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The 13th Clown

Date: January 20, 2012  Author: Andrea Merriman

Funny how a 7-day cruise flies by when you have to sing a solo in front of hundreds of people on the last night! At least, that’s how it was for me. Thank goodness for dress rehearsals!

Just kidding. I mean, it was nice to know where to stand on the stage (the big “X”). But I confess, it made me nervous when the handsome young cast member/dancer from Australia told me not to move too much as I sang…because my male backup dancers would be dancing all around me. Wearing short-shorts and tight tiny t-shirts. And their moves had to be something to behold (I couldn’t see them, as they were dancing behind me) because my husband commented several times about them.

Oh, good. Then the dance moves would match the lyrics.

The song? “Like A Virgin.”

When I heard what I had to sing, I wanted to die. ”I can’t sing this!” I told my husband.

“Sure you can, you’ve heard it before. You’re an 80s girl. You listened to Madonna, you know this song!” he remarked.

“Well apparently, I never listened to the words—or I didn’t understand them if I did,” I said. “I’m older now, I’m a newlywed, and I can’t believe them! I should be mortified!” I exclaimed. (Thank goodness for Ponzi schemes, crime, public divorce and familial downfall to take away any sense of mortification or humiliation. I told you, I can’t be humiliated anymore!)

But it was too late to do anything about it. My husband told me the show was counting on me. It was too late to get anyone else to do it. So like the unexpected life, sometimes you’ve just got to push through it. My sister-in-law helped me do 1980s makeup (and blue eye shadow), I cringed as I put on every article of the provided costume—black boots, black bustier, pink netting skirt—and comforted myself that at least I wouldn’t know anyone in the audience.

Turns out, I was wrong about that too.

“If there are 12 clowns in a ring, you can jump in the middle and start reciting Shakespeare, but to the audience, you’ll just be the 13th clown.” (Adam Walinsky)

You Have To Give A Woman…

Date: January 19, 2012  Author: Andrea Merriman

“I am my own experiment. I am my own work of art.” (Madonna)

Apparently, I am too.

Lets just say there has been a lot of “experimenting” (as in a lot of new, unexpected experiences) since 2009. All seeming to take place during karaoke on a cruise ship lately, for some reason. Here’s how the worst one happened:

I remember the karaoke hostess asking if anyone could sing Madonna. I looked around, I was the youngest woman there (and the only blonde) and no one was standing up, so for some reason, I did. I sang my first solo. “Material Girl.” (It must be that it was Madonna. Madonna and Abba are my weakness, haha! A carryover from my 1980s upbringing, I guess.) After I sang I was handed a packet and a MP3 player to practice for a special performance—no wonder no one volunteered!

I worried to my husband, “I can’t sing Madonna to a bunch of people in the karaoke lounge.” He assured me I wouldn’t have to. I would be singing Madonna at the cruise’s final show, on the big stage with the red velvet curtains!

“I can’t do that!” I exclaimed.

“Too late,” he replied. He advised me to memorize the lyrics and practice the song. He told me that up on stage before thousands of people, I’d be nervous and forget everything; that’s why I needed to practice, so my mouth would have “memory” and be able to sing the right words when I didn’t have a clue what I was doing because I was terrified.

Reassuring, to say the least.

“At least you’ll get to sing with a live band, that’s really fun,” he encouraged. “Most people go their whole lives without that opportunity.”

Somehow, I think I would have survived my entire life without the experience, however, you know what they say: ”Opportunity knocks for every man, but you have to give a woman a ring.” (Mae West)

Do You Think It Might Be The Wedding Ring?

Date: April 13, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman
“By persistently remaining single, a man converts himself into a permanent public temptation.” (Oscar Wilde)I’m thinking it might be an attractive combination. Single man, fit, hair long enough to make him look like a liberal college professor…and the women are beginning to like it! The other day #5 came home to tell me how nice women have been to him, especially lately, and that he thinks it might be the longer hair.

I asked, “Do you think it might be the wedding ring?”

He explained, “No, it was starting to happen a little before that, I think it must be the hair!”

