My Little Secret

There is something fundamentally wrong with getting up before the Crack Of Dawn. It’s doubly wrong when the day you do this happens to be a Saturday. Yet, sometimes you just have to bite the bullet and crawl out of bed to take care of things. In this instance, the thing I had to take care of was a delicious secret I had been savoring for weeks.

About a month ago, I called KT who is off at college. I told her that her sister Mimi’s graduation ceremony was coming up, and was wondering what her schedule looked like. I then informed her that she wouldn’t be getting an invitation, as Mimi had already come to the conclusion that KT either wouldn’t want, or be able to come. I thought she should at least be given the chance to decide for herself.

Of course KT was excited to see her baby sister’s graduation. Luckily, those dates happened to one of the better times for her to come. I agreed to fly her home in order to save her ten hours of driving time that could otherwise be used for studying. As we made the finalized the ticket purchase, I came up with a brilliant idea. We wouldn’t tell anyone she was coming! KT just laughed at me and wished me luck with keeping that secret.

Now, I’m really good at keeping secrets. People tell me things all the time, and I’m never even tempted to repeat their words. It soon became apparent to me that all those secrets I keep, are nothing compared to the fact that my eldest daughter was coming home for a weekend. There were so many times that it started to slip…not being able to share my secret was driving me bonkers. I had to tell someone, so all my girlfriends knew, the cashiers at the grocery store knew, and even complete strangers knew! Telling them helped, but it still wasn’t the same as telling my family.

Two days before Mimi’s ceremony, she started to seriously regret the fact that she hadn’t invited anyone. We have no family nearby, but we do have some wonderful family friends. I suggested that she invite some of them to come. She shook her head, not wanting to give so little notice. I finally took pity on her and shared my closely guarded secret. Mimi was so touched that she started to cry tears of happiness that her sister would actually come for her.

The next morning, I giggled to myself as I quietly crept out of bed and dressed to go to the airport. Just the very thought of what Shaun’s face would look like when he got up to find KT sitting in the front room negated my deep aversion to those early morning hours.

Some secrets are definitely worth getting up for.

Photo: Tonight I got to watch Meghan graduate from Gene Juarez Academy. She's embarking on an adventure she's wanted to pursue since she was little.</p>
<p>I was incredibly proud as she was bestowed with the honors she's earned through hard work and dedication.

My beautiful girls!


Thank you for reading A Slice of My Life. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked this post, why not consider “liking” my Facebook Page, subscribing by mail (at the upper right) or signing up in a reader. I’d be thrilled and you would never miss a post. Oh…and I love comments!

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Mr. Romance

I’m in a mild state of panic, as I’m supposed to log in a post by 11:59 eastern time.  That’s right before 9:00 my time.  I’ve always been a late night blogger, so I have to make some adjustments. 

I’ve been in the habit of jotting down little conversations that amuse me.  My plan is to just share one of those on these nights that I’m running behind.  This one between my husband Shaun and I, and  is dated 12/29.  I think I had just downloaded all of my holiday photos taken on my new camera and wasn’t very pleased with them.

Me: None of these photos have turned out very well

Shaun: What are you talking about? They look amazing!

Me: You’re only saying that because you don’t want to listen to me whine.

Shaun: What? You know that I LOVE to hear you whine!

That Shaun, he always says the most romantic things!


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It’s Time To Write

Last week I was referred to a new doctor. As she looked over the information I had jotted down on the pile of forms each medical office seems to demand, this new doctor paused and said, “I like your name.” I chuckled a bit as I thanked her and thought to myself that I really didn’t have much to do with my name, it was bestowed upon me. “It sounds like an author” she mused. I was quiet. I needed to ponder that.
A week or so before that, my daughter KT had taken a moment out of her busy college life to call and suggest that I edit a book written by one of our friends. KT’s thoughts were that it would get my creative juices flowing so that I would start writing again. Hmmm…that phone call, along with the constant questions of when I was ever going to blog again, got me thinking. The little stories that I used to write on a near daily basis started swirling around in my head once again.
Then a post popped up in my reader. It was from a blog I had started following a year or two ago when I had participated in a Slice of Life Story Challenge. The challenge is to write a small slice of life every day this month. How can I possibly resist?

So…expect to see a lot of me this month. Let’s just consider it Doctor’s Orders.

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I’m In!

I was about 19 when a friend of mine started talking about football. It must’ve been shortly after New Year’s because I remember that I had recently watched the Rose Bowl Parade on television. In my innocence, I asked how many Bowls were left until the Super Bowl. Seeing the look of confusion on my friend’s face, I went on to explain that I was talking about things like the Rose Bowl, the Apple Bowl and the Orange Bowl. I just wanted to know how much longer until they got to the Big Daddy of bowls…the Super Bowl. Once she stopped laughing and picked herself up off the ground, my friend explained to me that they were completely different. The Super Bowl was for professional football players, and all the others were college level.

