Eventually, Tom and I had to have “the talk” with them. It started something like this: “We love you; you know that. But we also know that the last thing you want us to have to deal with when we grieve your passing is sifting through a lifetime of memories that mean something to you but absolutely nothing to anyone else.”

We explained to them that the kindest thing they could do for their children was to make sure that the only things that were left in the end were the things that they truly cherished. I think that hearing our perspective really helped them.

We got periodic calls over the next few months (they lived several hours away in south Texas) telling us that this closet was now cleaned out or that pile of stuff was just carted off to the Salvation Army, etc. It took a long time, but they made a lot of progress. Unfortunately, when you’ve amassed a lifetime of garbage, it’s hard to differentiate the usable stuff from the junk. At the time of their move, they still had far too many items to easily fit into their new downsized space.

About 5 months ago, I had to fly out to California as my mother went in for emergency heart surgery. She was already at the hospital by the time I arrived at their home. When I got there, the place was a cluttered mess. No counter space or table had free space on it. None. Nowhere. It was unsettling to see how much crap had built up since our previous visit of just a couple years earlier.

Flash forward to a few weeks ago when my husband visited his family. We discovered that they had become packrats as well. Or hoarders. Take your pick.

The point is, these back-to-back incidents reminded us yet again that it was time to clear out our living space…and our closets…and our garage. We periodically clear just to ensure that we never become “those people” who keep crap for decades on the off chance that they might some day need it. It took us about a week of evenings and a couple afternoons. We set aside what we could for Goodwill. Recycled so much we had to ask our neighbors to let us add to their bin, and piled the rest in the garage. Then we called the junk hauler and had the remainder carted away. Done.

Yes, it is that easy. Just do it. You will feel lighter when finished. Your house will be cleaner just for the fact that you no longer have a sea of dust collectors taking up space. And best of all, you will never be labeled ‘cuckoo’ for your clutter.

Seriously, though, I’ve rediscovered the benefits of this terrific organization. I first encountered the YMCA at the suggestion of a personal trainer I used back in 2001. I was heading to New York City for an extended (4 month) stay and wanted to stay in shape. Yeah, because walking absolutely everywhere in NYC wouldn’t possibly do that for me. I joined the YMCA on West 14th Street in Manhattan and loved it. There was the weight room on one floor as well as a yoga studio. A pool was on another floor, an indoor running track on another. Still another floor held the locker rooms. Although I never made it that far up, I understand that there were either a basketball court or tennis courts on the rooftop. It was a terrific facility to use while I was there.

Fast forward more than a decade. Many months ago, my husband and I were looking into a better way to stay in shape. I had been doing yoga (which gets pricey by itself, never mind adding in a gym membership to that cost). My husband has been running for years and enjoys swimming whenever possible. Unfortunately, our neighborhood pool changed their schedule last year due to budget cuts. No longer open during the winter months, which are very mild in our part of Texas, we needed an alternative.

So the search began. A neighbor told us about her tour of the YMCA, thrilled at the easy childcare options available to her for her two kids, not to mention all the youth programs at the Y. Tom and I went to the same nearby YMCA one day and asked for a tour and the rundown on pricing. We were very impressed by their offerings, not to mention the price! It’s just $72 a month for a couple and about $78 a month for a family membership. That includes a lot of classes and programs like yoga and Tai Chi, as well as anytime access to the pool and gym. There are also special classes or time with a trainer that you can sign up for at an additional price. For example, I took a swimming assessment class that met one day a week for an hour and lasted a month. I paid $30 for that. Very reasonable. Time with a trainer is a bit more. We’ve paid between $99 (on a special buy 2 get 1 free sale) and $120 for 2 regular sessions.

The biggest draw for us initially was the indoor swimming pool. AND I could get those swimming lessons to hone my lame skills. The fully equipped gym was another draw. A huge variety of cardio equipment keeps you from getting bored (and yes, we all loath cardio). What I found out, much to my surprise, is that after a few sessions with a trainer–you get 3 1-hour sessions when you join, as part of the YMCA’s Fit Start program–I was able to stay on track easily with the training program we set up.

After being members for almost nine months now, we’ve found a pretty great routine. We have a target goal of 3 days a week for a 1 hour gym or swimming session each. We usually hit the gym together and have discovered that it really helps to have a workout partner.

I’ve spent tons of money over the years on trainers, but finding a cost-effective option with a wide variety of programs has turned out to be just what I need. And someone to workout with and keep me motivated has been the best way to stay fit!

