Hallo. If anyone remembers me, I'm back. Actually, LivingDust is back by popular demand (all three of you, thank you CAE, Betty and Crissy).

My sister and I love our Cream of Wheat lumpy. The lumpier the better. There's a fine art to making lumpy Cream of Wheat. It needs to be sufficiently lumpy and those lumps must vary in size. Great big monster lumps and dainty little itsy lumps and many graduated sizes in-between lumps. The first rule is to not follow the directions, which insist you stir the wheat into the hot water gradually, whirring your spoon constantly. This is not a problem for me because I forget to follow directions and lump, I mean dump, it in the water all together. And the wheat smolders and fumes and...wha-la!...you have gorgeous lumpy cream of wheat. Nothing like biting into a cream of wheat lump. There are just no words, so you shall have to try it yourself. Go ahead, live a little.

Speaking of living a little. This is what happened last Friday when I was jaunting about town but shouldn't have as I was mid-way through sinus junk. I was going down an avenue and passed a sign that said, YARD SALE. I did a U-bie because it was a house I've always thought looked neat and tidy. And...you just never know...

I was the only customer and the lady seller was very friendly. But I didn't see anything to buy (which always makes me want to slink away invisible like). Until I noticed this big bright blue plastic...thing. It looked like a bed pan, if the truth be known. So I said to the lady, What is this? "This" was a chip and dip bowl. It was round, of course, and then there was a smaller round elevated indentation in the middle for the dip and the chips would lounge below in the big circular area. Ha, wonder what you are picturing. But, the long and the short of it is, it reminded me of a cat toy I have resisted buying at the pet store, my second home. The cat toy is a circle where balls roll around and the cat spins and chases them, around and around. Supposedly. Well, this chip and dip had the circle element since the chips would lay around like in a tire, with the dip part up in the middle. Oh, I already said that. So, I could put these noisy rattle plastic balls for Robby right in there and he could chase and chase.

Man, I am rusty here, I simply can not describe this. Moving forward...

So, I said to the lady, How much? She said, I'm selling it for a friend (figures I pick an item that's not the lady's) for 50 cents. I said, Well, I may as well live a little and get this for my cat. She said, That's right, take a daring moment, make a bold move. I said Yeah, and if I don't like it, I can put it the garage (even though we don't have a garage). She said, Or you can sell it at your next yard sale (I gave up selling my junk on my lawn ages ago).

Well, we got to laughing about all this. And I handed over my hard earned (Mike's hard earned $.50) and marched down her driveway with a neat new toy for Robby.

I came home and washed it out. Mike said, What's that? Duh, what do you think??

I sat it down on the floor and put two rattle balls and one small soft foam ball in the rink. And waited for action. Robby! I called.

Robby ran up, took one look of sheer disdain, and kept on going. He appeared not even remotely enticed and seemed to sniff, Can you possibly be serious? And that was the end of that. This blue freaky plastic donut object has now been sitting on my floor for a week. Every now and again I go by and give the balls a spin. Just for kicks (yeah, I want to kick the blue donut to the curb). I guess by Saturday I will stuff it into my Goodwill bag-in-waiting. Balls and all. I guess I can be glad I didn't buy the Deluxe Pet Store Circle Chase Version. Which would have emptied my pockets of $.50 multiple times over. Yes, I am glad indeed.

So, you might say this blog cost me $.50.

Now, I have my LUX digital timer, I'm sure I've talked about this in the deep recesses of the blog. Yes, I know I have, it was going to drastically alter my life for the good. Well, I dropped it off my night stand onto the floor. And then it wouldn't work anymore. I was afraid it took some freaky little button battery, which I don't even know how to buy, and also, I was afraid to get the back cover off to get to freaky little battery would leave me with half a head of hair, you know, if it entailed working with eyeglasses itsy bitsy screwdriver. So, I let it sit and gather dust for a while. Finally, I ventured forward. I discovered, upon bold and closer examination, it took a baby battery, but a normal looking batter, only miniature. Then I realised you merely yanked off the battery cover (which was disguised behind a magnet to plaster timer on fridge) and it was all very easy. We even, no way, had the right battery. So, I changed out the battery, thinking maybe I killed the old one in the drop. But still, no life on the LUX screen.

