Oh God, It's the Holidays, Again

For some reason, the holidays keep creeping up on me. It seems they come faster and faster every year. The worst part is that I have a harder and harder time deciding what to do.

Last year we spent Thanksgiving with my family and Christmas with D.'s. Of course, this year my plan was to spend Thanksgiving with D.'s family and Christmas with mine. You know, the ole alternate year thing that every new family works out.

But, Thanksgiving rolled around much more quickly than I anticipated. Due to a severe lack of planning, a family illness, and my distaste for another week of driving across three states, we spent it here, which meant that Christmas would be spent, once again, with D.'s family.

They're fantastic people, and if D. turns out to be anything like his father I will be one lucky woman. I've never seen a more devoted man. Forty-six years of marriage and the man steps and fetches like he's getting laid every night. Yet, both being in the late 60's, and his wife being in poor health, I'm sure he's not. It's just full out, straight as an arrow, love. It's a lovely reminder that things really can work out in the long haul.

As much as I enjoy spending time with D.'s family I, of course, miss my own at Christmas. My family hugs a lot, laughs a lot, drinks a lot, and over all ends up pissed at and then loving one another again--all in a day. D.'s family does on Christmas exactly what they'd do any other day of the week with the exception of a bigger meal and a couple of gifts.

During the six-hour drive home today D. and I had a spectacular brainstorm.

We don't have children. We don't have any plans to have children. We're not a religious people, so we don't have to find a church for Christmas mass.

And, if for some reason, the children plan changes, we could still have our own little family tradition...

Pick a place and that's where we'll be at Christmas.

Just us. No traveling from family home to family home. Send the gifts via Fed Ex and call it a holiday.

I'm thinking Cape Cod where we bundle up each morning for a walk along the beach. Or maybe the mountains where we sit inside, drink coffee and read long novels. Or maybe Chicoteague, MD, our favorite hideout when we lived in DC. Or maybe we'll travel abroad and see some place new and exciting.

Most of all, where ever it is, it will be us. The two of us. Enjoying one another. Sure, we have each other every night of the year, but this will be our own little gift to each other.

Time away from everything. No work. No family obligations. No distractions. Just us. Enjoying all those little things we love about each other that get caught up in the day to day.

I can't think of a better gift to give one another. It's a simple gift.

The gift of actually enjoying the holiday.

Together.

L.

Peaches and Cream

It's been more than a year since I started this blog.

I know full well that I've let the blog lapse quite a bit during the past few months. Time does get away, doesn't it?

But, even with the lack of posts recently having a written account of the past year makes it easy to look back. I like to think about where I've been, how I've grown, how I've regressed, but most of all, I like to think about how the past year has helped, or will teach, me to get where I'm going.

Some people decided on a goal at 10-years-old, and at 30, have either fully reached it or are working to achieve it. I'm simply not one of those people. My life is not what I thought it would be when I was 10, but on so many levels, it's so much better than I'd ever hoped.

Looking back at 2008 I can see that I've done some remarkable things, while recognizing that I've slid backwards several times.

At my actual paying job, I've seen real farmers make real worldwide connections that improve their livelihoods. I've seen communities make a comeback from the brink of nonexistence. I've seen entrepreneurs watch their products make it to the marketplace. I like to think I've had a small hand in all those things. If only because it makes our state a competitor in the global market and, therefore, a better place for future generations.

In the job I simply call my life, D. and I have purchased a house that we've toiled in to make a real home. I've spent time with friends hashing over things that haven't worked out quite like we planned. I've watched my nephews grow from children into smart young men. I didn't stop smoking, although I've thought time and time again I should. I've seen the first African-American elected president, and I was able to vote for him...twice. I never lost those 10 pounds. I've actually used my passport.

Looking back, 2008 was a pretty good year. Here's hoping 2009 turns out to be just as good. Things will go wrong, of course. And many hours will be spent thinking and worrying about things I cannot change. All I can hope is that the good is better than the bad, but even if it isn't, I know that all will work out in the end.

After all, life can't always be peaches and cream.

L.

It's Just So Cold

During the summer months, I'm so much better about posting.

I can take my computer outside, smoke, have a glass of wine, and pine on and on and on about my thoughts.

The winter? Not so much. I eat a big meal, curl up on the couch, watch Deadwood on Netflix and turn in earlier and earlier each night.

But tonight I'm officially starting my vacation. I'm not the least bit concerned about what time I go to bed, because I don't have to be at the office tomorrow. I need to do a touch of work, but it can all be done from home and none of it has to be done prior to the holiday. Oh, I'm so delighted.

What's more delightful is that Turner returns from Costa Rica tomorrow. She'll be back in the States for a full three weeks, and I can hardly contain myself.

How delightful it will be to see her again. It's been six months since we were in her country, but it seems like a lifetime. She's going back to Costa Rica in January, which only means that I'll need to return to Costa Rica in June.

Maybe this is we'll do. I'll go there, she'll come here, I'll go there. Seems like a nice trade off.

But, Turner, since you're going back, I'm gonna need to you to get your own cell phone. For crying out loud, I don't want to call your host home, so I'm gonna need a number all your own.

I swear I'm happy to pay the bill just to have you at the end of a phone call.

L.

Oh God, The Flu

I swear I'm still hanging around. It's just that the cold temperature and a serious case of what I assume can only be the flu have pulled me toward the couch and whatever movie happens to be on TNT (I've honestly seen almost the full trilogy of "The Librarian," really).

I have a ton of things to say, and I hope to pull my health and my thoughts together in the next few days for a good, solid post.

Until then, please know that you're not neglected. I'm still hanging around. I just need a little time to tend to some serious fatigue.

L.

Life in the Fast Lane

This evening I attended a March of Dimes event honoring our local congressman. As a former employee of the guy, I'm a little biased, but I certainly can't ignore the work he's done--as a congressman, as an attorney and as a doctor--for children and families across this country.

There was an amazing video of a family whose son was prematurely born. It recounted the struggles, the surgeries, the healing and the way the March of Dimes was there through it all.

There was also a "Taste of the Town" with the best local chefs featuring their favorite dishes, and I ate my face off. It may surprise some of you, but there are quite a few nationally renowned chefs hanging about in this town, and they can cook some freakishly good food including several dishes featuring superbly cooked duck, my very favorite luxury.

The crowd was fun, young and drinking and betting on auction items heavily. I almost won a fantastic painting in the silent auction, but was outbid by Rhoda by $25. Oh, Rhoda. Why did you circle that table? That painting would have looked amazing in my dining room.

All the fun, good food and wine still didn't add up to the best part of the evening. As I was walking out of the nicest hotel in town, a woman was standing about 10 feet away from the valet guy with a load of aluminum boxes filled with what I assumed to be food.

As I walked toward her wondering if she had some of the amazing duck with Arkansas-grown greens and cranberries in one of her aluminum trays, I noticed a raccoon walking up behind her.

When I say "walking up behind her" I mean about a foot behind her...outside an extremely nice hotel...smack in the middle of downtown.

Seeing the raccoon, I said, "Ma'am, Ma'am". She didn't hear me. Louder I said, "Ma'am, there's a raccoon behind you". She turned, saw it, and moved away saying, "Shoo, shoo." The raccoon backed away for a second then came back up, jumped on top of the aluminum trays sitting on the ground and began pulling them down and digging in them.

I...am...not...kidding.

Cars were pulling up, people were walking by, a woman was yelling "shoo" and yet the raccoon was completely undeterred. It took my crazy mother walking directly up to it clapping saying, "Git. git" before it moved back a few steps.

I guess she did have some of that duck.

L.

The Sound of Silence

My father would have turned 61-years-old today. Sixty-one. So young.

Some days it seems like it's been ages since he died, other days it seems like yesterday.

Today was one of those days that seemed like it was a lifetime ago. To realize that he'd just be 61 was a bit of a shock to me. It's such a young age, particularly for a man whose mother is still living at 92, and yet it's been 11 years since he died.

Just a few short years ago, I would have figured out his age by how long it had been since, and how old he was when, he died. This morning I recognized the date and honestly had to think about his birth year to figure out how old he would be today.

It's a strange feeling to realize how time can pass and how hearts can heal. I still yearn for the opportunity to talk to him, but my heart doesn't hurt for it like it once did.

I can't say it enough, so I'll say it again. My father was a truly wonderful man.

He loved his family. He showed us nothing but care, concern and love. He could look at you with the most shame-inducing "I'm Disappointed in You" look one night and the next day smile in that way that only a loving Dad can.

