A Cow Pissed On Us!

We’re home.  We’re also still in shock that we didn’t suffer any catastrophic event while we were in Arizona.  Usually there is some sort of shittery that sends us both into a tornado of spiraling stress, curses and name-calling.  But this time The Viking wasn’t almost arrested and I didn’t get into any fist-fights (the chances of this happening are slim, admittedly, but still….).

Of course, there was the pre-departure clusterfuckage, as usual.  It wouldn’t be a vacation if we didn’t hate each other for the first six hours on the road.  We’ve become infamous in the neighbourhood for our attempts to go on holiday.  We quit telling them the exact day we were leaving because they were bringing out the lawn chairs and popcorn.  There was plenty of this though…..

and a little of this….

…..behind each other’s back and continual profanity as we packed the truck but we did managed to keep the volume down.  There wasn’t a single lawn chair in sight by the time we started the truck and idled out of the alley.

Once we were speaking again, the trip became enjoyable – we both love road trips – and everything was fine until we hit Idaho.  Sigh.  Idaho.  Never go to Idaho without a super-sized jug of Wind Shield Washer Fluid because the entire state is infested with bugs whose guts are so sticky it takes a sandblaster to get them off the front of the truck.  Also, cows piss on you there.

We were following a cattle liner who wasn’t going nearly fast enough for our happiness (we are driving 2400km/1500miles and want to get the fuck going already) and while The Viking was making little darts into the other lane looking for a likely time to pass, a cow pressed its ass against the side of the trailer and let loose a frightening large amount of piss.  It seemed to never end!  It was like driving into a waterfall!  The truck driver was going fast enough to turn the piss stream into a nauseatingly thick mist which required liberal and fast windshield wiper action and desperate stabs at the fresh air intake button.

After we stopped screaming and could use our words again we were more than just a little indignant.  What kind of world do we live in when cows can just piss on you any time they want?  We’re at the top of the food chain, are we not?  That sort of thing should be illegal!  What if our windows had been down?!  Or if we were on a motorcycle?!  Or in a convertible?!!

And then I started wondering why I’ve never been cow pissed on before?  I live in cow country for Pete’s sake.  Given the number of cows/pigs/sheep that are trucked all over the continent you’d think that Cow/Pig/Sheep Pissings would be common and therefore cause enough indignation in the general population to have laws against it.

So I Googled it (Are there laws against cows pissing on vehicles?) and there isn’t.  It’s illegal to be drunk while caring for a cow in Scotland and in Australia it’s illegal to milk another guy’s cow and you can’t drive your cows through St. John’s after 8:00 (I’m assuming in the morning because driving your cows through St. John’s at night would cause fewer traffic problems, but what do I know?  I’ve been pissed on!) but no law about cows pissing on people in vehicles.

So, are Canadian cows just more polite than Idahoan cows?  Is that why I’ve never been Cow Pissed on before?  Are Idahoan cows just plain assholes?  I wouldn’t put it past them judging by Idahoan bugs!  On the other hand, maybe this particular cow was just really bitter but not indicative of all Idahoan cows as a collective group.  Or maybe the Vacation Gawd didn’t have time to prepare something truly epic, as in past years, and this was the best he could do under the circumstances.  If that’s the case ….. then touché Vacation Gawd, well played.

Having now experienced being pissed on by a cow, I can say that it’s not something I will soon forget.  I think I might even have a touch of PTSD.  And, it will change the way we rate our future vacations as well as anyone else’s future vacations.

“Geez, that was one of our worst vacations, but at least we didn’t get pissed on by a cow, right?” 

“Too bad you had such a lousy time on your holiday, but at least you weren’t pissed on by a cow, right?”

Just a quick note about the actual chemical composition of the cow piss itself:  It does take off Idahoan bug guts, so there is that.

PS:  Yes.  Being pissed on is infinitely better than being poo-ed on.

