An Old Tune In A New Note / Thursday, September 29

“It’s all about who you know.”

I’ve heard this phrase spoken time and time again. 

Usually spoken in frustration, jealousy or defeat, I’ve even uttered it in such a manner myself.

Frustrated by a perceived slight, favoritism or rejection, I’d blame whatever "it" was on a group of people connected to one another.

People I didn't actually know.

People whose names I couldn't even guess.

Whomever "they" were, they were connected to those making decisions about hiring, promoting, creating a team, casting a part. The list could go on for miles.

Tonight, I gathered to celebrate a birthday with friends and was introduced to women I’d heard about, but not yet met in person … or even on Facebook, if you can believe that.

A high-spirited evening ensued, full of intelligent conversation, raucous laughter and plenty of silliness.

Walking to my vehicle afterward, I was struck by the outstanding quality of women I’ve been meeting over the past few years right here in Fargo, North-Never-Mind-The-Cold-Dakota.

Amazing women.

Strong women.

Women of faith.

Women of conviction.

Women of action.

Women who, simply by being themselves, make me a better Me.

And wouldn’t you know it? 

Right there in the parking lot of Paradiso, I realized that I’d had it wrong for thirty-plus years.

Having these connections, these networks, these support systems wasn’t something to sneer at.

Rather, it’s a time-honored and soul-filling tradition.

A tradition to be mindful of.

To nurture.

To celebrate.

Amazing people crank your amazing to 11.

Strong people make you stronger.

The faithful remind you of the reasons to have faith.

People of action spurn you into forward movement of your own.

You being your best You gives others a space to be their best Them.

It can’t help but happen.

And so it goes.

Infinitely.

We choose who we know.

We reflect those around us.

In turn, those around us reflect (you guessed it!) us.

If you don't like what you're seeing, change your scenery. 

Surround yourself with people that amaze you. 

Choose well, my friends.

Because as it turns out, it really is all in who you know. 

And now, since this is, after all, a photo blog, and I am without the SLR, I give you another mobile phone photo. 

This is in front of the restaurant we went to tonight.

Yup. That's exactly what you think it is. 

You know, 'cause I like me some big (ahem) chickens.

We Interrupt This Blogcast ....

OK, I give up.

No, wait.

"Give up" isn't what I really mean.

How about ... "I'm changing the rules."?

Yup.

That's the one.

Since leaving my camera miles away, I am having a hard time posting old stuff when so much is happening TODAY that I just don't have a shot for.

And then I realized that I made up the rules, and I can change them.

So guess what?

We're skipping a few days.

ta-DA! <jazz hands>

While the thought of having holes in the timeline gives me palpitations, it's nothing in comparison to the flat-out anxiety of what feels like failure to me, not knowing what to post day-to-day until my camera comes home. (BeeTeeDubs ... that'll be tomorrow!)

I'm sure you can expect long, drawn out posts with tons of pictures over the next week and then we'll be all back on track, but in the meantime, please accept this rip in the time/space continuum.

(These are not the droids you are looking for.)

In the meantime, I give you another mustache shot.

Because I think I'm darned funny.

And it will make Maria squirm.

Honestly? For me, that's even funnier.

544 Miles, Revisited / Monday, September 26

Some of you may remember the girl trip I took last fall to attend Miss Sarah's wedding. (HI, SARAH!)

As I was rummaging in my archives wondering what in the world I was going to post about, I came upon a folder of images from that trip, and the afterglow of a seriously wonderful weekend came flooding back.  

That's Maria on the far left, standing next to Tammy. Sarah is the one in white. 

I have no idea who the dude with the 'stache and scarf is.

Weird.

The morning of our departure, we decided to be tourists and headed up the Pembina Gorge lookout thingy.

It was stunning.

So stunning both video and still were required.

And then we fell off the rock wall. 

Gotchya!

(If we fell off the wall, I wouldn't be posting this.)

(Silly goose.)

