Burn Barrel Romance

Scott is an early-to-bed-early-to-rise person out of necessity. He has a very physical job and while he isn’t old, he isn’t young anymore either (neither am I for that matter, being a year older than he is). By eight o’clock most nights he is in jammies and ready for bed. So when we came home after Cyra’s concert last week and Scott put his yard work clothes back on I was more than surprised.

“What are you up to,” I asked him as he slipped he shoes on.

“I’m going go burn things and drink a beer…or maybe two. Want to join me?”

“Sure. Sounds fun.”

There’s something about sitting in front of a fire with Scott that makes my insides woozy. Normally when we sit around in front of a fire it’s when we are off camping and marshmallows are involved. Not romantic, per se, but nice enough. And making a big fire in the burn barrel, while it might not involve s’mores, is fun nevertheless.

The moon and stars peeked through a mostly overcast sky and I dragged our two Adirondack chairs into the yard while Scott began building the fire. By the time I brought our drinks out – a nice IPA for Scott and a good cup of Earl Grey for me (ironically although the selling and drinking of beer is our main source of income, I don’t particularly care for the taste) Scott had a good size blaze going.

We turned off the flood lights and sat in the glow of the barrel, quietly sipping our drinks. Cyra, her bundle of nerves exhausted from the concert, had collapsed into bed soon after we arrived home and Ashleigh was glued to the internet, giggling over The Meta Picture and fan-girling to manga. The neighborhood was quiet except for the billions of frogs in the pond out front and the occasionally barking of a dog.

I’m not sure how it happened, but somehow Scott and I ended up having a date night: out of the house, in front of a roaring fire, sharing a drink, and no kids around? Sounds like a date to me. So what that it was in the backyard and mosquitoes the size of Cessnas buzzed around us despite the heavy dose of bug spray and citronella candles.

And somehow, magically, we ended up breaking one of our cardinal rules: never, ever, talk religion or politics.

Our views are so vastly different that we don’t even try to come to a common ground anymore. We just accept that we will never see eye to eye on certain things and so those subjects are not permitted. But on this magical, burn barrel date we talked religion. And, even more surprising, it didn’t end in a fight.

I must be maturing.

I don't know exactly how the subject came up, but it all came down to the way we met. Scott claims fate: some force led us to make the choices that led us to meet – he draws the line at calling predestination (even though it certainly sounded like that to me) claiming that just because we were fated to meet didn’t mean, necessarily, that we were fated to be together.

It reminded me of my days back at Flagler when I took a Milton class (you know, Paradise Lost, that guy). Oh the debates that I demanded we have in class (remember, Sara?) all the arguments I brought up about free will versus predestination to the point where the professor had to tell me to give it a rest.

But I couldn’t. It bugs me even today. If the god you believe in is all-knowing, all-powerful, and all-loving then you cannot have free will because he already knows what you are going to do and you can’t prove an omnipotent being false so therefore you have no choice but to do what has already been seen. That, my friends, is predestination.

Whoops!

I’m breaking my no religion, no politics rule here too! Yikes!

Back to the story! My argument is that if we were destined to meet, then all of our choices along the way are trivialized because it wouldn’t matter what choice we made, we’d still have ended up meeting. Scott argues that my view only works if our meeting is the be all end all of those choices. It got more convoluted as the evening wore on. We teased and laughed, joked and smiled. There may have been some kissing too - but I don't kiss and tell!

Regardless of the conversation, I am more than happy with the choices that led me to Scott. Whether it was predestination, fate handing us a road map, or just simple coincidence, without Scott I wouldn't have my girls, my BFF Sara, or a million wonderful memories and moments with a man I can't imagine my life without.

And that, my Friends, I wouldn't change for the world!

