I felt like doing this on the blog. Don't know why. Perhaps I just want humanity to have a record of how much I love you. :) Or I just want it in our blog. That way you'll never lose it!

Tonight I'm listening to my music, cleaning my room and thinking about what comes next. Whatever it is, it means change. Mostly in our location and physical distance from each other. That's a hard thing for me to consider because I love having you in my life.

We met when I was a broken, mess of a person and you loved me anyway. Thank you. You're my perfect foil. Who knew a bathroom fan could start all this?

I want you to know that no matter where I go in the world and my life, I'll carry you and the mark of this friendship with me. It may sound like an 'ending' but I don't think it is. I think that I've changed for the better by knowing you. You're so strong, beautiful and smart. And I think we'll be friends the rest of our lives.

I just want you to know that I don't ever take you for granted, even when it seems like I do. :) I know that friendship, like marriage, is a daily committment and we have to fight to keep it on track and good. (even if they are easy fights.)

I don't think I would have gotten through Aly, my birthday, Rina leaving or this relationship w/ B. w/o you. You're the cornerstone of my sanity. And even bearing that weight, you've managed to move forward in your own education and edification. And you're still sane! That's freakin' amazing! And it shows that you keep it real.

I thought, the other day, about the poem I gave to Aly. My mind wandered and I wondered what poems I would have for differnt people. For you, I knew instantly. So here, my love, is your poem. I hope you believe it because I do.


Pretty women wonder where my secret lies
I'm not cute or built to suite a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the readh of my arms
The spand of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman.

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman, that's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Every morning during my 25 minute commute I read the Washington Post Express. This morning I found an article of interest and thought I would share the contents with you.
I have looked at pictures of the Mona Lisa many times. I have even seen her in the Louvre. However, I never noticed the hint of shawl she is wearing around her shoulders. One reason this detail may have escaped me and countless others is I did not realize it had a meaning or was of import.
This morning's article stated the mesh-like white shawl, which you can barely see a trace of, is an indication the woman was expecting a child. Leonardo's model, the Mona Lisa, was pregnant. For fellow Da Vinci Code fans, this makes perfect sense and is very exciting.
Now that I examine the photo more closely, notice how her hands are positioned. They are resting on her stomach. My pregnant girlfriends often place their hands on their tummys in like manner. So exciting!
Another exciting event relating to pregnancy is --I finally felt a baby kick inside its mother's tummy. I am 28 years old and the first time I have ever felt a baby move was Wednesday morning. It was the coolest experience ever and it totally made my otherwise not so great day; that and Project Runway.
Listening to Leslie talk about her labor strategy I felt total awe. Pregnant women are the most courageous people I know. Honestly, I can't imagine ever going through labor. Its not that I don't want to have children. I do. Its just a little scary thinking about a seven, eight, nine, ten, etc., etc., pound, did you read pound (?), baby come out of you. Agh! But, if other women can do it so can I. Thank goodness I can enjoy others children until my time. :)
While I am on the subject of babies I want to congratulate my former mission companion Sister Youngs who is now expecting her second baby. She sent me a copy of the ultrasound, which I will not post here, you can thank me later, which shows they are having a male child. Chris, Alisha's husband, is very excited because the doctor said their son is "like a horse." Yeah.
Then there is Lisa, a former roommate from BYU, who recently discovered her bun in the oven. Congratulations Lisa! You are living proof that Heavenly Father does answer prayers.
So while everyone else is out there having fun making babies I am still a single student who has nothing new to share on the Temple Square Mission website but continues to enjoy hearing that everyone who served before and after her is getting married or having children. Here's to graduate school and the hope that someday this Mona Lisa will have a reason to smile.

So! As some of you know I'm dating a fantastic guy who is divorced and has two children. Recently I've taken to reading "self-help" books about parenting in blended families. You shouldn't mistake this for an engagement announcement. It's not. But in StephanieLand you prepare for possibilities. Even the slim ones. Mostly the fat ones, though, because those are favored in my land.

