The Climb

What was supposed to be a fun road trip for me and my girl has turned into a trip from Hell. We left Illinois headed to Lake of the Ozarks at 6 am on May 30th. We spent one night in Missouri and were going to drive to Florida with my mother and father in-law for a family wedding.

Since my father in-law wasn't feeling well and had refused to go to the doctor days before, I dragged his ass to urgent care. He complained the whole time but knew he couldn't travel if he were sick. After five hours of tests and observation, and back and forth from urgent care to the ER, the doctor determined he had a slight case of pneumonia and a bladder infection. Because he is a diabetic and has other health issues, the doctor wanted to admit him. He refused under the promise he would take the medication prescribed, not travel for two or three days, while getting plenty of rest.

Still full of piss and vinegar, he said we girls could take off in the car and he would fly out to meet us the day before the wedding. My sister in-law said she would look after him while we were away. Feeling content with his medication and care, we left.

We took turns driving the 1,200 miles over a three day span. On the second day, Lane 2 was really feeling the effects of being trapped in a vehicle with her mom and nana. Caged animal comes to mind. Anyhow, we arrived at the hotel around 8. The pool was open until 10, which was just what this little girl needed to expel her energy.

Unfortunately, the pool was outdoors, with no lighting. There was a green glow beneath the water and a thick layer of fog rolled across the top. She looked at me as if to ask, "You're kidding me, right?!" A frog began croaking in the distance. It was "uber creepy" and little miss was certain the Loch Ness Monster was going to attack her as soon as she dipped a toe into the water.

Lane 2 never calls me mommy, but she was so scared, she said, "Mommy, are you sure it's safe?"

Seeing how genuinely terrified she was, I sneakily emptied my jeans pockets, slipped off my shoes and sternly said, "Damn it, there's nothing in that water... except for me." And I cannon-balled my clothed ass in. The look on her face when I resurfaced was priceless. She eventually joined me and that was the end of our fun.

We returned to our hotel room to find my mother in-law bawling her eyes out. Her brother, who had been in care of hospice passed away. She got the call while we were out of the room. Lane 2 only heard her say, "He's gone," and assumed she was talking about her grandpa. She went to the washroom, where I thought she was showering, but instead was crying her eyes out thinking her grandpa passed away. Not to lessen the loss of Uncle AB, but Lane 2 spent most of the drive with her headphones on and didn't even know he was sick.

After consoling my mother in-law, I went to check on my girl, who I thought was showering. That was when I found out that she thought we were talking about my father in-law. She was trembling and could barely stop crying. Definitely a huge scare.

So now my poor mother in-law was completely torn, a sick husband at home, a dead brother in Oklahoma and her first grandchild getting married in Florida. It was a tough choice but we agreed to continue on to Florida. Calling to check in on Pops every hour, he sounded like he was really enjoying all this coddling my sis in-law, niece and great nephew were giving. He still was talking about flying out to meet us before the wedding.

We arrived at the house we rented in Florida just in time to unpack the car and leave for the shower, which was an hour away. That's about the time Mr. Lane called to tell me someone hit Lane 1's car. Can you even believe it?!

He was parked outside of his friend's house and the boy's mother backed into his car causing $2,000 in damages. I'm so glad he wasn't in the car but damn it that poor kid has had nothing but trouble since he got his license and none of it has been his fault. Thankfully this time the driver had insurance.

The shower would have been more fun had we not had so much on our minds. As soon as it was over, we went to the grocery store to pick up some essentials. We got to bed late and up early the next morning.

That's when Pops started feeling really shitty again and my sister in-law drove him back to urgent care. They added steroids and an additional breathing treatment to the medication he was already taking and sent him home.

We went to the hall and helped decorate. Later we went to the rehearsal and then out to dinner, where my mother in-law looked at me and said, "I just want to go home." Thinking the stress had gotten to her, I suggested we head out and back to the house for a nice soak in the tub. I handed her a glass of wine to take into the tub and said goodnight around 1 am. Before 3 am she was screaming my name to tell me Dad was admitted into the ICU and put on a ventilator.

By 4 am (the morning of the wedding) the car was repacked and we were driving back to Missouri. By then Mr. Lane and Lane 1 drove from our house with my sister in-law Deb. We drove straight through 19 hours and arrived at 11 pm. Thankfully the hospital staff let us in to see him right away.

