Thinking About Jeremy

I'm thinking about Jeremy today and by tomorrow he'll likely crowd out all other thoughts. He's the reason why The Jeremy Project exists, the reason I wrote Nana's Socks, and the reason why so many families have something to cherish after the illness or death of their child.

What a lot this boy has managed to orchestrate even though he's no longer with us. But, if you had had the chance to know him, this would come as no surprise.

So who was this kid?

He was a wild handful and more complex than perhaps anyone ever realized, except for his mom. He loved music, his friends, and his freedom. He was smart, creative, imaginative and bursting with energy. He was fierce and passionate in his ideas and in how he wanted to live his life. He was fun...so much fun. And as you can see, he was a stunner.

What is my favorite Jeremy story? There's many but one that immediately comes to mind unfolded as he spent the afternoon with us one day. I had sent he and Kenny outside to play and when I next looked they had tied the rabbit cage - with the rabbit in it - to a skateboard and had then tied the skateboard, rabbit and all, to Kenny's bike. Jeremy was riding the bike with Kenny sitting on the handle bars.

"What are you two doing?!"

Jeremy paused for a moment and looked at me like I was the dumbest aunt on the planet before speaking as if rabbits tied to skateboards were an everyday occurrence, "We're taking Thumper for a ride."

"You're what!?"

"He was bored Aunt Laurie!"

I knew it was only moments before he picked up speed on that bike. "Jeremy! Untie that rabbit from that skateboard! Kenny! Get off those handle bars! And I mean NOW!"

Isn't that hysterical? Oh my gosh, I laughed so hard.  They both looked quite disgusted that I had ruined their fun, but they quickly got over it and moved on to putting Torie Montana's Little Tike picnic table into the pool for use as a surf board.

Good Lord we miss that boy!

I would be so thankful if all of you would take a moment and visit The Jeremy Project on Facebook. You can see some of the pictures and become a fan of The Jeremy Project by pasting this link into your browser:

http://www.facebook.com/home.php#/pages/The-Jeremy-Project/111449975307?ref=ts

You can also visit www.thejeremyproject.org. It is a wonderful thing Darcie has created and it has meant so much to so many families.

I gotta go.

Changing Your Emotional Drift

Except for Wednesday when I went to Melbourne, Florida for a speaking gig, I've spent about 5 hours of each day this week at our energy sucking, money pit of an investment duplex. After squatting for six weeks, the "renters" had finally disappeared last Saturday.

I wanted to believe with all my heart Kenny was exaggerating, but upon our entry into the building last Sunday, I, too, saw the need for rubber gloves and antibacterial bleach. Had I rented to farm animals? I mean, for heavens sake, you'd think a woman who wasn't working would have enough time on her hands for the tiniest bit of cleaning.

And they must have been using the pool for bathing for no one in their right mind would step into that bathtub! Will we ever know what that black stuff really was?

Anyway, I was in a horrendously foul mood as I hauled the 18th bag of debris to the curb when a handsome couple in new jeep stopped and asked if I was the landlord.

"Yes," I smiled grimly, noticing the sweat on my arms had now mingled with both the dirt and the dog hair to create dark, furry streaks, "but today I feel like Cinderella." Or a black lab.

They laughed and I resisted the urge to kick in the door of their new jeep.

"We own a marshal arts studio only two minutes from here and we'd like to rent in this area."

Had I heard them correctly? Kenny had not even put out the for rent sign yet, had he?

Thank goodness I had kept my savagery in check. With a smile now somewhat brighter I put my dirty, furry arms behind me.

"Really! What a coincidence as this unit has just come available. AND, it's the only one on the street with a pool."

Just then Kenny walked out the door and we discovered the young man knows of our good friend, Jay D'Mato, a long time teacher of marshal arts. Jay is one of the reasons our son, Kenny - a marshal artist with cage fighting aspirations, moved back to St. Louis.