I'm off track. Returning to the topic of StepMotherHood. As I started to think about embarking on this journey I had a wonderful picture in my head. I would saunter in on the arm of the man I love. I would pat him on the shoulder, walk to his ex-wife and we would have an amazing, civilized, compassionate discussion about rearing the children together. This encounter would eventually breed harmony in both homes and we would work as a great big, loving team to produce stellar, intelligent WunderKids.

My book says I'm nuts. Oh. And all the rest of the research I'm reading agrees.

Basically it tells me that StepMotherHood is going to be a long, long, long, long process of patience, kindness and calm in the face of horrible brattiness. And if anything else happens, I'm damn lucky.

Honestly? It's not the most encouraging picture of my future I can think of. But! I refuse to be daunted by something as trivial as reality.

Here's what I want to know, our four readers--1) are you the product of a blended family? 2) What was the biggest mistake your StepParent made? 3) What was the best decision your StepParent made?

Anyone? Anyone? I don't really mind who comments on this. I just want to see if people will be willing to share so that I garner s'more tips.

until now. I HATE organic pumpkin butter. It is disgusting. It doesn't get any better either when you put it on bread with peanut butter, like preserves, its still disgusting.
This is really disappointing and blows my former proclamation ("I love anything pumpkin") out of the water, because now, I don't.
Where this love of pumpkin originates I have no idea BUT I can tell you when it began; while I was a student at BYU. Great Harvest makes this pumpkin chocolate chip bread that's to die for. Anyway, every fall I would buy a loaf and eat one piece of bread with hot chocolate every evening before going to bed. It was my comfort food and is one explanation behind my current killer figure.
THEN I discovered pumpkin chocolate chip cookies. These were equally delicious and easier to buy replacing the Great Harvest bread.
LATER store-bought pumpkin chocolate chip cookies were abandoned for homemade, yes I do bake, Lehi Roller Mills cookie mix. These are my all time favorites. My fingers are itching to place my Fall 2006 order but I'm trying to exercise self-control. Too much of a good thing is not always good.
Pumpkin bread and cookies is just the tip of the iceberg folks. My pumpkin love extends to soups, seeds, pie, cheesecake, etc. For instance, the best pumpkin soup I have ever enjoyed is on the menu at an Italian restaraunt at Federal Triangle. Can't remember the name but its absolutely divine.
I even have a nickname relating to pumpkin. My mother is the only one who is EVER allowed or EVER WILL BE ALLOWED to utter the name. Its pumpkin doo-doo. Yep, MY mother calls me pumpkin doo-doo and that's on a good day. For years I have been trying to imagine what pumpkin doo-doo would look like but I think the answer is a mystery I will never solve. I have theories but I will spare you.
So with the advent of fall and October quickly approaching I thought my recent experience with pumpkin butter would be a good way to usher in the season. If anyone is interested in taking a jar off my hands, it's yours.

Since returning from my mission I have served in a variety of church callings. The calling I cherish more than any other was my position as an instructor in Relief Society (RS). Through this calling I was able to develop friendships with other women I believe will be eternal. I felt loved and nurtured in a way I don't in my current RS. Don't get me wrong. I still enjoy RS but somehow the atmosphere is different or maybe I'm different.

Last night I was able to attend the annual General RS broadcast at the Stake Center. Prior to the broadcast Brother and Sister Proctor shared a photo presentation on President Hinckley, (pictured in the photo left).

People often fault me for having a bad attitude about men and rightly so. However, there are a few men in this world I consider to be worthy of respect and admiration. My dad, is obviously one, President Hinckley and members of the church presidency are others.

Behind every good man is an equally exceptional woman. The Proctors also showed photos of Marjorie Hinckley, the prophet's wife, last night. Seeing this couple together, who have since been separated by death, was a poignant reminder of how powerful romantic love can be. Although I never had the privilege of seeing the prophet while serving on Temple Square, I did see his wife. We have a tradition on Temple Square for departing Sisters. The last evening as a missionary, Sisters are treated to what we refer to as "the last supper." For my MTC group this was a catered dinner, in a private conference room of the Joseph Smith Memorial Building (JSMB). One of my fondest memories of the evening was the view. I have a thing for views. The conference room was surrounded by large glass windows, enabling one to see the Salt Lake Valley for miles. Seated at the table my view was of the Hinckley's apartment. Always trying to get a view of the prophet I looked for signs of activity through their apartment windows. Half-way through dinner I looked up and saw Marjorie Hinckley washing dishes. I have never forgotten that experience and continue to cherish it.

