Sharing a Laugh...

Real Life is not winning a Power ball Ticket. But I bought one anyway. There’s a hefty number of shrinks who will tell us all that “it’s gambling”, “it’s the thrill of it”, etc. that keeps us buying those little orange tickets. I would agree with most of that over-analyzing, but I don’t feel guilty for falling prey to the hype of winning a billion dollars.

My Mom and I sat in a Chinese restaurant last week and made a pack to buy two tickets using our the numbers from our recently opened fortune cookies. We would split the billion in half. We shook on it. Sounds relatively innocuous for a lunch time topic, but what ensued after that was far from our normal days together.

We laughed. And laughed again. And again – coming up with all the things we were going to do with our winnings. My Mom and I used to laugh all the time over silly things, but as we have both aged, it doesn’t seem to happen that we act like high school freshman, giggling and belly-laughing at our own humor. Ours was an irreverent humor that we shared, laced with sarcasm and cynicism, often totally ridiculous and usually not PC.

If I listed all the things she said, you would probably yawn…it was clearly one of those moments where “ya had to be there” to laugh now. As we were driving over the bridge to Marysville, she dead panned “I know, I’ll buy Marysville”.  If you grew up in Marysville, a town surrounded by a levy system that is stagnating because of  it’s non-growth and old school politics, you’d get how funny that was.  At another point in the car, she told me that even if we one $4 dollars, she wanted her half…because she needed some stamps. I was dying! I told her for a million bucks I would manage her money for her, which sent her off into a coughing fit. And I reminded her that when she croaked, I would still get more money that she did, as I would inherit my "daughter's" share of her estate.

It wasn’t so much the notion that we had a snowball’s chance in hell of winning, it’s that it was a “good” day.  Mom is soon to be 91 and she said that day that she’s starting to “feel” old. We have our shopping days together every two weeks, and usually talk about innocuous things. I bring her up to speed with the going-on with the kids and their families, etc. 

She’s from a different era than I, lived in the country the better part of her whole life. We have the typical mother-daughter issues that I have spent years trying to overcome. I pretty much avoid the tricky topics (I leave those to Dave who adores his occasional porch-side political chats with her). I guess I hadn’t realized that we hadn’t laughed a lot together in years like we used to...until we laughed together over Power Ball. The price of the ticket was worth it.

It was a good day. Even if we didn’t win.

Two More Shopping Days 'til Doomsday...

You gotta love the Internet...I get some of my best belly laughs and worst frustrations reading some of the nonsense in the social media. Despite the hoopla surrounding the Winter Solstice and the impending end of the world, my more rational and spiritual sides say I'm still going to be around for 2013.

I'm not much of a resolution kind of girl, but in light of the fact that the Mayan Calender WILL just keep plugging along, I asked the hubby what he wanted to do in 2013.  I always ask these kinds of deep questions when he's trapped in the car, driving somewhere, as every woman knows that's when you get your best responses. Despite their pretense of concentrating on the jerk who just cut them off, they ARE thinking about what you said and trying to figure out a way to answer without getting in a full scale assault. This time, my question was rather banal, so for him, it was easy: 'build the outdoor cabinet around my Green Egg". He didn't say 'golf more' or fish more', as that is a given.


"What about you?", he asks. Yeah Baby, that's what I'm talking about. We all know that we women ask those kinds of questions because what we really want is to answer our own questions. But even as I asked him, I wasn't really sure if I knew what I wanted to do in 2013.  After a mile or two down the street, I said 'I guess I want more of the same.'  Yeah, more of the same, but more of it. And maybe more "better" too...

* More good times with friends. I love my little social groups - the knitting ladies, the book club ladies, the foodie ladies, the sewing ladies. I love my Monday Night Friends, my spiritual rocks.

 

* More knitting. They say there's a hobby for every person depending on your personality type...over thinkers, like me should knit. It must be true, I read it on the Internet.  Seriously, it must be true, as it's pretty hard to worry about your IRA account when you're counting YOs, K1 P2s. More lace!

