming I'm melllllllltinggggg...
So, Kristen asked when Emilie and her friend were getting home and I told her in about an hour or two.
She said, "I've kind of forgotten what she looks like."
This, her sister of 9 years.
I said, "That's kinda crazy! How could you forget what your sister looks like in a week?"
She said, "I have lost-term memory."
EDIT: Waddya know, I don't recognize her, either. Someone stayed in California and sent this mysteriously mature looking creature in her place.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
A special day...a year later
If this doesn't say time flies, I don't know what does. Hard to believe that a whole year has passed since I wrote that post, and my little baby is another year wiser.
Happy Birthday, Little Kricket!
Happy Birthday, Little Kricket!
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Walking...after midnight...
You never know what you might see driving after midnight in Texas. I had to run a little girl home who was spending the night with Kristen because she wasn't feeling well. She wasn't feeling well before she came, but decided to take a chance. Didn't work, but at least Kristen had company for a few hours tonight. She is lonely with her big sister and two best friends out of town.
I'm driving along, radio low, two half-asleep girls in the backseat, and see several unusual things as I go. I don't live in a quaint old neighborhood (such as Charlestown/Bunker Hill, MA...sigh...) or a place that never sleeps (NYC so I've heard?). This is suburban America. Cookie cutter neighborhoods, where the cars and bikes are in the garage and the porchlights are turned off at 10 p.m., except for the Motel 6. Well, there aren't any Motel 6s around here, but you know.
I guess the heat is just leading folks to do things late, late at night when it's cooler--when it's "96, feels like 99" instead of "106, feels like 116."
One gentleman was carrying a bag of groceries home from the Neighborhood Market, still dressed in his white shirt, tie, and black pants.
Two teenage boys were just walking...who knows where? I hate that I thought "I wonder if they have a gun" as I drove by, but more and more that is not so farfetched, even in this suburban area.
The best thing was a tall, lanky man leading a skinny little girl by the hand down a sidewalk, a convenience store a block or so away the only obvious destination. My first thought was, "Why does that guy have that little five-year-old girl out walking after midnight? She oughta be home in bed asleep." (Not that my own children were home in bed asleep, but you know.)
As I watched them for the brief instant it took to pass by, though, I thought, "No...that is a good daddy." A scene came to mind that I hope is true.
The houses in the neighborhood next to where they are walking are aging--at least 15 or 20 years old. I would imagine the air conditioners in some are not humming along as well as they used to.
I'll just bet that little girl was struggling to get to sleep in a hot house, tossing and turning. Finally, she gives up and walks to the family room where her daddy is watching television, trying to make himself sleepy enough to fall into bed and get some rest. Rubbing her eyes, she says, "Daddy, I can't sleep...it's too hot!"
The young father runs through his options. A drink of water? A cool rag? They might help for a moment or two, but what is the best way to help this little girl go to sleep. Should I? No...people will think we're crazy. But, maybe. Yep, let's do it.
"Honey, get your shorts on. Let's take a walk down to the gas station and get something cold."
Eyes huge, the little girl runs and puts her droopy shorts on under her mama's castoff t-shirt, slides her tiny toes into her flip flops, and hurries to the front door, where her daddy is waiting. She is relieved he doesn't change his mind before she's ready.
He grabs her hand, and they walk the two or three blocks to the gas station, pay for the extra-large cherry Icee, and off they go, back toward the house. He takes occasional sips, but mostly enjoys watching his daughter's sunken cheeks as she tries to finish it before they get home. She pauses to cast the occasional comment about what she observes around them.
"Daddy, look at the stars. They are winking at us!"
"Daddy, there are a lot of people driving so late. I bet they wonder what we're doing walking down the street in the middle of the night!"
He smiles and enjoys her wonder.
When they get back to the house, he gives her a few more minutes to sip on the icee, then tells her to put the rest in the fridge in case she gets thirsty again and run to the potty. Afterwards, she gives him a big hug and kiss before settling back into her now strangely soft and cool Dora the Explorer sheets.
"Thank you, Daddy. You're the best daddy in the world."
