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Frozen Pipes= Frozen Productivity

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Why is it that the moment pipes freeze or the electricity goes out, my entire body decides it has a broken arm? Or a broken leg. Possibly both. Suddenly I am incapable of doing anything. Cleaning mirrors? Absolutely not. Sweeping the floor? Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t have water. Well… I do have water. Just not in the bathroom. And the hot water is frozen solid, which feels personal. This whole saga began when a wild animal crawled under my house and tore out the insulation like it was auditioning for a home‑renovation show called Extreme Makeover: Rodent Edition. Then my washer sprang a leak. I didn’t notice until the carpet and the cheap particle‑board floor under the dresser had turned into oatmeal. When I pulled the carpet back, the floor had melted away. I could see the ground under my house. That is not a “feature.”  That is a horror movie. I called Rick, my handyman. He said he’d get to me soon. Not wanting a critter to stroll into my bedroom like it pays rent, I slapped a ...
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Rap Monster, the Temporary Pet

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  The Kitten Chronicles: How I Accidentally Became a Cat Landlord We have two darling little kittens — outdoor cats, feral cats, “don’t touch me, human” cats. Their older brothers survived last winter outside like tiny Viking warriors, so I figured these two would be fine. But I still bought them a heated cat house. A whole tiny Airbnb with a warming pad specifically designed for feral cats. Because apparently I’m running a luxury resort for animals who won’t even let me pet them. One morning I was playing with them through the glass window — my version of “interactive cat parenting.” Jimin looked over his shoulder, froze, and bolted. I stepped outside to see what scared him. Mama cat screamed — a sound that could summon demons — and she was standing over little Jimin’s body. No life left in him. A strange feral male cat stood there like he owned the place, challenging me. I grabbed a shovel and ran him off like a furious pioneer woman defending her homestead.. Well. “I am NOT havi...
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Riding a Donkey upgraded to a Racehorse

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  Last year, on the way to Disneyland—back when my bank account was still breathing normally and not whispering its final prayers—I casually mentioned to Rob, “I need a new laptop.” Just a simple comment. A passing thought. A gentle breeze of an idea. Fast‑forward to December. The Month of Doom. Insurance due. Taxes due. Christmas shopping. My budget wasn’t just tight—it was gasping, clutching its chest like it had just run a marathon uphill in flip‑flops. Every time I swiped my Discover card, I swear I smelled smoke. The friction alone could’ve powered a small generator. Then Rob—sweet, helpful, financially dangerous Rob—asked: “Want to go look at laptops?” I said yes. But inside? Inside I was screaming NOOOOOO, sliding down a wall in slow motion like a dramatic soap‑opera heroine. I told myself, I’ll just look. I’ll find the one I want, and when my bank balance is no longer on life support, I’ll come back for it. Sure. I only fooled myself. We walked into Micro Center, and Rob im...
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The New Year Began...

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  I rang in the new year… asleep in my own bed. My own little bed. I’ve been in so many different beds lately — BY MYSELF, thank you, get your mind out of the gutter — that waking up in my own felt like a luxury resort. Christmas round two happened in Amarillo with Montana and Robin, Dec. 27–30. I basically live out of my car or so it seems. Then at 6:00 a.m. on New Year’s Day, I was back on the road, loaded up and truckin’ like a one‑woman Smokey and the Bandit reboot. Destination: Brandy’s house. Mission: Christmas, Part Three. When I arrived, the boys helped me unload the car. And by “helped,” They took in three arm loads, while I rolled in my one little carry one.  By the time we finished, it looked like I was moving in permanently. I half expected Brandy to hand me a lease agreement. Act I: Michael’s Hershey Kiss Michael opened his giant Hershey Kiss — a practical joke from me. He didn’t ask for one; he simply wondered aloud if they still make them. Well, yes they do, and...
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Christmas on a Pontoon 2025

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                                                         ðŸŽ„ Christmas Day on the Pontoon Christmas at home this year… what a concept. I was not thrilled. No big adventure, not even a tiny one. I’m not afraid of flying — I’m afraid of flying on small planes that need repairs “signed off on” instead of actually fixed. (That blog is below. Buckle up.) I put the tree up in October, stockings hung, the whole house looking like a Hallmark movie… but no adventure in sight. My smoked turkey was thawed, gifts wrapped, stockings filled, cards sent — and still nothing planned for Christmas Day. I even invited Marvin and his new bride Rhonda over for dinner. They had “better plans.” Well thanks a lot. At least pretend to invite me. They did not. Then Monday rolls around and Marvin calls: “Plans changed. Wanna bring that Christmas dinner on the pontoon? It’...
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Not So Fun Flight 2024

