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Monday, May 28, 2018


Last Sunday afternoon, My Sweet Hubby (aka MSH) and I met TLC, Her Hubby, Little Leighton (aka LL aka Biscuit) and Baby Elle (aka Belle) in Willow Park. TLC and Her Hubby were having new carpet installed first thing Monday morning. It’d take all day and would involve both of The Little Princesses' bedrooms and their playroom. They needed to be gone. Grammy and Pa-Pa to the rescue!

TLC had sent everything we needed for LL and Belle. Diapers. Clothes. Lovies. “Guys”—LL’s stuffed animals she travels with and "needs "at bedtime. (These "guys" change up some from trip to trip--but there are at least four that always come to our home...)

Belle has been sleeping in a “half-size” crib at our casa. We bought this crib when LL was about a year old. LL would never sleep in it. (She preferred TLC’s old bed and room.) Belle has slept in and done great in this crib since her first visit here. She was just a few months old. So for over two years. HOWEVER, she’s not getting smaller! She’s getting bigger and longer, etc. I wasn’t sure she’d be comfy in the crib this time. TLC and I decided I’d play it by ear. If it seemed like it wasn’t going to work—I’d try putting her in the bed Biscuit sleeps in. (Which would be an adjustment for Biscuit—as they’ve not ever slept together. Ever.)

That night, after baths, Biscuit went into our master bedroom to watch a Full House or Bunk’d episode on our TV. I tried putting Baby Elle to bed in our second “guest” room and her crib. She wasn’t having it. She was clearly anxious during the reading of her two nighttime story books. She wanted me to read both of them several times. It was quite pitiful and pathetic. She cried. She whimpered. She told me fifty times: “I miss My Mama.” I finally put her in the crib, told her we loved her and everything was "okay," and walked out. Feeling like a HUGE Grammy failure.

An hour later (We were already behind TLC’s normal “bedtime” schedule for both girls.), Belle gave it up and fell asleep. I wasn't worried she was not fitting in the crib. She simply hadn’t been here—without her Mama—in several weeks. Of course, she’s going through Phases and Stages. These growth development periods go on FOREVER, don't they? (Pretty sure MSH is currently in a Phase and/or Stage—at 74. Sigh.)

By the time LL and I went to her bed, she sniffled and whined for her Mom. And told me she was mad at her because she wouldn’t let LL bring “Bamboo”—her stuffed Beanie Panda. (Her Mama let her bring ten guys. Seems like that should have been an adequate number.) Finally, Biscuit gave in to exhaustion. I showered and fell into my bed—praying the next two days would be better in terms of naps and bedtimes.

They both got up way too early Monday morn—but they always do when they’re at our home. We stayed busy, having a good breakfast and lunch. When I put Belle down for her nap (naps for her usually last anywhere from an hour and 15 minutes to almost 2 hours!), she was less anxious. HOWEVER, for over an hour, on the camera monitor, she talked. She sang. She talked some more. Never going to sleep.  I was a big bundle of STRESS. 

As I texted TLC my troubles, she assured me Belle would simply have to go to bed early that night and it’d all be fine.

MSH and I decided I’d get her out of the crib and we’d leave for our trip to town (We were going to the Yogurt Shop and the pet store!) a bit earlier than planned. As I entered the bedroom, I immediately saw Belle’s two pacifiers on the floor by the crib. I knew she’d thrown them over. Then I smelled her second poop diaper of the day. There you go: The two reasons she’d never gone to sleep. God love her.

That night, after baths, getting Belle to bed was a piece o’ cake! She was beyond sleepy/tired/exhausted. So was Biscuit. They both were out cold almost the second they lay their little heads down. Both slept a few minutes later Tuesday morning and were in great moods upon arising—having caught up some on lost sleep.

We played and played Tuesday morning—inside and outside. I got Belle to take a good nap after lunch. We took them all the way home once she woke up. MSH and I wanted to see their new carpet. (Which was simply divine!)

On our way back home that evening, I got to thinking about Belle’s two pacifiers. (She calls them her BaBas. Has since she was about fourteen months old.) She started out with three. She's always had all three in her crib at naptime and bedtime. Sometimes they get lost in the crib. Sometimes they get tossed overboard. For the most part, she ends up with at least one by the time she wakes up.

Two months ago, one of them “disappeared.” TLC decided to do what she’d done with LL’s pacifiers when it was time for her start giving them up: She'd remove one. Then another. Then the last. LL was about three when the last was confiscated. But TLC had started the process when she was about 2 ½. Belle had to start a bit earlier than Biscuit. Chalk that up to The Trials and Tribulations of Being the Second Child.

