Uplifting And Positive News
Italy. The answer is Italy. If you caught last week’s column, Dear Reader, you left me stuck on a mountain top in Oman with a husband who was using frequent flyer miles prowess to get us home. “How about Milan?” he piped up as he worked his booking voodoo. He found a beautiful hotel and two first class seats through Dubai into Milan. For pennies, as he’s apt to do. “We can tour the city. We can go to Lake
This is the last place I ever imagined I’d spend my wedding anniversary. On top of a mountain. In Oman. Go ahead and look on a map. I had to. We’re talking the other side of the globe. A tiny country bordered by The United Arab Emirates, Saudi Arabia, and Yemen. Yeah, Yemen. Which my husband insisted we would only end up in if we took a wrong turn. Welcome to the latest travel creation of the man I’ve come
My daughter spotted it first. As kids are apt to do. Though, she probably didn’t realize exactly what she was seeing. Just how enormous it was. This is the story of how innocently standing in line at our favorite burrito joint, With nothing more than quacamole and a margarita on my brain, There it was. My unanswered prayer. My big, glaring, forever-wished-for lifetime prayer. If you had been watching us, you would’ve seen Daughter and me patiently inching forward. This
Don’t take my word for it. John Reilly will tell you he is “The Most Unromantic Man in America.” “I’m a chronic and habitual underachiever when it comes to birthday/Christmas/anniversary gifts for my wonderful wife,” he confessed to me in an email this week. As people do. They like to tell me stuff. Like giving a vacuum cleaner for Christmas? “Oh, I’ve done that,” John told me over the phone. It’s not that wife, Carol, didn’t make suggestions over the
It’s that performance anxiety dream. The one where you’re in class and you haven’t done all the work. You’re not going to graduate. You’ll be the laughing stock of the class. You’ve had that dream, Dear Reader? The good part is when you wake up realizing this was just a dream. Everything is fine. Oh, were it so. That was no dream. That was my real life. My real puppy. The real final exam at puppy obedience school. I apologize
I wasn’t expecting this. My future to come screaming from my past this week. You know those reminders Facebook surprises you with on a regular basis? “Daryn! We thought you’d like to look back on this memory from seven years ago!” They can bring on a smile. They can also bring on pain, When someone who has passed, Or broken your heart shows up without warning. This one, The photo that popped up on my feed this week would be
No one is claiming responsibility. It’s possible they were scared off by my rather loud verbal reaction when I came upon the scene of the crime. A crime, I admit, That probably started with a relatively good intention. Last weekend, someone, A mystery someone, Got the inspired idea to compensate for a lack of cold sodas in the fridge. Anonymous put a room temperature can of Coke Zero in the freezer. Which is a great idea. When you remember to
It’s possible I’m a terrible mother. As I have a crisis of confidence in my girl. She’s supposed to graduate this weekend. Between you and me- I’m not sure she’s going to make it. I scroll through Facebook seeing photo after photo of students boldly holding up their diplomas. “Look at what I’ve done!” Their smiles scream through my screen. As for our ceremony this weekend, The chances that my girl will come home with a diploma? Uh… It’s not
This is to be Mother’s Day? Sure doesn’t feel like it’s supposed to go down. I find myself thinking about that this week. A lot. I read countless posts about daughters celebrating with their mothers. About bountiful brunch feasts. About women so thankful to hold their children close. Then, I look around. At my holiday. This year. This Mother’s Day. The first without my mother who passed last August. There will be no celebrating with her, I tell myself. Over
I got naked this week. I get naked every week, Every day, for that matter. This week, I did it for you. For this column. To test a trap I’ve fallen into since high school. The “I’m missing out,” trap. It started with that friend, Perhaps, you know her, too, Dear Reader. The one who always described every party, Every adventure, Every ordinary lunch, As, “Amazing! We had the best time!” As a teen, those breathless reports left me in
