I guess I've been more in touch with my mean side lately (yeah, I'm gonna work on it) and I've got a few questions:

Have you noticed the huge growth of interest in "organic" fruits and vegetables. I'm all for eating healthfully and all, but I have to wonder: did everyone misread "organic" as "orgasmic" and then were too embarrassed to admit they didn't care how their apples were grown?

Have you noticed that lesbian women on TV are drop dead gorgeous? And the gays on the news protesting the passage of Prop 8 in California ... um... aren't?

Have you noticed the abundance of articles on green living written for six-year olds? I mean, everyone else pretty much knows from common sense that it's better to run a full dishwasher load and to turn out lights when you're not in the room and to turn down the cold water instead of turning the hot water up when you're trying to get the right temp in the shower.

Have you noticed that food safety experts tell us to immediately refrigerate leftovers but energy saving experts tell us to wait until leftovers have cooled off to put them in the fridge? What's a leftover lover to do? Waste energy and enlarge our carbon footprint or risk food poisoning?

Wow. I feel much better and kinder now that I've gotten that off my chest.

Have you noticed

I know I don't post often enough. I know not all my posts are about marriage and relationships.

But I know some other things as well:

I know I can't do it all.

I know what I'm good at and what I'm not.

This is the first day of November. November 1-15 is crowded on my calendar. That makes me feel stress. But I also know that I get more done when I'm already busy. I take care of things right away so they're not hanging over my head, just waiting to be forgotten. I like working with a deadline.

So, in the next 24 hours, I have to hem a pair of jeans, write 3000 words on a project, make 1 phone call I've been putting off, dry the sheets and make the bed, walk, go to church, go to the local library fundraising dinner, set the clocks back, feed the dogs, feed myself, sleep, and write an email.

I'll get most of it done.

The rest will wait.

Two dogs live with us.

Seamus is old and cranky and he loves me to the exclusion of everyone else. Wherever you see Seamus, you can be sure I'm within eye and/or ear shot.

Harry is actually our lovely daughter's dog but while she's on an academic quest, Harry lives with us. He is very intelligent. You can see it in his eyes sometimes, he's calculating and figuring out how to get us to do what he wants.

We often joke and say if he had opposable thumbs Harry could rule the world.

I'm not so sure he needs the thumbs, just a smarter family.

A couple of weeks ago, he delegated something from his to-do list to me. I wish I knew what it was. He followed me around for four days and never took his eyes off me. If I sat at the computer, he sat next to me and stared, his head cocked, his eyes saying, "Well??" If I was at the kitchen sink, he did the same thing on the floor next to me. Living room recliner: ditto.

I apologized many times for not knowing what I was supposed to be doing.

I think he finally gave up and took care of it himself. Now he naps when I'm on the computer or in the recliner.

I can only wonder about his next assignment for me. Hope I don't botch it up also.

I've read a couple of great books recently.

Waiting for Daybreak:

Kathryn Cushman's special gift is telling a story from two very different sides and making each one sympathetic. As I read and got wrapped up in the dilemmas, I couldn't see any way to a satisfying ending, but Kathryn did it.

Paige Woodward told a small lie with the best of intentions, never thinking it would come back to haunt her. But, boy did it.

Clarissa Richardson had high expectations for herself but was willing to take shortcuts to get there.

As their paths intersect, only one of them gets to see her dreams come true.

Waiting For Daybreak is a powerful story of hanging on through the dark and trusting that things will get better, even when we don't see a way.

and Lying on Sunday

This book drew me in like a warm fire on a stormy day.

Abbie Torrington is dealt a double blow on her daughter's birthday when she learns she didn't have the family, marriage, or husband she thought she did. As Abbie works through the stages of grief and anger, she pulls the reader along on her journey.

Sharon Souza's wonderful prose moves the story with humor and heart wrenching honesty.

The ending left me satisfied and still wanting more. Just like that warm fire.