Anyway, I was thinking about me and my Coke Zeroes and how Belle and I were going through the same “withdrawal.” I’ve been drinking three 16-ounce Coke Zeroes every day for several years. Well, I was drinking three until about two months ago. I made the decision to wean myself off two of them—get down to just one a day. MSH and TLC bug me constantly about how bad they are for me. I get it. They’re right. I’m also aware of how addicted I am to them—as I’ve tried in the past to give them up. It’s torture for me. Pure torture.

I’ve been doing pretty great having just two a day! I've replaced the third with a bottle of water  (I am horrid about drinking water. I confess this and am not proud of it.) and/or a Crystal Light lemonade. The thought of giving up my next CZ? I’m not ready. As I know Belle is not going to be when TLC loses the second pacifier. I literally want to cry for both of us. I want to convince TLC—and MSH—that it’s okay Belle has two pacifiers and that I’m drinking two Coke Zeroes a day. I want to beg them both for patience and kindness and MERCY. It won’t work. Dadgummit. It'll never work. They're both heartless when it comes to pacifier and Coke Zero addictions. Heartless.

Hence: The day TLC takes Baby Elle’s second pacifier? That’ll be the day I give up my second Coke Zero. In Belle's honor. To support her. To prove to myself and MSH and TLC and Little Leighton and Baby Elle that I can survive with only one Coke Zero a day.

I hope Belle and I have at least another month. PLEASE TLC—let us have another THREE MONTHS, okay? How about two??

(Now, here's the deal on that last Coke Zero: I cannot and will not promise I'll give my last one up when TLC takes Belle's last paci. We'll see. We'll just have to see.)

God Bless America on this 2018 Memorial Day. God bless all of those who have sacrificed so much for our country. For their families—for all families. For all citizens. We can never repay your service adequately.

God bless each of you today…and this week…and always…


Thursday, May 24, 2018

DONUT-You Know We Love Katz!

Happy Friday, Jr.!

I wanted to share another one of our favourite gluten-free brands:


ELC and I have both mentioned these before, but they are SO WORTH mentioning (and linking!) again. Katz makes DELICIOUS donuts. (The Powdered Sugar are my personal fave. Little Leighton prefers the Sea Salt Caramel. Baby Elle has no preference. She loves them ALL. The Pumpkin? OMGah.) I find them in the freezer-section at my local Sprouts. Sprouts will run sales on these, and they fly off the shelves. It's best to stock up! I let them defrost a bit, and then zap them in the microwave for a few seconds.

Y'all. They will rock your world. Even if you don't eat gluten-free. I haven't had a Mrs. Baird's Powdered Sugar Donut in YEARS. But I swear I remember them leaving a very "processed" taste in your mouth after eating one. The Katz? Taste 100% HOMEMADE.

In grabbing the link to their website for this post, I noticed so many other products I want to gobble up now! I haven't tried ordering anything directly from their website before, but there's a first time for everything! It's summer, you know, and imperative to have plenty of snacks and treats on hand at all times. (If you've met Belle, you know what I mean.)

I hope y'all will try these. Please let us know what you think!

Sunday, May 20, 2018

when harry met meghan...

So I really had decided I probably wasn’t going to watch The Royal Wedding yesterday. Didn’t have a valid reason. I do love a fancy-schmancy wedding. (And I’ve been to a few in my long life.) I did set our DVR to record it—thinking I might change my mind.

As usual, I was awake at 4:30 a.m. (How that gets OLD...) What’s a girl to do when she knows she could be a part of Prince Harry marrying his American fiancĂ©?

I laid in my bed and watched as THE Guests walked to the church. The couple's families. Their friends. The celebrities. The Royals. I listened to the trivia the reporters shared about all of these people. The schedule of the upcoming day/events.

I stopped—to do my Bible reading and say my prayers. Decided I needed to get to crack-a-lackin’ on a quick trip to town for a pedicure and some errands. As my fairly quiet/maybe-boring-to-the-Queen day progressed, I wasn’t sure I’d ever really spend any more time watching what I’d recorded.

At about 1:30 p.m., however, I was through with most of my jobs/obligations and ready for a couch break. My Sweet Hubby (aka MSH) was not needing our Great Room (largest) television. I asked if he’d mind if I took it over for possibly three hours. He didn’t care a smidge.

