READY OR NOT, THERE HE GOES...

No, I'm not ready.  But it doesn't matter.  In a few hours my son will be flying into war.  I'm sitting here, hoping the phone will ring so I can hear his voice once more before he leaves, and yet hoping that it doesn't because I wouldn't be able to bear having to eventually hang up and let him go. 

He called from a bar last night.  He was having his last beer for a year.  And he sang AC/DC's Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap to me when it blasted over the speakers.  He has no idea what he is getting in to.  None of them do.  They just have stories of glory and heroism that the older soldiers shared over beer and pizza after work.  They watch too much TV, too many movies.  Even the most graphic movies can never depict the horrors of a real war.  I don't even know myself what it is like, but I know its potential and no song played on a jukebox can ever really gear anyone up for the reality of it.

I'm babbling, I'm sorry.  I'm trying not to think, which only leads to worrying.  I've got to stop that.  Gabe says he's ready.  He says he'll be fine, that he is with a great unit.  I have to keep my faith in them, and in him.  In the mean time I will sit here and pray that all of this craziness ends soon.

And Gabe, son of mine, DON'T FORGET TO WEAR YOUR FIRE PROOF MAN-PANTIES! 

DICKIDOO'S BULLSEYE, and the antelope.

This is where I spent my day yesterday.  Before you get all impressed and inspired by the view, let me just add that there are no elevators or escalators to get up there.  I had to hike up.  And I'm not talk about a leisurely stroll up the hill with a picnic basket.  I'm talking sprinting in an effort to keep up with Dickidoo and his long legged friend.

I think Dickidoo was being spiteful because he knows I don't do 'up' and thats where he made me go, 'up'!  Earlier during our little outing he had asked me for some toilet paper.  I didn't have any so he grabbed a couple of crisp paper targets we use for shooting practice and he disappeared into the pinons.  After he took off I did a quick search of the truck and found a small packet of tissue.  I tried to call him back but I guess he didn't hear me.  I suppose I could have called out a little louder, but whats the fun in that?  When he came out from the bushes with a distintively uncomfortable waddle, I innocently asked if he had scored a bullseye, then showed him the tissue.  Needless to say he was not amused.

I had a lot of photo opportunities, including this one.  Have you ever seen an antelope do this before?  No?  Me either, so I zoomed in on it and took a few pictures... This was the first picture.  The next picture left no doubt what this antelope was doing! 

After spending the day running up and down the cliffs after the deer and sweating off a few hundred pounds I figured I'd done enough exercise to skip my daily crunches. I did do some weighlifting afterwards though.  I call them 'Corona curls'.  Miraculously every time I lifted my 12 oz. bottle of Corona it seemed to get a little lighter until it was practically weightless.  I like that weightlifting routine.  I think I can stick to it without much difficulty.

(I still can't get over the antelope squat!)

NEW MORNING ROUTINE

I bought a lifetime membership to the Spa Health and Fitness Centers when I was 21  .  Not a bad deal, a lifetime membership.  I intended on going to the Spa 3 times a week.  How could they afford to offer that kind of service?  I found out within a week.  They didn't intend on my lifetime being very long at all.  They tried to kill me.  They employed a sadistic arobics instructor.  She wanted to make an example out of me.  She said it was for my own good, and that she loved me.  I hated her!  After my workout I would go to Wendy's and wave to her over my taco salad as she crossed the parking lot.  She would smile and wave back, and then work that taco salad off twice as hard the next time.  I stopped going after a couple of months and dedicated my butt-jiggle to her because saggy-butt was her pet peeve.

I don't know if my lifetime membership is still good.  I don't care.  I would never go back.  I still twitch and tremble at the memory of the psycho gym warden.  In recent days though I have become inspired to become more fit.  Okay, maybe my inspiration came when I had to run up a hill behind Dickidoo and our 60 year old friend and I was the only one out of breath when we got to the top... At any rate, a quick inspection revealed that somewhere over the years I have lost sight of my lap... quite literally!  My stomach, which once upon a time used to be flat and firm, has taken up residence in my lap, obstucting my view.  So I have started a morning routine.

