And Away We Go…

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I keep thinking about Marilyn’s post from either last week or the week before where she talked about what it was like to grow up in Los Angeles before it became “LA” or the “Left Coast.” A much simpler time, she would often take a book, lounge under a tree in front of a stranger’s house and relax for an afternoon. I commented that we used to get thrown outside for the day after breakfast—and without sunscreen (that’s how long ago that was!)—and play with the twenty or thirty kids in the neighborhood, careful of the ones who had their licenses and tooled around the hood in cars or even worse, motorcycles. One summer, during an Olympic year, we set up an elaborate obstacle course and held Olympic trials that everyone participated in and which included such events as the limbo, the hide-and-seek tournament, and the hurdles. Everyone took turns and almost everyone bettered their score as the summer progressed. Elaborate scorekeeping was definitely part of the process.

Our kids are heading off to camp. When I was a kid, nobody I knew went to camp. With twenty or thirty kids in the neighborhood, who needed camp? We could run around outside, unfettered, for hours. Danger didn’t lurk around every corner like it seemingly does these days, and everyone had a great time. But now, once the winter semester is over, mothers (mostly) talk about what their kids are doing for the summer, who knows the best camps, where you can find the most reliable transportation to camp, who’s going to Bronx Zoo camp, who’s going to sleepaway camp for seven weeks, etc. For the past few summers, child #1 has been going to sleepaway camp for twelve days with her best friend, whose brother joined them last year. And this year, child #2 will join the group and attend with them for mini-session #2, which is a twelve day stay at a very rustic, yet charming, camp on a lake not terribly far from here.

God bless hubby’s heart because he’s done most of the camp preparation. Camp preparation includes stamping every piece of clothing—and that includes EVERY sock—with the child’s name, just in case they send their laundry out during the twelve days that they are at camp. A trip to Target last week netted a cache of $337.00 worth of camp supplies—body wash, shampoo, deodorant, toothpaste, a new trunk for child #2, extra bathing suits, extra underwear, and extra socks—most of which I’ll never see again, I imagine. Right now, husband is washing sheets and pillowcases so that they can be stowed in the trunk. They will return as they have in the past, but I guarantee you that they will smell like a combination of earth, mud, moisture, and sweat. Everything that returns from camp does and has to be washed repeatedly until it smells like home again.

The kids return smelling that way, too, incidentally.

Child #2 is very excited but if not a bit nervous. But being as he is extremely gregarious and would talk to a brick wall, I’m not terribly concerned. I keep telling him, “It’s twelve days. It’s not even two weeks. And you’ve got your sister, and her best friend, and her best friend’s brother. You’ll be home before you know it.” Maybe I’m just trying to convince myself?

The camp phenomenon is relatively new to me. I do have good friends who attended camp every summer, all summer long and they are wistful for their time there. I don’t feel like I’ve missed out on anything but when my friends get talking about “color wars” and camp sing-alongs, I wonder what it must have been like to pack up at the beginning of the summer and leave home and kin to spend the summer with people who they still remain friends with.

Did you go to camp? What are your best memories? What, in essence, did I miss?

Maggie Barbieri

On the Road Again

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I’m writing this ahead of time because today hubby and I are headed from our place in the mountains over the flatlands, then the coastal mountains, down Highway 101 along the Pacific Coast to Santa Maria, California.

Once there, we will spend three days at the Santa Maria Fair in the Fine Arts Exhibit along with artists, I suppose, and a handful of authors. We’re doing readings, will have our books on display, and hopefully sell some. It will be interesting to see how will we compete with all the other intriguing things that are at a county fair. I’m always willing to try something once.

Actually, I think it’ll be fun. My time slot is 11 to 4 on July 15, 16, 17. That means we’ll have time for a leisurely breakfast and plenty of time in the evening to find a great restaurant with seafood and maybe even a movie theater close by.

We’ve been doing a lot of stuff around the house–cleaning up mostly, thankfully we’ve got a grandson in his twenties who manages to pop up here from time to time with a friend in tow. They usually need some money and I’m quite willing to pay for the work they do, and they’ve done plenty for us including remodeling and painting a couple of rooms so we could change our bedroom from upstairs to down.

Anyway, a nice vacation combined with book selling sounds pretty good right now. Maybe I might even get a few pictures.