He worked long, hard farm hours to provide his children with all our wildest dreams, but never left us feeling like he didn't have time to play in the pecan orchard.

He once used Roundup to kill the backyard stickers, so that we didn't have to constantly pull them out of our feet. Not recognizing, or maybe not caring, that what he was really doing was killing the grass.

He burned wheat fields by standing in the back of a truck throwing matches over the side while one of the kids drove across the field.

He made swings out of old tractor discs and placed the tallest ladder at the rope's longest length, so we could climb to the ladder's top, jump on the swing and fly so high in the air that we lost our stomachs.

He drank Coors Light. He smoked the occasional cigar. He smiled as big and as loving as you can imagine.

He was depressed.

He suffered, like so many other people in this world, in silence. Afraid to admit his disease. Afraid to even admit that depression is a disease.

That terrible shadow-lurking disease lead to his death. And while the world is less interesting without him, it is better for him being a part of it.

If you are considering, or have ever considered suicide, please visit the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline or call 1-800-273-TALK.

Please. You don't have to suffer in silence.

L.

Still Kicking

Don't worry, I'm not in rehab after an election celebration bender. I was traveling the second part of last week and have spent most of this week catching up with a friend who has been knee-deep in Obama campaigning for the past six months.

I hope to be back in business tomorrow, but at this rate if I were you, I wouldn't hold my breath.

L.

Always a Party-Pooper

I hate to be the one that points to bad news, but it continues to look like Initiative Act 1--the ban on cohabiting adults adopting or fostering children in Arkansas--will pass. With 73 precincts reporting, the tally is 56 percent "yes" and and 44 percent "no".

For the record, a "no" vote would indicate that a person is against a ban on single, unwed couples adopting or fostering children.

If this act passes, it's a shame for the many children in Arkansas awaiting loving foster and adoptive homes.

Closer to home, it means that I and a man with whom I have shared my life and has been a member of my family for six years will be unable to adopt my nephews or his nieces.

To get it off my chest, I just have to say that marriage isn't the end all, be all definition of love. I love his family as much as I love my own and the same applies to him. Most importantly, while we choose not to have children of our own, I know we could offer a loving home to a child.

Unfortunately for many foster and adoptive children across this state and country, unless we have them ourselves, we will now be unable to rear children in our home.
L.

President-Elect Barack Obama

I'm physically and emotionally exhausted, but I can't quite imagine going to sleep just yet.

What an amazing night. I knew this morning that Obama could do it, that we could do it, but I was unable to make myself too hopeful.

But, it's done. In January, we will see a young African-American man with an Arab-origin middle name be sworn in as President of the United States.

While we have a long road ahead of us--an economy in the tank and a war that doesn't stop for election night--tonight we started down the path of healing.

I believe the world will see America through a new lens. A lens of hope and change, but most of all, a lens of seriousness to confront global problems with a temperament that's meant for the greatest free nation in this world.

There's a new face of America tonight. A face of the Obamas, yes, but also the face of you and me. It's a face that shows the belief that we can be better than we've been before. A face that says we can move further ahead than we have before. A face that sees we are all apart of this country, no matter your religion, your race, your socioeconomic status. We are America.

I believe this new face will shine across this globe as the America this country was intended to be. Although our forefathers never dreamed, and maybe never wanted, a black man in the highest office in this land, our forefathers did dream of a place that presented the best opportunities this world has to offer.

America has seen this opportunity before, but never so much as tonight. As a country, we can never, and should never, forget the past, but tonight we showed that we are beyond the racial boundaries that held us down. We are beyond the ideologies that so seemingly divided us.

We are again the greatest country in the world. We are the face of the United States of America.

L.

Yes, We Did

No more of Yes, We Can. Now, it's Yes, We Did.

L.

Go Vote

Vote.

Really, if you haven't already, take some time tomorrow to vote. I promise, even if you vote the exact opposite of me, it will be worth your time.

It's a secret ballot, but consider a few things:

1--For Obama/Biden. You may be a Republican, or you may be a Democrat, but you can't deny that Obama has the temperament, the courage and the all-around smarts to be President. But, being from a bipartisan household I won't hold it against you if you vote McCain. I'll just know you were wrong.

2--Senate races are important, because, really, there's only 100 of them. So choose the person you believe will work hardest for you.

3--My soapbox (you've been warned): If you're an Arkansas voter, vote against the adoption ban. Really. You may not want homosexuals to be married under the law, and you may not think homosexuals should be allowed to foster or adopt children, but do you really think that unwed single parents are bad for foster and adoptive children? Do you really think so? If so, please take some time to think about the single parent down the street. Or maybe your single mother or father. Were they so bad simply because they weren't married?

Or consider the adopted child who now lives in a loving home. Or your adoptive parents. Or the thousands of children just hoping for a good, loving foster home that happens to have one parent taking on all the responsibilities that come with raising children. They're doing it with full knowledge of the challenges they face and the difficulties ahead. Then think about the children who will stay in orphanages if a large segment of loving homes are suddenly excluded from the foster and adoption rolls. I hate to say it because it's so cliche, but think about the children.

Those are my thoughts on the election. I intend to be so fully hungover come Wednesday that I may be unable to post. And, who knows, the detox facility I check myself into may not allow blogging.

I'll be back when my liver can function again.

L.

The Kiddos

"They" say having pets lowers your risk of stroke. I can't be so sure.

In the barrage of trick or treaters, Isaac (the orange one) kept running outside. I had to chase him so many times that I finally just shut him in the garage. On the other hand, poor George C. Scott (the black one) freaked out and hid under the bed for an hour.

But, really, who can't love these little buggers? Sweet little faces just wanting a little attention.

L.

The Weight

Two hours.

That's how long I waited to vote today.

I was pleased to wait. I've never voted in a presidential election at an actual polling location. My first presidential election was in 1996 when I was a freshman in college, so I voted absentee from Fayetteville.

In 2000, I was still in Fayetteville. In 2004, I lived in DC and vividly remember standing in my tiny studio apartment at 16th Street and Florida Avenue, NW filling in my ballot, sealing the envelope, putting on more stamps than it needed, and walking it downstairs rather than dropping it down the mail drop. I was too afraid that it would get stuck in the mail slot and never make it to the postman.

Now it's 2008, and I actually live in my voting precinct, so I really was pleased to wait.

The crowd was nice, calm, collected, and all around in a good mood. Not to mention, it was a beautiful day, and I managed to get myself a bit of an October sunburn. It was almost like going to a football game without the coolers of beer and pints of bourbon passing around.

After taking the first hour to read a couple of Slate articles I took in anticipation of the wait, and then spending the second hour talking to my fellow voters, I finally made it inside the Sid McMath Library.

I listened to the electronic voting instructions from the poll worker and checked each time my vote was recorded on the paper ballot to the left. Now, I'm not one big for thinking voter fraud, but I wanted to be sure that how I voted actually came out on the paper trail. You know, just in case.

What a wonderful day. A truly wonderful day. I was able to vote for Barack Obama while also voting against a terrible Arkansas Initiative that would ban unmarried, co-habitating individuals from adopting or fostering children.

What the hell kind of thing is that? It would ban me from adopting my own nephews if, God forbid, something happened to both my brother and sister-in-law. It's just complete nonsense because you know, those crazy non-married gays are trying to take over the world by fostering, adopting and loving children. Jesus. Give me a break.

L.

Here's a picture of the line as I was about 10 people away from the door to the library (I had to wait another 30 minutes after I made it in the door). See that guy way in the back wearing a white shirt? That's the end of the line at 3 p.m. and it's about 20 feet further back from where I started at 1:50 p.m.

A Better Time Than Most Can Dream, Really

In five days, I'll be able to vote for a person I believe will be the first good opportunity we have at healing a nation that is almost mortally wounded. A country that has seen better days, has seen worse, but is, as always, full of people who believe in a better tomorrow. A country that thrived through the Great Depression, the free-loving 60s, the self-deprecating 80s, and self-hating 90s.

America is a country that looks toward the future, and I believe our future lies in thinking further than what the "Greatest Generation" and Baby Boomers did. It's time to see what we will do. What my generation can do.

I won't call it a "moment" as Obama does. I'll call it a "chance".

A chance for that young white boy in the photo below to "fist bump" an African-American leader of this country. For me that photograph shows our future. As a 30-year-old woman, it doesn't seem odd to me that a small white child would look up to an older black man. But for my parents' generation and their parents' generation that's a sight that might have (and maybe still does) conjured up long-held racial discrimination. Not me. Not my generation. I believe my generation expects and demands respect for all of our brothers and sisters--black, white, Hispanic, gay, straight, you name it.

