Addiction is NOT a Rapping Matter!

Health professionals say that recovery from an addiction can only begin when a person admits that they need help.

[deep breath].  My name is Ian, and I am addicted to

For the first twenty-plus years of my life, I was nothing BUT Musical Theater.  I lived and breathed it, was ALWAYS in rehearsal or performance.  Some of my peers are now award-winning performers on Broadway (now THAT’S a functioning addict).

And now here I am, with the soundtrack to Hamilton on infinite loop 

in my bed

in my car

in my home

in my head.

The rest of my family is fine – a little crazed, a little Hamilton-quote-happy, but SURVIVING.  My teen daughter is immersed in Hamilton (but she was just as immersed in Rent two months ago and believe me, Hamilton is a giant step up).

Me?  I need help.  I went looking, and found THIS:

Worse, I have found this musical has infected even the jaded New York Theatre Critics: 

 I would like to take a moment to honor members of this great nation who have already lost their lives to their fatal Hamilton addiction. . . and add my own personal plea for help.  I can only conquer this addiction by FACING IT.  Inside the theater.  If you can help, please send tickets.  And airfare.

The lost . . .

Appreciation and apologies to http://www.addictionsandrecovery.org/

AKA: Monday

Calling the Sheriff to come arrest a cat is the kind of thing that can get a person drug tested.

In other news, I called the Sheriff this morning to have a cat arrested. 

Dispatcher: “Is the cat hostile or attacking?”

Me: “No, Ma’am.  But the cat doesn’t work for us and refused to show me its identification. The cat is refusing to leave a secured area, and is not currently under escort.  So I believe this is either your jurisdiction or the TSA’s.”

The drug test lady and the Animal Control lady arrived at the same time.

This story is 100% true.

I am TOTALLY STEALING Everything in This Post

http://www.themarysue.com/being-non-compliant-panel-eccc/

Comic book fan or not, this is seriously worth reading. I am already a gigantic fan of Kelly Sue DeConnick and her husband Matt Fraction, each of whom are amazing writers.

The following is lifted directly from The Mary Sue article, and it is my own personal takeaway:

"Speaking about her wildly-successful new comic for Image, Bitch Planet, and its catch phrase from which this panel got its name, DeConnick said that “in the world of Bitch Planet, the people who are labeled ‘non-compliant’ have been marginalized and criminalized for being who they are. I can’t speak to the people who have the label or the symbol in real life, because I’m certain their reasons are as varied as they are,” she clarified. “But what I think the statement they’re making is, I am a person who does not fit the box assigned to me. I am too tall or to short or too fat or too black or brown or too indigenous or too atheist or too slutty or too frumpy or too gay or too whatever the fuck it is my culture is going to judge me for today, and I refuse to see myself through your eyes. I refuse to see myself as imperfect because of that. And you will support me or you will get the fuck off.”

And there were many cheers.

When asked by moderator Patrick Reed if they intentionally write comics to inspire social change, DeConnick laughed. “I don’t actually set out to write political pamphlets. I’m always writing story first, and even before that I’m always writing character first – everything is born of character,” she said. “But I think that I have some very strong feelings about some things; in particular, ideas of fairness and justice. And it turns out that melds beautifully with the concepts of feminism, since they’re the same fucking thing.” "

WORD. Goodnight, Folks!

My Loyal Tweeps

Wife: You ready to go run errands with me?

Me: Yes, I'm just sending out this tweet to my adoring fans, and then I'll be ready.

Wife: Your fans?

Me: They're a very vocal subsection of an offshoot of a thriving under-served minority demographic.

Wife: What demographic is that?

Me: People who read what I write. I'm looking at you, @TillamookCheese!

(picture gleefully thieved from http://www.hydrogen2oxygen.net/en/twitter-is-nothing-else-than-turing-test/)

Spicing Up my Marriage Again

Me: Sitting quietly, reading. Have twice in my life crafted something edible in a kitchen.

Wife: Of Italian Heritage, creates amazing delicious things in the kitchen. Also makes recipe variants for her husband with the Scottish taste buds.

Wife: I am roasting potatoes for you guys, because you all like them. What kind of spices would you like in them?

Me: (blank stare).

Wife (louder and slower): What kind of spices would you like?

Me: I understood the question, I just don't know what to do with it.

Wife: Well, I put Rosemary in the potatoes last time and you didn't eat them.