Needless to say, I’ve never been accused of being a sports fanatic. Over the years, any sports I watched were pretty limited to my girls as they played softball, basketball, soccer, martial arts and dance. I’ve been known to get caught up in the excitement of professional sports. Heck, I’ve had fun going to a few different games and watched them on the big screen…but given the choice, I’m just as happy curling up with a good book.


I’ve always cheered our football team, the Seahawks, on in an absent-minded way. It wasn’t that I wasn’t loyal to our team, I knew they were out there playing, I just didn’t think about them all that much. This year is different though. This year, our town exploded in blue and green. Beautiful blue flags with a white “12” emblazoned on them fly from cars, buildings and even our Space Needle to show the support of our fans. The air is filled with a nearly tangible excitement. This year, the Seahawks are headed to the Super Bowl. (That’s the professional one, just in case you’ve lost track.) And this city has gone crazy! It’s impossible not to climb aboard the bandwagon and cheer our team on.


Win or lose (what am I saying, of course they are going to win! Even a non-sports fanatic like me knows that!) they are our team and our entire city couldn’t be prouder of them!


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Just Like Edison

I woke up in the wee hours of the morning wondering what had woke me up. After a moment it dawned on me that it wasn’t something that woke me, but rather it was the lack of something. The fans that Shaun and I have taken to sleeping with every night, had stopped. After a few more perplexing moments, I realized that the red glow from Shaun’s alarm clock was also missing.

That made it official. The windstorm that I had been hearing all night had probably blown a tree branch across a wire and managed to knock the power out. I knew there wasn’t much I could do about it, other than hope that the repair crews would be able to fix it quickly. With a sigh, I set my phone alarm so that Shaun wouldn’t be late for his morning appointment, then snuggled back into the covers for a few more hours of sleep.

When my alarm went off, I reached over and shook Shaun awake. I explained to my groggy husband that it was time for him to get up, but that the power was out. I asked him if he wanted me to give him another half hour as he would be unable to check his email, nor would he be able to take a hot shower. He mumbled something that I took as “that sounds like a great idea,” so I set the alarm and rolled over.

Shaun pulled me from the brink of sleep by announcing that he simply had to take a shower. He was going to start the generator and needed me to help him. After a few years of using our generator with extension cords, we had finally hired an electrician to wire it to our house. This was to be our first time using it, and neither of us really knew how to use it.

Apparently my tactic of falling back to sleep to get out of figuring it out worked, as I was awoken once again. This time, it was by the loud roar of our generator starting. A few moments later, the furnace kicked on and a bright light was shining in my eyes. “I did it!” Shaun announced, “I made electricity!”

“Wonderful,” I muttered, “I’m so proud of you.”

I gave him a few moments to bask in his amazing achievement. I was very happy that my husband went out in the storm to start and hook up the generator. It was quite wonderful to have hot water, heat and lights that would turn on.

“Hey Shaun?” I asked, “Do you think you can still make coffee?” A girl does have her priorities after all.

Note: I started writing this as KT and I sat enjoying ourselves in a coffee shop. I asked her if she knew who invented electricity. I was sure it it was Edison, Tesla, Benjamin Franklin or someone else entirely.  I think studying for all those finals has really effected her.  She grabbed her phone and started looking it up.  I can’t remember all she told me about it, just that Edison, who generally gets the credit, didn’t really do much.  Huh, go figure. 

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Lofty Goals

Last weekend, Shaun and I went on a little adventure. (More about that later!) We had looked online and found a quirky little café in the middle of a boatyard.  I had a feeling I was really going to like it when my coffee arrived in a one-of-a-kind, lopsided mug that looked as though the funky flowers had been hand painted. With my first sip, I knew I was going to love it.


As we waited for our breakfast to arrive, I gazed around, completely charmed by the kitschy décor. My eyes wandered from the multicolored swirls and snowflakes dangling from the ceiling to the colorful plates randomly tucked among photos and knick-knacks on the walls.  I was particularly drawn to the aprons the waitresses wore.  They were vibrant and full of joy.  The eclectic mixture of ruffles, lace and appliques should have given me a headache, but instead, I found myself beaming.

I turned to my husband and announced that my New Year’s resolution was to make an apron.

“That’s it?” he asked, “your only goal for the entire year is to make one apron?”

“Yep. It’s been on my list for the longest time. If I only have one resolution to keep, there’s a much a better chance that it doesn’t get set aside in a week or so.”

Shaun grinned at me and shook his head. After nearly twenty-five years of marriage, he’s learned to just accept what he often refers to as Susie Logic.

“Well,” he said, “I guess there’s something to be said about having lofty goals.”

