It Takes a Village

After Christmas, we took a little trip to the mountains of California with some friends.   Thirty of us packed into a cabin and spent the weekend playing games, eating, skiing, Jacuzzing, sleigh riding, eating, and playing games.  It was a lot of fun. 





 
My favorite part of the weekend was teaming up with the teenagers to assemble puzzles, and play The Settlers of Catan -- a game that I think I will be playing a lot.
 

Did I mention that we played a lot of games??

One night we had a special program for one of the boys in our group who is getting ready to serve a 2 year mission in Paris, France. As I sat there listening to the men in the group share their experiences about serving missions, I thought to myself how lucky I am to be surrounded by such good families. Their influence is powerful and I know that my children are blessed to have this in their lives. I know the adults love my children and have treated them like one of their own. And I love the teens and children in this group the very same way. I have known many of them since they were babies.  My heart breaks a little every time one of them leaves to go off to college.


At the end of the evening, my friend Anne summed up by saying: "I want all of you kids to take a look around at these people. They love you, and they want you to be happy. When you choose things in your life that bring unhappiness, it doesn't just affect you, it affects all of us.  We all hurt when we see you making bad choices. But if you do . . . we will be there to help you get back on track, because we love you.  These people have your back. 

It made me cry, because it was true.  Truth does that to me -- makes me cry at times when I really don't want to.   Eden and Claire find it embarrassing.

  

***

No matter what your opinion of Hilary Clinton, it really does take a village to raise up a child.

***

Post Script: In case you are not familiar with Mormon Missionaries, you can read about what they do here. I'm guessing, however, that you are, since they are in almost every city throughout the world  -- wearing white shirts with black name tags, riding bikes, or walking around. They are good, good boys, so be nice to them!   Even if you aren't interested in what they have to say, their parents worry about them, and hope they are being treated with kindness.

You Can't Teach and Old Dog New Tricks, But You Can Buy Her New Snow Pants

We broke with tradition this holiday season and spent the week in Utah with family and friends.  It was a little unsettling leaving a week earlier than I had planned.  I didn't get neighbor gifts delivered, or presents wrapped.  We didn't have Christmas Eve clam chowder or decorate gingerbread houses.  It was all out of whack.   

Right before we left, I seriously handed Claire a sack full of cloths and said "Here you go, Merry Christmas."   I've never done that in my life!    She was ok with it since she had picked everything out anyway.   Plus she usually spends a month hunting though the house looking for the Christmas stash, so she knows "everything" in advance, which drives me crazy.  I can never figure out how she knows all the secret hiding places!  They change from year to year, and still she finds them -- even when the hiding place is the garage of our next door neighbor. I think Claire has a budding career as a super sleuth.

The biggest change this year was that I agreed to done a pair a skis and hit the slopes, which I haven't done in over 15 years -- the year I gave birth to Claire and no longer fit into my size 2 ski pants. I was too worried about being fat,  falling and not being able to get up.


But this year, I thought I'd give it a go. So I went to a rental shop and purchased what I needed for a day in the snow, which included pants in a size I dare not admit.


When we got to the resort, I put on my boots, hoisted my skis over my shoulder and made my way to the ticket office -- a feat in itself. I was already tired and sweaty by the time I got to the lift line. As I shuffled along I had dark thoughts:

"I am totally insane, I'm never going to remember how to ski. It's been much too long. And I am going to fall and not be able to get up unless a ski patrolman assists me. I am an old dog. I bet I fall the minute I exit the chair. I can't do this.  I am wearing huge pants." 

But then I saw an older dog in the line ahead of me who had on a pair of plus size ski pants.  She was laughing and smiling and I thought "If that old dog can do it, so can I." Then I got on the lift without causing the lift manager to shut it down. A good sign.


It was a foggy day, with no visibility, and two feet of new powder, which made me nervous. But I pressed on, and made it down the hill falling twice only to avoid out-of-control snow boarders. I'll never get used to them, no matter how hard I try.  