This was the weekend I figured out how the timer option worked on my camera. There were five photos in this sequence, and the only one in which all of our eyes and we aren't laughing so hard it looks like we're in pain.

I'd like to recommend you all take a trip like that.

Mustaches, falling off walls and all.

The word according to Laura.

You may be seated.

I Am The Taylor Swift of Everyday Photography / Sunday, September 25

The last time I went to see Julia, my oldest sister, she decided we needed a trip to The Hat Shop in Leavenworth. 

I don't remember taking these photos, but they do remind me of a good darn day. 

Julia was, as she always is, gorgeous.

I too, was as I always am. 

I can only assume this man is always thinking about SPAM. 

Nope, I have no idea who the fella is.

Let this be a lesson to you: I'm like Taylor friggin' Swift.

If it happens, and I get a shot of it, I'm writing a song about it posting it.)

Dirty White Smelly TShirts / Saturday, September 24

In searching for photos to share while the camera is enjoying its vacation, I came across this little beauty. 

It brought me back to a night I hope I never forget.

Ladies and gentlemen? Enjoy the Dirty White Smelly T-Shirt.

RAWR! / Friday, September 23

'Turns out, I'm a cotton-headed ninny muggins.

I know. 

That's extreme.

But, in this case at least, true.

I left my camera at my sister-in-law's house this weekend.

Four hours away. 

Four hours and two pee-stops, to be exact.

Thankfully, it sounds like my buddy, Bruce, of Woodiees-inventor fame, is headed that way tomorrow and might just be able to swing by and snag the camera. (HI, BRUCE!) (THANKS, BRUCE!) (YOU'RE MY FAVORITE, BRUCE!) (I OWE YOU A REALLY BIG COFFEE, BRUCE!)

In the meantime, I'll be finding new and different (for me) ways of bringing you images. 

Here's one from the MN State Fair a few years back. 

It makes me think of hot dogs.

And corn dogs.

And cotton-candy.

And Kid Rock.

MAN, I love the fair.

Waxin' Nostalgic / September 22 Bonus Post

Forgive me.

I'm feeling a little wistful this evening. 

The combination of my adult child hanging out with us this evening and a certain purple dinosaur being in town has me remembering the days when the giant man-child was but a little man.

I offer to you a story from the blog before this one of days gone by: 

A Promise Fulfilled. 

As I'm sure you guessed, the photo is not mine. I had intended to stop by Toys 'R Us and snap a photo of shelves and shelves of Barney and Co., but ... well, I just plain forgot.

Staring all weepy-eyed at a young adult snoring on your couch during prime time television has that effect on some of us. 

Mostly me. 

A Bug's Life / Thursday, September 22

Earl the Squirrel / Wednesday, September 21

I'm not feelin' so hot, so I took the day to do ... well, nuthin'. Didn't so much as pick up my camera or even crop a photo. 

Instead, I reached back into the archives from the day we went to the Red River Zoo. 

There among the tall grass between exhibits and habitats was a lone water dish. 

No fence, no obvious reason for the dish in sight.

That is, until we saw this dude race out of the reeds. 

 Sometimes, it's good to be the little guy.

This Is Mine / Tuesday, September 20

My favorite store here in Fargo has some really great repurposed, recycled furniture and household pieces to offer. 

Dressers, buffets, secretariats, dining room tables, chairs, cribs ... I could (and often do) go on and on. 

I was there today and came across this photo at the front counter. 

I asked Leanne, one of the owners, about it, and she said it fell off of a memo board one of the buyers brought in.

I was, for once, speechless.

I spent quite a bit of time this afternoon staring at this photo.

Attempting to peer into the faces, into the eyes, of these children.

Trying to step, even for just a moment, into the past. 

I wanted to know things. 

Who were these people? 

What were they doing? 

How did they spend their days? 

Then I turned the photo over. 

This.

Is.

Mine.

Those words rolled around first my tongue and mouth, and now they are lodged in my head.