Me: Ah! I recognize Rosemary! It's associated with that unpleasant taste I find when I bite into something I think is going to be delicious and then I have to find a discreet way to spit it out. You also buy those excellent crackers that have been ruined by Rosemary. Yes! Please don't add that. I also recognize salt and pepper, because they are the spices I use. ...They are spices, correct?

Wife (Shoulders slumped, head bowed, hand over her eyes): Yes, salt and pepper do - barely - qualify as spices.

Me: I also totally recognize Nutmeg and Cinnamon. Please don't put those in the potatoes. Is butter a spice?

Wife (not moving, hand still over eyes): No.

Me: Okay. I'm probably still gonna use some. Also, Bacon. Let's just call bacon a spice for now, and I'm pretty sure we're good. I won't call cheese a spice, but it's gonna happen, too. Also sour cream if we have any. I'll look in the fridge.

Wife (not moving, hand still over eyes): Thanks for the help. I've got it from here.

Note: Now that I am writing this, I think it's important to point out that I also recognize Parsley, Sage, and Thyme from Simon and Garfunkel's song Scarborough Fair. I can even tell you what Parsley tastes like, because I have (regretfully) eaten it when it was the last thing on my plate after the hamburger and fries had been consumed.

Also, I recognize Cardamom is a spice, but every time I hear it mentioned I think it is something a clerk does when an older woman buys liquor. For example, The Spice Girls!

And everybody knows Variety is the spice of life, so I probably should have asked Wife to add it to the potatoes.

Also, every coffee shop ever thinks Pumpkin is a spice every autumn, and there is a blacked-out Spice Channel on my TV because we do not pay for it.

And, I found this picture of some spices!

Rickey Henderson's Jersey Retirement Ceremony

Today I say a reluctant farewell to my 1989 Rickey Henderson Jersey shirt. It has served me well over twenty-seven seasons - three seasons more than Rickey's actual career.

The jersey has long since lost its original color and the threadbare spots in the back have become air conditioning vents, so I have had to finally admit that this jersey deserves to be respectfully laid to rest.

**Note to wife: THIS is when clothing should be retired, and the clothing and I will make the decision JOINTLY. It is a solemn conversation between a man and his elderly garment. Your premature participation is not required. If you feel like suggesting a man's loyal outfit needs to be retired or replaced and that man looks at you as if you are disloyal or insane, it's because you are. Love does not wane just because colors fade.

1989 Rickey Henderson #24 Jersey Shirt: rest in pieces. You will be remembered in my own personal clothing hall of fame.

Why My Car Dealership Loves Me

Me: Hi!  I'm here for my oil change appointment. My tires don't need rotation; I just bought them last week.

(LATER)

Service Writer: We changed your oil . . .
Me: Good. It was getting an attitude.

Service Writer: Your tire tread measures like new . . .
Me: So they didn't wear out much this week?

Service Writer: Your cabin filter is excessively dirty - would you like to change it?
Me: Yeah, I swear a lot in traffic.

Service Writer: Your washer fluid was VERY low.
Me: It's been depressed lately.  Maybe it's because of my language.

Service Writer: Your battery tested well.
Me: I'm SO glad!  It studied VERY hard.  I'll take it out for ice cream as soon as we leave!

The Internet Fills All Needs.

Wife (not looking up from browsing Interwebs): Oh my God I NEED this!

Me (not looking up from my coffee): Is it a picture of my d***?

Wife: ....... No.

Me: Because sometimes it gets on the Internet when I'm not paying attention.

The Wife Who Never Says Anything

Wife: Y'know, (opinion about me).

Me: I can tell this is important to you, because you mention it two or three times a week.

Wife: Well, I don't want to be the wife who never says anything about it.

Me: I think we can safely cross that off your list of things to worry about.

Ahhh, a Monday that acts like a Sunday.

My entire family is sleeping in and it's blissful.

I got up and took care of the dog, and now we're sitting quietly together on the sofa and reading (I'm reading comics, the dog is reading Cat Fancy magazine).

As a bonus, I get credit for holding down the fort while doing exactly what I want to do.

Free husband points!

Ian's Time-Honored, Award-Winning Coffee Preparation Routine

Because everybody deserves a fantastic cup of coffee, I will now share with you my time-honored, oft-repeated, award-winning method of coffee preparation for guaranteed five-star enjoyment.