I fast-forwarded to the time the bride was leaving wherever that was she’d been, with her Mom, for her wedding. It was, honestly, captivating. Another world. Another life. Another event I’d never experience and/or quite understand. But CAPTIVATING.

(I’ll insert the fact I’ve shared several times in the past: My maternal grandmother, Nana, Mary Leighton Byrne, was born in Leeds, England. In 1894. When she was 6, her family moved to Texas! She did get to go “home” a few times in her life. My mother, her daughter, has been to England. As has one of my sisters and her daughter. I’ve never been and, sadly, probably will not ever have the opportunity to go. At this point in my life. I share my “heritage” with y’all as a way to explain my genetic interest in All Things British! Teeheehee.)

As the bride got out of her car, well, I confess: Here came the tears. Her dress! Her tiara and veil! The children! Oh, my, those children. So sweet and precious and charming. (And, of course, innocently clueless.) But BEYOND CUTE.

From the time Meghan entered the church? I was hopelessly hooked.

The reading by Princess Diana’s sister, Lady Jane Fellowes, was beautiful. Touching.

The music was exquisite.

The Wedding Address by American Bishop Michael Curry? Inspiring. Marvelous. Almost chilling. I could not have been prouder to watch and listen to him talk about My God and Jesus Christ for almost 15 minutes. More tears. Yep. More tears.

Then there was the Kingdom Choir singing “Stand By Me.” INCREDIBLY amazing. (I’ve now listened to it on-line many more times and wish I could buy it on iTunes. They have a great opportunity here—to raise money for whatever they’d like! Hope they take it.)

As the wedding came to an end, I felt sincere JOY for this couple. I thought about the many, MANY weddings I’ve attended—including my stepsons’ and our daughter’s. I thought about the sweetness of each of them—whether they were inside a church—or outside—or at a wedding venue—and how each fit the couples’ characters/personalities. I thought about all of us—as we marry—and how we each believe in our hopes and dreams. How we plan and pray. Sometimes our marriages go they way we thought. Sometimes they don’t. It’s Life. Life in all it’s GLORY and all it’s PAIN. (Sorry. Just gettin' real.)

I didn’t watch all of the endless riding in the carriage or the cars The Royal Couple had to do. Honestly? The time I spent felt like an acceptable investment. Any more? Not so much. (Plus MSH and I had had dinner plans for several weeks, so I needed to get ready to leave our humble home in my Toyota Highlander. Our Rolls is in the shop, don'tchaknow. Winky. Wink.)

I wish Harry and Meghan a lifetime full of success, health and well-being. (Don’t think I need to mention wealth—pretty sure they have that covered. Wowzer.)

Wishing each of Y’all a Wonderful Week—wherever in this World Y’all are! Be safe. Wise. Grateful for the many blessings you have in your life—even if they don’t include jewels and castles and designer gowns and cars worth more than most of our homes. God’s Blessings are EVERYWHERE.

Smooches and Hugs,


Thursday, May 17, 2018

Favourite Bread!

Happy Friday Eve!

Today I wanted to tell y'all about one of our most favourite gluten-free companies:

Canyon Bakehouse!

Throughout our (almost) four-year-gluten-free-journey, we've tried A LOT of different breads. The majority of them have always been super small in size, super dry and crumbly, and super expensive.

Enter: Canyon Bakehouse!

I first bought a loaf of their bread at Target probably two-ish years ago. It was their "Mountain White." While the size of the loaf itself was still small, it was DELISH. Not dry. AT. ALL. It was literally "fluffy." I instantly became a loyal customer, trying their focaccia, bagels and even brownies! (OMG. I cannot buy them. My Sweet Girls don't stand of chance of getting even one if they're in my house. I will gobble them up.)

About a year ago, I stumbled upon their "Heritage" bread at my local Sprouts. Y'all. This bread is life-changing! It's a BIG loaf. Which is a BIG plus for me and My Hubby. It also tastes like an amazing, freshly baked loaf from a bakery! It's fancy. Now, it's not cheap, but gluten-free shopping never is. I watch for sales and coupons!

Two-ish months ago, ELC actually WON a month's supply of bread from them! I'm talking, like $100 worth of BREAD! They shipped it to my house! It was almost one of each of their products. The only one I was REALLY missing was their new "Hawaiian Bread." I can't find it in my area yet, but I hear it is equally YUMMY. It's a hot commodity, and I won't give up until I get my hands on it!