C is for Canoodle

I’ve stated before that Scott and I are very affectionate. I make it a point to be affectionate with him in front of the girls. Not only do I do it because they get slightly embarrassed (I swear it’s all G-rated affection) but I do it to show them that affection is acceptable. It isn’t something to sequester away behind the bedroom door. I show them that couples should hold hands, kiss, and snuggle and that there isn’t anything wrong with it. Our affection lets them know that even when we disagree, yell, or argue we still love each other. And ninety percent of the time if the girls see us argue, they see us apologize and make-up as well.

Typically, I tell the girls that we are smooching but this week I discovered an even better word:

Canoodle is a verb from the 1850s that means to hug and kiss.

Example: Clarissa caught her cousin Charity canoodling with Clyde, the city’s chaste clerk of courts, in a clumsily concealed covered carriage close to a cobblestone curb.

This post has been brought to you by the Letter C and the fine folks at Blogging A to Z. And by the number 75. Check out more A to Z blogs here!

Wednesday Mornings

On Wednesdays I drive Cyra to school. We pack her violin, her lunchbox and her twenty pound backpack into the car for her afternoon violin lessons. For some reason, which I cannot devise, our school district doesn’t allow instruments to travel on the bus. Weird, I know, but driving her to school once a week is a small price to pay for a year of lessons and nearly free use of a school violin.

And as a bonus, I get to see Scott as he drives across town.

Scott, without going into too much detail, works in peddle sales – it’s the best description. And so is often seen driving around town. On Wednesdays, he goes in a little later than usual because his first stop opens just a bit later. These few extra minutes in the morning translate into a sweet routine for me every Wednesday.

I usually glimpse him as I am heading home. Most of the time I am still in my pajamas with my hair pulled back in a frizzy, messy ponytail. I feel grungy and scuzzy and I can hear, in the back of my mind, my mother yelling at me for schlepping around. I’m thinking about the breakfast I haven’t had yet and the chores I need to accomplish, what job postings on Monster I’ll see that day, and what I’ll write about for the blog or the story I’m working on. I mentally run through my inventory of yarn scraps and wonder what I might do with them.

Sometimes I even pay attention to the morning radio programs or traffic.

But then I see Scott’s truck, bright blue trailer advertising his products. And I get a goofy little grin on my face and my stomach feels as though I’ve got an entire team of Olympic gymnasts back-flipping about. All the thoughts I had about the day: gone. If my morning was rough or hurried, it doesn’t bother me anymore.

I see him before he spots me but when he does he holds his hand up and gives me a little wave and he toots his horn as he drives by.

And it doesn’t matter, all of a sudden, that my face is unwashed and I haven’t shaved my legs because I know he loves me even when I’m at my worst.

Whisper Sweet Nothings

The other day I was out running my errands when Scott called my cell. He rarely ever calls from work and each time he does, my heart freezes and I catch myself holding my breath in a moment of panic. His job is very physical and on site injuries are a very real possibility. I worry about him a lot.

“Are you okay?” I ask even before I say hello.

“Yeah,” he says with a quiet chuckle. He knows my first instinct is panic. “I’m fine.”

“Okay.” I let out a sigh. “Okay. What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing,” he says, “It’s just I’m stuck at the office doing a bunch of online trainings that I didn’t know I was going to have to do and I was hoping you could bring me something to eat. But if you are out, and you are since you answered your cell, then it isn’t a big deal.”

“Sure.” I say, “I’m just up the road at Publix. I need to grab one thing and I can bring you something. I’ll be there in ten.”

“Cool.”

I grab my grocery item and pick up a sub for him and make my way to his work. The secretary leads me back to the training room where he is sitting, forlorn, staring at a computer screen. His face lights up with a huge smile when I walk in. He pushes himself up out of the chair and wraps his arms around me, squeezing me tight.

He takes the bag of food from me, sets it aside and goes back to hugging me. This show of affection, normally reserved for home, is amusing. Even more amusing his apparent lack of interest in the food.  

 “You okay?” I ask him.

“Fine,” he says, dropping a kiss on my forehead. “Just glad to see you.”

“Okay.” I smile and listen as he tells me about his day and the computer work he has been told to do. I have groceries in the car and it is a warm day so after a few minutes I tell him I need to go.