Step 1: Turn on the Keurig machine, because nobody named Ian has the time to f*** around with the actual coffee maker his wife bought. I have driven a 757 and can operate extremely dangerous and complex industrial equipment, but that coffee maker can keep its damn ninja secrets.

Step 2: Select coffee (biodegradable packaging only please, because we love our planet), favorite superhero mug, and add-ons (cream, sugar, chocolate, cocaine, what have you).

Step 3: Select Giant Kidney Failure Cup Size, Press Brew (Although I welcomes ALL cup sizes in general, Giant Kidney Failure is the only Official Ian-Endorsed cup size for coffee).

Step 4: Stop in your tracks as you hear the percussive tinkle of freshly-brewed coffee spattering on the counter because you removed the emergency drip tray and failed to put the cup underneath.

Step 5: Widen eyes to maximum and loudly say your choice of REALLY unacceptable words.

Step 6: Lunge at the counter, simultaneously grabbing the roll of paper towels off the holder and groping the back of the Keurig for the Off switch while getting spattered with the coffee you carefully selected.

Step 7: While breathing deeply, commence low-voltage diatribe against your own repeated stupidity while using many many paper towels to rescue the counter and associated debris from the spillage. Also use the sponge.
NOTE: During Step 7, remember to vary the socially unacceptable vocabulary you use about yourself. Nobody wants to hear the same profanity over and over.
ANOTHER NOTE: If Wife is present, hold up ONE FINGER whenever she begins to speak. The coffee cleanup is a solitary, meditative angry process that does NOT NEED INPUT FROM OTHERS.

Step 8: When cleanup is complete, angrily put away everything you got out in Step 1, because it is time to go to work.

Step 9: Gather keys and put on shoes. Continue negative motivational self-talk.

Step 10: At the front door, meekly and borderline-tearfully thank wife for the newly-brewed coffee she made while you put on your shoes.

BEST. COFFEE. EVER. Every single damn time.

See the drip tray in front of the coffee maker?  I have to remove it to make room for my super-hero travel mug.  THAT'S what enables me to enjoy coffee using my award-winning method.  Also, those plastic non-biodegradable K-cups in the picture?  THAT'S how future cockroach archaeologists will analyze what happened to the human race.

Happy Mother's Day

A happy Happy Mother's Day to all you Moms, and especially to [Wife]​​, whom I watched bear my children, and who perseveres even when we can barely bear our children.

All you Moms ROCK. You do your best -  even so I STILL eat things that have fallen on the floor and nearly poke my eye out playing in the house with sticks and knives.

I'm a Big Fan of Cleaning

Totally Unnecessary and Obvious Spring Cleaning Tip: When dusting the ceiling fan above your bed, your memory foam mattress may not be the most stable place to stand.

Bonus Unnecessary Tip: When wiping down the fan blades, take care not to scoot accumulated dust off the blade into your face.

I know, NOBODY needs anyone to tell them this.

Parent Thetical

Sleepy Daughter comes to say goodnight and lays still, face down on my bed. I pick up her limp arm using the woven friendship bracelets on her limp wrist. 

Daughter (still face down): Don't. Stop. 

Me (still holding up her arm): Okay, I won't stop.

Daughter: That's not what I said.  I said "Don't - semicolon, period, or exclamation point - stop." 

Me: Oh, I heard "Don't - parens, Stop, end parens."

Daughter (still face down, arm still suspended): For someone so punctual, you suck at punctuation. 

I Guess It's a Wash

The wife and I keep separate laundry hampers because my work clothes smell like jet fumes and industrial processes and crucial split-second decisions while hers smell like a working mom (Unicorn Rainbow Magic, snickerdoodles, the awesomeness that leaks out when she runs a business and carpool and trains with our dog).

I do my laundry every Saturday because I DO IT RIGHT, not like the rest of the people in this house, and this morning I found some of the wife's Lightly Soiled with Awesome laundry in my hamper.

I am presented with two choices: Do my own laundry and leave hers in there like a dick so she can care for her laundry in the way she would prefer, or take care of her laundry THE RIGHT WAY along with mine.

Anyone who's married and wants to preserve the peace and sanctity of their weekend knows there is only one choice.

WIFE: 1 HUSBAND: Weekend Preserved.

Illegal Dream Sex

I am officially old and busted and spend too much time working.  Even my dreams are polluted by my work life.

I just woke from a dream where I was in charge of inseminating the entire 2015 roster of Sports Illustrated swimsuit models, but the entire dream focused on the legal wrangling about whether that included the new "plus-sized" model that will be featured (but only in an ad).