This bread stays fresh and freezes beautifully! Canyon Bakehouse isn't sponsoring this post. We just love them so much and wanted to spread the word about their fabulousness. They're based out of Colorado, and when we vacation there someday, I swear I'll make a trip to their factory just to HUG them.

TRY THEM. You won't regret it.

Have a wonderful weekend, Dear Friends!

Sunday, May 13, 2018

not his mother...

When I married My Sweet Hubby (aka MSH), I was 24 and he was 34. He was divorced with four sons—12 years down to almost 3. He also was unable to have any more children. If you know what I mean. I was truly okay with that. Being the oldest of four children and growing up in a dysfunctional family (Sometimes the truth is very hurtful to parents/families. But it’s still the truth.), I honestly did not want to have children/be a mother. Or at least I didn’t think I wanted to have a child. The thought actually frightened me. Immensely. So falling in love with MSH? Problem solved.

Then, as I lived my life as MSH’s wife and as a stepmother (I often joked with my stepsons, calling myself “StepMommie Dearest.” If you don’t know why, Google Mommie Dearest. I hope they'd say I was far, far from that Mean Mama. Sheesh.), watching him be the BEST Dad to his sons (despite all of the challenges his divorce caused him, them and me…long story…sigh…), I started to have a mysterious and frustrating desire for a child. Like an OVERWHELMING desire.

MSH felt bad for me. And would say—in the kindest of voices: “You knew I couldn’t have any more kids. You said that was okay!” I’d agree. And cry. I’d cry every time I saw a pregnant person. In person. Or on TV. Every. Time. For some strange reason, I’d see a lot of pregnant women. (You know—like when you’re pregnant? And everyone else on Earth is pregnant, too? But when you’re NOT pregnant—you rarely seeing pregnant peeps. Isn’t that bizarre?)

One afternoon, as he headed home from a meeting in Ft. Worth, he stopped at a home for unwed mothers. Talked to them about the possibility of us adopting a baby. He told me about it at dinner that night. He said he was sorry. They were extremely kind and sympathetic. Unfortunately, because he had four children, that wouldn’t be an option for us. MSH and I did understand this. We’d mentioned adoption a few times—but not in great detail. Of course, I got it. They needed to let couples who had no children adopt a baby. Not us. Not me.

Then I heard about the vasectomy reversal procedure. A very dear friend of mine was married to her second husband and he’d had one. In St. Louis. By the doctor who had pioneered the procedure. It had worked. Heartbreakingly, they were never able to have a child of their own.

MSH got on this doctor’s Waiting List. It was, at least, a year-long wait. Possibly two. In the meantime, another dear friend had a friend whose husband had had the surgery done in Dallas! It had been successful. MSH and I went to see him and…VOILA! TLC was born about eighteen months after MSH’s surgery.

TLC: My only biological child. His fifth and only daughter. The Baby. The Princess. The Joy of Our Lives!

On this Mothers’ Day, I thank our Lord God Almighty for My Sweet Husband. And for TLC—the smartest, funniest, silliest, sometimes most challenging-est and BEAUTIFUL daughter a Mom could ever, ever hope to have.

She’s given me two of the SWEETEST Little Angel Granddaughters on this Earth. She’s also gifted me, in her 34 years (really more like 35—counting my difficult pregnancy with and delivery of Ms. TLC), some good days. REALLY REALLY REALLY GOOD days. STELLAR/EPIC GOOD days. Then , naturally, my share of HARD days. Sad days. JOYFUL days. Confusing days. Angry days. She’s worn me out. But then turned around and given me (or demanded of me?) more energy and spunk than I ever dreamed I could muster up—especially now that I’m in my 60s. (Yikes.)

She’s the BEST Mom. I’m amazed—daily—by her talents, creativity, dedication, and determination to be a good Mom. Wife. Daughter. Gluten-Free Chef. The best of all of those roles that she can be.

On a rough day for her? I do my best to encourage her. Give her some of my strength and hope. On my rough days? She does the same for me. Sometimes we each say things the other does NOT want to hear. Sometimes we have to take some “mini” breaks from each other. (Our wisdom can be too annoying for the other of us, I suppose. Winky. Wink.)

Always, ALWAYS…I love, adore, cherish, treasure, NEED My TLC.

Happy HAPPY Mothers’ Day to each of you, Friends Everywhere! Whether you’re a Mom to children. Or pets. Or siblings. Or, possibly, a parent or both parents or a stepparent. I say if you’re a woman, you’re a Mom to someone or some animal or some thing. Period. And you should be CELEBRATED!

Be safe! Be kind! Be THANKFUL.

