Remembering Mrs. Freedman

I’m still on a high from my trip to Maine last weekend. The only bad thing about the timing was that I missed a funeral on Sunday for the mother of my best friend from high school.

I became friends with Joan Freedman in eighth grade. We were opposites in many ways—she had big boobs and actual calf muscles and I was the president of the IBTC (Itty Bitty Titty Committee) with little stick legs. She had long, beautiful, thick hair that took forever to dry; mine was… you know. And whereas Joan was incredibly funny and outgoing, I was more quiet and reserved. When I saw Bette Midler and Barbara Hershey in Beaches, I immediately thought of the two of us.

Joan had an extra bed in her room just for sleepovers, and I practically lived at the Freedmans’ house, staying even on school nights. Both of Joan’s parents were so nice—and they actually got along (!)—but her mother was really extraordinary. She was so easygoing. Nothing, I mean nothing seemed to phase her.

I remember Joan and I were messing around in her house one day when her parents weren’t home. I went to look out what I thought was an open window to the back porch.  Except it wasn't open.  I ended up cracking both the window and my head (duh). I was kind of freaked, imagining my mother’s Jesus Christ-what-the-hell-you-doing-putting-your-head-through-the-goddamn-window response, but when Joan’s parents came home, Mrs. Freedman was more concerned about the cut on my forehead.

“Maybe I should call Steven,” she said, impressing me with her first-name familiarity with their family doctor. (I have since come to realize that’s just part of being Jewish. It also explained why Joan had a medical excuse to get out of gym for six years.)

Marilyn Freedman was one of the nicest people to walk this planet. I’m sorry I missed her funeral, but I paid a shiva visit to the family on Monday after work. It was great to see everyone and reminisce about the old days, though it’s sad to know she’s gone.

I feel guilty. One time last year when I was in town, I tried to coordinate with Joan a visit to her mother’s, but she wasn’t feeling up to it. When I got back to Vegas, I bought her a card. I never sent it.

Then one morning this past June, shortly after I arrived in Albany, I woke up from one of those dreams that’s as real as daytime. In my dream I heard a message (from who knows where) saying if I wanted to see Mrs. Freedman, I should go now. In real life I knew at that point she was in a nursing home, and in my dream I was with my sister Lori (who really didn’t know her, but you know how dreams are) at her bedside. Mrs. Freedman looked young and healthy—the way I remembered her as a teenager—and she sat upright in bed.

I woke up thinking I have got to get over to the Daughters of Sarah to see her. But you know I never made it.

I’ve been meaning to visit my almost 90-year-old ex-mother-in-law since I’ve been in town, but I haven’t made it over there, either. I suck.

Clarification on the Republicans' wardrobe

I need to set the record straight.  My aunt said it's the Tea Party who has the wardrobe that sucks.

That's kind of the least of their problems, huh?

Fantastic weekend in Maine!

Oh, man, I had such a fantastic weekend visiting my quirky aunt Joycie and her partner, Geri, in Maine. (For the new readers, I had two aunts named Joyce; Beautiful Aunt Joyce died last year.)

So you know from yesterday’s post that I arrived wearing my tiara. Friday night we just hung out. Here’s Joycie showing off her tattoo. It’s a sea horse.

I’m not much into tattoos and I almost gave her my “What do you think that’s gonna look like when you’re 80?” lecture that I give my friends’ kids, but since 80 is only 8 years away for Joycie, I bit my lip. Plus I figure it’ll probably look pretty much the same.

Saturday morning both Joycie and Geri had to work, so I enjoyed having the house to myself and was psyched to take a nice, leisurely shower. Until I saw this friggin’ thing hanging in the corner.

Helloooo, Joycie!? Did you forget about my bird phobia? The thing is, I was already naked when I saw it (sorry about that visual), which made me feel even more vulnerable.

Anyway, my cousin Kelly came up from Plum Island and took me out to breakfast. She’s such a doll. Here she is between Geri and Joycie.