I'm not sure why but last night as I saw photo after photo of the prophet I was so touched. It has been some time since I've felt my heart soften. Since last night, I have tried to blame it on PMS or my sinus infection (I often become more emotional when I am PMSing or under the weather) but I think it was more than that. In fact, every time I see President Hinckley I feel peace. This is one reason I enjoy listening to him speak or learning about his life. Through his example he quietly inspires me to become a better person. I believe this is one of the many reasons people travel long distances or give up Saturday evening activities to see him. The Lord says, "By their fruits ye shall know them," and President Hinckley yields "good fruit." In forty weeks, under his leadership the Temple Department of the Church designed and constructed fifty temples. This is remarkable considering the time period it took to construct the first fifty. This is only one of his many accomplishments.

Following the presentation the Sisters were invited to enjoy refreshments (most Mormons love to eat) and mingle prior to the broadcast. During the fifteen minutes we had to grab food and our food storage bags, yes they handed out paper sacks filled with wheat, I was able to see and speak to Sisters I had not seen in a long time. One of these Sisters was pregnant. She is due in five weeks and is expected to have a baby girl. It was so nice to be among so many women who share beliefs similar to my own. Since moving to this area I have not felt like this was my home. Last night, however, I finally felt like I belong here; like I have roots here.

The theme of the broacast was entitled, "Encircled in the Arms of His love," taken from a passage in 2 Nephi (Book of Mormon). As each member of the RS Presidency spoke I felt an increase of love for the Lord and my fellow Sisters. I was reminded how much I truly appreciate this program and the way it continues to bless me with good friends.

The broadcast's concluding speaker was President Hinckley. It was the perfect conclusion to the evening. His comments to the women of the church were tender and inspiring as they always are. I am so thankful there are some men out there who truly comprehend the importance of women and their contribution to society. I wish more women, inside and outside, the Church were treated with the respect and appreciation they deserve. I hope I can meet a man one day who admires and respects me like President Hinckley loved and cherished his wife. At 95, the prophet continues to bless the lives of members throughout the world. Is it any wonder we sing, "We Thank the Oh God for a Prophet."

Just in case you were wondering Rae:
Red Anne Rackham

"Passion is a big part of your life, which makes sense for a pirate. You have the good fortune of having a good name, since Rackham (pronounced RACKem, not rack-ham) is one of the coolest sounding surnames for a pirate. Arr!"
Actually my real surname is even cooler; KIDD.
Capt'n William Kidd was a famous pirate in the 17th century. Don't believe me? This site is one of many you will find on Google http://www.piratesinfo.com/biography/biography.php?article_id=36.
This may explain my defensive nature. Eh?
Admiral Isaac Campbell Kidd was on the USS Arizona December 7, 1941 when it was attacked by Japanese war planes.
My dad, Donny Lee Kidd was a sailor on the USS Independence during the Vietnam War.
And this Kidd, prefers to sail the seas peacefully; preferably with a boating instructor named George.