We were now bonding rather beautifully I thought. But we've watched enough HG TV to know it would've been madness to let them see the place as it was. We could only let them take our phone number so we'll see what happens.  I beg you to keep your fingers crossed.

But, our encounter with these young people gave us hope if nothing else. And sometimes, when you're sweaty, dirty and angry at the follies (and filth) of some of mankind, a little well-placed hope changes  your emotional drift. It won't pay the mortgage of course, but it's indeed a gift and it does cleanse your spirit. (I still had to hose off my arms)

As all work and no play makes Laurie a dull girl, I took a pool break and the picture you see above. It was a short lived pool break as we've decided the kitchen and bathroom must be gutted. But for some crazy reason I adore renovation and so am back to my sunny self. I don't like cleaning up other's dirt but I can really dig my heels into tearing out cabinets. The sound of demoliton is a beautiful thing. Am I a goofball or what?

The Centenarian I'll Be

Given our world and the fact more and more centenarians are walking among us, I wonder if it's time to rethink our retirement age. 

I have every intention of being a healthy and vibrant 100-year old - with beautiful skin. 100! You don't say?! I would've sworn she wasn't a day over 64. 

Rather than retirement, perhaps our early 60's is a time for some career counciling. A career shift might be in order rather than a ceasing of work all together. If I stopped at least trying to make money at 62, what on earth would I do every day for the next 35 plus years?

I was a massage therapist for 18 years but that already seems a lifetime ago. I can't imagine a life without writing, but I'm pretty sure there'll come a time when public speaking is no longer an option. If there is a choice between a strong voice, a memory that can recall one of twelve or more 15-page talks, and beautiful skin I believe you all know where I stand. 

It's not as if I wouldn't be able to find interests to fill my time. There's a number of things I'd like to pursue. For instance: 

I'd love to learn German. Surely I'll someday find a friend who does as well. It's too boring to talk only to the lady on the CD. I also fear where I might land as a senior suddenly talking to herself in a foreign tongue. At first we thought it was a language, but she's only babbling. Just pop a spoonful of applesauce in her mouth and she'll stop. 

I'd love to play the harmonica. This is particularly hopeless but if I've at last endless time for practice, you'll surely be able to tell that it's Amazing Grace and not Somewhere Over the Rainbow. 

I'd love to draw. I think this holds the most promise for a twilight years hobby. After five years of occasional practice the eyes of my ladies already look less wide eyed and fearful. 

I've also options in mind for an actual career change: 

I'd like to be a storm chaser. I know they aren't going to let me drive the truck, but I'm sure I could be helpful somehow. 

I'd like to be a Quantum Energetics Practitioner. Returning to my bodywork roots is very appealing and this style of energy work is wildly powerful and easy on the practitioner. Home visits will be out though as it's just wrong for a centenarian to be lugging things such as massage tables. Or anything heavy for that matter. 

I'd like to write a novel. I believe there's a novel in me somewhere and as chance would have it, the experience with my plays gave me an opportunity to interact with a real live villain. I'm part way there already. 

I'd like to create my own skin care line. I've done much of this work already as I've always been a student of aromatherepy and I've been making my own lotions and oils, etc. for years.

I'll keep you all posted on where this eventually leads. I mean, you all are going to be reading No Cob Webs Here forever aren't you? 

I'm heading to Melbourne, Florida in about 10 minutes for a speaking gig so I gotta dash this morning. Auf Wiedersehen!

Darcie & Our Mama

  
My sister Darcie left Saturday afternoon to return to St. Louis. She'd flown in because my mom was in need of surgery last Wednesday to remove a small cancer from her breast.

So of course this was a crazy time for all of us and I was so thankful Darcie was here. Not only because I love her dearly and wish for her presence at each and every turn, but also because she tends to consistently be the calm and unruffled person that I am not.

And she's a nurse.

This means that I can at least make an attempt (no matter how feeble) to be calm and unruffled knowing that she will step in - almost like a super hero - to ask the right questions and address the concerns I may not have even thought to consider. She can also change those bloody bandages.

