Happy 4th of July!

part 2 . . .

Backyard oasis

That's what I'm talking about  .  .  .  

RAIN

Truthfully, it has been a very long time since I prayed for rain. I mean really prayed, on bended knee, for relief from the heat and lack of precipitation. Now I'm not trying to exaggerate our condition; thankfully no drought is forecasted and we aren't plagued by wildfires.    [ As a brief note, I have friends in Colorado and my heart goes out to them for the extreme losses many of their neighbors are facing. I can not imagine what it is like to flee with only what you can carry, to outrun a fire  .  .  .  our prayers are with you!]     But I will say that the heat and lack of rain has been down right oppressive lately. So while I was supposed to be listening to the sermon yesterday, I drifted off for a few moments into my what if  zone  .  .  .  it's that place in my imagination where anything is possible. I won't bore you with the grey-matter surrounding my epiphany (yes I'm using that word because after all, I did have this idea come to me in the pew at the 11:00 service!) yet I will say that I ended up on an enthusiastic search for a way to stay cool.

Last summer, as you may remember, the Group Therapy founding club members experienced the trip of a lifetime by journeying to the tropical paradise known as Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. We knew no one, so we were less inhibited about our swimwear as we would be at say our local country club or rec. center pool. Don't panic, no thongs were worn (cringe), but we did sport two-piece bathing suits baring stomachs, just as we used to in our earlier sunbathing days (amazing what a little tequila will do for one's courage and self esteem). Our motto: brown fat looks better than white fat any day of the week! Please don't get the wrong idea, we were still southern 50 year olds and for the most part, acted our age  .  .  .  but we did feel a little provocative in our two-pieces. I guess the joke was on us!

As my dearly departed husband used to comment, just as I was moving from one tangent to another, while trying to tell one of my stories, "alright already, please get to the punch-line, I'm going to have another birthday before you finish this one!"  .  .  .  okay, okay, I'm getting there!

My excursion after church led me to several discount stores in search of that thing-that-I-would-know-once-I-saw-it solution to the heat, when I came across what I thought was the ticket! A small, "easy set up" above ground pool. (No pumps or filters required.) Eight feet in diameter, thirty inches high, perfect for one person to float in, in the privacy of her own backyard  .  .  .  Only takes 10-30 minutes to set up your very own backyard pool for summertime fun  .  .  .  wasn't this what I had been searching for? [As another aside, I did in fact install a much bigger version of one of these durable plastic inventions many years ago, so my familiarity pushed me over the edge, or ledge depending on your point of view, to buy this promise of cool-down in a box]  I pictured myself floating in my backyard at lunchtime, wearing my Cabo two-piece in totally privacy. People would say, "how do you keep that golden tan in this heat" and I would answer, "just lucky I guess" in perfect Carrie fashion. Could I really have a tan for the rest of the summer like I did before I got too old to tolerate the heat? And I wouldn't have to feel self conscious about the way I looked because no one would see me. Admittedly, I was getting a little ahead of myself. But it was HOT! 

Fast forward to two hours later, and several hundred gallons of water (can't wait to see my water bill next month  .  .  .  so much for the pool being on sale for a mere $30), I'm standing next to my own backyard solution to several days of triple digit temperatures. And I'm grinning from ear to ear! I rush in to get a towel, not bothering to change into a swimsuit. Grab my book and something cold to drink and realize that the blue sky has faded to a pale grey and it's sprinkling. Only a few drops, hardly enough to get anything wet, but just in case, I run back in for the umbrella; don't want to ruin my book. Carefully I step into the water (remember it's not even three feet deep) and lower myself onto the new float I also purchased. My shorts get wet but who cares, right. As I float blissfully I notice that the drops are falling harder and more frequent. I haven't opened my eyes yet, too busy congratulating myself on a job well-down. Then, as we say in the south, the bottom dropped out and it started raining cats and dogs.  Picture me on my float, in a flash summer thunderstorm. My bliss faded as quickly as the clouds had rolled in. The next reel that plays in my head is: "Tragedy strikes suburbia today when local woman is struck by lightning in her baby pool, details at 10!" S@#t!  I scramble out of the pool, lucky not to break my 50 year old neck and seek shelter. When I think the storm has passed, I get soaked again trying to put the cover on my little oasis (too funny how a $30 bargain will end up costing me a lot more) determined to keep the dream alive. It wasn't supposed to rain, much less storm. There's always tomorrow! 