* Cheaper (and better) wine. Just knowing that I found a good cab in Costco for $8.99 brings a smile to my face. Who doesn't like the BevMo $.05 cent sale?

* More short day trips. Exploring our region is always gratifying...it pretty in Central California with lots of little towns left unvisited, country roads to be discovered, small shops to find.

 

* More lunches out. Eating good food is an important facet of my retirement life. Dave collects write-ups in the paper about restaurants and cuisines and saves them in a folder.  When we are looking for something to do, we go to the folder and pick a place to try.

* More (and better?) serving. I LOVE my sewing ministry for Dress a Girl Around the world, so more of that! Perhaps finding another way to serve in my community...

* More of the same things that made me smile in 2012. Sitting by the fire, watching good television programming (could we get some of that, please?), sewing a nice outfit for Colette, finishing a sweater, cooking a great meal, loving my grandchildren and enjoying our family traditions.

Yep, just more of the same in 2013. Okay, maybe I could lose some weight...and get more excerise...maybe we could re-do the hallway floor...what about new carpet? Finish the Art Quilt?? A trip to Europe?? Cruise????

If by chance the psychos are right about December 21st, my shopping IS done.

What are you doing in 2013???

Laurel. I'm still here.  You?

Account Rep Failure (ARF)

Sales is a tough business. From Real Estate to Cars to Jewelry to Pharmaceuticals, there are certain methodologies that are tried and true if you are going to be successful.  Ask any person who makes there living selling - it doesn't matter what the commodity or service is, you have to know your client and know how to close the deal.

For two years back in the early eighties I sold girls. Okay, I'm exaggerating slightly, but I was a sales representative for Kelly Services, the largest temporary staffing company in the nation at the time (they used to be called "Kelly Girls")  I had just gotten a divorce, had two young children and never held a real sales job of any substance. My initial interview for a Placement Supervisor ended in a bust, as I had no office experience, but several weeks later I was called in for another interview for an Account Representative position. "I think you'll be good at it", my future boss said. "The starting salary is over $12,000 a year."  I was beside myself...$1,000 a month...holy cow, I'm rich and who needs a man!

As an Account Rep for Kelly, my job was to develop new business for our pool of talented men and women, stepping into positions within the client company on a temporary basis. I would make appointments with executives, line managers and HR professionals at companies in the area, telling and selling the benefits of using temporary staffing. And as a good sales rep, I also kept our current clients happy and feeling valued.  However, the majority of my day was cold calling and on site drop in calls...sort of like door knocking.  At the end of the day I would have to record my calls and visits on little 3X5 cards for my Manager's perusal...and approval.

One Monday afternoon, I wrote on a note card representing the last call of my day:

ARF.

Account Rep Failure!

"That's it?" my boss inquired. "What the heck does that mean?" The note card was for a big company that I had been calling on for over 6 months to no avail.

"Let me explain," I managed. "Though Kelly might classify my call as a colossal failure, I think I got the account!"

I had walked into the lobby for the umpteenth time and asked for the HR guy - I'll call him Joe.  For some reason, the little receptionist actually gives Joe a call and miraculouosly he agrees to come out into the lobby to meet me face to face.  He was all smiles as he walked up to shake my hand, and I am beside myself, excited to win him over with my charm and knowlege of our services.  I had worn my best suit that day and in my head I'm thinking that I looked like this:

Joe is listening intently at my pitch, nodding, agreeing asking me questions. Boy, I think I've finally got him interested after all this time. I'm mentally patting myself on the back, counting my future comissions, yapping on and on about all the good things we can do for his company, and he is still nodding, smiling and agreeing.

We shake hands, I give him my card and promise a follow-up sitdown session to gather all the necessary background information on what his staffing needs might be.  He readily agrees, much to my delight. I walk out of the building practically skipping.  I am on cloud nine. Check me out-I am the number one Kelly Account.... At that very moment, interrupting my jubilant reverie, I happen to look down. Stopped me dead in my tracks - my blouse was unbuttoned to my waist.  My pretty little lace bra was stunning in the sunlight of the parking lot.