Now, blood really doesn't bother me all that much, but something poking out of a person (especially our mama!) and bleeding on top of it is another story. Darcie immediately pointed out to me that my "Oh My God!" and the gasping that accompanied it as we changed that first bandage was poor bedside manner.

Thankfully our mama is one of the toughest cookies in the box and only laughed.

Once we realized all was well on the mom front and we got her resting comfortably for awhile, Darcie and I made the most of our time.

As she's also a professional photographer, we took some pictures for my upcoming book Steeped. I also had to have her opinion on the paint color for my kitchen (more grey in the green), the mat for a picture I need framed (black), whether or not the curtain in my laundry room needed to be moved up six inches or so (it does), and what could be done to make my Octavia Ashford costume a little cooler (shorten the sleeves).

I haven't yet talked to Darcie since she's been home but I'm assuming the poor thing might be exhausted!

But, mama is fine. Very fine. And all cried "Amen!"

"Amen!"

"Amen!"

"Amen!"

"And Amen!"

Scared to Death

I've been working on my newest program ever since I was at Osage Beach in June and all has been moving along just swimmingly. I've done the research and have written and learned the darn thing. The gown and the accessories have turned out beautifully.

So what's the problem?

I'm scared to death.

Why?

Because I might just topple over in my attempt to raise the bar.

I'm often asked if I'm a actress and I've struggled mightily with calling myself one. I fear that to announce myself as such is to invite questions like "Where did you study?" and "What have you been in?" - questions to which I can only answer "Hmm...nowhere" and "Well...nothing." After all, the lead in the plays of 7th and 8th grade can only take you so far! I'm most comfortable explaining that when I'm speaking I'm an animated version of myself, but still me.

But, this newest program, Octavia Ashford & Her Ghosts, throws me into acting and storytelling.

Why on earth did I think I could pull this off? Can I really transform myself into Octavia Ashford? Will I be at all believable?

Yesterday the final piece of my costume arrived - my Gibson girl wig. I was certain it would put all my fears to rest. But, it didn't. As a matter of fact, I think it made it all worse. But we'll see what my director, whom I'm soon to begin working with, has to say.

This relentless thinking that I can do whatever I set my mind to has got to stop!

Wiped From Facebook

So here's what happened. On Facebook I had recently reconnected with ________, a woman I knew several years ago. Although there was a time when we communicated several times weekly, our paths had ceased to cross and I was looking forward to becoming reacquainted.

On Friday she posted a link to the Wall Street Journal article by John Mackey, the CEO of Whole Foods. This article, called The Whole Foods Approach to Obama Care, created a storm of criticism and _______ is in strong support of the Whole Foods boycott that began almost immediately after the article hit the news.

After reading it, I felt most of his points were, at the least, worthy of discussion. I didn't at all understand why this article would stir such antagonism. So, I commented with, "Tell me what I'm missing here?" I'm thinking, "It's so wonderful to interact with ______ again."

She then commented upon Mackey's selfishness, his wanting to keep what he has, the use of his wealth to begin an anti-health care campaign, etc. I'm thinking, "It's so wonderful to discuss something so important with ________."

_________ immediately posted a second comment, now writing about the "uneducated yahoos" attending town hall meetings all over the country. I confess I was jolted by such a blanket statement. I'm thinking, "But, it's so wonderful that in America two old friends can have such an exchange."

I commented back, "Uneducated yahoos? Tell me you don't really think that about people who are expressing their genuine concern, asking questions, and following our political process?" I also mentioned that, as a currently uninsured person myself, my preference is still for a number of smaller bills addressing specific health care issues rather than a massive overall of our entire system that would result in bigger government at questionable costs.

And that's when she wiped me, without further comment, from her Facebook. I guess that's a yes on the uneducated yahoo question.