So, now what, that timer was a good $10. And I'd hardly had it anytime at all, ha, ha. So, there was only one thing left to do, and that was to drop it again. So, I dropped it real good, with the original battery in it and everything.

And now it works just dandy. You may take this information and do with it as you please.

Okay, I'm about to end this post, but I KNEW there was one more pertinent topic. I have finished reading the book Dewey. Of course, KEM'S normal is to jump to the end of the book and read the final pages when the moment strikes. So, about half way through Dewey, a few weeks ago, I jumped to the end and read. Bawled my eyes out. BAWLED. I may have told you this already. But there is more.

I went back to the middle of the book and read straight through to the end. Which meant the other night I read the ending again. And BAWLED my eyes out. OUT!

THEN, two nights ago at dinner I told Mike the end of Dewey. And bawled my eyes out. BAWLED! Mike said, STOP THAT, you're making me cry.

Now, there is something to be said for a book that can make you bawl equally well all three times you read or disclose the ending, and all in such close proximity. I don't doubt for half a second that if I picked up the book right now and read the ending again, that I would bawl my EYES out! Again!

The author, I love her. You will love her, too, when you read Dewey. Vicki Myron is her name and making you cry is her game. She is a sensible, salt of the earth, wonderful mid-Western woman and I just love her and want to be her friend. I might have to be obnoxious and visit Spencer, Iowa (Iowa that marvelous state that just exercised great wisdom with their judges in the election) and see the library where Dewey lived. Forget Lancaster County and the Amish, I'm on my way to Deweyville.

Okay, tomorrow I must write about Quik Chik and the 8 layer cake, or I may forget what happened and have to make it up. And I wouldn't want to do that because what really happened cannot be beat.

My blood is good except my vitamins D and B12 are drastically low. How a person living in Florida can be low in vitamin D, the sunshine vitamin, I should love to know. Leave it to KEM, who stays cloistered in her 4 walls. Really, I need to make drastic changes in myself. This morning lying in bed I thought about how deficient I am in vitamin D for the bones and I truly felt all my bones turning to ash on the spot. My sister understands this exactly.

Oh, DTD was over here today. I went upstairs to shower and dress for choir rehearsal. When I came down I was wearing black jeans, a dark brown top with a white tank top underneath that showed a little and a long roomy blue, brown, green and cream floral sweater with sleeves down to the elbow. Oh yeah, and my rain shoes, which are black soft clogs, hideous in the extreme.

I kind of slunk by DTD and gave her a funny look. I had a bad feeling. I asked, Do I look like a dork, or what? She said, with a funny look herself, which bode no good, Actually, I thought you look cute, you look like you didn't just roll out of bed and throw on any mismatched clothes.

WELL. Now, this was a surprise, I thought I looked like a total dud. Honestly, I need a complete and expert makeover. I gravitate toward the plain Jane of everything, clothes, colors, hair style, make up, jewelry, you name it, except you don't have to because I just covered it all. Normally, I don't wear anything loud and busy like that sweater. And, to tell you the truth, DTD'S expert opinion notwithstanding, I don't like that sweater. I don't feel good in it. How can this be? I don't feel good about the right things maybe? I feel good about Dullsville stuff? I need psychiatric help. I need to learn how to live a little, beyond buying a used blue plastic chip and dip at a yard sale.

Better end today's blog or it may run into tomorrow's blog.

Nice chatting with you, my friends, except that it feels like a monologue. Someone, some day, should leave a COMMENT. Hint, hint. I do thank Deb, who has left several comments in the past. Thank you, Deb. I think Mike left one once, too. And Veronique about the Curious George post. And a couple of others. But, hey, listen, I've written 387 posts, as of tonight, and I can count on both hands the number of comments. Ugh. Depressing. Oh, I did love the comment from some cute young stranger guy who liked my post on Crest White Strips. Now that was great. But that was a million years ago. And if any of you are really following this blog, maybe you should own up to it and become an official follower, eh? I would like to double my number of followers from three to six. Seriously, I KNOW at least six people read this blog at least from time to time. So why not live a little and do something bold and drastic and sign on?? It won't even cost you $.50. Turn my :( to a :) You have the power :))

Pesky Lil' KEM

Hear ye! Hear ye!