I heard an inspirational quote recently.

My future is hidden in my daily routine.

It hit me in a profound way and opened my eyes.

If I want a clean desk next week, I have to stop piling papers on it now.

If I want to lose 10 pounds by Christmas, I need to count my points and walk today.

If I want to publish something next year, I have to write today.

Otherwise, goals are just wishes. And since I'm staring 50 in the face, I don't think I better count on being able to blow out my candles and have my wishes come true. They're going to take some work. Every day.

Dang.

I don't get out much. Until a couple of years ago, I'd never been farther north in California than Red Bluff. Then we went to Mendocino. I've still never been to Oregon, Nebraska, or New York.

When we were raising kids, vacations were camping and long weekends at Granpa and Grandma's. We've traveled a few times to Hawaii and love it. But we're not the kind of people who decide fly to an unfamiliar city for vacation.

But in the last few years, I've had opportunities to travel to Atlanta, Dallas, and Minneapolis for writer's conferences. Sounds fun and a little glamorous. In Atlanta I did get to walk around downtown a bit and I visited the Coke museum and Underground Atlanta.

In Dallas, I saw the airport and a hotel. And some freeway scenery between the two.

In Minneapolis, I got to walk around the Mall of America a little bit.

In my not-even-narrow-much-less-wide travels, I've noticed something.

From the shuttle and hotel window, America looks the same. Atlanta, Dallas, Pasadena, Minnesota, and San Jose are all crisscrossed with freeways, strip malls, and chain stores.

I live near Fresno, the chain-store-and-franchise-loving capital of the west coast. We line up for grand openings whether it's Pottery Barn, Chick-fil-A, or Ruth's Chris Steakhouse. (Mea culpa - I'm still longing for a Crate and Barrel.)

I have to believe that if I was ever able to travel off a major thoroughfare, I'd get a glimpse of the real Minnesota or figure out why Texans love their state so much.

Because from where I've sat, it's all the same.

I want to open a window and holler to the world, "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore."

Commercials tell me I waste natural resources and it's up to me to save the planet. Sez who?? We live in the country and have a well. We conserve water because if we don't, we might have to drill a new well at upwards of $5000. We pay for the electricity to pump the water out of the ground. I'm not going to give PG&E any more of my money than I have to.

The government says that using my cell phone while I drive is dangerous. So they legislate a law that means if I want to drive and talk I need another device that must be bought, recharged, and remembered when I leave the house.

Chocolate and red wine are health foods. A good thing. A daily cup of coffee is also good for me. But I have to find out where the coffee and chocolate are grown because if I don't buy fair trade goods, I'm evil and a big meanie.

I bought some of those new light bulbs that were so wonderful and saved so much energy. Then they told me that the new bulbs can't be thrown away and if I break one accidently, I have to clear the house and call out a HAZMAT unit.

I've had it.

I'm buying regular light bulbs. I'm throwing away a phone book. I'm eating chocolate. I might even text while I drive.

I guess blogging opens a window to something. I'm not sure what.

When I posted about mood swings and menopause, within twenty minutes I received an email with a link to the sweetest video I've ever seen. It had me in tears in about twelve seconds.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jCnAjel02lM

And when I talked about doing the right thing but expecting something in return, the next day I got a book in the mail.

Which is a bigger thing than it seems. I do book reviews and I have lots of reader and writer friends and I get books all the time.

I've been trying to build a discipline of writing a note every day. Sometimes to friends, thanking them for something thoughtful. I've written to writers and artists I admire.

A few weeks ago, I was searching for an address for a note I wanted to write to an LA Times columnist and found the name of another columnist I remembered from when I was a subscriber. Quick change of plans and I sent my note to Chris Erskine who writes The Guy Chronicles for the Times.

I talked about how I enjoy his column and his sense of humor and his take on family life.

He sent me a book.

How cool is that? I read Surviving Suburbia pretty quickly and I laughed out loud.