I sat at my computer sort of stunned for a few minutes. She would erase me over this? Because I mentioned my own opinion? Because it didn't completely align with her own? Does this mean I'm now a "yahoo" too?

I was sad for a couple of hours but there was nothing to do but let it go. Friendship with a person who only wants to hear their own thoughts and beliefs reflected back to them would never work for me. How stifling! How stagnating! And, truthfully, I'm far too much of a mouth for such a relationship to have any legs.

I don't have such high expectations of my grocer either. I'm pretty happy if my apples aren't bruised, the bread's fresh, and there's plenty of arugula and blueberries.

Lastly, while I had a definite feel for what a "yahoo" was, I wasn't completely crystal on the exact definition. I looked it up though and I can safely assure you, I am not a yahoo.


If you'd like to read Mackey's article, visit:
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB20001424052970204251404574342170072865070.html

To read a positive take on the article, visit:
http://www.poligazette.com/2009/08/17/whole-foods-ceo-has-some-suggestions-even-liberals-might-champion-if-not-for-public-plan-dogma/

To read about the Whole Foods boycott, visit:
http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=119099537379

Charlie Time

Not only do I love this picture created by Kimberly Hanbor, it still stirs a lot of emotion for me. The clock sits at our town square on the north end of our little barrier island of Fort Myers Beach. And 2:15 p.m. was a most important moment for this is when hurricane Charlie turned our way and, simultaneously, became a Cat 4.

It's also the moment at which all debate ended in my living room. Well, almost all debate.

Kenny and Torie Montana, both teens at the time, had hurricane parties to go to and felt leaving the beach to be both unreasonable and a frightful imposition. Leaving? That sounds as if we're bored or have gotten too much sun, my darlings. We're e-vac-u-at-ing!

My mother, who had been in the hospital for the three days prior, was just coming off a morphine drip yet still taking pain killers every few hours. She wanted to stay just so she could "experience" a hurricane. She'd be fine if we left without her. Sure Mom, we'll just wave goodbye to the drug addled, immediate post surgery, 74-year old woman as we head on our merry way through 150 mph winds! You hang on tight now.

Had we not impressed upon them the gravity of the situation?

Everyone, get in the car!

The rest, so they say, is history. The storm wrought tremendous damage to our island and caused over $30,000 worth of damage to our home. The Gulf met the bay, putting Fort Myers Beach mostly under water.

Although it would be five days before island residents could officially return, myself and my kids were among a small number of people to hitch a boat ride across the back bay at about 6:30 the next morning. By 10 a.m. the National Guard, with guns drawn, put a stop to people rowing or motoring to the island.  

We walked the five miles to our house through what looked like a war zone. Tons of sand everywhere, downed power lines, roofs sitting next to the buildings they once topped, cars pushed through curled garage doors, houses simply gone, incredible debris...we had never seen anything like it.

It was a totally emotional experience but one you come away from much wiser. Torie Montana, for instance, will likely never pack only hand washables the next time she must evacuate.

It also makes you realize how precious - and precarious - the lives we build really are. It's surreal to find yourself walking towards a FEMA truck because they're calling "Hot stew!" over a bull horn.

And you learn alot about yourself. When I heard that call, I had visions of baby carrots, red potatoes, shitake mushrooms, perhaps a little sherry tossed in at the last moment and, on the side, some crusty bread with real butter.

I tried very hard to hide my surprise and disappointment from the kind woman who handed me a styrofoam plate of canned stew.

What was I thinking? That Martha Stewart was in the back of the truck cooking up a storm? Good Lord, sometimes...I'm such a bitch.

Keep your fingers crossed that the storms currently brewing - Ana, Bill, and Claudia - come to nothing! Ana and Claudia, at the moment, look like they might keep their tropical storm status with 35 and 45 mph winds respectively. Bill, however, might be ugly as his winds are now topping 75 mph. Of course, all of this is as of a few minutes ago. We'll see what Mother Nature has in mind. Sometimes, she's such a....


