Sunday, September 17, 2017


I'm not setting myself up for failure any more by titling these "Friday" Letters.  Yep, I'm late.  Again.

So, during each morning's 'cone of silence' commute my brain practically explodes with blog ideas.  I've taken to keeping index cards at the ready, but when evening arrives I've little-to-no initiative.  
Suppose this falls into the science of biorhythms?

'Just curious.  Have you a certain time of day set aside to blog ... when your 'spark plugs' get to buzzing?

* * *

Dear DH:
I really should be flattered that you wanted my opinion.  But a toilet?  Seriously?  
You know home improvement emporiums aren't my thing, but I was astounded at the variety (and prices) of 'thrones.'  
In the 'end', I don't care!  
PS -
Thank you for installing the pot.  Oh, and for prying me away from the pretty faucets aisle.

Dear Tree Doctor:
I'm mighty relieved to hear our ground water supply wasn't contaminated; that our little tree had plenty of moisture.  

But you're telling us it died from sunburn?  
I never heard of that before!

Dear Sarah,
Grandpa Tom and I were thrilled to learn you were about to begin your career at the hospital where you interned. 
Who could have guessed, your mentor who 'practically promised' you that job failed to research the fine print ... that it was a Masters-level position, not a bachelors.

Nevertheless, I'm so proud of your resolve.  Your optimism and innate compassion will get you far.   I love you!

Dear Momma in Heaven,
Witnessing the recent hurricanes' devastation, I've felt helpless and heartsick.  You've been heavy on my mind ... memories!

I'm so sorry we didn't take you more seriously.  Each year you made it a point to attend the hurricane readiness seminar ... arriving early, so as to get a seat up front.   You -- a poster child for hurricane readiness -- even purchased 'do-it-yourself' storm shutters from a door-to-door salesman.  You always said, "When the hurricane comes...."  Never "if."

DIL Lois and Mother at PassaGrille Beach

Bittersweet.  Only a few months after you passed away, Hurricane Charley swept across the Gulf coast ... destroying one of your Happiest Places on earth:  Punta Gorda's Village Oyster Bar. 
Troy later remarked, "Well, gram finally got her hurricane"  ... as we enjoyed your favorite cocktail, the Godmother.

So, I consulted Google this morning and discovered the Oyster Bar is permanently closed.  Almost seems fitting.

Dear News Anchors,
After 15 years I should be accustomed to your euphemisms.  (I'm sorry, I still don't consider 110-degrees 'warm.')  Still, I sat up straight last week when I heard you warn of an approaching cold front.  
Never mind that in "Phoenix speak" that means highs in the 90's.  I'll take it! ... and you gave me a good laugh.
(Thank you, Mr. God.) 

... and thank you for visiting.  Have a great week, everyone!

Hugs from Phoenix,