Our House (in the middle of our street)

Ok, so we got back into our house today after the Waldo Canyon Fire. And I'm really pressed for time and exhausted, but I made this short vlog to show you the house to tide you over to my next blog post. (Which will be about what we did while we were evacuated.)

Please note:

This video was not pre-planned or edited. (Obviously.)

I'm exhausted and that's why I can't speak coherently. (NOT because I've been drinking.)

I got that super sweet t-shirt I'm wearing at Goodwill the other day for $2, well it was actually free. (Back story coming soon.)

I regret this video isn't actually funny. (Except due to my utter awk-weirdness.)



So enjoy the quickie and I'll be back to writing soon. (Hopefully.).

Set the World on Fire

Yesterday started out like any other day. The smell of old campfire wafting into town from the distant Waldo canyon fire mixed with fresh paint fumes from my now beautiful spicy cayenne colored wall. Then, I got my haircut from one of my roller derby girlfriends who works at a salon near my house. After that, the kids and I headed to the pool to cool off and meet some friends. It was a pretty typical summer day.

One of the things we love about the pool we belong to is the gorgeous view of Garden of the Gods and the Rocky Mountains. Today a smoke plume is rising directly behind the ridge from the wild fire and billowed over. We had a clear view of the C-130s and helicopters combating the inferno from the sky. While the kids swam, the adults sat and watched the beautifully choreographed air assault on the flames and took pictures. While reprimanding the girls to save some cheez-its for the boys who were pelting each other in their own water assault.

Until suddenly, in a furious gust of Colorado wind, the flames crested the ridge. And we watched silently in awe. My friend Linda had called just a minute before and told us to come home. That's when it struck me that maybe I should have packed something ahead of time. Important documents and all that vital stuff. Or maybe I should have filled the gas tank. Or had some kind of plan for this. But, I didn't do any of those things. And now, on my way home from the pool I ran into a road block. And, it was bigger than the inconsolable kid who was crying terrified tears in the back of my minivan.

We would have to take a new way home. A longer, scarier one.

We would have to take a new way home. A longer, scarier one which diverted us away from the fire at first and then directly back toward it to get into our neighborhood. Craig was already in the house packing up documents and two crap computers fried by the electric currents in Africa that by all accounts would have been better left to burn. (And that's why I am slowly and painfully writing this post from Craig's iPad.) Jade is now in complete hysterics. I give her instructions to pack her bag and ignore my impulses to console her while I throw whatever I can think of into our luggage.

Craig insists we drive two cars. Isn’t one of the guidelines of emergency situations not to get separated? Reluctantly, I acquiesce and take Jade, Sky and Ember. River insists on going with Craig. Wait a minute, I have no idea where we're going. My gas tank reads empty and Jade is still crying and screaming, Sky won't stop what-if-ing and Ember wonders why she ended up in the crap car. Which is exactly what I was thinking too. While trying really hard not look like I was thinking it. And calmly.

By this time, the sky is inundated with so much ash and smoke it looks like it's night and I have to put on the headlights. Ash is drifting down from the sky like gigantic fluffy snowflakes. So I call Craig to try to firm up the plan, but I can't get through, the network is too busy. The line of cars out of my neighborhood is long, but surprisingly neighborly. No one is cutting me off, honking and no one appears to be in any rush at all. In fact, I'm the only offender. The woman next to me rolls down her window to ask me in the nicest and most neighborly way not to crowd her. I didn’t even realize I was doing it. I was just driving like I was in Morocco. Which in America is offensive. So, I backed off. Gas or no gas, I didn't want to offend.

After some time, and countless internal battles with whether I should turn off the engine or not to save gas, I reached the gas station. When I got to the pump, the gas supply was shut off just like it was throughout the whole community. Finally I got through to Craig on my cell and we had a plan. If only we had enough gas to make it there.

We came upon the second gas station in the nick of time. I filled up and headed east to our meeting point. Where we were all grateful to just be alive and together. Don't worry, it didn't last long til the kids were right back at it soon enough. It was a good hour while it lasted though.

Later that night, in our hotel room in Pueblo, Sky showed us the contents of his hasitly packed luggage. In addition to too few clothes, he grabbed the family photos next to the fireplace. Some picture of him and his siblings. One of Craig and I and each set of our parents. Maybe my kids really do know what’s truly important after all. Although he probably elbowed a sibling or two to get to them.

