Hello to the very nice people who read my blog. Warm greetings and good day to you.

Mainly today, I am going to tell you to go reread yesterday's blog, first two paragraphs. This is because last night before falling asleep my mind was whirling with Robby verbs and I had to add more. So, you see, this has become somewhat of a game. However, I am able to restrain my enthusiasm and truly only use verbs that actually describe Robby. Of course, asking you to reread a paragraph makes it sound like I think you have nothing better to do. Well, I know better than THAT!

Of course, I was too tired to get out of bed and record the verbs and was thinking, Here is Robby in our bed chasing his tail, I can remember that. And chill goes with chase. I can remember that. And I did. BUT, I'm not so sure I remember the other two verbs that then sprang forth in my mind, they may have been charge and check. We are going to pretend they are anyway.

So Robby has decided sleeping in our bed is very advantageous to his sensibilities. He just lilts (wrong use of the word, but I like it) all over the place, including landing on Mike's face now and again. He sleeps at the top of Mike's head sometimes, conforming his soft little body to the crown of Mike's head. Mike says cats like to do that. I think Robby likes Mike's prickly hair. He runs like a flash around the pillows and bunched up covers and has a high old time. He then jolts over to either nightstand and sees what's happening there. I wish I could be as genuinely interested in EV-A-REE-THING this old world has to offer like Robby is.

Robby, I can actually just sit for a few minutes and watch him grow. He's already maybe getting too big to fit in that confounded hole by the dishwasher. Maybe not, because he does disappear and I have to call, ROBBY!, ROBBY!, where are you?? And then when I'm looking the other direction, suddenly, there he is from somewhere. But he's still really light. I think he is growing longer and taller, but mostly it's hair.

I was in a neat home today, as in perfectly organized. The celebration of life gathering for my friend's husband was held in their daughter's home. Their stuff was truly minimalistic and therefore MANAGEABLE. I know the other daughter is equally as spectacularly neat, I can feel it in my bones. In fact, I may get to see firsthand because the other daughter has a fabulous new home and has told her mother to come and unwind for a few days. If that happens, I may be invited to go swimming one afternoon. It's just over the Skyway Bridge.

These are the kind of people who color code, by graduated degree, their clothes. Doesn't that just leave you in the dust? It does me.

But the celebration was so lovely and when they played the "film" of his life, I cried. There was a good bean salsa called Texas Caviar.

Mike's birthday was nice, the kids got him, per his request, a Hawaiian shirt and flip flops. So now I want to know when we're going to Hawaii. What I got him had to go back to the store already, a briefcase and small computer travel case. I thought that was too easy, running into TJMaxx and grabbing the first thing I saw (which was the only thing they had that fit the description).

Mike just called downstairs that Robby is a Wild Man. I'd better go take a gander. He may be having to get vinyl claw covers. I understand from the millions of testimonials posted that people and cats equally love and adore vinyl claw covers. They come in crazy colors, too. I can just see trying to affix those. Not to mention Robby seems the type of one in ten million cats who would find a way to remove the claws, which are firmly glued on with some marvelous adhesive. But I may be forced to try. His claws are sharper by the day. What a contrast from the sick little kitty a few days ago, who could only languish. Mike didn't say until after the fact, but he was worried sick about Robby. We were all sick, in one way or another. Sick at heart.

Robby has just come downstairs and is dismantling the computer equipment. So...GOOD-BYE!

But HARK! I forgot to say, Robby learned to play the piano today. He's such a scamp. In one giant leap he tried to go from the floor to the top of the upright piano. He just barely missed and there is a tiny Robby scratch right at the edge of the top of the piano. See, vinyl nails, here we come. Just now he was the cause of the dining room chair cushion hitting the floor, with more sound that was warranted. That scared him and a black dash flew through the kitchen. But he learned to jump to the piano bench (where twice today we came home and found him napping, whew, better than dishwasher hole) and then to the keys, where he steps down the keyboard...while I'm playing, I might add. This is enough to wake Mike up with a start from his snooze in the recliner.

AND, I must say the missing frying pan was mentioned tonight. DTD would like to know who would care about a dumb old frying pan. Well. I would, for one. I told Nick he could get a replacement frying pan from ebay for my birthday, Saladmaster, year 1983. Nick replies that August is a tough financial month because all four of his parents/stepparents birthdays are in August. Well, we arranged that nicely, didn't we? But that's mainly because more people are born in August than any other month. I couldn't even tell you how many people I've known through the years who share my birthday. Which leads me to believe more people were born on August 28th than any other day of the year. See the logic in that?