I see a chance for us, as America, to elect a president who really, really, represents the face of this country.

We have a long way to go on race relations in America. But, on Tuesday, we have a chance to heal racial wounds this country has long ignored, and we also have an opportunity to heal racial wounds that have recently surfaced. But, most of all, we have a real opportunity to elect a leader. A person with the temperament and the brains to bring this country together in ways my generation has never seen.

We have a chance--not a moment--but a chance. A real chance to be what this country always strives to be...

The best.

The best country on earth, because you can grow up in Kenya, and you can become President of the United States.

Every child from every walk of life will be able to look to a President Obama and know, if he can do it in 2008, I can do it now.

What do I have to say to that child? Yes, You Can.

L.

A Picture Really Is Worth A Thousand Words

What an awesome photo.

Later this evening (or week), I'll try to put up my thoughts about how wonderful I think this sight is, along with my disgust at a racist woman I met at the grocery store yesterday, and my hope an Obama presidency begins a real healing process in this country.

L.
Photo: Joe Raedle of Getty Images

I Check Your Balance

There's something to be said for checks and balances in government.

I'll be the first to admit that a Democratic presidency coupled with a Democratic congress makes me more than just a little nervous. And, this comes from a Democrat.

I think there's something serious to be said about the opposite party keeping their opposition straight.

I worked for a Democratic member of the House during a Republican presidency with a Republican congress, and I saw first hand that oversight and investigations, as much as they are sometimes overdone, were nonexistent.

No president needs a rubber stamp congress, and no congress needs a rubber stamp presidency. When that happens we all end up in wars we shouldn't be fighting and tax plans that don't help anyone.

All this comes down to the point that Republicans can't control it all and, surprise, Democrats can't either. It takes someone on the other side of the aisle to tell you that you're wrong.

Someone has to stand up to you and say, "Hey, X amount of people will suffer if you do this". The people suffering may be low income folks who just want to pay the bills or high income folks who just want to leave something to their grandchildren. And, I'll be sure to admit that I've only been on the latter end of that scenario.

It's not an easy side to take because no party agrees with it, but it's necessary to keep government honest. If someone is always looking over your shoulder, I believe you'll be more careful to do what's right for all citizens, but if you know that whoever is looking over your shoulder agrees with you, then you're more likely to do what's best for your constituency.

I don't think that's a news flash to anyone.

So, just be prepared. I hope that in a year and a half we'll have a President Obama, but I won't be surprised to see an overturn in the House of Representatives.

We all need someone taking us to task and, as much as I like him, that doesn't exclude Barack Obama.


L.

Vote or Die!

Hillary! was in Little Rock yesterday to rally the loyal Arkansans to Obama's ranks. I'm sure her comments were good, but I left when I realized that every person who'd ever registered as a Democrat was going to speak prior to her.

I did see Ted Danson and Mary Steenburgen, as well as Senator Blanche Lincoln, Congressman Marion Berry and Congressman Vic Snyder before I decided the sloppy joes waiting at home were more appealing than Hillary!'s comments and headed straight to the exit.

I never saw hide nor hair of Hillary!, but I'm sure she was there as there was a picture of her with Governor Beebe in the paper this morning.

I did capture these beauties:

The crowd chanted "That One. That One. That One" several times.

Eh. What's that you say? You want to vote for Obama or you wish Woody would say something stupid at the bar?

As my mother always said, McCain't never did do anything.

What I didn't photograph was the very kind policeman who gave me a speeding ticket on the way there. Seriously.

Looking back, I wish I'd asked him to take a picture with me. He was so nice, I'll bet he would have done it.

L.

Hope. Hope. Hope.

Obama says a lot about hope, but I hope my laughter at this wasn't because it was based in real fear that it could happen.

L.

Main Street USA

I can understand the desire to invoke "Main Street" in presidential campaigns. Candidates want to seem "in tune" to Middle America. But I have to wonder if any candidate has been to an actual Main Street in years.

I have. And let me tell you, they're not dying. They're dead.

And they have been for years.

It's not the Dow, and it's not Wal-Mart. It's that no one has shopped on or cared about Main Street in 30 years.

On some levels I find it a bit insulting. It seems to me that people who want to appear as though they know "small town America" are the same people who produce movies that have mid-Americans watching a television with an antenna while sitting in the middle of a wheat field.

Now, I grew up on a farm in the early 80's, and I can honestly say that while I've seen some strange things happen in the middle of wheat fields, I've never seen a man with his 1952 Dodge pickup put a television on a milk crate, hook up the antenna and watch the presidential election results roll in. I seriously doubt it ever did happen, and it certainly doesn't happen now.

I can understand the nostalgia for "Main Street". Really, I can. But Main Street as those who lived in the 30's knew it no longer exists, and it would behoove a candidate to spend some time learning what Mid-America really looks like.

It's full of poverty, yet also full of hope. It's full of the downtrodden, but most are trying, really trying, to pull themselves up. And, I dare say, most never had enough money to invest in the stock market.

The people who live there may not be CEOs of major corporations with the ability to conjugate verbs, but that doesn't mean they spend their time in overalls hanging out in wheat fields setting up televisions so their kids can see this amazing thing called "moving pictures" either.

They are smart people trying to eek out a living. Let's give them a little credit.

Really, at least just a little.

L.

Screw You, Office '07

My office recently made the switch to Office 2007. Let me tell you this. I hate it.

Actually, it's not that I hate the format, I find it to be more user friendly since I spent much of my time digging through the toolbar looking for applications.

What I hate is that it seems that in the amount of time it takes my Outlook to "update folders" I could get in a full day of work.

Everything runs so much slower now, and it's hardly bearable. It's almost as if I've been transported back in time to the world of dial up Internet.

So, until this thing works itself out, Office 07 is now on my Enemy List. And, let me tell you, it takes a good long while to get off of it. I'm a woman who really knows how to hold a grudge.
L.

Choking Up

At first blush, I didn't care for Biden's choking up when talking about the loss his family. I honestly thought, "oh, hell, here we go again with the crying."

Admittedly, I was in the restroom when he started his answer, so I didn't get the full response, and my immediate thought was that it was a bit contrived and he should have figured out by now how to hold it together. However, after I watched the whole clip, I was far more open to it.

Watching the whole response, I get it. It was powerful. It was real.

While I didn't immediately respond kindly to Biden's choking up, I did immediately respond to Palin's complete disregard of of the moment. Maybe she didn't want to come off as too motherly, but my thought is that if she was actually reacting to what was happening around her and not what she expected to happen, she would respond more warmly.

Had she responded to his emotion in her at the table doing homework with the kids hockey mom sort of way, she would have come off as the "I'm Just Like You" woman she portrays herself to be. Instead she came off too hard.

I'll admit it's a fine line for a woman in that position. But, really, if you're campaigning on being the real deal, be the real deal. Real people, real women, respond to that kind of emotion.

People working strictly off talking points don't.

L.

The Debaters

Well, I actually watched the VP debate from start to finish with only one cigarette break in the middle.

A couple of thoughts:

1--What the hell is up with Americans apparently only talking about important issues over the kitchen table? Dave and I don't even have a kitchen table.

2--I love folksiness with the best of 'em, but for the love of all that is good and holy, answer a freaking question without putting a "Darn it" in front of it. For that matter, use "darn it" but please just answer the question.

3--All that folksiness just doesn't compare to that kind smile of Joe Biden. Something about his smile just makes me like him.

4--But, you'd think Joe Biden had my genes when you take a look at those bags under his eyes. Has he had a decent night of sleep in the past two months?

Overall, I think both VP candidates did a fairly decent job.

Palin gave us the party line, but delivered it well and looked into the camera, i.e. at the American people, every time. She answered few questions, and I can't follow her sentence construction, but she didn't bomb. I can see where she might resonate with some voters.

Biden got bogged down with numbers in the beginning and seemed to be on the defensive and losing, but he found his mojo and hammered hard during the foreign policy portion. Of course, that issue is, most assuredly, his forte.

Let's face it. Campaigns aren't won or lost on VP debates (think Bush/Quayle). And, at the end of the day, I just lost an hour and a half of my life I will never get back.

I could have totally spent that time constructively. Like by watching a "House" marathon on USA.

L.

Out of Pocket

Sorry to be out of pocket lately. I had family in town last week and in Ohio until today. I plan to gather my thoughts this evening and come back for a real post.

Check back later...
L.

Libertarians for Obama

Those of you who really know me know that I lean more than just a little toward the Libertarian side of things.