The daddy watches for a few minutes while his little girl drifts quickly to sleep. He is thankful he ignored the practical voices in his head and stole a few precious moments with his little girl, walking after midnight.
I'm driving along, radio low, two half-asleep girls in the backseat, and see several unusual things as I go. I don't live in a quaint old neighborhood (such as Charlestown/Bunker Hill, MA...sigh...) or a place that never sleeps (NYC so I've heard?). This is suburban America. Cookie cutter neighborhoods, where the cars and bikes are in the garage and the porchlights are turned off at 10 p.m., except for the Motel 6. Well, there aren't any Motel 6s around here, but you know.
I guess the heat is just leading folks to do things late, late at night when it's cooler--when it's "96, feels like 99" instead of "106, feels like 116."
One gentleman was carrying a bag of groceries home from the Neighborhood Market, still dressed in his white shirt, tie, and black pants.
Two teenage boys were just walking...who knows where? I hate that I thought "I wonder if they have a gun" as I drove by, but more and more that is not so farfetched, even in this suburban area.
The best thing was a tall, lanky man leading a skinny little girl by the hand down a sidewalk, a convenience store a block or so away the only obvious destination. My first thought was, "Why does that guy have that little five-year-old girl out walking after midnight? She oughta be home in bed asleep." (Not that my own children were home in bed asleep, but you know.)
As I watched them for the brief instant it took to pass by, though, I thought, "No...that is a good daddy." A scene came to mind that I hope is true.
The houses in the neighborhood next to where they are walking are aging--at least 15 or 20 years old. I would imagine the air conditioners in some are not humming along as well as they used to.
I'll just bet that little girl was struggling to get to sleep in a hot house, tossing and turning. Finally, she gives up and walks to the family room where her daddy is watching television, trying to make himself sleepy enough to fall into bed and get some rest. Rubbing her eyes, she says, "Daddy, I can't sleep...it's too hot!"
The young father runs through his options. A drink of water? A cool rag? They might help for a moment or two, but what is the best way to help this little girl go to sleep. Should I? No...people will think we're crazy. But, maybe. Yep, let's do it.
"Honey, get your shorts on. Let's take a walk down to the gas station and get something cold."
Eyes huge, the little girl runs and puts her droopy shorts on under her mama's castoff t-shirt, slides her tiny toes into her flip flops, and hurries to the front door, where her daddy is waiting. She is relieved he doesn't change his mind before she's ready.
He grabs her hand, and they walk the two or three blocks to the gas station, pay for the extra-large cherry Icee, and off they go, back toward the house. He takes occasional sips, but mostly enjoys watching his daughter's sunken cheeks as she tries to finish it before they get home. She pauses to cast the occasional comment about what she observes around them.
"Daddy, look at the stars. They are winking at us!"
"Daddy, there are a lot of people driving so late. I bet they wonder what we're doing walking down the street in the middle of the night!"
He smiles and enjoys her wonder.
When they get back to the house, he gives her a few more minutes to sip on the icee, then tells her to put the rest in the fridge in case she gets thirsty again and run to the potty. Afterwards, she gives him a big hug and kiss before settling back into her now strangely soft and cool Dora the Explorer sheets.
"Thank you, Daddy. You're the best daddy in the world."
The daddy watches for a few minutes while his little girl drifts quickly to sleep. He is thankful he ignored the practical voices in his head and stole a few precious moments with his little girl, walking after midnight.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Kristen says the darndest things
Todd, Emilie, and Kristen are sitting around the coffee table playing 21. Kristen (8) is our little random comment maker, and keeps us in stitches most days. She's been on the loud side today a few times, screeching things for no apparent reason. A minute ago, she screamed, "Twenty three!!!" which got my complete attention away from surfing, and even stopped the other card players in their tracks.
We all looked up and she leaned back in the rocking chair and said, "I'm harmless."
We all looked up and she leaned back in the rocking chair and said, "I'm harmless."
Monday, July 10, 2006
Between Yesterday and Someday Soon
"Again! Again!"