Marilyn a.k.a. F. M. Meredith
http://fictionforyou.com

Comfort Food

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In times of stress, my stomach tends to rebel. No Chinese take-out, thank you. No spicy hot wings. No dark chocolate — which is the biggest surprise of all.

For me, when under stress, I turn to the foods of my childhood. Simple, plain, no fancy condiments, perhaps a touch of mayo to sweeten the chicken sandwich, on whole wheat, with a slice of tomato. Yum.

Anolther safe choice? Chicken soup, with or without a matzoh ball, but noodles are a nice touch.

Potatoes in almost any form, although probably not fried as too much grease just lingers.

I find comfort in the memories of meals eaten with those I love. My mother, the original Evelyn, was, no offense Mom, a miserable cook. But I cherish the scenes in my mind of us sitting at the holiday table, with a bountiful selection of the favorites of my father, my sister, and me. Of course, she had ordered it all in from a local catering hall, but the choices were made with deliberate attention to what each of us would enjoy.

We all know that material things aren’t what make us happy or fulfilled. Don’t get me wrong. I love a new pair of shoes more than most. But lately, with a variety of problems popping up, I find comfort in eating that chicken sandwich and remembering the comfort I got from those who made it with love.

What foods give you comfort?

Evelyn David

A Perfect Role Model

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In 2008, Stefanie Pintoff became the inaugural winner of the St. Martin’s Minotaur / MWA Best First Crime Novel Award with her novel, In the Shadow of Gotham. It is the first in a new series where early criminal science meets the dark side of old New York. A graduate of Columbia Law School, she also has a Ph.D. in literature from New York University. A former attorney and teacher, she now writes full-time and lives in New York with her husband, daughter, and their family dog. Her second novel, titled The Darkest Verse, is forthcoming in 2010.

My debut novel, In the Shadow of Gotham, was published by St. Martin’s Minotaur almost three months ago. The experience of having a book in print is at once exhilarating and more than a little scary.

There are moments when you feel on top of the world. Seeing your book on a local bookstore’s shelves. Getting a call asking you to come back and sign more copies, because they just sold out. Seeing a great review. Getting letters and emails from readers who want to tell you how much they enjoyed the book – and can’t wait for the next one.

There are other moments too, of course. Worrying whether readers – and reviewers – will like it. Whether anyone will buy it, or want to come to my signings and events.

I’m told that these highs and lows are par for the course – part of any author’s life, whether the first book or the twentieth.

My goal is to take it all in stride. Celebrate the highs and downplay the lows. Well, this is easier said than done. But, I guess I shouldn’t complain. After all, I have the perfect role model living under the same roof as me: another member of my family with literary chops, who couldn’t care less about book reviews or sales figures. My dog, Ginger.

This is Ginger.
She is a mixed breed – part golden retriever, part standard poodle. People call her a goldendoodle, though neither my husband nor I manage to say it with a straight face. She’s a great dog, despite the ridiculous name.

Ginger beat me to publication by about three years – for her book, Goldendoodle, released by Kennel Club Books, came out in June 2006. Ginger, of course, did not write it; her breeder, Kathryn Lee, is the author. But Ginger is the face of the book – the cover dog, so to speak. And once Ginger was chosen (she’s featured in additional photos inside the book as well), we were invested in what we came to consider “her” book. [please insert photo of Ginger book cover]

And Ginger treated the publication process exactly as one should. She had nothing but fun!

It started with the day that professional animal photographer Mary Bloom came to the house for the photoshoot. Ginger was brushed and coiffed, then taken outside to secure the perfect photograph. Mary needed a particular look: paws in a certain position, head facing front, and of course – the right expression on Ginger’s face. To us, it looked like work. To Ginger, it was all about the rewards – toys and cookies – for a job well done.

Three years later, I experienced a mild case of déjà vu. My friend and professional photographer Alison Sheehy came over to our house. I was brushed and coiffed, then taken outside in search of the perfect book jacket photograph. Ginger came, too – and I was reminded this was meant to be fun, not stressful (although, I think, Ginger was imminently more successful in this endeavor once again).

Well, we bought Ginger’s book and so did our family and friends. We talked it up, displayed it on our coffee tables, and enjoyed the moment.

Now we do much the same, but with a certain New York turn-of-the-century historical mystery novel.

Just checked Amazon. At the moment of this writing, my novel has a higher ranking than Ginger’s book. Ah, but Amazon rankings are fickle things, with plenty of highs and lows for all but the most established bestseller. And Ginger’s book continues to do well, even after three years. Not only is it well-written, filled with good information by a respected breeder, but it’s also chock-full of adorable puppies and dogs.