To Joe, I probably looked more like this:

Moral of the story: Do whatever you have to do to sell your client, but don't leave home in a blouse that looks like this:



It's a sure ARF if ever there was one.  But hey, I did get the client and the next time I visited Joe to thank him for using Kelly, I wore a turtleneck. My boss and I laughed about my "ARF" for months... I think it became a technical term for future Kelly reps to describe a failed sales call.

Laurel. Be careful not to get too full of yourself...

The "New" Customer Service...

In case you missed this post in 2010:

You all know I love shopping, but I would rather eat dirt than shop for underwear. I would have appreciated a little help on my last bra-buying escapade....not so, little grasshopper:


It is widely accepted in the world of lingerie that you can't hold up D's in a strapless bra. But for those of us who hadn't figured that out yet, we head for the store that houses the largest selection of lacy little pretty "nothings", the Bra Mecca of the Free World, Macy's.

Italians love their underwear!

As we glide up the escalator to the third floor, we are confident that somewhere in the maze of wall displays and spinning racks of Wacaols, Maidenforms, and Lilyettes, we will find some kind of structural underpinnings to enhance our menopausal figure. And because taking off your clothes in a 2 X 3 foot mirrored closet is abhorrent to most women, we have put off this fun shopping experience to the very last minute. We need that bra NOW, TODAY.


Remember when department stores actually had people to help you find what you came looking for? Macy's used to be known for their customer service years ago, but somewhere in the shrinking economy, point-of-sale computers, and people who won't work for minimum wage any more, finding help is like looking for water in the Sahara. Yea, I know..."go to Nordstrom - they will even fit you!" Nordstrom, however, is 8 miles away and we don't have time...and surely in the middle no less than 3,598 bras, we can find one over the shoulder boulder holder that will work.

After about 20 minutes of wandering aimlessly and combing through the AA's and B's, pads and foams, wires and straps, a sweet little sales lady bearing at least 50 bras dangling from her arms and around her neck asks in broken English if we need help. Upon explaining our frustration with finding sizes, we are dismayed to learn that she will have to go to her computer to see if we have one "that big"...which of course is 100 yards across the department. She totters off and we dive back in. By the time she comes back we have already located the one and only D in that model, which she sweetly verifies. Thanks.

So into the Hall of Mirrors we go, armed with our selections. And because strapless bras must fall down all the time (we don't know this, because we've never owned one), they are made with all kinds of weird feeling rubber and heavy duty elastic bands that look like they would hold up the spans on the Bay Bridge. Getting into one, much less than getting it hooked is a feat that would make even Houdini cringe. While wrestling the thing off the hanger, amid groans and deep breaths, elbows banging on the closet, another little sales lady knocks on the door..."are we okay??" We ask for a bigger size, but to our dismay, she is only the hanger-upper of all castoffs left in the dressing rooms. We put on our clothes again and forge out onto the floor again. This process goes on and on and on...four, maybe five trips back and forth to the closet.

It's a miracle! We find one that will hold up our voluptuous figure. Frazzled and tired we head for the "Customer Service" counter for our purchase. "Oh, you found one", she exclaims giddily. Yes, and thanks again for your help. "Can I put that on your card?" Just coming off the heels of a bad card experience in Sears at the other end of the Mall, we are not inclined to drag out our plastic again. "No, a check". Who said that? A check?

Not having written a check in 10 years, we assume that it just as easy as it used to be and she should be able to handle it quickly. Write the amount, sign, show ID, and you're out of there, strapless D's in hand. Not so, little grasshopper. Even though the sales associate ( that's what they call them now) can see me - I'm right in front of her - and the picture on the ID even looks like me, and the signature matches my driver's license, and I have 50 other forms of identification and a Macy's account, the computer needs an authorization code to complete the sale, and my sweet little sales lady with less than perfect communication skills must call the giant Macy's Customer Service in the sky.

