If You're Ever Up This Way...

Have I got a place for you to stay.

But I digress. As usual.

A few weeks ago, Hubby and I celebrated yet another wedding anniversary.

*bowing*

I know, I know. Can you believe it? I mean, he still cleans the bathroom for me AND he didn't kick me to the curb at all for stealing his Milano cookies. Not once, this entire year, and let me just say, I stole A LOT of his cookies. He's a good man, my Hubby.

But I'll be honest and say I was sort of blah about the whole thing. I was just getting over being sick and life was just being life. (You should interpret that as meaning my life=sucktastic.)

So Hubby, trying to be my ever thoughtful Hubby, said "Well, where would you like to go. We'll go anywhere you want."

Well, that was easy. The ocean. I wanted to go to the beach.

It's quiet this time of year, empty of tourists, and breathtakingly beautiful. I wanted to go there.

He found the perfect place to stay--but again, more on that later.

A nor-easter had blown in to the south of us the night before we left. The resulting waves were spectacular. They pounded into the concrete walls and showered down onto the street.

We walked and walked and contemplated why the seagulls were so damn huge. As in freakishly huge. (Mayhaps the Seabrook Nuclear Power Plant? Just saying.)

We also contemplated the cruelty of others.



Poor Paddington. He's an innocent bear. What did he ever do to deserve that?

The best part, however, was the inn Hubby booked us.

Are you ready for this? Really ready? Because it's that good...

He found an inn...that's also a bakery.

I know. That's exactly what I said, only with a few more expletives thrown in.

Told you he was good.

We strolled into the inn at check-in time, and I gasped and froze. The countertops were loaded with heaven. Brownies and cookies and candy. As far as the eye could see.

I'd reached nirvana, I tell you.

Let me just say, you have not experienced life until you sit up in bed at eleven o'clock at night because you've been awoken by the smell of freshly baking made from scratch cookies. Cookies you did not have to bake and cookies you are allowed to eat--as much as you want, when you want.

No, you haven't.

So, if you're ever up this way-and I strongly suggest you do consider it--I know just the place to stay.

Go here.

Wait. That's not it. How did that happen?

Okay. This is it.

Wait. That's not it, either.

Okay. How about this?

No?

This? This? Or this?

Never mind. THIS is it. Welcome to the Arbor Inn. My only regret is I can't move in and stay.

And for the record, if anyone is looking for some holiday gift ideas for yours truly, I'd say you'd be really safe going with that Simply Sinful gift basket. Just, you know, in case you wanted to know.

Quote Of The Day:

Hubby and I are in the car, driving to the beach. I open my mom's card to us, which she'd told us contained our anniversary gift, and begin to read it outloud.

Me: The front says, "All the moments that have made all the memories--" and the inside says, "What a beautiful life you two have shared!"

Silence falls in the car.

Finally, Hubby speaks.

Hubby: Shared? As in, it's finally over? Really? I'm free? Now that's what I call an anniversary gift!

*For the record, my mom did pen in underneath "and are sharing." Apparently, she knows us too well.

Huh?

Bob stepped off the bus yesterday, arms laden with an enormous topographical diorama. (No. I have no idea if that's what it's really called. It sounds good, though, and for the most part seems accurate.)

It was splendid. Awash with glitter and clay, streaked with vibrant shades of purple and red and green, all depicting volcanoes and mountains and deltas and on and on, it was breathtaking to beyond.

"Wow," I said, while secretly worrying where exactly one stores a ginormous topographical diorama long-term. "That's amazing."

Bob nodded. "Mmm-hmmm."

"I mean, it's really something."

He sighed and set it down on the kitchen island. "Yeah, I guess so."

(And please, for the record, let me just say it encompassed the entire kitchen island, plus a solid two-inch overhang.)

When Hubby got home later that night, he walked into the kitchen and froze.

"Wow," he finally said.

"You're being redundant," I said. "I've already covered that."

"It's...huge," he offered. "And...sparkly."

That it was. Very huge and very sparkly. But we're Bob's parents and it's our job to support his educational endeavors, so we gushed, extolled his creative abilities, and praised him to the heavens at dinner.

"I'm impressed," Hubby said. "That's quite the project you brought home."

"Yeah, it is," Bob said. "It was really heavy too."

"It must have been a lot of work."

"I guess," Bob said.

"How long does something like that take to create?" I asked. And I was really curious, because given the size of that sucker and the amount of glitter now littering my kitchen floor, I was thinking it had to have taken months, and at least a vat of glitter.

"No idea," Bob said.

Hubby and I stared at him. No idea? What was he talking about?

"How can you have no idea?" Hubby asked.

Bob shrugged. "It's not mine. Some girl on the bus asked me if I wanted it, so I said yeah, why not, and took it home."

So, yeah, I saw the light. Go figure.

So I've been gone for a while. And trust me when I say it wasn't pretty. It seems I have this whole allergy-asthma-being-a-really-poor-patient thing I wasn't able to control so well, so I got sick.