Have you, Dear Reader, made any resolutions, loft or otherwise this year? I’d love to hear them.  (I know… I’m SUCH  a snoop!)

Posted in Adventures, Coffee, Humor, Love and Marriage, That Man O' Mine | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

New Year’s Tradition

A few years ago, I heard that eating black eyed peas and collard greens on New Year’s Day would bring good luck for the entire year. Despite not being terribly superstitious, and realizing that I had made it though many, many years without having eaten them, I had decided that we should embrace this new tradition.

The first thing I had to do was figure out where to get black eyed peas. Next on the agenda was to find out what a collard was. The peas were easy. There was a large display stacked on the end cap at our local grocery store. I tossed a couple cans in the cart and headed over to the produce section. Of course, nobody there had the slightest idea what collard greens were. I decided they were similar to kudzu. A mysterious plant that runs amuck in the Southern states, yet is alien to the rest of us. I didn’t worry about them too much, we didn’t need them anyways.

I wasn’t exactly sure what to do with those black eyed peas. The label on the can didn’t offer any serving suggestions, so I was on my own. I opened the can and peered inside to see what they looked like. Floating around in a murky liquid were little white beans with a large black spot on each of them. They reminded me of the navy beans my mom used to add a little sugar and vinegar to and feed to my brother and me. We loved them. My family thought they were weird.

I had given up on the idea of our new tradition from lack of interest. Then last year, one of my Facebook friends, a true Southern belle, posted something about black eyed peas. My interest was renewed. I plied her with all sorts of questions and was rewarded with lots of information and recipes. I was ready to try this again.


Only, it seemed as though everyone wanted to try it that year. We went to five different grocery stores hunting for the black eyed peas. We looked in the canned section, the dried legume section and the frozen section (Apparently that’s how you can get them in the South) with no luck. I was ready to give up when Shaun found a dented can tucked in the back of the very bottom shelf in the last store we were in.

After a long day of hunting for black eyed peas, I was in no mood to try cooking them. So I opened the can and fed everyone a plain, cold spoonful. Blech.

I assumed our fledgling tradition of eating black eyed peas to start out the New Year was over. My family had other ideas. Yesterday, they all wanted to know when we were going to have the peas. I may have been nursing a slight hangover and merely growled at their teasing. As the girls left the house for the day, they wanted to know what time they should be back to have the black eyed peas. I realized that I wasn’t being teased. Much to my amusement, they had picked up that this was an important tradition to me and were willing to humor me.

I found myself preparing a vegan recipe of Hopin’ John, a spicy Southern dish with rice and black eyed peas. It was much better than a spoonful of cold peas straight from the can, but certainly isn’t going on our list of favorite meals.


Apparently, we have ourselves a New Year’s Day tradition after all. We eat black eyed peas in the worst possible way, just to get the bad stuff that every year has, out of the way as soon as possible.

Hmmmm….this could be fun.

Happy New Year everyone!  I hope 2014 is good to you. 

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I was wandering around in the grocery store the other night, having a conversation with myself about what I still needed to get. I glanced over and spotted an older gentleman looking at me oddly. Assuming that my conversation was no longer just in my head, I flashed him an embarrassed grin and vowed, once again, to stop talking to myself in public.

To my surprise, the man swung his motorized scooter around in front of me, and stopped abruptly, startling a laugh out of me. He gave me a crooked smile, then told me that I looked like a nice lady and asked if I could help him. Being the nice lady that I am, I told him that of course I could.

He handed me a greeting card and said that he had forgotten his reading glasses. He was wondering if I would read the verse inside to him. It was for his wife of 57 years and he wanted it to be just right for her. I laughingly told him that he had asked the wrong person, as I couldn’t see worth beans either, while I fumbled inside my purse, feeling for my readers. Then I read the words paired together with the lovely drawing on front of the card.

It was one of those sappy poems so many cards contain. I paused in my reading and glanced at the man. He sat with his eyes closed, nodding his head in agreement, just listening. As I handed the card back to him, he choked out that it was perfect, thanked me for my time and sped away.

Our chance meeting lasted only a moment. However, it has stayed with me. The man reminded me so much of my grandfather. A gentle, kind man who was searching for the perfect words to tell someone else how much he did, and always had, cherished them.

My thoughts went toward my own husband. Shaun and I aren’t really the sentimental types. We rarely even give each other cards. If, on the rare occasion we do, it would lean more towards the humorous type, likely with puppies on it.


Yet, I know that my husband adores me. He may not give me romantic cards or roses every week. But he is always thinking of me. He shows it in the little things he does.

This last week he has been out of town. The first couple days were nice. No one to steal the blankets from me, no one to tell me endless dumb jokes or rile up the dogs. Just peace and quiet at last.