Like a drama exercise from my high school years, they change their cadence, their tone, their power in each turn.

This is mine.

THIS is mine.

This IS mine.

This is MINE.


Who were these people?

What were they doing?

How did they spend their days?

And then I wondered ... what did they love?

Who did they love?

How did they love?

Who loved them?

And then I got to looking closer.

For most of the day, I only saw four faces.

That changed when I started to think about the love component.

It was then that I noticed the shadows.

Those dark silhouettes in the foreground that look, to me at least, like a man and a woman.

Watching.

Waiting.

And I can only assume ... loving.

Why else would someone so pointedly claim them in that moment, just as they were?

It's gotta be the love, man.

Lunaria Annua / Monday, September 19

I'm sure I don't have to tell you WHY I like these silver dollars.

Some things are integral to the human experience, yes? 

(Full disclosure: In order for you to really get to know me, I figured I should disclose that as I got to "annu", I snickered and did my Beavis & Butthead impression. Yup. Just like that.)

You Know You're In Fargo When ... / Sunday, September 18

Our neighbors are remodeling their basement. (HI, JEN! HI, NATHAN!)

There's some heavy-duty bidness to be done down there, so they've called in some pros.

The pros brought along a heavy-duty truck.

You know, for the heavy-duty bidness.

Since most pros don't work weekends (amen to that!) they left the truck parked in front of our house for the weekend.

I've driven past it a few times, never taking in too many details, until this morning. 

Do you see it? 

Yup!

STUFF!

Naturally, I grabbed my camera to investigate.

Just call me Nancy Drew.

No, really. Do. I like it.

(Don't call me "Matlock", though. Please don't. I do not like that.)

Upon further inspection, the stuff turned out to be a pop ('soda' for you folks on the left coast) bottle and a pair of sunglasses!

You KNOW some hot worker dude (what? I notice these things) got all excited at the prospect of Friday night and hightailed it out of there when the whistle blew, forgetting that he even owned sunglasses, much less ever had a taste for some refreshing Brisk Green Lantern-adorned tea.

The great thing, though, is that this is Fargo.

When Monday morning rolls around, not only will I be at my front window with binoculars, but his sunglasses will still be there, waiting for him.

Because we're Fargo.

It's how we roll.


* The City of Fargo does not endorse me, or anyone else that I know of, watching hot worker dudes through binoculars. In fact, they've asked me to stop on more than one occasion. In summary: respecting other folks' property is how we roll; not necessarily stalking hot worker dudes. The stalking thing might just be me.  

Ranger Mustachio / Saturday, September 17

The photo isn't that great, but I had to get in and get out since I (ahem) may have technically been trespassing to get the shot. 

I apologize. 

On every level requiring an apology. 

My bad. 

Ya think wax gets applied to that mustache?

Listening To The Voices / Friday, September 16

I was headed to Hobby Lobby (holla fo da HoLo!), and kept hearing, "go to Walmart."

Me:  Hey, Intuition, I'm drivin' here. I know where I'm going and what I'm going to get there. Shush now!

Intuition:  Go to Walmart. 

Me:  I can't hear yoooouuuu .... (turned up the radio) ... I want to go to HoLo!

Intuition:  Go to Walmart.

Me:  (at the top of my lungs and with great gusto)   I ... wanna rock and roll all night ... and party every day

Intuition: Go to Walmart. 

Me: I'm not going to find what I want at Walmart! I'm intuitive! I KNOW these things!

Intuition:  Go to Walmart. 

(random red car blocks my attempted merge into the proper HoLo-bound lane, forcing me to stay closer to the Walmart turn lane)

Me:  FINE! I'll go to Walmart!

(swung on in to the World of Wally parking lot)

I made a bee-line for where I assumed what I was looking for would be housed. Turning a corner, I locked eyes with a woman I adore but hadn't seen in (dare I say it?) at least a half a year.

A ginormical smile erupted on my face.

NADINE!