But now I have another problem: Do I write him a thank note to thank him for his thank you gift?

The cat has forgiven me for leaving for the weekend. She's so forgiving that she's climbing all over me while I write, batting at my chin to get my attention and digging her claws into my arms and legs. I think I'd rather she held that grudge a bit lon--

ger. Okay, I'm back. I wouldn't mind so much except she drools when she's happy. So I get acupuncture, a massage, and a shower all at the same time. Yuck.

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I bought a book of stamps from the vending machine in the post office lobby. I slipped the machine a ten dollar bill and it coughed up a dollar something in change and two books of stamps.

I hate when that happens. Or when a clerk gives me too much change. Or the time an 89 cent pack of index cards didn't get scanned because they hid under the $20 sack of dog food.

I don't have a problem paying for stuff. I didn't begrudge the 89 cents I owed Target. What frustrated me was the time I spent walking back to the store and standing in line. And the look of amazement and yes, the clerks are sometimes a little rude, just adds to the whole dilemma.

For some reason, every time I return extra change or pay for something that slipped through, I'm treated like I'm an idiot for not keeping the free stuff.

It would be so much easier to slip the extra stamps or whatever into my purse and forget about it. And who would know?

I would. So would God.

When I saw the second book of stamps I knew it meant standing in line and explaining why I wanted to give stamps to the post office.

The first thought in my head was Okay, God. I'm going to do the right thing so there better be something in it for me. Something better than an $8 book of stamps. A lottery win would do. Or maybe a free pass from the power company on my August bill. Something.

Then I had to wonder: If I do the right thing, is it negated when I expect to get something out of it for me?

There's a Friends episode where Joey and Phoebe debate this very thing. Joey is convinced doing good is selfish because there's always something in it for the doer/donater. Phoebe tries to find something she can do for someone else that she doesn't enjoy.

I wish I could remember how it ends...

In real life, I gave the stamps back (no line to wait in!), endured the look of incredulity, accepted the surprised and half-hearted, "Thanks," and went on my way.

No winning lottery ticket was on the ground waiting to be found. No Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes in the mailbox. Not even a lovely note from the power company thanking me for supporting them during the summer months.

I guess no line to wait in was what was in it for me.

I'll take it.

And it's not going too badly, compared with some of my friends. I use hormone creams that control the hot flashes. Stayfree makes enough variety of protection that I'm rarely (but not never) inconvenienced.

No, it's the mood swings I hate.

I can be sitting quietly, reading in the back yard. I'll look up and see a particularly beautiful sunset and I'm crying.

A stranger who glimpsed a recent gathering of friends and family would have thought he stumbled into a funeral if he'd seen me sobbing.

Mr. Stud calls the hormone creams my "Happy Cream." Because they do help me not be mean. Most of the time. But at controlling sentimental outbursts... not so much.

and I think I might possibly have a slight addiction to tote bags.

I only have at least a dozen in different sizes and colors. But if I see a freebie promo tote, I hear it calling to me. I've managed to find uses for many of my totes, but I always need just one more.

I made a special trip ten miles out of my way last March to spend money I shouldn't have to buy some stuff I didn't need, just to get a free flowered bag. It's not even that nice, just some fabric sewed into a bag shape. No lining. No structure to make it stand up. A fabric bag. But it was free. So I had to have it.

Last night we were headed to a softball game and I didn't have a tote the right shape to put some water bottles in. I wanted a rectangular one and all I had were deep ones. Which worked just fine, but it wasn't what I wanted.

I have practical totes and I have a gorgeous huge tote with a Laurel Birch cat embroidered and sequined on. But that one is too beautiful to actually use.

I have totes that advertise hotels and conferences. I have handmade totes with my granddaughter's handprints on it. But I don't have the one I need.

Of course, I won't know which one I need until I see it.

I've been cleaning out cupboards and closets. If I can bring myself to give away the advertising totes, I just might have room for a pretty one.