Going to Extremes

Colorado is normally dry this time of year. But, this summer it's both extremely dry and unusually hot. We heard about all the wild fires out west before we moved from Morocco. We just didn't think it would be in our neighborhood. No one ever does. Until Saturday, when a fire started extremely close to us.

 Instead of packing things up and evacuating, we breathed in the fresh paint fumes that filled our house from the two previous days of coloring our world. I colored our living room plum, which actually was more grape jam before resorting to cranberry, which  is only slightly less hideous. I really should learn stay in the lines when I color.  I hope that I'll redeem myself on Tuesday when Spicy Cayenne goes up on the wall.  That is if our whole house doesn't go up.  In flames. Then we won't have to worry about it. Or whether those pictures we hung are indeed straight. So really either way, it's pretty win-win. (Although I did call my home owners insurance company just to make sure of that.)



Saturday was also Jade's 11th birthday and she was set to have 4 girlfriends over for a sleepover, which of course didn't happen. But, the girl who never asks for anythings wasn't upset about that. Instead, she was extremely concerned that the city left a lot of dead branches behind our property after cutting them down to curb the mistletoe infestation. I know that sounds really festive and probably a bit risque. For humans. But, for trees, mistletoe can be fatal. The kiss of death, in fact.



We've been watching the fire for two days now. Waiting for a mandatory evacuation. with little to do besides home improvement projects. The timing seems a little more than a little counter-intuitive. The kids are hot, bored and frustrated because many of their friends have already evacuated. It's 100 degrees and we don't have air conditioning and the pool we frequent is closed due to the fire's threat. Frankly, I'm feeling more imminent danger from the threat that my kids may kill each other. Not that that's not a possibility on any given day or anything. Add the heat index to the unspoken nervous chatter in the air and it’s a recipe for disaster.



As for me, I'm pondering why Americans are obsessed having a full water full to the brim at a restaurant. Not only is there a shortage of clean water around the world, but there is a drought that has resulted in a fire right here threatening our homes. And yet we still deny global warming and carry on with the American way of life as usual. Reckless and unfathomable don’t begin to describe the extent of our denial.

Burka in America

When I did the first burka post 6 months ago, I knew there would be another one. One that would be far more scary because I would be anything but invisible. And for 6 months whenever I thought about it, I'd get anxious and contemplate the possible things that could go wrong.   Then I'd think maybe I shouldn't do it at all.  But, I always thought that wearing a burka here in America would be the more interesting social experiment. So, I knew I had to do it.

I live in middle America. Colorado Springs to be exact. It's a little bit country, a  little bit rock and roll and a whole lotta  evangelical christian headquarters.. This is no melting pot. (Although we do boast the fondue chain downtown.) This is homogeneous-ville. Not by design, but by some weird magnetic force in the universe that draws pale as whole milk churchy people to this geographic location.  Of course  I'm overgeneralizing.  Well, kinda.  Have you been here?  My point is,  I have never, ever seen anyone in a burka within the city limits. Or in the state either, for that matter. It's just  something that doesn't happen here.

I knew the perfect place to conduct such an experiment.   The most American place on earth.  Besides Disney World of course.  Walmart. In the middle of the day. In the middle of the week. I don't know exactly what to expect.  But I image some stares, pointing, whispering and a bit of instantaneous contempt would be involved. Again, I'm overgeneralizing, but in situations like this, all it takes is one person to make things go horribly wrong.  That's why my husband Craig will also be in the store with me.  But not with me.  Watching me from afar to make sure I'm safe. That and someone needs to take pictures. But mostly for that safety thingy.
.

My wobbly legs carried me through the parking lot past two men standing outside the entry doors. Even though I was extremely nervous, I tried to make eye contact, but they averted my gaze.  Until I passed them, and saw their reflection of their turned heads aimed directly at me in the glass.   The greeter is sitting in her motorized cart and is stunned into silence so I don't receive the gratis welcome to Walmart owed every customer.   Except me.

 I start in produce. When I notice the greeter who is rolling along in her motorized cart.  And she's not rolling back prices, she's either eager to get a closer look. Or to run me over because she drives dangerously close to me and narrowly misses crashing into my cart.. Or maybe that's just how she rolls.  She followed me down 2 more aisles before either losing interest or suddenly remembering her vital greeting duties.

 

I settle into shopping for my groceries.  Careful to not buy the bacon I really wanted to buy because it seemed so many levels of wrong while wearing a burka.  With each aisle, I grew more relaxed because no one was looking, staring or pointing.  But yet,  I wasn't invisible either. If a cart was in my way other shoppers politely moved it and apologized for the inconvenience, the way Americans do. So I wasn't invisible and I wasn't a spectacle.  And this isn't at all what I expected.

