Artificial Illumination and the Serial Killers

 Did you ever walk outside to take out the garbage in the still of the night, and clouds were just right so that the street was colored an eerie shade of ethereal blue? You naturally stop and look around to be sure there's nobody looking at you from behind a bush. You know the kind of night I'm talking about. If you saw a scene like this on a TV show you'd be saying, "Oooh, something's going to happen! Why does he just keep standing there? Doesn't he hear that suspenseful music?!" If you know this scene, then congratulations, 𝅘𝅥𝅯dun dun𝅘𝅥𝅯, you have probably watched as many crime shows as I have. (Although, probably not.)

Luckily Sylvia and I didn't experience any of this mysterious blue lighting on our recent getaway. In fact, we experienced no lighting at all! (Dun Dun!)

We plotted and planned and prioritized a week away in-between teaching, girls' getaways, and convention. It was a much needed trip to anywhere but we decided that the scenery in the wine country was much better than "anywhere" so we went to Windsor, CA. It's close enough that we could drive and far enough away that we had to get the kids to take care of the dogs. Honestly, I have been looking forward to this trip ever since we started planning it. "We" is a relative term when talking about the specifics of trip planning. It typically goes like this: 

Sylvia: There's a place we could stay at in Windsor!

Me: Sounds great!

S: Let's see if there's a place in Monterey, that's nice too.

J: Yup!

S: Oh, they're booked. What's this next place? Where is that? They've got a room for some of the time.

J: Just checked. It's down near San Diego.

S: That's too far. Let's look at....

And so on, and so forth, for a while...until.

S: What about that place we could stay at in Windsor! Should I book it?

J: Yes! Great! Thanks!

Trust me, I am not complaining! I just know how she likes to look at all the possibilities and try to find the very best for us. I appreciate it sincerely and, honestly, if Sylvia is there, it's my favorite place to be.

So we took the relatively short drive to Windsor and started our getaway. It took a lot less time to type that than the actual event because we have a habit of setting several ambitious departure times and then watching helplessly as they each gently slide by in activity-filled succession. 12 o'clock. Begin packing and oh I just want to spruce up the kitchen before we go. 1 o'clock. Phone call from family. 2 o'clock. Text from Krisi asking if it's OK to bring over someone she'd like us to meet. 4 o'clock. Finalize packing. 4:45 Make sure the dogs are OK since they never like it when we get out a suitcase. 5 o'clock. Leave the house.

I said all that so you would get the idea that it was beginning to get dark when we got checked in. We got our keys, and these cool little bracelets that are keys that you wear, and set off to find our building. 

We parked, got out, and followed the sketched out pen drawing of the map to the elevator since lugging a few suitcases up to the third floor was not my idea of a great start to a relaxing vacation. When the elevator door opened it looked a little darker than the inside of a typical elevator but we could just make out the number three button and the doors began to close. As they did, it got darker, and darker and then there was absolutely no light. It was a little disconcerting. We knew we were alone and we knew that we were only two 'ding's away from our final destination. Well, hopefully not our final destination but you know what I mean. The doors opened and we were greeted by an empty walkway. No large man in a hockey mask. Nobody with sharpened knives where fingers should have been. Not even a mild-mannered accountant looking gentleman who, inexplicably, was wearing a clear plastic coverall over his pocket protector and white button up shirt. There was nobody there, and we got to our room without a problem. (I'd like to add that we were able to open the door at a normal pace and not by frantically fumbling with the key in an effort to get in and slam the door just before the lumbering dark figure reached the threshold as the music quickened and the cymbal crashed!)

We set down our things, unpacked the suitcase into the dresser in the bedroom, (yes, we are those type of people...are you?), and then called the front desk to tell them that there was a situation in the elevator in building number 3. After a bit we left the room to go grab something to eat and we talked about how someone could have broken the light in an effort to make criminal activity easier to achieve and how she was glad I was with her when we encountered the spooky elevator because she knew, with me being a large guy...it would take a while for the madman to finish me off and she'd have time to run away to safety! (that's not even close to her reason, but I've seen these kinds of shows and I know that Sylvia is definitely leading lady material! They are always fine.) As we walked toward the maniac-free stairs I suggested that we try the elevator to see if they had already fixed the light. No such luck...but I got out the flashlight on my phone and noticed that there wasn't one large fluorescent light fixture but 6 individual bulbs.