Tonight we watched our Netflix movie. The one we've had for 4 months. Making it a rather expensive movie. Funny how Netflix doesn't call you and say, Hey, do you remember you have a movie out...for 4 months? Of course they don't do that!

It was so worth it though. You simply HAVE HAVE HAVE to see this movie. I cannot wait to watch it again. It's slapstick a lot but, in my humble opinion, absolutely brilliant and hilarious. Pure delight. It's crazy, loud and has the famous Automat scene, which is unreal. I told Mike, It must have been exhausting for the director to make this movie. It doesn't hurt that my favorite star ever, Jean Arthur, is the leading lady. And also stars other character actors loaded with personality. A total screwball with catchy dialogue and fun, fun, fun! The best. I thought. Must watch a few more times to catch all that, ahem, catchy dialogue.

Not a good day, folks! Sinus infection on the prowl. An accident in the family.

But on the good side, my stepson got a promotion at work, GOOD FOR HIM! I was able to get antibiotics, but it took some doing. My nephew turned 15. And we watched the FABULOUS movie.

What a weird day. EXTRA weird.

Nighty night,
KEM

It's Alexander Scourby. Not Scorby. And finding his picture on Google, he looks nothing like what his voice led me to imagine. I think to listen to the whole Bible takes 80-some hours. Less than 4 days. Pretty impressive, huh?

I'm hoping my fingers don't find Google tonight and punch in Barbara Billingsley. Last night on Yahoo I started reading comments. I was looking for the spot where I had left off last time. The spot never showed. I read all 481 comments. But it was time well spent. I have discovered that I am not the only person who believes mothers, if possible, are better off trying to run the home and not distributing their resources too thin(ly).

My favorite comment was a man who said back when he was a kid he would have run through fire with gasoline pants, just to not miss an episode of Leave It To Beaver. Something like that.

The bottom line is, Barbara Billingsley/June Cleaver charmed the world. She is hands down the favorite TV mom of all time. And that's saying something because she had some pretty stiff competition. Almost everyone is yearning for those simple times when common courtesy and a good dinner on the table were the chief objectives in life. I could live with that, couldn't you?

The other day AOL had a fantastic article on a new problem facing young adults. Homelessness. Some 2 million of them. There was a video of this young man who was homeless, had a horrible upbringing ("I loved my mom but she didn't love me back, really") and suffers with kidney malfunction. Oh, brother. He lived through adults on drugs, abuse, shuffled from home to home, the whole ball of wax.

This not only made me weep, but got me to thinking about fostering children. It's a thought I've carried through the years, but sometimes I forget about it. So, I texted my sister to read this AOL article, which was a nice change from their usual drivel.

She said, Funny, but just this morning I was thinking of fostering children. Then she said she and our mother had talked recently about this lady my mom knows who has fostered many children over the years.

I showed Mike the article. He says I can't take in a foster child until I lead a normal schedule for a year. Rats. But it's uncomfortable to sit by in a nice house and all I need and more when there are 18 year old kids roaming the streets after aging out of foster care.

Well, then, you know, I went to get my blood work done the other day, right after all this foster talk. Remember, but they didn't take my blood work. The point is, when one of those women came up to the desk, she announced to the other woman that she was sorry to take so long but she was handling a call on foster care. WHAT? Those were the first words I heard her speak. She is becoming a foster parent, taking a neighbor's foster kid because of various problems. I couldn't believe it. I read the AOL, talked to my sister who wants to foster, and then a complete stranger says FOSTER. What does it all mean? It has to mean something! I also have a notice posted on my fridge for several months. It was from the church bulletin, FOSTER PARENTS NEEDED. It gives all the info to get started.