 

I made it all the way to the back of the store in the dairy section without so much as a second glance. I was just another one of the people of Walmart. Flying their freak flag. But, my rating on the freak scale was a 1 on a scale from 1 to 10. So no one cared. Or gave me a second glance. Maybe Walmart wasn't the right venue for this after all.



This was going nowhere.  I had to do something.  So I started talking to people. "Have you had that yogurt before? Is it good?" And my fellow dairy lover looked right into my eyes and explained with a smile how delicious that flavored greek yogurt was without a blink. Later, that key lime flavored one would prove her right.  I can testify to that.

 

Now this is the point where Craig completely lost track of me. Because he got so bored watching me shop and the nothing that was happening that he just started to shop.  Which I find funny because out of the two of us, Craig was far more fearful for my safety than I was. It was so boring it had just become a routine Walmart run.

I walked he rest of the way through Walmart asking the employees for chalk board chalk (which I never did find by the way), stove top cleaner, those frozen ice cube sheets for coolers, anything I could think of  to engage people. Oh, I also chatted it up with customers. Then, I slowly perused the toy section where I was sure a small child would be enticed to say "Why is she dressed like that mommy?" But, no.  Even kids know I'm a 1 on the Walmart freak scale.  So I've got nothing.

After a couple hours of extremely slow and methodical shopping in a burka, I was finally done.  Simply because I couldn't think of anything else to do.  So I  sent Craig a text that the mission was complete and headed to the check out. Hoping something would happen there so I'd have something to write about. Maybe I would use my credit card and she would check my ID and ask to see my face. But of course she didn't.  She was friendly as could be. Until I left the store.  Then she ran into the parking lot behind me shouting trying to get my attention.  Turns out,  I had just left my eggs in the revolving bagging wheel of childhood black eyes.

Craig met me at the car and we were both stunned that there was essentially no reaction.   Maybe if I'd done it on a weekend, maybe at a different store. Maybe if I'd  gone to Hooters to eat some wings.   Maybe if I'd have worn the thicker face veil that they couldn't see my facial expressions through.  Or maybe if less people were buried in their cell phones.  Or maybe, just maybe Americans are more tolerant than I gave them credit for.

Truth Is...

We've been back in the states for a week now. We have been so ridiculously busy trying to set up our house, buy a car, buying a washer and dryer, registering the kids in school, getting cell phones, internet and cable. Oh, and I've already taken two belly dance classes. Where we're learning sword.  I kid you not. So, there has been far more going on than I could ever cover in one blog post. But, I'm gonna try.


Photo credit Mark Green

First of all, I know you're dying to know the fate of the South Africa lingerie pants. Well, the day before we left we pantsed the Greens. They were waving high in the breeze of their palm tree in front of their house. This made us both very proud and cocky that they were left with the pants. But, the truth is...they found the pants the day we left Morocco, got them down and planted them in our luggage which we didn't realize until we got to America. (I say we win on style points though.)

 

 I have been back and forth to the store for all kinds of things this last week. So much so that I'm actually sick of it.  Somehow in all that to-ing and fro-ing,  I have managed not to buy  these really affordable stripper shoes. The truth is, if I had a valid excuse, I so would.  Like maybe I'll need them for that sword routine. 

 

But for now, I'm completely enamored by the cleaning aisle. Where the truth is, I can be seen huffing natural cleaners. You know for that natural high that you get from that. When everything is really clean.



I was so high on cleaner that I thought I was in Morocco when I saw this super funky Moroccan looking camel tea pot in Whole Foods. The truth is, it's a bit boring to not have to bargain with some guy in the souk for it and not to wonder if that pungent smell is souk guy's b.o. or if the tea pot is filled with camel piss.



The second day in Colorado I colored my hair a lovely shade of red in the hotel bathroom before 6am while the rest of my family slept.  It looked great when I finished.  The truth is it didn't.  Hours later,  Craig told me I missed a whole huge section on the back of my head obvious to everyone behind me. This photo does not do justice to the severity of  this botched dye job.  And that white hotel towel I used? It looks like we murdered a squirrel and cleaned the crime scene with it.