I figured the odds of six lights going out simultaneously were astronomical. I thought about how well-regulated and inspected elevators generally are and how unlikely it would be to have an entire system broken in a well-maintained facility so I reached up and twisted a bulb. Immediately there was light! I reached for the others and, in no time, the elevator was back to its fully illuminated serial killer-free self. Sylvia remarked about how my brain just doesn't work the same way as others do and how it would never occur to her to try the light bulbs to see if they were unscrewed. I'm used to it. At least I am using my powers for good and not evil.

And that, officer, is how my fingerprints got onto all of the lightbulbs in the elevator! I'm innocent I tell you! Dun dun dunnnnnn...

Hurt Me!

I wrote this title about half a year ago. I jotted down a few sentences but got interrupted by life so I never finished it. While the original beginning to this particular blog post doesn't apply, the general principle does. I woke early this morning and, since I love to write, took the extra time as permission to try to make people laugh.

I started to think what could I write about? Most of the time I just sit and start plunking at the keys. (Think: a million monkeys banging on a million typewriters...I know I've used this analogy in the past but I have never tried it. Mostly because the cost of feeding a million monkeys would be prohibitive, but also, think of the smell!) Today felt different. I needed a reason to write. What's been happening? What's been on my mind? Honestly, lately, I've been thinking about my knees. 

I'm guessing that the most astute among you have already figured out that the only reason a reasonable rational person would think about knees at all is because there was a problem. Even though very few people have called me reasonable or rational...they would be correct. There is a problem. I suppose, rather, more accurately, there was a problem. It's almost the year anniversary of when I tumbled down the cement steps in front of the house. Really I fell off the step-stool on the porch, and then I tumbled down the cement steps in front of my house. Here's the breakdown: (1 middle aged out of shape guy + one rickety 4 foot tall step-stool + 6 cement steps) 32 feet per second/per second = OUCH! And they said I'd never use math again once I got out of school! The correct answer is actually OUCH to the second power since I wrenched the heck out of both knees in the span of a few seconds. It hurt! Each of my big toes was pointing in completely different directions! And different elevations! My core even hurt because I tried to. I don't know, hold myself up by sheer will. I was probably trying to stifle yelling out too. I'd hate to bother the neighbors you know. 

Our kitty-corner back yard neighbor was out walking the dog about 50 feet from my impromptu gymnastic routine. As I struggled to get to a position that would alleviate the pain I caught her eye. It's hard to describe really, but she never moved a muscle to help. She didn't take the slow beginning steps toward our house to see if she could help. She didn't yell out, "Are you OK? Want me to call 911? Nice one!" Nothing! She didn't even raise an eyebrow or nod to say she was another human being in the same vicinity of another human being. She just slowly turned and walked away. She's moved away now. I'll just say that I didn't contribute to her going away present through a haze of tears.

Now I can finally get to the point. I know I have a problem finally doing that. I apologize.

After the initial pain, through trips to the ER and MRI and more medication than I've taken in the last few years combined, I started physical therapy. What a miracle! Here I was getting ready to begin teaching kindergarten again and I was effectively immobile. I don't know if you know anything about kindergarteners, but if they sense weakness they pounce! Just kidding, but it is physically demanding. This is what I told my physical therapist. "HURT ME!" Don't take it easy on me because it looks like I'm in pain...get me to walk without a cane in 4 weeks! As I struggled to get up from repairing the hardwood floor last night, looking like a newborn baby giraffe struggling to get to his feet, I thought about how lucky I am to be able to still do work and, mostly pain free, get up.

Now if you'll excuse me I need to go finish fitting the last few boards into place. I fully understand why those guys earn so much money! Wish me luck!