We are not normally a belligerent person, but we have just spent an hour wrestling bras in a closet, gotten dressed and undressed one too many times, and we are sweaty and already late for an afternoon party (where we plan to wear our new strapless D's). And like Sears down the Mall, the person on the other end of the Customer Service line must have a communication problem, cause neither of these two know what the other was talking about or what to do next. When she finally gets the magic authorization code, she hands us our receipt and proclaims blessings on us for a wonderful "rest of the day" and to "stay cool". But we are still reeling from the entire experience and using our inside voice, we want to know (right NOW!) why the need for the authorization of our personal check. It's only $35 for crying out loud - It's not like we are purchasing the Hope Diamond. "It's for your protection - you know...to make sure you are who you say you are.." Are you kidding? Like she can see us through the phone, honey?

Maybe and 8 mile drive to Nordstrom would have been just as quick. In a bit of irony, we proudly modeled our new purchase under our cute little cami-top, the hubby looks and says..."I don't see a real difference, honey - I thought you looked just fine without it." That is all we need - off with the rubber contraption and let the D's be free!

Laurel. Loving Soma these days...

No Reservations

Lucked out with this one in Italy...

As our road trip gets closer, I'm spending a lot of time planning the stops along the way, pouring over maps and highlighting routes.  I like to write down where I think we'll be each day, how far we will drive, the friends we will visit, the sites we don't want to miss.  And though I have been a careful planner for this little walkabout, some of our most memorable experiences have been when we chose to "fly by the seat of our pants", with no reservations. For the most part, it works well, and we find a nice clean bed in a moderately priced hotel.  Sometimes we even luck out and score an incredible room with a spectacular view.

However, throwing caution to the wind hasn't always worked for me. Even though I like to think of myself as brave and spontaneous, that isn't necessarily honest. I remember my first night in Croatia.  Let me back up.  My friend, a seasoned traveler and native German, told us that it was a snap to find a room in the city of Split where we would be staying overnight before ferrying over to our island destination. I took her word for it, so we made no reservations for that leg of our 30 day adventure.  After all, it was just overnight.

"Here's how it suppose to work," she tells me "You get off the plane, hop on a bus and when you get to town, there will be all these people hawking rooms - you will have no problem finding a place to stay. 'It's very safe'," she assured me. "They are on the Plaza. Oh, and don't forget to get some of the local currency, as Croatia is not in the EU." I twitched, but okay, I can do that.

When you fly over to Split from Rome, the only flight arrives on the mainland at night, a little detail that I hadn't really thought out very well. Keep in mind, this is one of the native languages that I have not studied beforehand, I have no idea where the bus is to take us into Split (the "town") and I have no idea what a Kuna is even worth. In short, I am not prepared, I have not researched this adventure very well, it's pitch black outside and I am now officially in panic mode.

We find what appears to be a money changing machine, and we figure 200 Kunas ought to be enough for the night. We follow the herd of calves to the outside, as they all seem to know how this works. The bus driver throws our bags into the bowels of the exhaust-belching transport and takes all but about 25 of our Kunas.  Evidently, a Kuna isn't worth much. Little beads of sweat start to form on my drying upper lip.

We find a seat behind the driver and start the trip to town.  After about 30 minutes, I'm not only sweating and fidgeting, but I may be hyperventilating. Quietly, of course. Discretely. As the minutes wear on and town is nowhere in sight yet, the reality of my situation has morphed into a full scale anxiety attack on the inside, even as I am still pretending to be a brave, taking everything in stride, being the seasoned traveler. Smiling.

"Are there any hotels along the Plaza," I calmly inquire of the bus driver, not wanting him to see the fear in my eyes. I try to imagine the Plaza: busy...nightlife...people. Safe.

"No, not really," he deadpans in English.

Sweet Jesus, what was I thinking! We have no Kunas, no room, it's midnight, I will be wandering the streets dragging my luggage, we will be trapped in an alley by an axe murderer.  I grab the hubby's hand and he just smiles at me. He's enjoying our "adventure" and I am ready to stroke out!

"Do you need a place to stay?" I hear the driver say in my fog. "I will fix you up, not to worry."

Did I just see him wink at my hubby? He's having fun too! After what seemed like 2 hours, the bus rolls into town, and sure enough, there they are...dozens of little women grabbing at us, offering all manner of sleeping arrangements.  They don't look like axe murderers.  We dutifully stepped off to the side and waited, as the driver had instructed.  Before long, a tall Croatian gentleman approached us after chatting briefly with the driver. Conspiracy? I gather this is our man. He smiles.

