The Saints, that's who...

My paternal grandmother is the little girl in this picture, probably from around 1924 or so...

Yes, there was a football game yesterday, not only all-day hype. The best part was who won. The second best part was how exciting of a game was played!!

My paternal grandfather, an unknown man, my great-grandmother and my aunt, 1930's...

New Orleans has a football team, the Saints, and they went to their first Super Bowl yesterday and beat the Indianapolis Colts 31-17. The game was far closer than the score suggests, the Saints down 10-0 at one point. A second half on-side kicked recovered by New Orleans turned the game around, and when Indy QB Peyton Manning threw an interception with a few minutes left, that was all she wrote.

Great-grandparents on my dad's side in 1944...

Yes, some writing will sneak into this post. I'm nearly done with the current WIP, but took yesterday off to carouse with family, my parents coming down for the big game. We had a great breakfast at The Country Way in Fremont, then hit a farmer's market, then went home, turned on the telly, and were inundated with five hours of pre-game coverage.

The three girls in the center are my two aunts in the back and my grandmother in the center, around 1924...

I worried that over saturation might dull the game, but no, it was a great contest, close, thrilling, some fab plays (That on-side kick will live be hailed for ages!) and guts, oh my goodness did
those teams, both of them, show guts.

Now it's 1943, the sisters a little older. This was taken on my great-grandparents wedding anniversary, my grandmother on the far right.

And now, it's over. Zip, bang, wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am, the 2009 NFL season is closed. Baseball comes next, my mom's fave sport, but those of us root-pigskin-or-die types have to wait until August for preseason, September for the real thing.

And here they are about ten, maybe 12 years down the road. My grandmother (on the left) was at least a decade, maybe more like 12 years younger than her eldest sister (in the center), their middle sis (on the right) not far behind the eldest.

So, in the meantime, there's writing...

1943; the family on the great-grandparents front lawn. My grandfather is kneeling on the left.

I've been plugging away on Two Dans (not sure if I want an article in there) for a bit now, and the chipping process is nearly complete. One chapter tomorrow, and she's toast.

Then probably some editing. There's always editing!

Great-grandma in 1915; she's already had two of her three daughters.

Right now I'm feeling sort of loopy. Not from New Orleans' big win, but because I woke at 3.15 AM to use the loo and never went back to sleep. Maybe a cuppa would be nice.

Great-grandma in 1952, heading to a lodge function!

My other side project? Going through old pics. So in that spirit, scattered throughout the post are some family photos. It so makes me wish I'd spoken more to my paternal grandmother when she was living, to find out just what made these people tick! That some of these photos are coming on one hundred years old is humbling. I'm so grateful for their love of photography!

treats and solid blocks of time

First I need to thank Cassie for an award, Prolific Blogger, of which at times I am, and at others I'm caught up in various activities and might not post for a few days. Ta love, and I'll get to that nitty gritty in a few...

So, solid blocks of time (more treats below!)... The last two days Jay has had the mornings off, as the sophomore class at her school has been testing, some California requirement that they pass a state-wide test to graduate. She didn't have to be there until noon, so I had all morning without interruption to just sit and pound the keyboard. It was GREAT! So soothing to not get into my car and fight (a very small bit of) traffic. Instead I made Bob's PBJ's, then saw him off, got my shower and breakfast, made the tea, and got to work.

Jay's not a late sleeper like Thea, and was up and about both mornings by eight. But she's quiet, not in the way, and even this AM, with some of her friends around for chocolate chip pancakes, I just popped in the ear buds, put on some Cannonball Adderly, and got to work. Plenty has been written the last two days, making me feel accomplished. Tomorrow will be back to the grind, but the last two mornings have been a nice change, for her and me both!

That was one treat, Cassie's award another. I'm to link to some bloggers of whom I'm awfully fond. I hit their blogs as often as I can, enjoying wisdom, hilarity, writing support and just the tidbits that make up our lives as authors. And bloggers, which is at times a task unto itself. So below are some of my fave blogs, in no particular order...

Debs-Daydreams in the Shed- An Englishwoman's life as a writer, her shed in which she writes and Grumpy, her lovely four-legged pal...

Get On With It- Another British author who also has a dog, and an agent, well done Karen!

The Paper Tiger- A fellow Californian who also loves football and not only has an agent, but her first novel, Rock Paper Tiger is coming out this year! Go Lisa!