Air Quotes and the Modern Reader: A Study in Foolishness

 I am officially on summer vacation starting now. Teachers use different methods of determining when their vacation officially begins. For some it is precisely when the kids leave the door on the last day. For others, it is when they go to the after work gathering and finally get hold of that adult beverage that's been calling to them since March. Still others say that vacation begins when keys are turned in to the office and they are no longer required to maintain the classroom. (As a teacher who is notoriously likely to stay in the classroom rearranging, reorganizing, and reevaluating why I have so many items in my room, I would say that I turn in my keys so I am no longer allowed to maintain my classroom.) For many teachers the vacation officially begins the moment they turn off the school-year alarm. For me, the vacation is officially begun the first time I wake up at the time I would normally get up and get ready and do something else instead. Sitting down to write has made it official. Summer break is a go! When do you consider your vacation started?

Today I sat down to write but I could have just as easily sat down to 'read'. If you were here watching me sit alone in the living room, in the dark of the morning, wearing the tuxedo I always wear to write my blog (I feel it gives my writing an air of sophistication) you would wonder why my first activity wasn't sleeping in later than normal. For that you'd have to have a conversation with the hairy beast with no opposable thumbs and therefore cannot open the door to the back yard to go to the bathroom. Our chocolate lab, Bosco (too cute right) is a creature of habit and once he's settled in on a routine, it's pretty much set in stone. That's why I am up at a little after 5 on a day when my responsibilities are my own. "A little after 5!?!" you shout into your computer screen as you decide that I am crazy for letting the dog dictate my timeline. Well, I've tried, on several occasions, to force Bosco to wait a while longer and to just go lay down for a while longer. Let's just say that the results were unpleasant, and required copious amounts of disinfectant and paper towels. It's OK. I can get up and talk to you lovely people. Besides, if I jump up and do something right away for an extra hour each day for a month and a half, it's like I've squeezed another 4 days into my summer vacation! That's not my idea. That's an idea from a book I just 'read' about getting yourself moving and getting things done.

This brings me to what I actually wanted to talk to you about today. I'm guessing that many of you, dear readers, have noticed that I included added little bits of punctuation on the word 'read' both times I've written it. Bravo if you noticed. If you only noticed because you were making a mental note to yell at me for using incorrect grammar, well, your gonna haight dis neckst part uv da sentins. (Writing that caused me physical pain.)  The real reason I added the sky commas was because there is no punctuation, that I'm aware of. that denotes 'air quotes'. So here's the question: Does anyone else feel the need to use air quotes when telling a friend that you have just finished 'reading' an audiobook?

Here's my thinking. Listening to an audiobook feels a little like cheating. If someone tells me that they read a book, I imagine them sitting outside their perfectly kept house, in a lounge chair, with all of their responsibilities neatly managed and time-organized giving them the ability to enjoy a book. Several parts of that sentence rarely apply to me, personally. In the age of self-care I still find it difficult and guilt inducing to take several hours out of future weeks to sit and read a book...even if my dog and I have added 4 days to our summer. When do I feel it's ok to 'read' a book? How about while I'm mowing the lawn? Pop on the noise canceling headphones over my blue-tooth enabled hearing aids and suddenly my menial task is much less unpleasant! I know there are many people who claim that taking care of the yard and garden takes them to their happy place...we'll discuss these crazy people in a later blog. Other 'reading' opportunities? While I'm checking to see if my kindergarten students have colored within the lines. While deciding which of my CD's to take to the Half Price book store. (spoiler alert: all of them.) Doing the dishes, folding clothes, sweeping the floor, driving to and from work (lest you picture me as a modern-day Cinderfella who only does chores around the house...which reminds me, while cleaning the fireplace and chimney!)

The point is, I've found so many times and activities where I can 'read' the books in my digital library without totally checking out and without isolating myself from the family. Although, If I were to sit and actually read on a lounge chair outside, I would get to interact with the family as they each took turns bringing me peeled grapes and glasses of lemonade. I think I need to start 'reading' more non-fiction books. I'm starting to hallucinate about the family!