Roughly two years into Austin’s first rail service from Leander to downtown Austin, the weekend service discussion finally turned from wish list to reality. No fewer than 6 speakers came out in favor of the service, with no dissenting voices. Downtown business alliance representatives, restaurant and bar owners, and The Alliance for Public Transportation all had their three minutes’ say in the matter. There was also one cuckoo who whined briefly about the Austin Energy proposed rate hike, but he walked out immediately after and no such further issues arose.

It was clear from the first speaker that Austin has been begging for MetroRail on the weekends. Last year at this time, during SXSW Interactive, the train ran until about midnight on Friday and from 10:30 am until midnight on Saturday as well. CapMetroRail will provide this same service again this year for Fridays March 9 and 16, and Saturdays March 10 and 17. Last year was such a huge success that CapMetroRail budgeted the service for this year as well.

However, the other special event weekend service that we all enjoyed through the Pecan Festival last year, was not put into the budget. During the last 6 months of 2011 I worried that weekend service might be thrown on the idea junk pile due to serious budget issues. However, the service was so popular with Austinites that CapMetro and the City of Austin worked diligently together to find a solution.

Although a number of proposed options were on the table, with many questions by Budget Committee Councilwomen Kathie Tovo and Laura Morrison about more family-friendly train schedules on Saturday, a different approach was ultimately approved…for now. The service will be monitored and reviewed to see what adjustments can and need to be made, including the possible addition of “early Saturday” service, which if approved would start at 10 am.

Last week, the Austin City Council and CapMetro each approved the new weekend schedule. The new service begins Friday, March 23, 2012 and will be nighttime specific. Fridays, the train will run hourly, 7 pm until midnight. Saturday service will begin at 4 pm and run every 35 minutes between Lakeline Station and Downtown Station. CapMetro has expressed interest in finding budget money to extend the service all the way to Leander for weekends as well, but that is also a future plan.

For now, lets all enjoy the freedom from downtown parking nightmares and, for those of us living in north Austin, a break from the high gas prices as we breeze down the rails instead of poking along MoPac for an hour on a Friday night! The more we take full advantage of this new service, the faster we can grow with even more viable public transportation options in Austin.

We knew from the first time we laid eyes on her, at 8 weeks old, that she would be a handful. Waking from a nap, she was alert, inquisitive, and very engaging with these two strangers who had come to say hi. The other pups in the liter when back to napping.

When we first brought her home, at 10 weeks, she learned to adapt to her new family. After getting used to the new “dogs in her pack,” including not just her people but an actual dog, our 40 pound mutt, Kafka, Marlowe began to find her place in the pack.

Seven years on now, I remembered how much fun both Marlowe and I had when we trained together. More than that, however, I needed to get her some retraining. While we were on a trip out of state last summer, the dogs were being cared for by a friend. One day, Marlowe escaped the backyard through an accidentally unlatched gate. We were told upon return that she had bolted out of the yard, across our large front yard, straight across the street, and stopped in the neighbor’s yard, where the frantic friend was able to retrieve her.

Marlowe had stopped answering to the “come” command months earlier. Lack of recall training will, I discovered, UNtrain a dog. So, I started searching for a trainer. I had originally gone back to the same big-box pet store where we had done our first training, but their staff was irresponsible and didn’t even both to show for the first class. I found out from the manager that the trainer had cancelled that class and never bothered to tell me, even after I had paid in full. Refund.

I remembered that friends had taken their new rescue Weimaraner to a trainer for some serious remedial butt kicking on a 6-week intensive training camp. The dog had developed a taste for neighborhood cats. He came back very much better for the experience.

I knew Marlowe didn’t need that level of training, but she and I both needed to learn the basics again. In addition to the ignored recall, over the years, she had started parking incessantly at anyone who walked by on the street, parked in front of the house, or came toward the door. It had gotten crazy and frantic, no longer just a warning bark.

So, in late October 2011, Marlowe and I began a new 6-month journey to better behavior. I meant to update our progress sooner, but if you read A Quiet Holiday, you’ll know why I never got around to that.