It's still raining  .  .  .  NO COMPLAINTS because we REALLY, REALLY need the moisture, so my little backyard pool will just have to wait. Maybe Samantha and Charlotte can come over and we can take turns pretending we are back in Cabo. Not quite the Sky Infinity Pool, but it should be perfect for little ole me!

Sky Infinity Pool, Cabo San Lucas, Mexico

Too Funny, backyard,  Easy Set Pool

No comparison  .  .  .  

saturday night . . .

Do you remember Saturday nights when you were in your 20's? Truthfully, most of the details of that chunk of experience are dull, distant memories that I just don't have the energy to pull up at the moment. Why, you ask? Because it is still over 100º at 8:01 PM and I' feel like I have been having nonstop hot flashes for the last 48 hours. (this heat-wave has withered more than my impatience; it is killing my will to do anything except stay inside and drink a glass [or two] of wine)  I realize that the alcohol is probably contributing to my internal combustion, but there is only so much one can give up! It humbles me to admit it, but between this heat-wave and menopause, drinking my wine is the only part of the day that is stress free  .  .  .  Group Therapy all by myself! 

Back to my 20's  .  .  .  I do remember those years being full of fun. I remember not worrying about laundry or nutrition, or anything really  .  .  .  I just had to report to work on time, pay my bills on time, obey the speed limit and use good judgement when on a date or out with friends. There was no yard work or home repairs or real responsibility of any kind beyond yours truly. Youth really is wasted on the young. They (we) have (had) NO FREAKING IDEA how good they (we) had it! Just typing those words makes me a little green with envy. What am I doing on this warm (sweltering) June evening? Am I trying to decide which restaurant or hip new club to visit tonight? Am looking in my closet for the perfect outfit I want to show off? Am I sipping on a glass of wine before my date (or boyfriend) arrives for a fun-filled evening? NO  .  .  .  I'm sitting at my dining room table, surrounded by the groceries that I still haven't put away from my late afternoon trip to our local Publix; after stepping on kitty litter that the kitten has managed to spread all over the floor; then remembering the pile of laundry that I have to fold before I retire for the night  .  .  .  yet, in spite of it all, I am sipping a glass of red wine while I type this post.  I sigh with the heaviness of all that I am responsible for and I must admit that even with all that I still have to do and in my un-showered state, I am so very happy to be in my home, typing away, truly enjoying what has become my norm. I am thrilled to eat whatever I want to because my sixteen year old is out with friends, watch whatever I want to because all the TVs belong to me most weekend nights (and frankly, all summer long) and do whatever it is that I need or choose to do on this Saturday evening. Ain't life grand!

I will leave you with a picture that wasn't taken too many years ago; a picture of me (Carrie), Samantha and Charlotte, at a fundraiser that was near and dear to our hearts. I think we had more energy back then. I know we had fewer wrinkles and no hot flashes! We were just old enough to appreciate all that we had been blessed with  .  .  .  namely, our deep and enduring friendship. Here's to Group Therapy any night of the week!

Life-long Friends!

 Until next time  .  .  .  

too funny exchange

I must admit that being funny isn't always easy. In this BLOG, we always try to make you laugh, particularly about events that happen to our little group or other folks who are our age. But every once in a while, we will pass along too funny stories from other places. This post is dedicated to a good friend of Group Therapy, a person who writes for a living  .  .  .  we have featured her books and her BLOG before. Her latest post is priceless! Take a minute to follow this link and become a follower. Her humor is contagious. Thanks Mel!

Death by Vacuum Cleaner

To be continued  .  .  .

it's hard to be funny . . .

Here you are, reading a BLOG entitled, too funny, and I bet you're thinking, "this better be funny!" When we started this saga, it was to chronicle our little Group Therapy gang  .  .  .  you can read all about our "criteria" to the left in the sidebar if you are new to this little cyber corner (yes, we have criteria)  .  .  .  and our trip of a lifetime. The beginning of our story detailed our antics in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. There was plenty to find funny about us: 50 year old "girls" without a care in the world, except what we would eat and drink and did we remember to apply or reapply sunscreen. Yes, those were the days! Now, almost a full year after our adventure, I must admit that I am in a bit of a fog about what's next. What can be funny enough that someone would remember to visit or purposefully bookmark us, the too funny BLOG, out of all of the millions of BLOGs out there (could there really be that many BLOGS)  .  .  . 