It took me a while to get up from the falls.  I'm sure I looked like a turtle on it's back.  But, I did it, and it wasn't as bad as I had thought.  I would hate being a turtle though.  Getting up is exhausting work.

It was a good day, in spite of the fog.  I laughed hard with Eden, and watched Claire trade her skis in for a snow board.  And I wasn't sore the next day, or the next. So I went skiing again -- two more times. It was so much fun. Why did I ever quit???

***

Advise from an old dog:  Don't give up something you love just because you have to buy pants several sizes larger than you ever thought you would wear, to do it. 

Crisis in the Kitchen of Mrs. Claus

It's true -- there was a crisis of epic proportions in the kitchen of Mrs. Claus just a few days before Christmas. Elfie the wonder dog was an eyewitness to the whole thing.


It's a little known fact that Mrs. Claus bakes homemade cupcakes for the children in her neighborhood that have been extra, extra good during the year.   Let me be clear when I say that "the neighborhood" refers to the Claus summer house in the Redhawk development of Temecula, which was divulged in a prior post; and "extra, extra good" means just that --  "extra, extra good." "Sort of good" doesn't cut it when it comes to homemade cupcakes.


About a week before Christmas, Santa gives Mrs. Claus the Extra Good list, and she bakes chocolate chip cupcakes with candy cane frosting that she has the elves deliver on her behalf, along with a secret note.  It's a tradition she faithfully keeps, that is unless fate is not kind and does something to thwart her well thought out plans.   That's what happened this year -- Mrs. Claus met with disaster.



It was late at night on a stormy evening, the day before Mr. and Mrs. Claus were to leave for the North Pole. In spite of the wet weather, and impending deadlines, all was going well in the Claus kitchen.  Warm smells of chocolate wafted through the house, and frosting was getting fluffy in the mixer just as the second batch of cupcakes went into the oven.   Minutes later, the smoke alarms went off and billowing smoke filled the whole house.  Mrs. Claus is used to smoke alarms, but this time, they did not shut off after she opened the Summer House doors and windows.   She called for the head elf, who opened the oven door and discovered fire, and charred cupcakes.   The Ef went into emergency mode, promptly put out the fire, and took the oven apart only to discover a rogue piece of tin foil that had fallen into the wiring and caused the whole debacle.  Turns out a junior elf was a little careless when making meringue cookies a few weeks prior.

Sadly, the poor Extra Good children of Redhawk did not receive their cupcakes this year. Mrs. Claus could not get the oven going before she left for the North Pole. It was a dark day indeed.


I hope Mrs. Claus gets a few brownie points for good intentions. That poor woman just had way too much on her plate this year. And those elves . . . you just never know what they are going to do when they are set loose in the kitchen.


But let it be known that Mrs. Claus tried -- she really did.  And that should count for something.

On Vacation

Wondering why I've been such a slacker?  I'm on vacation.  I'll be back after the new year.  Until then, I hope you are having a wonderful holiday season with family and friends. 


I sure am.

Yes Virginia - There is a Santa Claus, and He Lives in Temecula

Every Monday through Friday I weave through the back streets of Temecula driving the car pool to the middle school.   It's a pretty boring ride until we get to the last street on our route.    That last bend in the road is always exciting because you just never know what you will find.  We've nicked named this street "Radical Drive"  because most of the houses have broken free of all "homeowner's association" rules and Temecula traditions.  The residents pretty much do whatever they want, which the car pool finds exciting.


We pass the house with the huge Bat Signal painted on the driveway, the house that has a garage painted in the colors of their favorite sport's team, the house with trash in front yard, the house with a giant wood stump on the front sidewalk, and the 20 or so houses that refuse to water their lawns.  


I love this part of the drive because it makes for some hilarious conversation -- especially if we discover a dead possum in the road.  Bat Man house usually gets the blame for hitting the possum.