We hold hands as he walks me out to the car a few minutes later. And he spends another few minutes holding me and stroking my hair.

“You know I love you?” He asks quietly, his mouth just above my ear. I nod as he adds, “You just made my day better.”

Scott and I have been together now for almost 18 years. That’s pretty much half of my life. And like most couples we sometimes tend to forget the little things especially when life throws a whole bunch of crazy at you! Oh we give our love freely (the words I mean) but Scott isn’t much for the romance. He never really was.

But every once and a while he can melt my heart without even trying.

Photo A Day - Can't (Won't) Live Without

Out of all the topics for this month's Photo a Day, this is the one I really didn't like. I'd like to think I've grown from when I was in my twenties, when back then stuff was important. Sure I've got a collection of crafting supplies, books and kitchenware that I love. But could I live without them? Absolutely. It's just stuff.

Piles of clutter, papers, clothes, knick knacks, even my jewelry are all things I place no importance on. Sure it's nice to have. I like having things that make my life easier and prettier. But I keep going back to the fact that stuff is stuff and really in the grand scheme of things we can go without stuff.

My friends, my family, my husband and most especially my children. These are the things I don't want to live without. I couldn't for one second imagine my life without my girls or Scott. I don't want to think about not meeting Sara or Amanda or Ericka. I  might not get along with all of my family all the time (very different beliefs going on there) but I wouldn't even consider not having them as my family. They who played such an integral role in making me who I am.

By no means do I want to demean stuff but sometimes...a lot of times...I think we, as a culture, put too much importance on stuff. Too much commercialism and wants. Not enough reflection on needs and what we do have.

If all my stuff dissapeared today, sure I'd be sad (shocked and appalled because clearly I didn't realize how much my craft supplies appealed to aliens) but as long as I have my people, I'd be fine. Better than fine.

This is an old photo of my girls in Maine. It is perhaps my favorite photo of them together. Ashleigh, although occasionally exasperated by her younger sister, is very protective of her and that feeling shows through here.

My very grungy husband working on my car the other day. Sure he's got his faults, but don't we all? He gives the girls and I 120% of his love and affection. He devotes himself to making sure we are safe and taken care of, often sacrificing his own wants to make sure ours are met.

This is the Story of a Cake

In August of 2002, six months pregnant with our second child, I was finally ready to marry Scott. After four months on the road he had vacation coming up and planned to be home just in time for my birthday. Only a few days prior to his arrival he called to let me know when he’d home and I told him I was ready for the ring.

He got home late on Friday evening looking very much like a mountain man down from the Appalachians with a big bushy beard and shaggy hair. I didn’t realize how much I had missed him until he wiped the tears from my cheeks. With Ashleigh swung up high in his arms we walked into the house. Tired, smelly and with mounds of laundry he managed a quick bite to eat and a shower before falling into bed.

The next night, the eve before my birthday, we celebrated his birthday that we missed while he was on the road. I made a rich chocolate fudge cake with a thick ganache glaze. It was the first time I had every tried to make a cake from scratch. I stuck five candles in the cake and Ashleigh and I sang a very off-key rendition of Happy Birthday. Normal sized servings had to be quartered it was so sweet.

I was going to school full time so I wasn’t working and we had very little money to spare, so the next day for my birthday, we stuck the same five candles back in the cake, turned it slightly and used it for my birthday cake as well. Three more very small slices later and we still had a half of the cake left over.

On Monday, Scott and I rose early and went to the courthouse to apply for a marriage license. I fidgeted almost more than Ashleigh while we waited in line. I squirmed while answering the clerk’s questions. Scott held my hand tightly and told me be still.

Afterward, I called my mom. Then called my dad and told him we were getting married on the 15^th if he’d like to come down. They were both disappointed that we were doing it so quickly and shouldn’t we wait and plan a “proper wedding?”

I didn’t want a proper wedding – whatever that was. I didn’t want a fuss.

