NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTION TIME!

Hello and Happy Last Day of 2019!

Okay, my resolution results for this year were mixed. that means I'm wiser, (read here, OLDER), and I'm ready to make better, (more attainable), resolutions that I am going to work hard to keep (I'm going to dumb down the resolutions so far that I'll barely have to get off the couch to complete them.)

1)  Less focus on steps, more focus on active minutes.

So last year I wanted to up my daily steps to 12,000.  And I wound up tearing a tendon in my foot.  So this year, it's going to be less about getting steps every day and more about being active. And no, I don't mean I'm just going to spend an hour shaking my left wrist so I get active minutes while I'm sitting in a chair.  (I've done that.  You really feel dirty the first couple times you do it.  Also, your left arms starts to ache a lot.)  This year, yes, I will still have a step goal of 10,000 a day, but I'm also going to look at alternative exercises.  It won't just be about the treadmill. I've got Wii Fit. I've got a punching bag and free weights. Let's get some upper body work done!  Less stress on the feet.

2) Less bread all around!

One of the things I did last year was give up bread and any bread products (anything I would spread butter on) up for Lent.  That actually had a really good effect on a number of blood tests I had done this year.  But, in the last few months, I find myself eating more bread and crackers and the like.  Now, I'm not positive it's the bread, it might be the butter as well, but either way, for 2020 my goal is the really make eating bread a rare thing as opposed to something I do every day.

3) Accept the gift 

One of the things I put on my birthday/Christmas wish list to my family was that they get me a cleaning service so that I had time and energy to write more.  Well, hubby didn't hire anyone, he took on many of the household chores himself.  (He already did all the vacuuming and made sure we have clean sheets.)  I, however, have a difficult time accepting this gift and taking time to write. Instead, I still allow household chores to suck up my energy.  I need, in 2020, to make writing a real priority and accept that I've married a prince who is being super helpful!

4)  Stop using the credit cards!

This is a big one. My entire adult life I've struggled with credit card debt.  It's shocking, really, how normal I seem until you see my balances. But this year, while I'm not going to get them all paid off, my goal is to stop using them until I get them under control!  If I'm successful, this will have a profound effect on my weight as well, since I probably won't be eating nearly as much.  This is probably going to be the hardest one to keep, especially at first, since I'm in that nasty cycle of using credit to pay for stuff because I don't have cash because I'm paying credit card bills.  Oooooh, but I have Kohl's cash...and Amazon is just right there...and wouldn't it be fun to go to Half Price Books this weekend?

The struggle continues.

5) Let go. Let God.

The past year or two I've had a real spiritual crisis.  Those of you who know me well know where I struggle, especially when it comes to family.  I inherited my mother's ability to worry myself into sickness.  (Not her great metabolism, no. Her ability to worry, that I get.) Now, as we close out 2019, I feel like some of the issues contributing to my lack of or dormant faith are lifting. I see some major changes in that direction in 2020.  It's my hope that I learn to stop stressing and let God work in His time.  (Last year I resolved to be more patient.  That didn't quite work. So we're going with "let's worry less."  Maybe if I'm less worried I'll be less cranky.) This will be a struggle because I've been a "fixer" in addition to being a worrier.  I've found there are some things I simply cannot fix, and I'm pretty sure it's because God, in His infinite sense of humor, decided it was time for me to learn that lesson.  So, more prayer.  

And finally: On my wedding day, my mother-in-law told me to never mend underwear.  She said, "If you're that desperate for money, I'll send you the $1.59 and you can buy new underwear, but don't bother trying to mend it."  (For the record, I've never taken her up on this offer.)

Her words make so much sense to me now. Don't bother mending the underwear. Don't stress about stuff the just doesn't matter.  Put your energy into what will make your life, and the lives around you, better.  Don't let others drag you down with their petty nonsense.   You can spend a lot of time and energy trying fix some things and in the end they won't stay fixed. They'll fall down, rip, sag, and still be gross in the end.

The problems and ugliness of 2019 is our old, ratty underwear.   Let's all resolve, right now, to get rid of that old, nasty stuff with the rotted elastic and get new, fresh, nice fitting underwear for 2020. 

And the world will be a better place.