My father in-law's respiratory system, digestive system and kidneys had all failed. The doctor said his pneumonia completely took over his lungs and became septic attacking his entire system. It was so hard to see him like that and not know if he would make it.

The next morning, I opened my laptop to look up my brother's phone number to let him know I left Florida and wouldn't be able to see him. The last webpage I was on was Facebook, which reloaded as soon as I opened the lid. I saw, "RIP Uncle Tommy" written on my cousin's status update. Who finds out that their uncle died on Facebook? Apparently I do. Uncle Tommy (Cousin Benny's dad) wasn't even sick so it was a huge shock.

It's been two weeks and my father in-law is still on the ventilator and not out of the woods yet. He had two days of dialysis, which thankfully jump started his kidneys. With the help of 16 days of laxatives and a stick of dynamite, his digestive system is back on track now too. (Just making sure you're still paying attention.) He has a long way to go before they can take the ventilator out but since he's gone from 90% oxygen to 40%, we are hopeful he will continue to improve.

That's about all I can tell you for now. It's a waiting game. If you're the praying kind, please drop a line to the big guy for Pops. Besides my own father and son, he is the only man in my life who has loved me like a part of his family even on my worst days.

Mr. Lane and Lane 1 have been off of work this whole time so our next big crisis should involve all four of us Lanes asking, "Would you like fries with that?"

P.S. Thank you all for the birthday wishes, and happy father's day to all of you daddies.

Oh What a Night

We went to my grade school reunion last week. I was so genuinely happy to see so many familiar, beautiful, happy faces when I walked in I wanted to hug the fucking waiter. Ya know? It's been a week and I can't stop looking at the pictures and smiling like a giant doofus. Whatever!

We walked into the bar and my mind flashed back as I saw those older but familiar faces smiling back at me. I don't think I've ever walked into a place I've never been to and felt so welcome. That many people, happy to see me, really?

My old man would have rather snorted Pixie Stix than drive Miss Daisy but knowing I can't see at night, he really didn't have a choice.

I couldn't hug them hard enough, as I was breathing each of them in, noticing they don't smell like playground dirt and sweat anymore. Working my way through the crowd of old school friends, flashes of memories flooding my mind.

Years, hell, decades have gone by and there they were, just as I'd remembered, sans the dirt/sweaty smell. I don't know that I've ever been so happy to see a group of people who weren't related by blood.

"We were just talking about you."

I didn't know if that was a good thing or bad, so I smiled it off and made my way back hugging everyone along the way. There was one person I didn't recognize. After hugging the shit out of that woman, I said, "Sorry, what's your name?"

"Cheryl."

"Shut up! Oh my God! Your hair! You have hair!"

How could I not recognize my bestie, Cheryl? I had to hug her again. Squeezing the breath out of her, rocking side-to-side like Rainman and Nancy Kerrigan's love child.

You long time readers may recall a story I wrote about her taking me to McDonalds.



This is us when we were 11-years-old.

Shut up! She didn't look THAT much like Screech.



Never mind.



This is us now.

"Yeah, you didn't recognize these extra 50... okay 80 pounds," she joked.

"Honestly, it's your hair! I remember walking to your house every morning to pick you up for school. You'd be all cranky, never a morning person, and you'd have that damn babushka thing tied to your head to pin your curls down."

"It was a bandana."

"Whatever! Oh my God! I can't believe you're really here."

Her face was exactly as I remember. Guess I was thrown off by her new (to me) long locks. I had to hug her again and again.

We needed to go home early because our drive was about two hours - four roundtrip. It was prom night for Lane 1, and Lane 2 was home alone...calling Mr. Lane's cell phone every half hour to ask how much longer. Which is reason 942 why I still refuse to get a cell phone. We were a block away from home when her first call came in. She said there was an emergency...she got a paper cut and wanted us back home. She was kidding. I wasn't amused as I tried to subside that sinking feeling in my gut upon hearing the word emergency. I never leave her alone, so it was strange for both of us, but necessary for me, my sanity and all of my 2,000 parts.

I didn't have enough time to visit with Emily, Carol, Nancy or many of the boys. It was virtually impossible to mingle and stroll down memory lane in two hours with everyone after being away from each other for so many years.

Early on, all the guys stood in one area, while all the girls stood in another. It was the 8th grade dance all over again. Inside, I was laughing and remembering their Pierre Cardin or Polo Cologne, combined with their Dep Gel. I was kind of sad they all didn't still smell that way either.