I forgot to tell you last night at dinner, that everything I ate had bacon in it, through it, on it or under it. The scallops appetizer with chips of bacon scattered about, the fried chicken and waffle with bacony syrup and, the bacon infused pretzel crusted chocolate silk pie with a strip of bacon on top of the whipped cream. I was so sick in the night. In fact, I am getting sick all over again just recounting such a rich and strange assortment of food. It sure was tasty at the moment, though.

Tonight I ordered fried grouper. Except when it came to the table I said, This looks different from the grouper I had here last time. Everyone looked at me, That's because you ordered flounder. Oh. So many miscues, vagueness and not tracking the conversations led DTD to announce that she is very worried about me and I have hit a new level of deterioration...or something to that effect. Mike has locked himself out of the house twice in a row recently. He blames it on Robby and not turning the certain age he just turned today. Maybe I should blame my shortcomings on Robby, too. Poor little putty cat. Hmm, Robby kind of looks like "I dot I saw a Putty Cat, I DID! I DID! see a Putty Cat. Except Robby is ten thousand times prettier and sweeter, I'm just going with the Tuxedo coat part.

Didn't I end this blog about 10 paragraphs ago?

KEM

Who springs, spins, pounces, pops, flops, flashes, dashes, dances, prances, prowls, twirls, trapezes, rolls, races, scurries, scampers, zips, zooms, darts, dives, frisks, frays, pulverizes, plays, careens, crashes, chases, chills*, charges, checks, meows, muses*, paws, purrs*, bats, bites, nips, naps* and, to be inelegant, flips and flings his poo all over the bathroom? Robby Boy, that's who. Hopefully, the last little item will soon be deleted, I think it's because the Z pack fools with his tender wittle tummy, he had his last dose today. And when he's not doing all of the above, pretty much simultaneously, he flies, swings, hangs (literally, he does, he's a riot) and explores.

(* does in moderation)

I sincerely hope I used every verb in the dictionary in the above paragraph. Yes, and he explores, evades, and escapes if I happen to outwit him, scoop him up and smother him with mommy kisses. It is fun to turn the tables now and again.

We left him the run of the house tonight, with Jazzi, so we could go out for Mike's birthday dinner. When we got home he came skulking out from you know where...the tiny space on the floor beside the dishwasher, which leads to under the counter in the corner. Ha, got that by now? At least he passed the Home Alone test. Jailing him in the bathroom is not going to cut it anymore, Robby needs wide open spaces. He can almost jump up on our high bed, his front paws just catch the top edge of the mattress and you see this little face looking pretty pleased with himself as he's hanging there. He can also leap from the floor through the opening in the back of my wheat back dining chairs. He can get from the floor to my bowl of Organic Cocoa Crispies on the dining table quicker than the speed of light. The fact that I am on the chair and totally in the way means less than nothing to him. Robby, old boy, did that with my orange juice on the computer desk yesterday...lickety split. I can see I am going to be losing a lot of weight, chasing after him. Good.

Robby has also learned to fly through the air and land on Jazzi unawares. He'll "attack" with front paws right on Jazzi's back, one paw on either side of Jazzi's stubby little tail. I do like a cat who can hold his own. Robby hurls himself out of the pantry when clueless Jazzi walks by. Things like that.

In short, Robby peers into every last square inch of my house a dozen times a day, and generally know it better than I do.

Yesterday I finally called a friend who had been on my mind for a couple of weeks. She used to take piano lessons from me and we became good friends. I said, How are you? She said, Not too good, Bill passed away on Friday. I knew her husband had been failing from kidney disease and such and had not really lived at home most of the last couple of years so I wasn't too surprised. I'm glad I called and we can go to his celebration of life tomorrow. It was funny how much she'd been on my mind, there was a reason for it. I'm a strong believer that God impresses these things upon us.

Also, I asked what I could do for her and she wanted a casserole. Not two minutes before, I had finished making lasagna and stuck the larger pan in the freezer, so that was ideal, too. Nice when things fall into place for a change, right? I'll take it to her early next week. Bless her heart, she was always afraid of being alone, but God was merciful and gave her those two years to get used to it and learn that she could, indeed, manage by herself. I am sad for her, but she will be okay in a while. Time maybe doesn't heal, but it certainly lets us adjust.