... Here I am. I remembered the lyrics to the old Judy Garland song about friendship this weekend.

I think I'll call my hubby Mr. Stud. He'll like that nickname.

So, Mr. Stud and I recently had different people tell us the same thing and it got me thinking.

Two friends who don't know each other both said that we had done special things for them and they remembered it and appreciated it.

The friend who spoke to me (let's call her Viola -- sorry, I just watched Shakespeare in Love and I'm full of Elizabethan names and the language). Anyway, Viola is doing a nice thing for my daughter and when I thanked her, I said I had the best friends and I was very appreciative of what she's doing.

She replied, "It's because of who you are that you have the friends you do. Viola went on to say something we had done for her had meant a lot and she was glad for this chance to do something for us.

Mr. Stud was talking to a different friend (let's call him Mercutio) who thanked us for staying friends when he went through a tough time.

Mr. Stud shrugged it off and when he told me about the comment, I was also nonchalant and said, "Yes, but that's what we do. We stick with our friends."

And the little light bulb went off.

Mr. Stud never met a stranger. He can talk about anything to anyone at anytime.

I take my time getting to know someone.

But we're the same when it comes to how we treat our friends. We may not get to see them as often as we'd like, but our friendships last a lifetime. I'm still friends with my best friend in high school and have been since my family moved away over 33 years ago.

It's the Golden Rule: Be the friend you want and you'll have the friends you want.

Sometimes that means stretching and having to do something that's inconvenient. Sometimes it means listening and not sharing a story about something even worse that you experienced.

It's good to have someone who can say to you, "If you're ever in a mess... S.O.S."

I just finished crafting a really elegant post about choices and how they fill the day. I added some pithy thoughts about blogging and gave a few links to some outstanding blogs. I spellchecked. I clicked 'Save !' ... and the whole thing disappeared.

So, I was gonna post today. But this is what you got.

Well, I did get a few emails asking about the state of my office. And I did finally get started. 15 minutes a day turned out to be too ambitious in one chunk so I made it 5 minutes, 3 times a day. The total is the same, but it just seemed more doable.

And it's working.

My filing is done. The desktop looks a little better. I feel better, just not seeing the teetering stack condemning me for letting it sit and grow.

Funny how something as mundane as papers can scowl and reproach. And did they ever.

We're going to be empty nesters again in a few weeks. The last time, we redid the room into a guest room. This time, I'm going to use that room as the repository while I gut the office.

I don't do well in chaos and that's what the office has become. I do more writing in Starbucks now then I do in the office. And that's bad because the nearest Starbucks is 12-15 miles. I get 20 miles per gallon, gas is $4.23 so that's... well, a lot.

So, thanks to my friends and readers for keeping me accountable. That's what it's all about.

This is a plea to my friends and regular readers who know me.

Please (I'm not kidding) email me when you read this and ask if I've spent any time cleaning my office.

The elves keep skipping it and I'm drowning on my own.

Every week, it's still on my 'to do' list. 15 minutes a day in the office. How hard can it be??

Apparently, it's beyond my abilities. I know I'll be more productive when I don't have to climb over the stack of filing to get to the desk. I know I'll be able to breathe better when I finally relinquish the wooden ice bucket that I keep meaning to list on eBay and that meanwhile takes up room that could be used for more papers. Or books.

Help. If someone will keep me accountable (not nag) to do 15 minutes a day in the office, I'll love you forever. I probably will anyway, love you that is, but now it'll be out in cyberspace that I owe you, too.

Thank you.

I've been trying to write all day.

I'm being very disciplined and have been writing 1000 words a day or spending a couple of hours on revision.

Today I wrote about 500 words. All of them bad. Very bad. Pinch the nose bad.

I haven't blogged in a couple of weeks 'cause I've been stuck. I can't think of anything to say that's worth saying or hasn't been said already by others. And said better.

I've asked God if I'm supposed to keep this up.

He said, "Yes."