While I believe the government needs to offer assistance (and tax breaks) to those who really need it, I don't believe that the government needs to be involved in all that we do.

This comes out most when I talk about abortion or gay rights, but there are many other instances that I believe it still holds true.

Should there be laws that dictate right and wrong on the most obvious level, such as murder? Yes. Should marijuana be treated as a more addictive drug than cigarettes or alcohol? Not so much.

Should we pay taxes? Yes. Should we bail out major corporations with our hard-earned money to ensure their CEOs go home with a profit? Again, not so much.

Should the government tell business owners that they can't allow smoking on and in their property? No. But then again, I'm a smoker and I sure would love to have a cigarette at a restaurant.

Those are just a few of the reasons I check out Reason's Hit and Run blog, which lead me to Terry Michael's "The Libertarian Case for Obama".

He lays out seven reasons a Libertarian shouldn't be entirely afraid of an Obama presidency.

Here's a taste with number 6 on the list:

6. R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Yes, we need to restore America's reputation around the world. Anybody who's traveled beyond the Atlantic and Pacific in the past eight years knows America needs a makeover. Whatever you think of Barack Obama—unless, like the mindless U!S!A! crowd, you don't care what the world thinks—he will restore much of the goodwill we have lost when he raises his hand on January 20, 2009. That's significant for libertarians who believe in the importance of the nation most committed to free markets and free minds—ours—leading by example. More-of-the-McSame in foreign policy is something we can't afford.

If you somewhat agree or, at the very least, are interested in ideas that don't always fit the status quo in American politics, check out the article and the blog. Both are exceptional and may cause you to think about things in a new way. It certainly happened to me.

L.

PS--If I ever get a chance to yell U!S!A! at an event, you'd better believe I'll be screaming my head off while punching my fist in the air. I'm not that far Libertarian...just yet.

Mirror, Mirror On The Wall

We finally hung some pictures around the joint today.


And, man, do I love this mirror!




I feel like such a grown up having an actual dining room.

Of course, we've only eaten in it once.
L.

I Have A Frozen Burrito In My Purse

A dear, dear friend of mine recently changed jobs to something that could turn out to be life changing.

I'll leave her personal affairs personal since it's not my business to tell her name, or her job, or what she does on Friday nights. But I will say that this job keeps her extremely busy and hard to reach.

So, I just managed to catch her by phone and as she was hanging up I heard her say to someone else, "I have a frozen burrito in my purse."

Please call me back and tell me why. You can't expect me to sleep with all this worry that you might wake to find thawed beans next to your wallet.

L.


PS--To said dear, dear friend: It reminds me of the Fendi.

Overheard at Work

I'm considering making this a recurring theme here at A Better Time Than Most Can Dream. Mainly because I think it could have some serious awesomeness attached to it.

Our nonprofit work means we do quite a bit of traveling to strange places, which often brings with it interesting stories from the field.

Much of the time, you don't get the whole story, just a snippet here or there as you walk through the hall. It really makes for delightful fun.

Just a few:

Months ago. Woman on phone: "Hello. I believe you have a stuffed opossum of mine."

Early this week. Man talking to woman: "She won't slaughter her own goats because they mean too much to her. She has to get someone else to do it."

Today. Woman talking to woman: "She's in Kyrgyzstan. I don't know. Maybe a spider."

Seeing as how our work focuses quite a bit on agriculture, it shouldn't be too surprising that animals are mentioned frequently.

But, still, you gotta wonder about that opossum.

L.

At My Door The Leaves Are Falling

A cold wild wind will come.

OK, so the rest of Johnny Cash's song "I Still Miss Someone" doesn't quite fit here. But let me tell you this: It's absolutely beautiful in Arkansas.

It's what some might call "Football Weather" although those people certainly aren't watching the Razorbacks. I mean, really, beating Louisiana Monroe by one point? One...Freaking...Point. Auburn beat them 34-0. Jeez, it's going to be a long season.

But, that's not the point. The point is that it's beautiful in Arkansas this time of year, and luckily this time of year lasts for about two months.

People love spring. I understand. It's been cold. We've had a couple of snow (better described as ice) storms, and people are excited to see the first sprigs of grass peak out from the bland brown world. Home Depot fills with folks buying bright reds, whites, pinks, purples, just trying to add a little color to their home.

I'll plant a few flowers, but because of one awful allergy to pollen, I absolutely hate spring. Really, I do. I'm not excited about outdoor eating because I have to dope up on Claritin. I don't like to open the sunroof because I can see the yellow cloud of dust cover my body and then I launch into a sneezing fit.

But most of all, I can only think that summer is just around the corner. And in Arkansas, summer lasts a lifetime.

I can't stand heat. I don't like to sweat, under any circumstance, and I sweat like a pig in the summer. For months. And months. And months. Summer just goes on for ages here. It starts in May and ends somewhere near when time stands still.

My fingers swell in the heat. I feel like a rhinoceros. And no matter how few clothes I wear, I'm still hot. It's just not for me.

But, Autumn. Well, that's a different story. While most people enjoy getting out of the cold, I'll bundle up and go for a walk. Most people avoid the snow, the ice, I thrive in it.

Maybe it's because my father was a farmer which meant he didn't come home it was too dark to work, and in the summer that was well after 10 p.m.

Maybe it's because I think the wheat harvest is so amazingly beautiful with combines in the field, money coming back home after a long, hard, planting season and summer, and dust settling on everything in sight.

Maybe it's the changing leaves and brisk night air.

I can't be sure of the reason, but I love autumn, and I hope that Mother Nature isn't just teasing us with these sunny blue skies and this cool night air.

If I could live in a place that never gets above 65 degrees, I'd be so happy I just might die in fear that spring would be just around the corner.

L.

Oh, Those Crazy Liars Always Telling Lies

If you have time to really delve deep, check out Andrew Sullivan. He has a nice round up of Sarah Palin's constant and, apparently, unending lies.

You'll have to scroll down; he posts a lot. The first one is titled The Odd Lies of Sarah Palin I: Firing Monegan and they run to, at last check, Part XI.

L.

Quote of the Day

Once again I find myself so completely tied down at work that I have no motivation for anything other than the Hills and Project Runway.

So, no big, thoughtful
post tonight, but a Quote of the Day instead.

Enjoy.
L.


"Yesterday, John McCain actually said that if he's president that he'll take on, and I quote, 'the old boys network in Washington.'

Now I'm not making this up. This is somebody who's been in Congress for twenty-six years, who put seven of the most powerful Washington lobbyists in charge of his campaign.

And now he tells us that he's the one who's gonna' to take on the old boys network. The old boys network? In the McCain campaign that's called a staff meeting. Come, on!"

--Barack Obama, on the campaign trail.

For Turner

Turner--Just for you.

My heavens are you missing some drama on The Hills!!

Audrina and Lauren are in a fight about not being friends anymore. To quote Audrina "it's like no one wants us to be friends." Really? No one wants you to be friends? How unintentionally funny!

Lauren is hanging out with Spencer's sister, who is so clearly about to burn her. And the previews indicate Lauren is going to have lunch with Heidi's sister. What! Get the hell away from anyone remotely close to Heidi or Spencer!

Spencer told Heidi's sister, who has been living with them for what seems like only days but could be months, that both he and Heidi wanted her to move out. Meanwhile, Heidi had specifically asked him not to say anything to her sister. The sister leaves for hours and upon her return Heidi berates her like it's the sister's fault that she left and Heidi was so terribly offended that she wouldn't call her back. Really? Your boyfriend just told your sister to move out, and you're offended?

Jesus, you're missing some gooooood shit.

We'll have to Netflix the DVD upon your return and have a marathon party. You won't believe this craziness.

L.

What's In A Name?

It doesn't take much for me to get emotional about my family, or to talk about how much I adore each member of it. But let me tell you, a song by the Avett Brothers has got me all up in a crazy state.

It's easy to forget how lucky I am when I'm swamped at work, worn out at home, and feel like I've been sleeping on the interstate. But this little song always reminds me of my family.

I'm sure that many of you understand what it means to have a family name--a name that tells people who you are and what they can expect. For better or worse, my parents made it a priority to rear children who understood the importance of the family name.

I had the family name thing down pat. My first, middle and last names are all surnames, which meant that someone everywhere I went could place me with a family. But because my grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles had worked so hard to preserve a "good" name, it also meant I could be trusted, looked up to, and considered an all around decent person by anyone who'd ever known someone with one of those names.

Each time my brother and I went out in high school, and well into college, my mother always, and I mean, always, followed us to the door saying, "Remember who you are and what you represent."