The girls. Back row, Lois, Cheryl and Kelly can't even stop fucking around long enough to take a picture. I'm so glad some things never change.



Cheryl and Lois trying to grope Kelly's boobs. Kelly was the flat one way back when. Guess the booby fairy finally came.

My old man tried to stay to himself but my girls wouldn't let him. They talked his ears off. One asked how he and I have stayed together so many years and he said, "It's all that butt sex I give her." Mr. Lane has no internal editor and tends to blurt the first thing to come to mind. Reason 9,322 why we really are still together. I kinda love that about him.

Blatantly trying to find his way into my panties after this shindig, Mr. Lane bought me a Mai Tai. I called him out. "You just want to get into my panties!" And he corrected, "Well, I was really trying to get you to provide some road head for the ride home." He's such a romantic. And the answer is yes, even though my moto is, "I got married so I don't have to do that sort of thing anymore."



Like fine wine, they just get better with age. Tony front and off-center, Steve, John, Carol, Jolee, Alisha, Kim, Nancy, Emily, Frank. Back row Tony, Onofrio, Brian, Kelly, Cheryl, Lois.

Frank who I never spent any time with as a kid, grew up to be so nice, smart, funny and articulate that, I couldn't help but wonder if I missed out on a really great friend so many years ago.

This was the last group of people I ever met who were really laid back and carefree. The last people to take me or leave me. Maybe it was our age, chemistry, personalities, who knows for sure why, but I loved how we were all ourselves back then, and amazed how we all seemed to pick up right where we left off.

Apparently, after liquid courage...something the boys didn't have in 8th grade, made its way through their systems, the boys mingled with the girls. By then we'd already gone home. I've seen pictures however, and let me tell you that is a rowdy bunch. Should there ever be another gathering, I'm staying until the bitter end, with a video camera on hand.

Sometimes You Wanna Go...

...where everybody knows your name and everything else!

My friend Jackie invited the Lanes to her family barbeque. When we got there I was a little out of place. My old man was out of town. The kids had all ran off to join the circus or do whatever it is kids do, and I didn't know anyone else except Jackie and her old man Donny, who was incidentally already half in the bag. On second thought, he was already neck deep in the bag and awaiting trash pickup. Loaded! I'll get back to him later.

Jackie started introducing me to her sisters after making fun of her inebriated spouse. "This is Lois."

Shyly they each said hello. Then Jackie added, "The one who pissed her pants at Dairy Queen."

I was taken aback, head cocked to the side, confused, and the warm welcomes began. "Oh, that Lois?! Hi!" Turns out, they all read Home Fires. It took a while for my brain to comprehend.

My brain clicked and I said to myself, "Wow, they know a lot about me. Just about everything. Shit!"

I was thrilled someone somewhere was reading. Blogville has taken a backseat for a lot of my old regulars. I should be more vigilant in promoting, writing, and obtaining new readers etc. Epic failure. Whatever!

They said they've come across certain posts here, forwarded them in an email or read them to a friend over the phone. Seriously, that is the ultimate compliment. I remember my mom and Godmother reading Erma Bombeck to each other over the phone. And they would laugh insanely. In the back of my young mind, I would think, "I want to be able to do that when I grow up." As I listened, I had this crazy grin on my face that couldn't be subsided.

YouTube, Twitter and Facebook have steered a lot of people away from the Land of Blog. But there I was with three generations of women who were new readers and already telling me, three minutes into meeting them that they too piss their pants...pretty much every time they laugh, cough, sneeze or use Karate chop action. Sam, Diane, Carla, Coach, Norm and Woody weren't there, but it sure felt like Cheers. You guys, I felt like I was home.

And like the title of this here blog, there was also a fire. A bonfire ended our evening, but not before Skinny, a 9-year-old boy realized how amazing fire really is. His eyes were so fixated, they looked like two big ass dinner plates.

Then he realized he could sneakily throw shit into the flames and it would vanish. He began small, first a twig, then a little cardboard box. He eventually graduated to a bucket of oil that was in the garage awaiting a recycling center.

Ah yes, an arsonist in the making. Good times. He poked a stick into the oil, then into the fire. His "WHOAH!" lasted until the flames subsided again and again. I sat watching him in all of his enthralled amazement. I couldn't remember the last time something made me that happily crazed. I was kinda jealous.

His mom was there "Ready to beat the flames off that little black ass" should he catch fire. I am always amused by terms a mom will use. Thankfully, it didn't turn into a Michael Jackson Pepsi commercial, and Skinny came out of the whole thing unscathed.

