Judy Headlines
We spent Friday and Saturday on Kiawah with the Hubster’s brother and sister-in-law.
A fair amount of time we watched for the resident gator that lolls around on the edge of their yard when she crawls out of their pond. They call her Beulah. Sis-in-law law was gardening a few days ago and was scared very nearly out of her wits when Beulah roared. She described it as a really strong vibration that she (sis, not Beulah) felt as much as she heard it. “It sounded like a lion,” she said. (I’m not at all sure I knew that alligators roared.)
A fair amount of time we watched for the resident gator that lolls around on the edge of their yard when she crawls out of their pond. They call her Beulah. Sis-in-law law was gardening a few days ago and was scared very nearly out of her wits when Beulah roared. She described it as a really strong vibration that she (sis, not Beulah) felt as much as she heard it. “It sounded like a lion,” she said. (I’m not at all sure I knew that alligators roared.)
My sister bought a house (yes, she’s the one person who bought a house this year ) and is having some repairs and renovations done. Last week the work turned to the master bathroom that is upstairs and located directly over the family room.
The need for repair became evident the week she moved in. She’d been about to take a shower, turned the water on and stepped into the stall. She was happily showering away in her wonderful new house when she heard a banging on the door and the screams of her 13-year-old son Alex.
The need for repair became evident the week she moved in. She’d been about to take a shower, turned the water on and stepped into the stall. She was happily showering away in her wonderful new house when she heard a banging on the door and the screams of her 13-year-old son Alex.
A couple of months ago, Manchild #2 came home to request that I “give him one of my dogs.” At the time, I was so dumfounded by the request, that I said “yes” without thinking very much about. (It’s part of that trying to do what you can do to help out the kids.)
Later, after I did give it a good think, I decided I would’ve said “yes” anyway.
Later, after I did give it a good think, I decided I would’ve said “yes” anyway.
A few months ago I wrote about the Hubster and the limb hanging like the Sword of Damocles from a really tall pine tree in our backyard. He spent an entire weekend trying to get this gigantic, pendulous limb down with an odd combination of sports equipment. His quest was unsuccessful and I was regretting bringing the limb to his attention in the first place.
Since that weekend, every time a storm has passed by, he has run outside afterwards to assess whether the wind blew down “the limb.” No amount of wind has brought it down.
Since that weekend, every time a storm has passed by, he has run outside afterwards to assess whether the wind blew down “the limb.” No amount of wind has brought it down.
It’s been about 15 years since my guy and I decided to join the Western dance craze. It was fun. We ran into folks we knew, everybody was dancing and having a good time and feeling good about the sheer exercise benefit of the whole scene.
We went so far as to buy really good cowboy boots. The real ones, with steel shanks, high arches, good leather. And we danced our way through the early to mid-90s. But the craze began to wane a little as some of the clubs closed. (We used to joke that the clubs couldn’t really continue to stay in business because nobody could drink and do the intricate little dances. We, and most of the people we knew, were drinking mostly water, or occasionally going nuts with a ginger ale.)
We went so far as to buy really good cowboy boots. The real ones, with steel shanks, high arches, good leather. And we danced our way through the early to mid-90s. But the craze began to wane a little as some of the clubs closed. (We used to joke that the clubs couldn’t really continue to stay in business because nobody could drink and do the intricate little dances. We, and most of the people we knew, were drinking mostly water, or occasionally going nuts with a ginger ale.)
Back in November, I signed myself and my guy up at the YMCA. I knew I might not make great use of the facility until after Christmas, but I did so as a jumpstart on getting a little exercise in the coming year.
I was right. I went to one yoga class once before Christmas and figured out pretty quick that I needed to get in better shape before I could do yoga. It takes a certain amount of balance, of which I am sorely lacking.
I was right. I went to one yoga class once before Christmas and figured out pretty quick that I needed to get in better shape before I could do yoga. It takes a certain amount of balance, of which I am sorely lacking.
There are certain things about my manchildren that I admire. Each is blessed with an endearing trait (or two) that seem singular to them.
For instance, our firstborn, Surfer Dude works hard, but loves to play.
For instance, our firstborn, Surfer Dude works hard, but loves to play.
Having it My way On my day
We get a day off for our birthday here at the newspaper. My original plan was to take the day and just have a little fun. That day was Friday. I didn't take it off.
We get a day off for our birthday here at the newspaper. My original plan was to take the day and just have a little fun. That day was Friday. I didn't take it off.
We get a day off for our birthday here at the newspaper. My original plan was to take the day and just have a little fun. That day was Friday. I didn't take it off.
Having it
Having it
So here it is January and finally we have the cold weather that folks have been wishing for. (We have wool suits and sweaters that need to be worn, you know.)
But for crying out loud, we didn't need it to be this cold, did we?
But for crying out loud, we didn't need it to be this cold, did we?
I walked into the house last Monday after work and there in the entrance hall were a pair of well-used, slightly smelly, running shoes. Sneakers. Guy sneakers.
I got a little bit misty-eyed. It'd been a while since I'd had the thrill of finding man-child clothes trashing the floor next to the front door.
I got a little bit misty-eyed. It'd been a while since I'd had the thrill of finding man-child clothes trashing the floor next to the front door.
My guy and I went out this weekend to finish up our shopping. We left the house at 11 a.m.
We bought the annual Christmas supply of socks, T-shirts, pajama pants and fireworks - the little extras we've always added to the mix, and that our brood has come to expect along with their "real" presents.
We bought the annual Christmas supply of socks, T-shirts, pajama pants and fireworks - the little extras we've always added to the mix, and that our brood has come to expect along with their "real" presents.
I start my Christmas shopping on Thursday afternoon - Thanksgiving Day. It's a little tradition that my youngest sister and I have had for a good many years now.
Now granted, there isn't a lot open. In fact, it used to be that the Store-with-the-Big-Load-of-Stuff that noone else wanted was the only one. Now there's a mega-this and a super-that which open up in the afternoon, but the pickin's are still slim.
Now granted, there isn't a lot open. In fact, it used to be that the Store-with-the-Big-Load-of-Stuff that noone else wanted was the only one. Now there's a mega-this and a super-that which open up in the afternoon, but the pickin's are still slim.
And now we are one dog short of a full load -- a full load being three. (Fortunately, this does not involve a tragedy. It's a good thing, we think.)
I've just returned from a week spent with about a dozen women writers of women's and romance fiction. To the one, we all professed to be challenged housekeepers and cooks.
We are not domestic goddess material.
We are not domestic goddess material.