A New Year, A New Me

I have decided on a New Years resolution. I love New Years, and New Years resolutions. I love the idea of a clean start. I like new things, wiping away the old. I love the idea that the old is gone and the new is come. I put a lot of thought into my resolutions every year. I average about four days for keeping a resolution. I have resolved to quit smoking, quit cussing, quit gossiping, and, of course, lose weight. I have quit smoking, (on my 40th birthday, not New Years) I cuss less, I love gossiping, but don't indulge as much as I like, and I am no where near my ideal weight. When I told my husband I wanted to blog about my New Years resolution, he asked why I would want to put it out there publicly. When I told my 19 year old what my resolution was he laughed. Not a little chuckle, but a full on bust out, belly laugh. He found my resolution far too vague. It's nice to know the two most important men in my life have so much faith in me.

So what is this resolution that my husband and son find so amusing? The resolution that they are sure I can't keep? I resolve to not complain, for a year. I realize that it is going to take a change in how I think. I have been told by many different people, over many years, that I tend to be negative. I don't want to be negative anymore. I complain about my health and how busy I am. The truth is, I am thrilled that I have two part-time jobs that I love. Most of my health issues are due to my weight, therefore, my fault. There is nothing to complain about if I am not willing to do what needs to be done to make myself healthy. I will have to find a different way of speaking. In order to do that, I need to find a different way of thinking. I am hoping to use this blog to keep myself accountable. Wish me luck.

I've missed you

I loved writing this blog. I loved shouting into the wind. I loved sharing my life with the anonymous and not so anonymous masses. I miss it very much.

I have been writing for Neighbors Newspaper and more recently Taste of Temecula. I have been working on two young adult novels, and four actual young adults. I have been trying, along with my husband, to get a family that strayed from who we know we are, back on track. On top of everything, I discovered Facebook. In all of that, blogging simply fell off the plate. I would like to make room for it again.

There are mommy-bloggers out there infinitely more talented and funny than I am. I am going to keep blogging anyway. I know a lot of us are aspiring writers, and it always inspires me to know how other women are managing writing, working and raising a family. Please, if you have discovered this blog, or rediscovered it, please let me know. I am more likely to keep at it if I think I am letting people down by not writing.

Birth Days

Yesterday was Katie's 15th birthday. She had about 6 friends over for dinner and to spend the night. I was busy cooking, and baking all day. We served the girls tremendous amounts of ribs, potato salad, and spinach strawberry salad and cake. The cooking and baking and cleaning up from cooking and baking took the whole day. I loved doing it, but I forgot to do something else, something I always do on my kids birthdays.

At the end of the day, as Steve and I were getting ready for bed, he called Katie out of her room. He enveloped her in a big "Daddy" hug and kissed the top of her head.

"I remember the day you were born, Punkin," he said. "I remember almost every single detail of that day. The day you were born was one of the best days of my life."

That was when I remembered what I forgot. Every year on my kids birthdays I tell them about the day they were born. I grabbed Katie's hands, at 10:00pm right there in our upstairs hallway and began her story.

"The night before you were born, Aunt Nisey and I went to Claim Jumper. We split an I'd'eclair. When we got home I couldn't sleep. I made Aunt Nisey get up with me and play Horse."

"And Aunt Nisey won even thought you cheated," Katie broke in.

"That's right, and when I woke up, very early the next morning I told Daddy my water broke, and he thought I was kidding." I was trying to hurry because I knew she was eager to get back to her girlfriends so they could start their movie marathon. I tried to fast-forward to the important parts.

Each of my children have a birth day story. "I was painting your Nursery" begins Alex's. The day of David's birth came after weeks of false labor, so I was making a sandwich for Alex to take to school in case I was not really in labor. I was with my sweet mother-in-law when I realized I was in labor with Annie. We were at my doctor's office, but instead of going straight to the hospital, I insisted on going home first. I wanted to eat and wait for Steve to get home. I worked on a blanked I was making for my niece while I breathed through contractions.

The kids have heard these stories many times. They could tell the stories as well as I can. Three of them are old enough to roll their eyes at my sentimentality. I continue to tell them though, because I can. Because I am here and I can. They don't understand how important their history is, or maybe they do. Maybe they are just following kid code by acting annoyed. Maybe they secretly love hearing it. Maybe they love hearing the story in which they are the star, the story about the day that, without them, would have been just like any other day. No-one can tell me about the day I was born. My kid's history goes much farther back back than mine does. My history goes back only as far as I can remember. My kids history goes back farther than they can remember, it goes back as far as I can remember. If I keep telling them, about the day they were born, about how much they were wanted, these memories will become their own.