Last week, we discovered that a celebrity lives on Radical Drive.  Well, I should say, "I" discovered that a celebrity lives there, because I'm the only one who actually saw him.


The day started out just like every other day, but as I passed the Tree Stump house, I saw a man sitting on the stump dressed in long johns.  He was big and round, with a white beard, rosy cheeks, and little round glasses.  He looked just like Santa!!!    And right next to him was a huge pot bellied pig!  That's right, a pot bellied pig. I had to look twice just to make sure I wasn't seeing things.


I said to the car pool "You guys!!! Did you just see that! Santa is sitting on the Stump in his underwear and he has a pot bellied pig!!!" 


They weren't paying any attention. They missed the whole thing. I was a little disappointed, because they are unusually so observant.  They all yelled Back Up!!!  But, there were too many cars on the road to back up and take a second look, so they had to miss all the excitement of seeing Santa in front of his very own summer house.


Well, today, I had to drive Eden to school an hour later than usual. He had to finish a video presentation for one of his classes. As we drove down Radical Drive, guess who we saw . . . 


Santa!!!!!!   He was just pulling out of the driveway and was on the road right in front of us.  I screamed at Eden.  "There he is!!!!  I told you he lived in the Tree Stump house!  Get the camera!!!! He must be on the way to the North Pole . . . or Walmart."


So Eden grabbed my phone and tried to snap a photo while I followed Santa down the road.  Sadly, he turned the corner before we could get a good shot at his face.  We would never make it as paparazzi.

I am so excited to know where Santa lives because you better believe that next year, I am going right up to his front door, and ring the bell.  And then, when he and the pot bellied pig answer, I'm personally going to invite him to our church Christmas party.  How cool would that  be to show up on Santa's arm!!



Folks, you heard it here first . . . Santa lives right here in Temecula on Radical Drive.  And not only does he have flying reindeer, he as a pot  bellied pig. 


Post Script:  In answer to my friend Eunice's question, "Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus" is a famous editorial that was published in the New York Sun in 1897.  You can read it here.

The Miracle at Rubios

A couple of nights ago, Eden and I were out running errands.  We stopped by Rubios for a fish taco -- something we do on a weekly basis.  Rubios fish tacos are one of my weaknesses in life.  I've loved those things since the day I first moved to San Diego over 22 years ago. Apparently lots of Temeculuans who live in my part of town love Rubios too because the place is always busy. This particular night was no exception. Almost every table was occupied by a family with kids of various ages.  As we walked in the door, Christmas music was playing in the background and everyone seemed in good spirits.


As Eden and I sat there waiting for our food, the Christmas song Feliz Navidad started playing over the loud speakers.  I don't know about you, but when that song plays I can't help but tap my toes.  It reminds me of every elementary school holiday performance that Claire and Eden were a part of.  I can still see their little faces donned in Santa hats, singing with gusto in the kiddie choir.  Good times.


As the music played, Eden and I started spontaneously dancing and singing as we sang along in our horrible Spanish . . . "Feliz Navidad, Feliz Navidad Prospero Ano y Felicidad."  


We like to dance at the table, and we do it often. Almost as often as we eat at Rubios. I guess I should define "restaurant dancing" as it applies to my family. We don't stand up and start dancing all over the place. We sit. But our upper bodies are moving, are toes are tapping and we sing along to the music. We look like total idiots, but it's so much fun. We can't help ourselves. It just happens.


But here's the thing. As we were singing and dancing away, I looked around and discovered that every single customer was doing the exact same thing! Everyone was singing and dancing at the table with their families.  Heads were bobbing, arms were flailing, fingers were snapping.   Grandmothers were dancing with grandchildren. Husbands were dancing with wives.  Even the cooks were moving and singing. And no one even noticed that it was happening.  They were all engrossed in the spontaneous moment at their own table.


It was a Christmas miracle right there in Rubios -- an unrehearsed Glee moment, and the joy of being with people you love.  