The Leila Soliloquy- Lelia is in New Zealand, pens YA fiction and has a brilliant sense of humour, plus shares keen pics of her hols!

Everyday Inklings- Sarah's in the American Midwest, writes amidst all the snow they receive and her adorable little girls who keep their mum on her toes!

Julie K. Rose- Another Californian and ABNA'er who writes fab fiction as well as offering incredible words from the ages!

A Creative Writer in Progress- Judy is in the American south, offers a short story nearly every week and is a lovely lady full of inspiration!

Just some blogs I enjoy, from all levels of the spectrum, and all over the globe. Plus there is the aforementioned Miss Cassie, also in New Zealand who blogs about writing, her burgeoning family and that which floats in her midst. One of the things I love most about reading blogs is a sense of this rather large, at times unmanageable planet shrunk down into daily, bite-sized pieces, learning tidbits from all over. It's a crazy life, this of writing, but the people who fill it are incredible souls. To those above, and the rest, thanks for providing such great bits to read and enjoy!


As a special treat, here's a gooey mess of heaven that Bob and I shared recently. No, we didn't eat it all (Most of it, I'll admit!) and if there was some way to send it out, I'd do it. In lieu of that, consider it shared the best way, calorie-free!

watermelon poetry

So right now I'm writing, and it feels really good. Satisfying, as words trip along, forming sentences and paragraphs. I love that sensation, setting pieces of language together like a puzzle, and the way it flows moves ideas and plot, characterizations and nuances throughout a story that springs from who knows where.

When I read novels I love to feel that enter my brain, that care and craft with vocabulary that could be dry, misplaced, tripping over itself. Instead when I read well-written prose I feel gifted, as if my eyes have been laid upon a treasure within pages.

Then, there is the moment when prose moves into poetry.

Right now I'm reading In Watermelon Sugar, by Richard Brautigan. It is one of my favorite books, a story of a man who lives in a commune called iDEATH and the interesting things that occur in his realm. Watermelons are raised and there's a trout hatchery, and every day the sun is a different color. The watermelons are different colors too, and one day, Wednesday or Thursday I believe, is a soundless day, and the watermelons are particularly sweet, and of course soundless.

One the pleasures of reading this book is that it's short, with small chapters. There are three parts, and today I read the second. Tomorrow I'll read the last.

What I love about it the most is how, to me, it's really one long poem. A very long poem, or a very abbreviated novel, but I like to think of it more as a poem for how the language moves. It reads like a novel, except that to me, in my head, it translates as poetry. The way words are used, repeated, placed; all like verse set as prose.

The copy I have is very old. I had it back in high school, and for all the books I've lost, mislaid or just given away, this one remains. It's the oldest book I have, written in 1968. Not the earliest published book I have, but my oldest owned novel.

I reread it from time to time when it strikes me, how in pouring through a much loved story fills your heart, and the older I am, the more it hits me, the poetry-like aspects as well as the story.

Sometimes I feel bad that I don't read enough new material, that perhaps I'm not getting enough outward influences. But life is short, like this book, and I won't apologize for reading this book again. It's short, one reason. The second is how pleasing it is to my eyes, my soul.

All the books in the world might make be a better writer, but few are the ones that reach me, touch me, make me long to write that sort of manuscript.

It's a gift, one for which I'm so thankful to Mr. Brautigan. He's been gone a good number of years, dying right after I graduated high school, but his words live years past that date, as does the idea of watermelontroutoil, The Forgotten Works and Old Chuck, still lighting the lanterns even though he was well past ninety years old.

And the Tigers. Don't forget the Tigers.

simple pleasures

First off, J.D.Salinger died today, aged 91. I read Catcher in the Rye AGES ago, recently reread Nine Stories, which is fantastic. I can't recommend it highly enough, nine short stories that resonate with incredible imagery and terrific power.

I came home from the write-in to that news, Bob right on my heels, then Jay. It's not quite four in the afternoon, all three of us here, doing our thing. Bob's transferring music, I'm blogging, Jay's in her room, probably texting or on the laptop. That's our life, at least for the next few months, until she graduates, and goes her own way...

In the meantime, simple pleasures are the way. I thought about that this morning, getting my breakfast, in that I opened a new box of Grape Nuts yesterday, and today's cereal wasn't Grape Nuts dust, but actual small kernels of cereal. Along with some bran flakes, it's what I eat every morning.