In the Beth Moore Bible study I'm doing, she said that if God doesn't fill us with the fruit of His Spirit, then how on earth are we going to acquire those traits? Love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance. Galatians 5:22, 23. I'll tell you what, I can't cook them up on my own, no way. Try a million times, it's never going to happen. I like Beth's style, she isn't afraid to share her shortcomings, which I find very encouraging. This study is The Patriarchs, and they had their share of shortcomings, too. If there's one thing that doesn't minister to me, that is someone who broadcasts they have it all together. SHEESH! I need someone who is a REAL person with REAL problems who lives a REAL life. As Beth would say, Anyone with me on this?

Okay, Mike's birthday is really tomorrow (today) and I'm appointed to fix him banana cream pie, so tomorrow is filling up. Bill's service (which, is a little drive), make pie (which is a little project), learn accompaniment for church on Sunday (which is a little worrisome) and eat out with the kids for their dad's birthday (which is a little cheer).

Oh, and my friend sent me an article about how emotionally healthy it is to have a kitty. Even goldfish in the dining rooms of nursing facilities increase the appetites of seniors. How? That's a good question they're investigating, but the evidence is there. Mine is not to ask How?, mine is to enjoy the obvious.

Obviously,
KEM

Pardon me while I go read more of Decluttering Fast instead of blogging tonight.

Robby is energetic and back to bouncing off the walls. He loves to run across the tile floor and finish it off with a slide. He's back to wanting to go in the corner under the counter, through that opening on the floor next to the dishwasher, you know, where the dumb hot water heater used to be. Robby can demolish a wadded up towel stuffed in the hole, like, yesterday. He also learned how to jump on the dining room table -- it's real easy, floor, chair table, all in .01 of a second, or less. He repeated this trick 10,000 times in a row, with yours truly plucking him off the table with a firm NO! each time. As I type he is back under the kitchen counter. Again.

He's so darling, you just have to meet him. He's kind and fun and affectionate, just like people should be. And he's a lover of life, too, and doesn't waste his days. He's doing a fine job of educating himself in the finer points of living.

I think he tracked poo on my new white spongy bath mat, that I was crazy for. Hope it washes up. It doesn't smell like poo, but it sure looks like it. Wonder what it is.

At the suggestion of Jessi, the perfect German housekeeper, keeping her own house, that is, I'm going to post signs offering a reward for the safe return of my frying pan, no questions asked.

Oh yeah, I'm not blogging tonight. Catch you tomorrow.

But before I do, guess who learned, just this very second, to jump in the kitchen garbage can? I didn't think I had enough chaos going on around here, so I got Robby.

KEM

Today the joy bells were ringing. Robby got back his kitty zoom-zoom. What a night and day difference. I celebrated by taking two naps with Robby. I'll tell you what, a sick kitty takes it out of you, the worry and all. So, we bonded post-illness. I mean, he's still a little congested, but surely truly on the mend.

The man in the rain yesterday, he found his chiwawa on one of the busiest streets in St. Pete. 38th Avenue and 40th Steet, if anyone is interested. 38th Avenue is something else, that's where DTD and I got rear-ended. Too bad I was in my pajamas. Standing on busiest street with DTD whispering in my ear, Mom, you have a wedgie.

Well, Mr. Marriot was in his car on 38th Avenue when his eye caught this itsy bitsy dog about to head into the oncoming traffic. And the traffic is coming on, let me tell you. So, without a thought he jumped from his car and went chasing. Two teenagers on the sidewalk also helped corner the chiwawa, which was doing his best to evade capture. Mr. M. said about 69 cars stopped in their tracks to watch this spectacle. Which was great, because Mr. M. loves nothing more than creating a froth of which he is the epicenter.

Mr. M. put ads in the paper and posted signs around the neighborhood and went driving up and down speaking to people. He said he met one woman who saw a Mexican family dump the dog. So it might be a REAL Mexican chiwawa. The long and short of it is, the doggie now has a home, as of 6 months ago, with Mr. M. and two cats. Mr. M. loves and adores this wawa, THAT much was obvious. Rats, I forget the wawa's name.

The next thing I know, Mr. M. asks me to reach down into his plastic grocery sack and pull up the living color newspaper photograph of...are you ready?...Mr. M. and Wawa. I have to admit, it was a super shot. Mr. M. and Wawa were dressed up for some Cinco de Mayo party. Wawa had a homemade sombrero, crafted by none other than Mr. M. himself. The straw hat was decorated with assorted colored pom poms hanging from the edge and a taco holder or something on top. I was so amazed by all this, that I could not exactly take in all the details, but it was cute all right. VERY cute. Right on the front page of the B section.