2019 Resolutions Report Card (Just so you can feel good about yourself!)

Hello everyone!  Here's hoping your holiday season is going well.   With Christmas in our rear view mirror now (How did it go so quickly?  I've been working on it since August!)  it's that fun time of year again when many of us sit down and evaluate what we need to change about ourselves next year.  For fun, I thought I'd go back to my resolution list and give myself a report card.  You know, accountability is the only way to learn.  Or something like that.  So, here are the resolutions I made a year ago, and how I did.

1)  Average 12,000 steps every day.  

2019 Results:  I was actually getting over 12,000 steps a day most of the time until June when I found out I'd torn a tendon in my foot and wound up wearing a walking boot and physical therapy until October.  Realizing it's an unrealistic goal at this point for me, I've dialed back my steps. Now I focus on a weekly average between 65Kand 70K steps and really work on getting 40-45 minutes of active time.  Overall, had I not torn my tendon still probably would not have kept up with the 12K steps a day, so I'm giving myself a C- here.

2)  Drink more water.

Nope.  Was doing great until it got cold and my water drinking level dropped way off.  Gotta give myself a D-  Will have to work on this again in 2020

3)  Be more disciplined with my writing.

Well, yes and no.  I'm not more disciplined because of anything I did.  When I cranked out my birthday/Christmas wish list for my family I asked for a cleaning service to do the kitchen and the bathrooms so I would have more writing time.  Hubby stepped up. He takes care of the bathrooms B+.

now (the kitchen is still pretty much up for grabs, but he's a big help there too) and I've got a writing schedule posted on the kitchen menu board. I don't always follow it, but it's there, and participating in Nanowrimo this year really got me into the frame of brain to sit down for set amounts of time and work on a project. I've managed to complete much of my portion of a 4th movie review collection and I'm well along with a new novel that's going to shake my reading fans' cores.  Thanks to hubby's help, I'm giving myself a

4)  Take care of my health issues inside and out.

This is something I attacked with a vengeance.  I began a course of iron infusion treatments that have really helped my energy level. While I don't manage my iron and ferritin levels well, and I'll probably need more infusions along the way, I'm less in need of long naps every day. I can make it through a whole day without a nap if I need to.

I also got on top of my mental health by starting to work with a therapist on a regular basis.

I'm still gaining weight instead of losing, my stomach still bothers me from time to time, and my arthritis is still an issue, but overall I'm on my way to better health and better self care.  Giving myself a B+  (had I lost weight instead of gaining, I would have hit an A.)

5)  Read 21 books.

We have a week to go and I'm almost done reading two more books which means, yes, I will reach my goal of 21. My goal on Goodreads is actually 24, and if I count the book I wrote this year ("Freed on the Fox") I might just hit that goal. And not one kid's book on the list!  So yes, I get an A for this.

6)  Be more patient all around.

I think I was more patient.  Although...if you talk to my family members maybe not. I continue to wrestle with certain issues I want fixed RIGHT NOW.  I have trouble putting those things in God's hands and letting Him handle it all in His time.   So I guess I'm slightly more patient with people, not so much with God.  What kind of grade does that earn?  Let's go with a C.

Next week I'll be announcing a new list of resolutions, hopefully my reviews at the end of 2020 will be a little less mixed!  But hey, if we all completed our resolutions every year, what a boring world this would be because we'd all be perfect. And I would have no reason to write this blog.

AND THAT WOULD BE TERRIBLE!

HEY! MEIJER! It's all fun and games until I have to use your restroom!

Here we go! Merry Christmas to All!  It's the 23rd of December and I was all set to write a really lovely holiday post about how my mother has become really passive aggressive regarding my housekeeping lately.  (Trust me, THAT was going to be LOVELY compared to what's coming.)  The problem is, after a wonderful dinner with an old college friend, Hubby and I made a stop...and that's where disaster struck.

Those of you who know me, or who read this blog on a regular basis, know that I would rather walk across hot coals than use a public restroom.  I've pontificated often enough about the woes, the pitfalls, and the nonsense I've experienced in public toilets all across this fine US of A.  (I recently read an article about restrooms in other countries that pretty much cured me of any desire to travel.)

Last night, on our way home from a really beautiful dinner with an old friend who's in the area for the holidays (That would be TODD of the "Todd, you've been warned" fame.) Hubby and I stopped at the Meijer store on our way home. Please note: This was NOT our regular Meijer in Waukesha, where the restrooms have been, in my experience, perfectly lovely.  This was a different Meijer.  And, in fairness, it was 7PM three days before Christmas.