The two sites I constantly check when these storms come up are:
http://www.wunderground.com
&
http://www.nhc.noaa.gov

Getting Back to My Pagan Ways

Aside from the time as a young child when the potato man story was offered to coax me from under the kitchen table, I've never been afraid of storms.

Dark, crazy skies with wild thunder and lightening - and plenty of wind - is one of the things I most love about living on our planet. As a kid, I use to go outside when a storm rolled in to spin in circles and to run and leap about. I danced with abandon.

That's a little pagan, isn't it? But a good storm does stir something inside of you. Like music that won't let you sit still.

But Good Lord, how long has it been since I danced in a storm? To be honest, I can't even remember the last time I leaped, let alone attempt a pirouette.

Is this the season for returning to my pagan roots? Our SW Florida storms have arrived, so opportunities for leaping and spinning about abound every afternoon.

Let's see what the day brings, shall we? And, it behooves us all to remember... even pagans must not neglect the pre-storm stretch.

On Gravity & Being Grossly Misunderstood

I sometimes feel I'm grossly misunderstood. I don't know why this is but I know when it began. In the third grade with Mrs. Jones.

It was a fine winter afternoon and Mrs. Jones was explaining gravity. As I was a student similar to Potter's Hermione, I was listening with rapt attention. I completely understood what she was saying. The earth is round and gravity keeps our feet firmly planted on the ground.

So this means, says my nine year old self to myself, that those of us not at the North Pole are being held perpendicular to the earth's surface and those at the South Pole are essentially standing upside down.

Thinking Mrs. Jones would see this as a brilliant observation, I began waving my hand in that "call on me or I'll burst" full body wave - the one where you're stick straight, appearing to be pushed forward by a strong wind, and your rear loses contact with the desk. (Few teachers can ignore the full body wave)

Upon rising and announcing my observation, Mrs. Jones paused and...began again explaining the law of gravity to me. She thought I didn't get the concept!

I was mortified! I again tried to explain my point. (I likely didn't yet know words such as perpendicular and essentially) and...she defined gravity for me yet a third time.

Even a nine year old senses defeat. I sat back down.

"Do you understand now, Laurie?"

"Yes, Mrs. Jones."

So that was the beginning of my being misunderstood on occasion. Sometimes, usually at the beach, I'll think, "Mrs. Jones! If you're in the United States, it's like the earth is a wall and we're just walking up and down it." If only I had one more chance to explain!

But I do get gravity. Especially lately when I look at my knees...and certain other places.

So at this point in life I now wonder what would happen if one were to choose not to understand gravity or to be philosophically opposed to it. Would things "stay put" as it were if only I believed?

Thank goodness it didn't occur to me to pose such questions to Mrs. Jones! One of us might have needed a sick day.

Strange Things Are Happening

It's likely a left over nudge from the reading programs of my youth, but I still must have a reading list each summer. And this summer, I'm all about Harry Potter.

I know I'm stepping into the sun late in the Potter game, but that's alright for Harry now has my complete attention and I'm loving both the books and the movies. (last night I began The Order of the Phoenix)

But I'm also noticing strange things about my house.

I found a tiny piece of what I thought was bark on the carpet in my bedroom and tossed it into the toilet as I walked by. Later, I couldn't help but notice the tiny piece of bark had reconstituted itself - becoming once more a tiny frog.

The other morning, for the first time ever, a large owl sat perched in the tree across the street as I left to meet Dorothy for our Tuesday breakfast meeting. The owl, I'm quite sure, was watching me intently. Should I have looked for an envelope?

And then, I made a cup of my favorite beverage (No, not butter beer. Keemun tea!) and poured it into my newest teacup. I started to take a drink and the cup's edge popped my nose. It appears I may have a nose-biting teacup in my possession.

Is the wizarding world trying to catch my attention? If so, how long has this been going on? Have I been too muggle-ish and dense all these years to see the clues? What have I missed?