I sent an email to extended family and friends letting them know what was going on. And for the most part, everyone understood. Scott had to leave by the afternoon of the 15^th in order to get back to work and we didn’t want to wait anymore. Especially Scott. Once I had said I would, he wanted to get that ring on my finger as swiftly as possible. I wasn’t going to change my mind, of course, but after nearly six years of agreeing to marry him and never setting an actual date, I understood his nervousness.

The night before we got married, I found out a friend I had hoped would be able to come was not going to make it. Scott held me, pulled back tight against his chest, while I cried into my pillow. He brushed my hair out of my face, wiped my tears dry and whispered how much he loved me.

“We don’t have to do this tomorrow,” he said.

“What?” My eyes hurt and nose was stuffy and red and it took me a moment to process his words.

“We can wait until you’re ready.”

“I shook my head. “I am ready,” I insisted.

“Really?” he asked. “All this and you say you’re ready?”

“It’s just…I wanted a friend there too.” Scott’s closest friend was coming and maybe I was jealous. Maybe I was still nervous about getting married. “I am ready, Scott. I want to get married. We are getting married tomorrow.”

“I don’t mind if you want to wait until we can plan an actual party with all your family and friends to come.”

He understood. I might not want to fuss, the big wedding with glitz and glam, but I did want my family there. And my friends.

“No.” I told him. “My mom and dad will be there. Your dad, too. That’s enough.”

The next morning, tears started anew when I realized I hadn’t any flowers. I had always thought when I got married I would have a bouquet of white daisies or a small sprig of lily of the valley or maybe just a bunch of lilacs. Simple flowers that I loved. After a few minutes of tears, Scott managed to work out why I was crying and headed out to the car. We always kept change in the ashtray and he managed to dig out enough to run to the grocery store and buy me a very small bouquet of white carnations with a bit of baby’s breath. My mom worked the flowers into two small bouquets, one for me and a smaller one for Ashleigh.

And they were perfect.

I wore this dress. Scott even put on a tie. And we drove ourselves to courthouse. As we parked the car, Scott held my hand.

“Ready?”

I nodded.

I shook my head.

I nodded again.

The ceremony was very much a blur. It was hot and sticky, the humidity already nearing 90 percent even that early in the morning. Sweat trickled down my back and Scott looked about to melt in his shirt and tie. Cyra tumbled across my abdomen. Ashleigh became fascinated with tiny snails that inched across the sidewalk and kept crouching down to watch them. She picked a few up and held them up for me to see. I said vows, but I don’t remember what they were. If I promised to obey…well, that hasn’t really been kept. But I’m pretty sure all the other ones I’ve done okay with.

When all was said and done the court official asked if I’d like to go inside and request a name change.

I looked at Scott. This was something we hadn’t really ever discussed. Sure, Ashleigh bore his name and the new baby would as well, that seemed right and appropriate, but me?

There must have been something on my face that he could read…or maybe (as much as I hate to admit it) he just knows me all too well.

“No,” he said, “That’s okay. I think she’ll keep her name.”

“Oh.” The court official said. “Well, if you change your mind-“

I smiled and nodded. “I won’t.”

Scott chuckled and we walked away to join our parents. My dad treated us to a wedding breakfast at Shoney’s which was perfect because I was starving by then having been too nervous earlier to eat.

We drove home holding hands, fiddling with the rings now on our fingers. Mine, too big, looped around my thumb.

“You know,” I told him, “I’ve never really been a fan of jewelry…”

“It stays on,” he warned. “We’ll get it sized, but it stays put!”

At home, Scott packed up his duffel bag as I watched.

“Hey!” I said, “We need to have wedding cake!”

“Hon, we don’t really have the time to get or make one.”

I paused for a second. “We have the birthday cake. I’ll just turn it around.”

We both laughed and went to the kitchen. I took the cake out from the refrigerator and unwrapped the tinfoil. I called for Ashleigh and my parents to join us. We stood around the half a cake with forks and dug in. Scott and I exchanged bites – but did not smear cake in each other’s face.