Hire this person!

 When a colleague asked me to write her a letter of recommendation it brought out a few interesting thoughts. First, why the heck would anyone want to stop working with me? I'm a delight! (Just kidding, I know that neighboring districts pay a lot more money than ours. What're ya gonna do.) The second thought was, who, other than my mommy, gives a baboon's butt about my opinion? And finally, and perhaps most importantly, if I write her an awesome recommendation, she may actually get the job! And then where would I be!? The other kindergarten teacher and I would need to train a new coworker. Woe is me. (Actually, Woe is us, but I'm not in the mood right now to coin new phrases so I'll just go with it.)

I know, I'll write a horrible review! I think I'll probably use her real name here, because it's funnier that way! Well, it's funnier to me. Here goes! 

To Whom it may concern,

I would like to say that I have had the pleasure of working with Jay this year. I would like to. She is a brave young woman who almost never smells of alcohol and almost never gets angry when the students wake her from her numerous morning naps. Worry not, the students are always otherwise engaged while she is "resting" from the night before. She has an extensive library of movies that the kids have been trained to cycle through. Don't worry, she won't allow them to watch any movies rated NC-17 unless they sign a waiver. (well, scribble a crayon mark on a waiver...none of them can write anything yet.)

She has a lot of energy, especially when cornering and executing the various woodland creatures that wander across the playground. I wouldn't say that she's got homicidal tendencies...but I wouldn't not say it. Her students gain loads of life experience and real practical knowledge by helping her clean, dress, and barbecue these animals. She is very encouraging in these endeavors and always forgiving when they make mistakes. She helps them adapt to their new realities by handing out clever nicknames. "Lefty" is now completely comfortable handling the knives and "Smoky" knows exactly how much lighter fluid is just a bit too much.

Inclusion and acceptance is important in her classroom as well. The students are almost completely tolerant of her excessive flatulence and colorful tourettes-like outbursts. 

Outdoor education is also an important part of her curriculum. She is averaging a nearly 80% successful return rate for students who go on field trips with her. And if you count the students who are carrying her container of cigarettes and romance novels, that percentage jumps to 90%!

In conclusion, I think it would be a great idea to let her "work" for you. You shouldn't let fact that her alleged connections to organized crime are a serious arson risk. You have insurance, right?

Jeff Garrett

Wednesday! Thursday! Friday!

So, we sent out Christmas cards this year! Not terribly Earth shattering I know, but in the midst of these crazy times we're counting this as a win! Several of these cards even made it to their recipients before New Year's Day (which is in the top 10 personal best in even the sanest of times). I sat down at the computer and banged out a collection of syllables to create a family letter as well. You know that saying that if you gave a million monkeys a million typewriters for a million years, eventually they would bang out the complete works of Shakespeare? It turns out it only takes this monkey about an hour to bang out a Christmas letter. 

After we printed our picture and folded the letter and stuffed the envelopes, we were all set to address them. Problem is, we didn't exactly know where the address book was. We've been rearranging things in the house, remodeling, painting, organizing, and disheveling. We're finding out two things. First, there are many things that we obviously don't need since they've been in boxes for a while, and we haven't missed them. Second, even though certain rooms have been done for months, we will still go back to where things used to be stored to look for them. Luckily Sylvia is much more talented in the "remembering where we moved things to" department, and we were able to find the book. I also found the paper-clipped stack of address labels we've torn off of cards that had been sent to us. (Those are always kept in the front of the junk drawer, and we all know that nothing ever changes in that thing.) And now we were on a roll! We had the letters, the pictures, the envelopes, the addresses, and we were ready to finish it up! (Almost)

I got the bright idea to put everyone's address into our new computer so we could print them out easily and be ready to go. Never mind the fact that I had never done this before. Computers make things easier, right? Several hours later we had collected and organized and sorted and eventually printed our address labels. 

