Predawn Errands

No birthday celebration is complete without a  6 a.m. trip to the emergency room. Mom rang in her 72nd (OK OK the day before her 72nd) with a heart attack scare. Turns out, we think, to be drugs gone bad. No, Mom ain't a junkie. Bad drugs as in allergy meds + high blood pressure meds = bad mojo.  Gave us all a bit of a scare.  So let's all raise a toast to Mom today (Halloween) on this extra special birthday!

Breakfast, Texas-style

Mason could not be happier. Me? Three bites of those greasy-ass potatoes and my stomach was churning. And do you see the sheen on that quarter-inch-thick ham? Get me to the farm! Oats and berries, please.

My Future

Mason sleeps off a cold/hangover, while I do yoga under the dappled sun of oaks. Is this my future?

Let's talk weather

Four days in the Metroplex ... and four days of glorious weather. 80s. Sunny. Deliciously warm.  Tank tops and shorts have been the order of the day. A jog at sunset was unbelievably pleasant. Jealous yet?

The Keeper

Folks, meet Karen, otherwise known as the Keeper, the Ex-Wife and sometimes still Mason's Wife.  She's already made us feel at home. There's no other way to thank her than to clean out her garage -- again.

Buenos noches, Tejas

Breath deep, exhale and sigh. Smell it? It's the scent of country hicks, big hair and whataburgers.

Bad Radio and Road Construction

Lots of windshield time today, thanks to those orange cones you see in the rearview. Kansas City, I will not remember you fondly. On the bright side, I sang more pop music '70s and '80s tunes than I have in a long time. Yes, I confess: Lionel Richie's "All Night Long" had me grooving in my seat, singing at the top of my lungs. Hey, you try driving across Missouri and Kansas.  (Mason's response: It was a good day to be in separate cars.)

Priority One: Deposit Big Fat Check in Bank

This morning I owned a home in the hip Minneapolis suburbs. Tonight I'm shacked up at a motel in Ames, Iowa, and waiting on a pizza delivery.  This may not seem like a good thing. But lemme tell you how good it felt to deposit that big fat check.  We're throwing back a home brew (we can't afford that fancy store-bought stuff anymore) and still wondering: What the hell have I done? (Mason's toast: "Hope I didn't just ruin your life again.") He cracks me up.

Am I really doing this? Why didn't these women talk me out of this? They call themselves my friends. But do friends let friends quit good-paying jobs and run off with dreams of goats and gardens? People, beware of these women. I think they just wanted my great wardrobe...  Bitches.