Then there's food.  Oh my god, food!  We are completely overwhelmed at the choices of food here and how many new products in our two year absence.  I have cried down the aisles of Costco more than once crippled by the possibilities before I just started throwing things in my ginormous cart that smoothly rolls the pristine aisles.  I had already bought lots of greens when I realized it was the day to pick up the summers first delivery of organic veggies from our  csa.  Not only that, we've gorged on Mexican food. And the truth is? We reek!  Mexican + excessive organic veggies = excessive intestinal distress and flatulence.Some things never change.



Now that we're out of the hotel and living in our house (which doesn't have a 9 foot gate around it), we've gotten a lot of visitors. Furry four-legged visitors. The deer visited even more frequently because the girls were leaving food for them.  We do have all those veggies after all.  The truth is, we have since forbade  this, as we don't want the other furry creatures who also live in these parts at our back door. Like sasquatches. Cause I already have enough mouths to feed.



We already had our first happy hour at our local watering hole with friends. It's one of our favorite things about summer here in Colorado.  And after an extensive search for the perfect sunscreen.  The truth is, I think the burkini is the best protection from the brutal Colorado sun.  Except it's a bitch to get this off when you need to pee.



And this is how my toe tribute to my friends in Morocco is going. It's a mess. And the truth is, I'm a mess. I miss the exotic, gritty, chaotic simplicity that is Morocco. And I don't feel like I quite fit the stressful yet mundane, hygienic, orderly land I have moved to. I love my friends here. And Colorado. But, I  miss Morocco more than I thought.  And I feel more than a little lost because I didn't quite come back the same person as the one that left.. 

The Embassy

I've been dying to give you the scoop on embassy life for a very long time. And now that I've left Morocco and I'm back safely on American soil, I think it's time to divulge all it's secrets. Including how subversive it's culture is, how fake the people are and how destructive it is to the American dream. I'm speaking of course of Embassy Suites.

 Before we left Morocco, while all of our possessions were packed up into boxes and we prepared to move to Africa, we stayed at the Embassy Suites for a week. Because it was simply the cheapest hotel option for a family of six at $99/ a night. So, when we found out our house wouldn't be ready to move into immediately we knew exactly where to stay.  Embassy Suites. And how perfect it was to go full circle and stay at the same place we started this whole adventure.  No matter that it was  now  $139/a night for all six of us. Because, despite the price increase, it's still the best deal in town.

We arrived at the airport after hours and hours of  travel to the beautiful sight of our friends welcoming us at the airport.  After renting a car, schlepping our bags to the hotel, checking in on our house, making a run to the grocery store, swimming in the hotel pool and happy hour, we simply couldn't stay up any longer. It was 6:30pm. Which of course meant the following morning would be an early one.



And it was.  We were up so early and yet still so tired, we couldn't wait for breakfast to have our first cup of coffee. So we made it in our room. Our room filled with environmental propaganda on how "green" the hotel is. After tearing open the plastic wrap of two individual pods of coffee, two stir sticks and a hell of a lot of creamer and sugars (Craig has a sweet tooth), the coffee dispensed itself into two disposable cups. They even had those very American coffee sleeves, because god forbid some dumb ass doesn't realize coffee is hot and burns their hand from stupidity and sues or something.  I decided to forgo the sleeve and therefore single handedly save the rain forest that sliver of tree.   Which I'm sure that sliver was re purposed from coffee sleeve to coffee stirrer anyway.  Oh well, I tried.



After we took our extra long, extra hot showers to wash away the travel funk, because we're not paying for the water, we followed the herd to breakfast. This is where we really get our moneys worth. My kids are freakin' pigs, ok. So, if you put out fruit loop, donuts, chocolate milk and pancakes and tell them they can eat as much as they want from the hours of 6:30am to 10:30am, they are going to hoark it down like starving children in Africa.  And then they're going to come back later for a second breakfast right before breakfast ends, like  the American kids they are.   Of course we don't discourage this because, everything they consume reduces the price of our stay.  So, we ignore the fact that this gluttonous consumption increases obesity, which in turn increases the cost of medical care that we all pay for. It is the American way after all.



Did I mention there's bacon on the buffet?  Real bacon  we didn't have in Morocco. Did I mention I  ate at least 5 strips every morning?  I should probably schedule and appointment with a cardiologist  now or at the very least,  take the stairs on my way back up to the room. But somehow, they've made it hard to find them, so I take the elevator instead.



