With Hubby ensconced in Japan and a photo shoot for my tap recital on the calendar for Sunday, I decided to move head-first into the first neighborhood garage sale I’ve participated in since moving into this house nine years ago. Am I nuts? Don’t answer. I already know, but I’m in too deep to dig out now. Wish me luck and cross your fingers the photographer can photoshop the bags from under my eyes.

Have a good weekend.

~ Kay

Well, Hubby survived his trip to Japan. I dropped him off at the Nashville airport at 1 p.m. Monday afternoon and he touched down at his final destination one stop past Toyko at 8 p.m. last night. That was 10 a.m. Wednesday in Japan. He was picked up at the airport and whisked off, not to a hotel to sleep, but to offices to work on strategy for a trial that starts on Thursday. He was flown over as an expert witness, though I’m not sure how much of an expert anyone can be with that much jet lag.

When he finally called, it was 2 a.m. here. He’d tried to Skype, but couldn’t get his password to work. I was sound asleep with my computer in bed with me. Ahhh…

I’d set up an account for him and checked it out before he left. When his password didn’t work, he tried to change it, but didn’t realize I’d used a new e-mail account I’d also set up for him (yes, I’d told him about it) instead of his work e-mail. It didn’t matter, when he tried to sign in to his work e-mail, none of his e-mails were there. Someone had opened his Outlook at the office so his e-mails downloaded to the server. So, he couldn’t have gotten to the e-mail from Skype had it gone to that address anyway.

When he called me (again, this was 2 a.m.) he wanted me to e-mail his business partner to ask his staff not to “help” him at work by covering his e-mail. I told Hubby I’d also change his Skype password, what e-mail account I’d use to contact him, and strongly suggested he GO TO SLEEP! I woke up enough to do those things and to send his mom an e-mail informing her of his safe arrival. She worries.

Then I got another e-mail at 3:30 a.m. saying they had called and awakened him up from his nap. This would have been 5:30 p.m. tomorrow there. Happy hour, but he didn’t seem happy. He said his back and hip were hurting. Well, duh! He’d just spent twenty-nine hours on planes and in airports, then worked half a day. I’m surprised he’s cognitive enough to type in my e-mail address or dial our phone number. I’m pretty sure I’d be walking around in a stupor. Maybe not. Walking might be an exaggeration. Someone would probably have to pour me into a bed.

He’ll get (I hope) a full night’s sleep then it will be Thursday, the first day of the trial. It is scheduled to last for a full week, including court on Saturday. Then, he will start the long trek home arriving the Saturday morning before Memorial Day. At least it will be a long weekend.

The challenge is going to be scheduling times to talk or Skype. With a fourteen hour time difference, and him tied up during the day, we’ll have to be creative. I made an Excel spreadsheet to make it easier to convert the times at a glance. I sent it to him, though he can do it in his head, I’m sure. I’d prefer not to waste brain cells on conversion exercises. It looks like we have about a two or three hour window very early in the morning (my time) to talk before his normal bedtime. I’m most cognitive in the afternoon and evening so maybe I can catch him before he goes to work, though that’s when he likes to work out. But, we can Skype on his Ipod, too, so who knows? Maybe we can Skype all day. Yeah, right!

I have plenty to keep me busy while he’s gone. Tap. Neighborhood yard sale. My writing. Geez, have I neglected that lately. This is a perfect time to get back into a routine. I guess I’d better get to it…

~  Kay

I’m posting late today because I’ve been running like a banshee to get Hubby to the airport for an out of the blue business trip to Japan.

This is the same husband who had such severe hip and back pain ten short days ago, he not only let me take him to the emergency room, he asked for drugs. You’d have to know him to know how significant that was. I’d never seen him in so much pain, even after his hip replacement surgery last summer. After x-rays, a CT and an MRI, the conclusion was a few bulging discs and a pinched nerve. He was given some muscle relaxers and pain meds (which he hasn’t taken) and will start PT after this trip.

So, you can understand why I was less than thrilled when he sprang it on me he’d be spending nineteen hours in the air. That doesn’t layovers—about ten hours worth going and thirteen hours coming back. I packed one whole carryon bag of hip, back and neck cushions for his comfort that I hope he’ll use. I threw in an ice pack for after he gets there.