Figures.

We're headed out of town this weekend.
California is about to incinerate.
The Fresno State Bulldog baseball team are national champs.

And that's all she wrote.

and put it in your pocket; never let it fade away.

Easier said than done.

My brother died last week. My younger brother.

Not unexpectedly. He'd been a drug and alcohol abuser for thirty years. Give or take. His body just flat gave out.

He survived heroin, tequila, and a brain aneurysm. He lost a foot to diabetes. He had hepatitis, TB, blood sugar and blood pressure out of control. And a couple of heart attacks.

What a waste.

He was very intelligent which made it easy for him to manipulate and cheat and steal and talk his way out of trouble.

He was the epitome of, "If you can't be good example, you'll have to be a horrible warning."

He's a warning of what happens when you value getting high more than the family fallout of stealing and selling family heirlooms.

Jeff left two sons, a mother, step-father, two sisters, two brothers, a step-mother, two ex-wives. And a lot of damaged relationships.

We're okay. Mom says she grieved for her son years ago, so this is almost a relief.

Almost.

For some reason, I flicked on the television Sunday morning. We're usually busy getting ready for church and rarely have it on but it was.

A local church's worship service was being broadcast and I had to pause. Everyone in the choir was dressed casually and not wearing choir robes.

Now I'm neither confirm nor deny... no, wait... I neither approve nor disapprove of choir robes. I understand they give a choir a uniform appearance so the audience is not distracted by the crazy paisley skirt the redhead in the front row is wearing. I didn't know they still made that kind of fabric. Well, duh... they don't. That skirt is at least 30 years old and came from a thri-what?? Oh, sorry. Got a little off track there.

Anyway, I also noticed that besides no uniform choir appearance, they were all dressed casually. Very casually. Picnic in the park casual, not even business casual.

I understand that's a trend now in some churches, to appear to be more user-friendly. To not scare off a visitor by a row of suits. And my day-to-day uniform is flip flops, crop-leg pants and a t-shirt or top. Casual with a capital T.

Except... our clothes make a statement. They do and anyone who says they don't is selling the position that it doesn't matter what we wear to approach God, the important thing is to approach Him.

Hooey.

Yep. It's hooey. Now bear with me a minute.

What's the usual attire for a funeral? Dresses, skirts, suits, heels, right? Why? To show respect for the recently passed and the bereaved.

What's the usual attire for a (non-beach or meadow) wedding? Dresses, heels, skirts, right? Maybe some business casual type clothes, khakis and a button shirt or a suit for men. Why? To show respect for the bride and groom.

What's the usual attire for 18 holes of golf at a nice course? No jeans and a collared shirt. Why? To show respect for the game, the club, and the other players.

So why should we dress up for church???

Hmmm.... maybe... respect? For God?

Oh my. What a provocative thought. Respect God. Revere His commands. Obey Him.

I'm afraid I would find it difficult to love my enemies with anything more than a wave of the hand if I was wearing cargo shorts and a tank top. If I have to do something hard, it helps to be confident, to know I look my best. To show some respect.

Just a thought.

It's a cliche' and one I'm not totally sure I know what it means.

But I was sharing with a friend today some details about a tough experience we went through several years ago. And I was fuzzy on some of the particulars. Things, that when they were happening, I was sure I'd remember every moment forever.

Guess what?

Yep. I didn't. As we said goodbye, I apologized for not being able to fill it all in. Then I shrugged and said, "Oh well. If I could remember all the details, I'd just get angry and upset all over again."

I think God has healed some of that hurt by blurring the sharp edges of it. It is the devil who stirs up those bad feelings when he can get us to focus on the bad, whatever it is.

So, it's not so much the devil is in the details as it is the devil uses the details.

... wasn't wasted.

I have to remind myself of that occasionally.

I often feel like I need to be accomplishing something I can check off my to-do list. Every day is full of opportunities to read something, learn something, clean something, fill something, empty something, do something, erase something, exercise something, and the list goes on.