I offer you this recent story about one of our founding members, Anne. Anne traveled with us to Cabo the only way she could, in imaginary style. You see, Anne doesn't fly. Nope, she refuses to even contemplate the notion. I don't blame her really, it's not my most favorite thing to do either. No, Anne traveled with us virtually. Now you really will have to go back to the very beginning (oddly enough, that's what the first post was called: in the beginning) to read that story in it's entirety to fully appreciate what I'm talking about here. Anne was a member of our travel squad in card not in person. But this particular story has nothing to do with our little imaginary travel companion. Largely because Anne isn't imaginary  .  .  .  she's the oldest, and probably the wisest and without a doubt the funniest member of our troupe. She was only imaginary in Cabo, and it worked for that story. But this story requires no imagination and no passport. It does require a little discretion though. You see, Anne, up until now, has only been photographed as a card, so for today's story, she will still be identified that way. (Hopefully we will be able to reveal the real Anne in upcoming posts)

Hi everyone! It's Anne!

Anne's day started out, off  .  .  .  she recounted a number of events that occurred earlier in the day, that would make someone in Group Therapy pause with a sigh of "what is wrong with me?" For example, she misplaced her coffee cup, only to find it in the refrigerator, and then grumpily set out to vacuum (one of those little chores she absolutely despises) but the darn thing wouldn't work! As she stood staring at this piece of equipment, talking out loud to it as if it might actually try to defend itself, she got so frustrated that she gave it a swift kick and decided to forget about vacuuming altogether. She had stomped on the pedal for it to start numerous times, she had even tried plugging it into several different outlets. "The damn thing just wouldn't suck." Finally, in total frustration, she returned it to the closet, only to find the vacuum cleaner resting nicely where it always is. The vacuum cleaner was in the closet?  The poor device standing next to her, that had endured so much rage, was the hardwood floor cleaner/steamer. No wonder she couldn't get the darn thing to suck! There would be no vacuuming today  .  .  .  

Mid-day, she realized she was out of her favorite guilty pleasure (not counting wine of course), gummy orange slices. You know, those orange colored, orange flavored, gum-drop type of candy in the shape of an orange wedge. Anyway, she left her comfortable abode in search of this most favorite snack  .  .  .  yes she was bored and rather happy to leave the memory of coffee in the fridge and beating up the poor floor steamer  .  .  .  visiting several retail establishments before she found her beloved treat. She landed at Kmart. (Kmart was founded in 1962, the same year of Walmart's founding, and to some, was the first discount store of it's kind)  Like other large discount stores, you rarely leave with only the item or items you entered in search of  .  .  .  no, thanks to creative marketing and "deep, blue-light discounts" Anne happened on a pair of white summer shorts that she just had to have.  (Now, this is where the young, less humor filled personalities should probably stop reading because nothing from here on out will sound funny to you.) 

As luck would have it, her size was prominently hanging in full view so she decided to not take any chances and try the "suckers" on. (Have you ever seen the inside of a fitting room at Kmart? No, me neither  .  .  .  I digress) Bravely, she ventured in to the area set aside to "try on" clothing. Red flags were already flying, but our courageous Anne ignored all signs to DO NOT ENTER and chose to go in to one of the stalls for a quick slip on of these shorts, just to make sure they fit. She hurried in and secured the makeshift door behind her. What happens next can hardly be told without hand-gestures. Picture our dear Anne, with one foot on the opposing wall, her back against the other, calmly struggling to get one foot into the leg of these white shorts that she just had to try on. She realizes, too late of course, that she may have been in a bit of a hurry, while working to get that foot into the shorts, and all of a sudden, the unthinkable happens  .  .  .  she loses her balance. If we were watching this on film we would see the video begin to move in slow motion. Reflexively, she grappled for anything and everything to hang on to, to prevent what she was beginning to realize was the inevitable; she was falling and it wasn't going to be pretty! As the motion slowed, her body, with one foot in the white shorts, and the other, firmly planted on the old carpet floor, fell through the louver doors. In mid-air she let out what surely must have sounded like a loud, feral cry  .  .  .  GODAWMIGHTYDAMN!  .  .  .  before she hit the floor, HARD. 