Ginger has the perfect attitude. Have fun and enjoy the attention. Ignore what is beyond your control. Because having a book out – and a dream realized – is a treat worth savoring.

Stefanie

Some Assembly Required

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I purchased a vacuum cleaner yesterday – a Hoover Wind Tunnel Bagged & Bagless with Pet Hair tool.

I don’t have a pet, but since I have long hair …

I got the Hoover because I’ve always had Hoovers. This will be my fourth in 25 years. So not a bad track record. My old Hoover upright still had a lot of suction but the last two times I used it … well there was this burning odor. Made me nervous. Plus it made the house smell like an ashtray. Remember those? Do people even have ashtrays any more?

Okay – back to the vacuum cleaner story.

So … I’ve been looking on-line to find the perfect vacuum cleaner. Okay, an almost perfect vacuum cleaner. The perfect one would have a maid attached. I also had to consider price. I didn’t want my vacuum cleaner to cost more than my car.

I also wanted to try a bagless vacuum. I have a terrible time remembering to buy vacuum cleaner bags and then when I remember to buy them, I can’t remember what kind of bag my vacuum cleaner needs. So a bagless vacuum seems like a good solution.

Of course I’ve heard that bagless vacuums have less suction power than bagged vacuums. And I do have lots of allergies – in particular an allergy to house dust. But don’t you think that if I will use a bagless vacuum more often because I don’t have to fool with bags, that fact would even out the negative of less suction?

When I found this model that offered both a bagged and a bagless option on the same vacuum, I bought it. I ordered it on line, then picked it up at the store. No shipping costs that way.

The box holding the vacuum was at least four feet tall. That freaked me out a little, but after I got it and the packing out of the box it was the regulation height for an upright vacuum.

Then the hard part started. A label on the box indicated that there was some assembly required. Always a bad sign. If the manufacturer is going to put something in a box that is almost twice the size of the item, why can’t they send it assembled?

The handle was not attached to the vacuum. The hose carrier was not attached. I got out my reading glasses and a screw driver.

There was a little piece of cardboard on the handle that had a message in size 6 font – it said, “Remove before attaching handle.” So I removed it. A little annoyed that I had to assemble anything, I vigorously removed it. The cardboard was holding four screws that I didn’t see before ripping the cardboard off. I spent about 30 minutes searching the carpet for the four screws that had gone flying.

After finally attaching the handle and hose carrier, I was ready to check out the bagged and bagless canisters. You choose one and insert it into the vacuum assembly. The bagged option had a bag already in the canister. The bag was attached to a plastic piece. The plastic piece should have been hooked at the top and bottom to the canister – it wasn’t. I spent about an hour trying to attach it.

Finally I took the bag off the plastic piece and then worked to attach the plastic piece into two tiny slots on the canister. I was afraid I was going to break the canister. There was a tag on the plastic piece that said, “Do Not Remove.” No kidding!

Apparently in the shipping process someone had removed it. Two broken nails and 30 minutes later, the plastic piece was snapped into the canister. Then I added the bag.

Finally assembled, it looked very nice – black, smoky gray, with a copper colored chassis.

I should have plugged it in last night and tried it out.

But it was late when I finished, almost 9 pm. I’d been at it for 3 hours.

I think that’s enough housework for any one day.

I guess I should have held out for the model with the maid.

Evelyn David

Vacation Time and the Living Is Easy

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Husband and I are headed for our first non-kid vacation in fifteen years soon and it is to our favorite place on earth (besides home sweet home, that is), Bermuda. We went to Bermuda three years ago with the kids, fell in love with it, and made a promise that we would return, alone, when we had the chance. We are so looking forward to the trip.

Now you may be asking yourself, why would a melanoma survivor—and someone who assiduously avoids the sun—pick a tropical locale so close to the equator to vacation? First reason is that despite the fact that I can’t swim, I love to swim. And I use that term loosely. My idea of swimming is a spastic doggy paddle/treading water/half American crawl that if you tried to replicate, you might pull a disk out and require immediate surgery. But it has been working for me for years and I’ve learned not to make too many waves with it, so once the other swimmers get used to a middle-aged woman in ankle-length, UV protectant swim tights and a mock turtleneck UV protectant swim shirt flailing about next to them, and are convinced she isn’t having a stroke, everyone has a great time. We also have hats, sunscreen that was created for when you’re actually standing on the sun (ok, not really, but close enough), and swim shoes to protect the feet. Guaranteed, I’ll be the palest person getting off the plane at JFK when we return from the island.