How many times have you watched a father laugh to hear that when he's just caught his two-year-old daughter after throwing her in the air and catching her a hundred times, or a mother after her five-year-old son swims across the pool to her for the 23rd time in the same afternoon? The joy seems to be not in the fleeting seconds in the air or the water, but in the anticipation of doing it over and over again.
Like little children, we tend to live in the "between" places. We remember yesterday, hope for tomorrow, and often forget about today. As a child, I counted the days until summer. As a teen, I gazed up at a starry sky, dreaming of first love. Three times, I counted the days until I could officially cross the stage and flip the tassel to the opposite side of the mortarboard. I anxiously watched my belly grow centimeter by centimeter—once...twice...three times until my little ones entered the world, wailing and squinting at the cruel light. Then I both anticipated and dreaded the day each would take their first steps and encounter the dangers of a vertical world. (Little did I know my youngest would run instead of walk.)
As an aspiring writer, I dream of the day my first book contract will arrive in the mail and my gift will be "validated," even as I remind myself what Anne Lamott said about that whole thing. My 12-year-old girl counts the days until she's a teenager, while my baby girl counts the minutes until she can giggle and whisper secrets with her best friend again. My raggedy son dreams of a record deal...and also of the day he can have guns tattooed on his biceps without his mother's permission. My husband and I longed for the time when we could have a date night again, and now wonder if there'll ever be one summer night when all three are home in their own beds at the same time. We anxiously count our pennies while we worry about sending raggedy boy to college. There is always something to dream of or dread. Strangely, it often passes when we're not even looking, because we're already thinking about the next big thing.
We always want just a little more. When you've finished redecorating the living room, the family room looks mysteriously shabby. Upon returning from one vacation, you are on the internet planning your next. Your pride in your promotion at work quickly turns to desire for your really big break when your budget so easily adjusts to the raise.
I used to buy the theory that if you weren't living for today, you were somehow living wrong. You've seen the chain email that relentlessly winds its way around the internet, haven't you?
Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift. That's why it's called the present. (Author unknown)
Oh, I agree we should strive to live life to its fullest and not waste another minute regretting what's happened or worrying about what hasn't. We should hug, bake bread, and take time to admire the ladybugs, and how many people have expressed regret over not taking the time to say what they should have said while they could have said it?
But, you know, I have recently decided that life is meant to be lived in between. More than one person has penned lines to the same effect. The only solo I ever sang said it perfectly, and I didn't even realize it at the time because I was so hopelessly nervous, worrying that I'd pass out before I finished. In "Reaching," songwriter Carolyn Arends wrote:
The more we learn the more we know
We don't know anything
But still it seems a tragic fate
Living with this quiet ache
The constant strain for what remains
Just out of reach
Can't you just relate to that? But then, at the end of her song, Arends tells us:
We are reaching for the future
We are reaching for the past
And no matter what we have we reach for more
We are desperate to discover
What is just beyond our grasp
But maybe that's what heaven is for
Folk singer/songwriter David Wilcox takes it even further by hoping when he gets to "Someday Soon," there's still a bit wrapped up with a red ribbon:
Now if heaven is perfection
I'll get my deepest questions answered
Like a child tears into presents
To a Christmas tune
But in that big hall,
Let there be a bright red ribbon
That stays wrapped around the mystery
Of Someday Soon
Someday Soon made a promise I will follow
Someday Soon is why I try
Someday Soon told me:
"Take this cup of empty hope
Up to the well that's dry
Where there's just enough of
Someday Soon to satisfy"
So, on those days when I'm feeling a little blue, aching with that nervous sense of anticipation...of what might be, I try to remind myself that we are here on earth to live in between, and the things we truly seek lie just on the other side of Someday Soon, right where they belong.
How many times have you watched a father laugh to hear that when he's just caught his two-year-old daughter after throwing her in the air and catching her a hundred times, or a mother after her five-year-old son swims across the pool to her for the 23rd time in the same afternoon? The joy seems to be not in the fleeting seconds in the air or the water, but in the anticipation of doing it over and over again.