Seconds felt like minutes  .  .  .  Anne found herself, laid out on the carpet, in the middle of the common area between the dressing rooms. Stunned, she finally looked up to see a young boy standing in shock, staring at her. She composed herself long enough to ask, "where's your mama?" All he uttered was, "in there" as he pointed toward one of the rooms. Wanting to ignore the fact that she was sprawled out on the floor, Anne realized she was probably on her own; was no one coming to her rescue, was this child's Mom not coming out of her stall to see what that BOOM was all about, surely she heard her son talking to this total stranger?  It was then that she noticed those white shorts, that she just had to try on, were still around the ankle that had just been positioned on the wall, before the fall. She was laying on this filthy floor, exposed  .  .  .  her white granny panties shining bright as can be  .  .  .  and this young boy was still standing frozen, staring at the sight that he would probably never forget. It took every ounce of dignity that she could muster, but slowly and surely, our Anne pulled herself up off that floor and re-entered the room she had just dramatically evacuated. The doors, barely still attached to their hinges, swung closed behind her, although less secure than before. JOY! What just happened? Did I really just fall out on the floor at Kmart and I'm still alive? No broken bones (a miracle) and no visible bruises, yet. Just a slow moving pain in the area around her right ear, which had undoubtedly bore most of the weight of her fall. That and her entire right side, but there was no blood, no appendages to gather on the filthy carpet and as she lowered herself to the make-shift bench hanging from the wall, all she could do was laugh and cry. (not really tears of sadness, although there were certainly more than a few acknowledging the pain that was growing; no, tears of hysterical relief and embarrassment and of utter shock!)

Hours later, when Anne was reenacting the drama for me, I found myself laughing so hard I thought I would surely wet my pants. Of course I was relieved that she was okay; relatively okay that is, the pain and ringing in her right ear had begun to pulse and was starting to worry her. But to watch the human animation and relive what was now a humorous event, instead of a tragedy, was pure joy! I wrongly assumed that once she had gathered herself enough to gain composure in the dressing room she would have slithered out unnoticed. "Hell NO" she said. "I sat my granny panties down on that bench, pulled those shorts up to make sure they fit and then I grabbed my orange slices and went straight to the register." (Note to self: our Anne doesn't ever slither out of anywhere unnoticed) "You know how much this near death experience cost me? $11.50! That's it! Sure am glad I didn't end up in an ambulance on the way to some hospital for $11.50!"   Perspective is a wonderful gift  .  .  .  

In true southern style our Anne managed to smile and be friendly to the young woman at register. When asked, "Did you find everything alright?" Anne just said, "sure did and have a nice day." No lawsuit threats, no resentment taken out on this innocent checkout girl. No, not Anne  .  .  .  she simply left the store with the same old fashioned grace as she entered with. After all, she did have her orange slices and those white shorts that she just had to try on  .  .  .  

Until next time!

hunger games

I don't know how funny the Hunger Games movie will be but I think I'm going to play hooky shortly to go see it. I've read all three books, which were fascinating, so I really want to see the movie. I know I'm a bit behind. I can't believe it is still in the theater. I'll try to post feedback later!

the month of may reeks havoc . . .

Maybe I'm just too old for the month of May. Nonsense you say  .  .  .  I don't know, others feel the same way I am sure. Too many activities piled on to the calendar that was already full with normal, repeating monthly items. Recitals, exams, dentist appointments, graduations, graduation gifts, birthdays, birthday gifts  .  .  .  you just can't stay ahead of the eight-ball in the month of May. 

One special note though: the month of May belongs to Charlotte. Yep, She turned, (whisper please) 51 this month. Seems a bit anticlimactic after the escapades of last year. In May of 2011, we were planning the big "50-year-old-celebration-trip." Remember, one of us, the baby, was about to turn 49, so we gave her a pass. (Our rule clearly states that you must be within 12 months of turning 50 to be eligible to join Group Therapy.)  At the time of our trip last July, which was when the club was created, Samantha was within the 12 month window, barely. She will turn 50 in July and we can't wait! Of course, she and Carrie will only be fifty at the same time for a little over a month, but that's not what matters. The fact that we are all headed into the next half of our century together is what matters. Knowing someone for the better part of your life (forty plus years) is staggering. I still remember the first time I saw both of these girls. Amazing!