Thank goodness he is married again, I guess, so he won’t be SUCH a temptation. He’s off the market, as am I. I have exited the single phase of life. For the second time. I can’t say I’m sorry to see it go. It was devastating to become single after 20 years of marriage and to re-enter the singles scene in my 40s, following an unexpected divorce and the trauma of a VERY unexpected life; the single life sure took some getting used to. In fact, I couldn’t imagine ever getting used to it. But I did.

In the beginning, I remember feeling so humiliated. I seriously thought everyone could tell, just by looking at me, what a loser (ie. single, a.k.a. divorced) woman I was. I was sure everyone thought I had terrible judgement, lacked intelligence, was impossible to live with or did any myriad of negative things that made someone not want to be with me and that caused my divorce.

Divorce was so contrary to anything I’d ever imagined for myself, I could hardly imagine, truly, ever being satisfied with myself and my status, but eventually I was. I wasn’t humiliated. I didn’t feel like a loser. I was just me. Andrea Merriman. Divorced single mother of four. I wasn’t embarrassed by the word “divorce” or to say it. It was my unexpected new “normal.”

Then I remarried.

And believe it or not, THAT has taken some getting used to. Again! For #5 and for me.

I’m calling them…second marriage moments. And the first one hit on the drive home from the honeymoon. Lets just say MOST of them have made me laugh:)

“Second marriage is the triumph of hope over experience.”

Honeymoon Highway

Date: April 10, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

“I went to my room and packed a change of clothes, got my banjo, and started walking down the road. Soon I found myself on the open highway headed east.” (Burl Ives)

Departing for our honeymoon was sort of like that–except #5′s guitar and ukelele remained at home as we headed west!

My wedding had been perfect and absolutely everything I had dreamed it would be. As #5 drove toward our honeymoon destination, try as I might, I could not keep my eyes off him. But not for the reasons you might think.

He talked as he drove, I listened and responded, but I also (discreetly) checked him out. I thought I was being very sneaky about it, but a couple of times #5 stopped talking, looked over at me, smiled and slightly self-consciously (the way you do when someone is staring at you and you can’t imagine why) asked, “What?”

I’d reply, “Nothing. I just can’t believe you’re my husband. I can’t believe I am looking at my husband.” But that wasn’t the entire truth.

After the unexpected life that had become mine, I really couldn’t believe I was married again and that #5 was really my husband. But there was also a part of me that was looking for something else. (Now is where I will probably sound psychotic. But here goes.) I think I was looking for lies.

There was a small part of me (although it got smaller and smaller the longer we were engaged) that feared after loving and trusting #5 enough to marry him, and being unable to see any MAJOR flaws prior to that moment, that as soon as we were married I was suddenly going to be able to see some major red flags or flaws or problems I’d been too blind to discern before. To a small degree, I kept wondering if, or when, he was going to reveal his deep, dark secrets, shatter my world and leave me in a mess, wondering how I was going to pick up the pieces and keep going. Again.

I kept looking to gauge if he looked the same to me, or if he suddenly looked like a stranger now that he was my husband. I attempted to prepare myself for shocking revelations that were coming, so I could handle them the moment they hit and figure out how to help my kids get past them, too.

“It’s like a blind turn on a highway: You can’t see what’s coming, so you don’t really know how to prepare.” (Piper Perabo)

However, nothing came to light. There were no shocking revelations. He just looked totally familiar (and handsome!) to me. In fact, the only unfamiliar thing about him was the shiny metal ring on his left hand that I wasn’t used to seeing! (But I liked seeing it there–I’d never been married to a man who wore a wedding ring.)

So I kept quiet about what I was REALLY thinking–how do you explain serious psychosis like I was having to the man you’ve just married–and pulled myself together during the drive and was over it by the time we arrived at our destination: Las Vegas.

That only left one more fear to face.

My fear of the morning “after.”

More lunacy, coming right up. Tomorrow. Stay tuned.

“And it’s my opinion, and that’s only my opinion, you are a lunatic. Just because there are  a few hundred other people sharing your lunacy with you does not make you any saner.” (Oleg Kiseley)

A Table, A Chair, A Bowl of Fruit and a Violin

Date: February 6, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

“The woman gets the ring–unless it’s an heirloom.” (Vanessa Lloyd Platt)

Or in my case, in the aftermath of a Ponzi scheme. You don’t get to keep your wedding ring if it’s an upgrade–and paid for with tainted (ie. stolen) money. Oh well. I only wished I could have had it to sell for cash to provide for my children anyway. But like I said, I did get to keep my violin.

