*This is a RE-Post from Last October.
- Mom loves Dad.
- Dad Loves Mom.
- Mom cooks.
- Dad eats. Continue reading
*This is a RE-Post from Last October.
Waking up at Gunstock Moutain Resort in New Hampshire for our first full day of vacation, all I can think is, where is the coffee? The 11:30PM arrival the night before which involved some not-so-nice words exchanged while the GPS evaded us, seasoned the RV air with the perfect ingredients for sweet dreams. Not. I went to bed, exhausted from packing the day before and my heart sinking for the weeks that lie ahead. If this is how we’re starting our vacation, angry and miscommunicating, I just want to quit now. Hide under the covers and wake up when it’s time to go home. That’s how I think when I feel desperate. Inadequate. Hopeless. And just genuinely messed up.
Ventured out to the theater to see The Dark Knight Rises on Friday night, only hours after we heard of the tragedy in Aurora, Colorado. My hubby is the rebellious type. He refuses to live by fear.
We did a similar thing on the ten year anniversary of 9/11. We took the subway into Manhattan with our girls, had lunch, and played at a city park with New Yorkers. It made perfect sense to hubs. He wanted us to be close to those who were hurting, because we were hurting too. A decade later, and the memories of 9/11 still get me teared up. Hub’s story of where he stood when the second tower came down is a memory that surfaces yearly every September. Sigh.
So he wanted to teach our girls to we continue to live. And if and when someone ever decides to attack NYC again, we’re not going to sit inside our homes behind locked doors in a basement bunker. That’s just not our style. Because if you live like that, you give fear power over you. Continue reading
|Love walking around the City! Shake Shack,
we’ll come back for you next tme…fo sho!
So we started out our NYC Operation Birthday Date by driving into the city, and during our hour plus commute from Locust Valley to Manhattan, we debrief and deflate, one of the gifts of marrying your best friend. I still remember my high school English teacher Mr. Quick referring to this human gift as a “sounding board,” surely a reference to some famous poem or literature. [Will look it up when my energy supply rises back to normal levels.]
|Photo Credit: Phombo|
I grew up in Canada. Windsor, Ontario to be exact. And when I moved to Michigan, senior year in high school and continued my education over in Evanston, IL, not to far from where I met my future hubby in Chicago, I never knew that my Canadian roots would play a part in my love story or my career path as a writer.
|A Room with a View…|
|Fight for the things in life worth holding on to…|
Left my bat cave [the basement where I write] Saturday evening when hubby asked for a little help on the car. He’s been outside fixing, replacing, and tuning up the car since the sun rose for Monday’s inspection, the sticker that is technically 11 days overdue. We’re crossing our fingers and hoping we can get through another inspection without any big surprises.
Remember last year? “Sure Mrs. Paulus, your car will pass, after we replace all four wheels, the axle, the brakes, the engine, and that tiny little fuse that can only be reached after taking the entire car apart.”
“How many hours are we talking? What kind of loan should I take out? Will a kidney suffice?”
“The entire job, if we do it right, requires at least 52 hours of labor and yes, we do accept high functioning organs. But to be on the safe side, I’d plan for two.”
“Two kidneys.” Mechanic with grease smeared across his forehead does not flinch. Laugh. Or wink. “Just in case.”
“For that,” I have a bright idea. “Don’t do it right. Just fix it enough to pass. I’m not looking to drive to Alaska. I just need to buy a little time, say a year, before I buy a new car. Work with me here. I’m not a doctor, but I think the last guy on ER that gave up both kidneys…Yeah, I don’t think that’ll work.”
“Well then, we can’t pass your car.”
Wahhhhh! Continue reading