And, of course there were a zillion things to do before he left. While he tied up the loose ends at work, I tried to get him packed.

I had several hours of sheer terror when I couldn’t find his passport. I keep our passports either in the safe or in a Lucite container on my desk. It wasn’t in the safe. I tore the house apart looking for it. It wasn’t in the luggage we’d used the last time we went out of the country. On the plus side, I cleaned out drawers, sorted through things to be filed (and actually filed as I went through the stacks), cleaned out from under things, and cleared off my desk, the surface of which hasn’t been seen in over a year. Where was it? In plain sight in the Lucite container which had been moved slightly but was still on the desk. I did five Hail Mary’s (and I’m not Catholic) and a happy dance before collapsing from the emotional exhaustion of my search.

This reinforces my desire to minimize. I want to clean out my study and make it more zen like. A place for everything and everything in its place. I want to paint it a good feng shui color for writing and creativity. Our neighborhood’s having its annual garage sale Saturday. If I were truly ambitious, I could really do some moving and shaking between now and then and whip my space into shape. Then, I could get it painted before Hubby got home–we’ve been talking about painting a couple of rooms anyway. I’m not sure if I can manage a project of this magnitude. I’ll keep you posted.

~Kay

When trying to decide what to post today, I thought, “Mother’s Day. Easy!” Initially, I considered posting a picture of me with my mom and another of me with my mother-in-law.

But, my mother died twenty years ago this summer and I have no digital photos of us together. Come to think of it, I can’t recall many photos of the two of us as adults. There are plenty from my childhood, but what happened? Was I always behind the camera? Is my memory faulty? This makes me sad. I kind-of sort-of want to search the cases of photos I have in the basement hoping to prove myself wrong…but what if I prove myself right? I don’t think I want to go there.

I flipped through all of my digital photos and I have plenty of shots of my mother-in-law, but I was the one taking most of the pictures. Her daughter also takes lots of pictures so I’m sure she has plenty of me with her mom and we can swap. I could have made that work, but I decided to go in a different direction.

My easy post turned out not to be so easy. Isn’t that always the case? I decided, if it’s going to be hard anyway, I might as well make it really tough.

Mother’s Day is always a difficult day for me. I’m not a mom. I’m a stepmom. But I’m not a mom, and as our ex-wife has told me many times, it’s not the same thing. My husband’s boys were all but grown when we got married—15, 17 and 20—but I love them like they were my own. Or, I think I do. How would I know since I have nothing to compare it to.

When Hubby and I got married, I told the ex and I told the boys, I didn’t plan to try to mother them. They had a mom. I only wanted to be another trusted adult in their lives. The boys never lived with us, so it didn’t really come up. I’m pretty sure they couldn’t hear my intentions then, but over time (ten years), I think (hope) I’ve proven myself.

Now one of the boys has a son of his own, making us grandparents. Had I come into the family after the birth of this grandchild, I’d think of myself as a step-grandparent. But, I am firmly entrenched in the family and consider myself 100% a grandmother. Right or wrong. What do you think?

And though, I’m not a mom, I’ve got godchildren scattered all over the country—five officially, two more who think they are and I’m not telling them differently. I have a niece from my first marriage and a niece and nephew from this one. In addition, for many years I worked with college women in varying roles of advising chapters of my collegiate sorority. I truly cared for these young women, but someone else had birthed and raised them. So, while I’ve been around a lot of young folks, and maybe even influenced even a few, I’m not a mom.

Right smack in the middle of my little pity party, my doorbell rang. It was the mailman with a package. I didn’t remember ordering anything. I opened the box and found a gift…a mother’s day gift. Out of the blue. Not from one of the step-kids. Not from a relative or godchild (though they sometimes send cards). Not from one of the sorority women. It was from someone else. Totally unexpected. The gift was inscribed, leaving no doubt it was for Mother’s Day. It oozed with love. I didn’t need a present, (okay, maybe I did to snap me out of this funk) but to be remembered on Mother’s Day–well, I’m still bawling.