From a safe distance, now wearing a motorcycle helmet, he watched as the drunk grown men giggled like school girls as they dumped oil onto the fire. Flames shot up higher than the house and garage. I moved my ass out of the way, taking my chair with creating a fire lane for anyone who didn't want to singe off all of their hair.

Speaking of singeing, poor Red wasn't so lucky. She and I had been sitting near each other shooting the shit. She was 15 Jell-O shots and several beers into her night and her reaction time was a tiny bit slower than mine.

One of the guys yelled, "I smell burnt hair!"

She hollered back, "It's mine, asshole!"

Crouching in front of her, pretending to assess her potential cooter damage, I yelled, "Now she has a Brazilian! Way to go, guys!" I was so happy she understood and appreciated my twisted sense of humor. The guys laughed too, but about two minutes later since their reaction time was even more delayed.

Obviously the men were hammered. But you never really know how blitzed a man is until he begins to make announcements, like a best man giving a speech and toasting the happy couple. Donny raised his bottle, (no not his glass, his bottle...of Mad Dog 20/20) he hushed the crowd, and went on for nearly an hour about how great each and every one of us was. There was one sip left in the bottle. I didn't know if this was how a man savors his drink or what.

He said, "Mad Dog Bill (fist bump to the guy who brought the bottle for him) I would lay my ass down on the railroad tracks for you man. I would lay down for you in a second, man!"

Quietly, I said, "That sounds kinky."

He continued, turning in each direction pointing at all of us, "I mean it, man you and you, I'd lay down on the tracks, man. For you two, and of course you..." He started backtracking re-pointing at us. "I would give you anything. I'd be there. Whatever you need, whenever you need it, I'm your guy, because you fuckers have all been there for me..."

He was so sincere, I almost felt bad for laughing. Almost. One thing that put me into hysterics was he kept referring to me as Mrs. Lane, probably because that is what his kids call me. I began to wonder if he even knew my first name, but I didn't say anything because it was so funny.

Then he began toasting to my old man, who wasn't even there. But he was calling him by first name, making the Mrs. Lane thing that much funnier to me. I am younger than both of them.

"And fucking Lane, man, he is the hardest working, most straight-laced, shirt-off-your-back, help you with whatever you need guy. Dude didn't even know me and tried to get me a fucking job. Helping me take care of my fucking family, man. Dude let me borrow tools and shit. Fucking guy is the hardest working mother fucker on this block, probably in this whole fucking town, man!"

It was classic and I was so happy that I was sober and able to remember every single word to relay back to Mr. Lane. Who incidentally, couldn't wipe the goofy grin from his face when I told him the story.

What was beyond excellent...I got to take care of that baby fever I've been having, thanks to Mommy Meg. My old man was happy about that too.

Little Noah, two moths old, perfect in every sense of the word, lay in my arms, smiling, cooing, looking around, dozing on and off, and best of all, not crying. I don't know how long I held that tiny boy, but I did catch myself rocking empty handed, like Rainman counting toothpicks, long after they went home to bed. "82, 82, 82. Definitely 82 toothpicks."

Good times, indeed!

He Ain't Heavy He's My Brother

Yoohoo! Is anyone home? Sorry to have worried anyone in my absence. I was off dying. No, no, it's okay. You don't have to send flowers just yet, and no, it isn't the swine flu. Just because I talk like a pig, doesn't mean jack diddly shit.

I was pretty sure I was dying, anyhow. I got a lovely case of pneumonia. I'm not going to lie, it may have been the worst I've ever felt in my life. Which means, A. I've had a pretty easy life or B. I was dying. I'll leave it up to you to decide. Now I am on the mend so I won't go on about how drowning in your own lung sludge feels much like drowning in a vat of pudding. Please don't ask how I might know.

Spring has sprung here at the Lane Estate. Flowers are in bloom. The humming birds are back. The kids are getting anxious for school to end and Mr. Lane is hornier than a pygmy chimpanzee. I don't know if you all know this, but that is the horniest animal on the planet. Not sure how I know that random fact. But much like his distant cousin, the old man can barely contain himself.

Since he is "ready" at the drop of a hat, I thought I'd mention, while in the throngs of passion, "I want another baby." Thinking I could catch my old man in a moment of weakness, he flung himself to the other side of the bed like I had a major case of crotch critters and said, "What are you, fucking nuts?! You can't have a baby at your age. The kid wouldn't be right, or normal."