After long days out and about registering the kids for school, buying a washer and dryer, trying to set up internet, getting cell phones, braving the crowds at Walmart, we needed some time to just relax and unwind. Of course Embassy Suites has us covered. It's called Happy Hour and from 5:30pm to 7:30pm you can consume as much liquor and heart clogging foods as you'd like.  For free. At least red wine is good for your heart and maybe it'll counteract the effects of the snacks.  Except only one glass of red a day is supposed to be good for your heart. But, I'm an American so even though the research says only one glass a day, I'm positive a second glass will be even better for me.  Or so I tell myself.

 

Don't worry, even though we were tempted to let the kids drink wine so they would sleep better, we settled for Shirley Temples. Cause there's nothing better than sugaring your sleep deprived kids up right before they go to bed.  The bartender was more than happy to do it too because she knows if you make the kids happy and serve their parents wine it results in big tips.  That's why she has such a big smile on her face.



Now, no happy hour is complete without snacks. After 2 years of living in a middle eastern country I should have known better than to try the hummus that I'm positive is served fresh from the can with  fried pita.
 
 

No, it's far better to stick to the craptastic Mexican salsa that comes out of a plastic gallon sized drum. That's way more American. Now between the breakfast and the happy hour, not to mention the long hot showers, I'm pretty sure they're  not making any money from us, but paying us to stay with them.  Which is why we'll extend our reservation and stay one more night until our shipment of  kitchen items arrives the next day. Except, there's no room for us to stay another night. They're completely booked. Which explains how they stay in business. Businessmen. One to a room. Yes, of course, it's the law of averages.

So what's my point? You can get a great deal at the Embassy Suites, but every happy hour ends and when it does it will cost you. Probably at the least, a trip to the cardiologist.

Skating Away

I think this whole move thing is going pretty smoothly. Or I did. Until the movers edged closer and closer to my roller skates with their boxes, wrapping papers and tape gun. Then I got a little panicky.  My heart starting palpating, and my skin got cool and clammy.  I didn't quite know what to do. Or why I was feeling quite so possessive about them.  If they got packed up by the movers I wouldn't have them for weeks or maybe even months. What if they got lost and never saw them again?  Never.

Before we moved to Morocco, I played roller derby in Colorado. Two nights a week I'd put on my skates and become my alter ego, Bad Mojo. She was a bad ass who smelled like sweat, had a foul mouth, was covered in bruises, had a bum knee and an even worse attitude. Ok, so exactly like me except she hit girls.  Mojo even had a fan.  My local librarian and card carrying member of the AARP.  That's totally true. But the thing I loved about roller derby wasn't the skating. Or the hitting. Or my one fan. It was about being a part of something. And the women who did it with me.

So I body blocked the movers and defended my skates and helmet at the bottom of the second half. And I made some room for them in my suitcase.   I don't know if I'll return to roller derby or not. Things have changed since I left. They have a banked track league now. Lots of skaters I knew and loved have hung up their skates and retired while I was gone. And now in addition to the kids schedules, I have my dance schedule to work around.  So, it just wouldn't be the same. Because nothing stays the same.

Tonight I get on a plane to the states.

Skating away from being a part of Morocco.

And from the women who do it with me.

Since neither will fit in my suit case, I will simply have to carry them in my heart wherever I go.

This post is dedicated to Sara and Faith.  

20 Years

Twenty years ago today Craig and I were married. This was after a long distance romance which started in Holland and lasted the next 4 years throughout college until June 6, 1992. Having spent most of our relationship apart, we were even more anxious than most couples to spend the rest of eternity together. But you should probably know that twenty years ago I was a drug addict.

My drug of choice? Dopamine. And it's just as addictive as cocaine. You see, dopamine is a very powerful chemical in our brains. It can make you think delusional things like we're the only two people to ever be so in love. We're soul mates. We'll still feel the same way about each other in 50 years when we're old, wrinkly, fat and wearing diapers. It also makes us think, this marriage thing is gonna be so easy because ______________(fill any name you wish in the blank here) and I are so in love, we're soul mates and we'll feel the exact same way when we're still gettin' it on twice a day in the nursing home wearing diapers. But, that's all a big crap load of lies. Lies I tell you!

Because those dreamy dopamine delusions only last up to 4 years max. Less if you're Kim Kardasian or Brittany Spears.) After the oxytocin, the mellower-not-tonight-honey-let's-just-cuddle-drug takes over. If you're still together of course.
Because those dreamy dopamine delusions only last up to 4 years. (Less if you're Kim Kardasian or Brittany Spears.) After that oxytocin, the mellower-not-tonight-honey-let's-just-cuddle-drug takes over. If you're still together of course.

