Happy Halloween!

Good morning, all!

I'm terribly sorry that it's been five whole days since my last post. That's very unlike me!

It's my super-busy time at work. Happens like clock-work since I took on this project a few years ago. The project is getting the sales pieces for the upcoming year to the printer, so they are ready for a mid-December meeting. And every year, I should be at print this week, and I'm so, so, not ready to be at print.

(ahem, of course, this is no fault of my own. When people change things like - say - the cover at the last minute, what can I do?)

So I had extremely hectic days at the office Monday and Tuesday, and I flew to Dallas on Wednesday, where I learned things could get even more hectic. I'm here for another few days, doing great visitin', and hoping to get a little bit of work done!

Sunday dinner

I had a much better drive back from Philly than the trip there! Yesterday's rain was replaced by sunshine. Thank goodness.

So I'm not sure why I think you all are interested in my Sunday dinners. Perhaps it's because I wish I could cook dinners like this more often, but find myself too busy on weeknights. Of course, I don't exactly want to give up any of the things that keep me busy on weeknights, either!

Oh, wait, before dinner. I had to actually go to the grocery store first. And frankly, I'm a little tired of the Giant employees taking their love of Redskins a bit too seriously.

Last month, I happened to wear a golf shirt from the Cowboys Golf Club to Giant. One of the employees hassled me for wearing the shirt, wanting to know if they were my team, or I was from Texas, or if neither of those were true, why I would even contemplate wearing the shirt around these parts.

Today I had on a Steeler's t-shirt. The Steelers happened to play at 4 p.m. today. (And I knew this, because I have learned that it saves me an awful lot of stress for the aforementioned Sunday dinners if I put into my phone what time the Steelers are playing.) As I was selecting which package of chicken to purchase, the time being approximately 2 p.m., the gentleman working that section gave me a complete up and down. He steps back, crosses his arms, and says, "shouldn't you be home for the game?"

I take a wild guess that the Redskins are playing at 1 p.m. So I say, with a big smile on my face, "The game's at 4! Have a great day!" And I start to walk away.

He says loudly, "Oh, your game's at 4. My game's goin' on right now."

I just smile and keep moving.

Since history tends to repeat itself, OF COURSE he keeps talking.

"You just come back and see me next Tuesday," he says.

He's referring to the fact that the Redskins play the Steeler's on Monday night football on the 3rd. I am so dumb... so dumb... because without even thinking, I say, "oh yeah! My husband's going to that game," as I finally get far enough away that he really can't keep talking.

So I go up the baking aisle.

I come down the cereal aisle.

He's waiting.

"Are you going to the game?"

"Nope," I say.

"Just your husband?"

"And his friends." (I am, by the way, okay with this. He's going with his brother and Jason, all from Pittsburgh. I wouldn't take that from them.)

"Weren't you invited?" He wants to know.

"Well, it's not that I wasn't invited. He's just going with his friends. And his brother."

"You wanna go? I'll take you to that game." Do I need to add that at this point, leering began?

Sigh.

I did eventually get my ingredients. For this awesome dinner.

The end result: Pan-seared chicken pot sticker salad with sauteed edamame and ginger, on a bed of Boston Bibb lettuce tossed in a soy vinaigrette.

Here's the pot stickers and edamame cooking:

Also topped the salad with a sweet and sour shrimp: shrimp marinated in soy, ginger and fresh grapefruit juice. Oh, and mint. Just, you know, 'cause.

Here's the shrimp marinating:

And the shrimp cooking:

And finally, the end result:

Philly Visit

I'm in Philadelphia now, posting from one of my dedicated follower's computers... Hi Aunt Rita!

I drove up this afternoon, after a really long home owner's association meeting (why did I volunteer for that again?) and a quick lunch with Jenelle and her cousin. The drive was atrocious - raining and traffic and raining and ick. But I made it safely to Grandmom's with the help of some great tunes and some talks with friends on the phone.

A nice visit with Grandmom, Aunt Jo and Aunt Rita, a yummy dinner with the aunts... a great day!

Goodnight!

When fun becomes...work

I had my last golf lesson last night.

At least, my last scheduled golf lesson. My instructor (for obvious reasons) wants me to continue with them through the winter. But so does Mike.