Still. I checked.  Those bathroom check lists...yeah, that had been filled out.  So either that one ladies' room got crazy stupid busy between 6PM and 7PM on a Sunday night (I'm thinking not likely since this was the facility at the BACK of the store) OR, and this is what I'm going with, maybe the restroom checking isn't as, um, detailed as it should be.

Not that the restroom was dirty. It was not.

There were no bad smells. Nothing was overflowing.  The hot and cold water was working, there was paper towel in the dispenser for hand drying.  There were no puddles anywhere and everything was flushed clear.

So what...oh what...oh what could have been wrong?

Now, from here on it, it gets a little gross. So...TODD...don't read beyond this if you're easily grossed out!  (Or if you're going to send me an email or accost me in the hallway at church letting me know I grossed you out. YOU. HAVE. BEEN. WARNED.)

They. Were. Out. Of. Toilet. Paper.

THEY WERE OUT OF TOILET PAPER!

It was one of those double sided dispenser, and I'm a former janitor so I reached past those sharp teeth of death (why do we need such sharp edges to cut single ply paper?  Those teeth cut skin!  If it can puncture skin, it's complete overkill for use in cutting through translucent TP.) and I felt nothing. Not  a single square.

Now, normally this is not a problem. I mean, I typically carry a couple packets of nose tissue with me in my purse. 

Except....

Thanks to tightened security in various places and since I hate dragging a big purse around all the time, but it's still a necessity even though I'm lightyears past the diaper bag era of my life, I've been switching between my big purse and my little purse. Last night was a little purse night.

The nose tissues didn't make the jump.

What does one do?

Well...one does what one can.  And in this case...one had to use a teeny, tiny little lens whip she just happened to have in the bottom of her purse to clear up...enough...so that one could then move from the first stall to the second with a modicum of dignity.

Two lens wipes would have been good, but you know, I had one.

As a side note, I did the best I could with what I had and then moved over to the second stall, this one the handicapped stall.Now, I don't know what kind of ADA rules are in place for these stalls, but I found it really difficult to believe that in that entire GIANT stall one about the size of my home bathroom) the only place they could put the toilet was within four inches of the wall.  Seriously.  Anyone actually needing a handicapped stall could have parked a whole music festival of wheelchairs in there, but no one, and I mean no one, would have been able to actually use the toilet unless they sat side saddle, which is just uncomfortable.

Anyway, there WAS TP in there. Not in the dispenser...just a large wheel of single ply resting on the grab bar.  So...thusly I managed clean up and left the restroom determined the tell the first associate I saw that they needed to restock.

And then I didn't because the first associate I saw was a teen aged boy who looked like nothing in the world would make his life worse than to have me talk to him about toilet paper.  Instead, well, instead I waited a day and I'm sharing it with the rest of the world.

Well, it was a lens wipe, so my bum feels streak free?

Anyway, Merry Christmas. And Happy Hanukkah for my friends out there who celebrate that.  May your holidays be happy and bright and may your toilet paper be well stocked.

But just in case, I'll leave this cute picture of a Christmas goat for you to enjoy.

 

The Drinking Choir Cleans up its Act.

Hello and happy holidays to everyone!

Yes, I say "Happy Holidays."  I celebrate Christmas, but I'm fully aware not everyone on this planet is exactly like me.  (Wow, what a horrible, weird world that would be if everyone was exactly like me...just one long line of angry people at a pharmacy...)  Anyway, so Happy Holidays, and Merry Christmas!

For those of you who celebrate old school, "Jesus is the Reason for the Season" Christmas, you know that the weeks leading up to December 25 are Advent, a time of preparation.  While most churches these days don't really do a lot in the way of special services for Advent, mine does, holding Wednesday services the three weeks prior to Christmas. These are lovely services, the trees are up, and the lights are twinkling, and there's extra pretty music and choir singing.

Which is what brings me to my blog topic this week.

Our church has two adult choirs. The eating choir and the drinking choir. Now, Hubby and I have belonged to both choirs for many years, but recently we scaled back our commitments outside the house a little, and dropped out of the eating choir.  (No pie social for us twice a year!)  Instead, we stuck with the drinking choir, the more contemporary group of singers who, on occasion, gather at each others' homes after choir practice for a little wine drinking. And yes, this group has been known to go to wine tastings and yes, many of the members belong to the "Case Club" at the local winery.

So yes, the drinking choir.