Getting to the finish line involved a little thoughtful reflection. "Oh, she passed this past year, and she always sent us nice cards." There was some investigative work. "I have two addresses written here. Peachtree Drive and Seafoam Way. Did they move from the orchard to the beach or vice versa?" There was also a little bit of dredging up bits of data to try to piece together a scenario that made sense. "There're just two first names and I don't recognize either of them. Are these the newlyweds who we met on our honeymoon and our only communication from then on was a Christmas card back and forth for a few years? I think we can cross them off the list." It was a project and we got them mailed in a reasonable amount of time...well before Groundhog Day!

What happened after we mailed them is what I wanted to write about today. Right away we started getting notes from friends that they had gotten our card. "Really? We just mailed it yesterday! Oh, Jeff's letter was so funny and original and insightful and powerful and awe-inspiring and well-written...Yeah, I'm not going to mention it to him since we don't want him to get a big head." (Well, I assume that's what happened) Anyway, something else happened as well. We got two envelopes back.

Normally we get a couple cards returned to us. Usually, it's because we transposed a couple numbers on the address, or we hadn't heard that someone had moved, but this year was a little different. We got one back that had three letters written boldly across the front. "WTF" I realize that these letters, in certain circumstances, mean something other than Wednesday Thursday Friday. It's rude. It's well beyond my self-appointed PG13 writing limit. And I won't be explaining the full meaning of this abbreviation here. I have to admit that my first thought upon seeing this written on an officially stamped and federally protected correspondence was, "What The ........heck?" I couldn't fathom why someone in the United States Postal Service would brazenly scratch this onto an envelope. No, that's not what happened. I shifted my focus. Maybe we had gotten the address so horribly wrong that they couldn't comprehend how these letters and numbers were supposed to be arranged. No. Then I thought, maybe the people at this address had finally reached their limit during this particular holiday season and when they got a Christmas card for the former occupant of their house it sent them over the edge! Instead of politely inscribing, "The intended recipient of this particular missive is no longer residing in this locale. Please amend your records accordingly. Have a pleasant day." as I always do...this person angrily scratched out "WTF" as a way to signal that I had better not make this mistake again...EVER! 

By now you're invested.... right!?! You've got to hear how I handled this massive insult!?! Did I call my state representative? Did I relay this insult to my dozens of followers on Instabook or Facegram causing it to go viral and earn me a guest spot on a national news show? Did I stomp into the local post office and demand to speak to Ben Franklin!?! (The original Postmaster General in 1775) No! I did none of that! I looked for more clues as to who would be so ill-mannered and brash as to write almost swear words onto our mail...and that's when I saw it. The yellow label that signals it's time for a letter to go back to its source because there was a problem. In tiny writing on the corner of the sticker it said, "Unable To Forward." It turns out that someone in the post office needs penmanship lessons in order to make his U's not look like W's. I hear there's a three-day penmanship course at the local adult school. It's this next week on Wednesday Thursday Friday.

I'm Absolutely Full (From Gladly Eating All My Words)

There I was, minding my own business, being a goofball with the family (if you can believe it) when I flippantly called out, "That's it! I'll never write again!" 

Emily, Jake's girlfriend and the newest member of the blog reading community, blurts out, "You're going to eat those words." I could have thought: What did she mean by that? or, That's an interesting thing to say. or even, Does she have a relative who's in the publishing business who wants to offer me the standard "Rich and Famous" contract? Like I said, I could have thought any or all of those things, instead I probably thought: 'I wonder if pigs know that they are one of the few animals that can get sunburned?' or something equally ridiculous. 

By not thinking anything even close to logical I set myself up to be completely gob smacked! That is what happened! I'm not exactly sure where my gob is precisely, but I do know that it has been thoroughly and completely smacked! 

I'm not sure how long ago, but certainly before last August, I mentioned to Emily that I had written in a blog in the past. I was telling her a story and teased her with something like, "You'd know all this if you read my blog." She genuinely wanted to read it and I gave her the address. A few days later she told me that she enjoyed my little corner of the internet and that she liked my writing style. (10 points for Emilydor!) I enjoyed the compliment and moved on with my life.