I'm not sure if 2 days qualifies as 'routine', but two days in a row, thats a record for me!  For the past two mornings I have done crunches.  And I don't me jaw crunches, I mean abdominal crunches.  Yesterday it was 20 couch crunches.  In case you aren't familiar with couch crunches, those are real crunches, only they are performed on the comfort of your couch or easy chair because you are too dang lazy to get up and lay on the floor.  This morning it was bed crunches.  Dickidoo tried to take credit for those, but no, really, I did 28 crunches in bed while he showered after our combined synchronized work-out.  I feel... revitalized.  I feel energized!  I feel years younger. 

No I don't! I feel like a fat, out of shape 45 year old woman.   Later, when I have the energy to do come serious thinking I will have to evaluate whether or not seeing my lap again is really worth all this.  After all I haven't seen it in years so its not like I'm going to miss it. 

Gonna marinade in the hot tub later tonight, thats for sure.   Hmmm, I wonder if I can squeeze in a few jacuzzi crunches.

PATIENCE... isn't just for hospitals!

Patience is a virtue, or so I've been told.  I wouldn't know.  I've been accused of many things in my life, but never patient or virtuous.  However, now at the age of 45 I guess its time for a few lifestyle changing lessons.  This old dog is going to try a new trick. And so I am giving patience a try.

Hard as it is, I must leave the mess and clutter to accumulate around my house.  The dirty dishes crust over as I wait eagerly for the inevidible call from 'Clean Sweep'.  I hold my breath every time I walk into my house, peeking with anticipation for evidence of a surprise visit from the cast and crew of 'While You Were Out'.  I run to the window, hoping that the black SUV with designer 'FAB5' plates has pulled up to my house.

As of yet, nothing.  And so I sit, patiently, in my messy abode, washing just what I need, afraid to straighten up anything for fear of being too neat and organized to qualify for the make-over.  With my luck they'll all pull up right about the same time the Publishers Clearing House representative arrives with my 3 foot cardboard check and balloon bouquet.  Well, thats a risk I'll just have to take.

I hope its Carson who comes to the door, he's just so darn cute and funny!  And that Kyan dude, wow!  He could  make a straight woman wish she were a gay guy!

Photo by:  BRAVO > Queer Eye

LETTER FROM GABE

Comment from: nativehopi  09/15/05

"hello to everyone that reads my moms journals and or mine. well as you all probaly know that im going to be leaving to a place were any sane person would be like "screw that" i just want to thank all of you for your support and to please help my mom threw probaly the hardest year of our lives. and to the globtrotter, no afence to the comrades things, cuz thats what we are to each other, brothers, family. thank you all for tha support once again. ill keep you all posted. laters

Love ya mom,
Gabriel"

PHOTOGRAPHERS AND PATRIOTS

I've started a photo/message journal on my other screenname (eek!  I'm running out of ftp space here!) featuring patriotic photographs and messages of support for our troops abroad.  Many of the camps are now equiped with internet access and I'd like to create a forum where the service men and women can see the amount of support their countrymen have for them on the homefront.

As many of you already know, my oldest son Gabe is deploying to Iraq at the end of September.  I have been keeping a journal of letters to him since he left for basic training in October of 2004.  Its scary that he hasn't even been in the Army for a year and he's already being sent to war.  Needless to say I'm scared to death but he is doing what he has always wanted to do... he's serving his country just like his father and grandfathers.  Gabe is one of my most loyal lurkers, he reads all of my journals although he rarely comments.  It is a window to his hometown and he is always peeking in every chance he gets.  I plan on continuing the entries to him during his absence because I know that if he has the chance he will be able to visit his homeland, even if its just a brief cyber-visit.

Please feel free to visit the journals and submit any photographs or messages you'd like to share with the brave men and women of the Armed Forces, the sons and daughters America.

WE SUPPORT OUR TROOPS! (photos & messages)

LETTERS TO GABE

A VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY, and a close encounter.