Our successes so far:

• Marlowe now walks loose-leash like a pro. She only occasionally requires correction. Prior to training, she would pull so hard, you would’ve thought you were walking a sled dog.
• She has solid success with “leave it”. In all fairness, this was the one singularly consistent skill that she learned as a puppy and that we have never stopped using. Drop an ibuprofen and the dog gets it? It can kill her. Same for chocolate, onions, garlic, raisins.
• Her sit, down, and stand has returned quickly. She has pretty consistent success with this accept when she is excited. Then it becomes a real challenge. We’re working on that.
• We have just started “push-ups” this week (intensive little sessions where she goes from down back to sit). These are HARD, make no mistake about it. I have a new respect for dogs and owners who can accomplish this task. She is beginning to make progress on this as well. It’s going to take a lot of practice.
• Remember that recall she had lost? The trainer calls it Really Reliable Recall (RRR). You select a secret word. It must be something that will never get used in regular conversation. We chose the Dutch word for danger, for example. We don’t speak Dutch. This is the word you train your dog to come to and associate with the best super special treat in the world. It is different from the regular training treats and is only ever used in this context once you start training. It’s pretty intense, but Marlowe is coming along.

There are days when Marlowe drives me crazy in class. She gets so excited and hyper that she not only doesn’t pay attention to me, but doesn’t allow me to pay attention to the instructor. I’ve had to really check myself to make sure I stay calm. (One day, the instructor called right after we left class to ask me if everything was okay. She had noticed how frustrated I was during that day’s class.) I’ve learned to arrive early for class so that we can be one of the first there. Marlowe tends to do better then for some reason. If we arrive after most of the other dogs are already placed, she’s just impossible.

Every week I see progress in her. Over the holidays, there was even a day when someone came to the door and I was able to keep her quiet until they rang the bell. That was a milestone.

I look forward to more successes with her. I’ll keep you posted!

The first week in November, the Wrinklies (as I call my parents) were packing for a trip to Maui. My mom (88 years old) decides she should mention to my dad that she’s been getting out of breath after just a short walk across the house and now, a few weeks into this development, she is having chest pains as well. She wondered, “should I go to Maui?”

Duh, no Mom, you should go to the emergency room. So, a few days later she was in the hospital, I’d flown to California to drive my dad (92 years old) back and forth to the hospital, two towns away. Mom had major heart surgery, which she came through like a trooper, I stayed a week, then came back home to Texas.

A few days home and it’s Thanksgiving at a friends house. I am just starting to wind down from the horrible stress of dealing with family. My supportive and wonderful friends helped a lot. The Tuesday after Thanksgiving, my husband and I had a lunch planned with a friend. I asked Tom to take some laundry downstairs on his way. He took ALL of the laundry in his arms and didn’t watch where he was stepping. Unfortunately, this is the one day EVER that my little Yorkie got terribly sick and vomited all over the stairs, starting on the landing right at the first stair. Tom steps in it and (his words) goes “ass over teakettle” down the entire flight of stairs, landing hard on his right ankle, breaking his tibia and fibula.

He had surgery on the ankle the following Monday. Friends rallied to help with food and (for me) sanity breaks from the constant caregiving. In addition to the lame husband, I also had a very sick dog (not the Yorkie, who was absolutely fine after the barf fest) to deal with at the same time.

So I spent the next few weeks running back and forth for medicine, veterinary visits, doctor and physical therapy appointments, and trips to get groceries and take-out food. It was crazy. My day would start somewhere between 4-6 am as the big dog desperately needed to go out. (Tom would text me from downstair where the two of them were stuck.) I would be completely exhausted by 8 pm at night. Rinse and repeat day after day.

Needless to say, after the expense of flying to California, the out-of-pocket cost of surgery and PT appointments (even with finally getting health insurance…1 week before the broken ankle), I was financially and emotionally drained. And in no mood whatsoever for a holiday.

When anyone asked, I gestured to Tom’s ankle and said “there is his present” and to the dog “and there is everyone else’s”. The good news is that they are both on the mend. Tom has his last “authorized” PT this week. I don’t think we’ll need any more than that. He’s hobbling around pretty well now, although he still tires out easily with the effort. As for Kafka, the big dog, she has been cured of pancreatitis, and diagnosed definitively with Cushing’s disease. She’s an old dog, but she is much better than she was a few weeks ago. That’s the best we can ask for now.

So, we had a very quiet holiday this year. We didn’t have our big, blowout holiday bash. I didn’t so much as bake 1 cookie. I invited a few folks over on Christmas Day (no more than I knew I could manage without the help of my sous chef). Everyone pitched in with side dishes and dessert. At the end of the day, we had a wonderful (group effort) holiday meal.