Jump rapidly ahead to just before my birthday last month. Emily brought over a uniquely wrapped present and set it over in the slowly growing wrapped Christmas present staging area. This gift had all sorts of folds and pockets and a card with a little sprig of decoration tucked in and she showed me that it had my name on it written in very fancy writing. Nothing unusual. Emily is quite artistic. Moving on.

The night of my birthday we ate dinner, they sang to me (I'm not sure which song...in my head the family all perfectly performed a rendition of "The Lonely Goatherd" from the Sound of Music...but I may be mistaken), and then they brought me my presents. I noticed two things. My family has completely embraced and enabled my Dr Pepper addiction, and I am a clueless human being. After opening an unplanned and uncoordinated string of Dr Pepper related products Emily handed me her nicely wrapped gift. It was a parallelepiped which, of course, is a 6 faced polyhedron all of whose faces are parallelograms lying in pairs of parallel planes (in other words, a box)...but I digress. So, this box was about the size of a large book and I read the nice card while taking note that Jacob was setting his camera on a tripod. 

Confession time. I saw the size of her present and added that together with my many hints about how cool it would be to have one of those very fancy and highly professional knife sharpening systems they've been advertising online for a few months I thought I had guessed it. I'm not a snooper and I am perfectly happy being surprised, so I never went over and picked up the fancy gift to see if it weighed about what I thought a knife sharpener would weigh. Had I picked it up, heard little stainless steel bars clank together inside of a fairly lightweight box I would have spoiled the surprise! Little did I know that they do not make those knife sharpeners with Dr Pepper logos on them so it was never going to happen anyway. 

Jake started recording. I opened the box. I saw a familiar picture emblazoned on the cover of a very large book! A picture of the family! My Family! From my Facebook page! 

I know words. I like to think I can string them together into meaningful sentences. I try to be precise in my language and with my speaking or writing. I choose to use certain words because of the connotations associated with them and I choose not to say other words because they just don't have the correct feelings I'm going for. I have even been known to interpret others' miscommunications at times and create understanding where there was none. I'm not bragging, just explaining. I know words.

And then I saw the picture...read the title:

Do I  Really Live In This Sitcom? 

Volume 1, 

Jeff Garrett, 

An Autobiography

...slowly realized what the heck was going on...and I gathered all of my word-working skills together and started speaking as eloquently as I could:

"Wha...."  "Wha...."  "How...."  "Wha...."  "WHA....!"  "HUH!?!"  "WHAT? HOW?! THIS...! WHAT!"

It's not Shakespeare but it's all I could muster. I could have been knocked over by a slight breeze, I was so surprised and then I opened the very stylish cover....and I got a second shock! It turns out that Emily had not only gathered all of my ramblings into an edited collection, painted the art for the cover and designed the title typeface from distinctive sitcom shows' lettering, ordered it to be published into book form, but then she told a lot of the family so they could write thoughtful little notes to me about the book! Do you realize what that means!?! Everybody knew about it! THE FINKS! 

Nobody even gave me a clue that I should wear my gob protector. (You know, because it was about to be smacked) It was quite honestly one of the most humbling moments of my life as I realized what Emily had undertaken. She started this project in August and was able to complete it in enough time to have family sign it for me before she wrapped it! I would love to say that I was moved to tears because that is the most common question I get whenever I tell someone about the gift. Alas, I am not really a crier...to my eternal shame...but that is not a comment on how much I appreciate the gift.

So here we are. I am now a published author. Emily has told me that she was ready to order more for anyone who wants one. I'm not sure of all of the particulars but I think it will be in the $50 range since, apparently, I have written A LOT! I suppose if you'd like to have a physical representation of my little corner of the internet, you could let me know.

Pay attention and I will let you know who they choose to play me in the movie they make from my book...I'm thinking that Kurt Russell is a good choice. ;-)

Now, if you'll excuse me I have to go buy myself a knife sharpening kit...while drinking a Dr Pepper!

 Truly, Thank you again Emily, Unbelievably Awesome!

Late Bloomer?

I've got a serious question for everyone. 