Hugs and Big Smooches,


P.S.: When I married MSH, I had to literally teach/train him to be “thoughtful.” I did this by giving him gifts. Cards. Making big deals of holidays—especially his birthday. Christmas. He’s told me one thousand times in 41 years together that he didn’t learn how to be thoughtful and caring until he met me. The truth is this: From the moment I met him, I knew he was one of the kindest people I’d ever met in my life. Very soon I knew: He is MOST DEFINITELY THE Kindest Person I've ever known. Period. End of Story.

BUT—from my first Mothers’ Day as a Mom, he’d say: “Now, I don’t need to get you anything, right? Because you’re not MY Mom, right?” I’d say: “Right. You just make sure TLC remembers me. That’s all I need.”

EVERY Mothers’ Day I rise and say: “You better not have a card or gift for me. Because I’m not your Mom.” We laugh. Sometimes he has a card. Or two. Or three. Sometimes he has a gift. Sometimes TLC has ordered a gift from both of them. (Hey, TLC, let’s get real, okay? He pays for said gifts. Do I care? Nope. I’m proud I helped raise a SMART daughter. Teeheehee.) Today? There were no cards in my closet. But he TOLD me “Happy Mothers’ Day!” the minute I woke up! And I told him he’d bought me three lovely gifts. ((That I purchased for myself.) He smiled. He’s my on-going-daily-every-second-we’re-both-alive gift. PLUS he gave me TLC.

P.P.S.: TLC outdid herself this year with the MOST AWESOME gifts ever from her, Little Leighton and Baby Elle. She is amazing in the Gift-Giving Department. Wow.

Wednesday, May 9, 2018


May is Celiac Awareness Month!

As most of you know, our Sweet Little Leighton was diagnosed with Celiac Disease when she was two years old. It is a lifelong, autoimmune disease, with no known cure.

At this point, our only option is to adhere to a strict gluten-free diet. (Y'all. I know I've mentioned this before but it's worth mentioning again:  gluten can be in ANYTHING. Lipstick. Toothpaste. Medications and vitamins. You name it.)

When we received LL's diagnosis, we knew very little about what it all truly meant and the impact it would have on her and our family. It's one of my goals now to help teach others and advocate for those living with Celiac Disease!

So, please forgive me if I'm repetitive!

Parties are hard. Feeling different is hard. For ANY child. We try, though, to always focus on the blessings!:

*Her early and quick diagnosis! (For the majority of Celiacs, it takes upwards of TEN years for a diagnosis. And the average age of diagnosis? 40-60 years old. We are LUCKY. So many suffer for much, much, much longer.)

*The availability of yummy gluten-free options!

*An amazing Grammy ELC and Pa-Pa that ALWAYS makes sure she has similar snacks to her friends!

*The awareness and empathy this disease has brought us towards anyone struggling with allergies or autoimmune disorders. We know it could be so much worse, and we try to remember that.

I hope, above all else, LL's diagnosis has made us a little more kind and willing to extend grace to EVERYONE, especially on the hard days when we feel left-out.

Thank you all for journeying with us these past (almost) FOUR years!

Friday, May 4, 2018

the derby...

Spent this past week busy, busy, BUSY. Three days at TLC’s—for many reasons. Biggest one? She needed my help, as Her Hubby was out of town. If I can? I'm there. Y'all know this by now.

My Sweet Hubby (aka MSH) and I headed East in his truck Tuesday afternoon and went to Little Leighton’s Spring Program that evening. At her school. It was precious. Of course. He went home after said program, returning to pick me up yesterday afternoon. (I felt like one of my grandmothers. My Dad would drive a couple of hundred miles to pick her up a couple of times a year and bring her back to our home. For like a week. Summers. Christmases. Then take her back. She was in her late 70s and early 80s when he did this.) Not having my car—being Driven Like Ms. Daisy—made me feel like my grandmother. Yes. I’m a grandmother. Even though I think I’m a young one—I’m probably not. And it was actually kinda nice to be chauffeured. Not going to lie.

He came to retrieve me yesterday afternoon around 2:00. We got home by 5:00. Today I’m being rather lazy. It’s dark outside. Rainy. I’m loving it.

This morning, as I watched a bit of the news and morning shows, I saw an ad for The Kentucky Derby! Tomorrow!