I giggle about it now, a recycled wedding cake, but it is one of my favorite stories from back then.

As the years passed, Scott and I often celebrated our anniversary with a small dinner out or a quiet evening at home. One year, in the midst of work and school, we each forgot our anniversary altogether and didn’t realize it until nearly a week had passed. One year, after hearing the story of the recycled cake, one of our gamer friends bought us a large cake to celebrate our anniversary.

Today, ten years after the recycled cake and once again short on cash, I will once again make the cake that served as birthday and wedding cake.

Ten years.

It seems appropriate this year to remember the humble beginnings to our marriage.

Quiet Time

I’ve been quiet lately. Censoring myself, really. Because I am not writing an anonymous blog there are things that I will not and can’t write about. Well, write about and post here, anyways. Sometimes I think that maybe I should have instead created an anonymous blog but then I remember that many of the things that I like to write about – the Girls, my family and friends – are things that I want my family and friends to read.

So I don’t often put up too much of my feelings here. I try to stick with funny, silly stories about little things that happen, my experiences with the girls, the world through their eyes. But I also don’t want to be just a mommy blogger because I am more than that too. I like to bake and craft, explore the world and discover new…stuff. And I like sharing that as well. I blog about quiet things, daily life and adventures. I’m good with that.

Except sometimes.

Sometimes there are so many problems running through my head I’m sure that I’ll explode if I don’t talk about them. Sometimes I get so mad at the girls because of something they did or didn’t do (in the case of the teenager) that I want to yell and scream and rant at them. Sometimes my family irritates me to no end and I want to complain. Sometimes life throws me such a curve ball that there isn’t anyway I’ll be able to hit it in time.

All those times I write down. I tell.

But not here because that stuff, those emotions are private.

I don’t rant about work because even if I was working, it wouldn’t be professional. I don't set out to upset or offend anyone with my words and I try not to write anything that I would be embarrassed if my Mom read it.

So, for the past few weeks I’ve just been keeping things to myself. Problems and emotions that are mine will stay mine. No emotional rants, No bits exposed. Having a gazillion followers was not my intention when I started out as a blogger. I had ideas of just keeping in touch with friends and family but then I discovered something: an amazing community of people with stories and tales of their own. Bloggers who develop dialogues and friendships. Bloggers who expose me to new ideas and new ways of thinking. Bloggers who, although from different corners of the world and different backgrounds, can relate to something that I wrote.

So even though it wasn’t my intention, I’ve found that I quite like the friends that I’ve made here and I hope that they don’t mind too much while I’m quiet, because I promise – I’ll even pinky swear – that I don’t stay too quiet for long. I’ve got stories and plan on telling them…it’s just taking me a bit longer than I anticipated.

Cupid peppered us with arrows so it isn't our fault.

I started out writing a post yesterday afternoon about how much I disliked celebrating Valentine’s Day. And while that still remains true, I think this post is far less "soap-boxy" and far more "me." But for the record, I am not a fan of Valentine's Day.

Scott and I are not very affectionate out in public. We will occasionally hold hands, maybe give a quick peck on the cheek. We are, however, very affectionate at home. We snuggle on the couch, we kiss in the kitchen, and we hold hands at the table. 

As Scott and I were saying goodnight last night (he goes to be bed way before me) we were smooching…NOT sucking face, playing tonsil hockey or anything that would normally take place in the bedroom – just affectionately kissing and hugging each other in the kitchen.

Ashleigh yelled out from the living room, “Could you please kiss quieter?”

To which both Scott and I burst out laughing and then kissed, smacking our lips together as loudly and as exaggeratedly as we could. Because, of course! Ashleigh stomped into the kitchen.

“Really?” she asked glaring at us. “I mean really! You’re worse than teenagers!”

Had seven KGB agents burst into the house demanding microfilm that was smuggled into our backpacks, we still wouldn’t have been able to stop laughing. Scott, trying so very hard not to laugh, leaned down and kissed me again.