Cooking Chili on a Cold March Day

I know lots of people make chili. Many make it from scratch. Here is how and why I make chili.
I always decide to make chili when I see the leftover odd cut pork chops for sale at Fresh and Easy. I can get a large package for very little and I feel pleasantly frugal. I then look for the least expensive beef I can find. Sometimes it is poorly cut roast, or stew meat. This time I use cube steak. The long slow cooking will break it down and this notoriously tough meat and make it melt-in-your-mouth-tender. I picture my crowded disheveled pantry. Do I have dry beans? Any kind will do, although I prefer an even mix of red beans and kidney beans. In the produce aisle, I pick the chiles. Slightly hot pasillas, mild but flavorful anaheims, and sometimes jalapenos for extra heat, but not this time. I do buy bell peppers. I always have onions and garlic, and I usually have canned tomatoes. I am not as picky about the tomatoes for chili as I am for my red sauce, (spaghetti sauce to you non-Italians) so I can use the Hunt's or Del Monte that Steve occasionally buys. I remember that I have plenty of chili powder and cumin.
After church, I start the chili. I measure out 3/4 of a cup of red beans and 3/4 of a cup of kidney beans. I rinse them and put them in a pot of water to boil. Then, every single time, I look in the pot and decide there are not enough beans. Every time, I measure out another 1/2 a cup of each kind of beans and add them to the pot. I don't know why I don't start with a 1 and 1/4 cups of each kind of bean, but I don't.
While the beans are coming up to a boil, I prepare the meat to be browned. The pork takes longer to prepare because there are all sorts of bones and fat that must be trimmed away. Both meats are cut in to large chunks and browned in small batches. If you try to brown them in large batches, as I did today with the beef, it steams instead of browning, and turns an unappealing grey.
I multi-task when I make chili. The beans are trying to boil, and I am keeping an eye on the many batches of meat I must brown. Now the peppers and onions must be chopped. Peppers are hard on knives. I start by sharpening my cleaverish knife. I split the peppers in half long ways and de-seed them. I touch my finger to the inside of the pasilla and taste it to judge the heat. Perfect; pleasantly painful. I then cut the peppers into strips and stack them. I love how the colors mix; the blackish green pasilla, the acidy yellow green of the anaheim, and the true kelly green of the bell pepper. When they are stacked, they become the most beautiful shade, there colors blending and become one glorious green. I chop. I start with a rough chop, then remember how someone I didn't like told me not to chop things so fine, so then I chop the peppers finer, and finer still. until the largest piece is about the size of a peanut. I have to re-sharpen the knife before I am finished. I feel a kinship with the women, all of them, who didn't have the option of canned food, who made everything from scratch. I feel like I am doing something for my family. I feel like the very act of chopping these peppers infuses them with love that will go into my family's body, like light, and heal them from psycic and physical ills. If someone eats my food, they carry my love with them in their cells. I peel the onion, thankful for my contact lenses that keep them from burning my eyes. Still, I can tell this is a strong one. Fumes go up my nose and make me cough. It is a healthy onion, tightly wrapped in in many layers of brown skin, and gleaming white once it is peeled. I only put in one onion, because no matter how strong it is raw, onion turns sweet when you cook it, and I do not want sweet chili. I once ruined an entire batch of red sauce by adding too much onion.
The juggling is almost done. The meat is browned and waiting in an old square pan to be added back. The peppers are sauteing in pan the meat was browned in, picking up the flavors. I give the peppers a good head start before I add the onion. I decide against garlic, since I know I will be adding garlic powder. As the peppers and onions cook, I add the thing that makes it chili; the chili powder. First I add a lot, then I add more. I add cumin, garlic powder and season salt, knowing the salt will help break down the vegetables and cause them to release their juices. When everything is a shiny gritty brownish red, I add the meat back in, along with a little water to loosen everything off the bottom of the pot. All of this has taken about 30 minutes which means the beans have another 30 minutes to simmer before they can be added. That is more than enough time to clean up, and adjust seasoning levels.
The chili now sits on the stove, simmering for several hours, melding all the flavors. The house will be filled with the smell all afternoon. Between dancing and singing Veggie Tales songs with Annie, reading "The Country Girls" and relaxing, I will make corn muffins and honey butter. When Steve and David come in from their afternoon of paint ball, it is the first thing they will smell. When Katie and Alex wake from their respective naps, they will smell it. They both know that asking if someone can eat over is just a formality, because they the answer will be, "Yes, of course! There's enough food for an army."
I cook like this because this is how my Nana cooked. I cook like this because this is how my Aunt Liz cooks.
This is how I make chili, and this is why I cook.

