Something incredible happened…

Chw and I are just an average couple. I am sure I could gather ya’ll in a circle and tell you any old story and you fellow wives (or husbands?) would sit back nodding, saying your mmmhmms, because you’ve likely been there… 
So when I tell you (for the hundred millionth, bazillionth time) that i love to decorate, most of you will totally understand. 
What I have been slow to mention here is the great sadness that our beautiful, wonderful and amazing daughter Amanda moved to the midwestern part of our United States last week- (*insert moment of sad silence here*). 
Something else I have (i think) been slow to mention is that I am unbelievably behind on editing my novel for publication because it is a freaking oven, in my office, at any point past ten in the morning… 
So, recap: 
– love to decorate. 
– Amanda (frown) moved away. 
– office=inferno roughly 19 hours a day. 
Surely you see where I’m going with this… Wednesday evening the husband says to me, “Wife, what do you want to do with Amanda’s depressingly empty room?” He left a cushion moment for tears and sobbing (from me) and then continued with “I think we should move your office downstairs.” 
DING DING… 
I consoled myself with thoughts on decor that wouldn’t cost a dime. (I am pretty skilled like that.) And then we came to the crashing realization that my black, grey and yellow office EVERYTHING wasn’t going to fit in with her denim colored walls AT ALL… And you know what- that wouldn’t be a huge deal except- well, except I am petty about dumb, shallow things like that and it would drive me crazy… PLUS, as a writer, I need a good, creative and harmonious space. So yeah… It was replace office EVERYTHING, or paint. 
For $12 he bought a beautiful can of paint. 
Here’s where the incredible starts to surface… 
You see, my man, he is an AMAZING man. He is a GREAT man. He is a hard worker and super perfectionist extraordinaire… 
My man is also a wee bit of a procrastinator. 
The biggest thing he puts off (for eternities of time) is painting… 
Point 2: My dear, sweet husband NEVER likes the paint colors i choose, until they are on the wall. Then, he loves them… But before, i hear all about how horrible they are going to look and what an apocalyptic nightmare this is going to be… 
My office is painted. {Woo Hoo!!!} 
It’s a shade pretty close to Almost Black. I thought he’d have a heart attack when I suggested it, via paint chip, and slowly psyched myself for CPR. 
But it’s done. it’s almost black… And true to form- he LOVES it… 
What incredible sorts of somethings did your weekend hold? 
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Desert sun…

Being privileged to see the sun rise, or set, anywhere is an extraordinary gift. We live in a world full of tremendous beauty, but the rising and setting sun creating some of the most incredible things I have ever been witnessed to. 
That being said, if you have never seen the Desert sun set, or rise, I am so sorry for you. And you should rectify that, as soon as humanly possible… 
I don’t live in the real desert anymore, and for the most part (though I’d do a great many things if I could land a lovely house, with pool, in the Tempe Arizona zip code.) When I do have the pleasure of visiting that beautiful part of our country, I usually can’t keep my eyes of of it’s glorious sky… 

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My night in a slasher film…

From time to time, in the crisp month of October, I have been known to watch a scary movie or two. I don’t know why… I do get a little scared, and truth be told, sometimes they really stick with me and I do not care much for that part of it. 
Even so, October rolls around and with the invitation to watch a frightfest with friends or snuggle into the crook of my husband’s shoulder and do the same- I decide why not?… 
Why not?
My youngest has seen very few scary movies, and a good chunk of the ones that she has seen, she can thank her brother for… Even so, while she (and I) pretend we aren’t scared of them- their lingering effects are a whole other story. 
Grab some popcorn, snuggle in and get ready for what was seriously the scariest night of my life… 
(though I 98% blame the scary movies i have seen.) 
We found ourselves in Nevada, Saturday. The air wasn’t as October crisp as my body felt it should be, given the warm desert sun pounding through the car windows. Nearly a hundred miles north of Vegas, and with a setting sun, we were ready for this leg of our trip to find it’s way to hot shower and a comfortable bed… 
The room we had booked, pretty last minute, had us turning onto Nevada highway 375. 
The website we had trusted ensured us this was one of two rooms, on our path, and with a four star user rating, it was the obvious of the two… 
The turn to 375 greeted us with a state highway sign informing us that this was the Extraterrestrial Highway. The sun barely beamed, in the distance, as we traveled down the road that seemed to stretch on forever. 
With the increasing darkness the ethereal outside seemed to become more and more unsettling. 
“Can we have some music?” asked Gen, from her back seat, shifting nervously. 
Glancing at my iPhone I noticed that we had NO SERVICE. “I guess spotify is out.” I murmured for no other reason really than to further break the suffocating silence.  I turned the radio on, and hit scan. The tiny threads of remaining daylight proved it was a long shot. 
The light and I were both wrong… 
We had stations and stations, and stations. 
We had spanish stations, french Canadian stations… We had country stations being broadcast from Vegas and a rock station coming from California. Without any exaggeration at all, every point on the FM dial had a brand new, crystal clear station. 98.7, 98.8, 98.9… What was really cool, quickly became really eerie… And then, just as it scanned through the entire dial twice- every singly station was gone and it cycled through black silence… 
Weird, we all three managed at one… 
I checked my phone again- NO SERVICE. 
For nearly forty long, silent, pitch black miles, an unknown darkness spread out before us. When we finally came to the first building on our left, Chw took the turn with enthusiasm- as if the idea of continuing the way we’d come could drive him mad. As relief for human faces and noise began to recenter us back into reality, we took in our surroundings… 
Surely this wasn’t… 
But it was. 
This tiny, thrown together building was our “hotel”. The pluthera of ancient mobile homes behind it proved to be the suites. 