Kenny, who has yet to truly embrace Potter's world, appears unimpressed with these events. We were discussing all of this yesterday, as I scanned the treetops looking for my owl, and he did mention that he's often thought I was a witch.

As I was certain we were no longer talking about the same thing, I grabbed my hairbrush (I've got to get a proper wand!) and threatened to transfigure him into a hippogriff (or a full grown, museum mounted buffalo).

But he is clearly made of sturdier stuff than Potter's Uncle Vernon. He didn't bat an eye, but only calmly suggested that maybe a householdy spell - preferably one which included dinner - would be a better use of my time.

And then, my hairbrush disappeared - only to be found, much later, in the refrigerator.

This, however, was most likely a menopausal moment rather than a wizarding one.

I'm going to keep my eyes open though. Just in case.

FYI, the Lawry's Restaurant in Chicago is offering a Harry Potter dinner to accompany the Harry Potter Exhibition at the Science and Industry Museum. Likely a must see for even the website is spectacular - www.harrypotterexhibition.org.

And if you, too, are wondering just what butter beer tastes like, the recipe's below. I wish I could tell you Dumbledore handed it to me personally, but Potter recipes abound on the web. There's quite a few at http: britta.com/hogwarts/recipes.html.

Butter Beer

1 cup cream soda
1/4 cup butterscotch syrup (or butterscotch Schnapps)
1/2 tablespoon butter

Mix syrup with butter and microwave
for one minute. Let cool 30 seconds
and mix with cream soda. If using
Schnapps, melt only the butter.

I Shoulda Seen This Comin

When I first walked into my husband's diggs, close to 30 years ago now, I was completely impressed. At 24 I had yet to date a man who collected art. And here was this handsome guy - a rising executive - who adorned his walls with limited edition western art. We're talking about Bamas and Dolittles here - big names in the western art world.

While mountain men and Indians weren't quite my style, I found Kenny's collection intriguing. I certainly appreciated it.

And I love Victoriana. My Victorian lampshades, my antiques, my quilts - all work well with western art. Suffice to say all was bliss on the decor front.

But that forever changed once he went elk hunting and returned with a fur. His plan was to have it tanned and then drape the hide over my antique settee. He didn't notice I flinched and he didn't say a word much later when I moved the hide and the settee into our bedroom.

The next year he brought home a large elk head he'd found at a yard sale. Quickly seeing it was made from plaster of Paris, I suggested we put it outside and let it nestle among my basil and rosemary.

"You know, like a real artifact."

He was thrilled to contribute to my garden without having to dig or weed and by the time he noticed it was slowly but surely melting away, it was too late.

"Gosh Haus, what a shame. If only we'd known it was plaster of Paris."

Next he brought home a turkey foot. I didn't ask where it came from. The more pertinent question seemed to be, "Why do we need one?" I don't really remember his answer - most likely because it's potential use couldn't overcome the fact that...it was a turkey foot!

I'm not quite sure what happened to that turkey foot, but the last time I saw it it was in the back of Kenny's underwear drawer.

Last week he called to say he was going to an auction to bid on a full-grown, museum mounted buffalo.

There was a long pause as I weighed my options. Was this the time for stealth and cunning or was it time to draw a line in the sand? If this animal carcass found its way to my door, it would become a permanent and most immovable guest. It'd be impossible for it to casually disappear. We'd likely end up naming it and I'd be dusting it. Or brushing it?

I chose to step into the game.

"Wow...that's interesting. Why don't I go with you and we'll go to lunch afterward?

My heart lurched when I saw it. It was nine feet tall and had been mounted with its head down and it's back legs off the ground, meaning that, as I'm 5'2 and 3/4th, I was eye level with its....

I was aghast. "Are those his...?!"

"Yeah, they did a really good job mounting it, didn't they?"

The bidding was about to begin.

"How high are you willing to go?"

"$500."

Are you kidding me?! What I could do with $500 this afternoon!

"I've got my fingers crossed for you, Baby."