Like really sick.

Again.

Anyway, apparently one of my main allergens is pine trees. And kookily enough, we just happen to live in the shadows of a scary pine forest. As in hundreds of huge nasty ugly pine trees that fall on my house during ice storms (or when someone coughs or plays the t.v. too loud)and make me sniffle and cry and leave nasty messages on my mom's answering machine about how much I hate this house and go on antibiotics for months at a time kind of pine trees.

It's been two years since I've seen daylight, I swear.

I mean, when bats bump into your house because it's too dark for even them...well, you have a problem.

But then, I should probably say I HAD a problem--because a miracle has happened. Brandon The Logger came on Monday, and with only his brawn and trusty chain saw, he freed me from the foresty hell I've resided in. And now, three days and two hundred and twelve trees later, I am one with the sunlight.

Brandon kicks ass. What more can I say?

Quote of the day:

Me (on phone): Mom! Brandon just finished, and you won't believe it! I actually have sunlight streaming through the kitchen window. Actual, real sunlight! It exists and I can see it!

My Mom: Oh, honey. I'm so happy for you. That's great.

My Dad (yelling, in the background): What's so great?

My Mom: Hold on. It's Kelley. She saw light.

My Dad (still yelling, still in the background): Kelley? She saw the light? Well, thank god. How the hell did that finally happen?

My Mom: For pete's sake, not that light.

Me (snorting): Please. Like that's ever gonna happen.

And more good news!

Not only did I play a Haunted House scratch ticket and win two dollars (thank you, thank you very much), BUT my screenplay for Seriously Serendipity placed with an Honorable Mention in the Writer's Digest 78th Writing Competition in the Movie Script category.

And even better news!

This. Congratulations, Linda! Another beautiful poem.

*sigh*

Life is good today.

For the record...

I just want to say, my agent, he rocks. That is all.

We've Had A Change In Plans...

I've been thinking a lot about dying lately. It's not my fault. I was recently discussing birthdays with a friend, and she pointed out it was going to happen whether I liked it or not. Her words stuck with me. They've been running through my head on some sort of loop. (It's almost like that one time, when I couldn't stop singing the "C is for Cookie" song over and over, until I was in tears. Yep. Sort of like that.)

So I've been thinking about dying, and then I find out my son's graduating high school next year.(I know, it's odd. You have a child in high school, common sense says there's a likelihood this will happen. I'm the first to admit my reaction is similar to getting pregnant, and then being shocked when you give birth. Yep. Sort of like that.) Regardless, it was always some vague maybe that would happen down the road, this graduation stuff.

You can't blame me. When you have a child who doesn't learn to ride a bike until he's a teenager, who still forgets his full name, and whose brain could hemorrhage at any second and steal tomorrow away from him, well, I don't know. You don't spend so much time thinking about down the roads. So yes, I was surprised.

I was a bit concerned, too. We've been working so hard on the now, we didn't think about tomorrow. Not daring. To dream, to hope, to plan. To get a life. And that's when it hit me--holy crap and damnnit all, I'm still going to die some day.

I'm quite cool with the dying part(as long as I don't have to come back. That whole reincarnation bleck makes me break out in a cold sweat. I'll be so mad if I find out it's true. Seriously. Pissed.)I think the secret is to die exhausted. You know, live full and hard, so when it comes, you're relieved because you desperately need a break already.

Of course, only part of this new death obsession of mine rests on my recent epiphany. The other is a project I'm finishing. Or more, come back to. It's an old book-in-progress made new, and yes, it has Elvis in it. And surprisingly enough, it's also about dying exhausted. What struck me, though, was if my characters (who, hello, aren't even real) can do it, well, why can't I? Die exhausted?

So. I'm making a list. And checking it twice. All the insane and kooky things I want do. (Yes. I want to see the world's biggest ball of yarn. And a two headed chicken. Sorry, but I do.) My son's graduating and moving on into his own life. So, it's time I started dreaming more about mine and getting exhausted.

Yes. You heard me right. I'm open and looking for ideas. And I'm setting out to fulfill them, every single one, which I'll share here with all of you. So, the blog's direction, it's changing a bit. :)I will post a starter list and tentative plans soon...

Well. Yeah.

So I've spent the past eight days analyzing what's working and not working in four movies-to-be. They were each of them comedies and/or romantic comedies, and weirdly, they were each new drafts that were more dramedy than comedy, thus sharing as a group the predominate note of: make this funnier!

Apparently America wants to laugh (Can you blame it?)...

-From the amazing Billy Mernit's Living the Romantic Comedy blog. From his post to the publishing world's ears, I can only hope. American wants to laugh, indeed.

Another Productive Day At School...

Last night, at dinner-

Me(to Bob, our 10-yr-old): So, how's the woodchuck report coming? Did you find anything online?

Bob: Yeah. Good stuff, too. Like, there's an alcoholic drink thing called Woodchuck Cider.

Hubby (snorts): And who says you don't learn useful stuff in school?