Last year, Charlotte's children both graduated from college. And this year her daughter graduated from graduate school. This year, Samantha's oldest son graduates from high school. As a matter of fact, tomorrow is the big day for him, or them. Sure, it's a big accomplishment for the child, or should I say, young adult. But the parents are the folks that should get the real credit! What an accomplishment: to bring a life into this world, feed it, clothe it, nurture and protect it, teach it to survive, love it unconditionally (even through the terrible twos and threes or the dreadful teenage years) and then just let it go  .  .  .  can anything be any harder than that? I'm not quite there, but certainly bracing myself already.

Speaking of the dreadful teenage years, I have a book recommendation:  I've Had It Up To Here With Teenagers, by Melinda Rainey Thompson. She isn't quite old enough for Group Therapy but will be welcomed with open arms once she is. Melinda's perspective is hysterical and as you read you find yourself shaking your head up and down with unconscious agreement or laughing out loud. Here's a link to Amazon. (It's a quick, fun read for anyone in the midst of teenagers, about to be in the throws of teenager-dom or have happily survived those icky years and want to revel in all that was and is no more.)

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_0_8?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=i%27ve+had+it+up+to+here+with+teenagers&sprefix=I%27ve+had%2Cstripbooks%2C210

So what's left? Only 5 more days then SUMMERTIME! Look for some new Group Therapy adventures soon. 

To be continued  .  .  .  

on a roll . . .

Two days in a row!

It's Friday, which is always good at our house. In the old days it used to be better than it is now, before I had to worry about my teenager and ALL that his age and status in life conjures up! When he was younger, Friday nights meant "date night" .  .  .  not in the traditional sense of the word. Friday night was the night we snuggled up together in mommy's bed to watch TV, particularly Stargate SG-1. (I've always had a crush on Richard Dean Anderson, otherwise known as MacGyver, so this show was right up my alley. Which meant it would be a favorite of my sweet little pre-pubescent child. Everything I did, or said or liked, in those days was perfect. I digress  .  .  .  ) Any-who, Friday night was my favorite part of the week and as I blissfully reflect back on that easy time, I also remember that I was stressed about life then too. Of course the "stressers" were different then but if I'm honest, they were just as intense. In my glass-half-full way of analyzing, I guess this revelation is a good indication that stress is stress and everything eventually has a way of becoming not-so-stressful. I can't wait to not worry about my son driving, or drinking or, okay, never-mind, the list would take all night and I'm ready for the grape. Oh wait, I'll never get to NOT worry again, as long as I live. They never tell you about this worry-thing when you're trying to get pregnant or pulling into the driveway or parking lot from the hospital with your new bundle(s) of joy. Nope, those little details are never discussed, by ANYONE! I think it's a conspiracy  .  .  .  who would willingly want to worry about teenagers, etc.? (Not that I would have it any other way, I'm just saying  .  .  .  )


Remind me to tell you the story of our Group Therapy reunion to celebrate Carrie's 50th!  Maybe next time.


Happy Friday!


To be continued  .  .  .

Yep, that's the little boy who made "date night" the favorite part of my week!

latest trip to the border . . .

If you followed this BLOG when it was fresh and relevant to our Group Therapy adventure, you know that our story obviously had to come to an end, right? This is how we paused our journey: 


(late 2011)

Memories . . .

Here we are, no more Cabo adventure, just us being 50  .  .  . at the moment I'm watching the movie Julie & Julia, based on a true story about a young women searching for her purpose, deciding on a whim to BLOG about cooking her way through Julia Child's cookbook, “Mastering the Art of French Cooking. ” I was inspired the first time I saw the movie, but today, it drew me back to the computer to dive back in to Chapter 2. The BLOG must continue.  

Aren't we all looking for a purpose, something bigger than what we are individually. That is certainly the essence of this movie. And I suppose the essence of this BLOG. We are all so stressed, living life with mortgages and teenagers and a bad economy. So we thought a little humor would be just what the doctor ordered if the doctor was ordering something. You know, how often might you say, "too funny" and laugh hysterically? We think too funny should be a daily occurrence. Don't you? So, we are officially transitioning from our wonderful Group Therapy Cabo adventure to our everyday "life" adventures. But we need you! Send us your stories to add to this archive. If you are at least 12 months from turning 50, or you are 50 or over, please send us your stories. We would love to add them to our BLOG! We will also be opening up our membership in the coming weeks so stay posted on how you can join our exclusive club. If you have a story to share, please forward to ngagethehumor@gmail.com. 