Hello

Life is interesting. Thankfully, it is good interesting, but it is interesting. Having kids ranging in age from 18 to 6 is interesting. Katie was mean and horrible enough to tell me that she is turning 15 in three months. There was no good that could come from that information. I think I am going to forbid it. Yes, that's it. I forbid her turning 15. Will she still watch Ugly Betty with me when she turns 15. Will she still borrow my make-up and ask my advice on outfits for dances? 

Now, onto the economy. Wouldn't I be stimulating the economy if I hired someone to do my laundry? I would be being patriotic, right? Now, if I only had the money to pays someone, and someone were desperate enough to do the most thankless job in the world. No, I guess I have to do it myself. I don't see another way, sadly.

In the mountains

I am in the mountain town of Idyllwild right now with my immediate family. It was an impetuous decision. I had a lovely three day Valentine's Day extravaganza. On Friday before Valentines Steve and I made a "Bistro meal" of French onion soup, Steak au Poirve and Potatoes au Gratin. On Saturday, Valentines day, we went to a friend's house and had a delicious four course seafood meal. There was also great company, witty interesting conversation, and much warmth and love. On Sunday, we made barbecued ribs, fried potatoes and green beans. We had Steve's parents over and ate on the good china. Poppie gave me advice on how to make my book more appealing to men in his age range. I am thinking, maybe not. My mother-in-law, Nonnie is very understanding about having a writer for a daughter-in-law. She dropped in on me the other day, and I was deep in a tangle in the story. I could barely form sentences because I was so pre-occupied. She was gracious and understanding. 

We are getting tons of rain in Temecula. I am loving it. It is making me think differently and making me a homebody. It's driving the dogs crazy though. 

I am very hopeful that I will be able to go visit Prettyface in Georgia around the end of March. 

My computer was hanging on by a thread, and then the tread broke. Luckily, right before it gave up the the ghost, I emailed all my writing to myself. Had I not, I would have lost 3 years of writing, and three partially written novels. 

I used Steve's computer for a while, but that didn't work out all that well. So I got a Mac. Happy, Happy me! I really need to get a book published to justify this purchase. 

Luckily, no-one has been sick for a while. Things are kind of good right now, I hesitate to say. My house is a mess, but I am working hard writing. 

I am on Facebook now. If you Facebook, come see me, and see pics.

Waiting on the locusts

One short week after Annie's 6 day flu, Steve is having a severe allergic reaction to an antibiotic. I am trying like crazy to be the working mom I need to be with out embittering my children. I am trying to do it all on about 6 hours of sleep a night, only sometimes remembering to take my vitamins.

If my family could manage to quit getting fevers, this would all be much easier.

David and I are driving out to the coast tomorrow so he can spend the night with his cousin. Even though my cousin, the mother, offered to meet us half-way, I would rather have the time with him. He has a half-day tomorrow, so we will have from 12 noon until 3:00 together. that is more time that we have had together alone for months. I am looking forward to it.

Today was Writer's Group day. I did not actually write, but I got great notes from three outstanding writers. I got good notes about my over-use of adverbs, and telling what I have already shown. Tomorrow is Help-in-Library day and Bible-Study day. Very little writing will get done tomorrow, but Friday will be a writing day again.
I am grumpy as I get used to my new schedule.
I am excited to finish a piece, finally!

Tuesday, January 27.

Steve was not home today, so I got a lot of writing done. Of course, I had to check everyone else's blog, and leave comments, but eventually, I got to writing.

I did not add any words to the novel today either. In fact, I lost about 300 word, due to revisions.

The word revision is actually the perfect word for this process. The novel is undergoing a change, a new vision, for the direction, and the characters. I am not so much revising it, as revisioning it. This process is pretty enjoyable. It is easier to fix something that is already there, than to come up with something new.

I know now why I chose this novel. I love these characters. I went back and realized I made the main character a little too unlikable. I softened her edges. Also, since I quit smoking, so did she!

I am bummed that the writing part of my day is now over, but I am happy the mothering part is beginning.