At the time, I thought it meant that the family name was the most important thing we had. Growing up in a small town, I knew that everything I did reflected back on my entire family, and the town would talk if I did something unseemly.

But growing older and having young nephews, has made me realize it was about much, much more than that. It was about what we shared as a family, and what that name said to us.

It said more than trustworthiness to other people. It said love for each other, constant and unabashed loyalty, and that if nothing else was left, at least we'd all be standing together.

It said that there were people who remember that a 15-year-old problem can rear its ugly head and turn your life upside down. It said that someone calls simply because they haven't heard from you in a while. It said that someone supports you through difficult decisions, and loves you when you don't love yourself.

When I look at my family, I see many things. A mother who loved me. A father who doted on me. A brother who stands beside me. Cousins who are like siblings. But mostly, I see people who laugh. With me...at me...for me. Just thinking about it makes me smile.

The love a family can share simply from sharing a name makes up for all the times I feel overrun.

For those of you who are my family and actually read this blog, thank you. For everything. My life is all the more enjoyable simply because you're a part of it.

Just know that every time I hear this song, I think of you, and "always remember there was nothing worth sharing like the love that let us share our name."

Oh, and one more thing: For God's sake, remember who you are and what you represent.

L.

Let Bygones Be Bygones

It's taken me a solid week, but I'm finally over my anger with Entergy.

You know, you just can't hold a grudge forever. Well, that's not entirely true. I have many a grudge I've been holding onto for dear life for decades now, but I'm going to let this one go to allow space to hold onto a different one.

L.

Stupid Entergy

So, our power was out for 39 hours. Yes, 39 hours.

In case you were wondering, we live in the city. In fact, not just the city, but the middle of the freaking city. And we can't get power for 39 hours? Give me a freaking break.

I suppose I don't have to say that things have been a little odd around here. I love Dave to pieces, but two days of talking to one another in the dark can wear a girl out, and it really changes what a person does on a daily basis.

Dave works from home, so he was unable to do just about anything for two days. We missed Sarah Palin's speech, which I hear was really quite good. We caught a bit of McCain's speech, which I can assure you wasn't so great--it wasn't well written and it certainly wasn't delivered well.

Maybe everything is clouded by my hatred for Entergy, so I'll touch base again in a few days and we'll see if things have improved. Until then, I need a little time to get my bearings about me.

L.

The Woods

I can only take a minute here, since I shouldn't post at work, but I wanted to explain my absence for the past few days.

Our power has been out. Yep. Out. For more than 30 hours. Really? We live in the city and we can't get power back? Unfreakingbelievable.

L.

City Living

You don't have to live in the country to see some crazy shit that will freak you the hell out.

Last night I'm standing on my back porch, talking to my mother on the phone only to look up and see a raccoon on my roof about to jump down onto the porch and staring straight back at me. I'm not kidding.

Jesus. What am I doing living in the freaking woods. I'm not cut out for this shit.

L.

Obama for President

Michelle, not Barack.

Some time ago a friend of mine and I were discussing the idea that people would vote for Hillary Clinton simply because they wanted Bill back in the White House. I understand that desire, and the wish to return to simpler times with shorter wars (then known as peace-keeping missions) and a full and robust economy.

But, said friend and I agreed that if a person were to base their vote on spouses who needed a seat in the White House, both John Edwards and Barack Obama warranted another look.

Well, we see what happened with good ole John. I won't go into it here seeing as how you can read and read and read about John's transgressions and hypothesize if he has a love child. But, I also won't go into it mainly because if I didn't care about Bill Clinton's extramarital affairs, I can't care about John Edwards' either.

But I digress. Let's get back on track. Voting based on spouses. Michelle Obama. OK, now I'm there. If you didn't see her speech at the Democratic Convention last night, go watch it.

Really, go watch it. Now. It's about 20 minutes long and worth every second.

I cried. And I'm a strong enough woman to admit it.
L.

I'm Alive!

No, really. I am!

I've been so completely swamped the last few weeks that the blog has been the furthest thing from my mind.

But, I am completely fine. The past few weeks have been crazy. First, we went to the lake where I have no access to the Internet tubes.

I returned to Little Rock where I spent the next two days driving around with out-of-towners showing off projects from the southeast border of our lovely state to the northeast corner, each night returning to Capital City too late to muster the energy for a post.

The next three days were spent wishing my colleague the very best before she moves to Romania with her boyfriend, so I couldn't even sneak a post in while at work.

Friday night I went out with said colleague and other coworkers to "have a few drinks". Of course, a friend from DC was in town and delightfully decided to join us. The next thing I know I'm in quite the drunken stupor at a bar in North Little Rock.

Saturday night was filled with more of the same with said friend from DC only this time my back was out. Seriously. I'm pretty sure I'm now in the running with Turner for lamest excuse for throwing a back out.

I was putting on a pair of jeans when my left foot got caught at the knee. I started to fall to the left, and turned to catch myself on the dresser. Yep, next think I know I'm sitting on the floor with shooting pains up my spine. But, no worries a few beers cleared up that pain and I made it out Saturday. Of course, I spent all day Sunday with an ice pack and a Ben-Gay patch.

So, today my back still hurts like hell. I'm still completely swamped at work seeing as how I managed to get little office work done last week, I have another friend from DC coming to town tomorrow, and I might manage to make it back to the lake this weekend (call me, Ash!).

Long story short: life is good, and I am, in fact, still alive. If only barely.

L.

Linsley Out

I'm heading to the lake for a lovely weekend of no Internet access and little cell service.

However, there are tons of skin-damaging UV rays and loads of beer. I intend to ingest a lot of both.

Catch you on the flip side.
L.

A Terrible Tragedy

A horrific tragedy unfolded in Little Rock today.

Arkansas Democratic Party Chairman Bill Gwatney was shot and killed at the Arkansas Democratic Party headquarters. The suspect was pursued and mortally wounded at approximately 1 p.m. Gwatney was pronounced dead at 3:59 p.m.

I'll leave the rehashing of events to others and simply say that our thoughts and prayers are with the Gwatney family.

May he rest in peace.
L.

Wile E. Coyote

I've mentioned many times before how much I love my neighborhood.

It's a very "country" sort of neighborhood. Two weeks ago I stood at the end of the cul de sac, where our house sits, and talked to my two neighbors about the ripe tomatoes Jack, one of the neighbors, dropped off at our house two days before, and the basil that he's currently growing at the end of his driveway.

In fact, it's so country that Jack said, "Linsley, if you all like basil, just come over and cut some. There's no need to ask, just take what you want." It's country in a such a good sort of way.

I've also talked a bit about the possibility of coyotes.

Well, I took the coyote warning with a grain of salt. Had we heard them in the woods? Sure. There was a strange howling very early in the morning or very late at night, but I have to admit that I just chalked it up to neighboring dogs.


We do live in the middle of the city, so it's not unbelievable that we might hear dogs from nearby neighborhoods.

Or so I told myself until this morning.

Dave and I, being the only two people in a two bathroom household, do not share a bathroom. He uses the hall bathroom and I use the "master bath". The master bath is actually much smaller than the hall bathroom, but Dave gets up earlier than me, so he has the space that fits our lifestyle. I use the smaller bathroom in the bedroom.

My bathroom has a window looking out on the backyard. The backyard is quite small with a goldfish pond and, frankly, not a whole lot more.

There I stood having finished drying and straightening my hair and putting a bit of texturizing product on. I turned to wipe my hands on the towel at the back of the door.

As I do each morning, I looked out the window as I completed this task and saw, actually saw with my own two eyes, a coyote drinking out of our goldfish pond. Granted there are no goldfish in it and it's completely filled with leaves, but it's there not 20 feet from our deck and there was a coyote.

Plain...As...Day.

A coyote. Right there. It stared at me. I stared at it. Really. There we stood looking at each other for at least a minute. He'd seen me and he knew that I'd seen him.

I stepped into the bedroom to look out of another window, and he still stared at me. I wished like hell a camera was close, because seriously this thing was certainly NOT a tame dog.

It was a coyote. And he looked just like this only the coat wasn't as dark, but his hair was just as scraggly and his face was a dead ringer:

You'd better believe that the camera will always stay close to the bathroom. If only because I can't be the only person who sees what I saw this morning.

L.

Still Just A Bit Crazy

I'm still trying to catch up on work after being out all week. Sadly, work takes precedence over play these days.



Until I can get a new post up, entertain yourselves with this Google Streetview from Sherwood.
L.

Hat Tip: Arkansas Times Blog.

Back After The Break

Sorry I've been out of contact lately. I'll be in a conference all week, but promise to get something up by Friday.