PPS:  Yes.  Cows have every right to be bitter but pissing on us doesn’t change their fate.  It just makes me want a bigger steak.  Or maybe to tip them over, if I knew how to go about it because, presumably, the cow would see me coming and would brace itself.  Unless I dressed up like a cow but then I would need someone in the back of the costume and The Viking probably wouldn’t think it was a worthwhile endeavor.

 

Dare to Share

Where in the Hell is My Machete?!

The mad scramble for Holidays has begun.  I’m sweating buckets as I run around gathering all the things on my list.  Half way through one task though, I think of another thing that didn’t make the list so I change directions and then forget what the hell I was looking for.

I’m doing a lot of starting and stopping and swearing, if I’m honest.  Sure, I could have done most of the packing ahead of time but that just means I’m lugging suitcases from one flat surface to another because I need that surface in the meantime.  Houses really should be built with a “Packing Room” that has long flat surfaces for the luggage and shelves for organizing.  That would be helpful.

Also, cats; they get into everything and that blouse you just packed will be covered in fur when you need it.  It’s safer in the closet on hangers until the last minute.

And I can’t find my Night Vision Goggles.  Or my machete.  I probably won’t have to slash my way through a steamy jungle on our way to Arizona but you just can’t be too careful.  The Night Vision Goggles are handy to have though.  I probably put both of them in the same spot so I wouldn’t lose them but I can’t remember where that spot could be.  I hate it when that happens.

So, I don’t have much time to write a post but I wanted everyone to know that I’m not dead.  I’m on holidays.  I might not have time to write much for the next 2 weeks and it seemed like the polite thing to do to explain why.

Unless I actually die while on vacation.  That would seriously suck and no one would be worrying because I just told you I’m on vacation.

Maybe I should stop and buy a couple epi-pens in case of Killer Bees and I really need to find that fucking machete and the Night Vision Goggles.

Where the Hell is My Machete?!

The mad scramble for Holidays has begun.  I’m sweating buckets as I run around gathering all the things on my list.  Half way through one task though, I think of another thing that didn’t make the list so I change directions and then forget what the hell I was looking for.

I’m doing a lot of starting and stopping and swearing, if I’m honest.  Sure, I could have done most of the packing ahead of time but that just means I’m lugging suitcases from one flat surface to another because I need that surface in the meantime.  Houses really should be built with a “Packing Room” that has long flat surfaces for the luggage and shelves for organizing.  That would be helpful.

Also, cats; they get into everything and that blouse you just packed will be covered in fur when you need it.  It’s safer in the closet on hangers until the last minute.

And I can’t find my Night Vision Goggles.  Or my machete.  I probably won’t have to slash my way through a steamy jungle on our way to Arizona but you just can’t be too careful.  The Night Vision Goggles are handy to have though.  I probably put both of them in the same spot so I wouldn’t lose them but I can’t remember where that spot could be.  I hate it when that happens.

So, I don’t have much time to write a post but I wanted everyone to know that I’m not dead.  I’m on holidays.  I might not have time to write much for the next 2 weeks and it seemed like the polite thing to do to explain why.

Unless I actually die while on vacation.  That would seriously suck and no one would be worrying because I just told you I’m on vacation.

Maybe I should stop and buy a couple epi-pens in case of Killer Bees and I really need to find that fucking machete and the Night Vision Goggles.

 

 

VICTORY! or not

It’s time for Friday Fictioneers again, hosted by the stupendous Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This time we’re using a wonderful prompt photo by Roger Bulltot.

“HA!  I told you this wasn’t the way out!”  Cheryl crowed, twerking enthusiastically in a well-rehearsed if seldom used victory dance. 

Steve rolled his eyes, studying the map.

“YeeHaw!!”  Slapping her ass and shuffling like she was riding a horse.  “Gawd, it’s great to be right once in a while!”

He traced the map with his right index finger, muttering about medieval architecture.