Cheerleading positions open

I started writing again today. It's soooooo hard. Whine, whine, whine. I lost my original notebook for this story. But I sorted everything I have written so far into sections, and broken the sections in to scenes. I also opened a GMail account to back up my files, on Unnamed Cousin's advice.I did not add any actual words though. I am at a little over 18,000 words and 63 pages. I need about 75,000 to 150,000 for a completed project. Here is where you come in. I have to write about 3 hours a day, three days a week. Theoretically I have Monday, although Steve is home on Monday, and he is just a big, cute distraction. I also have Tuesday and Friday, although Steve is home on a lot of Fridays too. Please check this blog. I will be posting number of words written. I am depending on you, my wonderful group of Type A friends to hold me accountable. My blog will be a little boring for a while, but it is for a greater good.

Thanks everyone!

A night with friends

My in-laws always have people over for "cocktails". I love that, it sounds so retro and cool. I decided to invite our friends over for cocktails. The friends in question are a military family. He is a high ranking marine, and she stays home with their two children, a high energy five year old boy, and an adorable three year old girl. This couple was, in my opinion, the only good thing that came out of the house we just moved from. We had a fun, easy-going night. Their tiny daughter fell in love with David. She called him "Boy" all night, even introducing him to her mother, that has known David for three years. "Mommy, this is Boy." The little girl kept grabbing grapes to bring upstairs, saying, "I need these for Boy." She also started going in Annie's toy closet and bringing things to David. When she brought all she could, she resorted to staring at him, her chin in her hands, while he played video games. For David, also known as Captain Personal Space, this was all a little challenging. I thought it was adorable.
The little girl's other great love was our male Yorkie. We have two Yorkies as well as a medium sized mixed breed. Our female Yorkie craves physical affection like none other. As long as you are touching her she's happy. It doesn't matter how awkwardly a kid holds her, or drags her along, the female is happy. The male on the other hand, thinks he is a 140 pound rottweiler, not a three pound little accessory. He gets confused and his pride get hurt when little tiny blond girls pick him up. He never snaps, or even grumbles, he just gets this bewildered look on his face and tries to get down. So of course, the little girl falls for the male. "There's my puppy, " she said every time she caught sight of him. I kept telling her how much the other puppy loves to be held, but the heart wants what the heart wants. Katie tried to rescue him by keeping him in her room, but the little girl found him.
Annie and their little boy have always been very good together. Annie is very high energy and pretty low drama, so boys love to play with her. We all kept the kids up later than we should have, because the adults were having so much fun. At almost 11:00 when they left, Steve and I plopped down to watch a little news, from upstairs I heard Annie say, "It's time to pause the news and put me to bed!" And, so it was.

Second night of visiting

Oh man! Steve and I stayed up until 3am last night. We are usually in bed by 10:30 every night. Last night was a combination celebration for my father-in-law's 72nd birthday, and my brother-in-law's mother coming to stay with them. It was all family, and it was wonderful.

I am always thrilled and amazed at our family gatherings. My sister-in-law, Shellie is an incredibly warm, loving, open person. Her house is often the gathering place for the family. She married a wonderful man with grown kids. His daughter and niece both move to with in three miles of Shellie and Rich's home, and they have become part of our family. Rich's mom coming for an extended visit truly is a reason for celebration. I know not all families are like this, but I am so grateful mine is.

I have a cousin on Steve's side who is a reader like me. Her mom is one of my favorite people in the world. Even though we always talk, and like each other, last night we got to really talk. There is a pleasing consistency to knowing someone for many years, and seeing their life as though through a window. When you get a morsel of intimacy, it is that much sweeter.

Cousin Susie did not keep me up until 3am though. No, that was the perfect storm of Steve, his sister Shellie, and a magically refilling wine glass. Everyone left the party by almost midnight. My kids were all draped over furniture, covered with throws and blankets. Shellie, Rich, Steve and I were the last ones standing. We seldom have the time together that we want because we all have things and families to attend to. We laughed and talked and got way too personal. We scolded each other, and encouraged each other. I knew it was a horrible idea to stay up so late, and I woke up today wanting to fuss at Steve for it, but I realize now it was the right thing to do. If you have a good relationship with a family member, you should never take that for granted.