Most mothers decorate their baby girls rooms in pastels. However, my mother chose bright colors, particularly red, blue, and yellow to decorate my nursery. My theory is she was holding out for a male child. She wanted to give my dad a son so badly she endured labor again so she could. My father was so excited my mom was having an "heir" he bought her a Gunnysak dress, which we still have and I wear 26 years later.
To compliment the bright colored sheets, baby blankets and clown wall hanging (I HATE CLOWNS) my mom also gave me a Winnie the Pooh bear, which she later sold at a yard sale along with my Ronald McDonald doll. I will never forgive her for either.
To fill the Pooh void in my life, the summer before my Senior year in High School I bought current Pooh (photo left) from the Disney store for my 17th birthday. I consider this to be one of the most ingenious investments I have ever made for several reasons.
Pooh is the best listener ever! He has been through everything with me and through it all he just smiles.
There are mascara smears all over his butt a result of a decade of disappointments. He has been the most consistent and comfortable bedfellow I have ever had. In fact, when you turn Pooh upside down and sleep on his butt he makes the perfect pillow. This also explains the mascara stains on his backside.
Pooh has been just about everywhere I have been; traveling to UT, KY, GA, FL, DC you name it. If I've been Pooh has too. He doesn't even need a car seat. He can actually wear a seat belt which makes him toddler Pooh; not baby Pooh.
So why am I blogging about Pooh? Well, two weeks ago we reached a milestone in our relationship. After ten years of being with Pooh I gave him a bath. I know the thought of sleeping with something for ten years without putting it in the wash is pretty disgusting but I was really worried something bad would happen if I did. You know, maybe his stuffing would come out or maybe his hair would fall out. You never know. So I waited. TEN YEARS. No one is ever allowed to refer to me as impatient EVER again.
Anyway, as the photo depicts Pooh is looking and smelling better than ever. He did such a good job throughout the wash and dry cycles that I couldn't resist bragging about it. Instead of being Dirty Old Bear, as Christopher Robin always said, Pooh is back to being just a, "Silly Old Bear."

...my guy was starting his own. I'm so happy for you, sweetheart.

Hugs and Kisses.

This summer has been the summer of baseball. I have attended baseball games more this summer than any other in my lifetime. Please don't misunderstand. I LOVE baseball. I always have.
When my brother and I were kids we would sit on the front porch for hours looking at all his baseball cards. Both of us played on little league teams, with Joshie always being the superior athlete. Josh loved Mark McGuire and the Oakland A's while I rooted for the Braves.
Although the baseball cards are packed away and Josh has abandoned sports altogether I still enjoy watching baseball live.
I'll never forget my first professional baseball game. I grew up in Kentucky so Riverfront Stadium (Cincinnati Reds) was the closest venue to see a "real" game. I don't remember who we played but I remember how excited I felt looking down on the field for the first time. No matter how old one becomes, I don't think you could ever be too old to enjoy baseball. I think its one of those experiences that makes you "feel" young. Is it any wonder Americans have adopted it as their favorite "pastime?"
Tonight Steph, Hugh, Rae, Erin and I went to the Nationals v Braves game. This makes the third time I have seen the Nats play the Braves at RFK this summer. All I can say is the Braves fans didn't go home happy. The way I look at it I win either way when these teams play against each other. As the photo above depicts we had a great time with Steph scoring seats just behind home plate in section 312.
Rae is also very crafty at getting great tickets. For example, we spent several innings, this evening, watching the game in M-51 just behind the left fielder. The two of us abandonded the predominately Braves niche to find Steph, Hugh and Erin mid-way through the game. This proved a wise decision because I was able to get a few great photos of the racing Presidents.
Although George usually wins, tonight first went to Lincoln. Congratulations Abe!
With fall just around the corner and school becomming increasingly demanding, I am not sure I will be able to attend another game this season. I would like to imagine I will be in DC next summer but who knows? This time next year I could be living in a different city cheering for a different home team. One thing that's comforting about baseball-- No matter where you are there will always be a 7th inning stretch with a crowd singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame."

I heard this on IMF this morning and I believe I'm in love. And! It falls into my strange penchant for loving "Music related to lesbians."