Then I got a monologue on how Mr. M. is a published writer. That's right. His work has been in Sports Illustrated, the world's most widely read periodical, I learned, TWICE. Once was a letter to the editor, but HIS letter was HIGHLIGHTED with a RED border and right next to the picture of the first true African baseball player, whom, of course, Mr. M. has since met. The comments were about the Nobility of Sports or something and if you want to read all about it, it's in the August 31st issue, 2009. I honestly forget what his other SI jazz was about because it's hard to register flaming facts hurled at you as fast as an army throwing their darts in sync, ha, ha.

Mr. M. has also been in the St. Petersburg Times 3 times. I didn't tell him I'd been in there twice. What would have been the use of that?

Let's see, there is way more, this Mr. M. is a character to the Nth degree. But he was definitely good hearted and he proceeded to tell me that my vet is no good. He had to tell me this, he said, because I am an animal lover. That's right, he did listen to my Robby story. He knows all the vets because that's his job, he's a rep for some kind of animal product. He's the EXCLUSIVE rep for millions of vets all over the earth.

So, I said, Who IS a good vet down my way, then? He said Doc. Brown. Doc. Brown is 5 blocks away from my house. Does Doc. Brown play golf?, I ask. I believe he does, with So and So and So and So, says Mr. M. Turns out, when I checked with Mike, because all of this was sounding very familiar, that Mike has played golf with Doc. Brown, if you can believe that, and Doc. Brown lives by our neighborhood and drives his big truck around, Mr. M. knows all about it. This is St. Pete, dear people. I've said it before, I'll say it again, St. Pete is a small town. If you meet someone, within minutes you will realize you have a mutual acquaintance, it never fails. Mr. M. just proved my point.

Mr. M. seems to know his stuff. Furthermore, if I want to drive to Largo, there is a vet who is world-renowned, had written 6 books and is in demand as a lecturer. In fact, Mr. M. was going to schedule Mr. Largo to speak at some meeting coming up.

Well, there was more funny junk courtesy of Mr. M. but I didn't jot it down last night, so maybe tomorrow it will come back to me. He had bad teeth, too, but that wasn't about to stop him from being famous, no way. He said it didn't matter, all his excellent achievements, there was no way to impress his wife after 17 years of marriage. If he lifted the Statue of Liberty she would yawn and blandly ask him if he dusted under there while he was at it.

Oh dear, "dusted" reminds me that tonight we had dinner with one of Mike's German workers. She is great and guess what? She is also a perfect housekeeper. SHE started keeping her house clean when she was 10 years old because her mother was not, in a rare instance of going against the grain, a good housekeeper. Meaning, Jessi thinks that she reacted against her mother's poor habits, which made her into the OCD young woman she is today. Honestly, you know how the Amish have a barn raising? Where the whole community comes together to build a neighbor's barn in a day and all the women bring the food? I need all these sickening neat freaks I know to come to my house for a day and pitch in and fix me up. The Amish women also gather a week before a wedding and clean and paint the whole inside of the house, so it will be perfect for the ceremony and dinner following. Doesn't that just waggle your tail? Community style living, is GONE, my dear friends, and I believe we are the worse for it.

I need to tell you about a girl I know, also perfect, who is so perfect it's nauseating. So nauseating, in fact, that when she and her husband hosted a Sunday School class party, the guests had a high old time covertly positioning mini meatballs behind vases and such decor, wall-to-wall decor, in fact, which were poised high on over-door-shelves, tops of kitchen cabinets and the likes. I think the guests were confounded that anyone could have so much stuff and still be perfect at it. Truly, I would have loved to have seen her expression when she made the discovery. She's so perfect she probably uncovered the wayward meatballs that very night, when she was tidying up after the party. Even her MIL says, T. wouldn't dare think of stopping until EVERYTHING was back in order. No finding moldy meatballs 10 years down the road, like KEM would be wont to do.

For not feeling like writing anything but a mini blogette tonight...what happened?

I hope I can remember more about Mr. Marriot. I was fully anticipating that he would tell me he was a gazillionaire, first cousins with the Marriot Hotel family. Figures old KEM would get stuck in the rain with the likes of him. And I spoke first, ha!

Kontented Kitty KEM

Today, in a thunderous downpour, I was trapped at the mall for 45 minutes. So was this man holding a tiny chiwawa (I know that's not how you spell it). We stood under the Border's overhang.