I am so glad I was there to be a part of it.

Holiday Greetings From Our House to Yours

I don't know about you, but come holiday season, time just gets away from me.  I have all these good intentions -- baking, service, decorating, and Christmas cards, Christmas movies . . . you know, you probably have that same list.   But, every year the same thing happens.  I hit panic mode and more than half of my good intentions never happen.  It makes me a little mad.  One of these days, I really want to get everything on that list done. 


One thing that has consistently never happened is a Christmas card.  We haven't sent one out in over 15 years.  Sad huh.  I always feel so guilty about this because we get so many beautiful cards from family and friends.  Darling family portraits, and letters recapping the year.   And we never send anything in return.  To those of you who feel shunned -- we are soooo sorry.  It's not deliberate.   I'm just not good at time management.


This year, however, I got smart.  I made a card online.   It took 10 minutes -- which in my scattered world is do-able.


So here it is . . . the first ever holiday greeting from the Beutler family. (The link below . . . not this post.)

We hope you enjoy it.

(Thank you Pam, my techno friend.  It wouldn't have happened without you.) 

One More Thing About Mean Moms And Then I Will Quit.

My cyber friend Chelsea left a comment on my post about The Meanest Mom in the World that I just have to share.   It comes from the blog of her friend Cherie in New Mexico.  


This describes the meanest mom to a tee -- yup, it's me.  

From an unknown author:

"We had the meanest mother in the whole world!

While other kids ate candy for breakfast, we had to have cereal, eggs, and toast. When others had a Pepsi and a Twinkie for lunch, we had to eat sandwiches. And you can guess our mother fixed us a dinner that was different from what other kids had too.

Mother insisted on knowing where we were at all times. You'd think we were convicts in a prison. She had to know who our friends were and what we were doing with them. She insisted that if we said we would be gone for an hour, we would be gone for an hour or less.

We were ashamed to admit it, but she had the nerve to break the Child Labor Laws by making us work. We had to wash the dishes, make the beds, learn to cook, vacuum the floor, do laundry, and all sorts of cruel jobs. I think she would lie awake at night thinking of more things for us to do.

She always insisted on us telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. By the time we were teenagers, she could read our minds.

Then, life was really tough! Mother wouldn't let our friends just honk the horn when they drove up. They had to come up to the door so she could meet them. While everyone else could date when they were 12 or 13, we had to wait until we were 16.

Because of our mother we missed out on lots of things other kids experienced. None of us have ever been caught shoplifting, vandalizing another's property, or ever arrested for any crime. It was all her fault.

Now that we have left home, we are all God-fearing, educated, honest adults. We are doing our best to be mean parents just like mom was. I think that's what's wrong with the world today. It just doesn't have enough mean moms anymore."

P.S.  Just so you know . . . this picture . . . it's Eden mocking my "I mean it" face.   And you can see that it looks an awful lot like me when I'm in Mean Mom mode.   Sad --he's got it down to a science.

Meanest Mom In the World

A few days ago, I was out in the garage puttering around with power tools when my next door neighbor Amy walked through the rosemary bushes.  She said Hey! 

I said Hey back!  I haven't talked to you in forever, what's going on?


Amy took it from there and we had a long chat in the middle of my driveway about sofas, weight loss, horses, holistic medicine, and our recent adventures raising teenagers.   Smack dab in the middle of the teenager conversation, I discovered something about Amy that I didn't know -- she's  "The Meanest Mom in the World" which totally surprised me.  She's sooooo nice!


How in the world could she be The Meanest Mom?  According to my kids, that title belongs to me!  In fact, I told Amy You can't be The Meanest Mom.  I've proudly held that position for at least three years now.


She said You're kidding. 

I said I'm not kidding.  I hear the phrase "You are Thee Meanest Mom in the World" at least three times a week.  Haven't you heard my kids shouting it from the rooftops during the summer when all the windows are open?