Paid for in 1982 by Dr. Andrew H. and Sandra Christensen, a Colorado orthodontist and his wife, my parents, with money legally acquired straightening crooked teeth and turning them into beautiful smiles. They purchased my violin from a very well-known master violin maker named Peter Paul Prier, originally from Germany but living and operating a store and violin making school in Utah.

I had begun taking piano lessons when I was 7 years old and in 6th grade, at 11 years old, I began playing the violin. I tried it because all of the neighbor girls older than me were in orchestra and it seemed to be the thing to do, at a certain age, in Grand Jct., CO. Plus, it didn’t look that hard. I took to the violin pretty well. In my last year of junior high, I was asked to walk to the high school from my school and participate in their orchestra class and play with them. By high school, when every serious violinist seemed to be upgrading their violin for a better one, that seemed like the thing for me to do too. I mentioned it to my parents. And true to form, just like everything else in my life, they came through for me.

They checked around, learned Peter Paul Prier was THE place to get the best violins, and without telling me flew to Utah, made a purchase, returned home one evening and surprised me with my new violin! They told me it was a very good violin, that I needed to take care of it–and that if for some reason I ever needed to sell it someday I should return to Peter Paul Prier and sell it back to him. That’s what Mr. Prier had told them.

What my parents didn’t tell me, was that they’d paid $2000 for my violin.

I enjoyed playing my new violin. Things went without a hitch until the weekend the band room at my high school caught fire or was robbed (I can’t remember which) and I happened to admit, “Oh no! My violin was in there!” My parents almost had a heart attack. I got a lecture about taking care of valuable things, which I completely deserved, and I was on pins and needles all weekend and into Monday morning until I could get in to the school and discover that my violin was ok.

I grew up, went to college, got married, had children and eventually played my violin only on very rare occasions. But I held onto it for sentimental reasons and in case any of my children chose to develop that talent. And when my former husband’s Ponzi scheme was revealed, my violin was one of a few “valuable” items I was allowed to walk away with–thanks to my generous parents and their support of the development of my talents.

“A table, a chair, a bowl of fruit and a violin; what else does a man need to be happy?” (Albert Einstein)

After entering my unexpected life, my mom’s words from 1982 haunted me: “Mr. Prier told me to tell you that someday, if you ever need to sell your violin, take it back to him and he’ll buy it from you. It’s a good violin.”

I just NEVER imagined a day like that would come.

Edward Eyes

Date: October 20, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“I have looked into your eyes with my eyes. I have put my heart near your heart.” (Pope John XXIII)

I don’t know how it is for all divorced, single women, but I can tell you how I felt and what I thought.

I couldn’t believe it had happened to me. I was a in a bit of shock at the events that led to my divorce and the fact that I was divorced. My divorce hadn’t happened in what I imagined were the typical ways–we had never fallen out of love, become indifferent to one another, fought with each other or hated each other. It wasn’t a downward spiral leading to a break-up. The necessity for a divorce came in one day, out of the blue.

My feelings of self worth suffered. I walked around, sure that all eyes were on me, that everyone knew I was single, that everyone probably thought I’d done something wrong to end up that way and that people either pitied me or thought I was a loser.

I was filled with grief that a marriage had ended and an intact family unit had been destroyed.

I felt the marriage that ended had been my one marriage, my one chance at having a husband or being married, and that I was destined to be alone the rest of my life.

But at the same time, my divorce didn’t destroy my belief in the institution of marriage or in the purpose of families; I remained a fan of both. I remember sitting in church one day a month or two after my divorce became final and the Sunday School lesson was on marriage. I sat there, listening, as I always had when a woman sitting next to me leaned over and whispered, “I’m sorry. Is this hard for you?” No, I answered, and I meant it. It hadn’t dawned on me to sit there and feel bad for myself or mope about what I didn’t have.

However, as a single woman, there were certain things I noticed.

I noticed every wedding ring on every man’s finger. My husband had never worn a wedding ring, and although it had never bothered me or been an issue for us (due to my dad’s profession, he hadn’t worn one either, so I didn’t grow up with the expectation that married men should wear wedding rings) I began to appreciate them–after I was single.