Now, the drinking choir began largely as a summer group, sort  of a fill in choir to be active while the eating choir went on hiatus for the late spring and summer months.  The eating choir did the big holidays, Christmas, Easter, Confirmation, and the Advent song service.  Meanwhile, the drinking choir typically handled the summer outdoor concert.  Hence, when the drinking choir decided they
wanted to get a sort of uniform look, they went with polo shirts.  You know, casual, for those more casual, possibly outdoor, church services.

Over the years the drinking choir has become a year round group, and some members have branched out to long sleeved shirts, and some have even invested in sweaters bearing our choir logo.  (Not me, I am not in a place where I'm wearing a sweater for much of anything.)  Most of us, however, stick with the uniform polo shirts.  Whenever we sing

, the director, a man who takes way more grief from certain members of the choir (Yep, I include myself in that) than he probably should, will tell us if we are wearing our shirts or not.  (To which someone will always say, "Uh, do we have to wear something on the bottom?" or if we aren't wearing our shirts, someone will say, "So it's naked time?"  Because we're eleven.

Now, I'm telling you all this so you can understand my giggle fit at the end of the Advent service this past week.

Our director wanted us to class it up a bit since we were doing three numbers in the Advent service.  We were going to be in the public eye for quite a bit of the service, standing in front there, next to the twinkling trees, and our director, a man I'll call "Ned" wanted us to look less like a bunch of campers from a local group home out for a day at the park and more like grown ups preparing for the birth of our Savior.  Or something like that. I was too busy trying to come up with a snarky comment about dressing up for church to really focus on what he was saying.

Anyway, after practice Tuesday night, Ned announced that we would not be wearing our polo shirts.  And,  before anyone could make the "naked" joke, he added, "I'd like the men in suits and ties and the women in dresses."

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand the Alto section lose their collective mind.

Well, okay, to be fair, really only three of us in the alto section lost our minds.  Four altos have dresses (that fit) and they are capable of wearing shoes that work with dresses.  The other three of us, however, announced loudly that we were not going to wear dresses.  (I believe, in my frenzy over the very suggestion that I wear something that wasn't pants, I informed the group that this wasn't my mother's funeral and I wasn't wearing a skirt. It's something I generally say to my mother to get her goat.)  Fortunately for the altos, the tenor and bass sections were a bit louder in their protestations about wearing suits and ties.

Had we really become this casual?

So on Wednesday I dug to the very back of my closet and found a skirt that would probably fit and a pair of dress shoes, high heels, that I remember buying several years ago because 1) they were a screaming deal and 2) I figured I'd need high heels at least one more time in my life.  I was ready to GO!

Two things happened, almost at the exact same time.  1) I got an email from the choir director basically backing off of his suit/tie/dress requirement, in fact he intended to wear a zip up sweater with a tie (whereupon I asked if he meant to dress like Mr. Rogers) 2) I put on the high heels.

I remember wearing pumps almost every day as a teen. I mean, it was the 80's. You wore pumps.  Pumps with skirts, pumps with dresses, pumps with knickers, pumps with jeans, pumps with leg warmers.  You just did.  And I wore pumps frequently in college, where I was learning to be a teacher, and then as a teacher I wore pumps...until I realized that first graders are really, really short and pumps made me taller and taking the shoes off was easier than bending.

That's probably about the time I started giving up dress shoes.

At this point, I have a pair of loafers, a pair of boots with no heel, and a couple pairs of sandals when it comes to non sport shoes.  None of those work with a skirt.  so I put on those pumps and hobbled around the house, first to make sure I could still walk in them and also to see if I could wear them without pain.

The answer to both those questions?  NO. No, no, no, no.

I hobbled out of the bedroom, and showed the shoes to Hubby.  "Wow, those are cute!" says he.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow" says I.

How can the same pair of shoes both pinch and be too loose?

From which ring of hell, which fire of Mordor, which demon possessed clearance aisle at Kohl's did these shoes come?

Well, since Ned mentioned he wasn't going to be wearing a suit, I felt okay slipping into a very dressy pair of flowing...what...pants?  Trousers?  Fancy looking lounge wear?  Hey, they were black, they looked fancy, and they fit.  Footwear was a fun little pair of suede winter booties that I love to pieces and wear all winter long.

Topped the off with some sparkly jewelry and a festive, fabulous red top and I looked AWESOME!

So we got to church, and we all congratulated ourselves on how great we looked. Several of the women opted for the ubiquitous black pant, but the guys, I'm impressed to say, all pulled out suits and ties. 