Like little children, we tend to live in the "between" places. We remember yesterday, hope for tomorrow, and often forget about today. As a child, I counted the days until summer. As a teen, I gazed up at a starry sky, dreaming of first love. Three times, I counted the days until I could officially cross the stage and flip the tassel to the opposite side of the mortarboard. I anxiously watched my belly grow centimeter by centimeter—once...twice...three times until my little ones entered the world, wailing and squinting at the cruel light. Then I both anticipated and dreaded the day each would take their first steps and encounter the dangers of a vertical world. (Little did I know my youngest would run instead of walk.)
As an aspiring writer, I dream of the day my first book contract will arrive in the mail and my gift will be "validated," even as I remind myself what Anne Lamott said about that whole thing. My 12-year-old girl counts the days until she's a teenager, while my baby girl counts the minutes until she can giggle and whisper secrets with her best friend again. My raggedy son dreams of a record deal...and also of the day he can have guns tattooed on his biceps without his mother's permission. My husband and I longed for the time when we could have a date night again, and now wonder if there'll ever be one summer night when all three are home in their own beds at the same time. We anxiously count our pennies while we worry about sending raggedy boy to college. There is always something to dream of or dread. Strangely, it often passes when we're not even looking, because we're already thinking about the next big thing.
We always want just a little more. When you've finished redecorating the living room, the family room looks mysteriously shabby. Upon returning from one vacation, you are on the internet planning your next. Your pride in your promotion at work quickly turns to desire for your really big break when your budget so easily adjusts to the raise.
I used to buy the theory that if you weren't living for today, you were somehow living wrong. You've seen the chain email that relentlessly winds its way around the internet, haven't you?
Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift. That's why it's called the present. (Author unknown)
Oh, I agree we should strive to live life to its fullest and not waste another minute regretting what's happened or worrying about what hasn't. We should hug, bake bread, and take time to admire the ladybugs, and how many people have expressed regret over not taking the time to say what they should have said while they could have said it?
But, you know, I have recently decided that life is meant to be lived in between. More than one person has penned lines to the same effect. The only solo I ever sang said it perfectly, and I didn't even realize it at the time because I was so hopelessly nervous, worrying that I'd pass out before I finished. In "Reaching," songwriter Carolyn Arends wrote:
The more we learn the more we know
We don't know anything
But still it seems a tragic fate
Living with this quiet ache
The constant strain for what remains
Just out of reach
Can't you just relate to that? But then, at the end of her song, Arends tells us:
We are reaching for the future
We are reaching for the past
And no matter what we have we reach for more
We are desperate to discover
What is just beyond our grasp
But maybe that's what heaven is for
Folk singer/songwriter David Wilcox takes it even further by hoping when he gets to "Someday Soon," there's still a bit wrapped up with a red ribbon:
Now if heaven is perfection
I'll get my deepest questions answered
Like a child tears into presents
To a Christmas tune
But in that big hall,
Let there be a bright red ribbon
That stays wrapped around the mystery
Of Someday Soon
Someday Soon made a promise I will follow
Someday Soon is why I try
Someday Soon told me:
"Take this cup of empty hope
Up to the well that's dry
Where there's just enough of
Someday Soon to satisfy"
So, on those days when I'm feeling a little blue, aching with that nervous sense of anticipation...of what might be, I try to remind myself that we are here on earth to live in between, and the things we truly seek lie just on the other side of Someday Soon, right where they belong.
This story was inspired by this month's Blogging for Books contest at Faster Than Kudzu, the blog of Joshilyn Jackson, author of gods in Alabama and Between, Georgia.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
New Music Thursday...or Friday
I just got an email telling me my autographed pre-order of Alice Peacock's new CD Who I am shipped, and checked the USPS site and it arrived in Arlington this morning. That means it'll probably get delivered tomorrow...or even today, who knows?!
If you have not checked her out, you should do so. I saw her when she opened for um...um...um...what was that dude's name? Some well-known folk singer whose name is momentarily slipping my mind because I was so much more taken with Alice Peacock, who did a full set with just herself and her acoustic guitar and her piano for a song or two. She is sickeningly pretty and was cute that night with her hair in a bandana with two braids sticking out, and so down-to-earth and moving that I found a new favorite female singer for the first time in who knows how long.
