I’d pictured pure serenity – pina coladas on white sandy beaches – when my husband and I took a dream vacation to Hawaii a few weeks ago. But I have a knack for complicating serenity and, it turns out, there is no better way to do that than becoming obsessed with snorkeling.
I’ve checked, and I don’t think there’s 12-step program. But if there was, I think I’d qualify. I’m hopelessly addicted to books.
Not a bad thing, you say. What’s wrong with reading?
“No problem.” It’s such an easy thing to say.
So when my daughter-in-law asked if I could pick up BOTH grandkids at day care – the six-year-old and her two-year-old brother – that’s exactly what I said.
I’ve loved grilling ever since my first little hibachi. Cooking out is easy, fast, and simplifies summer living. At least it did till last month.
That’s when I lifted the lid of our fancy gas grill to flip some burgers, and found an empty nest of straw and leaves in the back corner of the grate.
I’ve always been impressed by backpackers. Off they go on multi-week excursions with everything they need on their backs.
So when my husband announced our two-week summer road trip would be a “tee shorts and shorts affair,” I was ecstatic. I imagined us as sleek as Reese Witherspoon in “Wild” after she offloaded her excess baggage.
Get away from it all! What could be more appealing than that? So it was with rabid enthusiasm that my husband and I weighed into
It started innocently enough, with a Facebook rant during the holidays. I wanted free shipping on Amazon but my order was $7.41 short, and I was tired of looking.
I never saw a time management tool I didn’t like – for at least 15 minutes. So when my husband started printing out monthly calendars and marking the days with big red X’s, I was intrigued.
It takes guts and strategy to get through an Ohio winter. For some, it’s winter sports. For charitable souls, it’s shoveling the neighbor’s driveway. And for obsessive others, it’s surfing the Vacation Rentals By Owner (VRBO) website hour after hour to find a place to escape next February.
Fifty years ago, when I collected my high school diploma, I don’t remember wondering where everyone would be 50 years later.