I had a fabulous birthday yesterday.  Thank you everyone who wished me a happy day, it was!  I had lunch with Dickidoo, and a cookout with the family, complete with cake.  Check out the hillbilly birthday candle.  Yep, its a tea light!  The kids couldn't find any birthday candles (probably not enough is more like it).  In the past we have used pillar candles, tapers, and yes, even matchsticks for birthday candles.  Gabe called last night to wish his mama a 'happy birthday'.  That was a gift in itself.  It looks like he won't be leaving until after the weekend.  That gives him a little more time to relax but unfortunately not enough time to visit with his son.  Little Zachary will be a year and a half old before he sees his daddy again.  Such is the life of a soldier.

Dickidoo called me bright and early this morning and asked if I was interested in a photo op.  Of course I was!  So I sped off to the base, illegally parked and met up with this cute little guy under a shady pine tree.  Unfortunately I did not have exclusive rights to the scoop.  Dickidoo mentioned its presence to a couple of other people and before I could return with a little bit of fruit to lure it closer, a crowd had gathered (including Pest Control) and spooked it off.   I guess I could have gotten closer, but I'm not the luckiest person I know and I probably would have gotten sprayed.  He was sooooo cute though.

WHEN I WAS A YOUNGER GIRL, (Journal Jar)

Today's question from the Journal Jar asks what we looked like as a child.  This is a school picture that I'm guessing was taken when I was about 8.  My eyes were always wide opened, as if I was looking for mischief.  And notice the perpetually crooked bangs and loose curls as my mom attempted somewhat in vain to make a little lady out of me, even if just for picture day.  I was always a nice tanned color which contributed to me being called 'black' by  a few ignorant students.  As a minority I was the victim of racial predjudice from an early age but because of my upbringing it hardly phased me.  If anything I think it taught me to stand up for myself and gave me strength through words and wit rather than physical violence.  I have never in all of my life been in a physical fight with anyone other than a sibling.  Nor can I recall ever having lost a verbal battle (although my siblings might disagree), even when the fight wasn't my own, thus the nickname given to me by my father... 'Buttinski'.  I was always so proud of that name although I'm sure it was never intended to be a compliment .

45!

Original Acrylic by Rocky (thanks babydoll!)

Dickidoo rudely woke me up with a birthday spanking.  Even through the thick fog of sleep I realized what he was doing and the countdown never made it to '11'.  There's aready enough for a woman my age to dread with each birthday, I don't need the threat of an ever increasing amount of birthday spankings added to the steadily growing list.

I think I'm over my little pity party.  Thanks to all of you who have expressed such heartfelt wishes and prayers for my son and our family.  It means a lot to me.  I really thought I was tough, I sent my husband off to war a few times in the past and I thought I could handle this.  Well, the stakes are a little different, as are the fears.  And so I now place the safety of my son in the hands of his unit, his country, his Maker... and his fireproof undies!

I'm not even going to bother to proof read this entry.  My keyboard is so sticky that I have to pull some of the keys back up as I type.  There was a little 'accident' last night involving an involuntary twitch and a glass of wine that had me banging my keyboard upside down to drain it while my son cackled like a witch on the sidelines.  (Haha Art, you just wait... I know where you live and you have to sleep sometime!)  Lessons learned:  While wine is a good source of antioxidants and is beneficial for your body, it is not recommended for your computer keyboard. 

I have 2 cordless phones in this house, so why is it that I can never find them when the phone rings, and then I have to run through the house like a mad rhino trying to get to one of the wall phones before the demented, possessed answering machine picks up the call?  I just about killed myself trying to answer the phone just now.  I'm 45!  I'm too dang old for this!  Wheres my Metamucil?  I'll be in the powder room playing Pocket Yahtzee...  please leave a message at the tone. Beeeeeeeeep!

NOTHING TO LAUGH ABOUT....

Someone once remarked about my ability to find humor in just about anything, and asked if there was something that I did not find funny.  I replied 'war'.  And now, with my son just hours away from war I am finding little to laugh about.  I have tried so many times to keep a positive upbeat to this journal, but the words always turn bleak and depressing.  I have been trying for weeks to avoid the whispers that grow louder with each second, the unthinkable 'what-if's' are deafening as I reach for blissful ignorance that is no longer within my grasp.  The time has come.