See you then.
L.

More Political Goodness

The Bush Administration has tried to pretend that a checks and balances system set up by those Founding Fathers said administration so loves to tout does not exist, and even if it does, they can simply ignore it.

Not so much says Judge John Bates:

The executive’s current claim of absolute immunity from compelled Congressional process for senior presidential aides is without any support in the case law.

Well, thank goodness for that.
L.

Holy Crap

I can only hope the Wall Street Journal is completely freaking kidding me.

The Bush Administration has ignited a furor with a proposed definition of pregnancy that has the effect of classifying some of the most widely used methods of contraception as abortion.

A draft regulation, still being revised and debated, treats most birth-control pills and intrauterine devices as abortion because they can work by preventing fertilized eggs from implanting in the uterus. The regulation considers that destroying "the life of a human being."

Some days it's easier than others to be thankful for a Presidential Election. Today is one of those days.

Read the whole thing here.
L.

Guitartown

I've started playing the guitar again.

It was a minor hobby I picked up during finals my junior year of college. I played a lot after I moved to DC--mainly because I spent a lot of time at home alone--and I haven't played much since moving to Little Rock.

But, I've rediscovered my love for the guitar. It's such a wonderful instrument for the musically disinclined.

When I was a child, my mother insisted that we learn to play the piano. It was the Southern thing to do, you know.

I love the way the piano sounds when it's played correctly, but I never really learned to read music, and I hated to practice.

Until I was a sophomore in high school, my mother was a Stay At Home Mom. Each day after school my older brother and I had few rules and a nice routine. We had about 30 minutes to sit, relax, have a snack, and watch television. Then we were to do our homework and practice piano after which we were free to play to our hearts' content--outside, of course.

I didn't so much mind the homework, but the 2o minutes of piano practice each day quickly led me to hate practicing.

So, I learned the basics, completed a few songs that I could play with abandon and continued to take piano lessons until I was 13 (I started at 5).

I quit piano because my other extracurricular activities required too much time to continue the 30 minute lesson each week. I was a cheerleader, I had a short lived career as a basketball player, and I was on the student council, National Honors Society, FBLA, and any other club that I believed the "cool people" older than me were a part of. Piano, thankfully at the time, was removed from my life.

I now wish that I'd kept up the lessons and really learned how to play. As my grandmother would say, "I have piano playing hands"--long fingers with a big reach.

But piano left my life and in college after longing for a hobby I picked up my mother's 1960 Gibson, and I loved it. Guitar requires no real skill if you just want to play some songs that you, and your friends at the lake, know. (For the record, you can take the guitar to places I've never understood--picking, bar chords, writing music.)

I put the guitar down a few years ago because of the lack of time and let it sit gathering dusk. But, I've picked it back up, and I love it again--just as strongly as I loved it the day I learned my first song.

Sadly, though, my poor little left hand fingers are just about to fall off my hand typing this because they're worn out from holding down those damn strings.

It's only a matter of time before I let that thing start gathering dust again.

Until then Dave, and the neighbors, will no doubt be sick of hearing Jack Ingram's Beat Up Ford played over and over again.

After all, it only requires three chords.
L.

Sleep, How I Miss You

There was a time in my not so distant past when I slept. I slept hard, long, and a lot.

Not so much anymore.

Now I can't seem to settle my thoughts no matter how tired I might be. When I get in bed, it takes a solid hour to fall asleep during which time I think about the upcoming day, the passing hours that could be spent sleeping and the bags that are slowly setting underneath my eyes.

Oh to sleep like a teenager again. Wouldn't the world be delightful?

L.

And The Winner Is...

...Ashley.

She accurately defined "pump". It's when someone rides on the spokes of your bicycle. As Ashley points out, I'm not sure that it's solely reserved for someone on the spokes or if someone on the handlebars would qualify as well.

I tend to think that either would apply.

Sorry, Ashley, there are no immediate prizes. But, I'll buy you a drink the next time we're together.

L.

The Bottoms

I grew up in a small agricultural town in Southwest Arkansas. I loved, and fondly remember, my childhood. It was so innocent, so sweet, almost like a scene from a 1950's movie.

We could ride our bikes all day, but not after dark, in lightening, and not across the "tracks."

The "tracks" were, of course, the railroad tracks, and we couldn't ride across them. Not because it was "the bad side of town," which is the common response to hearing "the tracks," but because it was too far away from home. We also couldn't ride downtown, which was one two lane street with a grocery store, a Bill's Dollar Store, and for a few years the local clinic (the clinic closed when I was in Junior High because we couldn't keep a doctor in town).

It was a wonderful place to be a kid. Everyone knew who you were, where you belonged and called your parents the second you acted up. I'll never forget being in the first grade when I got in trouble for not being in my seat. My teacher, Mrs. Gage, took me into the hallway to give me "a paddlin'" i.e. a spanking with a ping pong paddle.

I remember looking at her, pleading my case that Robert sat in my seat before I could get to it, and it wasn't my fault that I was standing after the fifth time she'd told us to sit down.

There I stood in the hallway, an innocent little six-year-old child trying to talk my way out of punishment, when Mrs. Gage said, "Would you rather me paddle you now or would you rather me call your mother and you can explain the situation to her?"

I took my paddling and somberly walked back in the classroom to take the seat Robert had, by then, vacated (I really was telling the truth, and Robert, I hold it against you to this day).

When my mother picked me up from school I heard it all over again. See, Mrs. Gage didn't call my mother, but someone else did. And, boy, was she mad that I was unable to obey my teachers.

That's the kind of place Foreman was. It was really down home--in such a good, honest, real sort of way. And it was a great place to be a kid.

All this is to say that I've come full circle. One of the programs I now oversee at work involves small cities across this great state, and one of the newest participating cities is Foreman. For the past two days, I've hosted a workshop for the participants of this program and representatives from Foreman were present.

I asked how things were at home, who was still around, how they were, what we could do to help, was it as hot there as here?

As usual the conversation quickly made its way to rainfall. Agriculture drives the economy in Foreman, and the weather is always the main topic of conversation.

"How are things," I asked. "Oh things are moving great," Mike responded. "Of course, it's hot and dry. It hasn't rained in town for weeks, but the bottoms got a half inch the other day."

The Bottoms.

"The Bottoms" refers to the farmland near the Red River. I suppose it's called The Bottoms because it's the delta of the Red River--the bottom of where the river once flowed.

That's just the way things are in Southwest Arkansas. It can't just be called the river delta or the farmland or the old river way. It must have a different name. Therefore, The Bottoms.

It's been about a decade since someone used the term "the bottoms" with me.

Oh, to be so close to home. It makes me wonder what Mrs. Gage is doing today.

__________________________________________________
By the way, I'm glad The Bottoms got some rain. But, of course, Mike also told me that it only rained on the Cowling Place Headquarters (another place no one "from away" could ever find, but I could place in an instant) for about 15 minutes.

The rest of the place is bone dry and 110 degrees.

God help the farmers in the bottoms.

L.

PS--Speaking of things Southwest Arkansas people say. A shout out goes to the first person who can accurately describe what it means to give someone "a pump".

I'll even use it in a sentence. "You don't have to walk. I'll give you a pump."

May The Wind Be At Your Back

There are many times I'm proud to have the opportunity to vote for a Member of Congress who really represents me, my opinions and my hopes for a better tomorrow.

But, it's possible I've never been more proud than I was today. In a hearing of the House Armed Services Military Personnel Subcommittee on the topic of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" my representative, Vic Snyder, was quoted in the Washington Post:


"Rep. Vic Snyder (D-Ark.) labeled her statement "just bonkers" and "dumb," and he called her claims about an HIV menace "inappropriate." Said Snyder: "By this analysis . . . we ought to recruit only lesbians for the military, because they have the lowest incidence of HIV in the country."

Good for you, Vic. Good for you for standing beside your long-held convictions of homosexual discrimination while in the middle of an election. Good for you for saying what many in Arkansas would be afraid or unwilling to say. Good for you for continuing to be the stand up guy we vote for every two years.

May your tenure, and the other committee members who stood up against such an archaic and discriminatory law, in Congress be long.

We need more like you.


L.

Wishin' and Hopin'

Oh, how the 100 degree heat makes me wish we were still in Costa Rica sitting near a beach.

Well, that and the good friend I never see and the lovely scenery.

Some photos from the trip.

The hallway in our first San Jose hotel.

A flower at the San Jose hotel.

Manuel Antonio beach.

The view from our stinky Manuel Antonio bungalow.

The view from a Manuel Antonio restaurant.