I hope your holiday was nice, relaxing, and most of all healthy! In fact, let that be my wish for you in the coming year as well. Stress-free and good health is the best wish I can give you for 2012!

So, what to do? I had been wanting to learn filet crochet for a while. An old-lady friend of mine (she’s 6 months younger than my mom and known in the Twitterverse as La Wrinkly Tres) has been doing filet crochet for years, although I didn’t know it. With a little guidance and inspiration from La Wrinkly Tres, and the great find of a book by Betty Barnden called Filet Crochet, I pressed on. Then there was this beautiful crochet thread by Isager that I found at Knit Purl on a trip to Portland, OR.

Things were starting to come together. It took several first tries to get the first row of mesh squares done correctly. To say that directions on a chart are scant is an understatement. You really have to know what you are doing to use them. The only directions on the chart I found (and yes, they are all like this) was:

This is 69 squares wide and 57 squares tall.
Chain 207, DC in 8th chain from hook.

What the charts don’t tell you is that you need to know whether you will make a small mesh, medium mesh (which seems to be the standard), or large mesh filet. That is what determines the number of chains to add after the designated chains for the image. Once I got that first row completed correctly, however, the rest of the work was a breeze. I say that coming from over 20 years as a cross-stitcher. If you are used to following a cross-stitch pattern, you can learn filet crochet in a heartbeat.

Here is the beautiful resulting picture after it has been blocked and just before shipping it out for Mom. She loved it, by the way.

Filet Crochet Hummingbird

Growing up, we were always very selective of where we got our dogs. We never got a dog from a mall pet store. The dogs there always seemed so sad and listless. In addition, the cost of a mall puppy was always outrageously overpriced compared to a carefully researched pet from a mom and pop breeder. I say careful, because back then, we had never heard of the term like “puppy mill.” We simply stayed away from anyone who bred dogs as a business or as their primary source of income. We had seen places like that and the animals were never treated well, by our standards. However, there are always people who want to breed there favorite bitch or sire. More often than not, these folks have never bred a dog before. Those are the folks I will buy a dog from if I am looking for a specific breed and want a puppy.

I know a lot of folks who adore rescue dogs. There is an incredible need for those special people who have huge hearts big enough to take on an abused, challenging dog. Done right, these amazing folks can turn a heartbreaking story into a well-adjusted, socialized dog that assimilates into a family. I know some folks who only have foster dogs in their home. Their specific goal is to rehabilitate dogs so that they become suitable for adoption.

I have always wanted to screw up my own dog, if you will. I’m just one of those people who have to start with a puppy. Understand, I have the same theory when it comes to picking a husband—find ‘em young and train them the way you like. (I said it was a theory, I didn’t say it works flawlessly.)

One of the things I learned at the puppy mill awareness reception was how many purebred rescue groups are actually started (and sadly flourishing) because of puppy mills. In fact, the same week as the reception, a puppy mill in a nearby county voluntarily relinquished their small-breed dogs and puppies that had been living in deplorable conditions. I understand those dogs will be available for adoption from the Humane Society this past weekend.

Among the things I learned about puppy mill awareness is to look at the rescue groups first, especially if you want a specific breed. The Humane Society in your area or another local animal shelter are also great options. I’ve found that a lot of the breed-specific rescue organizations have pretty hefty fees as mandatory “donations” to get a puppy or dog. This could be a financial deterrent for some families, especially when you consider all of the expensive initial visits to the vet required for puppies.

The Humane Society is a very cost effective option and all the animals are spayed or neutered before they are allowed to go up for adoption. Although it’s a generalization, I’ve found that most of the dogs you find at the Humane Society tend to be larger breeds or larger mixed breeds. I can say from experience, however, that mutts tend to be the toughest, constitutionally strongest, and most resilient dogs you will ever find. If you have or love a mutt, you’ve got to know about a new site that advocates for mutts, called, appropriately, Up With Mutts.

Whatever companion animal you decide on, please remember to acquire it from a trusted source and never from a puppy mill, pet store, or any large-scale breeding operation. Always get your new companion to the vet immediately for a thorough examination and to set up their shot schedule (that was my first stop even before I brought Marlowe home). Do your due diligence and get a healthy and happy companion that will be a part of your family for years to come.

In anticipation of that chill, I’ve been digging through all the pattern sites on the web. I found a beautiful shawl pattern from Lion Brand Yarns called the Tranquil Wrap. Sorry, Lion, but I wanted a nice washable cotton yarn in a bright color. So I headed out to Gauge in north Austin to find the perfect yarn.