Afterward we went down to Wells Beach for a while and sat in the sun on the rocks.

What a gorgeous day!

In the afternoon we took a drive up to Kennebunkport, which is only a few miles from Wells. Here’s a shot of Daddy Bush’s house, or “where the enemy’s father lives” as Joyce calls it.

I wish I had a video of her going on about Republicans—too funny. The best part was the end when she spat, “and their wardrobe SUCKS!”  Sorry to any well-dressed Republicans out there; Joycie is really the sweetest person on earth. 

At night they took me out to dinner and I swear to God, the seafood pasta I had was one of the top 5 meals of my life.  Seriously, it'll be one of the things that flash through in my final moments.

So much food! I walked around their block four times when we got home, just to get rid of some of the calories. It was delicious for breakfast the next day, too.

Joycie and Geri are awesome hostesses. Look what I found in the shower on Sunday morning.

So considerate, huh?  They know I didn't want that goddamn thing looking at me.

Sunday was gray and gloomy, so I hit the road around noontime. Here’s a pic I took around York Beach.

As luck would have it, my buddy Chief lives just off the 495 outside of Worcester, so I stopped in to see him on my way back to Albany. You may remember Chief if you read my book. He’s my friend who was visiting Vegas the first time I did stand-up; afterward we went to ghostbar.

Chief’s a freakin’ blast and is so damn cute; it was great to see him.  And if any women think there are no nice, straight, unmarried guys left in this world, you are so wrong! 

After a nice visit, I was back on the road. I love the road, even by myself (the tiara helps). I finally got a plug-in thing so I can hook my iPhone up to my car stereo, so I listened to Warren Zevon Radio on Pandora almost all the way. You won’t believe it, but I still don’t have any music downloaded to my iPhone yet. I’m not that swift technologically—that’s a job for Mike when I get back to Vegas in November.

Anyway, I got into Albany just in time for the season premiers of the Sunday night cartoons on Fox. Aaahh... the perfect end to the perfect weekend!

Tiaras are not just for special occasions!

I’ll put up a nice long post tomorrow about my fabulous trip to Maine, but I couldn’t wait to share this thought I had during my drive.

I was stuck in traffic on the 495 just past Worcester, Mass., and saw that I’d already put over 11,000 miles on my car—just since April 2. At first I was like, yikes, that’s a lot of miles. But then I thought that’s exactly what I bought the car for—to take lots of trips. Then I got to thinking of that corny email going around about how you shouldn’t save your good clothes for special occasions, especially if they bring you joy.

Then I thought, holy cow, I should wear my tiara more often, so I put it on right there and then. Seriously, why save it for special occasions? My aunt and her partner had a good laugh when I arrived at their house, and I wore it most of the way home, too, and got some smiles from the toll booth guys and people at the rest stop on the Mass Pike.

So the moral of the story is, life is too short to save your special stuff. Wear your tiara whenever you want, dammit!

Heading to Maine today!

Yep, I'm on the road again--this time by myself.  I'm taking a half day of work and will hit the road this afternoon.  My quirky lesbian aunt lives in Wells, right near the beach.  I haven't seen her in a few years--not since my mother's wedding in Vegas in 2006--so I'm pretty psyched.  I haven't been to Maine since right before B.H. and I split up; this trip is sure to be more enjoyable.  On the way back I hope to stop in on my friend Chief, whom you may remember from my book.  What a character.

Anyway, I probably won't be able to post tomorrow (I like to keep to my usual schedule), but I'll have all kinds of pictures and stories for you when I get back. 

In the meantime, yesterday I got one of the funniest comments ever.  In case you didn't see it, check out what one anonymous reader confessed:

I'm afraid of babies!

They are so fragile & I am so clumsy!