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 Last year, JoDee and I decided to fly to Colorado for Christmas with our siblings. Sounds simple, right? A sweet little holiday getaway? No. No, it was not. It was an episode of Survivor: Holiday Travel Edition, and we were the unwilling contestants. I didn’t realize Tulsa wasn’t an international airport until we boarded what was basically a flying shoebox — maybe 50 passengers total, two seats on each side, and the kind of plane where you can feel everyone breathe. But hey, we made it to Denver just fine. Then the real fun began. We waited. And waited. And waited some more for our connecting flight — the one that “barely made it in” because of mechanical problems. Comforting. Truly. And then, as if the universe wanted to test our commitment to Christmas spirit, they boarded us onto a 15‑seater. Fifteen. I’ve seen minivans with more structural integrity. We’re buckled in when the announcement comes: They need a mechanic to sign off on the problem. Sign off? SIGN OFF? How about… f...
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Ears Tears Suitcase Fears

 Last Morning at Disney: Ears, Tears & Suitcase Fears We waited for Erin and the boys to say our goodbyes, which felt less like parting and more like the end of a reality show season finale. I went in search of Mickey Mouse ears—because my backpack has a designated “ear zone,” obviously. $35 for something I’ll never wear and will eventually donate to the “Why Did I Buy This?” bin. But hey, it completes the look. Packing: The Sequel We said our goodbyes and began the sacred ritual of shoving suitcases into the car. Thank goodness we didn’t buy much—unless you count two robots, a Light saber, snacks, and a questionable amount of emotional baggage. My backpack didn't fit in the back, so I had to hold it like a needy toddler. Shoutout to my lavender sweatshirt, which I wore every single day like it was my emotional support hoodie. Best $6.00 I ever spent—basically a hug with sleeves. LA Arrival: Hilton Hijinks We made it across town to the Hilton with zero mishaps. Miracles do happ...
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Downtown Disney

 We got up early—because nothing says “vacation” like voluntarily setting an alarm. Breakfast was at the Tiki Bar, same place we got drinks last night, which felt oddly like returning to the scene of a delicious crime. I ordered a Hawaiian croissant stuffed with pulled pork, fancy cheese, bacon, scrambled egg, and pineapple slices. Coffee? $23. For that price, I expected Mickey to serve it with jazz hands and a tap dance. He did not. But that croissant? AMAZING. I was basically back in Hawaii, minus the ocean breeze and the guy playing ukulele in flip-flops.  The Souvenir Olympics   After breakfast, we passed through security like seasoned pros—bags open, sunscreen ready, dignity optional. The kids headed for the monorail like it was the Hogwarts Express, and I set off on a noble quest: find a souvenir that wouldn’t end up in the Goodwill pile next spring. Options? Endless. Tees, hoodies, water bottles, backpacks, toys, Mickey and Minnie on everything short of dental flos...
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From Dukes of Hazzard to Pixie Dust Cocktails

 Chaos on the Highway: Dukes of Hazzard, LA Edition Back on the road, cruising along, when suddenly—brake lights! Dust clouds! Cars lunging into the left lane like it was the last lifeboat on the Titanic. We slowed to a crawl and passed a car tipped on its side, surrounded by people scavenging like it was a post-apocalyptic yard sale. I swear that car auditioned for Dukes of Hazzard and nailed the stunt. Scary? Absolutely. Slightly hilarious in its absurdity? Also yes. 🌴 Palm trees and ocean breeze—we’ve officially landed in California. We told the security guard we were staying at the Disneyland Resort. He gave us a look, then waved us through like we were royalty. I read the sign: $40 a day for parking. Are they charging us to breathe the pixie-dusted air too? Yes. Yes, they are. 🧳 We dragged our luggage out of the car like we were starring in a slow-motion drama. I watched my suitcase wheels wobble like they were auditioning for retirement. “Hang in there, little guys,” I whis...
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Last Day at Fuji and Betty's

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 Thunder and rain rolled in like Biblical times.   Betty and I sat on the patio just listening to it drum on the metal roof. Pure bliss. She filled her little rock waterfall—complete with a hummingbird statue—and the big pond was going strong. Tomorrow, we head to Disneyland!  Yay excitement, anticipation… and suitcase paranoia. I weighed mine—33 pounds, still under control—but those wheels have seen better days. Can you actually buy tires for a suitcase like a car? Asking for a friend. The bigger problem: I haven’t even started shopping at Downtown Disney yet. The temptation, the shiny things, the fun stuff… my wallet is trembling, and my suitcase wheels are silently groaning. Packing tip #1: check the wheels. Packing tip #2: remember that souvenirs weigh more than your arm power. Packing tip #3: pack snacks, because Disney lines are long and hunger is evil.. I’ve added 6 shirts, two hoodies, and a pair of white capris.   Fuji bought me a bag of no-brand popcor...
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