They are using the argument I first heard when year-round elementary school became the fad. That I'll forget everything I've learned, or I'll become stiff, or I"ll pick up bad habits, and I'll be starting from scratch in the spring.

And I'm not disagreeing with that point.

But isn't there a reason kids need the summer break? Even if not for three whole months, they need some sort of separation from school?

I feel like that. Right now. Like I need a separation from golf. It's becoming way too much like work.

It's like when I took piano lessons, and I always had hanging over my head that I needed to practice after dinner. (And not just because the teacher told me I needed to practice twice as much because my brother, Terry, was such a natural and I so clearly was not. Not that I'm still bitter about that.)

The weekend comes now and I think, "I should go to the driving range." But I really, really don't want to go to the driving range.

When we went to Kingsmill, I had a great time golfing Saturday morning. But to do it all again on Sunday? Just too much. I can't concentrate on something that long.

Now, don't get me wrong! I'm not giving up golf completely! Pink golf gloves would still be an entirely appropriate Christmas gift! (Although, I am over my fascination with pink golf balls. They really are just too hard to see in the grass. Sigh.)

I'm just saying I need a few weeks break. I need to want to go to the lesson. I need to want to go to the driving range.

I know last night wasn't the end of my lessons. Just the end of my lessons right now. Okay?

ViViViViVi!!!

Vi came to visit!


She's in the states from Indonesia for about 4 weeks, and is spending a few days in D.C. now, and then again in November.

In honor of her visit with us, I cooked up a nice Sunday dinner:

Roast beef with garlicky tomatoes...
(really garlicky tomatoes), green beans and homemade bread. Apples in brown sugar, cinnamon and puff pastry for desert.

Can you see Mike's face in this photo? He regrets the day he let me get the camera. Tells me I'm too much like his mom wanting to take pictures all the time now. I try to explain to him that photos make much better blog posts, but since he doesn't read the blog, he doesn't get it.

We had some great visiting and catching up.

Made all the easier by the two bottles of wine we shared between the three of us...

In all, it was a wonderful, but exhausting day. Even Goldie thought so:

Murphy's Law

Aw, look at the cute dog that stayed with us for an afternoon. Look how shy. Look how timid. Look how he knows his "sit," and "down," and "shake" commands!

We were having a wonderful time with Murphy yesterday afternoon.

Catch the "were" in there?

Mike left around 4 p.m. to meet a friend and watch the Penn State game, and I stayed with Murphy to wait for his owner, Drew. Just as I received a text message that Drew was on his way, Murphy walked into the living room, in front of the tv, and started to pee. And pee, and pee, and pee.

I screamed. I shouted. I grabbed his collar and yanked. He planted his feet. He pulled his head back. He never stopped peeing.

I jump into clean up mode, soaking up with towels, and getting cleaner to scrub the carpet. I'm going back and forth from the kitchen to the living room with a fresh cleaning mix or a fresh bucket of clean water, and every time I came back into the living room, Murphy had jumped up on the couch!

I kept pulling him off and disciplining him with a "no!" and tap on the nose (you all know I've got no problem disciplining dogs, even those that aren't mine), and yet he kept jumping up on the couch.

Who was this dog? What happened to the timid, shy, sweet one that had been in my house for four hours?

Just as I finished the clean up, Drew arrived. Without any sadness, I said goodbye to Murphy.

Of course, I was a little high strung at this point. I would normally have opened a bottle of wine to relax from Murphy's, um, visit. But I was driving to a party two hours later, and didn't want to start down that slippery slope.

So I did what any girl robbed of her opportunity for wine but still needing relaxation did. I went for an emergency mani-pedi.

I can sincerely say that if Murphy's visit was indeed Mike's grand plan to convince me to get another dog, it failed miserably.

Murphy

We have an unexpected visitor today:


This is Murphy.

Mike had an outdoor hockey game this afternoon, and took Goldie with him. He came back with Goldie, and a friend.

Actually not a good thing - Murphy's owner, on Mike's team, took a stick to the face. He got a pretty large gash, and the teammates convinced him to go get stitches. He had also brought his dog to watch the game, so Mike volunteered to take Murphy home with him for the afternoon.