I trip on my own two feet on a regular basis, but what if I dropped one? They can't even support their own tiny head, what if I get distracted & forget for a second and forget? What if I'm too tired because I stayed up all night watching them so they don't get SIDS? What is that anyway & how do I know it isn't going to happen to me? Am I going to be part of that statistic which dies in childbirth? Who will care for them when I'm gone if they come out mentally retarded? How can anyone afford them - they cost a goddamn fortune! There are way too many variables. I've seen so many nice couples raise such horrible demon children it boggles the mind! Or maybe the child turns out just fine, but starts dating slimeballs with tattoos and the next thing you know, you are stuck helping to raise another one. What if they sex text to another teenager & get arrested for distributing child porn? No, just way to many variables one can't control!

Courtney and I were laughing our heads off over that last night--cracked us up. 
 
Have a great weekend!

How could Little Red Riding Hood’s mother let her walk in the woods ALONE?

So I’m back out in beautiful East Berne now, staying with my friends Tim and Susan. I gave them a little break from me while I was in Las Vegas for two weeks, and the two weeks before that I stayed at my brother and sister-in-law’s house over in Rensselaer County. God bless all of them for putting me up since I arrived here back on May 29. Man, that’s a long time to be mooching off friends and family, don’t you think?

The other night Susan and Courtney were busting on me because my key ring looks like a jail warden’s. It’s kind of funny that a homeless person would have four house keys, but I do—one to Lori’s, one to Tim and Susan’s, one to my brother’s, and one to Mike’s. Actually, I had three more—two I couldn’t identify (probably to the houses I had in Wyoming and Utah) and one to our old house on Homestead Ave. that we sold in 2003. The girls made me throw them out; they said hoarding keys is a sign of mental illness. Oh, the abuse I take.

Speaking of, the first thing Tim said to me yesterday morning was, “Lin, do you remember the Moonies from the 70s and how people were brainwashed?”

Well, evidently Tim thought I was a victim of mind control and in need of de-programming because the night before I went out for a two-mile walk as soon as I got home, I didn’t have a beer or ice cream all night, and then went to bed early. “What happened to our Linda?” he demanded.

I can’t believe I walked by myself; I told you before the country scares the crap out of me and ever since I posted that link on Tuesday about serial killer Robert Garrow, I’m creeped out by the thought of a possible Garrow v.2. But I don’t want to lose the momentum from the daily walks Mike and I took in Las Vegas (Henderson, actually) and so I braved the country roads all alone since I couldn’t coax Susan to come with me. I almost turned back two minutes into my walk because there were a shit load of birds perched on a wire and more flying around, but I thought she’d make fun of me and I almost couldn’t blame her. Almost. I hate birds.

Anyway, I took this picture with my iPhone. You can kind of see the moon. It looked cool.

So yes, I was walking in the country by myself with birds and God knows what other kinds of animals hiding the bushes and potential ax murderers and it was even starting to get dark. I’m a brave, brave girl.

It's weird how something perfectly enjoyable to one person is a nightmare to another. Remember that hike in the woods last weekend? My friends thought it was the greatest thing, but I kept thinking, Every step I take is a step closer to getting out of these friggin' woods. My mother just went whitewater rafting--another thing you couldn't pay me to do. Same with sailing, sushi, and Disneyland--nightmare, nightmare, nightmare.

How about you? What is it that a other people find enjoyable, but hell no, not you?

Dude, where's my %@$*! car? and a fun reunion with friends from the crazy years

Every time I get off a plane after a cross-country flight, I express my amazement that after just a few hours, you can be transported to a totally different place and time. I left sunny and hot Las Vegas Saturday afternoon at 12:40 Pacific time and arrived in the dark at the Albany airport at about 8:15 Eastern time. It blows my mind.

I had a ton of shit with me this trip—two big-ass rolling suitcases (does anyone still use that word?) and another rolling bag with my two laptops. A ton of heavy shit.

I was psyched to get into Albany a few minutes early since I was meeting a bunch of friends from college (SUNY Plattsburgh) up in North Creek in the Adirondacks, which is about an hour and a half drive.  As it was, I wouldn’t get up there until after 10 p.m.