I forget that sometimes the destination is the journey.

In the midst of a very busy week, today was all about me. A haircut (with a new style I love but know I'll never be able to duplicate on my own), then a massage, then lunch with friends, then The Ultimate Drive. Check out http://www.bmwusa.com/theultimatedrive for details.

It amounts to driving a BMW around town for 15 minutes for charity. How cool is that?

And I'm so proud of myself because in the paragraph about my day, I didn't add that the massage was therapeutic and prescribed for a stiff neck and stress. And even though I just added that info to justify the massage (and my own perverted need to diminish my own needs, which is what it adds up to and is a whole other issue), I didn't go back and add it into that paragraph.

Yea for me! I had a good day and even though nothing was "accomplished" I enjoyed it. And really, I did some good. If BMW is willing to donate money to breast cancer research, I donated my time to help them out.

That's my story.

When you write, you learn to become alert to life. That's just noticing what's going on around you and always thinking about how you can turn something into a lesson or an anecdote or illustration.

Some writers are great at it. I recently met Denise Arzoian who can take an experience like driving in the fog and turn it into a wonderful application about trust.

A few days ago, I was in the recliner in the living room, settling in to watch my TiVo'd House episode and a movement on the patio outside the glass door caught my peripheral vision.

A duck waddled by.

Yes, a duck.

Yes, we live in the country. And our menagerie has included dogs, cats, horses, pot-bellied pigs, rabbits, and geckos.

But never a duck.

I hollered at my daughter to come look. Actually, I wanted to see if it was a hallucination or was I sane. She saw it too. And decided it needed to be rescued. She chased it across the street where it settled in the brush.

I followed and between the two of us herding it, she managed to pick it up and bring it back to the patio. She showed it the water. She loosened her grip and he was on the move again.

He didn't understand that she wanted to help. She didn't understand that he had an appointment and she was making him late.

That's my story. I wasn't being alert to life, but life found me. Now I just have to figure out what it's saying and why.

I remember a line from a Dick Francis novel from the amateur sleuth/jockey to the bad guy. He says something to the effect, "I hear nothing angers a criminal as much as being found guilty of the one thing he didn't do."

Isn't it the truth? We can be guilty of all kinds of sins, but accuse us of the one thing we didn't do, and stand by. The converse is equally true. We may do something annoying all the time (interrupting, ignoring, jumping to conclusions, whatever) but let someone else do it to us... well, it's not pretty.

I'm not really a sharer, but sometimes I do need to talk. When I'm ready to talk, I want to talk. I don't want to be interrupted or have a running commentary.

Hubby is a talker. He's an interrupter. Who hates to be interrupted. But he does recognize that about himself and is completely open to reminders and correction.

I'm a detail sharer, who wants the bottom line only when someone is sharing their details.Me + Him = (Occasional) conflict in communication. But I realize that if I want to talk about the difference between genre literature, the trade off is that I get to listen to and discuss the differences in different species of fruit flies. Or whatever.

Life is sweet - most of the time. Because of the give and take.

My husband used to lecture our daughters and say, "Words mean something." It's true.

And now that I make my "living" with words, how they're used is even more precious to me.

I may have to change banks. The one I use has a sign (in most, if not all, the branches I've visited). It's prominently displayed at the front of the teller line.

"PLEASE HAVE YOUR TRANSACTION(S) COMPLETED BEFORE YOU REACH THE WINDOW"

Ummm... how is that possible when I need the teller's service to complete the transaction???

Now, I know they mean have the paperwork (deposit and/or withdrawal slips) completed by the time you reach a teller. But that's not what they say.

Irregardless, of intent, they shou-what? Oh, right. Irregardless is not a real word. I meant 'Regardless.'

There's a common quote from Mark Twain that writer's like to share: "The difference between the almost right word and the right word is really a large matter—it’s the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning."