Murphy's a bit timid and frightened, but oh, so incredibly sweet. He's not sure what to make of us, but he and Goldie seem to get along just fine. They are already playing "keep away" with the bones that Goldie ignores unless another dog is in the house.

Of course, I think this story about the hurt teammate is fiction, and this afternoon visit is all part of Mike's master plan to get me to cave on getting another dog.

The way Fall should be

I had a wonderful jog this morning in brisk, 45 degree weather. Made pumpkin bread when I got home, showered while it baked, ran to Starbucks for a latte, and now.... mmm.

Steelers

I don't think of myself as a high-maintenance person.


(I'll pause here a moment while all of you who disagree can laugh at me.)


I can shower and get dressed in under 15 minutes. My makeup routine is mascara and lip gloss. I don't dye my hair.

But my biggest maintenance issue is that I demand compliments. Mike hates this about me. He thinks compliments are a given, that he shouldn't have to say them. I think they should be given, and given just about every three minutes.


This morning, I got dressed. Mike comes out of the bathroom, stops in his tracks, and says, "whoa."


I think, "okay! This is what I'm talkin' about! I can't remember the last 'whoa' I got from him!"

He really should have stopped there. Because then he says:


"Those are the Steeler's colors."



I have on a black skirt and yellow sweater.



His face lights up, he smiles, and tells me I should save the outfit for game day.

Really? The "whoa" wasn't, "whoa you look hot." Or "whoa your beautiful." But, "whoa, you're wearing the Steeler's colors, and I love the Steelers."

Men.

Dog smell

My dad was right.

Dog's smell.

Where he was wrong, was in considering this a large enough offense not to have one. I take the different track of trying to combat the smell as best I can.

The first summer we had Goldie, I actually gave her a bath every Saturday. Poor girl.

I've lessened up a bit on the baths (probably even more than I should), but I do try to keep the girl looking, smelling, and feeling good.

Also important to this story, many of you know she has life made. With four beds strategically positioned throughout the house, she never has to go far to get comfortable.

Over the weekend, it seemed like all of a sudden, all four beds got... old. And stinky.

And as some of you know about me, when I get an idea or a project in my head, I become a little obsessed about it. After the gym last night, I loaded Goldie in the car and headed to PetSmart.

I had very good reasons for taking Goldie with me.

1. She hadn't yet had a walk, and had been cooped in the house all day. The poor girl needed to see outside.

2. PetSmart is fun for dogs.

3. I was purchasing new beds, and she needed to try them out first. You don't buy a new mattress without laying on it, do you?

Here's what I forgot when I decided to take Goldie with me:

1. Besides the beds, I also needed to get dog food. Which comes in 50 pound bags.

2. Goldie is 80 pounds, and gets very, very excited in PetSmart.

3. I weigh a combined total of less than the dog food and Goldie, so trying to control both of them through the aisles of PetSmart... um, not so much.

After knocking over numerous displays, trying to bribe the dog by holding treats in my hands, and Goldie almost eating a cat, I made it out of PetSmart with the food and beds. (oh! Goldie did cooperate beautifully when it came to trying out the beds. She laid down on three of them for me so I could check out the size!)

We finally made it home, and Goldie now has all new beds, and I have a little less dog stink.

Five years and one day

We're driving home from our anniversary trip down to Kingsmill. Lots of good stuff this weekend.

It started off a bit rough, though. We left home around 2 p.m. and pretty quickly hit traffic.

Doesn't this look like a SUMMER Friday afternoon fleeing of the city?!? We sat it in for several hours, and most of you know how well Mike deals with traffic.

This truck pasted us at one point.

It's hauling a rock wall. Mike said, "Tell Keith, the next rock wall I climb will be in that position."

At about 5:30 p.m., we arrived in Colonial Williamsburg.

We met some locals.
And walked up and down the main street of preserved houses. This took us about... 20 minutes.

I was complaining about how hungry I was, and Mike tried to shut me up.

Just kidding.
We had a glass of wine and some candy in Williamsburg, then headed 10 miles South for the resort. Checked in and pretty much headed straight to dinner. Mike had a 16 oz (with no bone) St. Louis Strip. If any one can tell me what the difference between a St. Louis Strip and New York Strip is, I'd be much obliged.