"The rate is ----Kunas," he explains, which turns out to be something around 35 Euros. Who cares...WE HAVE NO MONEY! The hubby explains our situation, and he takes us to another Croatian money changing machine just off the Plaza, the key word being "off".  Is this where we are murdered?  But he stands the appropriate distance from us, hands folded, as we do our math and get our Kunas.

He leads us down the narrow streets, through doorways, up stairs, past young locals still partying at a bar.  As we start up the narrow stairs of his apartment/home, he's jabbering on his cell phone. Panic. He tells us he is very "international" tonight...he has a Swedish couple, a Japanese couple and now Americans.  He laughs softly.  'Has' them WHERE? Okay this must be where we are put in a dungeon to rot forever. My kids will never find us! He unlocks the door of the room. I take it in...

"It was my son's room," he says proudly. "He liked to paint." Still sweating a little, but I'm starting to breathe.

I'm settling down...the kid liked the Doors, Laurel...Dad can't be all that bad.

Twin beds. Clean, no bedbugs...no axes or chains in the corner. I can hear the revelers' laughter wafting up from the street below. Happy.

"I hope you will be comfortable," he said sweetly, taking the Kunas from Dave. "Enjoy your time in Split."

"Do you have any towels?" I queried, feeling terrible about all the sinister thoughts that I conjured up about such a kind man in this very foreign country. 

"Of course...I am so sorry." He bows out of the room.

I showered in my tiny, tiny shower, rubbed my skin dry with the scratchiest little towelette (do I smell Tide?) slept like a rock and dreamed of a Four Seasons long ago and far away.

Sometimes it just works.

Give me a break, Dr. Oz!

Am I the only one on the planet that isn't a Dr. Oz fan? No matter who I talk to, or what we're talking about, somehow the conversation morphs into a discussion of what was on Dr. Oz yesterday. I will admit that I have watched a couple of his shows out of curiosity, but I find him to be amazingly simplistic. And because he speaks mainly to women and their "issues", women keep tuning in for the miracle cure for aging, ailments or conditions.

"Change your life in just three days...tune in tomorrow."

"Get rid of your wrinkles with this miracle household cleaning product...tune in today at 4:00"

"Learn these five secrets to maintaining a healthy urinary tract...next week on Dr. Oz."

"Trim 400 pound of useless fat in just 6 weeks...today at 4:00." (This show was actually about dumping your old man...just kidding...but it would have made more sense!)

And on and on and on.  You would think that if only one or two of his cure-alls were as easy as he claims they are, we'd all be amazingly svelte, gorgeous looking and live forever.

I am sure he's a real doctor and all that, but I hate the way he makes everything sound so easy, so fool proof.  Did you tune in where he had all the poops up on the big screen, going on and on about what our excretions should look like? The colors on the monitor were right off the basic color wheel - brown, green, white and black. If I ever eliminated anything that even remotely resembled any of those colors, I'd be at Kaiser in a flash. I mean, really...what does he mean by "green"? Are we talking olive, puce, avocado or spring green?  How black is black?  You never seem to get enough information to do you any good - only enough to potentially scare the crap (literally) out of you. Personally, I prefer the Saturday Night Live rendition of the show.

But I digress.  The hubby and I did tune in for the "belly busting" show last week, muffin tops languishing in our recliners.  According to the good Doctor "if you just eat this simple breakfast  everyday for five days (are you kidding me?) and take this supplement, then....." Of course he never tells you what will happen or promises any results, but he wanted the lady on the show with the muffin top to commit to the 5 day regimen. Five days? Really? But I'm thinking, 'don't be such a cynic, Laurel, give it a try'.

So, here it is...the belly busting breakfast.  By the way, I've been eating this breakfast for several years now, and my stomach remains larger than my skinny jeans will tolerate.  His secret must be in the capsules?

You have to admit though, the combination is utterly delightful looking and very tasty. But I had Dr. Oz's breakfast in Croatia before I ever knew it was his, and it's been my favorite way to start the day for several years. It must be the capsules.