Well, the blood work woman started telling me way more than I wanted to know. She kept saying, Now don't tell on me, will you? I think she took one look at me and didn't think I looked fit to foster. You have to be tough. You have to be mean. See, she is taking in a 17 year old boy. But she can handle it 'cause she grew up rough, she knows the speak. I assured her I had no intention of taking a wild and crazy teenager, that I would take a small well behaved child. Ha, ha.

Now, I do have some experience with foster children. Granted, not very much. Two hours a week at AWANA for a year and a half. Several foster children. This one family of 3 siblings, whoa, the girls were so sullen and angry, and only 3 and 4 years old. But they had excellent foster parents and their whole demeanor changed within a few months. The foster parents adopted all three kids, it was a beautiful story.

I'm not saying I will ever actually foster. But I am saying, What can I do? What can we do? We can go into the public schools after hours and teach the Bible through CEF Clubs. We can financially support underprivileged children. We can get involved in countless other organizations and mentor and tutor. Which reminds me, I used to mentor a child, need to get back on it. BTW, that was quite a chapter in my life. Nothing like a unique and lively child to shake up your status quo. Fortunately, I wrote down a lot of things that were said/happened, both with this child and in AWANA. Priceless stuff. I think CDW was the main recipient of that literature. HA!

Oh brother, when I was at the vet for Jazzi's ears to be lasered (yes, you heard that correctly), I read a brochure that said you shouldn't kiss your pets. I'm doomed.

Okay, Quik Chik. I have to be in the mood. I wasn't tonight. Maybe tomorrow? My mom asked me the name of the place I ate in Folkston, GA. 'Cause I raved so about the 8 layer cake they might just pass that way when they drive down to FL. Somehow, I don't think this little joint will spin my mother's wheels. She will need to wear blinders and focus on the cake.

Cakey KEM

It's really too bad Barbara Billingsley died. I read a lot of comments people posted about her and she was universally loved by all, a rare feat. Everyone wants to be just like her or at least have her for their mom (besides our own moms, of course :) She had that something special. It's always hard for me to watch the old shows when one of the main characters dies in real life. Somehow, it's just not quite the same. At least not for a while until I adjust. But my new plan is to work for two hours around the house and then watch an episode of Leave It To Beaver. I will behave like June Cleaver for two hours and then I will reward myself.

Tonight I roasted chicken. Here is a KEM tip. A while back I saw these silicone rubber bands for cooking at Tuesday Morning or somewhere. They went in the drawer at home and stayed there. For a long time. Tonight I thought of them. Well, they deserve the highest accolades. For once, a modern gadget that works. I tied up those little chicken legs with two twists of the silicone band and it was too easy and too perfect. We are talking two seconds flat. No more fighting with twine and lacers and sharp metal pokers or whatever they are, which all fall apart just when you think you finally "got" it. Talk about improvement, these bright beautiful stretchy bands. They are washable and reusable, too. On a scale of 1 to 100, this product gets 100+. And what could be easier, simpler or more useful? Come one everyone, we need to think of something so brilliant and watch the dollars roll in.

Now don't everyone tell me you've been using these bands for the last 15 years. There are a variety of uses for them, too. I shouldn't have thrown out the package that tells you how fabulous they are. Well, just remember, they can stand up to 600 degrees heat, so whatever you need them for, go for it. I do think it said not to use on open flame and something else, too. Uh-oh, what was it?

Everyone's talking about pumpkin chocolate chip muffins. So, I Googled them, and on Joy of Baking found the recipe that appealed to me (mainly because I had all the ingredients and it used butter instead of a keg of oil). Boy, oh, boy, march yourself to Joy of Cooking and you will not be sorry. Best muffins I ever made, hands down.

I could not blog a real blog tonight because cooking does me in. But, now I have food for the next two days, yahoo! Love having food, real food, in the house.

Quik Chik tomorrow or bust.