I sometimes make the quote my own and change it to butter and butterfly. But I always give Mark Twain credit.

What it comes back to is the same thing my girls rolled their eyes at for years: Words mean something. Or they ought to.

Except when it's an orange.

My daughter and grand-daughter were visiting last week. And went to visit my parents, Evelyn's great-grandparents. My dad took her out to look at his garden and pointed out his different fruit trees. There was a peach and a nectarine. And he showed her the orange tree.

"No, those are apples," she said.
"No, oranges," Grampa said.

"Apples." Have I mentioned that the women in our family are known for their stubbornness?

Grampa shrugged and said, "Okay, they're apples."

Evelyn turned, saw the second orange tree and pointed at it. "Oh look, more oranges."

We figure she just wanted to be right. Once Grampa agreed that she was right, then she was free to change her mind.

Isn't it just like a child? Or a woman? Actually, isn't it human nature? We hate to admit we're wrong. We cling to our delusions. We insist the oranges are apples.

Hmmm... I'm hungry for fruit salad. Or a fruit cup. Or even canned fruit cocktail. Dibs on the one cherry.

Well, two out of three isn't bad. Most days I get at least two of those three done. Not always the same two though. So maybe that's okay. It means they get done semi-regularly. And even though regularly would be best, it's better than once in a while.

Why is it so hard to do the things that we know are good for us? We feel better when we exercise. Our teeth last longer when we floss. We get sick less often when we take vitamins.

Is it laziness? Probably. At least for me.

I'm struggling right now with a few things. Things I know I need to do. And I'll feel better when I do them. But I can't seem to get off my metaphorical couch.

Okay, just writing it down makes it more urgent. And if someone were to actually write me and ask if I made the appointment, walked to the end of the block, or took my Woman's formula it might help.

Or not. We'll see.

I'm procrastinating blogging, vacuuming, writing, and exercising.

So, here I am blogging. I paid a neighborhood kid to vacuum for me. No, it's not great, but what do I expect for $5? Just about what I get.

Exercising... I'll start tomorrow.

The writing is going to be painful. I don't know what to do.

That's a lie.

I know what to do. I just don't want to do it.

Red Smith said, "There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein." A slight variation of that is credited to Hemingway.

And that's what I've got to do. Bleed all over the keyboard.

I don't want to do it. I want to keep a part of me all to myself.

I guess that's why God me to be a writer. Good writers tell stories. Great writers give themselves to the story.

I'm being challenged... oh, all right... convicted that I'm too reticent when I write. Not willing to go where I need to.

There's a joke among students in my local writing teacher's classes. At her funeral, we're going to gather around her grave and shout into it: "Go deeper, Elnora!"

It's what she's been exhorting me to do. And I can't avoid it any longer.

Hmmm... I think the living room can use a good vacuuming.

I forget what the letters above stand for, but it's important, whatever it is.

I've been reading about the Meyers-Briggs Type Indicators. It's a method for figuring out personality types and temperaments. Kind of like the Popular Sanguine and Perfect Melancholy or the Otter/Beaver/Golden Retriever/Lion methods.

According to the MBTI, there are 16 different "types" of people. And you figure out your type by answering questions. Are you an extrovert (E) or introvert (I). Do you gather data from your senses (S) or intuitively (N), and so on.

Hubby and I headed out of town last weekend for an overnight trip. As we were packing, I took my dressy clothes, on their hangers, and hung them rightnextto his. A few minutes later, he grabs his clothes to put in the car...and leaves mine hanging in the closet!!

One of the descriptions for his "type" is that they can't see what's right in front of them. Boy, is that accurate.

So, is it a male/female thing? Or a personality thing? Or is he not a detail person?

I only know that I'm glad I had a feeling and double checked the closet before we left.

I got to meet Margaret Maron a few years ago. Besides being a gifted author, she's a lovely person. When I grow up, I want to be just like her. (http://www.margaretmaron.com)

Since I met her, we've been reading her Judge Deborah Knott books straight through. Since I read other stuff too though, she's still a little ahead of me. I just read, "Rituals of the Season."