As a mother I feel I must remain strong and in control.  So I tell my son to wear his fire-proof man-panties, just incase our prayers aren't answered in time.  People promise to keep him in their prayers and I am grateful for I know where he's going he'll need all the prayers he can get.  I make promises to my other children that I have no control over the outcome to, and there is no guilt.  I spout the speech of a proud and positive mother.

And I am scared to death for my son.  I have never felt more insignificant in my life.  And never have I felt less like laughing.  

God bless and God speed my son.  Be safe, be strong and hurry home. 

LOOKING GOOD!

 Dickidoo invited me to tag along with him and our friend when they went turkey hunting this morning and naturally I jumped at the opportunity to take my camera out.  We went to the wildlife office to check out for the day and Dickidoo bumps into some guy he hasn't seen in over 5 years.  And they recognized each other!  Nobody I know who hadn't seen me in 5 years would be able to come up to me and actually recognize me after all that time, nor I them.  How do guys do it?  I know dogs recognize other dogs by sniffing each other's butt.  Is that how it works with guys?

So this guy looks at Dickidoo, who has put on a considerable amount of weight since they last saw each other, and he says 'You're looking good!'. 

Now wait a minute, Dickidoo gains weight and guys tell him he 'looks good'.  I've put on 5 pounds since I quit my job and when people see me they say 'Dang girl, you're getting fat!'. 

Obviously I don't 'look good' enough.  Not a problem,  I just scarfed down a cookies-n-cream ice cream sandwich and maybe later I'll scrounge up some milk and gingersnap cookies.   The things a woman must do to 'look good!'

JUST ONE OF THE GUYS (almost)

As I stand on the thresh-hold of '45' (which is just 5 years shy of half a century) I realize that I am still every bit of the tomboy that I was as a kid.  Oh, I'm not a total tomboy, I still have my feminine influences but truth be told, I'm more like one of the guys than I am like one of the girls.

I can belch with the best of them but I always follow up with 'excuse me'.

I'm good at playing 'quarters', the drinking game, but I always bail out early because of my allergy to alcohol.

I love football, but I pick my teams based on their team logo.  If they don't look cool, they don't deserve to win the Superbowl.

I actually enjoy smoking a pipe on a rare occasion, but the tobacco has to be fruit or icecream scented.

I like bugs, from a distance.

I love war movies, but I always cry when the heros die.

I love the mountains, but am terrified of heights ( yeah, I don't get that one either)

I hunt for food and clean my own kill, but hate getting guts under my fingernails.

I drive a big pick-up truck, and blast Phantom of the Opera from the cd player.

My favorite outfit consists of blue jeans, and a white lace blouse.

I cuss like a sailor, but substitute with names of fruit around the kids.

And yes, I FART!  but I'll always deny it because everyone knows that mommy's don't fart!

BABAN (in honor of Grandparents Day)

She was born in Okinawa and moved to Hawaii where she married and raised 9 children.  Her name was Uto.  She was my grandmother.  I called her Baban.  She called me many names.  'Number 1 fat girl' was one of her favorties, but 'Bakatare You!' rolled off her tongue more than once during any visit.  For the longest time I thought it was a term of endearment that she used for me.  I later found out it meant 'stupid', but by that time it had become my special name.

She called me lazy at least once a day.  Was I really lazy?  Well, of course I was, but I think I was lazier mostly because it was always so much fun to be lazy around Baban.  I never knew what tactic she would use to inspire me to work.  Once we ran several laps around the huge kitchen table as she brandished a broom aimed at my hiney.  The race stopped abruptly when she swung the broom at my head from across the table. 

Every summer and New Years was spent at Baban's house.  There were potlucks and luaus, picnics at the beach and all night sing-alongs in the carport.  Everyone in Kohola and most of Honolulu loved my grandparents.  When my grandfather became ill, he moved in with us.  I was saddened by his eventual passing, but I still had Baban.  She fought and won a battle with breast cancer, but would later fall victim once more.  Our last conversation, a week before her death, was one of shared memories and promises.  We would return to Kohala, she and I, and go fishing at Mahu Kona.  That night, when I turned to leave her for what would be the last time she called me 'Number 1 Good Girl'.