Amy said  Never. Which was a huge relief.  We must have good insulation -- that or Amy is hard of hearing.


And even more baffling is that my friend Rachel recently claimed that she's The Meanest Mom.  I just can't imagine her being mean, or yelling at her kids.  Even if she did, it wouldn't sound harsh, it would sound cool -- she has an Australian accent.


I have to admit, I've heard a lot of my friends claiming to be The Meanest Mom lately.
So who is it really?  We all can't be The Meanest Mom.   I wish the real Meanest Mom would reveal herself and take the heat off the backs of me and my sweet friends.   None of us wants this title.  I'd be happy to bequeath my crown to someone more deserving.


I think I might have to call the mayor of Temecula and suggest a Meanest Mom pageant.  Those of us who are contenders can model our sweat pants, and display our lecturing skills.  Maybe there could even be a yelling contest, and a "question" segment where we talk about the mean things we do to our kids -- like making them load the dishwasher, or pick up their cloths; or grounding them for breaking family rules.


I'm thinking this could catch on in popularity and go international.  I'd love to meet some of the mean moms of Europe and Asia, wouldn't you?  We could compare notes.


But my luck, I would win this contest and then my kids would really have something to brag about.  I would officially be the Meanest Mom and my kids would make t-shirts proclaiming it so -- "We Really Have the Meanest Mom!!"
  
So for now, I will handle it the way I have always handled it.  I will wear my badge with honor. When my teenagers yell You are the Meanest Mom!!!  I will say what I always say:


You want mean . . . . you don't even know the meaning of the word "mean"!!!  If you want mean, I can pull over right now, and you can walk to school, and starve during lunch hour!!!!   


(We  are usually a block away from school when this happens, and both my kids have money in their pockets.)


Mean Mom, signing off.

Threads

Over the years, I have met many wonderful women. And in almost every case, I have discovered that each has a unique thread that when woven with my own creates the "warp and weft" of friendship. If you know how to sew, or had the experience of weaving a Native American blanket over a cardboard loom in elementary school, these terms my sound familiar.


Warp threads are the core support in a piece of fabric -- giving the finished piece body and form.  They are strong and must be able to withstand tight stretching over a loom.  I have friends like this -- women who are my support system.  Valiant, with courage to withstand the storms of life.  They are organized and efficient, and know what to do in a crisis.  Their threads have given me strength when it is needed, and shaped me into the person I am today.


Weft threads are woven in and out of the warp, creating design and texture in the body of fabric.  They may be one color, or they may be multicolored.  When combined in different ways, they create patterns.  I have friends like this too -- creative and unique in their own special way.  They have shared their talents, knowledge and artistry with me, which has added beauty to the fabric of my life.


I am so thankful for dear friends.  I want you to meet some of them.  So, every now and then, I'm going to have a feature called "Threads."  I will introduce you to one of my friends, and they will write and tell you something about themselves.  It may be a talent, a recipe, a list of their favorite things, or random thoughts.  (It's up to them what they want to divulge.)  Maybe you will find something in common with them too.  If so, leave a comment and share your thread with us.

 ***

This week I would like you to meet my friend Eve.

Eve and I live in the same neighborhood and go to the same church. When she first moved to Temecula, our paths didn't cross much, but I kept hearing her name in conversations that went something like this:  "Crystal, you need to get to know Eve . . . you guys have so much in common!" Not long after that, we finally met helping out at a youth activity.  I discovered that we did have a lot in common -- we both have husbands who love to work on cars.  We both have a passion for fabric, and suffer from fabric hoarding -- me worse than Eve. We also love yarn, and Anthropologie, and  retro pretty much anything.  We both love chartreuse mixed with peacock green.  In fact, Eve wore those colors to church today.  She borrowed a skirt from her sister-in-law who happens to be Wendy of  Blue Lilly fame.   Is Eve lucky or what.  She can get her picture taken for free any time she wants (which incidentally she just did -- didn't it turn out cute!!)