This man felt compelled to tell me ALL his life accomplishments in 30 minutes or less, he could barely spit them out fast enough. I'm suffering from exhaustion and will have to tell you about it tomorrow. But to whet your appetite, he, an animal lover, once had a great huge fish that was the smartest thing ever, and fish aren't known for brains, especially uncommon are tool-using fish, but this enormous 22" fish would pick up a pebble with his mouth and tap it on the aquarium glass to announce he was hungry. I have to say, I like that.

Robby goes from peppy to droopy really quickly, back and forth. Sigh. When I came home tonight, he heard me and came downstairs to say Hello. Please keep praying, and thank you.

Stye in the Eye KEM

;' (Robby typed that.) Robby had a relapse. I woke up this morning to find him doing throat and chest convulsions. This meant a trip to the vet where he spent the afternoon getting nebulized. That sounds like rocket science to me, but I think it means sticking him in a cage that's draped with a hot towel. I get to nebulize him again by placing him in the bathroom when I take a shower. I really have no idea how to spell nebulize. And having his 105 fever reduced (cats should have a 102 temperature and when you think how small a kitten is, three degrees is a lot).

I had to run out and get him a Z pack. Good grief, a kitty with a sinus infection, or as good as. I feel so sorry for him, sheer misery. I also had to pick up wet food. Jazzi and I went to the fancy boutique and the Grandma Chicken Soup Cat Food, or whatever it is, was honest to goodness real shredded chicken from Indonesia or somewhere, don't quote me, I'm exhausted. It looked like you could dump it right in your pot pie and none would be the wiser. Robby loves it.

Well, when I picked him up, the check out lady said everyone tending him in the back went crazy for him. No offence to anyone, but I looked at Fancy Cat magazine while I was waiting, and not one cat was cuter than Robby. There was a Bengal that caught my eye, whoa, he looked like a leopard with crystal green eyes. I told the vet, My $35 cat is much nicer looking than those fat faced fancy cats that cost hundreds and thousands. She totally agreed with me, said kitties like Robby have character. Of course, when all the vet bills are added up, Robby is going to be right up there price-wise with the Ragdolls. I should have bought the cat insurance when I had the chance, which window I think was 5 minutes from when I PetSmart. Rats. SUPER rats.

So, he is peppier, but his breathing comes with great snarly effort. Okay, he just took the fax phone off the hook, pretty darn clever. Oh, and now he's helping me type my blog. Hmm, he's moved things around, but I'm not sure what. He's a pro at hitting the Caps Lock button.

This is it, a mini blog tonight. I was at Bed, Bath, Beyond tonight for the second time trying to wade through a bridal gift registry. And for the second time, I pretty much gave up. You know, I can't decide between a hot dog and a hamburger on a menu, so umpteen pages of bridal registry is a lost cause. I got an Isotonic egg crate foam mattress thingy, that was off the list (meaning, from the list). Then I saw a gorgeous sorta pewter pitcher, you know that really pretty brand, Wilton Armetale, which is a family business in PA for generations. So why was the pitcher made in China? Whatever. It struck me as something that might be cherished by a bride down through the years. Way more than memory foam, or whatever it is. BTW, Target used to carry Wilton stuff. I happened on it on CLEARANCE. Jackpot! And, the bride is getting, of course, Zwipes Micro Fiber Folding Super Duster. From the Dollar Store. Speaking of, while I was there I came across Tee Vee Brands Mini Swift Peeler, Slide on your finger and peel. Its grip is rubberized and ergonomically designed. It peels it all. I'm very eager to set this thing in motion. Don't worry, I'll report back.

Okay, since we don't know what anything is tonight, we shall try again tomorrow.

But first. DTD dropped off all these sundresses, there they were when I got home tonight. The straps have basically parted ways with the bodice. And other things. Well, this will be a good excuse to go over the Skyway Bridge and visit my friend Kathie. She's a seamstress of the first order and she is going to take up my pants that I've never worn. She's another neat freak, no kidding. Her sewing room is a masterpiece. So, now I'm wondering, How come all my friends are neat freaks, why am I drawn to that type? Because I find it fascinating for one thing, that anyone can achieve such feats of pure order. It's a study in contrasts, KEM being the slob.

The Rays have crawled back to the top of the standings, tied with Yankees for Number One in baseball. Unreal and almost too exciting, if you ever followed the Rays in their infancy, toddlerhood and elementary days. Now, I hope I haven't upset the apple cart, saying all that.

I gotta get Robby to bed, he's overdoing it and will have another relapse.