A river on the way to Dominical (I had to take a picture of this. It reminded me so much of the Red River in the summer. I grew up on the Red River. For some reason it seemed strange to see something so similar to home so far away from it.)

A boardwalk in Dominical.

The river in Dominical.

The view on the ride from San Isidro to San Jose.

What a beautiful country. I have to say that Turner is lucky to live there. Even if I miss her dearly and only see her every six months it is a lovely place to be.

L.

Watch Out. It's Insect Terrorists!

A week ago Friday, my life started at 3:30 a.m. Dave and I were to leave Little Rock at 6 a.m. fly to Atlanta then San Jose, Costa Rica for a fun-filled vacation with my dear, dear friend Turner.

Fun-filled indeed! At least as soon as we finally managed to get out of Atlanta.

We arrived at the airport at 4:35 a.m. only to find that our flight to Atlanta was delayed." Why was it delayed," you ask. "Weather?" No. We were delayed at 6 a.m. because of crew rest. Yes, crew rest. You might think that Delta could have a crew ready to go so early in the morning, but no.


We stood in line for over an hour only to find out that we couldn't get on another flight and would have to wait until 8:30 a.m. We were all but assured to miss our 10 a.m. connection and would have to wait in Atlanta for the next flight to San Jose, which was a 6:45 p.m. Yes, p.m.


So we did.


We made it to San Jose somewhere around midnight only a few short hours from a full 24 hour traveling period. Turner was, thankfully, at the airport dutifully waiting. We made it to a hotel, crashed and started the full vacation the next day.


After breakfast and a bit of catching up, we headed to the bus station for the ride to Manuel Antonio. Once we figured out where to purchase bus tickets, we learned that the next bus was the "collectivo," which basically means the bus that drops people off and picks people up in each town. Happy to see a bit of "real Costa Rica" we boarded the bus and departed.


The bus was a little crowded to say the least. Two rows of people standing in the aisles and windows that woudn't open. A young boy standing behind our seats finally figured out how to get the window cracked, and I was thrilled with life. I was catching up with Turner, whom I hadn't seen for six months, I was in Costa Rica, and life was all around grand.


As we're driving down a curvy and crazy highway I suddenly heard a whooshing sound from the window and chalked it up to the tall grass on the side of the road. Well, right up until the bus stopped.


That whooshing sound was really passenger bags flying out of the opened cargo compartment under the bus. Passengers exited the bus and walked a solid half mile down the highway to retrieve their luggage.


Real Costa Rica indeed.


We made it to Manuel Antonio, checked into our bungalow, which we all noticed had a very distinct smell and left for drinks and dinner at the nearest restaurant. The next day we hit the beach, relaxed and all around enjoyed ourselves.


Upon returning to said bungalow, we noticed the smell was much more pronounced and was clearly coming from the plumbing. Dave took it upon himself to locate a plunger and went to town.


The next thing I know the smell of raw sewage on the bungalow porch was prominent and water was running down the moutain. Dave had certainly fixed the plumbing problem!


He turned on the faucets to fully run through the system, and we were pleased with our Take Control of the Situation Solution. After a good night's sleep we were ready to clean up and move forward on our trip. Little did we know that our Take Control of the Situation Solution had completely run the place out of water.

Real Costa Rica indeed.


We took this opportunity to exit the premises as quickly as possible and head the the next destination--Dominical.


Dominical is a lovely little surfing village with a few bars, a couple of hotels, and Tropical Pancakes. Yes, these are pancakes with bananas cooked inside. My mouth is watering just thinking about them. Dominical is also a two hour bus ride from Manuel Antonio on a gravel road. Yes, I said gravel.


We found a lovely little hotel with air conditioning and good plumbing and settled into some serious beach time.


We hit the beach, had some beers and all around enjoyed our first evening. The next day we did pretty much the same thing, finding ourselves completely relaxed (I found myself somewhat intoxicated) in a little bar and decided that a full ping pong tournament was the necessary next step for the evening. I went to locate another round and Dave and Turner started what was sure to be an epic tournament. The next thing I know Turner can't stand up, can't sit down, can't walk. Yep, so relaxed her back went out.


Playing. Ping. Pong.


We got back to the hotel, and I had high hopes that four Aleve and a good rest would knock out the pain, and we'd be in decent shape to head to San Isidro the next day. Not so much.


At 5:30 a.m. I awoke to a knock on the door and Turner telling us she needed to get to a doctor. And fast.


Well, there's no such thing as getting to a doctor fast in Dominical. The maintenince person at the hotel told us there was no doctor and worse, no pharmacy, in town.

Real Costa Rica indeed.


With few options we decided to have breakfast and work out a strategy. This is when the heavens opened.

From the next table we hear in a very American accent, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but are you looking for a doctor?"


Our heads turned quickly to say in unison, "yes!"


Brandon, our table neighbor, was from San Fransisco and just luckily his wife was a doctor who was currently visiting with the local doctor. What? There's a local doctor?


Brandon brought back said wife who advised to dull the pain with Advil and informed us that the town doctor did exist and spoke English.


Dave hightailed it (as we say in South AR) and set an appointment with the doctor for 3o minutes later. In the meantime we ran into Swiss Family Robinson who gave us their last Olfen Patch, which appeared to be some type of an Icy Hot patch and wished us luck.


Dr. Gonzales was an extremely nice man who fixed Turner right on up and called us a cab for the 2o mile ride to the neighborhing town to visit the pharmacy.

We got back to town, Turner turned to the bed for rest and what I assumed were powerful pain killers, and Dave and I hit the beach.


We returned to find Turner right as rain and Swiss Family Robinson as our new neighbors (we had to switch hotel rooms when we realized we'd need to stay another night).


We had a few beers, a hilarious dinner since everyone in the hotel knew of our unfortunate back injury, and a lovely time.


The next morning as we packed Dave realized we couldn't take our recently purchased bug spray back home since we were carrying on all our luggage and it was larger than the requisite 3 oz. allowed liquid container.


Dave turned to Swiss Family Robinson to give them the bug spray when father (later referred to as Don Olfen Patch) said, "You can't take this back to the US?" "No," I replied. "It's too big to carry on the plane."

"What?" Don Olfen Patch said. "Will they think you're insect terrorists?"


____________________________________________________________________

What a great trip. Really. It's the most eventful vacation I've ever had. I hate that Turner was hurt, and I've never seen someone in such pain, but, man, will I be telling these stories for years to come.

L.







See those clothes hanging on the line behind me? Yep, those are ours. We located someone to do a load of laundry for us (we were traveling extremely lightly). Dave and I were walking down the street that afternoon and saw our clothes on the line. Of course, there's never a better time for a photo!


Real Costa Rica indeed.

Back in Black

We're back, but just barely.

There's so much to tell, but I just don't have it in me tonight to tell it. Let's just say that it was an eventful vacation. From spending eight hours in the Atlanta airport to bags flying out from underneath a bus to plumbing to searching for a doctor in a foreign country it has been an interesting trip.

More to come on this amazing experience.


L.

PS. A teaser, here is a picture of us at a pharmacy. More on why we had to go to a pharmacy later.

Leaving On A Jet Plane

Tomorrow at 6 a.m. we're off to Costa Rica for good times and old friends.

Because of that, we will have no posting between now and at least July 19.

As my brother continues to say (even though it's been out of fashion for about 15 years), "catch you on the flip side."

L.

See It With Your Own Eyes

Opthamology is a crazy little world. This is me two years ago.


I don't wear the glasses anymore.

Who would have ever believed that my crazy opthamologist in DC's Union Station would have been right? She told me that if I wore my glasses only when I needed them, and I always read, books or computers, without them, my eyesight would improve.

At the time I called her crazy, but now I can't stand to wear the things because I see better without them, they give me headaches, and my current opthamologist thinks it's insane that I ever had a prescription in the first place.

I suppose she wasn't so crazy after all.

Shows you what I know.

L.

The Final Countdown. Part III

In five days, we'll see you!

We miss you!!
L.

Independence Day

It's July 3, and I hear fireworks going off all around me, but all I smell is honeysuckle.

Which begs the question, how on earth has our honeysuckle lasted so long this year? It's July. Shouldn't it be long dead from the heat?

Also, moving into a new neighborhood always presents an opportunity to observe new people in a new environment. What we've found is that this new environment is absolutely fantastic. We really couldn't have found a better neighborhood.

Here are some of the things we've seen so far:


1--The elderly woman, and by elderly maybe 70-years-old, at the end of the street throws birdseed out in her driveway to attract birds, squirrels, chipmunks, every morning only to sweep it up every evening. I guess she puts out the same birdseed every morning?