Not only does biology work against you, then you have to contend with the little bumps in the path that also take a toll on your marriage.      

For us it was medical school. And graduate school.

Residency. (Which is far more stress than medical school.)


Craig's dad passing away.

Deciding it was time to start trying to have a baby.

Realizing that's near impossible when your husband is never home.

Selling our souls to the army to pay back medical school. (His soul really, mine was just bonus.)

Not getting pregnant after years of trying. (Which is a lot less fun than it sounds.)

My mom passing away.

Deciding to adopt.

Adopting our first child, River.

Then moving to Germany.

Where the tragedy of September 11th happened a week after our arrival.


Adopting Sky and Jade. 


Craig getting sent to the war in Iraq for 15 months.


While I stayed in Germany with a 1, 2 and 3 year old. 


Deciding to move to Colorado on a whim.  Somewhere we hadn't been, that we didn't know a soul and we didn't have a job after the army.

Paying the equivalent of 2 mortgages for 7 years to buy into a group medical practice.

Adopting our fourth child, Ember.


Taking a job with the Peace Corps and moving to Morocco. 


And you know how stress free that has been.

For years we didn't realize the toll all of these bumps (and many others) had on our marriage. We took it for granted. More than once we tripped on the obstacles in the path and lost our course. At different times each of us thought that maybe it wasn't even the path we actually wanted to be on at all. That's what being clean, sober and dopamine free gets you. Reality. Reality bites.

But, in this unsexy reality, I always have someone to catch me or help me up when I fall. Not because he can't see my imperfections, but because he can. And somehow loves me despite them. As I do him. Who needs dopamine? We've got oxytocin. Let’s cuddle!

That's why I'm doing 20 years to life hard time on drug charges with my best friend.

The Plan

You know how right after you get something you find something even more perfect? Remember that lamp I had specially made?  You know the one from my post Customer Service just a little while back. (If you haven't read it or just want to gawk at my lamp click here.)  Not to be confused with the above photo, which is the lamp I found after that.  And yes, I bought it. Cause look how perfect it is.

After I bought the original lamp, I realized it's huge and probably wouldn't fit in my cozy Colorado dining room.  I didn't even consider size before I bought it because I have totally lost perspective living in a huge museum-like house here in Morocco.  So when I saw this much smaller (at almost half the size) but yet more refined and elegant lamp it just seemed right. And really, what more justification does one need than I-don't-know-which-will-fit-but-one-of-them-will to buy two lamps?   Unless of course I've misjudged and it's actually too small for my dining room.  Maybe I should buy a third medium sized lamp just in case.  Maybe not.  At this point, I need to just wait until I get home to Colorado and see which one fits the best.

And that's exactly the point I'm at with my writing.   

I've been asked a lot of questions about the fate of this blog when I move back to the states. And I'm here to assure you that I will keep writing it for a while.  But,  I won't be writing with the same frequency of 3x a week like I have been here. There is simply too much catching up with friends, unpacking, 24/7 kids-on-summer-break-refereeing-chauffeuring madness, camping and relaxing to do. I'm sure you understand. However, I am shooting for a post once a week. Although I'm not making any promises.

Now, here's the biggie.

And the other biggie.

And oh yeah, that.

In answer to the most frequently asked question, will Rock The Kasbah end? Yes. Eventually it will. It won't end suddenly, I will wrap things up somehow cause I like nice tidy packages.  But, it won't be until after the summer is over. I still have things to write people!

Then there's the second most commonly asked question.   To which the answer is yes.   I'm going to write Rock The Kasbah the book. And no, I don't have a publisher. And no, I don't know exactly how I'll get one. And no, I really don't want to think about that right now because it totally makes me anxious and I start sweating and my head starts swirling. And then I have to put my head between my legs and breathe.  The goal is for a relaxing summer, remember?  So,  I'm just not going to think about it right now. Unless of course you are a publisher or your cousin from Minneapolis knows someone who used to date someone whos brother-in-law has the business card of a publisher. Then please interrupt my relaxing summer by calling me, e-mailing me or facebook friending me immediately.

And the last most commonly asked question, will I start a new blog.  That's the one I'm not sure about. Cause, just like those two lamps, I don't know what the exact right fit is going to be until I'm home.

But I promise you, short of some tragic farm accident that causes me to loose both my hands, I will keep writing.  I just don't know which lamp will be lighting the room as I do it.