Now all that of that is only moderately amusing and I'm guessing more than a few of you are sitting there wondering why you're reading about the wardrobe issues of a contemporary church choir.  But here's why I had to write this blog:

At the end of the service, which really went well even though I think a number of us still question the song choices Ned made for the evening, (He's gutsy, that Ned is, he never goes for the safe stuff.) the pastor came down from the altar to make a few announcements.  His first one...and I'm not making this up...was the following:

"So the saints in the choir clean up nicely, don't they?"

WHAT?

Just how out of the norm was it to see us, as a choir, in front of  church wearing, you know, church clothes?  Apparently we've become not only the drinking choir, but the SLOPPY choir.  I mean, if the pastor feels he's gotta make a comment after the service about how good we looked, one of two things is going on:

1)  the congregation really doesn't like the polo shirts and they've complained or

2) we sounded horrible and the pastor just wanted to find something, anything, nice to say about us.

So there's a mystery for everyone to solve.  As for me, I'm fine with the polo shirts.  I'm fine with fancy pants.  Just don't ever again think you're going to get me into a skirt and heels.

This is weird question to be asked 3 times, right?

Hello everyone!  First of all, Happy Thanksgiving to all my American friends out there.  For those of you not in the know, Thanksgiving is the official kick off to the five week mayhem that we call "the Holiday Season."  I'm happy to say that other than placing an order for Kringle for my far flung relatives, I'm officially done with all the shopping and can now settle into 5 weeks of decorating, caroling, and drinking warm adult beverage while watching charming, utterly forgettable movies.

But first, Thanksgiving.  So, hey all, I'm thankful for another year of being able to share my life with you fine folks and, while my posts might not have been as many this year (mostly because my life has been a tiny bit more exhausting...) that doesn't mean I don't have plenty up my sleeve for 2020. Seriously, who thought we'd all make it this far?

Anyway, Season's Greetings and all that.

Now, on to the topic of the day.

So yesterday I took a break from writing (still working it hard for #nanowrimo2019) and Hubby and I went out for lunch/brunch.  It was noon when we settled on a cute little family diner/bakery in a cute part of an adorable town near ours.  Given that it was noon on a Saturday, I expected the place to be busy, but apparently this was more of a breakfast/supper place than a flat out lunch place. What I'm saying is that at noon yesterday, we were one of about six tables in the restaurant and there were no less than 9 young ladies, all of whom wore ponytails, working as servers.

That's not the weird part.

Just wait.

So Ponytail #1 takes us to our table and asks if we want breakfast or dinner menus. We take breakfast.  She gives us our menu and leaves.  Ponytail #2 comes up, brings water, asks if we want coffee. We do. She gets it, takes our order, and leaves.  (BTW, I'm calling them "Ponytails" because not a one of them told us their names.)

Now, while we are waiting for our food, this is when it starts to get weird.  Another ponytail walks us and asks us if we are using our ketchup.

I have to think about it for a moment, but then Hubby reminds me that I like ketchup on my hash browns.  So, we tell Ponytail #3, that yes, we are using our ketchup.  She walks away.

Had that been the end of it, there would be no blog.

Another two minutes pass and Ponytail #4  comes up to our table. Now, she's carrying several ketchup bottles.  She asks us, "Are you done with your ketchup?"

Sweetie, we haven't even gotten our food yet.  No, we say politely, we are going to be using our ketchup.

She turns around, and leaves us. Now, Ponytail #5 (I'm not making this us...all different young ladies, same hair.) brings us our food. It's great. It's delicious.  And then Ponytail tale #6, who nearly trips over #5 on her way to our table, asks, "are you done with your ketchup?"

I mean, this is a weird question, right?  This is a strange thing to be asked 3 times within a matter of about five minutes by three different people.  Right?  All my years working in a restaurant, and all my kids' years, I don't think anyone's ever asked a seated table to surrender their ketchup. And, if they were cleaning and refilling the bottles, as Hubby suggested, noon is a weird time to do it. That's really more of a 2-4PM job, right?  Let me hear from my servers and bussers on this one!

Anyway, Hubby, at this point, hides our ketchup on his booth.  When I need it, I ask for it, and then he tucks it back on his seat.  (I like to put ketchup on my hash browns in stages.)  So we're enjoying out meal It's really good food.

And then it happens.  Ponytail #2, our server, comes over and puts a bottle of ketchup on the table. "Here's your ketchup!"