So the proof is in the pudding.  This, my friends, is my 'before' picture.  In five days, I will take another pic, same shirt, same jeans.

Somehow I doubt it will be much different.  The good Doctor did not mention that you probably need to starve yourself for the rest of the day, or take three of those horse pills a day, or walk three miles a day, or drink 3 quarts of water each day, or add a "gentle cleansing laxative" to your diet.  Maybe, just maybe, you may be able to zip these jeans in five days. 

Laurel. Eat your eggs!

Lotto Prayer

Dear Lord,

Well, You didn't give me the lottery jackpot last night so I guess I will just have to move ahead... I had some big plans for that money...I am grateful that all I spent was one dollar, not like some of those schmucks who blew their whole paycheck.  Actually, I didn't even buy the ticket...Dave did, but California is a community property state..sigh...he would have shared...

But I am disappointed still.  Oh the good I would have done...okay, after my first villa in Tuscany...and maybe a little car...

I'm sure that the winner will be just as generous as I planned to be had I won, Lord... You know, giving to the poor, halting global warming, saving the spotted owl...

What, You say...You know my heart? You really think it would have been my undoing? Not right at first, Lord! Okay...I guess there's a slight chance I might get too self centered after a year or two...

Yea, You're probably right...I obsess over the slightest downward click in the Dow today...how would I ever survive a gazillion dollar portfolio...guess You know best...I still would have liked to try...

But hey, Big Guy, thanks for saving me (literally!).

Me.

Laurel.  You didn't win either?

Road Trip Rules

Most people today would say we have poor timing to plan a road trip this Spring.  I might agree, given the obnoxious price of gas in the U.S. However, I have found that even at $5.00 a gallon, the price of gas will be the least of our excitement.  You have to plan for a road trip, or any travel adventure for that matter.  We have been to Europe twice, to the islands a couple of times, but we have "done" more road trips. I don't pretend to be a world traveler, but I have learned a thing or two about traveling in general.

I will say that my hubby and I do pretty well traveling together. As we drove through France one year, we only had a couple of minor skirmishes over directions and routes, and most of those took place while circling the roundabouts, trying to decide if the GPS device was correct or the paper map. Once we escaped the tyranny of the roundabout, the screaming stopped.

So how do you plan a road trip? It's not the same as it was when our kids were young...the seat belt laws were relatively non-existent or at least not as punitive. Our van had a bed in the back: one kid playing on the bed, two in the middle seat fighting and one on an ice chest between us surfing the channels on the radio. I wouldn't dream of doing that now, but hey, I used to stand up in the bed of my Dad's pickup riding down the road.  Country girl, remember?

So here they are - Laurel's road trip rules.  I've thrown in a few other travel tips that we learned the hard way.

1) Have lots of maps and learn how to fold them.  The main source of revenue for a map company is maps. The more maps they print, the more profits they make.  Hence, companies that make maps print them on really flimsy paper, so that they rip and tear with use. Maps only last 400 or 500 miles, so you need at least two copies of each map, especially for states like Texas, where you can drive for days on the same highway, folding and refolding the map everytime you drag it out. Use colored pens to mark your route, even though you will change it several times during the trip. Throw them away when you get back home, or you'll get confused next time.

2) Learn the native language. I like to study up on the language before I go. You will be regarded as a more friendly tourist if you master a few phrases - "Where's the nearest toilet" or " Can I have some ketchup on these green thingies" or "I'm not paying that much for that purse!" Since we are heading for Texas, I have even learned a few important phrases: "Where's the Alamo?" and "Bless her heart!"

3) Portable devices are very useful tools. You can never have too many portable devices on a trip, especially if you want to stand out as a tourist.  You will need several cameras, so each of you can take the same exact scene in case one of you isn't good at focusing.  If you each have an iphone, so much the better - that way, when you don't have any signal on either phone, you can each be frustrated.  And it's good to have a portable GPS, in case you can't figure out how to operate the one in your rental car or in case your paper map is totally thrashed.  And of course, don't forget all the chargers, chips and cables to go with your devices. You need them when you're traveling 70 MPH down the freeway...you don't want to miss the turnoff. And by all means, wear them all around your neck.