Like I have a cream cheese bagel most days for lunch; nothing fancy, just some food I enjoy. Breakfast is the same 360 days out of the year, in that we rarely go out for that meal, and on Christmas morning I do enjoy a cinnamon roll. Otherwise it's Grape Nuts and bran flakes with a LOT of milk. Half a glass of cranberry juice, then copious cups of tea. That ubiquitous toasted bagel for lunch, sometimes sesame, blueberry, mixed berry or plain always with a generous slathering of plain cream cheese, then dinner is whatever we're having. Tonight it's bacon, eggs, toast, breakfast at 5.30 PM. Nothing complicated, just simple moments that make up my life.

The write-in was a treat, in that I've missed the last, well, many. Haven't made it to Barefoot Coffee Roasters on a Thursday afternoon since 2009, ha ha. The middle of December, if I remember, and it's been that long. I chatted with the folks, mostly all we did was jaw. A little work was accomplished, but otherwise it was good java, lovely people, some talk of the work, plenty of chat about life. As I drove home, the sun was shining, palm trees in my view, one motorcycle cop having pulled a car off to the left, but I sped along in the fast lane, seeing my surroundings, the Bay Area (Southern part), huge freeways, massive hills to the east, cloud-fringed blue sky above. With all the rain and cloud, our usual sunny horizon has been muted, and to see it from behind the steering wheel of my car was a treat, as I've been cooped in the house working, not getting to the write-in, but enjoying a fresh box of Grape Nuts.

What really struck me as I wound my way along the motorway was that this felt like home, sun and lofty palm trees, California license plates and older vehicles. Just the whole, overall sense of being at one with this place, an area in which I did not grow up, but still, California means sun, bright blue skies, they don't call it the Golden State for nothing. It's not my place of birth, this southern Bay Area, more of an adoptive home, where one of my children was born, where I've lived since returning from the UK for coming on three years now! Where I've become a writer, a real writer if I do say so myself, and where I now dwell.

For the first time in a very LONG time, this place felt like home. My home, mine.

For years England has felt like home, Yorkshire, the entire island! I may not have been born there, but I had spent a quarter of my life, turned into a different person there, who I am now. I started writing there, fell in love with tea, HIGNIFY, Top Gear, Dr. Who, Wimbledon and the BBC News. It was so ingrained in me that when we came back to America, I felt so displaced, even with our base being California. It was where I was from, but not this part of the state. I'm from the REAL Nor Cal.

But maybe this is me, this conflagration of freeways and cites surrounding a huge metropolis, San Jose dwarfing all around it. Over one million people, a giant towering over various other cities barely topping one hundred fifty thousand. San Jose sits, a sprawling accumulation of old town, new suburbs, middling neighborhoods, all stitched together and lying along hills to the east, buffered by cities and mountains to the west.

Today I drove along freeways, motorways in the UK. I still say petrol, pronounce tomato sans the long A, ache for British carrots and commercial-free television. But I don't miss the perpetual gray skies, the cold, short winter days or tiny parking spaces. I still refer to it as a car park, but parking lot sneaks in occasionally. And what I wouldn't give for a proper TEA HOUSE!!! Oh my goodness if only one real English tea house existed here in the Bay Area.

But no matter. Betty's celebrates 100 years in 2019. I'll go back definitely for that. In the meantime I have some lovely British tea sitting in a tin in my kitchen. A simple pleasure, but so meaningful, and I think it's time to have a cuppa.


Not sure what J.D. Salinger would think, but I'll have a cup, and maybe tonight pull out Nine Stories, read one. Then be glad for what I have, family, words, tea and sun. Small things, but oh how blessed I am to have them!

Monday morning noveling

And a little quarterbacking too, as the NFC and AFC championships were played yesterday. More about that in a few. First, it's back to work...

After two months of a non-writing holiday, today I got back on the horse, and it felt good. A tiny bit rusty, but within an hour the words were coming, and by the end of the chapter, it felt right. Nice. A bit light, frothy, at least at this first stage. On the outside it's some innocent chick lit, nothing overly heavy. A lot about the roommates' cat, one heavily based upon my parent's feline, a Fluffy who lives up to her name, both in reality and fiction. That came out of NOWHERE, only an example of how when the writing starts, even with a plan, you just never know what's next!