We flew to one another, embracing in a heart-to-heart hug. 

(Soapbox: Heart-to-heart is the only way we SHOULD hug. The purpose of a hug is to allow the other person to feel your heart. Not to push your heart on them. Not to get all up in their bidness and feel out what they have going on. To allow the other person to feel your heart. Capice? Excellent. Thank you for your attention. Now go hug someone you've been giving the Heisman to, and feel the difference. The word according to Laura. You may be seated.) 

We caught up as much as we could in the aisle-blocking time we had, and agreed to arrange a longer, more in-depth meeting in the very near future. 

And that's exactly what I did. 

I walked into one of my favorite coffee spots on a Saturday morning to find Nadine, as chill as ever, parked in a chair near the window, soaking up the sun like a cat. 

I love hanging out with her. 

She's so accepting, so thoughtful, and possesses so much insight, it's uncanny, really. 

Best of all? 

She closes her eyes when she really feels something. 

I like watching her connect with something on a deeper level, being present to the moment. 

I also like that when she laughs, she LAUGHS. 

Here's to you, Nadine. 

And listening to your intuition. 

And being present. 

And really, really laughing. 

And finding joy in Walmart, even if you aren't looking for it. 

There's A Costner Movie For Everything / Thursday, September 15

I wish I could explain to you what his furry little face does to my heart.

Or how his smile makes tears of joy spring to my eyes.

I can't though.

Such a declaration would no doubt require interpretive dance.

With drums.

And a bonfire.

Yup, you read that correctly.

Just call me, "Dances With Words".

The Green Standing / Wednesday, September 14

Bookmark this page, fellow upper-Midwesterners ... this may be the only green we see months. 

<moment of silence>

Cock-A-Doodle-DO! / Tuesday, September 13

On this day, 38 years ago, my mother was at the Phoenix Zoo with my older sister, Julia, then six years-old.

According to family lore, Julia loved the monkey cages like no other.

That visit, like all the other zoo visits before, started with the primates.

It was there she noticed some rustling among the dirt, leaves and monkey doody.

"Mom! Mom! The monkey poop is moving!"

Now, I've never actually been given detail on the rest of this story, but the conclusion told never wavers: my mother and sister brought me home from the monkey cage that very day.

What's the point?

My sister is a dirty, filthy liar, (I hope), and ....

IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!

Since Sarah started the whole male chicken thing a few months ago, we joke and joke and joke about the presence of such things hanging on the side of my house.

'Ria took it one further.

Folks, meet Larry.

That's right.

I'm the proud owner of a giant cement cock.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go see if anyone will allow me to groom their fur.

Born To Be Wild / Monday, September 12

Is it dangerous to drive with one hand, and shoot with a digital SLR in the other? 

Probably. 

But then I wouldn't have gotten this. 

I'm a rebel, people.

A rebel that prefers her transportation have at least two doors, a seat belt and a few airbags, but still.

I'm so rebellious, I'm going to end this post mid-sente




No I'm not. I can't do it.

Maybe I'll just keep shootin' from the hip, instead.

Or, the car window ....

Reclamation, A Declaration / Sunday, September 11

Today marks ten years since the Towers fell and our lives as Americans changed forever.

The numbers are staggering.

The statistics from New York Magazine recount the horror, the devastation, the obvious and solid reasons for the fallout of fear and anger even a full decade later:

• Total number killed in attacks (official figure as of 9/5/02): 2,819
• Number of firefighters and paramedics killed: 343
• Number of NYPD officers: 23
• Number of Port Authority police officers: 37
• Number of WTC companies that lost people: 60
• Number of employees who died in Tower One: 1,402
• Number of employees who died in Tower Two: 614
• Number of employees lost at Cantor Fitzgerald: 658
• Number of U.S. troops killed in Operation Enduring Freedom: 22
• Number of nations whose citizens were killed in attacks: 115
• Ratio of men to women who died: 3:1
• Age of the greatest number who died: between 35 and 39
• Bodies found "intact": 289
• Body parts found: 19,858
• Number of families who got no remains: 1,717
• Estimated units of blood donated to the New York Blood Center:36,000
• Total units of donated blood actually used: 258
• Number of people who lost a spouse or partner in the attacks:1,609
• Estimated number of children who lost a parent: 3,051
• Percentage of Americans who knew someone hurt or killed in the attacks: 20

Every September since then, I am sick all over again. My mind is consumed, my body mourns, my soul twists in agony. 