KEM

I think I give up with my hair and shall succumb to an Amish bun. A grey Amish bun. My brother used to say a bun was the worst thing in the world. Of course, he was wrong. A grey Amish bun is the worst thing in the world. But it can't be helped.

And this after I had a brand new great hair cut in Greenville, by Mr. Mod.

My friend in Burlington, NC, wants to know where my blogs have been. I had grandiose ideas to blog away tonight, but instead I spent two hours (not counting clean up) peeling, chopping, spooning in olive oil and roasting carrots, one potato, beets and broccoli, one pizza tray at a time. And what do I have to show for it? I small pile of shrunken, albeit, colorful, shriveled vegetables. I'm just telling them right now, they had better be tasty at tomorrow night's dinner.

Today I was going to get my blood work done. Because, you know, I feel super crummy day in and day out. My sister and I were texting and I told her I guessed I'd go ahead with it today. Even though I feel pretty good today. For me. See, I had the idea they should poke me when I'm feeling particularly crummy, when my blood has something to say. Not when I'm perked up, then what's the point? I don't want to be told I'm normal.

Our conversation went like this:

Laura: How u?

KEM: OK. Going for blood work, I guess.

Laura: You really should!

KEM: Wanted to go on a day I felt super crummy.

Laura: 1111111111111111111111111111111111111QAW CCCCCCCCCCCCCCC0--11O033333....'L999999999999999999999999999999999-[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[;' oH, WAIT A MINUTE, THIS IS rOBBY'S HANDIWORK. hE WAS FISHING AROUND FOR THE LAST REMAINING REMNANT OF HIS MUSKRAT, WHICH SOMEHOW DISINTEGRATED IN MY ABSENCE WHEN i WAS IN gREENVILLE. lET ME TRY THIS AGAIN.

lAURA: Do you feel super crummy today?

KEM: Not as crummy as I'd like.

Well, blogging friends, I went for my blood work. And yet they could not do my blood work because the doctor's directions were wrong. But the lady said, They are doing a lot of tests on you, did you see that? I vaguely said, Yes, I glanced at it. So, it was Providential, because I really need to have my blood work done on a day I feel super crummy, which was not today. I didn't feel super crummy until tonight, manhandling all these root vegetables. Oh rats, I forgot to throw in the onion.

Well, I have to get back in the groove of blogging because too many things happen that I will never remember if I don't write it down then and there. A fact of life. Same wonderful friend from NC said in the absence of new fresh blogs, she caught up reading all my old ones (she was a late comer to the blog, not my fault, I might add).

In her chit-chatty email she said she and her daughter watched Gin, The Dancing Dog. I wrote back and said, Oh, I think I've watched that before, where did you see it, on YouTube?

She wrote back that, HELLO?, I had suggested Gin, The Dancing Dog on one of my blogs, just Google it, I commanded. So they did. And they loved it. Oh, btw, I texted CDW the other day to Goggle something, she loved that.

So, I've concluded that if I have no earthly idea what I've blogged about, then probably nobody else does either. Hmm. What does it all mean?

I do remember telling a friend here in town to watch Gin, The Dancing Dog on YouTube. She, scoffed with perfect scorn and in no uncertain terms that she was NOT going to watch Gin, The Dancing Dog. SHE is the perfect housekeeper, so what do you expect?

Oh rats, while Jazzi and I were walking, I really thought of something I must say in the blog. Apparently, I left it on 43rd Avenue.

But I do need to tell you what happened today on the subject of foster children. And also, from my trip, my story about Quik Chik and Not Your Usual Eight Layer Cake. The Quik Chik story highlights my complete lack of Christian character, but if you think that is something, wait until I tell you about this cake. Also, on my trip, I met up with old friends who are UNREAL people. Have to tell you about that. They, a mother and daughter, are like mannequins come to life. Well, I'm just telling you this now so I won't forget. I'll elaborate later. Not tonight. Also, Jazzi and the Blue Blobs.

My friend in NC noticed that I cannot spell. I do not deny it.