4) Keep a journal of your daily adventures. You think you will remember everything about your trip, but you are wrong, especially if you are advancing in age.  So you best write it down. Who would have thought that I would forget where I lost my purse with my passports and all my credit cards? Or that little cafe where we both got food poisoning...not good on a drive trip! Besides, journals are fun to read several years later.

5) Have reasonable expectations and set reasonable goals. You cannot get from Denver to Houston in one day, even though it "looks like freeway all the way, honey".  You can't expect to find one of those really nice hotels in a town with a Quonset hut for a post office.  And you can't get a glass of Rombauer in a diner the specializes in fried catfish. You need to go with the flow and flavor of the region, take it easy, and keep your snotty attitude in check. Your mantra is "When in Rome, do as..."

6) Do some research about your destinations. We don't usually make a lot of reservations on our road trips...it's more fun flying by the seat of our pants...you know, "ex temper".  And forget those AAA Travel guides - by the time you find out where you are and are madly flipping through the pages for a hotel suggestion, you have passed three places to get a good meal and four places to stay.  Surfing the internet for the "significant" historical stuff and other noteworthy places where you will be going is fun and informative, and worth the effort. You don't want to get back home and have your friends say "What? You didn't see the Leaning Tower of Pisa??? You went to Italy and you didn't see it????". "Duh!!!"

7) Memorialize your trip. Besides the journal you so diligently kept during your trip, you will want to put all your pictures in a scrapbook of some kind when you get home.  But rather than spending a gazillion dollars on all that pretty paper, the ink and photo paper for your printer, the stickers and embellishments, the punches and glues, might I suggest downloading them onto the Costco website or My Publisher. You will end up with a beautiful coffee table book with a lot less hassle.

Road trips are all about compromise and adjusting to the daily flow. They are about listening to great music, laughing over yesterday's trauma, finding interesting sites, experiencing new cuisines and capturing a little history.  They are not for discussing why your son quit college, the rapid downfall of your IRA or your mother-in-law's drinking problem.  They are for your amusement and adventure.  So just sit back, relax and enjoy the ride!

Laurel.  Happy traveling!

What bird? What are you talking about?

You have seen my cat before. 

Miss Bella is rather common looking and has a typical cat-like personality.

She kneads the down comforter on my bed just when I am trying to go back to sleep in the wee hours of the morning. 

She body-blows herself into my ankles on the way to her morning breakfast. 



She sleeps on the floor registers in the winter, blocking the flow of heat into the room. She sprawls out on the carpet like a cheap date right in the the path of travel and she attacks my legs as I pass by.  But I'm thinking she's a pretty normal cat.

Despite her intrinsic cuteness, I have discovered that Miss Bella has a dark side. Whether her recent behavior is normal cat behavior is irrelevant, so don't tell me that - I just know it changed my view of her.  No longer is she my adorable little feline Princess who just saunters around the house acting like she owns the joint. She's a natural born killer.

This is the floor of my guest room after her spree.  Don't ask me how she actually caught it, and don't ask me why she chose to bring it into the house.  It was apparant that the little chirper put up quite a fight, judging from the swath of feathers over the entire floor. Cat fanciers know the answers to these questions...I was just blown away.  It's not like I didn't grow up on the farm where I witnessed all manner of animal behavior, much of it very disturbing to a young child.  But my Bella? A homocidal carnivore? Say it isn't so!

Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of her malaise was that it appeared that she ate it - bones, guts, feet - the whole thing!  I couldn't get the mental picture out of my head for days.  I waited for the ripe smell of death to come wafting from my guestroom, but alas, she was tidy, as every Princess should be. There was no carcass laying under the bed or any where else in the house that I could find...just this tiny wing remained.  She must have gotten full and couldn't polish it off.

Later that day after her "meal", I found her sitting outside on the pool deck, licking herself and surveying the yard...staking out her next kill, I guess. Rambo Kitty.

Laurel. Cat lover?