My poor sister Lori. Not only will she do anything for me, she does do EVERYTHING for me. So of course, she’s the one who dropped my car off in the short-term lot before my arrival so I could head up the Northway as soon as I got into town. I told her to send me a text with the row she parked it in, but when I checked my phone after landing, there was nothing.

Hmmmm. After I got my bags I gave her a call, but got her voicemail. I called her husband, Russ, and got his voicemail. I called her son to see if maybe she forgot to drop off my car, knowing that would be so unlike her, and of course, she did drop it off. But where the hell was it?

I called her again—voicemail. I called Russ again—voicemail. Jesus H. I decided to lug my heavy freakin’ bags to the open lot across the road from the terminal. Nope, not in there. Eff. I start to lug my shit into the garage, but it’s full and when I try beeping my keys (something I could never do with my Saturn, by the way), I hear nothing. God dammit.

I call her again—voicemail. I call Russ again—voicemail. Jesus Christ, where the fuck is my car? I call Courtney because I need to let off steam because God knows I don’t have a friggin’ iota of patience when it comes to anything. (If you follow me on Facebook, you know I nearly murdered someone in the library last week.)  Courtney agrees with me that certainly Lori wouldn’t drop the ball, but again, where the fuck is my car?

After what seems to be an eternity, but was probably only another 10 minutes, Lori calls me (she and Russ were at a wedding) and tells me where my car is and that she texted me right when she dropped it off. But what the hell happened? I hang up and I’m about ready to cry from dragging these freakin’ bags around, but I finally see my cute little Scion. About a minute later, I get two texts from Lori—one saying, “Let me know that all is fine” and the other one that says, “I left your car inside short-term parking in the second row. I wish I could be there when you get in. Have fun tonight.”

Yes, the texts came at the same time. The second one must have pushed the first one through. Beloved iPhone, how could you?  Whatever. The moral of the story is, when doing a cross-country flight, be aware it may take a while for your text messages to catch up with you.

Anyway, I made it up north in record time and had a nice cold Lake Placid Ubu Ale at Laura's bar in North Creek with seven old friends from the crazy years.  That night we stayed in a lodge at Chatimack Lake.  You don't see this kind of decor in Las Vegas, do ya?

The next day was overcast, but not rainy, so we took an hour and a half hike in the woods around the lake. 

Here are some of my friends at a lean-to.  Can you believe people actually sleep in those things?  I mean overnight!  I'm like, where's the freakin' door?  Animals can just walk right up to you and lick you when you sleep.  Not to mention you're in full view of any ax murderers. Hello? Does the name Robert Garrow ring a bell? 

The Adirondacks are beautiful, but you know what?  I'm not a walk in the woods kind of girl.  I'm too claustrophobic.  Nope, give me the open West any time--I love my dusty brown neighborhood.  I'm definitely a desert girl!

What a difference two weeks makes--the trees are starting to change here in Albany and it's noticeably colder than when I left.  I miss Las Vegas already.

A quick update on Hurricane Mikey

11:15 a.m. (EDT)

Just got off the phone with the big guy—I was concerned that he hadn’t posted in a couple of days and wanted to make sure he’s all right. He’s fine.  Sounds like he’s going great.

Mikey was released from the hospital on Saturday and is staying with his sister Amy and her husband. He just got his computer connected yesterday and hasn’t had a chance to post, but he assures me he’ll put something up tonight.

Mikey also assured me that he’s fine financially—something I know a lot of us have been wondering about—but I bet you anything a little something in his tip jar would be greatly appreciated. It’ll be a while till he can work again; he’s on two months bed rest and can’t drive for another five weeks. The good news, in addition to the fact that he continues to be recovering so well, is that he’s “getting the best care you can possibly imagine” and the hospital is working with him on the medical expenses so all he has to do is focus on getting better.

Really, he sounds fantastic. When this is all behind him, I’m gonna kick his ass for giving us such a scare.