I love that book.

I recently read a different book, also by a well-known best selling mystery author. Who has succumbed to the Jessica Fletcher syndrome. Which is people are dying all around her for no good reason. And the amateur sleuth protagonist keeps on poking her nose where it's going to get shot off. Even though her husband begs and pleads with her to leave the detecting alone, she insists on going into the empty house where she knows the villain is. But she's just going to check and then she's going to leave and call for help. Really.

Oh, please.

Deborah accidently learned about some evidence. Her fiance' asked her to keep it to herself. And she did!

My writing teacher calls it emotional logic. When a character does something stupid, there is none.

Margaret is a classy lady who writes great books. That's why I love her.

There are four seasons per year: Football, basketball, baseball, and quilting.

Just kidding, everyone knows the fourth one is shopping. Well, shopping is more like golf and NASCAR in its season. There's always a tournament, a race, or a sale going on somewhere.

Today is the Daytona 500. A few weeks ago was the Super Bowl. Spring training is underway in Arizona and Florida while Roger Clemons is busy in Washington DC.

There are seasons in life, too. Childhood, young adulthood, parenthood, the empty nest, the sandwich generation, prime time, AARP, and then on to an assisted living center.

I've been a member of most of the above. We're blessed that our parents are still active and able to live on their own. We've lost a couple of fathers, but the one that's still here and the moms are all healthy. I know the day is coming though when my time will be more taken up with doctor appointments, and tests.

We're empty nest rebounders. We've had an empty nest a couple of times, but they keep finding their way back. And it's great. It's temporary, and I never want to look back on my life and regret wasting one minute of it in complaining or whining.

That doesn't mean I don't complain or whine. I just don't want to regret it. Someday, I'll be bugging these kids to take me to the doctor or to the grocery store or to the beauty salon for my cut and color.

Hopefully, I'll still be able to find the sale racks on my own.

"Mauwidge. Mauwidge is what bwings us togeder twooday."

Name that quote...

If you said The Princess Bride, give yourself a point.

Another line from that classic film, also from The Impressive Clergyman: "And wuv, twue wuv, will fowwow you foweva."

I don't know about you, but true love has never followed me anywhere. I have it, but we've worked hard for it.

Today is the day our culture has set aside to tell others that we love them. How boring.

I wonder if anyone has have done a survey to find out if couples married on Valentine's Day have a better or worse than average divorce rate. I'd be really interested in finding that out.

I don't know I'd find that info though, since the US government and Census department quit tracking marriage statistics in 1996. But if I want to know the status of Reese Witherspoon and Jake Gyllenhaal's relationship, well, that one's just a click away.

There's something sad about being on the outside looking in.

After Christmas, I got sick. Really sick. Kill-me-now-I'm-tired-of-suffering sick. I was only sick for about three weeks.

Since being back to full strength, I've paced myself. Just on the hard, demanding things like housework and fixing dinner. Not on reading or watching movies... um... I mean research, yeah, that's it... research.

Take illness, add the holiday season, then multiply it by a computer glitch and all of a sudden I was unable to blog.

Talk about withdrawals!

While I was down, I had many brilliant ideas for blogging. Now that I'm back, I can't remember a single one. sigh...

But, I'm back and celebrating that fact.

Hurray!! I know at least three of you faithful readers have wondered where I've been. Well, wait no more.

I'll be back to my lightening posting speed of at least two a week. That's my New Year's goal. Of course, since it's now February, I may have to tweak it.

But I'm on track to meet my other goals: 2 movies a week and 2 books a week. Walk 30 minutes 3 times a week... oops. But I did join Weight Watchers (for the 3rd time, but who's counting?? Hmmm??? Put that hand down!) and I've lost seven pounds, so far.

Ahhh... it feels good to be back.