Eve has definitely woven a weft thread through the fabric of my life -- and in my imagination, the thread is a brilliant red.  Eve has red hair that I covet.  And she has an Etsy shop called Little Red Wren.  You simply must visit her shop if you have little ones.  Eve makes thee cutest cloths for girls and boys . . . and fabric crowns! (I'm wishing that she would make me a crown for my birthday. I should put that on my wish list, huh.)


So meet my sweet friend Eve with flowing red hair, and creative hands, who is daring enough to share her letter to Santa with us:

Dear Santa,

You owe me. The year was 1987. I decided that I was going to believe in you after all, even though my parents had never given me a reason to. All I wanted was a Cornsilk Cabbage Patch Doll, and you totally let me down. I bet you feel super bad about it, even 23 years later. So I thought I'd help give you some ideas on how to make it up to me. (You're welcome.)

Idea Number One:

Mustache Pillowcase set from Urban Outfitters.

Just the right amount of whimsy for my bed.

Idea Number Two:

Golden Acorns from Stacey Winters.

Just the right amount of sparkle for my life.

Idea Number Three: This pretty pretty feedsack bag. It's just so perfect.

Idea Number Four:

Go to Forever 21. Yes, I realize you, a gazillion year old man in a red suit, will stick out like a sore thumb. But you pretty much get that wherever you go, right? Not really my problem. Anyway, go to Forever 21 and buy enough of their pretty cosmetics to fill my stocking. You won't even have to spend that much, probably less than the purchase price of a Cornsilk Cabbage Patch Doll plus inflation.

There you have it. I know we've had a rocky relationship for the past 30 years, Santa, but you have the opportunity to turn it all around this year. And in return, I'll bake you up a plate of my chocolate chip cookies (and I make pretty good chocolate chip cookies).

Love, Eve

p.s. If you want to get off to a good start with the next generation, how about this Sleepy Little Fox for my boy-child...

...and maybe this modern dollhouse for my girl?

p.p.s. Actually, if you come up with that last item, I promise to forgive you of your past negligence and any future as well.

Bright Lights

Late this afternoon, Claire and I hopped in the car and took a little road trip up to L.A. so that she could spend the weekend with her girlfriends from church. We stopped at the local gas station and loaded up on snacks before we hopped on the freeway for our 2 hour ride. It was a little longer than that today -- we sat in traffic half the way there, which I expected, considering it was a Friday night.


As we drove, I attempted to sing along to the radio, but my plans were thwarted by the co-pilot who continuously changed the channel in search of rap music -- not my favorite.  You can't sing along to rap.  At least I can't.  I sound stupid.


We got to Los Angeles crawling at a snails pace, and pulled into the parking lot of the Latter-day Saint Temple on Santa Monica Blvd. where Claire's friends were doing temple work -- the primary reason for the weekend trip. Mormon youth over 12 years old can go to the temple on certain occasions to perform proxy baptisms  for people who have died and were not able to perform this work themselves. It's a beautiful experience -- I always look forward to accompanying the youth when they do baptisms for the dead.


We found Claire's friends standing on a corner of the temple grounds with wet hair and smiling faces. I have a special fondness for this group of girls. For the past two years, I have been their youth leader. But the guard changed hands a few months ago, and I no longer work with them in this capacity. I miss these lovely young women.  I learned so much from each of them.  We've had some wonderful experiences together.  We've laughed, we've cried, and they have kept me young with their crazy antics.

Before I left for the long drive home, we spent some time on the temple grounds taking pictures under my favorite tree. When lit, it looks like a giant mushroom. But this year, it looks like a crown.





I love the lights of Christmas, and the light that shines within each of these girls.

One Man's Junk is Another Man's Treasure

This morning I took a road trip with friends out to the orange groves near Escondido to a charming little cottage that was once owned by Betty Crocker.  Yes, I mean thee Betty Crocker, as in cookbook.   Did you know that she once lived in Southern California??  I didn't.  I would have guessed mid west near Dorothy of Wizard of Oz fame.   It just seems like a place where a good cook would live.