We never got past the contract negotiations.  Then I woke up.

True story.

AA-SPCA

Friends, have a heart this year. If you absolutely NEED to get a pet for your family this Christmas, consider going to the AA-SPCA and picking up an alcoholic, minor-league pet. They are talented and entertaining and they need a home. Thank you.

Thanks for the Day After

(sincere part) Happy belated Thanksgiving, friends and loved ones! 

(martyr part) I'm sorry I missed you yesterday, but the three-hour 50-mile drive home after my 60-hour four-day work week did me in. 

(Oscar-worthy faux tear-jerking part) When I got home, the house was cold and empty because my family is away, but I was got to talk on the phone with many loved ones before hitting the sack. 

(legitimately awesome part) I am thankful that I got fourteen hours of sleep, and can now parade around the house naked, eating a giant piece of pumpkin pie with my hands, and the new AC/DC album killing my eardrums from the stereo. 

No work today. Life is good. 

Alienation

Last night [Wife] and I were in a restaurant with [Daughter] and about thirty other kids.

[Wife] and I were safely established at the Parents Table talking all kinds of smack when we were invaded by a tearful teen with extreme feelings of alienation, which is of course a hallmark of being a teen.

Because I am helpful, I told her quietly that "As an adolescent, I often felt that I was on the outside looking in. And then some kind adult would always come along and tell me to get away from the girl's locker room door."

This inspired her to find a seat with her own kind, and I got that warm glow I always get when I help another human being.

Damn Flies.

[Wife]: What the Hell?!  There’s a fly just walking around on the wall.  I can’t reach it.
Me: I think it’s the one that’s been dive-bombing us all day.  I punched it earlier.  Does it look like the same one?
[Wife]: How should I know?  It’s a FLY.
Me: I hope it gets a leg cramp.

[Daughter] toasting waffles for breakfast: "Ow! I touched the hot metal thing. Touching the Hot Metal Thing on Amazon: Zero out of five stars. Do not recommend."

It is Cleaning Day at the Reddoch Howse!

The carpet is fresh and fluffy like baby bunnies, the dishes are ready for foreign dignitaries, the furniture gleams like a new father's eye, the toilet is fresh and clean like a brand new day in politics untouched by outside money, and the mirror shows me clear and new, looking just as I looked twenty years ago.

That's how I know [Wife] will need to redo the mirrors. I can never get the mirrors quite right.

I may be spending too much time on my smartphone.

My wife was asleep when I got home from work, so I pressed in her eye to wake her up.

She was pretty irritated. It didn't get any better when I said, "Wow, you're hot! Have you been running a memory - intensive game?"

Needless to say, I never got the chance to input my PIN.

[Wife]: Sorry, the "Slide to Unlock" feature is unavailable right now. Don't bother trying again.

Dog Autobiography

My dog's autobiography is going to be called Shitting in the Dark: Turning the Tyranny of the DON'T EAT THAT People into Stealth Revenge.

Why I Abandoned Orphan Children and Took Up With a Unicorn

Loyalty and Duty.

In my world, Loyalty and Duty are key to making the human race something other than a seething mass of monkeys.  

Yes, humans are still ego-driven and self-centered and narcissistic and easily distracted by shiny objects and in general humans suck,

but

every person I love is still a person, so I guess I love people.  With all our flaws, I love people.I don’t so much love people who are disloyal, or people who abandon their duty.  Nobody owns a duty they didn't choose.  I chose a workplace job that allows me to provide for my family in the best way I can. 

It is a duty I chose.  I may not always enjoy the workplace job itself, but it is still the best available option for me, as far as I can tell.  If I abandoned my workplace job, I could no longer do right by my family.  Bad tidings would ensue.  

I go to work because that’s the duty I chose.  I am a loyal friend and mate because I can’t be anything else.  No extra effort is required of me. I am just loyal.

Game of Thrones: Eddard Stark.  Brienne of Tarth.  Davos Seaworth.  Jon Snow.  These characters exemplify Loyalty and Duty.  They all get screwed, but so does every character in Game of Thrones.

And I abandoned them.  I abandoned them and Arya Stark, and Bran, and Sansa, and everybody who is helping them -  I’ve known these characters and loved them all for years, and yet I have abandoned them to a life (however long) of torment and despair at the hands of author George R. R. Martin.