I noticed young couples in love, particularly the way they looked at each other, specifically the way the young men looked at the young ladies. I couldn’t help but see it, probably because I’d been told my spouse hadn’t looked at me in years prior to our divorce. Somehow along the way, I decided I wanted that for myself someday.

Some people look for money. Some people choose a mate based solely on chemistry, intellect, physical appearance or personality. I decided, among other things, I was going to hold out for a man who looked at me with “the look.” I didn’t want a relationship where my husband spent year looking at the tip of my nose again.

Enter Bachelor #5.

He told me he’d marry me tomorrow if I were willing; I was slower than he was to come to that decision. I had a lot of observing and investigating to do before I committed myself. And one of the things I was checking out was “the look.” Did he look at me that way?

I wasn’t sure.

It was time to find out.

One night I sat nose to nose with Bachelor #5. I directed him to look at me. He laughed and told me he couldn’t, things were too blurry to see that close up! I explained he didn’t need to see me, I just needed to see the way he looked at me. He shook his head, teased me about trying to live a teenage fantasy in my 40s and holding out for something that doesn’t exist in real life, but he had the good grace to look me in the eyes anyway.

For a second or two, as I looked into his warm, brown eyes, I wasn’t sure what I saw. Then before I could decide, he opened his eyes as wide as he could, gazed intently into mine, raised his eyebrows (to the point he was looking a little like a zombie) and asked, “Can you see it? I’m looking at you with my best Edward eyes. Do you see my Edward eyes?”

I told you he gets me.

He’s not even a Twilight fan, but he somehow knew what I was thinking, what I was looking for, and at least jokingly, tried to be that for me.

Just one more reason I finally decided it was time. Why I said, “Yes.” And why we’re still…engaged.

“We are all a little weird and life’s a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love.” (Author Unknown)

It’s all part of the unexpected life.

The Night I Underdressed

Date: October 6, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Opportunity knocks for every man, but you have to give a woman a ring.” (Mae West)

I remember, once, serving grilled salmon to a dinner guest. She was from a wealthy but down-to-earth family in Kansas City. I considered the dinner a casual affair, but I’ll never forget her comment. “Wow, I feel underdressed–if I’d known what you were serving, I wouldn’t have worn jeans.”

That’s sort of the way I felt the night Bachelor #5 invited me to go for a drive. I thought it was just a late night excuse to see each other for a few minutes, but as this blog has demonstrated, I’ve been wrong about a certain man’s intentions before (pretty much all of the time.)

It was dark, late, I’d already put my pajamas on, so I didn’t change and didn’t bring up how underdressed I was–I thought we were just going for a drive. (And due to the darkness of the night, I don’t think he had a clue. If he did, he didn’t mention it.) We drove, we stopped and talked, and then very unexpectedly he said something like, “Well, I guess you’d better have this.”

He handed me a tiny velvet box tied with a ribbon.

Another hint for the unexpected life? Don’t spend time with a performer. You forget they can apply those acting skills to their personal life, too. He’d had that little box the whole time and hadn’t mentioned it! He had acted completely normal, in fact, until the moment he surprised me with it.

I gasped. “Is this what I think it is?”

He said, “Open it and see.” But then he couldn’t help himself. As I removed the ribbon and opened the box he added, “You’ll have to tell me what you think, but I think it is absolutely gorgeous! I hope you like it. I think you’re going to love it. I do!”

I opened the box. Even in the dark I could see the sparkle. I held it up to the moonlight and was dazzled by the way the band looked, nestled in the satin cushion of the box.

“Wait for me by moonlight, watch for me by moonlight, I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.” (Alfred Noyes) I’d waited, I’d watched, and it had finally come! (In the moonlight even!)

The good news?

“All things come round to him who will but wait.” (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

Eventually.

Bachelor #5 put the band on the ring finger of my left hand. It was perfect. And now I had the whole package: the man, the engagement to the man, and the ring.

“An engagement ring is sort of a tourniquet worn on one’s finger to stop circulation.”

Despite the fact I was seriously underdressed for the occasion, it was official. If I’d known what Bachelor #5 was serving that night, maybe I would have AT LEAST worn jeans! Regardless, we were off the market. Officially. We were engaged AND there was a ring involved.