I returned to Kohaha on the Big Island of Hawaii the following summer as planned, but without her.  I walked along the rocky shore of Mahu Kona, the very rocks she loved to fish off of, and I could almost hear her laughter in the wind.  I could almost hear her voice shouting out above the pounding of the waves against the sharp black lava rocks 'Bakatare you number 1 fat girl!'  Oh how I wanted to hear her voice saying that one more time.

I took thispicture of  Baban at Mahu Kona during our last fishing trip together.  I think I was 19 at the time.  I didn't catch anything that day, I never did.  But I didn't go to fish.  I went to be with Baban.  Now that I am a grandmother I am chomping at the bit to be even half the grandmother she was to me.  I want to be a Baban!

RING AROUND THE TOILET?

I have come to the conclusion that the faint ring that encircles the inside of my toilet bowl is not a hardwater line as I once believed but is in fact the 'max fill' or 'holding capacity' line.  It is a mark of measurement not unlike what you would see on a measuring cup.  Don't believe me?  Go ahead, over fill it... I dare you! 

What they really need to do is to put a length limit warning somewhere.  Either that or make that bend at the bottom of the toilet (the siphon) with less of an angle.  With all the lumberjacks I seem to have in my house we need a toilet that can handle the big logs!  Its not such a wild request, if they can make an elongated seat, why can't they make an elongated siphon?  Come on Kohler, work with me guys!

Ever have a roll of toilet paper fall into the toilet?  Its not so bad when its an 'empty' toilet, but what about one that has been 'used'.  Here's my tip on how to get that roll out.  First of all, there's no real rush to retrieve it because lets face it, no matter how quickly you pull it out, there is no way you can salvage that roll.  Its a goner.  So, let it sit and soak.  In a short time it will become completely saturated.  All you need to do is swirl it around with the toilet brush until all of the paper pulp falls away from the cardboard roll.  Scoop the cardboard out with the brush and discard.  If the toilet is not too full (check your max fill line discribed above) you may flush the toilet. 

If it was a full roll you will have to use the manual flush method.  Get a bucket of water and pour into the toilet bowl.  The toilet should drain from the pressure.  If not, stop pouring in the water and stir your 'punch' again to break up any clumps before trying again.  Works like a charm.  Just becareful not to splash!

FAREWELL PICS, and the sound of music?

These pictures were taken at 5:30 am on September 5th, the day Gabe left.  In fact, Gabe should have been at the airport by 5, but he was still out with his friends!  The plan was for us to take some nice family portraits before he left.  Unfortunately, and true to form, this was as good as it got.  Don't we look like a bunch of hillbillies?  Well, thats because we are!

Rocky is in the school band.  She couldn't take up a nice quiet instument, like the violin or flute.  She chose percussion.  At first I thought that was pretty neat, and besides, there is no way that she could carry those things back and forth to school, so they would stay there, right?

Wrong!

I now have a snare drum and a xylophone in the livingroom.  My body is still jumping and twitching from post tramatic stress!  All afternoon and evening... ba da bang, da da dang.... ting a ling a ling!  And then again this morning.  Aghhhhhhh!

I was informed at the music store that 50% of the rental fee goes towards the purchase of a new drum if we so desire.  I so do NOT desire!  I gave the girl at the counter a look that said 'You are sooooooo NOT funny!'  She smiled because she obviously thought she was.  (butt!)

Art is playing the tuba this year.  He started out with a flute, but I guess that wasn't big enough so he took up the French horn.  Once he mastered that they assigned him to the tuba.  Why on earth would they give the smallest guy in the band the largest instument in the band?  That tuba probably weighs more than Art does!  Well, at least he doesn't have to bring it home.  Somehow I can't see my sanity surviving a snare drum and tuba duet.