Well, next to the house formerly owned by Betty, is an old barn where on occasion, a group of not-so friendly-ladies host a vintage boutique of sorts.  They have a smelly little dog that sits on the checkout counter wearing an outlandish costume -- not your typical dog outfit -- outlandish!   Today the dog was elaborately dressed as an angel, and you had to pity the poor little guy -- he looked miserable.


The barn is full of all kinds of vintage goodness.  Sometimes, like today, it's just hard to choose what to bring home.  I walked in the door and instantly found three things I just had to have, so I asked one of the Not-So-Friendly ladies to hold all of them at the front for me while I continued to look around.


When I got to the checkout counter, no one seemed to know where my three items had been placed. I had to stand there for 30 minutes smelling the dog.  Finally, the red headed Not-So-Nice woman (who incidentally is rudest, of the Not-So-Nice) returned to the counter and adjusted the dog's wings, while she said "Those things aren't yours, they belong to someone else named Sharon."


Then, I looked outside and saw two women fighting over my treasures!  Did I mention that neither one of them was named Sharon, which got my panties in a dither, I'll tell you.  So I spent the next 20 minutes battling the Not-So-Nice clerks, and two women not named Sharon for treasure that I'm sure most people would walk right past.   You will be happy to know that I did not back down even when the Not-So-Nice redhead gave me the evil eye. 


Turns out the Not-So-Nice blond had written the wrong name on all my "Doggone-it, this has been sold to ______" stickers.  She thought I had said "My name is Sharon."  I can understand the mistake.  Sharon sure does sound a lot Crystal -- if you live in a foreign country and don't speak English.


I think Betty Crocker would have been mortified.

Post Script:  Yes, Kathy, the statue reminds me of Mrs. Meers from Thoroughly Modern Millie.  I'm putting her on my stair landing so I can greet her every day with "Oh . . . shoo-show, shoo-show!"

Random Thoughts on a Wednesday Afternoon

I went out walking this afternoon with Elfie.  It was a beautiful day -- sunny and warm.  One of the things I love about living in Southern California to  be sure.  We made our way down the street, around the corner to the local Sports Park which is directly across the street from the High School.   Elfie was in fine spirits.  She walked along with her tail up, and a skippity-hop step, stopping occasionally to sniff the bushes to see what canine had been there before her.

I don't know about you, but as I walk, a million random thoughts go through my head and none of them are related or connected in any way.  Thinks like . . .

• Hey, there's the 5th period P.E. class from Great Oak taking their walk.  Is the class called "Walking P.E.?"  I bet that teacher hates exercising for 5 periods a day, every day.  I know I would.

• I wonder if my package has come from J. Crew?

• Man, I loved that caramel pop corn Jill made last night. I need to make some of that when I finally get off a diet, which will be the 12th of NEVER!

• I better call and make dentist appointments before school gets out.

• Where did I put the keys to my car??

• I have to go to the bathroom, I should have gone before I left.

• I wonder if Elfie could handle walking the Redhawk loop without conking out . . .

• I can't wait to finish Half Broke Horses tonight. I wonder why that woman in the story never washed her Levis?

• I haven't posted anything today. Probably because I don't have anything to talk about.

• Boy I love the cloths in The Pride and The Prejudice.  I wish I could wear stuff like that now. I wonder if Colin Firth is nice.

• I wish I could be a guest star on Glee.   "Just a small town girllllll . . . livin' in a lonely worrrrrld . . . .  

• I need to pay my phone bill!!! I need to remember that right when I get home!!!!!

There you have it.  Random thoughts on a Wednesday afternoon.  I know . . . I'm out there.

Post Script:  In case you are wondering "Why this photo??"   This image flashed through my head as I was strolling along.  Eden, wearing this hat in 2nd grade.