I feel terrible about it.  Every time I pass the end table in my living room, I can see A Dance with Dragons laying where I left it, bookmark still in place.  It taunts.  I know it contains the answers I seek about the Stark children and about all of Daenerys’ terrible choices, but I am just not strong enough to sustain all the horror and brutality that befalls them on the pages.

Please understand my conflict - books and characters are people, and I have abandoned them!

Here’s what’s even worse: I have taken up with other books and characters.

I am emotionally compromised from my workplace job.  Like the Game of Thrones books, my workplace is also a relentlessly brutal place full of surprising twists that make the situation worse each chapter.

With my own real-life-generated stresses, I cannot sustain any more George R. R. Martin inflicted pain.

THAT”S my excuse for cheating.

I turned my back on all the George Martin characters.  In my time of emotional weakness, I sought refuge in my vast library of books I haven’t gotten to just yet but that I keep collecting because I have a sickness (Bibliophilia?  Bibliomania?).In my library at home await detectives and rebels, soldiers and Jedi, wizards, and a seething mass of humanity in prose.  All of them, waiting for me.  All of them invited onto my bookshelf at the beginning of a promise I made to them that they would get my attention and they could tell me their story.

 And then I ignored them. 

 Among the neglected and dust-covered was a unicorn.  Really.  A unicorn.  Not my usual thing.  I have been many things in my life, but a young virginal girl has not been one of them.  

And yet, the unicorn was on my list, demanding to be read next, accompanied by all the people in my life who have told me that I MUST READ The Last Unicorn, by Peter S. Beagle.

I’ve never been good about doing what I am told, even when I’m told by people I trust.  Besides, fantasy circa 1968?  I read all that as a kid.  Been there, done that.

AND my copy had kind of lame cover art.

AND I read it anyway.  And . . . I could not stop.

As it turns out, The Last Unicorn is utterly, overwhelmingly delightful.  Every phrase is poetry, a lyrical and spare prose that allows a reader the feeling of what is described and what it means all at once.

“The unicorn lived in a lilac wood, and she lived all alone. She was very old, though she did not know it, and she was no longer the careless color of sea foam but rather the color of snow falling on a moonlit night. But her eyes were still clear and unwearied, and she still moved like a shadow on the sea.”

Every sentence evokes memory and sentiment, without the book itself being very sentimental.  It is a book of love, about love, made of love.  And as adults, we know that love can be harsh. 

This is not a children’s story, it is a live story.  It is FULL of life.  Fantasy life, made real by the brilliantly unusual prose.

At one point, the unicorn is turned against her will into a human girl:

“For a moment she turned in a circle, staring at her hands, which she held high and useless, close to her breast. She bobbed and shambled like an ape doing a trick, and her face was the silly, bewildered face of a joker’s victim. And yet she could make no move that was not beautiful. Her trapped terror was more lovely than any joy that Molly had ever seen, and that was the most terrible thing about it.”

This is a book for any child old enough to want to read it, and for every adult, because they should.  

This story made me pause for air.  Peter Beagle wrote something that caused my eyes to leak.

Like a straying wayward husband, I may at some point come back to A Dance with Dragons because what is happening to the people inside the book?! but first I am adding more Peter Beagle books to my crowded and neglected shelf full of family I haven’t gotten around yet to reading.

All of you waiting for me inside the books: I will come to you soon!

Wipe That Old off Your Face!

Took [Daughter] to the Coliseum so we could watch our Oakland Athletics shuffle meekly into the dustpan as they helped the Texas Rangers finish off their sweep.

After I finished slathering on the nasty white SPF 185 sunscreen that keeps me from contracting instant cancer, [Daughter] looked at me funny and said "You've got sunscreen on your beard".

I wiped where she showed me. She said, "Still white."

I wiped again. [Daughter] peered closer. "Oh. Your beard is just white. Nevermind."

Shoe Shopping is Mostly Gender-Specific, Isn't it?

I just got a massive shipment of shoes.  I had to replace both pairs of my work shoes (PLUS one pair for the near future), my worn-out dress shoes, and a pair of tennis shoes.

I am standing in my living room, surrounded by cardboard Shoe Packaging Carnage.