I got a slightly belated start, only because I had to chat with the gal from the pest control. We have ants in our bathroom, not an infestation, but even a few are more than I like. The exterminator will come tomorrow for a look round, and that took up time just as the manuscript was getting off the ground. I had maybe one paragraph written, and then had to sort out maintenance, etc. Seems many pest control companies here in the Bay Area want to sign you up for extended sessions. Hmmm... Sounds a bit over the top, but probably will be fine, as we'll have this one visit, then three more. Then it's up to US to call them and cancel. Uh-huh. As long as the ants disappear, okay.

Then in the quiet that is a house with only myself, the words emerged. Not a huge, weighty story, but a tale nonetheless, and writing feels so good, getting out expressions, finding characters turning into flesh. I've been at this a while now, my third full year, and while I've moved away from starting at the beginning of a month, this is a new week, one that sees January nearly over. How is that possible? I know I've been busy with editing and such, playoff games and a few colds scattered about, but January is almost done! We've had lovely rain, precipitation that fills dry reservoirs, softening the ground that now sports a new lilac bush and two more roses. Bob loves to garden, he also planted more daffodils. What he did over the weekend while I scurried about sorting other bits. Now it's Monday and he's at work, Jay to school, me to a novel. A new story, idea, scenes, plots, and what is it about setting words to a screen, fingers on keys, more than blogging. I love to blog, but writing a STORY takes invention, creative notions beyond blabbing about gardens, football and the weather. Sometimes I feel like writing is easier than it should be, sometimes it's far more difficult. In editing for the past two weeks, I realized something that I didn't know when this began. When I started writing, I had no CLUE as to the amount of work that comes AFTER the novel is done. A first draft is a treasure, no doubt, but the reworking of the words that follows...

Like another world! Like taking yourself and picking it apart, putting it back close, but it will never resemble the previous state. Like aging perhaps? I'm the same as I was ten years ago by my genetic code, but oh so different!

Anyway, getting away from myself a bit, or the topic at hand, which is starting a new novel. But I can't help thinking that one day these words springing forth will be under a hammer of sorts, maybe not to the intense scrutiny of a contest manuscript, but they'll be altered, changed, pressed and poked into some other form.

Just as what has occurred with the 2009 American football season...

Oh yes, that wasn't going to escape. From thirty-two teams we were down to four as of yesterday noon Pacific Standard Time. By eight last night, two were crowned victors, ready to go head to head in the forty-fourth Super Bowl.

Colts overtook the Jets, while the Vikings and Saints couldn't figure out who wanted to win, blowing into overtime after Minnesota quarterback Brett Farve threw an interception in the last minute. The Vikes were so close to what could have been the game-winning field goal, instead New Orleans took possession first in the fifteen minute overtime period, coming away with a forty yard field goal that will see the Saints in their first ever Super Bowl.

I'm rooting for New Orleans, not a fan of Indianapolis QB Peyton Manning. Plus after what New Orleans has endured, they are due. Their stadium, the Super Dome, housed people fleeing Hurricane Katrina, and yeah, I've a soft spot for something like that. The Colts won three years ago; both teams were undefeated throughout most of the regular season. Now we'll see just who wants it more, who will take the biggest sporting prize this country has to offer. A sport hardly played outside this continent, but like a bank holiday, here it comes in less than two weeks' time.

In the meantime, I have words to write, a contest to put to bed, as the site crashed last night. Once that entry's uploaded, I won't have to ponder ABNA for an entire month.

With a novel, football and the usual wild array of events here my realm, that's FINE with me!

the perfect pitch

An ode to my husband Bob...

Some days are perfect, they just are. Some days are harder than, well, a cement block, but some days are like songs that slip into your ears, sweet, soothing, all you could ever want.

Today was one of those days.

I've been obsessed, yeah, fairly consumed with getting the manuscript for the contest ready. It's been a few crazy days, what with actual wintry weather, rain by the bucket-load and cold temps. I've been stuck in the house, which has been fine, because I've been pouring through chapter after chapter, fixing this, changing that, making shredding into shedding, contact into contract, this into his. That sort of thing, plus a little extra, moving phrases, eliminating a few sentences. This last round has been more than I planned, especially since this is the last go-round. Entries begin at nine PM our time on Sunday here on the West Coast, and I'll be putting this baby to bed that night, wanting it out of my hands, into theirs. There's two weeks to enter, or until they reach 5K for each of the categories, general literature and young adult. I feel like gen lit will fill up before young adult, and I'm ready to be done with all this prep work. It's been a few insane weeks of editing the MS, writing the pitch and synopsis, reworking the bio I submitted last year. The pitch has been my biggest headache, in that it's the first piece they'll look at, and only twenty percent go through to the next round. No matter how nifty my manuscript is, if the pitch bites, it won't matter.