Remember is the most important word in the English dictionary, I have been told and I believe its true. I wanted to post this yesterday but was unable. I hope my feelings about this experience do justice to your memory.
My best friend, Stephanie, emailed me your name a few weeks ago and requested I write a tribute to you on our blog. Excited about the project I enthusiastically agreed. However in the pre-semester rush I neglected to do as promised. Yesterday, on the five year anniversary of that fateful day, I remembered...You.
You, Timothy Robert Hughes, led an amazing life. You had a loving wife (Karen), two handsome sons (Tim and Ken) and a beautiful daughter (Chrissy) who love and continue to remember you everyday. I was grateful to see several websites dedicated to your memory. I think one of my greatest fears is that those I love will forget me. That somehow my memory or memories I made with them will become unimportant or meaningless. That is one thing, Timothy, you will never have to worry about.
Newsday.com had this to say about you:
For Timothy Robert Hughes, a currency trader with Cantor Fitzgerald, the significant pleasures of life focused on two very basic things - family and work.
"He was a real family man," said his wife, Karen Hughes. "He was also the type of guy who if it snowed, he would stay in the city so he didn't miss work. He was totally dedicated to both.
"Timothy worked hard and he played hard," said his wife, adding that he coached his two teenage sons in different sports and was preparing to do the same for his younger daughter. "He even taught Timothy, our oldest son, to play golf. Every weekend they would be out on the links."
Reading this, I can't help but compare your relationship to Timothy with my relationship to my dad. My dad and I also enjoy playing golf. On a recent trip home my dad and I spent some time at the driving range. Knowing you enjoyed the game with your son makes me appreciate the time I had with my dad even more.
Hughes, 43, earned both his undergraduate and MBA degrees from Scranton University in Pennsylvania. After college, he went on to hold a number of jobs in the financial field. At one point, he worked for several firms at the Philadelphia Stock Exchange.
One of Hughes' favorite pastimes was renovating homes the family lived in. "Out of the four homes we owned, he supervised renovation and restoration of three of them," his wife explained. This includes their current home, a seven- bedroom, 1903 house in Madison, N.J., which was awarded a historic preservation award from the township last year, and their preceding home, a 200-year old farmhouse in Cherry Hill, N.J.
Obviously handy with tools, Hughes' current home had a carriage house, "which had a workshop with every kind of power tool you could think of," his wife said.
I have to admit I had mixed emotions about this bit of information. I think you would be happy to know I am also an advocate for the preservation of historic structures. I am an American Studies/ Historic Preservation MA candidate at The George Washington University. My dream is to do what you did; purchase older homes and restore them. I can't help but wonder if things had turned out differently that day, five years ago, would we have met? Perhaps on a project or consulting for a small town in NJ? Who knows?
They say things happen for a reason. I am not sure I believe that but this experience has renewed my faith in that belief somewhat. I could have been assigned any name but I was given yours. I don't think it is coincidental, given the few number of preservationists, that I was given you.
The article says you were working on the 104th floor of Tower One when a hikacked plane slammed into the structure. I am not sure if I have ever been in Tower One.
A long time ago, my sixth grade year, I took a trip to NYC for Girl Scouts. The first site we visited during our stay was the WTC. I remember the long elevator ride to the observation level where we looked out on the "city of lights." I remember being in awe. I was this young girl from eastern Kentucky who had never been in a city with a substantial population before. I instantly fell in love. I can't imagine what views you enjoyed from your office window. It must have been incredible to look out over the city every morning and then again each night as the lights came on.
You were only 43 years old when you were taken from your family. I constantly grouch, "Life isn't fair," and your passing only strengthens my arguement. Although you perished on 9.11. your family and friends held out hope. You were confirmed dead on 9.25.2001.
I am 28 years old. I often wonder what the future holds for me. Tim, if I live half the life you lived, I think it will be pretty wonderful. To have a beautiful, loving family, to work in a profession I love and serve others, to be remembered after I leave this life as a kind, honest, hard-working woman who was devoted to her work and family will be enough.
Tim, your memory, this experience, has renewed my determination to Live. To enjoy my work more, to serve more, to appreciate my loved ones more and to renew my hope for a future family. Thank you for your life and the memories you left. I will remember.

I got to work early this morning, before the sun rose. That part is the "adventure" that makes it ok to use this blog. I realized how much I love the sunrise on Sept 12. I usually get to see it and this morning was as glorious as usual.

It's the first truly clear day since I've worked at my new company. I've discovered that you can see for miles. In fact, I can see the spires of the National Cathedral from where I am in VA. This is going to be a very good day.