We picked a hotel with seven restaurants because another thing we’re not is intrepid travelers. If you all recall our honeymoon story, we once went off the grid for “authentic” south of the border food, only to have me pick up a parasite, which I’m pretty darn sure still resides in my lower intestine and makes an appearance every once in a while. I’m also pretty sure that it has created its own parasitic family, one that enjoys making me sick every few years or so. So, once we park ourselves at the resorts, it’s where we sit, eat, sleep, “swim”, and lounge for the next week. We’re also not motor scooter people (Dad once forbade me from riding them and I obeyed him—my sister, not so afraid of authority, rode them all through her high school senior year trip to the island and even flashed pictures in his face while I said a silent prayer in the corner; she was, in the words of my grandmother, “bold.”)—but we’re not averse to getting on one of the clearly-marked pastel Bermudian buses and riding into Hamilton for a little shopping and dining. I will resist the urge to buy a “Bermuda bag.” Remember those? They were big when I was in high school. They had a wooden handle and were oval shaped and you could change the fabric on the handle to one of a thousand pastel or paisley selections. I couldn’t carry one off in 1985 and I certainly can’t now. But I often get caught up in the local color and think that I must have whatever it is that they’re selling. A Bermuda bag, though, doesn’t go with my clogs and recycled grocery bag lifestyle. I think I’m old enough and wise enough to realize this but only time will tell.

This time, though, I’m determined to get to St. George, which I heard is an historic part of the island and where you can get a drink called the “dark and stormy” that is sweet but deadly. My kind of drink exactly.

We have plans to partake in some kayaking while we’re there, but I’ve also learned that once we settle in somewhere and regard all of the activities that other resort-goers are undertaking, we just live vicariously through them. We’re both so tired from the school year and my work schedule that while we have great hopes of kayaking, scuba diving, and other water adventures, I bet you anything that the most we’ll do is raise a hand to the bartender to bring us another rum swizzle. That will require most of our energy and we want to make sure we don’t run out of steam too early in the vacation.

I’ll give you a full report upon my return. I plan on returning parasite, and sunburn-free. What are your plans for the summer, Stiletto Gang readers and posters? Will it be full-on relaxation or an adventure vacation? Write in and let us know!

Maggie Barbieri

Earlier Times

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On a list I’m on, people were reminiscing about their childhoods and how kids could use their imaginations more because they played outside–no one organized them. Things have truly changed and I think it’s too bad–and the main reason is because it’s too dangerous.

Back in my younger days, I have a feeling there were just as many bad people around, we just didn’t hear about them so much.

I had lots of freedom. Mom really didn’t seem to care where I went as long as I was home by 5 for dinner. Also, if we heard my dad whistle, and he could whistle really loud, we better hustle on home. I did not grow up in the country, our home was in Los Angeles. We had hills behind our house where the Glendale Freeway is today. We usually didn’t hike in the hills unless we had a grown-up with us because hobos lived in the hills. And yes, they really did, we often saw their encampments though never them.

We did a lot of roller skating down the sidewalks, we lived on a hilly street and usually stopped by crashing into someone’s garage door. We also rode our bikes everywhere. I often rode off alone in the summer with my writing gear in my basket and a book to read, and parked myself several blocks away under a lovely willow tree on someone’s front lawn. (No, I didn’t know the people.) I would write and read and enjoy myself and no one ever told me to move along.

I can just imagine the people of the house saying, “There’s that strange little girl again.”

Though I spent a lot of time with my friends doing all sorts of things like digging tunnels in the vacant lot (to escape from the enemy–I grew up during WWII) and cococting poisons, putting on plays with the neighborhood kids, I also wandered around a lot by myself. Sometimes I even managed to get lost.

When my cousin and I were 10 our mothers let us go downtown (downtown L.A.) on the streetcar by ourselves. (What we didn’t know is they followed us on the very next street car.) We had strict orders to stay in the block between 5th and 6th and to only go in those stores. Because we did as we were told, we were allowed to go downtown by ourselves whenever we wanted after that. Back in those days you could buy a lot at the dime store with one dollar.