“When a poor man goes to the market, often he comes home with only tears” (African Proverb)

Thank goodness my “market” experience, the singles scene “meat market,” had a different outcome. I left my tears somewhere along the way and eventually came home, instead, with Bachelor #5! And I have to say, I don’t think any other man could handle (or want) my slightly more complicated and unusual situation. After all, it can’t be easy being the fiance of the Queen of The Unexpected Life, but he does it while remaining cheerful, happy, kind, patient and calm. He truly is…Mr. Awesome.

Good job, well done, #5.

“If I said to most of the people who auditioned, ‘Good job, awesome, well done,’ it would have made me actually look and feel ridiculous. It’s quite obvious most of the people who turned up for this audition were hopeless.” (Simon Cowell)

Except for Bachelor #5.

If Real Life Was Like The Movies

Date: September 29, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Hawaii is a unique state. It is a small state. It is a state that is by itself. It…is different from the other 49 states. Well, all states are different, but it’s got a particularly unique situation.” (Dan Quayle)

Still no ring, but we had survived our first “intense discussion.” And while the wait for the ring continued, Bachelor #5 helped take my mind off the wait. One day I got a very unexpected email, and invitation, from Bachelor #5: “Hey, I just had a crazy idea. What if you and I fly to Hawaii for a long weekend? Let me know what you think.”

Since 1993, in 17 years, I had left my children a total of 17 nights. The pre-unexpected life me would have declined that invitation without a second thought. But I was living an entirely different life, now, and the “new” me decided to at least entertain the idea. I just needed to see how my children felt about it. They were supportive, so I arranged for childcare, and one morning a few weeks later found myself on my way to Hawaii.

I never expected that.

We stayed with Bachelor #5′s best friends, a husband and wife he had known since college. (In fact, he introduced them to each other.) It was wonderful to meet them. As Bachelor #5 and I both had ties to Hawaii, it was also a great opportunity for us to see our old favorite places but make new memories with each other. The trip reinforced to me how many “near misses” we’d had; how close we’d been to meeting each other, but never actually met until my unexpected life began.

For example, while attending BYU-Hawaii, Bachelor #5 participated in a performing group. Imagine my surprise when we realized I’d gotten a piano scholarship from the group’s professor and director but I’d turned it down and attended college, instead, at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah.

Another example: My parents co-owned a home on Oahu’s Hukilau Beach when I was a girl. I spent time there boogie boarding every summer. I’d taken my children to that same beach for several years to share part of my childhood with them. And then I found myself sharing that same experience with Bachelor #5. While we were in the water looking toward the houses on shore, Bachelor #5 pointed out the house he’d lived in during his time in Hawaii–four houses down the beach from my parents’ house! I remembered college men had lived there (I’d seen them on the beach occasionally, I just never paid much attention to them because they were “older” than me.) I never realized that Bachelor #5 may have been one of them!

It reminded me of a movie I saw years ago starring Gwyneth Paltrow. Actually two movies in one, it showed one plot and story that took place as she made it onto a subway car before the door closed and a parallel version and story with different events, experiences and developments that took place when she missed the subway and the door closed before she could board. Interestingly, by the end of the movie, both stories took her to the same destination and life situation; both versions had the same ending, just chronicled different events that got her to the same point at the end.

While in Hawaii, I couldn’t help but compare that bit of Hollywood fiction to my reality.

“And if real life was like the movies, I should have lived happily ever after.” (Piper Laurie)

It was healing to realize, again, that sometimes we really do have to pass through indescribably difficult things to get to where we need to be; that all things truly can work together for our good IF we allow them to. And if we don’t quit too soon or give up (even when we’re overwhelmed with the path our journey has taken) we can trust that we’ll end up right where we have needed to be all along. Possibly even at the same “ending.” Our own “happily ever after.”

“Nothing is so awesomely unfamiliar as the familiar that discloses itself at the end of a journey.” (Cynthia Ozick)

You’ve Got To Smell A Lot Of Manure Before…

Date: September 27, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“You got to have smelt a lot of mule manure before you can sing like a hillbilly.” (Hank Williams)

Bachelor #5 is a self-described oldest child and a “planner.” So am I, although sometimes Bachelor #5 makes me look like a disorganized, fly-by-the-seat-of-my pants hippie compared to him.

