Skip to main content

60 days -- and counting -- to paradise

As you can see, I have added a countdown clock to my blog. I replaced the now defunct (thank the stars) Bush's-last-day countdown with one ticking off the time to our vacation. We are going to Monterey, Calif., in March to celebrate our ninth wedding anniversary. (Thank you Mom and Dad for the babysitting services!!!)

Tim just noticed a new article in the NY Times featuring info about Carmel-by-the-Sea, Monterey's next door neighbor and former home of Ansel Adams, among others. Clint Eastwood used to be mayor of the town and still owns a restaurant there. I was already excited to go but this article has me drooling and wishing the clock would move faster, already!

Jealous?! We haven't been to the coast in something like a dozen years. We haven't been much of anywhere in the last five or six. We've earned it.

Comments

Sounds like a terrific vacation!! I'm sure you'll have a great time. Congrats!
AnneR said…
Friends of mine just got back from Carmel and are gushing about it. Yay you!
Anonymous said…
Lucky you!! It is indeed a great place, and the aquarium is fun.

Sara M.

Popular posts from this blog

Holy Separated-At-Birth, Batman!

Gary Oldman...meet Uncle Knit-Knots from Imagination Movers.

So, I Changed My Mind

More than four years ago, the blog and I parted ways. I needed a change. A whole lot happened in my world since then. I switched jobs a couple times. My kid went from an elementary school tween to a teenage high schooler. We built a new house and moved. Both my parents and my sister have passed. The world around me changed as well. Mass shootings, racism, the #metoo movement, a misogynistic bigoted narcissist in the White House ... go ahead, add to the list. Toss your woes into this dumpster fire we call 2019.  I appreciate my previous sentiment, that I was no longer wandering. But let's be honest, we're all trying to find our way through this mess. I decided to reboot the blog to give myself a creative outlet, a way to sort through the confusion and frustration and attempt to make sense of it all. I have a voice, and I'm not keen to silence it anymore. Guess what? I'm back, bitches.

In memoriam...

I remember the first time I heard the name "Les Anderson." A bunch of Wichita State University communication majors were sitting around on campus, talking about classes they planned to take. Several people warned me: watch out for Les Anderson. He was tough. He had a murderous grading scale. It was nearly impossible to get an A. They weren't kidding. But he wasn't tough just to be a tyrant. From his teaching sprang a fleet of incredible, successful journalists, writers, editors, broadcasters, public relations experts, advertisers, non-profit professionals...I could go on and on. Most importantly, he created a legion of people who wanted to make a difference in the world. The greatest gift Les gave to them all? He believed in them, cared about them for their own personal stories as well as the stories they told for class assignments or in the pages of his hometown newspaper. Les was my teacher. My boss. My mentor. My conscience. My champion. My friend. When I started c...