"Really? So... I'm too old to have a baby?"

"Yeah! Never mind I wouldn't go under the knife to reverse my vasectomy for anything in the world!"

"I hate you."

"I hate you more. So are we going to finish?"

"You're a filthy slut!"

"And you like it!"

Baby fever hit me like a ton of bricks out of nowhere. My old man talked me off the edge. Asking if I would really want to start all over with our kids on their way to adulthood so quickly. He's right. But I didn't tell him I thought so.

Lane 2 is graduating junior high school next month. She has spent her entire school career on the honor roll and received a special award for doing so. You guys have watched her grow up so I know you will understand why I'm beside myself with the thought of my baby going off to high school next year.

I miss that little bundle of fun. Well, actually, she was a really mellow baby and most of my family members called her Baby Do-Nothing. They did! Then again, she didn't.

Honestly, that child didn't walk until she was nearly two years old. Had I been a first-time mom, I may have worried about her development. But because I had Lane 1 to practice on, I was pretty sure, my baby girl was just way too smart to waste energy walking around.

She used to point, and Lane 1 would run to get whatever that baby wanted. She had no reason to work for anything, she had her flunky brother to take care of her needs. And, today, she still does. That girl can talk her brother into doing anything and everything for her.

Their relationship astounds me. Since he got his new car, he has taken her to the mall, the movie theater, bowling with friends, to friends' houses, out for ice cream, anywhere she asks. We should call her Lane 2 Gets, because what Lane 2 wants, Lane 2 gets.

Lane 1 is a good brother. He really is just a good kid all around. He goes to school, still makes crappy grades but sneaks by. Then he goes to work every night afterward. He's had the same job at the implement dealer since he turned 16, which has been nearly a year. Not as many fun stories as his pig farming days, however.

They are getting so old! He's been stockpiling his money since his new car purchase and is getting really close to where he was before that guy totaled his other car. The little allowance he gives himself from his paycheck he's always using to buy someone something.

Yeah, I guess you could say I like those two.

Lane 2 and I are going to be leaving for Florida soon. Just the girls headed off on a road trip. I can hardly wait. My niece Jen is getting married. So hard to believe how fast these kids are all growing up. While in Florida, I'll get to hang with all of Mr. Lane's family who will be at the wedding, and I will get to see my own brother, Mark and his family.

Maybe on the ride out there, I can get some pointers from my daughter on how I can get my brother to do whatever I want.

It rubs the lotion on its skin

The email subscription is now working. If you would like Home Fires to email you when I've updated, enter your email address in the box on the right sidebar. I'll have to pay more attention to what time I post. The feed emails subscribers at a certain time. If I post after the scheduled time, it waits until the next day.

It had been 25 years since I'd seen my friend Sherry. I was anxious to see her and meet her family. They came over Friday night for a BBQ and sleepover. I was so excited I could barely get anything done. I just wanted to wait at the door like an excited puppy with a full bladder.

When they arrived I couldn't hug them hard enough. Lane 2 and the girls scurried off together like long lost friends, sisters even. They played Rockband, listened to The Jonas Brothers and had a dance party, while Lane 1 sat in on the grownup talk in the dinning room.

I wanted to avoid talking too much about the good old days because Sherry's partner Jessie and my old man would have felt out of the loop. The few old school days we did talk about were two memories, I shared one and she shared the other.

I remember she and I did a lot of walking back in the day. I would walk from my house to hers (nearly a mile) and we would walk together to Harlem Ave. (another two miles into Chicago) where we would go to the dollar movie theater. We'd share a giant soda and popcorn, some times we would have candy too. We would watch a movie and then sneak out of the theater and into another for a second, sometimes a third movie.

We wore oversized hairdos and legwarmers, I'm not gonna lie, we were pretty fucking cool.

And she remembers the two of us stealing her mom's vodka and mixing it with orange juice... and drinking it... on our way to school... in 7th grade!

My son had a look on his face that said, "A - I am disappointed in you, mother. B - 7th frickin' grade?! C - My mom did what?! And furthermore, this is why she keeps us on such short leashes!"

He didn't say a word but I read him well. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't thinking all of the same things.

In my head, trying to avoid the fact that I was a teenage drunken fag hag, I mentally recited a couple of lines of The Breakfast Club, "What's your poison? ...Ok, forget I asked." "Vodka." "Vodka? When do you drink vodka?" "Whenever." "How much?" "Tons."