“UGH! Get. A. Room!” She said and stomped into the dining room. “Why can’t you be normal like other parents?”

Still giggling, Scott and I went down the hall into our bedroom and once again kissed loudly.

“I can still hear you!”

“But we got a room,” Scott replied evenly.

Ashleigh followed us down the hall and pulled out door closed.

“You are so annoying!”

Happy Valentine’s Day to you and yours!

Meetings: Volume One

I am a big fan of serial fantasy novels. Lord of the Rings, Dragonlance, Forgotten Realms. The notion that a group of strangers can come together and save the world is wildly appealing to me. Perhaps it is the group dynamic that plays out or the blending of talents that appeal to me. But in all honesty, I think that the unusual circumstance that introduces and brings the characters together is what I love the most about these novels.

We had just moved to New York and the school year was barely started. At five, I had missed the cut off for school and I wouldn’t be starting kindergarten until the following year. This was before pre-school was the “in” thing so I had yet to meet any one except my next door neighbor. My oldest brother just starting high school, however, had made a bunch of new friends, which turned out exceedingly lucky for me.

My mom kept an open door policy at our house when I was growing up: all of our friends were welcome. The day I met Ericka, she had come with her mom to drop off Chip, Ericka’s older brother. My mom walked out to chat with Ericka’s mom. After a few minutes, my mom casually looked at Ericka.

“You know, I have a daughter about your age. Would you like to meet her?”

Ericka, startled, gave a hesitant nod, and was nudged out of the car.

“Go through the kitchen, down the hall and up the stairs. Heather’s room is the first door at the top.”

Ericka’s mom and mine continued chatting while Ericka made her way inside a strange house. I can only image what Ericka must have been thinking at that point. We both had such active imaginations, perhaps she thought she was walking into a trap or a house full of carnies!

Up in my room, I had no idea what was happening. I was supposed to be getting dressed. But I was too busy DANCING to worry about clothes! I danced about my room in my underwear a la Tom Cruise (in 1980 I was way ahead of the times). In my passionate dance frenzy, I got thirsty and was just starting out of my room to get a drink when I saw Ericka came slowly up the stairs.

I stopped, “Hi!” The music blared from my room as I watched the tall blonde girl climb the stairs.

“Um, hi.” Ericka said. “Your mom sent me in,” she glanced behind her, perhaps hoping for a quick rescue.

“Oh.”

“Are you allowed to play in your underwear?” she blurted out coming to a stop at the top step.

“Oh!” I said with a big smile and knowing of course I wasn’t allowed to run around the house in my underwear. “Sure. I do this all the time!” I casually glanced around to make sure my mom wasn’t about to materialize. “Wanna play?”

“…Sure…” Ericka said.

The rest of the day is a bit fuzzy. Did I get dressed? What did we play or talk about? But from that day, from that auspicious meeting, a great friendship was born. Thirty years later, Ericka is still an amazing friend and I am forever grateful to have shared so many adventures with her.

This is written in response to a prompt from Write on Edge exploring friendships.

A First Date

To say that Scott isn’t good with picking out gifts is unfair. Typically, because I have specific “gifts” in mind, I tend to give him a specific list of ideas and hope he doesn’t stray from the list too much. This year for Christmas was a little different. Due to a minor lack of “fundage” even though I gave Scott a list, it was quite vague, quite small and I left a lot up to Scott. And really, my story just goes to show how much someone can surprise you if you let them.

One of Scott’s gifts to me this year was far beyond tangible. He gave me twelve days. One day each month that he would take me out on (gasp) a date!

And while this might not seem like a lot, it is. With precious little time and money, we tend to put “us” stuff to the side and focus on the “house” stuff-bills, groceries, power. Previous date nights were sporadic and poorly planned, consisting mostly of a quick dinner and a movie.

With this gift, come rules. Scott is ultimately in control of where we go and what we do, although I can offer suggestions, Scott will plan each date on his own.