I gave my requirements to the nice lady at the store—must be washable, preferably cotton, worsted or light-worsted weight. In my head, I had “electric blue.” The one yarn in just the right color didn’t have enough skeins to meet the yardage requirement for my project. I kept looking. Finally, I found what I like to call “electric purple.” It’s a deep, rich, purple in a light worsted that reminds me a little of the look of homespun-style yarns. It is absolutely beautiful.

The Start of the Tranquil Wrap Project

The lacy look of the piece is accomplished by using a really large hook. In this case, it’s an N size hook, or 10.00 mm. To my small hands, it feels fairly clumsy using such a big hook. It takes some getting used to. I have to say, however, that over the last few months of projects, I’ve learned to transition yarn (from the end of one skein to the beginning of another) flawlessly and invisibly. I’m really proud of that. Even using this big hook and having all the lacy open work, I still managed it.

I’m estimating another week’s work to finish the project. I only work on it a couple hours every other night or so plus a good afternoon each weekend day. I’ll post a picture of the completed project at a later time. Soon, all I’ll need is some cold weather in which to wear it!

I arrived in Manhattan September 4th, 2001. I was there to attend a four month training class at the Natural Gourmet cooking school. Classes started two days later on Sep 6th, so all I really had time to do was settle into my apartment at 6th Avenue and 27th Street. Although I didn’t know it at the time, the World Trade Center Towers were the view at the South end of 6th Avenue.

My husband, Tom, had helped me settle in and buy some basics for the furnished apartment, but he had to fly back to Austin on September 9th. I was incredibly emotional about him leaving. This was our first ever long-term separation from each other. In fact, before he left, I bought him a return ticket for October 12th so that I knew I’d see him again soon! It was only for a week or so, and I knew he would return at the end of December for my last month in school, but it was still a gut punch when that taxi with him in it pulled away.

The morning of Sep 11th, I got to school at 8:45 as usual. I wanted to get into my chef’s uniform before the last-minute rush of students jammed the small locker room ahead of the 9 am class.
One classmate came in about 5 minutes later all a buzz because her cell phone and those of all the people around her on the sidewalk had gone dead simultaneously. She told us she had looked at her phone then at the women next to her who had done the same. “Did your phone just go out?” she asked. “Yeah,” the woman replied. Then they saw a group of construction workers gaping up at the sky. My classmate asked what happened.

In true New Yorker fashion, one of the men replied, “A plane flew into the ‘towa’.”
“What?”
Pointing up, he said with emphasis, “A plane flew into the motha fucking towa.”

Now, the locals new what she was talking about, but many of us were from out of state, so I asked, “What tower?”
“The tower,” she exclaimed. “One of the Trade Center towers. The two big buildings you can see from 6th Avenue?”

She sounded incredulous that I didn’t understand. Truth is, when you are walking in the Red Woods, you don’t notice one particular tree. Manhattan is a overwhelming sea of skyscrapers. To a non local, the whole place is full of “big buildings.” I realized I had never even noticed the two buildings visible at the end of the Avenue.

The lecture began promptly at 9 am as usual. Twice, however, the instructor was interrupted school staff who handed her a note—a grave expression came over her face each time. Finally, at 9:15 with the third interruption, she announced that class was being cancelled because “there is a lot going on in the world today.” When pressed for an explanation, she said “they just bombed the Supreme Court.” We found out shortly after, in the main office where all the staff and other classes began to gather around the radio, that it was actually a plane that hit the Pentagon. Then the radio announced that a second plane had hit the South Tower at 9:02.

School required that we turn off our cell phones and leave then in our lockers. Tom had been frantically leaving me messages. When I got to the main office, the land line phones were ringing constantly. One of the ladies looked over at me holding out the phone. All I heard was “Thank god. I’ve been trying to call your cell for 45 minutes.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked, still not comprehending the full impact of what had happened.
“It’s all over the news.” He told me.

I assured him I was fine and he told me what he knew, clarifying that the Supreme Court was okay, but…

Those of us who lived nearby, volunteered to straighten up the classrooms and put things away, while others rushed home via train or bus. Before I left, we heard that the second tower that was hit had collapsed. I ended up getting to the corner of 6th Avenue and 23rd Street at 10:30 that morning. I tried to see where the other tower was, but I couldn’t see anything when I looked south although I’d been told it would be obvious.