Who knew I'd turn out to be a basket case? (Shut up!)

By the time the subject changed, we were laughing and joking about everything under the sun. Jessie told Sherry to tell us what happened to them that morning before coming over. Sherry laughed and said, "No, you tell 'em."

Together they shared a story about how having their gallbladders removed has caused them to use the bathroom very soon after eating. Mr. Lane looked at me slyly, as if to ask, "Do I really want to hear this story?"

"We were in the bathroom in the stall next to each other. But Sherry didn't know that next to me, on the other side, there was another woman, also taking a shit."

We all started laughing because who doesn't like bathroom humor?

"So anyhow, the lady next to me starts 'pffft,' like an empty ketchup bottle, 'thhhppppptttt, pphhphphffft.' And Sherry said, 'Where'd you get lotion? I didn't know you had lotion in there.' Quietly, I'm trying to tell her it wasn't lotion, but I was laughing so hard covering my mouth."

Sherry chimed in, "I'm the one who always carries lotion with me, so I was like how'd she get lotion?"

"And then the lady rips one again, 'pphhphphffft, ppppllllllllpppphhhhh' and it's gross, liquidy. I'm trying to hide my face in my shirt and not laugh out loud. Then Sherry says, 'Awww, you know, when I get like that...' I started dying. I wanted to text her and tell her it wasn't me, but I just flushed, washed my hands and got out of there."

By then, we were in tears laughing so hard.

Sherry said, "And after she left, I still hear, 'ppppllllllllpppphhhhh' so I was like, fuck someone else is in here. Oh man! It was someone else the whole time! Why didn't she tell me?"

"I couldn't hold it in anymore, I had to get out of there and when Sherry came out we just laughed our asses off."

Can you even imagine what that woman was thinking? I know I would have trouble not reacting if some stranger tried talking me through an explosive bathroom moment as if they were a labor coach in the delivery room.

For the rest of the night and into the wee-hours of the morning, we talked about anything and everything. Periodically making raspberries, "'thhhppppptttt, ppppllllllllpffphhhhh" at each other. Good times.

Speaking of doodie, please continue to vote for my friend Jason Dudey. There is a voting widget in the post below. You can vote every 24 hours and you don't have to share your email address or register for the site. Thank you for helping him. He is pretty awesome.

If You Love Dudey...

...as much as I love doodie, vote for my friend. You don't have to register. Just click the "vote for me" thingy. This contest will give him a shot to share his comedy with the masses. You can vote once every 24 hours, please do.

Thank you in advance for your cooperation. xoxo Lo

BigGayCasting.com

P.S. You can also add this widget to your site. The more publicity the better.

And so it Goes

In the last two weeks, two of my biggest fans passed away. The first was our dear Hoss. The second was one of my old publishers who had been fighting esophageal cancer. Both had more faith in me and my writing than I ever had. My ego, along with all of my other 2,000 parts, will miss them immensely.

Thank you all for the condolences in the last post. I send mine to you as well. Hoss was loved by so many. I don't think he would like all of this attention, getting top billing on my blog for so many days. He's probably already off being reincarnated into a Sasquatch taunting hunters all over Oregon's countryside, because that's just how he'd roll. And he'd probably say, "Being sad about me checking out, is about as dumb as being sad about the dung beetles love of dung."

And so it goes.

My Dad is in great company in the afterlife. I have no doubt the three of them have teamed up to make some magic happen for me. I've received three really big freelance assignments out of the blue.

Beyond excited. Bummed that I can't share details. And so it goes, because ghostwriting is just that way. Ooohh, I just got a visual of me doing dirty things to my old man while we play in clay. I guess that isn't exactly what they mean by the term ghostwriting.

A-hem... it has been a stellar week in spite of great losses.




Do you know what this is? Yes, it's my daughter, Lane 2.




Do you know why she would be this happy? Or shocked?




She won $300 at the teen center dance. We've had this guess how many candies in the jar contest since Sept. 26. It started with $20 and steadily increased. The guy who planned and organized the contest told me she has been one or two numbers off for eight weeks.

I also had the pleasure of having an old school friend come over last night for a sleepover. Much like the sleepovers of our past, we didn't get much sleep. We stayed up until 3 a.m. laughing our heads off, as if we never lost touch.

Come back in a couple of days and I'll tell you all about the story that made us laugh on and off for eight solid hours.