So, without further ado, here’s the first date:

After clearing babysitting detail for Ashleigh with Mom (Cyra had a sleepover at a friend’s house), Scott set our first date for January 10 and wouldn’t tell me anything about it. All day long I wondered and waited for him to get home from work.

Ok, by waited, I mean, I went to a girl scout meeting, ran errands, went to the library, did some laundry, dropped Cyra off at Olivia’s and bought a new pair of jeans that actually fit (in case Scott chose a casual setting).

Scott surprised me with his venue for the night. I figured he’d ease into “datiness” with a return to tried and true dinner and a movie. Instead, he told me when he got home that he wanted to go bowling. Now for those that might laugh, I have developed a great fondness for bowling, especially when it involves disco balls. So I was quite excited. Scott, although he decided on bowling, couldn’t decide where he wanted to go eat and asked for a suggestion. I said, “Well, if we’re bowling, the only logical place to eat is, of course, Steak and Shake.”

And off we went. Steak and Shake was hopping for an early Saturday night, so it took a few minutes to be seated. Once we sat down we began perusing the menu; although really I don’t know why I did, I always get the same thing every time: Turkey melt, cheesy fries, diet coke, and a coffee shake. But Scott needed to browse the items. So while he pondered what triple-decker delight he’d partake in, I watched the goings-on around the restaurant. The servers were moving like elegantly choreographed ballerinas, swooping, dancing, gliding in and around tables, balancing trays filled with bubbly soda and smooth thick shakes. It was a beauty to watch and it struck me then: I miss waitressing.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to quit my nice cushy job that offers benefits and four months off a year, but I honestly think I was a better waitress than I am a teacher. I was good at it, evidenced by my plethora of $20 tips. I could go home and actually leave work at work! It had drawbacks, of course, as every job does, but I was really good at it.

Anyway, back on track, Scott ordered a huge triple-decker “man” burger with oozy cheese, bacon and God knows what other type of meat was thrown on top of the hamburger, fries and coleslaw (eww). Not only did he manage to finish his food, but he ate some of my fries too. He complained that I ruined perfectly good fries with cheese while I argued right back that he ruined perfectly good fries with ketchup!

After dinner, we headed over to Bowl America on Beach Blvd. A dingy little hole in the wall bowling alley, but really? What bowling alley isn’t? We played four games. The first game was spent trying to get the feel for the game again-it had been some time since we’d been bowling. And Scott still totally bowls like Frankenstein’s Monster. Stiff, ungainly, and well, dorky. Scott won by one point in the first game we both came in well under 100. The second game was a bit better for both of us. Scott still beat me and I will claim that I had a ball malfunction. It wasn’t a large victory, only about 5 points, but still, I was getting grouchy with all the losing! Then that blessed time of night came when the lights went out, the disco ball came on and the lanes were lit with black lights-Cosmic Bowling had arrived!!

It was our third game. Scott kept mocking me and my technique. Granted I kept mocking him as well, but still the karma flowed in my favor for the third game. Was it the loud hip hop music that thrummed in our ears? The bright flashing lights that raked across the lanes like UFO’s searching for people to abduct? I might never know, but I do know this, my third game is always my best game!! I trounced Scott with a 20 point victory!! I mocked. I gloated. I danced about in the dark while amused people in the lanes next to us laughed at my childish antics (they then carried on with their own childish antics so I wasn’t the only one!).

Then my joy was deflated like a perfect soufflé that collapses under the intense scrutiny from a judge in a cooking contest. Mayhap it was my selfish gloating, my egotistical narcissism, or the fact that my thumb kept getting stuck in my ball. Who knows, but the last game ushered in my sad defeat. If we are to talk trounced this is the game in which I was trounced. Thoroughly. Completely. Systematically. The difference between the scores is too shameful to even mention. Suffice to say, Scott reined in at well over 100, while I barely hit 70. It was sad.

What wasn’t sad though, was the night! We had a great time. It has been a long, long time since we went out and had that much fun. Alcohol wasn’t even involved at all! I can’t wait to see what he has in mind for February!