This year, though, I had a revelation.

Today is an anniversary marking other things, too. 

So many beautiful things, not just in my life, but in the lives of those around me.

Events that not just underscore, but really define the joy in life itself.  

Today, for example, is my friend Matt's birthday. (HI, MATT!)

Matty is one of my favorite people. (Please, don't tell him though -- we don't need him getting a big head.)

See that gleam in his eye? 

It's pretty much always there, and it's comprised of the stuff that makes me think, inspires me to action and is usually guaranteed to make me snort-laugh in a most unlady-like fashion. 

Matty is my reason number one to reclaim this day.

Enter Mr. and Mrs. Sorgaard.

Twelve years ago today, they were married. 

photo credit: Gabe Haney

Mark is one of my favorite photographers, and I stalk him on Facebook pretty regularly. (HI, MARK!)

Mark's favorite subject, and his greatest muse, is his daughter, Skylar. Take some time to peruse the gallery on his website dedicated to her, and you'll understand why the Sorgaard family is my second reason to reclaim the day.


Finally, there is Mr. Max. 

Maximillian joined his family five years ago today.

The joy he brings his family is radiant and undeniable.


His mama, my friend Trish, (HI, TRISH!) wanted a shot of both of her kids on their first day of school this year, but Max was having none of it. 


He needed to express something else. 


Something that made a statement. 


Something out of the ordinary. 


Something independent, strong and solid. 

I think he accomplished it, and reason three stands before us. 


There they are. 


The first three reasons I'm choosing to redefine September 11 as my day of joy. 


Will I ever forget the lives of those lost? Of those who willingly chose courage, bravery and a sure death so that others may live?

Absolutely not. 


I will, as long as I am on this Earth this time around, think of them not just on September 11, but most days. 


As an American, it's now a part of who I am. 


And it's as an American that I reclaim this day. 


For the people who make me laugh. 

Who inspire me. 

Who make me think. 

Who make me reach.

And for those who make the people I love laugh, feel inspired, think and reach. 

Who make the world a better place by simply being them. 

Matty? Happy birthday, buddy. I still owe you a birthday girly-coffee, but this time I'm bringing the trivia questions. 

Lara and Mark? Here's to numerous decades more, and millions of loving memories.

Trish? Happy Mama birthday, my friend. Your fierce and abiding love for your children makes the world a better place.  

And to you, sitting at your computer, balancing your iPad on your lap, or scrolling away on your smart phone?

Thank you for being you. 

Thank you for being reasons to reclaim and redefine the day. 

Love In A Coffee Shop / Saturday, September 10

I was having a meeting with myself at a local coffee shop this afternoon when I realized I was being stared at.

You know that feeling.

Somebody is looking at me. 

I glanced up.

Directly into the eyes of this young man.

Say hello to Hudson.

You're in love, aren't you?

Yeah.

Me too.

(Thank you, Hudson's Dad, for permission to take your beautiful boy's photo and post it here!)

Handbills / Friday, September 9

The Eyes Have It / Thursday, September 8

The Plains Art Museum has a Facebook contest of sorts every Thursday with today's theme being, "Chocolate."

With this in mind, I charged my camera battery, made sure I had slapped a SD card in, and went about my day, camera in hand.

I got to spend part of the day with my friend, Carolyn.

These are the intelligent, compassionate eyes I get to bounce ideas off of, sometimes whine to, and always laugh with. 

(HI, CAROLYN!) 