Then I realized that I was missing all those little things that come only from him. Things like the trash bag I set outside the door magically disappearing. The goofy jokes or links to strange videos that he always sends me during the day. The quick phone calls snuck in-between meetings or on the way to lunch. The knowing glances, and private jokes that we share. Big comforting hugs and sweet kisses. Little things that let me know that I am being thought of. I know that I am cherished.


Still, I amuse myself with the thought of Shaun in thirty or so years. He’ll be zipping around some store in his scooter, startling strangers and asking them help him find the most adorable greeting card, with the most ridiculous punch-line ever, for his wife of 57 years.  I can’t help but wonder what they would think.

That poor stranger.

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The Things I May Have Forgotten to Mention

My parents called me yesterday. They said it had been over a week since we last talked and they just wanted to catch up on things. It wasn’t too long into the conversation when my dad asked about the weather here in Seattle. It seems that he is always wondering what our weather is like. I’m pretty sure this is because he grew up in what he considered the frozen tundra, known to most as the state of Michigan. He isn’t too fond of those boyhood memories of trudging back and forth five miles to school, through the ten-foot high snowdrifts, going uphill both ways, of course.

In fact, it’s quite possible that the ghastly weather was the primary reason he enlisted in the Navy as soon as he was old enough for them to accept him. Somehow, Dad managed to spend his next thirty years stationed sunny California. He’d be the first to admit that all that toasty sunshine thinned his blood and he no longer could handle cold weather.

So I suppose it was a valid concern that he was wondering what ours was like. When he mentioned that they were having a bit of a heat wave in South Carolina, I began to wonder where he was going with the conversation. I was pretty sure he had an underlying motivation.  So I told him that we were having one of those rare glorious days filled with sunshine and blue skies.  What I may have forgotten to tell him, was that the water bucket I keep outside for the dogs had frozen over. 


We chatted a bit more, then Dad casually mentioned that it was 82 degrees and Mom had been having a rough time trying to get the air conditioner to work. Now I was positive that they had called with the sole purpose to boast about their warm weather. 

So I told him about how I had gone to our local Country Village with one of my girlfriends.  I described all the wonderful lights and decorations they were still in the process of putting up.  I also told them all about the wonderful high tea we enjoyed. I may have failed to mention how we were bundled up and had darted from shop to shop in order to keep warm.  It’s also possible that it somehow slipped my mind to tell them that the picturesque fountain had frozen over.


My folks said they hoped the nice weather held out at least until the end of the month.  They would be heading down to Florida in their RV after that, and didn’t want to fire up the furnace before they went.  I told them how my husband and I had gone for a drive in the boondocks.  I mentioned that Shaun was still wearing his shorts and sandals. 


It’s possible that I didn’t tell them that my Beloved is insane because it was 24 degrees out.  (Which was quite balmy as it was 12 degrees when we left the house) and the Snoqualmie River right below us was starting to freeze over.

We chatted a bit more, then said our goodbyes. It’s possible I forgot to mention how their boasting actually worked, and left me longing for a taste of summer.   I’m glad I remembered to tell them I loved them and hoped they would be heading back our way soon.

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You Better Watch Out!

  Our entire family went out shopping last Friday night, hoping that the crowds of Black Friday shoppers were home, sleeping off their early morning plundering.  Well, technically we just popped into Target to get a few things. I don’t think most people consider that shopping. Our girls certainly don’t.  Yet Shaun and I, the mall-avoiders, do.

KT and I were happily browsing away in the seasonal section. We were having a wonderful time checking everything out. We had lights to look at, ornaments, stockings, wrapping paper, a menorah…anything you could possibly want. The only thing that was missing was the Christmas music every store in the area had forced us to listen to since October. I’m pretty sure it was playing, but it was being drowned out by a very unhappy child, screaming at the top of his lungs.

I did my best to ignore the poor little guy. After all, it was well past what I would consider to be a normal bed time. Then, there was all the excitement from all the Thanksgiving festivities. His frustration was understandable.  I pushed aside my irritation at the child’s piercing screams and at his oblivious parents and just enjoyed my limited time with my daughter.

After a short time, Shaun and Mimi came from wherever they were to find us. Mimi asked if I had heard that kid screaming.  I merely rolled my eyes and wondered if there was any way I couldn’t have noticed it.  Then I realized that the screeching was gone.

Mimi informed me that Shaun slowly walked up to the child and told him that he had better watch out, because Santa was watching him.

WP_20131026_13_33_36_Pro (3)   Shaun and his friend.  Not his reindeer friend though.

The little boy looked up at Shaun.  His eyes grew wide and realizing that Shaun must know what he was talking about, very slowly stopped his screaming.

Somehow, I think that little boy is going to be very, very good for the rest of the month.

Edit to add: You can read about Shaun’s first “groupies” HERE

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