Kitty Nurse KEM

Robby is better. WHEW! Thank you all for praying. He just sneezed all over me, but, hey, as long as he's up and about, I can handle it.

Remember when I was trying to describe his little bowl bed? Made out of cloth ropes? Well, it came to me that what I was trying to think of was a braided rug. Yes, it resembles a braided rug, more or less, in a bowl form.

It's no wonder Robby's sick as a cat. Think of all these poor little strays go through. They are orphaned as babies (no telling what all that entails), they get tossed in a small cage with several other sick orphans, they get moved around from place to place. Then hopefully they get adopted. But let me tell you, Mike and I by no stretch of the imagination even remotely resemble Robby's birth parents. So that has to be a shock to a kitty's system. Then there's the change of cat food, the new house environment, which is completely over stimulating. Oh, and a strange new animal thrown in the mix, Jazzi.

I'm telling you what, that's a lot for anyone to absorb, much less a 1.5 pound kitten. NO WONDER he is under the weather and has a virus.

I love him, he's my dream kitten. He has learned to give me an Eskimo kiss.

There was no children's sermon today, in an effort to save time because of communion. That means the whole congregation was deprived of what that cute little boy might have said or done. This is practically criminal, and I hereby loudly protest.

Last night when we had dinner with two couples, it turns out that both of the women are neat freaks. I've seen the one lady's house, and it was perfect. PERFECT. Then after the dinner, the other woman's husband said, Let's go over to our house and watch the Rays. His wife gave him the evil eye, even though he said, If it's okay with her.

Mary said she needs notice when company is coming over, that her house was a mess (not dusted or something). Well, we went anyway and let me tell you, her house is also perfect. PERFECT. I can hardly stand it, here I am in the presence of two PERFECT, I'm not kidding, housekeepers.

So I launch in, HOW do you DO this? They both said they had perfect housekeeping mothers, that was their model. Lori said her mother was abundantly strict and when they went out to dinner the kids were not allowed so much as a peep or a wink. So much so that strangers would comment, sometimes not favorably.

Mary said her mother changed her (Mary's) and the brother's clothes four times a day when they were little.

Okay. So, Lori said she just can't comprehend people (that would be me) who, say, pack for moving and just throw things in boxes when it is JUST AS EASY to do it neatly.

Therein lies the difference. It's all in perception. To some people, being organized and tidy is as easy as breathing. For others, like myself, it's blood, sweat and tears, tears, sweat and blood, slice it anyway you wish.

After church I found myself in Staples. I bought File Jackets. Because that's what Decluttering Fast said to do. Although I haven't gotten to the part as to what I'm supposed to do with the jackets. Never fear, tomorrow I need to go around and stuff those folders with all the 8 million scraps of paper raining down on my house like confetti.

I said to Mary, Mary. Your house is perfect, I would need a magnifying glass to find even one speck of dust, for crying out loud. She said, My mother would find it. I told her, Listen, if you want to see a house that is truly not ready for unexpected company, then you need to drop by my house. Both these friends would be SHOCKED if they saw my house. So now I'm highly motivated to get a life or be left friendless.

It's interesting to me that Mary and Lori are perfect like their mothers. They are both nice, kind and sweet, too. Living in cleanliness and order their entire lives hasn't hurt them any, that's for sure. They are now my shining examples. Mary doesn't keep paper. Not only that, under no circumstances would she retain something in her house she doesn't use. Lori said her husband likes to hold onto magazines because, you know, there might be an article in one he might read some day. Lori does a great eyeroll. She said when she moved from her perfect house in PA to get married here in FL that the movers said to her, after they saw her future husband's house, having also seen her perfect home, Are you sure you're going to be okay? When all was said and done, Lori got her husband to throw out an untold amount of junk, it filled many trailers, something like that. It was a very enlightening evening.

So there you have it. Either Mary or Lori could have the President himself drop in anytime unannounced, spend the night, whatever. It would be NO sweat. Of course, Mary would go chasing that fleck of dust, which, trust me, is not there.

Oh, and these ladies aren't home cleaning all day. Mary volunteers several mornings a week at a local kindergarten, has for years, and Lori works full time. And they both have time for other fun stuff, too.

A little thought. Sometimes we might feel we're running out of hope or heart, but we can never run out of God. I hope that isn't sacrilegious, but the thought struck me last night and...it restored my hope and heart.

And Robby's on the road to recovery. I praise and thank God for His merciful kindness.

Amy's Mac 'N Cheese is calling me.

A much relieved KEM