I posted lyrics to one of her new songs, Runaway Day (which you can listen to on her myspace), on my writing blog a few weeks ago when I made it the soundtrack of my day for writing.
She just happens to be playing a free in-store concert at the Apple Store in Chicago the week we are going there on a road trip later this summer. I didn't even plan that. :) (I usually do plan my travels around concerts, but this time I promise I didn't.)
So, hopefully later this afternoon or tomorrow I'll be peeling open that new CD and listening to it obsessively for the next few weeks!
If you have not checked her out, you should do so. I saw her when she opened for um...um...um...what was that dude's name? Some well-known folk singer whose name is momentarily slipping my mind because I was so much more taken with Alice Peacock, who did a full set with just herself and her acoustic guitar and her piano for a song or two. She is sickeningly pretty and was cute that night with her hair in a bandana with two braids sticking out, and so down-to-earth and moving that I found a new favorite female singer for the first time in who knows how long.
I posted lyrics to one of her new songs, Runaway Day (which you can listen to on her myspace), on my writing blog a few weeks ago when I made it the soundtrack of my day for writing.
She just happens to be playing a free in-store concert at the Apple Store in Chicago the week we are going there on a road trip later this summer. I didn't even plan that. :) (I usually do plan my travels around concerts, but this time I promise I didn't.)
So, hopefully later this afternoon or tomorrow I'll be peeling open that new CD and listening to it obsessively for the next few weeks!
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Up-to-the-second-date
...and they are quite delicious! We have pulled off all the mutant tenticles and eaten them, and now the delicious and pretty loaves are sitting on my stovetop cooling.
Here's where I found the recipe. It's a "quick" recipe, which means we only had to let it rise one time, after it was braided. Of course, it took me and Emilie about two hours just to prepare it, so it was probably the equivalent of rising two times. Watching the instructional video we also found online and then braiding them three or four times each added to the prep time. (Funny how the first one turned out better than the second, though.) I'm sure we can reduce it drastically with practice! We learned the "traditional six-stranded braid" which is "much prettier" according to the video lady. She might not approve of the quick rise recipe, though.
Well, that was fun.
Here's where I found the recipe. It's a "quick" recipe, which means we only had to let it rise one time, after it was braided. Of course, it took me and Emilie about two hours just to prepare it, so it was probably the equivalent of rising two times. Watching the instructional video we also found online and then braiding them three or four times each added to the prep time. (Funny how the first one turned out better than the second, though.) I'm sure we can reduce it drastically with practice! We learned the "traditional six-stranded braid" which is "much prettier" according to the video lady. She might not approve of the quick rise recipe, though.
Well, that was fun.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Who knew?
According to Wikipedia.com:
Shellac is a brittle or flaky secretion of the lac insect Coccus lacca, found in the forests of Assam and Thailand. Freed from wood it is called "seedlac." Once it was commonly believed that shellac was a resin obtained from the wings of a bug (order Hemiptera) found in India. In actuality, shellac was obtained from an excretion of the female bug, harvested from the bark of the trees where she deposits it to provide a sticky hold on the trunk. Unfortunately there is a risk that the harvesting process can scoop the bug up along with the secretion, leading to its death.
When purified, the chemical takes the form of yellow/ brown pellets, this possibly providing the basis for the "Wing Source Story." Shellac is a natural polymer and is chemically similar to synthetic polymers, thus it is considered a natural plastic. It can be molded by heat and pressure methods, so it is classified as thermoplastic.
I am pretty sure we'll eat the bread now.
Shellac is a brittle or flaky secretion of the lac insect Coccus lacca, found in the forests of Assam and Thailand. Freed from wood it is called "seedlac." Once it was commonly believed that shellac was a resin obtained from the wings of a bug (order Hemiptera) found in India. In actuality, shellac was obtained from an excretion of the female bug, harvested from the bark of the trees where she deposits it to provide a sticky hold on the trunk. Unfortunately there is a risk that the harvesting process can scoop the bug up along with the secretion, leading to its death.