[Wife] (brightly): Does everything fit?
[Me]: Yeah.
[Wife]: So why do you look so depressed?
[Me]: That was a LOT of money.  For SHOES.  Who cares about shoes?! Shoes aren't fun.  You just wear them.  If I'm gonna spend that much money at once, it should be for a team of strippers who bring me a Corvette and feed me desserts.
[Wife]: I never have negative emotions about shoes.
[Me]: You SHOULD!

Best Groundhog's Day Books

Merry Christmas, Folks!  

At least, it still is at my house.  My home continues to look quite festive and Christmas-y, although that Advent calendar has definitely worn out its welcome.  The dog just knocked the needlepoint stuffed Santa off his giant Santa Tin Canister perch for the hundredth time, and my wife has casually mentioned that whenever we get around to putting away Christmas, we will need to get out Valentines decorations.  Or Easter, depending what month it is.

Who the heck decorates for Valentine’s Day?  The Hallmark Family?

Besides, like any good red-blooded American man, I have excuses.

• My work kicks into Screamin’ High Gear in November each year, and it hasn't yet calmed down. And for Pete's sake we are currently in February if I've done the math right.
• I tore up another shoulder and can’t actually reach up and down to shelves and put stuff away up there.  It's the good shoulder this time. By which I mean the least recently injured shoulder, that before this injury was the most functional shoulder. Pretty soon I'm going to be driving with my teeth.
• These backlogged books ain’t gonna read themselves, ya know.

So, yeah.  Exhausted, hurt, stared at accusingly by January Santas in all directions, I escape to my bookshelf and marvel at all the books I have bought with the best of intentions.  There are SO MANY, and that’s not even counting all the wee e-books clamoring for my attention inside my Google Play Books app, my Nook app, and my Kindle app.  

Last Saturday I decided it wouldn't hurt to take a day for myself and just read.  I was the first person awake in the morning, and the dog was my conspirator.  She and I picked out a long-neglected book (with actual dust on the dust jacket) and settled down on the sofa in front of the fire.

Last Saturday’s book:

Earth Unaware on Amazon  

The back story:  I am a huge fan of Orson Scott Card’s writing.  I will remain a fan of his writing no matter his politics.  I have read just about everything the guy’s written (except the series about Biblical women - everybody’s got their limit).

There have only been two books Card has written that I've NOT enjoyed - one was a well-written political / war book that was such a diatribe against the political Left that it got in the way of enjoying the book (I think he wrote a sequel to it, but I didn't read it), and a book called Invasive Procedures that I thought had some really good ideas, but otherwise was thoroughly disappointing.  

When I put on my rarely-used Critical Thinking Hat, I looked again at Invasive Procedures, which looks like this:

With the giant ORSON SCOTT CARD on top and the wee AND AARON JOHNSTON underneath.  So naturally, I blamed Aaron Johnston for the literary suckage, with my pouty lower lip pointed squarely at Scott Card, who let me read this trash because his name was so prominently displayed.

Fast-forward to now - I am standing here looking at Earth Afire, also written by Card and Johnston.  This book has squatted unread and unloved on my shelf for years, enough time for the sequel to have been released in 2013.  Now is its moment.

Despite my reservations, I started reading in the morning.  I finished in the afternoon.  

MY OFFICIAL REVIEW: It was good.  I liked it.  It wasn't the full-on mind-blowing Card experience.  It was Card Lite, with the Lite being Aaron Johnston trying his best to write like Card, who clearly has too many irons in the fire to write all of his own books.  Still, worth reading - and way better than nothing. Also, it was riveting and horrifying.

And then I read the sequel yesterday.  Earth Afire on Amazon

MY OFFICIAL REVIEW: It was good.  I liked it.  Still Card Lite, and still worth reading.  So much detail about how these things can take over and wreck a planet, with all the nation-states still trying desperately to hold onto their sovereignty instead of get it in gear and fight. Spellbinding and frustrating. But could a fella buy an ending, please?  I know there’s a third book coming, but this book just STOPS, like its mom yelled upstairs that it if she hears any more screwing around up there, she’s coming up with a wooden spoon!  The book just knocks it off.

I would read the third book in this series next week if I could.  

I am not the best book critic.  I am instead a good reader - my imagination fills in holes of which I am not even aware, and then sometimes I have to flip back and forth inside the chapter to fill in the blanks manually.  I had to do that more with these couple of books than with a Full Card Experience Book.  

You likely won’t see any posts from me next weekend.  The groundhog just came out of his den, saw my Christmas decorations, and laughed.  I think that’s my cue to make sure there aren't six more weeks of Santa.