Woke up the next morning to this view from our balcony:

Not bad, huh? We headed for breakfast, and then our 8:30 a.m. tee time.

Kingsmill's Web site boasts of lots of wild life on the course, and that is not an understatement. This photo didn't come out the best, but it's a hawk. There were tons flying overhead, and this one was hanging out on the ground as we drove past.

The course was beautiful, and we played with a nice couple that was celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary.
Can you see me?
I am happy with how I played, and Mike did well, too. No thrown clubs! This photo is on the 17th hole.
After lunch I went for a jog and to the spa - which you can read about here. Mike watched the Texas/ Oklahoma game and studied a little. We met up again on the patio for some wine and snacks before dinner, and this groundhog was outside the building. Mike took about 7 photos of the groundhog (I'll spare you).
Another good dinner wrapped up the big anniversary day.

We had another tee time this morning, but the round didn't go quite as smoothly as yesterday. I quit keeping score, and Mike threw a club. Or two. Actually, three.

Grabbed sandwiches for the road (quite possibly the best sandwich I've ever eaten, but I think I was biased because I was ready to eat my hand at that point!).

We just had a pit stop to get Friendly's Friend-Z (for those not familiar, this is quite possibly the best ice cream desert ever. It's like a Blizzard, only they include sauces. So we love the vanilla ice cream with peanut butter cups, chocolate sauce and peanut butter sauce). We ended up pulling off at the exact exit I said not to (not realizing it was "the one") - we had gotten off at this exit on the way back from the beach in August and the Friendly's was 4.6 miles from the exit, and a complete dump. But, hey, the ice cream was good!

Eighty more miles to go to DC.

Happy Birthday, Barb!

The un-spa experience

Lots to post about regarding our drive down, walk around Williamsburg and golf this morning. But let me jump ahead. I'm afraid if I upload the photos and start with yesterday, you won't get the true effect of my spa experience just now.

I had a 4 p.m. massage scheduled, but headed over to the spa around 2 p.m. There was supposed to be a 4 mile jogging trail around the resort, and I wanted to jog that, and end up back at the spa for a shower, dip in the whirlpool and some relaxation before the massage.

So I checked in, and no one at the spa knew where the trail was. As in, not the two girls at the front desk. Not the locker room attendant. Not two technicians we stopped.

I left the spa and went to the fitness facilities, which were in the building next door. Surely they could point me in the right direction.

Not so much.

The girl at the front desk didn't know. She left me for about five minutes to search out the answer, and could only come back with, "um, I think it's just past the tennis courts."

I headed that way, not feeling optimistic. But I ran into someone who was renting bikes, and he set me on my way.

After my jog, I showered (held the whirlpool for later) and lounged with some tea and a trashy magazine. Was called for my massage and I thought all was well with the world.

Then I actually had the "massage." Yup, it needed the " " to indicate 'so called.'

There were several points during the "massage" when I actually thought I might be on candid camera.

I selected my scent for the aromatherapy massage - vanilla. Then laid down on the table.

The table was made our of the same hydraulics that a hair dresser's chair is. So I laid down, and she started pumping with her foot to raise the table. This is not the smoothest of rides, let me tell you. Also not the quietest.

She started up at my head, and I'm pretty sure the eucalyptus menthol was not the "vanilla" that I selected. But whatever.

The masseuse was very professional. She just kept doing these things that caught me off guard.

Like sticking her fingers deep in my ears and pulling up, down, to the side, to the other side. Or sitting on the table with me. She would lift up an arm, or a leg, and sit on the table, then put the limb down against her. Or when she flicked - literally, flicked, like you'd flick at a mosquito - each of my toes. Twice.

The whole thing was just odd. It was a fine massage, and certainly relaxing. But it was all a little weird.

I am relaxed, and that's the important part. I got my dip in the whirlpool, another shower, and now I'm back at our room, sitting on the balcony (photo in next post), eating cheese and drinking an Oregon Pinot Noir.

Golf Weekend

Mike and I head down to Kingsmill Spa Resort in Williamsburg, Va., this afternoon for an anniversary weekend trip.

Kudos to him - he's planned the entire thing. He researched a number of different golf resorts from Pennsylvania to West Virginia, and decided this one had the best mix of golf, pampering, distance from our house, and price. He set up the room, tee times, and even booked a massage for me on Saturday afternoon.