Well, maybe not everyone. If I had to wait until the "everyone" responded the question would be moot. (yes, that's how you spell that. I looked it up.) Also, "serious" sounds very important and weighty and that's definitely not the vibe I'm going for. Vibe? Really Jeff...vibe? I don't think I've ever actually said the word vibe in my life before this. It's just not something I'd do. These 4 times notwithstanding. 

Let me start again. 

I've got a moderately weighty question that I'd like to ask a handful of people. Although, come to think of it, a handful of people might not be a large enough sample size. I mean if my parents and my sister chime in that would really sque, scew, scue, change the data. 

Third time's a charm! 

Well, possibly not if I say it that way. I'm a big movie buff. I almost said Take Three! but I wasn't sure enough of the people I wanted to answer this question would understand the reference since it may be an outdated way for movie companies to identify how many times they've tried to get the scene correct. I mean they probably don't have someone stand in front of the camera with that black and white board with the hinged paint-stick looking thing slapping down while they shout, "Take seventeen...Take 42...Take 153...." I'm sure it's all done on computers now. HEY! Did I mention that we got a new computer last night!? Yeah, I thought I'd come out and take it for a test drive to ask everyone a question....oh, oops.

Take Four!

Time for the really real question. I've got a birthday coming up and I would love to know people's opinions. How old do you have to be before it becomes really impressive to start something? For instance, Grandma Moses was in her 70's before she started painting. Nice. I'm pretty sure some other people started things later in life. Let me Google something really quick. Hang on.

OK, I'm back.

Apparently Ray Kroc  was 53 when he started McDonald's. Susan Boyle was 47 when she wowed the internet with her singing. Alan Rickman was 42 when he terrorized Nakatomi Tower. But honestly, I don't think I want to start a restaurant, subject anyone to my singing, or act like a terrorist. Besides, I am already older than all of these people were.

I want to be an author. Let me look up authors who are considered late bloomers. Here's one, J.K. Rowling, when she published Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone...um hmm. Ok, well crap. It says she was 32.

So much for that. New plan.

I'd like someone to put me in touch with David from My Lottery Dream Home from HGTV. If you are unfamiliar with the show, David takes lottery winners to the places that they've always wanted to live to make sure they get the perfect house of their dreams. Sylvia and I have been watching a lot of his shows recently and think it would be exciting to have him find us a home! Of course, before we contact him, it would probably be wise to have someone put me in touch with a winning lottery ticket. Another thing to add to my list. Great.

Right now the only houses we might be able to afford would be a run down fixer-upper in Arkansas...but that wouldn't be a problem as long as someone could put me in touch with Dave and Jenny Marrs, also from HGTV and a show called Fixer to Fabulous. They do a spectacular job fixing up older houses and making them into dream homes-minus the lottery pre-requisite. Come to think of it though, those home buyers do give Dave and Jenny a substantial budget in order to make those fixer uppers into fixed ups. I'm afraid the only way we could give them a budget is if they let me pay with my good looks. Honestly though, with that size of a budget I could maybe get Dave to wipe the dust off the front door knob while Jenny sprayed water on my glasses so I wouldn't notice that nothing had changed on the house. (and then Dave would sprinkle dust back onto the door knob)

I suppose that's not the best way to meet our new best friends, Dave and Jenny. Sylvia and I have already decided that they will love us when we have them fix our house up in the future. Nothing against Lottery David. He seems like a hoot! It's just that he is always jet setting around the country and we need a little more geographical stability in people who are considering vying for the position of best friends. As for our current best friends, no offense, but you haven't steered us toward any HGTV personalities...or winning lottery tickets...so let's work on that.

But I digress....

The other night I woke up with a book idea clearly defined in my head. I jumped out of bed, grabbed a notebook, and scribbled and scratched for three hours, and got the outline down. It'll take some time before I get all of it worked out but it's exciting nonetheless. Thanks for listening. Also, I think I may have asked this 'How old...' question before, but I'm getting so old that I've forgotten. Now, if you'll excuse me I need to let David, Dave and Jenny know that I'll be needing a writing room in our new house.