Leaving Las Vegas... again

After two glorious weeks, this afternoon I say good-bye to Las Vegas and head back to Albany.  It's tough to leave this weather--it's still in the 90s and with brilliant sunshine every day.  September and October are beautiful months here in Vegas, and though the whole fall foliage thing will kick in soon in the Northeast, the thought of autumn has always been depressing for me.  Fortunately, I expect to be heading back west for good at the end of October, so I'll escape before it gets too cold up north.  

But hey, look at this gorgeous little baby waiting for me up there.  Hazel is five months old already--can you believe it? 

Now that face would brighten anybody's day!  I'm a lucky granny.

A good movie to rent and some sexy pillow talk

So last night Mike and I watched Almost Famous, the Cameron Crowe movie about the young Rolling Stone writer. I think I’d seen bits and pieces of it before on HBO, but Mike had never seen it and curiously, he had no clue what to expect. He loved it; I thought it was a nice movie, but I’m not raving over it.

I will, however, rave over another movie we rented last weekend, Cemetery Junction, which is a creation by two of the funniest guys on earth, Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant. Unless you’re a big fan, chances are you’ve never heard of it; it probably played at your local art house for about two weeks. I thought it was fantastic; there’s nothing like the Gervais/Merchant humor (check out the BBC version of The Office or Extras, which ran for about 12 episodes on HBO). It also had serious and poignant overtones, and if you’ve read my book, you know I love the blend of poignancy and humor.

Cemetery Junction isn’t for everyone; you have to go for that dry Brit humor and even though they’re speaking English, sometimes I wished for subtitles; it’s a little hard to understand at times. I was reminded of the part in my book where I talk about how Bastard Husband, being from New Zealand, could understand every word of The Osbournes and would have to translate half the show for me. On the other hand, he couldn’t understand a word of Bernie Mac.

Anyway, Cemetery Junction is in Red Box right now; if you like that sort of thing, you’ll love this film.

Okay, this is bordering on TMI, but last night we watched Almost Famous in bed. Mike is quite a talker, but he knows my history of publicly humiliating rude movie patrons so he kept quiet. After the movie, though, he had a lot of pent-up things to get out and God knows why, but he started doing impressions for me to guess.

The first one was a snap—John Wayne. The second one was easy, too—Don Adams from the old Get Smart show. But the third one—I had no idea. He was like, “Come on, I can’t believe you can’t tell who this is.” But I had no freakin’ clue; I couldn’t even venture a guess. Finally, disappointed that I couldn’t appreciate his talents, he revealed the speaker.

“Spiro Agnew.”

Spiro Agnew?

Seriously, who remembers what Spiro Agnew sounded like, but more importantly, who the eff does Spiro Agnew impressions in the sack?

That’s a first for me, all right.

Mikey's posting again (!) and cancer can still S.M.D.

Well, just a couple of days after camping out at death's door, Hurricane Mikey is posting again.  Is that un-freakin-believable or what?  Thank you, God, and while I have your attention, please let me never include the phrase "I'm supposed to get the chest tubes out today" in any of my blog posts.  Yikes.

I spent the majority of last weekend worrying about my friends.  On top of Mikey's emergency, I learned that one of my girlfriends from my writers group out here in Las Vegas has breast cancer.   I've been wondering if something was up from her Facebook postings and her friends' comments, and then when I saw a photo of her kissing her husband's shaved head, I thought the worst and shot her an email.  When she replied confirming my suspicions, I burst into tears.  She's one of the nicest people on earth--one of those clean-living earth mothers who does her part in working toward a compassionate world.  I still can't believe it.

I sat next to her last night at the Henderson Writers Group meeting.   Her long blond hair is now cut short and she went dark, maybe to accentuate the change.  "Your hair is still thicker than mine," I whispered, and got a good church laugh out of her.  Her face is beautiful and healthy looking, and if you didn't know, you'd never suspect she was sick. 