(Okay, so I actually had to call and change the spa appointment, since he had booked a deep tissue massage... ouch! ... but still, the thought was there.)

He set up for both of us to golf Saturday and Sunday mornings, then he'd play a second round while I went to the spa on Saturday afternoon. It doesn't look like he'll be up to playing that second round Saturday, since he hurt his back at hockey last week and it's still bothering him. But I'll keep my fingers crossed.

We'll leave work early this afternoon and drive down. Hopefully we'll walk around Colonial Williamsburg for a little this evening, but after that I think we'll pretty much stay put on the resort the rest of the weekend.

I've got my camera ready, so I'll post up the pics tomorrow and Sunday!

Go Phillies!

(ok, ok, I won't pretend like I'm actually following the playoffs. But come on, cute picture, huh? It's Terry and his three children in Raleigh, with Sara behind the camera.)

The birthday debate, part II

The birthday debate continues.

I wrote about this way back in August, when we were trying to decide how to celebrate Mike's birthday, and mine. We went out to a great dinner with his brother and sister in law to celebrate Mike's 30th.

I've been hoping to pull together a party, but as evidenced by the date of that original post (August 3rd) and today (October 8th), I've been a little, well, lax.

So now I'm hard core into party planning and running up against such a silly thing as money. Geez. Like me turning 30th doesn't just scream for thousands of dollars worth of celebration!

Okay, so it doesn't. But I have this problem with toning things down. I have this problem with not wanting to wear jeans to my birthday party. I have this problem that I don't normally go to bars anyway, so why would I want to go to a bar for a special occasion?

That's the debate we're in right now.

I'm getting jazzed up about the idea of having something smaller than originally expected at our house. Granted, I want someone to set it up, cater it and clean up. And keep my drink filled for me.

Mike thinks that'll be too much "work."

(pause for eye rolling)

He seems to be missing the part about someone setting up, catering and cleaning up. He also doesn't see the irony in him saying anything to do with a house party would be "work," since we all know that even if I wasn't looking for help and would do the entire party all on my own, his "work" would involve him changing from mesh shorts to a button down.

Okay, a bit of an exaggeration there.

But just a bit of one.

I think his heart is in the right place. I think he's trying to say that he doesn't want me to get all stressed about it, which would spill out onto him. But I like my house and I like parties at my house, and oooohhh, you should read the catering menu I've had pulled together.

So that's where we are. About a month out. No decisions, no invitations sent, no party dress shopping. (Well, maybe a little party dress shopping. Just to be prepared and all.)

I'm still working on him. Afterall, you only turn 30 once!

Thank you!

Thank you, Barb and Loretta for the beautiful flowers! Gerber daisy's are my favorite, and they go beautifully with my fall decor - also my favorite!

I went to the pumpkin sale that's at the church on Seminary Road, and stocked up to fill my flower bed...

... and to put in front of the front door (sorry, no pic.)

Goldie (who to this day I still wish I had renamed "Pumpkin" - think about it, "Kinny" for short!) wouldn't hold still so I could show you her pumpkin collar. She hates the camera. A bit shy, this one.

More later!

Posting shouldn't be this hard

It's such a fine line, this posting thing. I had a pretty normal weekend. Sure, I did stuff - golfed, jogged twice, saw a friend's house for the first time, entertained my in-laws - but I didn't do anything earth shattering. How is one to know if she should post the mundane, or wait for a truly inspiring topic, like bugs in the attic or annoying plane seatmates, to post?

This weekend just kinda happened. I'm not sure you'd be entertained by the list of activities. I didn't even engage in truly remarkable debates where I can dazzle you with my intuitiveness. Case in point, when we met Sarah for a drink on Saturday afternoon (after seeing her wonderful new digs), she and Mike attempted to lay blame for and fix the financial crisis. She said - he said - she retorted - he rebutted.

Did I interject with my take? Witty retorts? Insightful solutions?

Nope. But I did finish the bottle of Pinot Noir we'd ordered.

The closest I came to true intellectual debate was an iPhone v. Blackberry discussion with David and Lauren on Sunday during the Steelers game. Which I didn't even stay up to finish watching. Coulda had something to do with the glass of wine and three sweet tea and vodkas before halftime.