Mother Writing

My cousin is in the process of having a book published. It is a witty, self-deprecating, hilarious book on parenting. I have had the privilege of giving her "notes", reading it as it is in progress, and commenting on what works, and what doesn't. It is an honor beyond what I can express because of the trust she has placed in my intellect and opinion. I also laughed my way through a difficult year because of her book. But, that's not the point, the point is, my husband saying "Unnamed Cousin got a book published, when are you going to?" This is not as mean as it sounds. In fact, it is actually quite kind. Steve believes with all of his non-reading heart that I am a talented writer. He believes people want to read what I write. He thinks I can do it. That's why he references Unnamed Cousin. He asked, what does she do? How did she finish a book? It isn't a rhetorical question, he really wants to know. Well, I know how she did it. She treated it like a job. She worked everyday. She set goals for herself. She is a pretty disciplined person. I finally got the nerve up to tell Steve what I needed to do in order to finish one of my FOUR! works in progress. I have to act like it is a job I have to do nothing but write from 8:30 in the morning til 1:30 when I pick up Annie the Amazing.

That means the family has to understand that I will be doing more housework while they are here, and less hanging on their every word, and serving their every desire. Do you know what Steve said? He said, "Of course, that is exactly what you should do."

I love him.

So, I have to pick a story to finish first. When I asked Steve what I should do, he said, "You have to finish them all, so just pick one."

He's kind of a slave-driver.

I had every intention of starting off this week by writing, and learning to organize my time well, but Annie the Amazing got an amazing case of the flu. We are on day three of her not really eating or drinking, so I am taking her to the doctor. Next week, look out Margaret Atwood, I am hot on your tail. (see, I can be self-deprecating too)

I think I am going to finish the one about the girl living in Vegas first. I will try to keep blogging and letting you know how it's going.

Seventeen years of food

Steve and I celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary yesterday. It wasn't much of a celebration, since we both more or less forgot till late morning.

We didn't forget because we were super busy, or super stressed out, we just forgot. I don't mind, because most days I am treated the way I would want to be treated on my anniversary. Every day with Steve is pretty special, so anniversaries are just icing. They are definitely not the important thing.

Of course, I love any opportunity to reminisce. I thought about when Steve and I first started dating, in May of '91. I was a, *cough* waitress, with my tiny little baby in a studio apartment in Carlsbad, right on the water. I was pretty hippy-ish, and free-spirited. I was in love with fresh food I could get, that I never tasted in Las Vegas. I have always been a open-minded, adventurous eater, and I had new world with in walking distance of my apartment.

Exotic food was a big part of my life with my dad. We had a close family friend who owned a Moroccan restaurant; my stepmother and I went out for sushi regularly. I had a dear Filipino friend who taught me how to make lumpia, a long skinny Filipino egg roll, and a Greek roommate who taught me how to make a perfect Avgolemono, a chicken rice and lemon soup thickened with eggs.

In my tiny apartment, with its tinier kitchen, I cooked from scratch, making homemade red sauce, and soups with woefully inadequate cooking utensils. Let's just say, I got a lot of use out of my tea kettle!

Steve was the son of white, Midwestern parents, who favored rich mild food, to wild ethnic things. He just wasn't exposed to much besides all American, and some really good Mexican. His parents were very good at what they cooked, like pot roast, and grilled boneless skinless chicken breasts, and pork loin, but the food Steve grew up eating was as foreign to me as what I ate was to him. Not only was my pastor father's home full of diversity, it was short on money. Meat was a luxury. I never tasted pork loin until I had it at my future in-laws house. We never bought de-boned chicken, it was too expensive. To this day, I can break down a whole chicken in 7 minutes flat, and have the back in the freezer to save for soup. Roast was a whole other thing. I was married to Steve for 11 years before I could make a pot roast without calling his mother for help.

The point is, Steve's and my food background were as different as everything else about us when we met. He told me he was not a foodie. He was an "eat to live" not "live to eat" kind of guy. I took this as a challenge. Our second date was Steve's first time eating sushi. I didn't go easy on him either. Remember, I was poor, so I was not going to waste a night at a sushi restaurant on California rolls and cooked sushi. I ordered raw fish, octopus, and eel. He was a total gamer. After my success with the sushi, I began to order from the Armenian restaurant down the street from where I lived. Within a week we had knocked down tabbouleh salad, grilled lamb, and my beloved Avgolemono. He wasn't scared yet, in fact, he loved it! I cooked with whole grains, and fresh herbs. He began enjoying food. Together we discovered a seafood restaurant, literally half in the water, half on the shore, that printed new menus everyday, to accommodate the haul, and seasonal produce. He could no longer say he was not a foodie.