To be continued  .  .  .  

May 3, 2012

Okay, now we are ready to continue!

Today was the day. Two of us, Samantha and Carrie, were headed to the border. No, not the Mexican border, although I can see how you might think that if you were a loyal follower of our Cabo adventure. No, I'm talking about the Alabama/Georgia border. Three guesses why, and the first two don't count. (I never really understood that silly phrase so why I'm using it here only demonstrates what I already know but you are obviously, possibly painfully, figuring out: I'm pretty rusty BLOGGING!) No worries, I'm a professional (at something anyway) so bear with me while I shake off the dust and jump back in.

Where was I  .  .  .  oh yes, our little trip to the border. We weren't leaving Charlotte out. She was in Atlanta and we concocted the plan rather last minute. (we so wish she still lived down-the-street) This morning, we were going to jump in the car, no showers or make-up, and head to nearest gas station just across the Georgia state line. Why? LOTTERY tickets! While some folks think that "Playing the Lottery" is a bad idea, we think it is the only way we will ever potentially see unbelievable wealth, so why not? The Alabama state legislature has over-ruled any Alabama lottery initiative for years. No doubt the divide is wide between morally convicted, upstanding citizens on both sides of the equation. I intellectually understand each side of the debate. But I, as anyone who really knows me, has a rather staunch philosophy concerning the lottery, any lottery for that matter: somebody has to win eventually and it might as well be me! 

Now before you start formulating your anti-lottery comments (although trust me when I say any comment would be better than the "silent BLOG vacuum" this little periodical has suffered by my admitted neglect) rest assured that I don't travel to the border very often and I typically only buy lottery tickets a couple of times a year. But I do but tickets for weeks and months at a time hoping to pick that lucky combination, to change life as I know it forever. And also, please know that I would probably be the MOST generous lottery winner in the history of ALL lottery winners. I believe in giving back and give back I would!

So, where am I actually going with this story? (before you have another birthday that is) Samantha and Carrie were headed out but were stopped by the weather. The weather? What was there, a hurricane with winds in excess of 150 miles per hour? Was there a tornado or flood with basketball size hail? Surely either of those scenarios would have prevented the hour and a half drive to possible financial freedom and life altering return. No, it was raining on and off and they just decided it was just a little too dangerous. Driving in the rain that is  .  .  .  OMG, we are our mothers! No offense to them of course, but oh my goodness! A short twenty five years ago we would have driven ten hours for such frivolity, with much less potential return on the investment. As a matter of fact, in college, Charlotte and Carrie did just that: drove to Key West, from a little college town in Alabama called Auburn (you may have heard of it if you haven't been living under a rock .  .  .  WAR EAGLE! - Sorry Samantha! We'll get a T-town mention in here really, really soon  .  .  . ) to watch their favorite band, Telluride. That trip took twenty-one hours (one way) and several days during their spring break. Honestly, the memory is still fun to think about, but the thought of riding in a car for twenty-one hours for anything or anyone is well beyond this 50 year old frame. And how sad is that!

The morale of this story: Grab whatever FUN you can whenever you have the strength, time or inclination. In twenty five more years, we may think the drive-through at Mickie-D's is BIG TIME. Pray that's not the case!

Glad to be back! Keep reading and visit nGage Today if you need a little nSpiration or just want to nJoy all we have to offer. The shop is full of great gifts that give back to numerous charities. Staying connected is key so nGage Today! 

Follow this link: http://ngagetoday.com/ngagetoday/Welcome.html

To be continued  .  .  .   

happy 2012

I'm so sorry I've been away. Without our story, I wasn't feeling too funny! But I'm back, ready to represent Group Therapy in 2012. Have you decided how you will refer to "2012?" Will you say twenty twelve or will it be two thousand twelve? It doesn't matter, but I am interested. I have decided: twenty twelve! 

This is going to be a very short post. I have a lot to say, but I need to pace myself. (don't want to run out of material, you know  .  .  .  ) Anyway, here's wishing you and your family and friends a very Happy, Healthy, Prosperous New Year! Samantha, Charlotte and Carrie are planning their next adventure for March. Stay tuned for their destination to be revealed.

To be continued  .  .  .