2--J., our next door neighbor, is apparently a retired nurse, but when she invites all her "old nursing friends" over, she comes to our house to invite us to join them for "cocktail hour," which lasts until 1 a.m.


3--Jack, the next door neighbor to the other side of our house from J., is an avid gardener. He rang the doorbell three days ago to drop off okra and squash from his garden simply because we're his neighbors.


4--The tree at the edge of our property and the edge of Jack's property is really an apple tree. Really. An apple tree. I've never seen one in real life. And it actually produces eatable apples.


5--The neighborhood kids, and by "neighborhood" I mean the kids on our street and the street perpendicular to ours, spend hours each day riding bicycles in circles around the cul de sac that ends at our driveway. They also play with balls, rackets, and toy trucks that often end up staying the night in our front yard. They're lovely kids, and they wave, and wave, and wave when you drive past.


I just love our neighborhood. It's like a little piece of my hometown, Foreman, in the middle of a city. I see kids on bicycles converge at the end of the road, take off their helmets and goof off with no parental unit in sight.

It's just that safe. It's a place where everyone looks after everyone else, and we're all in this crazy world together.


We couldn't have found a better place, a neighborhood, a better community to live.

I guess we just lucked out.


Here's our house in the major March snowfall. I really have to go take some new pictures.


L.

RIP

Bozo the Clown, an iconic figure of my childhood, has died.

Rest in Peace, Bozo. Hopefully, God calls you by your real name...whatever that may be. You'll always be Bozo to me.
L.

The Final Countdown, Part II

Nine days. That's it. Until I'm standing in Costa Rica talking to Turner.

So fun.

This is me taking a picture of me at the Lakeport Plantation in September 2007.

Soon, it will be me standing in Costa Rica with Turner.

I seriously can't wait another minute, much less nine days.

L.

Hail To The Chief

I left work this afternoon at 4:50 p.m. Usually, this means that I arrive home somewhere around say 5:05 p.m.

Not today. I arrived at 5:55 p.m.

The President was in town. And while I fully recognize and appreciate that the President should be able to travel unimpeded at whatever time of day he chooses, maybe his schedule could be arranged to avoid major rush hour in a major city.

If not, maybe the local police force could direct traffic away from the excitement rather than toward it.

Here's what happened:

I'm driving from downtown up Cantrell, a major road that carries significant traffic at 5 p.m., when I cross Kavanaugh and suddenly policemen canvass the area and start redirecting traffic.

Now, for those of you who know Little Rock, I was sitting directly in front of the Heights Kroger heading west and was redirected toward the right directly to Kavanaugh Avenue in the Heights.

I wasn't sure why I had to turn, but knew that at this time of day, Kavanaugh is usually a little clogged because people are trying to turn left further down the road with no left turn signal.

So, knowing that what I needed to do was head toward west toward my neighborhood, Leawood, but knowing the Heights area well (because we once lived in the neighboring community, Cammack Village), I turned down a side street thinking I'd cross Cammack Village, run through the Kingwood neighborhood, and be in Leawood in minutes. Not so much.

I hit that side street and then another policeman. Luckily a woman walking stopped at my window and told me that President Bush was at the end of Cammack Village (the area I'd planned to cut through) and all the streets were blocked. Indefinitely. Until he was leaving.

So I turned around and ended up right back where I'd started on Kavanaugh where I sat for 20 minutes...waiting for the motorcade to pass.

During those 20 minutes I had plenty of time to think.

Why couldn't the Little Rock police just direct me left at Cantrell into Hillcrest, away from the President's engagement rather than right, which was directly toward it? There was a street to to the left I could have easily turned onto except the police had it blocked, too. Why did they lead me more into the thick of things rather that push me away from them?

Is that so hard? I could have driven into Hillcrest, taken Evergreen, and been in Leawood in under 2 minutes.

Instead of the Little Rock police realizing that traffic direction could have made more sense, I waited and waited and waited...burning $4 a gallon of gasoline while smoking a $4 pack of cigarettes.

Do you think the government will reimburse me?

L.

Flag Day

Yesterday as I was driving home from work I realized that about halfway up Leatrice, the street leading toward my home, suddenly had small American flags on sticks sitting at the end of every driveway. It was clear that each wooden stick had a note attached.

My first thought was that it was a yard company placing flags in yards they tend with a little note from "Green Thumb" or whatever the company name might be.

Then I turned onto Windy Court, our street, and realized the signs continued down it, to the cul de sac, where our house is, and what do you know, there's a flag there, too.

Now, our yard company is "Dave and Linsley, Inc." so I knew I was wrong in my first assumption.

So, I walked to the end of the driveway and read the card.

"Have a safe and happy holiday. Courtesy of Bob Anonymous" (Bob had a real last name, but I won't post it here).

Wait a minute? There's just some guy in the neighborhood putting these flags out for everyone simply because it's Independence Day?

How...absolutely...lovely.

So, this morning I'm driving back down Leatrice, when I realize that the flags continue further down the road than yesterday and continue all the way from Leatrice to Biscayne, the street that really brings the neighborhood together, then all the way up Biscanye to Cantrell, the main thoroughfare, and seemingly in every cul de sac along the way.

On my way home from work, I take a different road and see that houses further down Biscayne than I'd seen this morning have flags, too, as do all the side streets.

Bob Anonymous. Thank you.

What a wonderful gesture. If those flags don't show up by July 2 next year, I'll foot the bill, and the walking time, for them.

They've made my day.

L.

PS--If I can get the right light and the right angle I'll take a photo of them down the hill from our street. It really is a delightful sight. Unfortunately, today was trash day, so all you'd notice would be the trash cans at the curb, not the flags.

Where Creators Create

I have just loved this.

It's pictures and stories of where writers develop their craft.

One day I'll take a picture of where I do my, and where Dave does his, best writing. It's two separate places.

Dave gets the office, which is as a person who works from home all day his own place to be and create. He does it, with such amazing ability, early in the morning.

I, on the other hand, generally sit outside at night where I can smoke and feel as though my thoughts can roam more freely in the air.

We also typically write different things, which means that we need different atmospheres.

A writing household can sometimes be quiet, but in the quietness we find our own type of comfort.

Two souls thinking. All the time.

Thinking about what we could, what we should, and what we will say. More often than not we say it to one another, but some times we keep it to ourselves to put it down elsewhere.

It's a delightful life full of our love for one another, our books, and our distinct desire to put all on paper.

L.

"Don't Flirt With Me...

I'm busy playing a game."






I just love this picture. The kid in the red is one of my nephews. Do I know which one? No. After all, they're twins.

But, really, kids playing tee-ball crack me up. Clearly, one of my sweet innocent nephews was making every effort to use second base as an opportunity to flirt with a girl.


And it blew up in his face. Welcome to life, my dear friend. Girls will do this to you for years.



Just wait until you realize that it usually means they like you.



God help your parents.


L.

Ladybug, Ladybug, Where Are You?

It's possible that my mother made up the song, "Ladybug, Ladybug, where are you?" just so we could sing to ladybugs. In fact, I'm not sure that the song had another line to it, which makes it ever more likely that my mother made it up.

But the poor little, baby ladybug--it really was a baby, it wasn't near the size of a regular ladybug--I saw Friday, oh how my heart just bled for her.

Here I was sitting on my back deck enjoying unseasonably cool weather (and "by unseasonably cool" I mean I could sit outside and smoke without sweating) dialing up a friend on the phone only to look down in my glass of wine and find a baby ladybug floating near the top.

Poor old gal was either drunk as Cooter or long gone for this world.

Maybe that's the way to go--either drunk as the day is long or drowning in a vat of luscious, luscious pinot grigio.

It's probably more of a testament to my life than I realize.
L.


PS--For those of you wondering, I did finish that glass of wine. I would never throw one out just because there was a bug in it. As they say, you can take the girl out of southwest Arkansas, but you can't take the southwest Arkansas out of the girl.

Rap or Rep?

I took this months and months ago in Texarkana. I've been holding onto because I had to have it made into a postcard to send to my friend, Turner, in Costa Rica, and I didn't want her to see it on the blog before she could get it in postcard form.

I told her, and I'll tell you, too. I think God is getting a bad rap in Texarkana.

Question of the day: Is the saying "a bad rep" as in "reputation" or "a bad rap" as in...well, I don't know what.

You never can tell with me, I grew up hearing and saying things in such a deep southern/hick/redneck accent it could very well be "rep" not "rap" and I'd never know it.

If you know the answer, please let me know.

L.