After a few expressions of shock and anger were cycled through, we decided there was little to do but make the best of what could turn out to be a really fun memory/adventure. We feasted on Alien burgers and apple pies while listening to other guests talk about various UFO sightings and rumors. We were tired, we were really just killing time prolonging the moment before we inevitably had to step into our own trailer suite… (Shared with random strangers, I’ll point out.)

The time did come, and so reluctantly we went.
I sent Chw in to check it out… Last thing anyone in central Nevada wanted was me walking into a piece of crap trailer and finding rats, snakes or a murder victim…
He gave us the all clear, while wearing an expression indicating that this could be really bad, and in we went…

Dark brown paneled walls, one full size bed (we’d been told upon booking that we had a private bathroom and two full size beds) Management offered us a moldy hide a bed mattress to compensate for the one bed, though the fleas on the carpet and the lack of it ever being vacuumed (there is no way it had, at least in this calendar year) made us decline.
The dust on the furniture was an inch thick and gummy. The sheets in the bed were covered in crumbs, hair and other shaded though dried fluids. The bathtub (not private bathroom) had a fungus. The heater didn’t work and the desert temperature was dropping faster than my anger was rising…
I was livid, Chw was beside himself with guilt and Genny was near tears with terror.
Carefully we sat on the sofas, in the trailer’s living room, to access our options.

We had already heard the horror stories of the many people killed on the highway, at night, due to open range cattle. We were trapped.

To break the silence that was once again smothering us, I gave a laugh and said “Next thing you know, we’ll find a stack of video tapes, and out of curiosity we’ll watch the one that will make this trip go even more sorts of wrong.”
Chw laughed.
Genny began to cry.
In that exact instant, Chw’s cell phone rang and “UNKNOWN CALLER” flashed on the screen.
Genny screamed, plunging against his torso, all pounding fists and shrieking sobs…
The line was dead.
Chw and I laughed at the absurdity of the situation, while also exchanging chilling glances with one another.

We took turns, him and I, sitting in the one chair while the other one was propped against our door. We brought our own pillows and blankets and spread them out on the bed. I allowed him to sleep longer, as he was driving and needed rest the most.

When light barely became visible above the mountain range, we booked it out of there, driving 90 until we reached the turn towards home.

The morals of my Terrifying Saturday the 13th story are this:

– Even if they don’t scare you, horror movies fester in your brain waiting to terrorize you, and they will… Every little sound, every eye sized hole in your paneled walls,  every visible breath of icy air and every gravely shuffle outside will make you question that fine line you believed in, between slasher film and everyday life…
– Time really is a matter of perspective, and those five and a half hours were about twenty five years in length.
– Never, ever, ever, ever plan to spend any amount of dark time in Rachel Nevada…

THE END… 
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You win some, you lose some…