In spite of Steve's great palate, and open mind about food, I still did most of the cooking in the early part of our marriage. After the birth of Katie, I was instructed by my very forceful midwife to do nothing but care for the baby for at least two weeks. That meant my handsome one was doing all the cooking for the family. To complicate things, I was nursing the baby, so I couldn't eat anything gas producing, dairy, anything spicy, garlic, or chocolate. Sigh, just thinking about it makes me sad. (Sorry Naise, and Burpykitty, I know I get no sympathy;) I am just not a big fan of food restrictions ) What followed were two weeks of the blandest, saddest food to ever grace plates. We ate boxed mashed potatoes, chicken cutlets, and soggy mixed vegetables, every night.

Shortly after the bland food debacle, Steve taught himself how to cook. He picked the cook books with the most pictures, and the most precise instructions, and he learned how to make sauces from scratch. He perfected grilling, and mastered several potato recipes. From there he went on to becoming innovative, creative, and daring. It did not take long for him to cook as well as I do. If that sounds a little boastful, I don't mean it to. I can cook well, but it's okay, cause I suck at almost everything else.

Food has continued to play a big role in our relationship. Some of my favorite nights are "date nights". We feed the kids early and send them upstairs. Then we pour a glass of wine, and take our time making a gourmet meal, complete with appetizers, or at least, a cheese tray. These are time we go all out, making slow cooking reduction sauces, or trying a new recipe for the first time, preferably one our kids would hate. We take our time, laughing, and talking and flirting. We usually eat by candlelight, and we usually end up sharing with the pajama clad ones who just can't manage to stay upstairs once the dinner is on our plates. Unfortunately the kids never hate

what we have made.

We have made it a point to make food a big part of family life too, not just couple life. We are teaching or have taught all the kids how to cook. We don't dumb down food for them. We serve strong cheese, and spice everything up. We serve vegetables and salads and expect them to be eaten.

Brillat-Savarin said, "Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you who you are." If that is true of Steve and me, then this is who we are.

One exotic, left of center, eating for pleasure girl, added to one steadfast, no frills, eating for sustenance boy, added together to create one curious, creative, and nourished family.

What should I write?

I have three, no, really, four novels that I have started writing. I have not added one word to any of them since before Thanksgiving. I don't know which one to commit to finishing. Sigh. It hangs over my head whenever I do anything. I always think I should be writing. I could concentrate on freelance stuff, (magazine articles and marketing materials) but then I think I will never finish a novel. The other consideration is my commitment to pleasing God. That does not necessarily mean Christian themed books, just not offensive to God. I don't care about offending people. Here they are in the order I started writing them.

1) A young boy(14) with an overbearing mother who uses religion as an excuse for all sorts of bad behavior like not cleaning the house, because she is praying on the phone with people, or being mean to her husband because he isn't a Christian. She is extremely judgemental and legalistic. When the boy starts falling for the neighbor girl, it causes big problems.

2) A girl (16) living in the worst part of downtown Las Vegas, with her ex-prostitute dying of alcoholism mother, deals with life by being extremely tough and isolated. She meets a big, slightly goofy guy, who is a truly good guy, and who truly loves her. He waits patiently as she experiences what she has to in order to realize she loves him.

3) Girl (13) discovers she is from a long line of people with magical powers. They are a secret group of people, and she deals with her responsibility concerning this discovery.

I am leaving out the fourth plot line because it just isn't going to happen right now.

On another note.

My Best Friend is in Georgia. This is nice for my best friend, yummy Southern food, new adventures, a house with views for days, not so nice for me. When she lived in Las Vegas, I could hop in a car and be at her door in four hours flat. I didn't do it all the time, but I could have. Now I can't. I didn't expect it to be a big deal, but it is. I miss her terribly.

Happy 2009

It is the end of winter break. We have continued to grow and change as a family. Tomorrow is the beginning of the real challenge. Can I please God with my actions? How can I give my kid' education the time it needs, pursue my writing career, and apply myself to the study of God's word? Oh yeah, and train the dogs, and lose 40 pounds.

I have made a New Year's Resolution. I resolve to be less judgemental. I resolve to let no unwholesome speech come out of my mouth. I apologize to those of you that so enjoy gossiping with me. I am taking the year off. As far as the unwholesome speech, obviously I am going to have to quit book club. I can not be wholesome and be around those heathens.

Of course I am kidding. I love those girls. I am just going to have to work on not dropping F-bombs.

I am so excited about the coming year. I always am. Some years have been unbelievably great, (1994, 1997 2002,) and some have been almost too difficult to bear, (1995, 2001, 2008) but come January I am always optimistic. I am old enough to look to the coming year with a little trepidation, but I am more excited about the prospects that are in my future.