Hmm, sounds like I did so something well this weekend. Maybe if I'd done a little less of that, I would have remembered a little more to post.

Socks

You thought I was making it up.

You thought I was exaggerating at the very least.

You didn't believe me when I said that Mike went through semesters at college without doing laundry - that he had enough clothes to last from Labor Day until Christmas, when he'd ship boxes home to his mom to clean.

You thought I was being harsh when I said the side effect of that little experiment is that the boy is now obsessive about having enough clean clothes - particularly underthings - at any given time.

You have no idea what I deal with.

I arrived home from Dallas at 9 p.m. on Wednesday night. Between that time and 9 p.m. last night, Mike said to me no fewer than 4 times, "I'm running out of socks."

This, my friends, is his sock drawer when he said it:

I can count AT LEAST 17 pairs of socks in this picture - and that's not taking into account there are probably a few underneath!

I don't even OWN 17 pairs of socks, let alone have them clean all at the same time, let alone think that over two weeks worth of socks is "running out"!

So now you have picture proof, people. I'm not making this stuff up.

Lessons learned

1. When you go away for 10 days, even if it's work-related and even if you have lots of meetings and talks and good decisions made, that doesn't mean you come back to your desk with less work. In fact, all the work you left on your desk is still there, and no one did anything that piled up while you were gone. Sheesh. Where do you find good help these days?

2. Sometimes you think you're out of it, until someone else proves they have less of a brain today than you. Such as the gentleman who wanted to set up a conference call. Since he's in Houston, I said, "how about Tuesday, 11 a.m. Eastern, 10 a.m. Central?" And he wrote back, "sure, either of those times work for me." I wished I could pass him my cup of coffee.

3. It's really better for me not to follow this financial mess stuff. As Mike puts it, "the Fleming girls are very emotional about their money." Really, unless I'm retiring tomorrow (not retiring tomorrow, am I, boss?), I don't need to know how my 401k is doing.

4. Gumbo isn't a good impulse purchase. I went to Lawson's deli today intending to get a salad. As I walked around the salad bar, the smell of their shrimp and sausage and chicken gumbo was really good. I got a bowl, and it was tasty. Now I feel like I need to lie on the couch watching football with someone scratching my back.

5. I'd rather read the entries on my Google Reader under the category "Diversions" than what's the latest to be posted on the Washington Post Web site. That shouldn't really be surprising to me, but sometimes I try to pretend like I'm smart and follow what's going on in the world. Then I realize I'd rather read about Jenelle's washing machine breaking.

Man. And it's only 1:30 p.m. I'm not sure I want to learn any more today.

You know I'm not this boring

Back me up here. Give me some slack. The benefit of the doubt.

You know I'm not this boring. Case in point: here. Or here. Or this one.

I've just lost a little, well, a little of the gumption from earlier posts. Or maybe it's that I haven't been at my computer much. Could just be writer's block.

But it's a new month! Time to get back on track! Keep you in hysterics - or at least semi-entertained.

I'm back from 10 days of travel and utterly exhausted. I'd really, really like to be one of those people that doesn't need a lot of sleep. But I'm not sure that's something one can change about themselves. Believe me, I've been trying.

Mike did not burn down the house, or kill the dog while I was gone. He also did not go grocery shopping or clean up the leaves he dragged into the front hall. But, hey, you win some and you lose some.

Seriously, he has had to contend with giving the dog antibiotics for the past week. Goldie, who will do anything for food, does not want to take these pills. This morning way my first crack at it, and by this point she's had seven days to wise up to the game.

She clamped her teeth down, took the peanut butter covered pills in her lips, pushed them around to get the peanut butter, and spit the pills out on the ground. This "game" went on for about five minutes until I tried a different track and wrapped them like pigs in a blanket in cheese. I'm sure she'll have that figured out by tonight.

Goldie was also still holding a grudge against me from last night. Sure, she was happy to see me. But it was the start of the month, which means giving her her heart worm and flea and tick medicine, both of which she hates. Oh, and cleaning out her ears, which she loathes. And kicking her off the bed where she'd been happily sleeping for the past ten days.

Yeah, I'm not exactly her favorite any more.

But I'll do my best to get back on all of your good graces!