Here is excellent news. If you wind up going to the main post office because your nephew's birthday card has to go out TONIGHT, and not only did you miss the final call from the neighborhood post office, but the goofy card you bought needed additional 17 cents, which I weighed the letter myself, at least. Okay, where am I going with that run-on? Oh, so if you then go to the main post office and think to plug in your brand new Alexander Scorby CD, which you bought to listen to the Bible in the car, you can listen to the first 5 chapters of Matthew driving to and from the main post office. Now that is really something. It really is. I'm so excited. I cannot wait to see how much of the New Testament I can listen to just running around town, maybe in the next month, starting today. I can listen a lot faster than I can read. When I read I get hung up with what I don't understand, but Alexander Scorby doesn't let that slow him down. No Siree, Bob, he just keeps on truckin'. I've made a pact with myself that I will not rewind Mr. Scorby. What I get, I get, and what I don't, due to mind checking out, or what have you, then that is just too bad, we'll get it the next time around. I have great hopes this will improve my listening skills, because I really don't like missing something. You all know that. And I don't mess around, this is the King James Version. Well, I don't mess around with some things. And there is NOBODY like Alexander Scorby and his voice and talent. You should have seen all the versions of taped Bible reading in the Christian book store. Dramatic readings with musical backgrounds. I sincerely think not.

You know what, I think the above paragraph is what I left on 43rd Avenue. Good.

Okay, wrapping up the blog, but at least I made a stab at one tonight. I think something in my blood is gobbling up my blogging cells. Oh yeah, the nurse today kept making jokes about globulin being goblin, since it's Halloween and all. But on the phone to the hospital, which she called with questions about my blood order, I think she kept saying goblin because that's probably always what she says. Those girls were something else, they both reeked of ciggy smoke. Then I had to wait and wait for answers so the one girl called down the hall to the other girl, Where's my lighter? The girl near me said, What'd she say? I said, She wants to know where her lighter is. So she hollered back down the hall, I'll give you a light. Then they both went outside for a smoke. And they were gone long enough for me to read all about charisma in Oprah's magazine. GGSA (Good Gracious Sakes Alive). Do I really want to get my blood work taken at this place? I rather think not. Would you? They said to go call my doctor myself and they'd see me in the morning (we were way past closing time by now). I said, I don't do mornings. And that was that.

Globby, gobby KEM

Well now that I've lived and perished with the Rays, I think I can go on. I think. Maybe.

Speaking of the Rays, my neighbor Cheryl and I went to the sorry, sappy, sad game last night. We're sitting there a few yards beyond third base, nice and close up (Row N) to the dashing Evan Longoria. Close enough. Along about the time the Rays tied up the game 1 - 1, Cheryl's daughter, J., sends her a text that says something along the lines we, her mother and I, are on TV. J. is seated somewhere in the almost 42,000 persons crowd, not with us. I didn't know what to think, maybe that J. saw Cheryl and me on the big screen in the dome, where they show fans and goofy stuff, panning around the stadium, etc. An in-house production.

Well, it turns out that J's friend was watching the game in New York and saw Cheryl on TV and quickly snapped a cell phone photo and instantly sent J. a text. But the picture didn't come through in the dome for some reason when J. tried to send it to her mother. So we kinda forgot about it. We figured since Cheryl had gone to the trouble to go to TJMaxx and buy a special beautiful blue flannel plaid shirt in honor of the Rays (they have gone plaid) that the camera found her and we wound up on TV. We really didn't know what to think. I mean, plaid is in. Of course, old KEM had on an orange shirt. She should have worn the plaid cap Mike's friend gave him, but it's 10 sizes too big. I literally swim in it. Should have worn it anyway.

Fast forward to this afternoon, hours after our miserable loss. My dad calls from South Carolina and says, I SAW YOU ON TV! He said he couldn't believe it, he looked up and there I was, talking to Cheryl. He said, You had on an orange shirt. Well, I sure did. Orange used to be the Bucs or the Gators or somebody. Wrong team, wrong sport, who should be surprised? He went on to say he watched the whole game and Cheryl and I were pretty much the only people TBS showed from the audience during their broadcast. HUH?? That can't be quite right. But still, Cheryl and I now feel completely famous. I called her after I talked to my dad, to reinforce this moment of glory. She said she's had emails and phone calls, and so have I. One phone call and one email. HA! The email said I looked happy. Well, that was our one moment of momentum in the whole 9 innings, sad, sad, sad, and TBS caught us.

