If anyone knows why I’m laughing, sobbing and screaming simultaneously, give me a clue.
“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”~ Sun Tzu, Chinese general and author of “The Art of War.”
A pox is upon our house. The flu, actually, but it might as well be bubonic plague. And it struck down not me, but my beloved.
I have issues with the Easter Bunny.
Me and my teeth operate under an armed truce. I don’t like them, but I need them.
This story has become a tradition.
You can’t go home again, according to Thomas Wolfe. But you can drive past it on the interstate and wave (according to me.)
If you have a job in the tri-county area, the odds are good that you commute to work. (Unless your job is being a full-time wife and mother, in which case you don’t commute because YOUR WORK NEVER ENDS.)
My best friend said if I smiled for 60 seconds it would be impossible to have a negative thought.
Marriage counselors say there are two main causes of divorce: Sex and money. I nominate a third: the thermostat wars.
We are not projected to receive any ice this week.
I make lists. Every single day. Lists for chores, lists for appointments, lists for groceries, lists for goals, lists for errands, lists of places I want to see before I die, and lists of every possible clothing combination in my closets. (Which is how I realized that tube tops don’t go with ANYTHING, but I have eight outfits for a funeral. …
I do an inward cringe every time I hear a grocery story or department store sales associate say, “One size fits all.”
Our dog has cost us more than my college education. Granted, it was in-state tuition 35 years ago, but still.
Coyotes, like armadillos, are now apparently everywhere. And by “everywhere” I mean near my house.
By the time you read this I will have finished my latest novel, “A Faerie’s Tear,” that is due for publication on Feb. 1, and will debut at the Berkeley Reads Tri-County literary celebration “Meet the Authors!” at Dean Hall at Cypress Gardens on Feb. 7.
For as long as I’ve been an adult, I’ve struggled with adult fashion. It’s just not practical.
Watching someone you love get old is a bit strange. The only thing stranger is watching yourself get old.
Ah, yes, a new year. Here we go. Traditionally, this is the time to set goals that we’ll abandon within three weeks, if pop psychology is to be believed. As my father used to say, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
Just when you thought there were no interesting ways to earn a little extra coin to pay off Christmas, NASA steps to the plate and knocks one out of the park.
If you’re reading this, we’ve made it through another year. Hallelujah!
Clement Clarke Moore wrote the poem “Twas the Night Before Christmas” in 1822. With the poem being read around the tree this year, here’s my version.
My birthday was last week, and it’s astonishing that I’ve survived 54 years on this planet relatively unscathed. I say “relatively” because I’ve had my heart broken (by a human) and my skull cracked (by a horse).
In addition to my rampant ADD, I was an obsessive child.