*insert cheesy rendition of "Morning After" here*

On the last full day of my visit to KY my dad, brother and I decided to drive down to Renfroe Valley for the 1939 Barn Dance. This show is offered daily in the "old" barn which is located adjacent to the "new" barn. My brother and I were the youngest persons in the room, besides two girls who may have been in high school. Sitting four rows from the stage we were able to get some pretty cool photos for my dad, (see photo on left) who is a Bluegrass aficionado.

Although he enjoys some contemporary "Bluegrass" artists like Allison Krauss, my dad prefers the "old timey" stuff. "Old Timey,"means lyrics normal people have never even heard of or would think to write. Precious Memories, my Grandpa Kidd's personal favorite, is a crucial element of any road trip with my dad, especially if that road leads to West Virginia.
The West Virginia state song is another. Occassionally even I will join in as he sings,"Oh those West Virgina hills how majestic and how grand With their summits bathed in glory like our Prince Emmanuel's land Is it any wonder then That my heart with rapture thrills As I stand once more with loved ones On those West Virginia hills?
Chorus: Oh, the hills, beautiful hills, How I love those West Virginia hills! If o'er sea o'er land I roam Still I'll think of happy home And my friends among the West Virginia hills."
There are three more verses but including them in this blog would be a little over the top. However, I invite, even encourage you, to investigate on your own.
For those of you who have had the pleasure of hearing me sing, in all my tone-deaf glory, you haven't heard anything until you have attended the Kidd family reunion in Mare's Creek (KY) hollow (pronounced hollar). To help you further appreciate this experience, imagine me belting out Journey and then multiply that by 100. Yeah, its not pretty but its authentic. We are the real deal when it comes to Bluegrass gospel singing. We got more twang than that Canadian, Shania Twain could ever have.
The 1939 Barn Dance at Renfroe Valley is the closest my dad gets to going home. Since retiring his trips to the "Valley" have become more frequent. As a teenager I would roll my eyes and pout like any true princess when my dad would turn the station to bluegrass. Now, I just enjoy watching him.
Another aspect I have come to appreciate about Bluegrass music is the attire. Many of you are already aware of my fixation on the glasses-bowtie combo. The Barn Dance reminded me of another combo that really turns me on. Glasses and overalls. I have no idea what it is about overalls but I love them. LOVE THEM. Just like bowties and glasses not all men can pull this combo off. I have found, during my years of observation, that tall men are about the only ones that can pull off the overalls. Well, I guess that's not entirely true (wicked grin) but you know what I mean. I have included an example of this combo in the photo above. The banjo picker was not someone I would normally be attracted to but the combo definitely increased his chances. He was also authentic which I found, oddly enough, HOT!
Plans have already been made for a Christmas visit to the "Valley," where we will enjoy more pickin' and Bluegrass sangin'. Needless to say, I can hardly wait.

As many of my friends know I don't own a television. Although many people are appaled by this, I don't think its a big deal. During past semesters my graduate work and full-time position with Museum Studies left little time for additional activities. Now that my hours have been reduced to ten per week and I am going to school full-time I have more time to exercise. One of the wonderful things about my new apartment is the gym. Every piece of equipment, excluding the free weights, has a built-in tv screen with cable tv. It is fabulous. I can watch vh1, CNN and all the movies I want while exercising.
Two evenings in a row, I was able to catch the middle of Two Weeks Notice with Sandra Bullock and Hugh Grant. Dying to see the beginning and the conclusion I purchased the dvd while I was in Kentucky and watched it with my dad.
I couldn't help but notice the main characters were named George Wade (Hugh Grant) and Lucy (Sandra Bullock).
The movie was terrific, by the way. I recommend it to all those rom-com lovers out there. I especially enjoyed Lucy's plug for historic preservation.
The fact the hero and heroines names were George and Lucy made me think of another movie I absolutely adore. In A Room With a View, the main characters are George Emerson and Lucy Honeychurch. I have blogged about their story before. A photo from the movie is shown below. Discovering this connection initiated thoughts about other movies I really enjoy. Imagine my surprise when I remembered George Bailey (James Stewart), photo above, is the hero of It's A Wonderful Life while Lucy (Drew Barrymore) is the sweetheart of 50 First Dates.