Visits to the library were a weekly event. Mom had to drive us there. I always got 10 books and read them all before the week was up.

When I was a bit older mom subscribed to a book club and she told me I couldn’t read the books–but I did after she finished them. (I’m sure she knew.)

My growing up years were filled with freedom and I truly know how blessed I was.

Marilyn a.k.a. F. M. Meredith

Highlights of The Southern Tour

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Give me my ruby red slippers, there is nothing quite so satisfying as coming home. I miss my kids (hubby was with me), my bed, my dog (more on that later), my favorite mug full of my favorite tea. I am a creature of habit.

But that being said, this trip was exhausting (6 events in 5 days), but oh so satisfying. Authors can easily get obsessed (or maybe just this author?) over Amazon rankings, checking constantly to see if there is any movement. The mood swings from exhilaration when the numbers suggest books have been sold to the depths of despair when it looks like no one will ever buy any book again – well it’s enough to give you a bad case of whiplash.

But when you’re on the road, actually meeting mystery lovers who have shown up and want to talk about whodunnits, is incentive enough to kickstart the next book in the Sullivan Investigations Series.

Some highlights of the trip:

Selling out twice at Barnes and Noble in Manassas! The manager had put up an end display a couple of days before my event. Sold so many books, he had to reorder – and then I sold every single one of them in two hours.

Visiting Mystery Loves Company – a wonderful bookstore in Oxford, Maryland, in an idyllic setting. Sold out of Murder Takes the Cake there!

Visiting Warrenton, Virginia – the setting of both Murder Off the Books and Murder Takes the Cake. The people were friendly and helpful, and I saw exactly the place where the next murder will occur! I also heard some fun and scary ghost stories about the area. Definitely fodder for Murder Ups the Ante (book three).

My talks at the libraries in Middleburg, VA, Cambridge, MD, and Delmar, DE. The librarians, Sheila Whetzel, Leslie Grove, and Veronica Schell were warm, welcoming, encouraging, and enthusiastic. In a time of economic difficulties, libraries are a national treasure. Many thanks to all.

Fabulous meal at Latitude 38 in Oxford, MD. Yum, Yum, Yum.

Wonderful mini-reunion with old college friends in Washington, DC. All these years later (and it is a looooong time since we were fresh-women together) – and the friendships endure.

Time alone with my husband. With work and family demands, it’s hard to find time to just chat. Long hours in the car were made fun because we were together. Yesterday was our anniversary and I’m so glad I’m married to this wonderful guy.

The recovery of Clio. Wouldn’t you just know that we leave town and the dog gets sick. Good news is she’ll be fine. Even better news, our daughter and son handled the situation perfectly. Poor pup developed a nasty cyst that got infected. Add in a series of thunderstorms which always leaves her terrified, and she’s had a rough few days. But she’s on the road to good health and is back gobbling treats with a vengeance.

My Blackberry. Yep, it was definitely worth the investment. While on the road, I could Facebook and Twitter, and keep up with business e-mails.

So I’m home (hooray), but there are more book events planned for the summer. But first, laundry, grocery shopping, and maybe even a chapter or two of book number three!

Evelyn David

Little Things Mean A Lot

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by Susan McBride

I find myself avoiding the evening news these days. I mostly tune in just to see the weather and hear any updates on off-season Blues hockey (hey, they just got a really good defenseman from Sweden who’s about 19 and cute as a button!). I’m not even very keen on reading online news. It’s like everywhere I look something awful’s happening: economies are collapsing, wars are going on, a military coup’s taken place, another celebrity has passed away, or a fat-cat financier’s going to jail (okay, that last one isn’t depressing at all really).

If anything good comes out of our own country’s current mess, I hope it’s people taking a look at their lives and realizing that little things mean a lot. I remember being in high school when Ralph Lauren was taking off, and we all begged our parents for anything with a tiny Polo man on it. “Greed is good,” Gordon Gekko declared, and everyone bought it. Pretty soon, too many folks were living on credit, buying houses, cars, electronics, and other bling they couldn’t afford. Right out of college, my sister had five major credit cards all charged to their limits. Meanwhile, post-university, I paid for everything in cash and had a heckuva time getting a Visa until I’d established a credit history. Then again, maybe that was a good thing as I don’t rely on credit cards much now.

Don’t get me wrong. I like nice things as much as the next gal. But once I was living off my own earnings, it was amazing how much I realized I could do without. What I couldn’t pay for with cash, I didn’t need. My grandfather had lived by that credo, and I see how right he was. I feel fortunate to have married a man who doesn’t need a lot of “stuff” to be happy.