And now we have TWO BOTTLES on our table.

I'm not about to say anything. It's mine now.

Meal over, everything was wonderful, we pay our check and go on with our lives. At the register Ponytail # 7 asks "How was everything?"

I, of course, want to ask, "WHAT IS THE DEAL WITH YOU PEOPLE AND THE KETCHUP?"

But I don't.

Because I'm basically a coward.

But seriously, that's a weird question, right?

Anyway, everyone have a safe and happy Thanksgiving and we'll see you in December!

A birthday concert and dinner...and this happened.

Hello everyone!

I know you're all wondering how National Novel Writing Month is going for me.  Well, it's going. I'm behind the standard goal for the month, but I am gradually working myself into a regular, consistent schedule for writing.  So that's a win.  Plus, My newest work in progress, "Suburban Princess" (a psychological thriller) is starting to take shape. Check out a rough draft of the cover!  Isn't it sort of cool?

So this past weekend was my birthday.  I don't need to share how old I am.  I'll just say I'm old enough to know better, young enough to still think I should try anyway, but now I'm old enough to be too tired to bother.

Hubby REALLY outdid himself this year. First of all, he took me to Detroit to see my beloved Redwings play in their new (AND AWESOME) arena. We got to catch up with old friends, the Redwings won (which was nice...they aren't great this year) and we drove back in a blizzard which wasn't nice, but we got home safely.

That was great.

Then, hubby and I sort of did a fun impromptu little thing with friends Jake and Sydney.  They got tickets to see Manheim Steamroller's 35th anniversary tour for themselves for Christmas and asked us to join them.  (So nice!  We felt pretty honored, especially when we saw the seats, which were perfection!  On the aisle, close to the door, the walkway in front of us so no one sitting right in front of us...awesome.)

I'll bet you think someone dumped a rum and coke on me.  (Especially since this is the same place where we saw Mellencamp.)  Nope. No one dumped anything on me.  We enjoyed the balanced mix of orchestral instruments and electronic keyboards. We hummed along with familiar Christmas tunes and tapped our feet to the ones that were less than familiar.  We talked about how Manheim Steamroller Christmas was an important album when we were in college.  Oh, there was one interaction with the woman behind us. She tapped Hubby on the shoulder and told him his bow tie was the best one she'd ever seen.

I think I need to attend more concerts with Jake and Sydney.  Seriously, I've never been to a concert where nothing was dumped, poured, sneezed, barfed, thrown, or coughed on me. Not even church concerts.  This was a magical experience.

When the concert let out we walked back to our parking ramp where we waited in line zero minutes to get out and back on the street.  We then drove to a popular Italian place for dinner.  A place called Maggiano's. If you have one near you, check it out.  

Now, when I say this place is popular, I mean...it's a massive two story eatery with a huge bar area. Having no idea how long the concert would be or how long it would take us to get out of the parking ramp, we didn't make a reservation.

Wait time: 1 hour.  

Did I mention that, thanks to Nano, I got up right away in the morning, didn't eat breakfast, didn't eat lunch, the went to the concert...not eating?  

I FORGOT TO EAT?  

Ohhhhhhh, You say....here we go!  

Did someone bump into me?  Did I obaserve someone arguing with wait staff over their bill?  Did we have to wait longer than one hour for dinner?

You know what?  No. None of that happened!

The four of us waited a bit, and a table in the bar opened up. Hubby asked the head seating guy if we could take the table. Head seating guy said sure.  So, we did.  

Total wait time: 25 minutes.

We got a waiter I affectionately called "man bun."  (see, because he had a man bun...)

Man Bun (or MB as we'll call him here) was very harried. Poor guy.  He apologized every time he came to the table for the long wait. 

Here's the thing:  We didn't wait any sort of length of time for anything.  If we asked for drinks, we got drinks. When Hubby asked for a clean water glass because his had some weird brown, brackish liquid in it, he got it, along with a series of apologies from MB.

Sydney has some dietary requirements that make eating out a little bit of a challenge. She's really cool about it, though, so it's no biggie when she asked MB about gluten free/dairy free options.  MB...he was great. Instead of sighing and secretly rolling his eyes (I've seen that before)  he apologized that he didn't know everything about the options.  So what did he do? He got the CHEF to come out and talk to us.

Did I mention that this place was beyond packed on a Saturday night?

Now of course our food took eons and was clearly dried out because we had a special order, right?