Happy Mother’s Day to all of you mothers out there. And to those of you who aren’t…well, a special Happy Mother’s Day to you, too. I’m sure someone, somewhere has special feelings for you whether or not they remember to tell you.

~Kay

With awesome pedicure and new toe ring (thanks, Erica)

I’ll be back Friday.

~ Kay

I’m caught up with my blog reading. I had gotten well over 2000 posts behind, and of course sank deeper and deeper into the abyss with each passing day. But, as my weary eyes will proclaim, I read all of them. Well, most them.

If you’ve seen me during the past couple of weeks, chances are you’ve seen me reading. I’ve read them at home on my computer and while out and about on my iPad or iPhone. If I had an extra minute (and thought about it), I was reading. And not just in waiting rooms; any place was fair game–traffic lights, checkout lines. You get the idea. Whew! Now, that I’ve up-to-date it’s time to catch up with my reading for my critique group! Will I ever have time to write books again?

Back to the blogs–Why didn’t I just mark them all as read and start over? I tried, but damn it, I couldn’t force myself to do it. I was afraid I’d miss something. I do confess, I skimmed some, especially book reviews and such. I’ve got enough books in my queue to last this lifetime and next so I felt safe with that.

I have one online author friend who goes through her blog list every so often and deletes blogs that don’t meet her needs any more. I tried to do that, but I couldn’t cut anyone. Would they know? No. Would they care? Probably not. Well, maybe. But again, I might miss something. During my attempt to eliminate a few, I think I added half-a-dozen to my list as I found new links I liked in the blogs I read. I’m going to work on this. Maybe.

I have my subscriptions in Google Reader organized into categories such as agents, writers, writing resources, blogging resources, or the catch-all “random”. People with whom I have a relationship I have grouped by how I know them: organizations or clubs, classes, web sites, conferences or places where we “met,” be it online or in person. This helps me prioritize what to read first when I get so far behind.

So, what did I miss?

Author Rachel Bertsche, who wrote MWF seeking BFF, based on a year of best friend dating after moving from NYC to Chicago, came to Nashville for a book signing, and I didn’t see the post until three days after she’d been here. I’d followed her blog almost from its beginning, watched her excitement as her book launched and would have enjoyed having the chance to say, “hi.” Double bummer, I was free the night she was in town!

Online author friend Phoenix Sullivan’s book Sector C hit Amazon’s Top 100 List. Congratulations, Phoenix. By the way, she’s doing some amazing things over at Steel Magnolia Press.

Two of my favorite blogs in the whole blogosphere, Cupid’s Literary Connection and Miss Snark’s First Victim, had fabulous contestS with lots of wonderful entries and critiques. These two anonymous ladies spend an enormous amount of time helping unpublished writers get exposure to agents. The contests are always fun, fresh and exciting.

I caught up on Lee Lofland’s reviews of one of my favorite TV shows: Castle. He’s a former cop and the day following each airing points out everything that’s procedurally incorrect in the show. BUT, he still likes the program because of the chemistry of the cast. Lee’s a great resource for answers to police-type questions plus he hosts an annual Writer’s Police Academy in North Carolina each year.  How cool is that?

These are just a few of the time sensitive posts I missed during days weeks I got behind. But, I’m caught up now. What? Sixty-eight new posts since I last checked. Damn. Here I go again.

~ Kay

If you’ve followed my blog for any length of time, or know me at all, you know I don’t spam. I don’t “pass things on,” no matter how cute they are. Okay, maybe if laugh so hard I almost pee in my pants or if something is so sad or touching that I’m sobbing, I might–might–send it to a select few who I know would appreciate it, but I always, ALWAYS take off the ending tag lines about what would happen if the reader failed to pass it along and, heaven forbid, didn’t send it back to me.

The “you are my friend” ones are the worst. Don’t get me wrong. I adore knowing someone considers me one of her most special friends, but think about it. Would you really send the friends you love the most e-mails which require them to turn around and send it to others (and back to you) in so many minutes, no less, just to keep the chain going so we’ll all get rich, or have good luck, or on the downside not be struck by lightning or go to hell in a hand basket? Just saying. But I digress. And I don’t mean to offend anyone; this is my personal pet peeve and I own it as such. I have a delete key. I know how to use it.