I was debating the pros and cons of fake fainting over fake heat exhaustion as the bidding began. But it started at $500 and was over in just seconds. The man next to us, the one with the very sad wife, won the buffalo for $1900.

I breathed a sigh of relief but Kenny looked a little deflated. Feeling only the barest of sorrow for him, I squeezed his hand.

"What a shame. It would have looked awesome in our front window. Let's go to Ted's Montana Grill and get a buffalo burger."

Which is what we did. But first he had to show me the stuffed birds lying helter skelter on one table and call my attention to seven amazingly ugly boar heads lined up in a row on another. How can a man one wouldn't ever describe as exuberant work up so much enthusiasm for this? As he seemed barely able to tear himself away from the ready-to-strike, stuffed rattlesnake soon to come up for bidding, I thought it prudent to take action.

"Haus, we better go. I think I'm getting overheated. "

The point here is, I shoulda seen all this comin. A man who likes mountain men and Indians will, sooner or later, start bringing home dead things - or bits and pieces of them.

Friends Stick Longer Than Mummies

Because I thought it would make all of you chuckle, I was only going to post the above photo today and no text. Although, you'd have to have read Monday's (August 3rd, 2009) post, Oh Mummy, in order for it to make any sense.

But now I cannot just post the picture because the effort involved in creating these images, while not herculean, did require the help of friends. After all, a girl cannot transform herself into a mummy all by her lonesome.

I have been blessed to have friends who will:

1. Halt their business day in order to help me with a whim and then invite me to an afternoon tea that can best be described as "extended by merriment." Extended for almost three hours actually!

2. Happily forgo the drudgery of housework in order to rescue me from my lack of Photoshop expertise.

But it doesn't stop there.

For I've other friends who:

1. Never become aggravated with me when I don't answer my cell phone. They understand I've either let it die, have misplaced it as part of my daily routine, or can't hear it because Sugarland is blasting on my stereo and I'm dancing around my house like a rock star.

2. Upgrade our airline tickets to business class on the spur of the moment because I've been up all night with an anxiety attack.

3. Will sit with me and watch a cult classic they could care less about, such as The House of Yes. I, too, love my hair to gleam by the way.

4. Will seek me out after 20 years and both dazzle and humble me with their gladness at finding me.

5. Even though they cringe mightily at letting others use their car, will lend it to me overnight so I can see my son and retrieve the keys needed to start the rental car.

6. Who plan book tours for me and are clever enough to come up with tag lines such as "When a Florida Girl Does the Texas Tea-Step."

7. Who take the time to critique my writing and offer their thoughts with complete honesty. "Really, Laurie, he 'came out from the side of the house?' How does a person accomplish such a thing?"

I must be doing something right to deserve such friends. What a treasure you all are! I could hardly be fortunate - even if I had discovered a mummy's tomb!

Oh for heaven's sake, I'm starting to get teary eyed! I best go before I become any more sappy.

By the way, the woman in the pictures is the SW Florida artist Babs Synderman. We set up these photo shoots at her shop, Babs Bead Warehouse. You might wish to visit http://www.babsbags.com and see what this talented woman is up to. She's always up to something and her website is very cool.

Oh Mummy

A mummy unwrapping party? It gives you a moment's pause, doesn't it? Could it really be as festive as it sounds?

Some quick poking about on the web reveals precious little other than this was a "rage" of the 1830's and 1840's - back when there was a seemingly endless supply of mummies to be had.

My mind reels with possibility.

What time of day would you host such a party? Surely brunch is out of the question. It doesn't seem to quite lend itself to the tea hour either. At least not yet.

What does one wear to such an event? We have to assume this is a somewhat dusty affair. White must be out of the question.

And what on earth would you serve? Besides wraps!

I'm completely intrigued. If mummy unwrapping parties were indeed the "rage", there must be, somewhere, an account of such a thing in a diary or a letter.

Oh yes, let the hounds loose. The hunt has begun.