Nope.  Everything was amazing and perfect and lovely and if it had been polite to do so I would have licked my bowl clean because, remember, I'd forgotten to eat.

Now it was time for dessert.  Hubby informed MB that it was my birthday.  Like here we are, actually out on the day of my birth.  MB said they had a lemon cookie dessert they could bring.  

No thanks. I'm not eating lemon cookies when TIRAMISU is on the menu!  

So we put in a dessert order and we waited.

We waited the exact amount of time it would take to get a dessert order if there was literally no one else in the restaurant. The food runner brought out our desserts and we began enjoying them. 

That's when MB came out and said, "Wait...there's no candle in your dessert?  I'm so sorry! I told them to put candles in your dessert!"

Poor guy. I don't know what they do in the back rooms of that restaurant, but I was starting to feel sorry for MB. He was really great at his job and we were having literally the best time ever.

MB vanished for a moment, and I thought the candle issue was over.  Nope. He returned a couple minutes later. 

"I'm so sorry," says he.  "I couldn't find candles so here," he held his lighter just over the last bits of my tiramisu (I'm sort of a pig when it comes to a good tiramisu...and this was magical) and he lit it. 

Hubby and friends and MB wished me a happy birthday and I blew out the lighter.

So, here's the point of all this:  I went out, on my birthday to a concert, to dinner at a busy place, and everything went very, very smoothly.

On this blog I generally talk about how I fall down a lot or get frustrated with people or get stuff dumped on me.  I figured, in this holiday season, especially since we are so close to American Thanksgiving (and those of you outside the US, when you celebrate your own holiday of thanks, ponder this) I had to share the one and only time I went to a concert and dinner and nothing bad happened.

It's just like riding that annoying, painful bike you thought you'd thrown away.

The following blog deals with a very personal matter in a very personal way.  (Yes, Todd, it's about feminine punctuation.)

If you don't want to know way too much about me...or if female problems make you feel icky, do not read further.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED...

I'm serious.  We're about to get graphic and female up in here.  If you're going to read this and then chase me down after church and tell me this week's blog grossed you out, then stop reading right now!

Let me be clear:  I'm not going to keep you wondering. I'm going to reveal it all!  STOP READING NOW IF  FEMALE ISSUES MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE.

The language, also, is going to get pretty bad.

Who's left?  Just us girls?  Us older, age appropriate to listen to a graphic rant about female stuff girls?

Good.

Ready?

WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL JUST HAPPENED?  I JUST GOT MY PERIOD.

I haven't had one since JUNE.  JUNE.  That's July, August, September and October, no female punctuation.  No cramping. No bloating. No leaks all over the sheets. No leaks all over  my clothes.  No worrying if I had protection in my purse, suitcase, whatever. NO WORRIES ABOUT ANY OF THAT NONSENSE AT ALL for four blissful months.

Unlike not getting your monthly punctuation when you're younger, or maybe waiting on that first punctuation after the baby is born, getting one after missing it due to menopause is just a gigantic slap in the face.  I was done. I was free. I was able to leave my house without wondering if I had stocked my purse properly.

All I had were hot flashes. And yes, they were horrible this summer, but guess what?  We're getting into winter. I was looking forward to those hot flashes. You know, save on the heating bill. But, a couple weeks ago, I noticed I wasn't getting those flashes as often.

Stupid me, I thought I'd just gone through the fastest menopause EVER.

BUT NOOOOOOOOOO.

I got up this morning, all crampy and grumpy and sick to my stomach and head achy and then boom, bam POW.  

Period.

So now, I'm taking a moment out of my novel writing month to share this with all of you because I'm so FREAKING MAD.  I have to do things I thought I was done doing.  I have to use things I thought I was done using.  I HAVE TO HAVE RESET THE MENOPAUSE CLOCK AND GO BACK TO START AGAIN.

Now, of course I haven't forgotten how to treat a period.  I haven't forgotten how to use the punctuation protection. I haven't forgotten to wear all dark colors.  (Like I had even gotten away from that yet. That'll teach me to ponder getting a pair of gray jeans.)

Getting a period after so many months is like riding a bike. An annoying bike that causes pain. A bike I honestly thought I'd gotten rid of for good.  But, apparently, unlike stuff you take to St.  Vincent de Paul, this bike is coming back to you until it's good and ready to be gone.

So reset the menopause clock.  I'm back in the land of the menstruating for at least one more cycle. And I'm not terribly happy about it.