I am flourishing in my newly discovered role of health nut.  I've never done anything good for myself voluntarily so knowing that my steady diet of antioxidant rich foods such as coffee, beer, wine, and potatoes is actually GOOD for me has been quite inspiring.  I may become an obese alcoholic, but at least I'll be cancer free and have a healthy heart!

DORN'S "7"

7 Things I Plan To Do Before I Die :
* Ride in a hotair balloon.
* Ride a train through the mountains.
* Visit Alaska
* Spoil my grandchildren
* Visit Pupukea one more time (Hawaii)
* Move farther into the mountains.
* Visit Okinawa

7 Things I Can  Do:
* Cook!  I love learning new dishes.
* Sew.
* Communicate with all ages.
* Field dress, process and cook big game.
* Fart in a crowd, undetected.
* Procrastinate and still get it done on time.
* Make babies (obviously!)

7 Things I Can't Do:
* I can't speak my grandparents' language (Okinawan)
* I can't swim laps in the water, but I love to snorkle.
* I can't stick to a routine.
* I can't save money.
* I can't walk away from a good fight.
* I can't commit to one church, one religion, one point of view.
* I can't leave well enough alone. 

7 Things That Attract Me to the Opposite Sex:
* Sence of humor
* Integrity
* Eyes (good eye contact and laugh lines!)
* Reliability
* Compassion
* Casual appearance (don't look like you spend more time in the bathroom than I do...)
* Balanced priorities.
(All of these are what drew me to Dickidoo)

7 Things I Say Most Often:
* 'Good Golly!'
* 'Aghhhhhh' (thats not really even a word)
* 'Later' (a one-size-fits-all time)
* 'Butt' (I get charged a quarter by Rocky every time I cuss so I use alternative words)
* 'Kaa kaa' (see above explanation)
* 'Okole' (Hawaiian for 'butt')
* 'Honey, I need ___,'or 'Honey, I want ___.' (to which Dickidoo usually responds with a laugh... that butt!) 

7 (4)Celebrity Crushes:
* John Denver (great poet/musician)
* John Wayne (he was my childhood hero)
* Steve Perry (Journey... so cute!)
* Alice Cooper (I think I liked him mostly because my father didn't)

7 People I Want to Do This:
(I'm not really into this forwarding stuff... does that make me a party pooper?)

Thanks to Donna from Dust Bunny Protector for the challenge.  (gotta love a journal with that name, huh?)

HOLY JAVA BEANS BATMAN!

According to WebMD, not only is coffee good, its good FOR you!  It has listed coffee as the #1 source of Antioxidants.  Antioxidants fight off cellular damage that can lead to diseases such as cancer and heart disease.  Here is the Antioxidant Top 10:

• Coffee (with a splash of hazelnut of course.)
• Black tea (Iced tea in the summer time, sweet with a slice of lemon!)
• Bananas (always loved them!)
• Dried beans (well, now we know how the oxidants are removed from the body... fumigation!)
• Corn (on the cob?  Why yes, thank you!)
• Red wine (buy it by the box... those corks are so over rated)
• Beer (lager style) (Will Corona do?)
• Apples (mom's apple pie... mmmmmm!)
• Tomatoes (love those beefcake... oh wait, I mean beefsteak...  I still love beefcake though)
• Potatoes (I'll take mine baked and loaded please!)

Check it out folks, I've been a health nut all along and never even knew it!  

TONY CHACHERE'S CREOLE SEASONING

If you eat a hardboiled egg, don't sprinkle Tony Chachere's Creole seasoning on it.  If you sprinkle Tony Chachere's Creole seasoning on your hardboiled egg, don't rub your eyes.  If you rub your eyes after sprinkling Tony Chachere's Creole seasoning on a hardboiled egg... procede immediately to the sink to rinse the fire out of your eyes with cool running water.  If you have not finished you hardboiled egg by now, you probably will not be in the mood for it any more.  If you managed to finish your little snack before the flames ignited upon contact with your eye's surface, you will probably forget that it was delicious.  You will probably forget everything except for one little notion:  Pain HURTS!