Y’all, there is no explanation for my obsession with horse races. NONE. Zero. I didn’t grow up with horses. Although, after I graduated from high school, my parents moved to a 30-acre place west of Ft. Worth, where they had lots o’ cows. My mother, who had grown up riding horses, decided to buy two at an auction. A big brown horse and a small Welsh pony. The brown horse was named Taurus (longish story) and the pony was named Charlie Brown. Charlie was adorable.

My mother was always looking for someone to ride with her. I avoided doing it. One lovely weekend afternoon, my middle sister and I were talked into riding these two down past our creek. Mother said they really needed to be ridden consistently. So they'd be good riding horses.

My sister rode Charlie. I rode Taurus. I vividly remember being extremely nervous. Y’all—did I mention he was BIG? We went across the creek and rode for a bit on some of the most beautiful land on our parents’ place. Things were going okay. Then something scared Taurus as we went back across the creek to wind up the ride. He bolted so unexpectedly and fast, both my feet came out of the stirrups and I lost one of the reins. I held on to the saddle horn and that one useless rein for dear life—certain I was going to die or be seriously injured. He came to a complete and hard stop at his feed bucket in the corral. My mother had watched all of this happen from our house (I’d had no control of this horse for at least ten to twelve acres.) and she'd come running to help. I was a mess. A complete and total wreck. So frightened. So angry. In tears. Possibly saying words I shouldn't have. But grateful to be alive. She tried to make me get right back on him. I refused. I knew I should. I couldn’t. I was a ball of shakes.

A couple of months later, she talked me into riding with her. This time, she’d ride Taurus (I had no intention of ever getting on that horse again.) and I’d ride Charlie. He was adorable. Silly. Gentle. She convinced me everything would be fine. Off we went.

We’d probably ridden down some country roads for about an hour when Charlie decided he was tired. Finished. Needed a nap. He literally laid down—with me on him—in the middle of the road. My mother had one heck of a time making him get up. She attempted to trade horses with me—telling me she’d have to keep Charlie Brown going to get him home. Uh. Yeah. NO WAY. So for the next thirty minutes, as we worked our way back home, Charlie laid down three more times. Mother would go through the process of encouraging him to get the h#l* up while I stood and rolled my eyes. Vowing my days of riding these wackadoodle horses were officially over. It. Was. Ridiculous.

That was pretty much the end of my horse-riding attempts. Almost forever. I have, since that time, ridden a couple of times when we’ve been in Colorado. I always ask for the horses that are Senior Citizens and/or possibly not feeling well. On one trail ride, I did worry my horse was going to keel over before we got back to that corral. He made it. They all sense my intense fear, too. I know they do.

Yet…I treasure horses. Have always loved watching movies about horses. (Secretariat? Oh. My. Wow. I watched that Derby! It was chilling.) I am obsessed with horse races. I have no clue how to read the racing forms or pick winners. I generally go with numbers I like (3,5 and/or 8), the colors the jockeys are wearing, names of the horses or names of the jockeys. Maybe where the horses are from. You get the idea. I have not one ounce of knowledge about how to win. Because, frankly, I don’t care if I win. I never bet more than $10 a race—dividing it up between two to four horses. I make no money. It’s all about the experience! The entertainment! I have a blast. Every. Time.

My favourite place to go to the horse races is Ruidoso, New Mexico. Been there many, many times. It ROCKS my world.

We’ve also been to races in Louisiana, Arkansas and Oklahoma. Lone Star Park in Grand Prairie is not far from us and a great place for an afternoon of fun. Haven't been there in several years. This post is making me want to go. ASAP.

The Kentucky Derby? It’s tomorrow! This will be the first time in several years I’ll be able to sit down and watch it. From beginning to end! I normally record it and do my best not to hear or read who the winner was until I can watch for myself. It’ll be LIVE and in REALTIME for me. I am PSYCHED.

Hope each of you has a Wonderful Weekend—wherever in this World Y’all are! If you're watching The Derby? I will be, too! Think of me. I'll be in my jammies, drinking my Coke Zero and eating my Jolly Time kettle corn. I’ll be in HEAVEN.


P.S.: If I won The Lottery tomorrow? Or next week? Or next year? I’d want to buy some racehorses! First, I’d have to buy a big beautiful ranch in Kentucky. Or Tennessee. Then I’d hire lots of experts to help me raise my horses. Then I’d travel the “circuit!” Praying that someday I’d have a horse who qualified for The Kentucky Derby! I don’t really like to wear hats all that much—but I’d do it. I'd wear one. In a heartbeat. I’d drink one of those mint juleps and sing My Old Kentucky Home loud and proud! It could happen, right? It could happen. Right. (Winky. Wink.)