Thursday, July 28, 2016

Every person should have at least one breathless, wide-eyed memory of summer. Leaping off a sun bleached wooden dock; casting a line into an icy clear Midwestern lake; clinging blindly to an out-of-control paddle boat with the sickening realization that you are heading straight for a monstrously large shoreline poison ivy patch.

As usual, I'm ahead of the curve in all the wrong ways. Just once I'd like to be the first to buy the next hot stock, embrace the next fashion-forward look, or even have the season's hottest salad dressing on my plate before anyone else (Lime Kool-Aid vinaigrette anyone?).

Duct tape: It's not just for pipe repair and hostage situations anymore. Recently, in an embarrassing setback for NASA, a temporary window cover fell off the shuttle while it was on the launch pad, damaging thermal tiles near the tail.

Back in the day we shunned PDA. No, not personal digital assistant - that's so 21st century. PDA was Public Display of Affection, i.

I really wanted to write something today, but I'm currently obsessed with stalking my bank account. This is, I assure you, every bit as exciting as it sounds.

First, let me state for the record that no dogs were harmed in the making of this column. Primarily because those little buggers are fast and really hard to catch.

So, the entire world is up in arms because Danica Patrick, a female driver, placed fourth at the Indy 500 recently.

As a mother, I want a lot for my children. I want them to be happy, to cure cancer, to be compassionate and well-loved individuals, and to marry into Bill Gates' millions.

I am not, nor will I ever be, the 'roughing it" type. My husband, bless his heart, refuses to believe this.

Now that I'm a "real writer" (as opposed to my former slacker's life as a married mother moonlighting as a writer), I'm amazed at all the similarities - besides sleeping late - between tortured artists and me.
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