Nowhere was this more evident than the time we shared our first “intense discussion.” Although it wasn’t a fight, it was probably the closest thing we’ve ever come to fighting about anything. It was over the dumbest thing, especially for this age and stage of our lives, but isn’t that how most “intense discussions” are? Over silly things?

It must be our oldest child, “planning” natures…because our discussion was regarding death, funerals, and where to be buried–even though we’re both healthy forty-somethings who SO don’t need to worry about that right now. Ridiculous!

But who says every courtship conversation has to be sensible? If that’s in the rules of dating, Bachelor #5 and I both missed it.

It began one night while driving to see a play. Somehow the topic of where to buried after we died came up. We had very different ideas about it. And for some reason, like mules, we both dug our heels in. I can’t think of another time we’ve done that, but like I said, it was an intense conversation. Let the braying begin!

Some highlights. Just to reinforce my mule status (and Bachelor #5′s, too.) Not in any order…

He (patiently) said it was a good thing we didn’t have to make a decision about that now. I said it was a good thing it came up before we got engaged, or married, because it was a total deal breaker for me. He looked at me, in shock, and asked, “You seriously wouldn’t marry me over a difference of opinion on where to be buried?” Like a mule, I said, “Oh, yes. Absolutely!” (Round one went to me. Hee-haw!)

He said it was a second marriage, so who dictated we had to be buried together? He said we could each do what we wanted. That hurt my feelings and made me feel as though he thought a remarriage wasn’t as important as a first marriage. And I couldn’t believe he’d want to be buried somewhere other than beside me! (I declare Bachelor #5 the winner/mule of round two. Hee-haw! Hee-haw!)

Ironically, in the debate I was holding out for tiny Ephraim, Utah, where my parents and ancestors are buried as my final resting place–even though I have never even lived there! For some reason, I was kicking against the pricks for all I was worth. (I have to give myself additional mule points for that.)

We discontinued the discussion, sort of agreed to disagree, and enjoyed the remainder of the evening. But I couldn’t believe how stubborn I’d been about something so silly. The more I thought about it, the more embarrassed I became about my stubbornness. What had I been thinking?

When I saw Bachelor #5 the next night, I brought it up again to apologize, and as soon as I opened my mouth, Bachelor #5 did the same thing: I told him I didn’t know why I made such a big deal about that and was so stubborn about a place I’ve never even lived, I just wanted to be with him; Bachelor #5 said he didn’t care where he was buried, he just wanted to be with me–but also added he had been trying to show me that other families, besides the Christensen family, love their traditions and are as steeped in their heritage as I am in mine!

However, I recently discovered that issue is not completely over. Last week the subject of funerals came up. Don’t ask me how. We really do talk about many other things that are not death-related. In fact, to my recollection, we’ve only had two death-related discussions ever–and I’m blogging about both of them.

Bachelor #5 felt very strongly about some things, of which I feel strongly in exactly the opposite direction, and I could sense another hillbilly conversation coming. So could Bachelor #5, because he said, “I can be flexible on where to be buried, do whatever you want, but I will not negotiate on THIS.”

To which I jokingly asked if a disclaimer could be printed on his funeral program stating I had nothing to do with, and no control over, the program! We both laughed. And knowing Bachelor #5…he has probably already written the disclaimer and filed it away for future reference.

Hee-haw! Hee-haw!

Apparently, you’ve got to smell a lot of mule manure before you can sing like a hillbilly or…before you get an engagement ring.

The Ring II

Date: September 26, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“There’s only a short walk from the hallelujah to the hoot.” (William Kennedy)

And then one day, Bachelor #5 got a call from the jewelry store. From my perspective, it felt like we’d been waiting so long the phone call was slightly unexpected. The ring was in! (Does anyone besides me hear a chorus of unseen angels singing something akin to, “Hallelujah?”)

That was the good news.

Unfortunately, there was bad news as well. Upon inspection, the ring hadn’t met the jeweler’s expectation of quality, so he had sent it back to be re-made!

No ring.

I believe some things are worth waiting for. And that’s a good thing. Because I was going to continue to need some practice, and patience, along those lines. Stay tuned.

“All good things arrive unto them that wait – and don’t die in the meantime.” (Mark Twain)