When purified, the chemical takes the form of yellow/ brown pellets, this possibly providing the basis for the "Wing Source Story." Shellac is a natural polymer and is chemically similar to synthetic polymers, thus it is considered a natural plastic. It can be molded by heat and pressure methods, so it is classified as thermoplastic.
I am pretty sure we'll eat the bread now.
Update on Midyear Resolutions
Just letting you know--
1) I haven't used tp ONCE since Saturday for a bookmark.
2) I'm doing okay on the hugs thing. Todd has reminded me a few times. ;)
3) AT THIS VERY MOMENT...I have Challah bread baking in my oven! One very pretty loaf, and one mutant loaf, but they have both risen and doubled and everything else they were supposed to do and they are baking!! I have taken pictures to prove it, which I will post soon (which means here, whenever I transfer them from my camera...mebbe soon, mebbe not). I will take another (or 4 or 6) when they're done. I'm so prouda me! I'll let you know how they taste, unless I decide to shellac them and put them in glass display cases. Maybe we'll eat the mutant one and display the pretty one...
1) I haven't used tp ONCE since Saturday for a bookmark.
2) I'm doing okay on the hugs thing. Todd has reminded me a few times. ;)
3) AT THIS VERY MOMENT...I have Challah bread baking in my oven! One very pretty loaf, and one mutant loaf, but they have both risen and doubled and everything else they were supposed to do and they are baking!! I have taken pictures to prove it, which I will post soon (which means here, whenever I transfer them from my camera...mebbe soon, mebbe not). I will take another (or 4 or 6) when they're done. I'm so prouda me! I'll let you know how they taste, unless I decide to shellac them and put them in glass display cases. Maybe we'll eat the mutant one and display the pretty one...
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Midyear Resolutions
Yes, did you realize that today is the first day of the rest of your year? I was pondering that heavy thought at 4:30 this morning when my husband was snori....I mean, when I was trying to sleep. ;)
I thought that because I never make New Year's resolutions, I should try to make some midyear ones, and only ones that are somewhat possible to keep so I don't go around feeling like a loser for the next six months. So, here ya go.
1) Do something new and different, or at least different, if not new, most days. (Write myself a note the night before reminding myself what it is I'm supposed to do.) During the night I decided I wanted to make challah bread, maybe in the bread machine. I've already possibly broken this one, because our yeast apparently expired in 2004, although we never noticed. That might be why the last few times we've made bread or rolls it didn't work so well. I love challah and Todd is at the store this very moment purchasing new yeast and more bread flour. We'll see if I can summon up the energy to do it tonight, or I might do it Monday with Emilie.
2) Hug more. (Easy for you to say, but I'm not a real huggy person, so I have to work at it.) Especially my kids, and of course, my Toddy.
3) Stop using sheets of toilet paper as bookmarks. It's embarrassing when I get to the pool, or anywhere in public. It speaks volumes about my reading habits. I have plenty of bookmarks.
So, I've posted it for the world to read--I am now accountable.
I thought that because I never make New Year's resolutions, I should try to make some midyear ones, and only ones that are somewhat possible to keep so I don't go around feeling like a loser for the next six months. So, here ya go.
1) Do something new and different, or at least different, if not new, most days. (Write myself a note the night before reminding myself what it is I'm supposed to do.) During the night I decided I wanted to make challah bread, maybe in the bread machine. I've already possibly broken this one, because our yeast apparently expired in 2004, although we never noticed. That might be why the last few times we've made bread or rolls it didn't work so well. I love challah and Todd is at the store this very moment purchasing new yeast and more bread flour. We'll see if I can summon up the energy to do it tonight, or I might do it Monday with Emilie.
2) Hug more. (Easy for you to say, but I'm not a real huggy person, so I have to work at it.) Especially my kids, and of course, my Toddy.
3) Stop using sheets of toilet paper as bookmarks. It's embarrassing when I get to the pool, or anywhere in public. It speaks volumes about my reading habits. I have plenty of bookmarks.
So, I've posted it for the world to read--I am now accountable.
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