Cheryl was now trotting in circles chanting ‘LOOOOSER’.

Steve went closer to the wall and pulled a vine aside.  “Hey!  Here it is!” 

Cheryl stopped to stare, wilted in disappointment and let her head fall back.  “Fuuuuuuck!”

If you would like to read more 100 word stories by very talented people, click the blue button.

Troll – Friday Fictioneers

Hello friends!  Welcome to Friday Fictioneers hosted by the incomparable Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  I had 100 words to tell a story about the photo above, taken by CEAyer.

A huge troll lived in a cave by a fjord.  He loved the peace and quiet of the ocean.  One day there was a terrible din across the water.  Humans were building a church.  He hated humans; worse, he hated churches!

He howled…..growled but the church was getting bigger and taller.  Then bells, clanging, clanging, driving him mad.

He awoke one morning to the horrible sound of deafening bells and many humans singing.  He could take no more.  He picked up an immense boulder, hurled it across the fjord and squashed the church. 

Then he went back to bed.

This is a much edited story from Denmark.  A friend took me to see the Troll Stone at a nearby Kirke, complete with a plaque that tells the story. The Viking translated it for me so I could condense it down for this week’s challenge.

Want to read more wonderful stories at Friday Fictioneers?  Click the button.

The Viking Invasion

 

Erik and Annette arrived in Edmonton smiling but exhausted while The Viking and I were almost jumping up and down with excitement.  Almost.  Because it’s unbecoming for Double D boobs to start flapping around in crowds – someone, other than myself, could get hurt and The Viking’s little jiggles would offer little distraction from my epic display.  So we waited impatiently without jumping.

Then, through the sliding doors, behind a fussy little guy with a mountain of luggage, I caught a glimpse of Erik.  “THERE THEY ARE!!!”  The Viking pushed me out of the way so he could verify the sighting – like they were Yeti’s and I couldn’t be trusted with visuals.

We spent the night in a hotel near the airport then drove back to Calgary.  The following day would begin the ‘Victoria or Bust’ Vacation/Honeymoon Tour.  My legs were shaved, exfoliated and smeared with the best lotion available in the hopes that British Columbia sunshine would give them even the faintest of tans.  My legs are tan-resistant, always glowing in the dark like they belong to a damned Vampire.  Oddly, my feet tan just fine.  I’m pretty sure I know why though.

“Yea, though I walk in the shadow of my boobs, my legs shall fear no sunburn: for the great boobies protect them from UV rays.  Bugs will bite and thorns will scratch but no burn will afflict mine legs.  Surely their whiteness shall beam for all the days of my life.”

Um…… where was I?  Oh yes – travelling.  It didn’t take us more than an hour and a half to completely corrupt Annette with Canadian food – Tim Hortons to be exact.  A breakfast sandwich, a large double/double coffee and Tim Bits ruined her for life.  And we didn’t do it just once either; we shoved that shit down her throat for a week before The Viking and Erik decided we had to stop with the Tim Bits.  The breakfast sandwiches were still okay in their opinion but Annette and I would be starved of the doughnutty deliciousness until further notice.  It was only on the final leg back to Calgary that the Doughnut Police finally decided we could have Tim Bits again.

“What. The fuck. Is that?!” Annette and I wanted to know when they showed up with coffee and a teeny, tiny, miniscule little box of Tim Bits – like they were for Ken and Barbie or something.  The Viking was beaming like he was offering us gold bars while Erik nodded his participation in the offering.

The Viking:  We thought that since this was the last day of our road trip we would treat you with Tim Bits.

Me:  Did you do the math on this?

The Viking:  The math?

Me:  Yes.  The math.  There are 4 people in the vehicle and 20 Tim Bits.  That means we only get 5 each!

The Viking:  That’s enough, isn’t it?

Me:  Oh, it most definitely isn’t enough!  It might be months before I get Tim Bits again and you’re rationing us?  What is this?  War time or something?  What if I put you on a licorice diet?  Only allowed you 5 pieces of licorice once a day?