It was Carolyn's eyes I had the idea to shoot today's PAM theme. 

Then I got her into the light, started snapping and said, "those are green!"

We disagreed for a moment, and I turned to the guy next to us in the coffee shop for his opinion. 

I thrust my camera in his face, demanding to know what color eyes he saw in the shot I'd just taken when we ... made ... eye ... contact. 

Chocolate. 

I knew right away we had not just a potential contest contribution, but a blog post.

                                                                                                                  

I am a horrible, horrible person. 

We exchanged names, and I didn't write his down. 

I know, I know.

And by now, I suspect even YOU know this about me.

I have to write things down. 

UPDATE: Latif has come by 365 and left his name. (HI, LATIF!) 

                                                                                                                   

(Back in the coffee shop ....)

I quickly and clumsily explained about the blog, asking if I could please shoot him. 

Graciously, he agreed. 

And then, still snapping, I asked him to think of someone he loves.

You should have seen the smile that went with it.

Look at someone you love today, and give 'em the love eyes.

It's even better than chocolate.

The Time I Looked High As A Kite / Wednesday, September 7

Let me begin by saying I've never been high in my life. 

Wait. 

That's a lie.

There was the time I got all four wisdom teeth ripped out of my head removed and the painkillers they gave me were seriously trip-inducing.

I took those babies one time and decided ibuprofen was more my speed from there on out. 

Or the time in high school I had mono, pneumonia and bronchitis simultaneously, so they gave me Tylenol w/ codeine.

There was a 30-minute long distance phone conversation during that recuperation with a boy I'd met the summer before. 

I still don't recall any details other than being excited that he was calling.

David Guadnola from Pueblo? You should totally call me back. I have no idea what we discussed. 

Or if I need to apologize. 

Or what I agreed to, come to think of it. 

I guess that makes my opening statement something more along the lines of, "I've never been high on anything not prescribed for me."

Clear? K. Good.

Here's one of the places I hung out today. 

Can you guess what it is? 

Let's see ... torture devices, seemingly out of place wall hangings, mirrors .... must be the optometrist's office!

As always, you are correct.

Since I'm diabetic, I get to go get my 'balls dilated every fall.

I choose fall because .... uh ... yeah, I didn't choose fall. Feel free to make up a reason on my behalf and leave it in the comments.

In fact, please do.

That way I don't have to think one up.

Thank you!

You're so giving.

So after I looked through the cabinets and licked one of the lenses in the drawer (what?), I decided this was my opportunity to take a before and after shot.

First, though, I'd like to apologize for the photo quality.

I clearly hadn't thought this through very well, and all I had was my mobile phone.

Remember, around here, enthusiasm trumps skill!

Okay, so here are my pupils before ...

Nice and normal, right?

Fifteen minutes later, it was a totally different story.

Are you ready? Are you ready?

I was ready.

But the nurse I blindsided to help me out had never used a phone to take a photo before, so there was a tutorial.

And then I got to hear about WHY she never had taken a phone photo before.

And then I got to hear all about how her entire family has picture phones, but she doesn't.

And how they use them like cuh-razy, but she 'just don't understand why.'

Bless her heart, she helped me out anyway.

And when I asked her to get in as close as she could, my poor eyes tried really hard to focus.

I am not normally cross-eyed. 

Or look like I'm in dire need of a bag of Doritos and box of Twinkies. 

Lord knows I'd never turn down a Twinkie, though. 

Turns out, I don't need drugs to be goofy ... or get the munchies.

The RD / Tuesday, September 6

This smile makes every dork-face-for-the-camera moment he gives me totally worth it. 

Lord in Heaven, I love that child.

Run, boys, RUN! / Monday, September 5

I don't think I need a whole lot of words for this one. 

The smile this image brings to my heart says it all.

Minnesota Corn Field / Sunday, September 4

The way the sky kissed this field today grabbed my the heart and gave 'er a long, luxurious squeeze.