I posted a rant about cancer just before Beautiful Aunt Joyce died, and I still mean every word of it. I had just said to Mike when I arrived a week ago Saturday that the wife of one of our friends has cancer and I am so fucking sick of getting news that someone else I know is undergoing radiation or chemo.  And now this. 

Mike said something like, "Jeez, Linda, it's dangerous to be your friend," but the reality is, when you're blessed with many, many friends, you simply have more people to worry about.   But Mikey's on the mend, and my writer girlfriend will come through this, too.  I just know.

The universe unfolds in divine order--how many times have you heard me spout that one off?  I still believe it, though sometimes it's harder than others.

Talked to Mikey!

10:25 p.m.

A little while ago, I got a call from Vanderbilt Hospital in Nashville and it was the big guy himself.  I couldn't believe it.  He sounded amazingly well; in fact, Mikey said the doctors are calling his progress "miraculous."  They've seen no one recover faster.  The power of prayer, my friends.   Good work!

Mikey says a severe pulmonary embolism went though his heart and blocked both lungs, but contrary to my previous report, there is no heart damage.  His 29-hour drive from Vegas to Nashville was the catalyst; sitting for long periods of time can cause this problem. 

Tomorrow he goes under again for another procedure--sounds like a leg/groin/vein thing.  Um, as you can tell, I'm not a nurse.  At any rate, Mikey expects it to take only about a half hour. 

But not to minimize; this is serious shit, people.  Our friend almost died.  Before the emergency surgery Saturday morning, the doctors gathered his family and told them something to the effect of, "Say whatever you need to say to him; now's the time."  

Holy crap. Yet earlier today, he was doing laps around the ICU, followed by a train of tubes and machines. Miraculous.  Mikey is so very grateful for all your good wishes.

God bless. 

Hurricane Mikey is on the mend!

3:15 p.m.

I just talked to Mikey's sister Amy and thank you God, our guy is doing much better than expected!  He's off the ventilator and may be moved out of ICU to a step-down room tomorrow.  Mikey was in a chair today and ate a little for breakfast and lunch. When Amy left him this afternoon, they were getting ready to have him up and walking. No rest for the weary!

Amy brought her laptop to his bedside and read him all your comments from yesterday, so he knows you're all wishing him well.  He may get his own laptop tonight; Amy said she'll be helping him write a post soon.  I know we're all looking forward to that, and while we all appreciate hearing some fresh new material, you didn't have to go to that extreme, Mikey!

Keep up the good work, man.  And know you're very, very loved.

P.S  There's a bunch more comments for you on my Facebook page.

Please pray for Hurricane Mikey

8:03 a.m. PDT

This is a post I hate to write; I've afraid I have some bad news about my friend and fellow blogger Hurricane Mikey. I'll get the story as straight as I can remember; forgive me if the details aren't exact.

At 1:00 this morning Mikey's sister Amy called to tell me they were preparing Mikey for emergency surgery. The family had just been brought in before they put him under. Mikey has several blood clots in his lungs and as I understand it, there's also been some damage to his heart.

Amy said they think the 29-hour drive from Vegas to Tennessee might have something to do with the formation of the clots; the condition is called pulmonary embolism. Every once in a while you hear of someone who develops this after being in one position for a long time. The situation is serious.

I'll let you know as I hear more. In the meantime, pray for the big guy.

We love you, Mikey!

8:40 a.m.

Just spoke to Amy. Mikey made it through over three hours of surgery and is in recovery. The goal today is to wean him from the ventilator and have him start breathing on his own. Amy said there's still cause for concern and he's not completely out of the woods, but thank God he made it through the surgery.

She said he's heavily sedated, but is cognizant and responds to them. In fact, he was downright ornery when they made some of his visitors leave--that's a good sign!

Mikey's whole family is with him and his sister from Texas is flying in today. Thank God this happened in Tennessee where he has the support of his people.

More details as I hear them. In the meantime, "Go, Mikey, go!"

A typical workday in Vegas and Happy Birthday to my 25-year-old BFF!