So…having said that, my precious mother-in-law sent me something I simply had to share.  I have no idea whether or not it’s true. It didn’t list an author, which always raises a red flag. Nor do I know how long it’s been floating around cyberspace. Another red flag. Is it an urban legend? I didn’t even check Snopes. You know why? It doesn’t matter. The story is poignant and touched my heart.

I didn’t even delete the “pass it on” directions at the end. After reading it, I think you’ll understand why. It does get a little preachy as it concludes, but I left it in tact because there is a strong message. But don’t worry there aren’t any threats about what will happen if one fails to comply. I hope you find this meaningful too. If not, “delete” is in the upper right hand corner of your keyboard.

As a Company, Southwest Airlines is going to support ‘Red Fridays.’ 

Last week I was in Atlanta , Georgia attending a conference. While I was in the airport, returning home, I heard several people behind me beginning to clap and cheer. I immediately turned around and witnessed one of the greatest acts of patriotism I have ever seen. 

Moving through the terminal was a group of soldiers in their camos. As they began heading to their gate, everyone (well almost everyone) was abruptly to their feet with their hands waving and cheering. 

When I saw the soldiers, probably 30-40 of them, being applauded and cheered for, it hit me. I’m not alone. I’m not the only red-blooded American who still loves this country and supports our troops and their families. 

Of course I immediately stopped and began clapping for these young unsung heroes who are putting their lives on the line everyday for us so we can go to school, work and home without fear or reprisal. 

Just when I thought I could not be more proud of my country or of our Service men and women, a young girl, not more than 6 or 7 years old ran up to one of the male soldiers. He kneeled down and said ‘hi…’ 

The little girl then asked him if he would give something to her daddy for her… 

The young soldier, who didn’t look any older than maybe 22 himself, said he would try and what did she want to give to her daddy. Then suddenly the little girl grabbed the neck of this soldier, gave him the biggest hug she could muster and then kissed him on the cheek. 

The mother of the little girl, who said her daughter’s name was Courtney, told the young soldier that her husband was a Marine and had been in Iraq for 11 months now. As the mom was explaining how much her daughter Courtney missed her father, the young soldier began to tear up. 

When this temporarily single mom was done explaining her situation, all of the soldiers huddled together for a brief second… Then one of the other servicemen pulled out a military-looking walkie-talkie. They started playing with the device and talking back and forth on it..

After about 10-15 seconds of this, the young soldier walked back over to Courtney, bent down and said this to her, ‘I spoke to your daddy and he told me to give this toyou.’ He then hugged this little girl that he had just met and gave her a kiss on the cheek. He finished by saying ‘your daddy told me to tell you that he loves you more than anything and he is coming home very soon..’ 

The mom at this point was crying almost uncontrollably and as the young soldier stood to his feet, he saluted Courtney and her mom. I was standing no more than 6 feet away from this entire event. 

As the soldiers began to leave, heading towards their gate, people resumed their applause. As I stood there applauding and looked around, there were very few dry eyes, including my own. That young soldier in one last act of selflessness turned around and blew a kiss to Courtney with a tear rolling down his cheek. 

We need to remember everyday all of our soldiers and their families and thank God for them and their sacrifices. At the end of the day, it’s good to be an American. 

RED FRIDAYS —– Very soon, you will see a great many people wearing red every Friday. The reason? Americans who support our troops used to be called the ‘silent majority’. We are no longer silent, and are voicing our love for God, country and home in record breaking numbers. 

Our idea of showing solidarity and support for our troops with dignity and respect starts this Friday – and continues each and every Friday until the troops all come home, sending a deafening message that. Every red-blooded American who supports our men and women afar will wear something red. 

By word of mouth, press, TV — let’s make the United States on every Friday a sea of red much like a homecoming football game in the bleachers. 

If every one of us who loves this country will share this with acquaintances, co-workers, friends, and family. It will not be long before the USA is covered in RED. The first thing a soldier says when asked ‘What can we do to make things better for you?’ is…..We need your support and your prayers. 

Let’s get the word out and lead with class and dignity, by example. 

I’m wearing red today—and will be every Friday—until my step-son and all our guys are safely home.

~Kay

I’m taking a mental health day.