So a pitching I have been, with big thanks to Julie, Lisa and Steph, and of course, my better half. Bob's been giving it a look, even when he was feeling crummy, even though he'll never read any of my novels unless he was trying to save his own skin. He's not into fiction, especially not my angsty style. But because he loves me, he's been a tremendous sport, reading over my pitch at every stage, and today, I think it's done. I'd been struggling with the end, wanting to finish it on a high note, a bang. One piece was missing, then this morning I considered one last idea, and today, between chapter edits, I pulled up that document, threw it on, then asked Bob for his opinion.

Why I love that man, not only for his impeccable taste in music, his handsome face or his sterling wit. But also because he takes the moment to help me, humor me, offer the words that escape my brain, but are waiting for me in his.

He whirled around, as we're only two feet from each other in the computer nook, read the highlighted text, thought it was good, then conjured a phrase that squared away my pitch.

Cultural inevitability.

That was it! But not only was that the end of the pitch, it was all I needed to know that it was done, that it was the best it could be. I'd been sitting with it in a nearly finished state for a few days, but aware in my gut it wasn't 100%. 85 maybe, 87. Pretty good, maybe good enough to make it to the second round. Maybe. But not for sure.

After my hubby's assistance, those words, cultural inevitability, there it was. It was done (except for some minor tinkering that has already occurred, and will probably continue between now and the next 25 hours and 47 minutes). Done as in it's the best pitch for this manuscript, and if it goes through, yeah! And if it doesn't, I gave it my best shot, and that's fine too.

Without getting too mushy or overly emotional, afterwards I shed a few tears. Partly due to the #@%&* of a pitch being done, but more for the man sitting next to me, listening to Freezepop. That he patiently supports me, reading over and over a query that has to do with topics he'd never care to investigate in a million years, but for ME he does it. He sits and reads and offers his view, gently and without any teasing.

Well, a little teasing, but only a little. Enough that tells me he takes me seriously, even though it's really all sort of ridiculous. Marthe and Kell's hoo haa is fairly over the top, but to my husband, what I do is important, meaningful to me.

And because it means something to me, it means something to him too. Not at all the same, but then most of the music he listens to I find inane, but that's his thing, his pleasure. As writing is mine.

When all those pieces are allotted their proper moment, then it washes over me, as it did this morning. Jay was gone, on a sleepover, and in the quiet of our house, Plastic Stars playing in the background, he only held me, a small emotional outburst needing to be acknowledge. Yeah, I want to participate in this contest to my fullest potential. Not sure if I'll get as far as last year, but if nothing else, I want to give it my best shot. Not because I'm expecting to reach those upper echelons, only because it was a blast, once the entries were sorted.

This part, the prep work, oi! Stressful and overwhelming. Once I get this baby into the system, then a deep breath will be taken, another book started. That's Monday's call, a new novel in the works. Just what I'll need, no sorting pitches or editing, only letting the brain spin a new tale, free and without borders.

But this day was necessary to get this work done, but more in taking stock of what remains, when the writing is gone. The ones that support, love, foster and stand beside, offering words, embraces, Kleenexes. This post is for that man, the one I love, the one who puts up with me, the one who is sitting right now watching old American football, Super Bowl 3. But earlier today he was in my corner, literally, letting me have my moment.

Maybe Joe Namath called that victory in 1969, but tonight all I know it that my pitch is ready (give or take a word or three), and it's all because of my lovely, steadfast, better half. No matter what comes of ABNA 2010, Bob's with me for good, bless his heart!

R.I.P. Jean Simmons 1929-2010

sometimes I am the biggest idiot

And please, while things turned out all right, do not try this at home!

So yesterday I took a road trip, time for Thea to go north, back to her college abode. I was accompanied not only by said eldest daughter, but by youngest daughter and her boyfriend. Jay has been seeing Bakery Guy since before Christmas, and as they were both off with MLK Day, it was going to be a bunch of us traveling in the poor weather, a cluster of storms waiting off the coast of California, and thank you El Nino! We need this rain more than I need to write another book, way more, and while the spray coming off various Nor Cal freeways was appalling, we were off on time, a little past eight in the morning. I had tea in my cup holder, Thea had all her possession, and the happy couple were in the back, snug due to all the laundry, now clean, that Thea had hauled down before Christmas.