So why are the names Lucy and George so popular in movies and books? I have always been fascinated by the origin and meaning of names. Lucy is Latin and means light. George, rather dull in comparison, means farmer. I suppose there is a connection between the names though. A farmer can't survive without light.

What's even more bizarre is this: My father rarely calls me by my first name. He has always referred to me as Lucy Locket. When I was fifteen he bought me a horse named Lucy. I just have this weird affinity to the name Lucy.

Although I have never dated a George I did have the hots for a sailboat instructor named George. I thought JFK, jr was a hottie and he had a magazine name George. I attend George Washington University. I love all male characters named George. I think George Clooney and George Stephanopoulos are hotties. I was born in Georgia which was named after King George. I love the cartoon Curious George. The list is endless.

So this is my theory. I just need to find someone named George or nicknamed George and date them. This must be the key to a long and successful relationship that I have searching for. So if anyone knows a George out there feel free to send him my way. I am dying to test my theory.

There are thousands of ways to feel loved and I've discovered a new one. We were in the car in Seattle and he says to me, "I saw this place I think you're going to like. More importantly, I think it will give you a great blog."

Awwwwww! Now that's affection!

So began my visit to this fine establishment. Now, be you warned, most reading this post should not click on that link. But for the rest of you, Where Has This Place BEEN all my life? I've been planning bridal showers for ages and I could have used a cake or two!

Overall it was just a fun, clean shop in a cute area of Seattle. The only thing I regret about the visit is that I didn't buy BondGirl a blue, penis water bottle.

"Um Boy," is usually my intial reaction to swallowing a big helpin' of humble pie. Man, there's nothing like being reminded of how old you are and I'm NOT even old.
On the evening of Day Two, Daddy and I went to the Gibson Bay driving range. Please keep in mind, although I played golf for the Madison Southern Lady Eagles (my high school) I haven't played a round of golf since then (eleven years). This means I haven't been to the driving range in a decade. That's a long time.
I used to love spending all day by the pool and all evening at the driving range. My mom and I would buy two or three large baskets (about 100 balls a piece) and hit for hours. Needless to say, I became good friends with Shawn, a guy who worked at the driving range. He used to come out and chat with me. Occassionally he would practice his "Happy Gilmore" swing which always made me laugh.
Shawn is no longer there, thank goodness some things change. One thing that had not changed was the range. It still looked the same. The viewshed was exactly as it was ten years ago. It was so chilly in Kentucky I had to wear my dad's windbreaker. Although it was misting I was determined to smack the crap out of some balls if it was the last thing I did. Let me tell you something, ladies, there is nothing quite as satisfying as a good evening at the driving range.
Although it had been ten years since my last visit it didn't take long to get back into "the swing of things." The best part of the evening was impressing my dad. He is the guru of golf. He loves it. He always has. He started caddying at 8 to make extra money for his family. Since then, every weekend I can remember Dad is either watching or playing golf.
He always wanted me to become a golfer. He put me in golf camps when I was a kid and then I played for my high school team. I always love it when he says, "You're just like your momma. She was such a natural. She had the most beautiful swing."
After two hours, a hundred balls, and a putting green later Dad and I decided to throw in the towel for the evening. By bedtime I was popping the extra strength Tylenol, hoping the pain shooting through my back and left forearm would subside. Realizing my body was unaccustomed to exercising those muscles made me realize just how out of shape I am. The eliptical is fantastic but it isn't the be all and end all of working out; obviously.
So if anyone is up for an evening at the range I would love to tag along because, really, who can get enough of humble pie?

Who would have guessed I would find a cut-out of Ms Knowles in a Richmond, Kentucky Wal-Mart? Not me.
This photo was taken by my very willing but confused father (not bad Dad) on the first day of my "Roots" vacay.
Enjoy!