I am so loving this virtual work scene! I roll out of bed at a few minutes to six, put the coffee on, fire up the laptop, and start the tech writing magic... in my Guinness pajamas.

Here's a pic I sent to my beloved coworkers yesterday morning. Lucky for them, when I show up for work in person, I've already gone through my 30-step beautification process.

I'm mentally the sharpest first thing in the morning, so that's when I tackle the most cranial-challenging stuff. Then at 9:00 I take a break for an hour to coincide with East Coast lunchtime, and Mike and I get in some exercise. (Mike also works at home, but doesn't drag his ass out of bed until I'm putting on my walking shoes.)

We're about a 5-minute ride to the City View Trail at McDonald Ranch in the Green Valley section of Henderson. I've told you about this trail before; it's less than a half-hour climb and burns a good amount of calories.

Here's a view of the surrounding neighborhood, a 55+ community. I love walking through here and looking at all the cactus gardens. Very nice.

By 10:00 I'm back at the laptop and then wind things up around 3:00. It's an awesome arrangement, though I do miss my coworkers. It's like going to work everyday and seeing your best friends. That's how it was when I worked at GE, too. As I've said before, that makes all the difference in a job.

Speaking of best friends from work, today is my 25-year-old BFF's birthday! We're meeting for drinks tomorrow after work and I cannot freakin' wait; he's the funniest person I know. Right up there with my sister Lori and my son, Christopher. Cannot wait to see him!

Happy Birthday, Joe!

Setting up a new Vegas system

Now that I'm back in Las Vegas, you're probably expecting a swinging Sin City report of my wild and crazy antics on the town. Um, yesterday I went to Target, Bed Bath & Beyond, and Lowe's and spent the rest of the day supervising Mike as he cleaned out a closet. The day before we hit Costco and another Target.

Totally off topic, but am I the only one who thinks the dollar-fifty hot dog and soda special at Costco is freakin' delicious?

Anyway, we're setting up a new system here and any time you build a new structure, there's a certain amount of work that goes with it. It's been fun, though. Just not the beer drinkin' and going out to see a band kind of fun.

I'm here until the 18th and will be trying out the whole working virtually thing. I think that should go well. Here's the view from my new "office." Love that Vegas blue sky!

Other than that, there's not much to report. I'm embracing the unknown and am certain things will work out exactly as they're supposed to.

Hey, check out this new pic of Hazel that I lifted off Courtney's Facebook.

How cute is she?

Vegas-bound today!

My flight leaves at 12:45 this afternoon. Thank God Southwest has a direct flight from Albany to Las Vegas--flying without a layover makes such a big difference.

Speaking of thanking God, surely you've heard about the Australian couple whose premature baby miraculously came back to life. Is that the most amazing story you've ever heard or what? You have to wonder if it's wise to wisk even healthy babies away immediately after birth; obviously there's tremendous power in skin-to-skin contact.

My mind is going crazy thinking about all the other implications. I think of old people who maybe haven't had a hug in months. Or single people who don't have a swinging social life. If you do nothing else today, give someone a hug!

I'm also thankful that no one got seriously hurt in that kick-ass earthquake in New Zealand. I haven't heard from B.H. in a few weeks, but he's on the north island anyway, so I'm sure he's safe.

Well, you be safe, too, this holiday weekend. It's hard to believe the summer is over. I see some leaves starting to turn here and there, but once I get to Vegas, it will be summer all over again. And lots of hugs. Can't wait.

Septuagenarians gone wild!

I had no idea, but evidently there's a jail in Idaho specifically for senior citizens.

And look who's in the clink--Mom and Stepdaddy.

I suspect they robbed a liquor store, or perhaps ransacked a pharmacy for hypertensives or anticoagulants. I really don't know their crime; I found these pictures on Facebook, of all places. Figures they'd be bragging about their misdeeds to their pensioner friends.

[Shaking my head] I'm not mad, just disappointed...