It all started because my youngest decided she needs to sit on the floor, when pulling clothes out of the dresser. While this isn’t necessarily (in itself) an awful thing, using her bottom drawer to hoist her body weight off of the ground, over the years, hasn’t been the best. 
After countless repairs to railings and screws and other furniture mechanisms- the bottom drawer was shot. 
(* insert losing game show Wah Wah Wah here.*)
The next problem arose because the three drawered (little girl style) dresser just wasn’t working, as a now two drawered mess, to hold the clothes it needed to. We scoured local thrift stores looking for something to refinish for her, but found nothing. Then, one afternoon when Genny was putting away some laundry, Chw had the privilege of walking in on her hoisting her body weight up, via the second drawer. 
Level FAILED, Lesson UNlearned… Poor kid was about to find herself storing clothes in a stack of rubber maid bins, he was so upset. That’s when something i had seen on Pinterest occurred to me…
I scoured Craigslist and found 2 old entertainment armoires. I knew it was genius idea when I could score them both for under a hundred dollars. I pitched the idea to Chw, who was eager to agree. This meant an attractive clothing storage solution for Genny, with NO drawers to crane herself off of the floor- AND a long awaiting storage solution for our own bedroom. 
Through much stress and maneuvering, both armoires made their way to our garage. 
Genny’s (which turned out to be half the size of the ginormous other one) was up first. We painted it chrome (she LOVES it, it’s so chic and cool). It was a simple project that turned out AWESOME. (*note: for those of you who had seen the picture of her room before she got bunk beds and a shiny, silver armoire- you will likely notice how incredibly GROWN UP and teenagerish those two things made her room. *sniff*)

Totally inspired by the trending feed of upcycled armoires, we attempted to work on the one for our bedroom this week. 
(*insert previous losing game show WAH WAH WAH here, a million decibels louder than before.*) 
We now have an unfinished armoire, nearly the size of a small car, parked in our garage. Genny’s old broken dresser in our closet and our good old dresser in our room, just as before. We are no longer desperate for a clothing storage solution for us- but it certainly did NOT go the way we planned… 

Entertainment option: note the size difference, by the included Chw scale between the last photo and the third…
Second Entertainment option: Drinking came for every time I have cursed the armoire that is STILL sitting, dead center, in my garage. it has been weeks, but I have been stuck in the grieving process.

Additional sidenote: I have been wanting to get a cross bow. For the armoire’s sake, it’s good I haven’t acquired one, as of yet…

The end. :( 

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Love you like a love story…

There really is nothing like a good love story…
For most of us anyway. There are those people so jaded and scarred from life and consumed by their own bitterness that they gag on such things, but for the majority of us- we are magnetically drawn… It’s just part of the human condition. 
But no matter how touching or “romantic” a movie or novel may feel, nothing compares to the real thing. 
I was recently talking with a friend about the fact that her husband had an affair on her. The details aren’t important but let me just say that this was a raw and a humiliating experience. This was several years ago, and through a brief separation and a ton of work they not only worked their way through it, but their marriage is a million times better than it was before. 
And yet… 
And yet, she was at a tea last week when another lady confided that a friend off her’s had just caught her husband cheating. The ladies gasped, on cue, and the gossip proceeded to rant on and on about how her friend needed to kick that worthless man to the curb. 
My friend, having an instant heart for that wife, whom she did not know, and that marriage, spoke up. 
“Adultery isn’t a death sentence, in most cases it’s a wake up call.”
This got their astonished attention. She began to share her story, thinking it an inspirational one. As soon as she was finished though, people chided her weakness and naivety. 
Sad. 
Our talk was mostly about the things she wished she’d said, after that. The things like- Upon getting married, did you pre-nup the mistakes that were “one time and you’re out” issues? What were his? What if your husband heard you gossip to a friend about how irritated you were at him, just that one time, and called it quits? What if your husband knew the things you said to your mother when you were mad at him? I mean, it goes on really… And maybe these things don’t cause black eyes or bruising, but are they not abusive all the same? Do they not hurt? 
Granted… there are awful men who cheat, just to cheat. Men who have no respect for women, or genuine respect for themselves. But my friend’s situation wasn’t like that, and more than likely neither was this woman’s friend’s. 
We are a society conditioned by entertainment… Movies and books tell us what love stories should look like, so we find ourselves continually disappointed when they don’t follow that recipe. When proposals involve less glamour, glitz and T & Co beauty- we plant our tiny seed of resentment, and water it whenever real life happens. 
Therefore, our divorce rates are astounding. 
The moral of my little story is simply this: Cherish your love story. Your REAL love story. The one where your husband may not look like a movie star, but he doesn’t expect you to either. The love story where he is going to make a million mistakes, just like you will, but he loves you anyway- in the only way that a three dimensional, breathing human being can. Don’t trade him in for a one dimensional character because the written stories always have an end, and your love story doesn’t need to be scripted by anyone other than you… 
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