I have friends with a vast volume of ag knowledge that would likely tell me the corn is diseased, or that those weeds are indicative of a crop with Fusarium, or maybe that it's obviously stunted.

I'll tell you the same thing I would tell them.

To me, it's beautiful.

That's what happens when you grow up in the desert, ya know.

Anything that grows becomes beautiful.

It's all about perspective.

Archivists Gone Wild / Saturday, September 3

 I'm not even sure where I got this little fella.

I'm guessing it was in the years prior to the normalcy of having a GoogleWebMachine at home, and I had cookbooks peppered throughout my Christmas wish lists. 

Many of the books I received came from local churches with sometimes wonderful, sometimes odd, and sometimes just downright puzzling family recipes contributed by folks Lee grew up with, or knew from the community. 

I loved it.

I still find it comforting to have that sort of history living under my roof.

All of this was back in the day, at a time in our lives when Lee's friends would come over and play cards on a Friday night for hours on end. (HI, BOYS!) 

Back when vast amounts of pizza and Doritos didn't give anybody heartburn. 

And Mountain Dew could be consumed after 4pm without serious side effects. 

And everyone's lives weren't so busy. 

So complicated. 

So ... far away.

I miss those days. 

I'm convinced it was during one of these all-night card-, laugh-, and junk-food fests that something happened to my precious little cookbook. 

Something so reprehensible the perpetrator hid his handiwork, not to be discovered for some time.

Enter the quiet, unassuming archivist from Nebraska. 

The kind of guy you'd never expect to commit a nefarious act of cunning. 

That is, of course, until he does. 

And then you're not surprised at all. 

I imagine it to be how Jeffrey Dahmer's neighbors felt, finding out the quiet guy wasn't so unassuming. 

We're not sure how long the modification made to the cookbook existed before we discovered it, but once discovered, we knew exactly who the perpetrator was.

Those archivists, they don't mind waiting a few months, years or decades to have things brought to light. 

That's right, Thomas.

We're on to you.

(Truthfully? We miss you and your shenanigans an awful lot.)

Five Layers of Potential / Friday, September 2

Every fall, I get all doe-eyed when I see school supplies go on sale. 

For years, I thought it was because I liked school. 

Then I pulled my head outta my butt. 

No, no ... 'turns out I like school supplies because of the possibility they represent.

Take this little beauty, for example. 

Just LOOK at that.

Five layers of unfettered open road, crisp lines just waiting to be taken for a drive.

AND in my favorite color.

It's heavenly, I tell you.

(And three dollars cheaper than any other time of the year.)

Amen.

Pepsi -- For All Your Societal Needs! / Thursday, September 1

It's a good thing folks from days gone by had Pepsi to guide them, eh kids?

Lessons From A Cheeky Monkey / Wednesday, August 31

The longer I live, the more I learn.

Hopefully, this will go on for some time.

Not just because I like learning, but because I like the self-made rules that come from all of that thar learnin'.

Here are four of my recent lessons-come-edicts.

ONE:  Let yourself fall in love.

I did with this lady, and even though she's leaving me in less than a month, I'll never regret the time I took getting to know her.

She's blessed my life just by being her, and being present.

I love you, Linds. 

Go, build a Baby House in Kenya. 

I'll send you macaroni and glitter cards while you're gone. 

And who knows? 

Maybe Crystal and I will show up on your African doorstep, ready to rock babies for a few days. 

TWO:  Never turn down chocolate zucchini cake. 

Some days, it's the only way you'll get a veggie in.

THREE:  Don't turn your nose up at cheap wine. This Double Dog Dare Merlot is pretty great.

THREE POINT FIVE:  Even if you don't drink, try the cheap wine. Your tongue will thank you. 

And make you miss rum. 

And White Russians.

And Mike's Hard Lemonade. 

FOUR: Never let a monkey make the coffee. 

Those cheeky little buggers will throw wet grounds on the floor, and then smile about it.

I so love a rebellious monkey.