See you Friday.

~ Kay

Last Saturday, Nashville hosted the Country Music Marathon and half-marathon. I’d planned to have a marathon of my own to catch up on my backlog of reading. Instead, I went to a street fair on Saturday and did yard work yesterday, as my aching body will attest.

Hubby suggested a bike ride first thing Sunday morning, which I thought was a bad idea with all of the new roofs going up in the neighborhood. New roofs equal random nails, equal flat tires in my book, but I couldn’t convince him. Following our ride we had four intact tires, so I missed the call on that one.

After one loop through the subdivision, detouring into each and every cul-de-sac (bet you already guessed I wasn’t the lead bike), we got close enough to our house that I made a break for it. My thighs were burning and my bottom ached. Now, I tap dance about six hours a week so you’d think my legs wouldn’t hurt after a little bike ride, but they screamed with pain.

When I said that was it for me, Hubby stowed the bikes and decided to wash and wax my car. I fled inside, did some housework and prepared lunch. Okay, I moved the bread to the island, got the mayo and mustard and some ham from the fridge and put it on the counter, but it was lunch. Oh, and I found some chips too.

After lunch, Mr. Energy said he was going to work in the yard. My intention had been to make a dent in the hundreds, now thousands, of blogs I’m behind in reading, but I was overcome with guilt and meandered outside to help.

I found my work gloves, which he’d gotten dirty when he couldn’t find his. I’d had them for years and they still looked like new, but that’s another story. We decided to pull up some bushes—he shoveled up the roots and I pulled. Then, I trimmed the dead parts off of several stands of monkey grass as I thinned it. We put out what mulch we had on hand—only a few bags.

While he was gone to get more mulch I got cleaned up. Mulch is too heavy for me to pick up and reasoned if I’d already showered he wouldn’t expect me to help. Heck, he was surprised when I helped in the first place. The yard is his domain. I stick to potted plants and window boxes which, if I’m completely honest, he plants for me more often than not. I do water (unless I can tell he’s beaten me to it which is about 80% of the time).

This morning I was so sore I could barely roll over to get out of bed. Everything hurts. Everything. I finally found the floor, did enough stretches to function, and crawled up the stairs to write my blog post though even my fingers are sore. I said everything! I brought an ice pack with me and now I’ve moved to heat.

I’ve got to loosen my body up before tap class in a few hours. Only twelve studio rehearsals before our recital!

Any ideas?

~Kay

We got a copy of this press release and I had to share. I’m not sure what it means exactly, but I know my step-son (on the right) looks good and healthy and will be heading to Hawaii soon to meet his son. Then, in June they’ll come to Tennessee for a few weeks.

U.S. Marine Lance Cpl. Eric Ward (left), 24, from Savannah, Ga., and Staff Sgt. Andrew Elam, 27, from Nashville, Tenn., an ammunition technician and ammunition chief with 3rd Battalion, 3rd Marine Regiment, load cans of ammunition onto the back of a 7-ton truck while retrograding military equipment here, April 15, 2012, in preparation for the position’s transfer to Afghan forces. Over the last 16 months, Afghan and coalition forces employed Combat Outpost Torbert as a key location for stabilization and the growth of governance in the once-volatile Banadar region of Helmand province’s Garmsir district. The nearing assumption of lead security responsibility in Garmsir by Afghan forces enabled Marines with Weapons Company, 3rd Bn., 3rd Marines, to transfer COP Torbert to Afghan Border Police, April 20. The position was named in honor of fallen Marine Cpl. Eric M. Torbert, Jr., a 25-year-old combat engineer from Lancaster, Pa., who was killed by an improvised explosive device in Banadar, Dec. 18, 2010. Though COP Torbert is now run by Afghan forces, they’ve honored Cpl. Torbert’s sacrifice by maintaining the position’s name.

The photo was by Reece Lodder. It didn’t say who wrote the story.

And, since I’m in braggin’ mode, here are some pics of the little fellow. Give me credit, I’ve gone ten posts without publishing any, but these should send you into the weekend smiling.

Think he's tired of listening? I love this!

So far, my favorite picture. Such a little man!

Happy weekend, everyone.

~Kay