Further more, while you are attempting to recover from your painful encounter, do not be tempted to rub your nose unless you are sure no seasoning residue remains on your hand.  There are many unpleasant things to get on the tender membranes of your inner nostril.  Tony's Chachere Creole seasoning is on the top of the list.  It will have your nose running and burning at the same time.  You will experience the opposite of a fire-breathing dragon.   You will wonder why you have never heard of 'death by seasoning salt', because you know it must surely exist.

No where on the container is there a warning against contact with the eye or nose.  There are no emergency procedures or treatments.  No 1-800 number for accidental seasoning.  Not that I could have read it with flames shooting out from my eyelids.  Still, it would have been nice to know that I wasn't the first idiot to rub Tony's seasoning in my eyes and nose.  I do believe my eyelashes may have melted together. 

In closing, I just want to say that despite the risks, I love Tony Chachere's Creole seasoning, and recommend it for just about anything and everything... except for eyes and nostrils.

SMOKE SESSION, and the cellphone bill.

We had a home-coming party for Gabe Friday night.  It was the first time he and his dad were able to sit down and drink socially and they were so funny!  Steve was in the Air Cav. and earned his golden spurs while serving in the Gulf during Desert Storm.  Gabe is a Cav. scout and is looking forward to wearing the Cav. stetson and golden spurs with his dad when he returns.  He made the the mistake of dropping Steve's well decorated stetson and his father smoked him, ordering him to drop down and do some push ups.

I got a 9x12 envelope in the mail the other day from my cell phone company.  We had just switched plans and I was thinking it was an information packet.  It was not.  It was my detailed bill.  There were 83 pages to my bill.  They reduced it down to fit 4 pages on each sheet, but that was still 21 sheets of paper!  And what took up all of that paper?  2106 text messages!  Gabe's, of course!  How the heck do you type up 2106 text messages.  I'd have hard enough time typing 2106 messages on a full sized keyboard with both hands and all 10 fingers, I couldn't imagine doing it on a teenie, tiny cellphone keypad.

Gabe left this morning.  We didn't say 'goodbye', he insisted on 'laters'.  Poor little Rocky has been unhappy all day.  I imagine I will be fine... until the day he actually flies out to the Gulf region.  That will be within the next two weeks and will last for a year.  It will probably be the longest year in my life.  I thought it was hard having my husband in a war zone, and it was... but the thought of my son there is on a totally different level, one that I believe even my husband shares with me although he is not as open about it as I.  Fly time, fly.

HAPPY SEPTEMBER!

Only 4 more days with Gabe before he returns to Fort Campbell.  His fire-retardant underwear came in the mail yesterday.  Yep, fireproof man-panties!  We bought him 2 whole sets, tops, bottoms, hoods.  They're designed to withstand extreme temperatures for 120 seconds. 2 minutes, that doesn't seem like a long time, but I imagine it can feel like an eternity if you are in the middle of a fire.  These will give him 2 minutes of protection to find a way out to safety.

Only 12 more days until he leaves the relative safety of his homeland to take the place of another American soldier who will be able to return to his family's loving and grateful arms.  Less than two weeks and he'll be directly in harm's way.  I dread that moment.

Only 12 more days and I'll be 45.  I neither dread nor rejoice its approach.  There isn't much to look forward to, I've already gotten my present.  Dickidoo told me when he gave me the camera that it would serve as my gift for all occasions, past and present, for the next decade!

59 days until Halloween.  I LOVE Halloween!  Besides passing out candy, we always serve hot apple cider, and we have a fire going in the driveway for the trick-or-treaters to warm up by because many times there is already snow on the ground in Colorado during the month of October.

83 days until Thanksgiving.  But I don't really celebrate the All American way.  We have a 'harvest feast' the following day with all of our hunting friends and serve dishes made from the wild game we've collected throughout the year.  Deer, elk, wild turkey, pheasant, quail, dove and trout are standard on the menu.  So, 84 days until the Harvest Feast.

114 days until Christmas!  And this year I get to shop for my Grandbaby!  How fun that will be!  This will be the very first year our family has not been together for Christmas.

And.... (are you ready for this one?  Can I get a drum roll please!)

121 days until 2006!