A middle aged lady leaned on a trash can, staring down 6th Avenue. The usually buzzing city had just stopped. I looked in the same direction, but had to ask that lady which one was the North Tower.
“It just fell, honey. It’s gone.”

Just then, a young guy ran out of a building past me, holding a draftmans T-square in his hands. He ran right into the middle of the road without looking. There was no point. No car moved. His eyes bugged out and his jaw dropped. Then his shoulders slumped and he returned to the building shaking his head in disbelief. I can still see him vividly in my minds eye even 10 years later.

Everywhere I looked, taxis and other cars were stopped, often barely pulled out of the main road. Their doors stood open, and dozens of people were clustered around each vehicle listening to the news.

Back at my apartment, I watched 6th Avenue out my bedroom window for the rest of the day. I’ll never forget the sight of the masses of soot-covered people slowly walking North, as if in a trance. There were no cars, no taxis. The city was locked down. People just had to walk. By 2 o’clock the sidewalks were empty; the streets deserted. Manhattan was a ghost town. The only sound in the city for the next two days was the frequent cry of sirens, day and night. Big black Suburbans went up 6th Avenue, right under my apartment window, and back down on either 5th or 7th Avenues. They carried victims’ family members, politicians, rescue coordinators.

Over the next two days, phone and computer connections were spotty. The city was asked not to use phone lines unless it was urgent so that the emergency workers could use them. After a few days, people began to return to their offices, schools, and a changed reality, all the while with the tower ruins blazing and smoking in the distance. They burned constantly until the first week of December. For weeks, I could see the flames at night out my bedroom window until I just couldn’t look anymore. Cops and national guard troops occupied every street corner throughout the city with several at every subway stop.

A couple of Saturdays after the attacks, as the city otherwise attempted to return to a new normal, I was walking back from Starbucks to my apartment. I saw a huge crowd of peace protesters making their way up 6th Avenue on foot. It struck me that all the cops who lined the road to protect the rights of these protesters didn’t even know yet with certainty the fate of their own comrades. They were just doing their job. My heart broke and went out to them. I knew without question that this scene would always epitomize for me what America was all about. People exercising their right to disagree peacefully and others protecting them whether they believed in what the protesters were doing or not.

All the friends who had promised to come visit me during my stay never showed. My closest friend admitted to me that she was too afraid. I was all alone during a very terrible time. But there were 4 people I will never forget as long as I live. They were the people who came to see me—each of them twice during that time. Two friends came who were married at the time and had several friends in the area. Some of those folks had lost people they knew in the towers. My husband, of course–you couldn’t have kept him away. And my good friend from my military days, Ellie Bishop, who worked as a flight attendant.

Now 10 years later—in fact every year since the attacks—I remember what it meant to me to have such wonderful people be there for me. I know it took a lot of guts for them to get on a plane that October, and November, and December, but they did it. That really showed me what true friendship and caring is all about.

I’ve done my best in the last 10 years to remember what that felt like on 9/11 and during those months afterward. Whenever I can, I try to be there for the people around me. I know how much it means. And I’m lucky. I’ve still got many of the people I love in my life. But I lost my friend, Ellie back in 2009 to ALS. I miss her often, especially when this anniversary rolls around each year.

And as for the title of the post. I have and will always perform a self-imposed media blackout on the anniversary of September 11, 2001. I can’t take it. Hell, I barely got through this. The tears are still just as raw as they were right after the attacks. Each year I wait for the effect to lessen. I don’t know that it ever will.

Anyway, ol’ Tom has a perch at the edge of a cliff overlooking a deep ravine. On a shelf that extends out over the cliff, he has what looks like an iPad. Except, this device allows him to plug in sections for troop movements. When he plugged in the last section, the main screen of the “iPad” was complete. What do I know? It was a dream!

Now, I suppose this dream has something to do with my current revision cycle on my own writing. It really does feel like moving around puzzle pieces at times. And that cliff overlooking the ravine? Yeah, at times I feel like I’m going to take a dive, figuratively speaking, of course. I’ll recognize that a section doesn’t work at all where it’s at, so I have to do a complete rewrite and insert it at a different place in the book. Now it works great, but requires a major rewrite on the next chapter. And on, and on.

Honestly, some days it feels like there is no end. Still other days, I know that what I am doing is making the book better, so it’s worth it. And yes, at times it does feel like I’m moving around troops and strategizing the best ways to improve my work. Now, if only I can find another actor to star in my dreams. Love ya, Tom, but I wonder what Nathan Fillion’s evenings look like.