Unfortunately, these days everything that’s affordable seems to be made in China. I’m sure tons of folks like me would rather buy “Made in the USA,” only it’s hard to find. Honestly, I’ve had enough T-shirts that fall apart at the seams after one wearing to be willing to pay more for something that’s domestically produced by skillful adults, not by children in sweat shops. Wouldn’t it be lovely if more companies returned from overseas and got the manufacturing biz humming in this country again?

As kids, we didn’t care about labels or impressing anyone with status symbols. The simplest things were the most fun, like catching fireflies on a warm summer night; running through the sprinkler in our bathing suits; finding clover and weaving it into a necklace; baking cookies in grandma’s kitchen. I’m not sure when the “gotta have it” syndrome sets in or what causes it. Too bad there’s not a vaccine to inoculate us against it.

I still think the best things in life are free, like taking walks in the park, chillin’ on the porch swing, going to art festivals, holding hands with your honey, or singing your lungs out to Def Leppard. Oh, and how cool is the sound of thunder and rain from a good old-fashioned summer storm (but not the kind that spawns tornadoes or knocks down power lines!)?

I’d like to hear some of the simple things in your lives that you love to do. And, whatever they are, I hope you get to do them plenty over this extended holiday weekend. Happy Fourth of July to everyone!

P.S. Speaking of fun free things: The Book Belles are giving away a tote bag full of signed books. Contest ends July 15 so there’s still time!

Coming In for a Landing!

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July 1, 2009, was the day of the big office move. I’ve mentioned before that my day job is with the Oklahoma Department of Mines. I’ve been there 25 years this month. About 20 of those years were spent in a rural field office. The building was nice when we moved in and after the landlord changed, became steadily less nice over the years. A total lack of maintenance will do that to a structure. Have you seen that television special on one of the science channels about would happen if all humans were gone tomorrow? It uses special photographic effects to show how long it would take for the plants and animals to remove all traces of human occupation. Doesn’t really take long. I imagine if the landlord doesn’t get a new renter in the next few months, that building will disappear as the plants and animals take it over.

The new office space was a long time coming. There is a standard 3-4 months of red-tape involved in any relocation of a state office. That’s if everything goes smoothly and the new building is vacant, meets state building codes, and the price doesn’t exceed price per square footage caps. The building we just moved into had to be remodeled before we could move in. The building was gutted, exterior walls removed, exposing the steel bones. The roof was left on, but before the remodel was over, it was replaced. All the plumbing was replaced. And while all that was going on – it rained. It rained for a couple of months straight. My carefully planned move schedule was doomed.

We moved out of our old building on the last working day of May. That’s right, May. For the entire month of June, my office has been my car and home. My employees have been working from home and another field office 60 miles away. It was fun for just about two days. Then it was just a hassle. Each day I drove into the town where the new office was, picked up the office mail from the Post Office (we had it forwarded to new address, then held as it became clear we would not have a June 1 move-in date despite the contractor’s assurances). After collecting the mail, I would go to the new building and check on the remodel progress. Most days there was very little.

Before leaving the old office we had “surplussed” a lot of our elderly furniture and ordered some new stuff- some matching stuff. Note: a field office usually gets castoff furniture from the main office and the main office gets new furniture. Our field office was no exception. I was using some furniture given to the state from the federal government when they closed an office in the early 1980s. The furniture itself was from the post-WWII era. My desk was big – you could land a plane on it. It was all metal – the heavy stuff – with the soft gummy top that is usually covered with a sheet of glass. My desk didn’t come with the glass so you had to be careful with what you set on the surface. A coffee cup ring was permanent if you didn’t use a coaster. Anything heavier, you had a permanent indention.

My boss encouraged me to pick out a new desk – of course it was going to be smaller (they stopped making the big ones) but the new office was going to be smaller too. So I agreed. Reluctantly. My old desk is gone. My new desk is still on order. I’m using a computer table as a desk now. Talk about small! By the time I get my new desk – another week maybe – I’ll probably be thrilled with the size.

On July 2, we hope not only be in the new office with all our boxes and furniture, but to have internet service. When that happens, maybe the new place will feel like home – so to speak.

There are still about 100 boxes to unpack.

Rhonda
aka The Southern Half of Evelyn David