Then, more than halfway in, I asked Thea if my purse was down by her feet, where I stash it. I can't even remember what I wanted, Carmex probably, and her reply of no it wasn't there struck me.

When we were readying to leave, I placed the main items in the front; cell phone, iTouch for tunes, a fiver for the bridge in case due to the holiday the car pool lane wasn't applicable. Also that travel mug of tea, and then it was one more goodbye to Bob, staying home not due to the holiday but a bad cold. I gave him a kiss on his cheek, heard more snorking from his stuffed head, then went through the door, to my car, off to the north land.

Leaving my purse, wallet, and that Carmex at home...

I drove over four hundred miles yesterday sans drivers license. Now, maybe I shouldn't even be relaying this, probably not the smartest thing, but as today's title imparts, I'm not always the sharpest pencil in the box.

Once we knew this, a few nervous chuckles were offered, then a long sigh. WAY too far down the road to turn back, and it was only a matter of the two kids with plastic (Not Jay, not yet!) to pony up for lunch and petrol. I really only had five bucks on me, besides the important things, phone, MP3 player, tea. Yeah, I had those, but had left my license, cash, quarters for Bud for his burgeoning laundry and of course a plastic card of my own all back in my sung, safe home.

I have never felt so naked while fully clothed, not in my entire life!

Thea understood, said that's how she feels when her phone isn't handy. I snorted, I'm sure I did, because a cell is pretty minuscule when compared to one's ID, cash, etc. I did tell her that while no offense was meant, I was really looking forward to getting home that night without the specter of a traffic citation hanging round my neck. She agreed, and it was a matter of setting the cruise for seventy MPH, the legal limit on I-505 and I-5, and just driving as sanely as I ever have before.

We visited with my folks, then picked up Bud, the rain coming down in buckets! He found my situation slightly humorous, and at lunch we met up with my sister Lynn, who also had a laugh. Thea paid for lunch, that kind girl, then we did some grocery shopping, so she'd have something to contribute to her shared domicile. Bud also picked up a few bits, and I walked around with my sister, chatting and trying to put from my head my incredible faux pas.

Exiting the store, the rain had quit, a blessing, and we took home foodstuffs. I popped in on a good friend, then Bud and I took care of the petrol, he with the funds, me with the pump handle. By then some spitting rain was falling, all that was left was to get frozen yogurt.

A tab of which my friend Dearheart kindly picked up. We sat, all six of us, stories aplenty, me still wondering how in the world I could have blithely left my wallet at home! And a day later, I'm still not sure, other than to say it was an exercise of faith, of accepting that which is out of my hands, like SO many other things.

And like all things, good and otherwise, they end. Soon it was time to hit the road, albeit at a far slower pace than I usually drive. Hugs were distributed, then Jay, Bakery Guy and I said goodbye, getting back on the road for a three-hour tour.

Not of Gilligan's ilk, only mile after mile on darkened roads, sometimes slick with rain, but not as soggy as that morning. It was a quiet drive, the kids snoozing in the back seat as I pondered my day. Again keeping my speed at the limit, and occasionally Jay would pipe up, asking if I saw the lightning to the right, coming over hills from the Pacific Ocean. I never did see that light show, nor any cops! We stopped in Fairfield for some In 'N Out Burger, then back on the road, somewhat busy for the time, nearly nine at night. Bob texted that he was still awake, and when we pulled into the driveway at almost ten PM, the garage door was opened so we wouldn't step on any snails lying in wait along the front sidewalk.

When I got in, there was my purse sitting in the wicker basket upon the bench seat just past the kitchen. All was well, I'd not gotten a ticket, and we were home, having not even crushed a snail! Not then, but Jay did a bit later, saying goodnight to her man. She squealed, leaving her boots outside. By then I was in PJ's, ready to fall into bed, ready to just give thanks for fortuitous situations when I may not be the brightest crayon in the container, but at least I'm watched over by grace.

And with that, back to the editing. There's a contest for which to prepare, and yesterday gave me some perspective. Nothing's set in stone, but that's not always a bad thing. No matter what comes, there is a new day, starting with rain, right now the sun sparking!

And whew! I drove for over 7 hours unlicensed and live to tell the tale...