My sister brought me down to earth when she texted, You had your 5 seconds of fame. Well, 5 seconds is not quite 15 minutes, but I'll take it. Especially since this TV business will be the highlight of a season ending game that cast a pall. I mean, everyone was so happy at the start of the game and then we all walked out numb. It shouldn't happen.

But the point is, how on earth Cheryl and I ended up on TV out of 42,000 people, I shall never know. I guess I needed some blog material, is all I can figure.

Robby. He is a bitey baby. And a scratchy baby. And he has some new found loves. He has discovered the routine of the nasal wash each night. He loves to stare at the water flowing from my nostrils. He bats at the stream now and again. He loves to watch when I wash dishes, the suds and bubbles and faucet water going down the drain. He positions himself smack by the sink (or in the sink). Big time stuff. Then he was fascinated when I was stirring chocolate pudding on the stove. Fascinated. Then I was playing piano and he got up there and peaked behind the music rack where he could see the hammers hitting the strings. Now when he was little I was afraid he would squeeze into that little space behind the rack and get all tangled up in the inner workings of the piano. Now, I don't fear that so much. He's a growing boy. I adore how smart cats are, interested in absolutely E-V-A-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G. It's very cunning. Especially the day he learned to unroll the toilet paper roll. His method is fast and furious, paw upon paw.

I send my condolences to one of my readers who unexpectedly lost her spouse recently. God be with you. So sad, too sad. I'm so very sorry. May comfort and peace enfold you, dear friend.

Well, I'm thinking about trying to blog regularly again. It kind of cheers me up. To blog.

Oh, for Pete's sake, you gotta here this. Remember the adorable little boy who says such cute things during the children's sermons? Well, his mother took him to a Rays play off game last week. He had the time of his life. Later his grandmother asked him if he learned to yell anything at the game. He said, GO RAYS! She asked, Anything else? COLD BEER HERE! Children are simply marvelous.

Trying not to let new found stardom, fleeting as it was, go to the head, (too late, it already has)
KEM

I'm back. I think. Maybe.

Read the end of Dewey today. You know, the book, the New York Times #1 Bestseller on the world famous library cat of Spencer, Iowa. The book I gave my dad for Father's Day when he was expecting a book on golf. The book my mother then read and adored. The book I am now reading (of course, I skipped to the end when I couldn't stand the suspense any longer). The book I shall pass on to the first person who asks for it. Bawled my eyes OUT. Loved up on Robby for the rest of the day.

It really pays to give a book you want to read as a gift to a close family member. You can swipe it so easily. Or not. You can just ask to borrow it outright. Whichever way feels less cheesy.

I really have a lot to write about my vacation. But today I shall keep it easy. We got to go to the pitiful Rays game yesterday. The all-important play-off game that became the dud of the season. The only thing interesting that happened the whole afternoon was that on the way to the game I had to stop the car at a red light. I was first in line in my lane. This foreign looking man is crossing the street on foot. He looks straight through the windshield at me and decides to stop. He stares a hole straight through me. THEN, he does a hootchie-kootchie dance, right there in front of our car. He is wearing Spandex shorts down to his knees...and nothing else, I'm afraid, other than his black curly bowl hair do. He put on quite the show and enjoyed himself immensely. Well. I tell you what, it takes all kinds. Lately, I am attracting all kinds. Which, of course, wouldn't surprise DTD. Mike and I were dumbfounded. Oh, wait a minute. This was the day before that game. It was the Rays first play-off game, which was also dismal. I was driving Mike and Nick to the game so they wouldn't have to park. This is when Spandex Mexican set his soul free.

Did this qualify as a blog? I guess so.

What have you all been up to the last couple of weeks?

KEM...is still in the ring