The Viking:  That’s not the same thing at all!

Me:  Yes it is!  Erik and Annette brought you 83 pounds of candy from Denmark and that might have to last you for 2 years.  It’s totally the same.

The Viking wouldn’t cave but Erik decided to watch his man-ly figure and generously donated his share of the Bits.  Annette and I split them between us because The Viking didn’t deserve any more.  I then proceeded to give him the stink eye all the way home.

We graced Vancouver Island with our presence for 3 days then we headed to Pentiction where we would tour Wineries and lay on the beach.  That was our intention, but it didn’t actually work out that way.  We hit one Winery, only stayed at the beach for an hour and a half before it clouded over, took a ride on an old historic train and got drunk a lot instead.

We did play Mini-Golf but Erik was like some sort of Pool Shark except with golf balls.  Sure, he was humble while we were playing but when he announced that he beat all of us by a minimum of 6 strokes he couldn’t hide the Victory Grin.

I asked, “Is anyone else suspicious that the guy who kept score is also the one that won the game?”  The last laugh was ours the next morning though when Erik developed painful Golfer’s Wrist; we had to find a splint to immobilize it.  What cost the price of Victory?

After Mini Golf we went to a Chinese Buffet and the true difference between how the Danes treat Buffets and how Canadians (at least this Canadian) treat Buffets were glaring.  Annette, The Viking and Erik carefully perused the food and picked out Fishy Stuff.  I perused the food and picked out the stuff I liked and put it on my plate.  Back at the table, my plate was full while their plates held only a few things.  They all finished their first course and returned to the Buffet for their next.

I sat nibbling on my chicken balls, watching the progress of my companions.  It took a moment for what I was seeing to sink into my brain.  The Viking was first, Annette was second and Erik was bringing up the rear.  Their movements were perfectly synchronized!  They all took one step to the right in precise unison.  They all put something on their plate (the hand movements were immaculately synced) and took another flawless step to the right.  They repeated this amazing show the whole way around the Buffet!!  This performance would have captured them a Gold Medal if it was an Olympic Event (we should make this an Olympic Event).  No swim team could have matched the precision.  They returned to the table, in-step, with a military precision Korean soldiers would envy.

“Um….I don’t know if you know this but that was an incredible display of The Buffet Shuffle.”  I said.  “I was completely entertained.  Well done!”

Apparently they had never heard of The Buffet Shuffle so I had to explain the intricate steps and movements involved.  I’ve been to a lot of Buffets in my life – my father is a huge fan – but I’ve never seen the Shuffle done so well.  Unfortunately, I didn’t think to get my phone out and record it until it was too late.  Equally unfortunate was the fact that when I went up to get another dumpling the only person I had to Shuffle with was a very tall, very skinny guy and he was more interested in the Ginger Beef than Shuffling.  I did try though, but had to stop when he caught me trying to match his movements.

We gazed at mountains and glaciers, tramped through a forest, Erik watched whales and the rest of us communed with nature at The Butchart Gardens.  We toasted bikers, toured a Miniature Land and browsed 317 gift shops.  We saw the Hope Slide, the Enchanted Forest, Fisherman’s Wharf and a Water Fall that used to be free but now isn’t.  Erik and The Viking drank Beer with Clamato Juice and Ceasars with abandon and then had the trots.  They didn’t believe me when I told them it was the Clamato Juice so they had the trots for much longer than they needed too.  Annette and I polished off two bottles of Lemon Gin and didn’t get the trots at all.

Most importantly, we had HYGGE.  In abundance!  We just spent time together and laughed and talked and were a family.  It was one of the best times of my life.  You know how sometimes you spend time with people but after a few days you want to shoot them in the face?  Well, this wasn’t one of those things.  It was bliss instead.

We arrived home to two very love-y cats who refused to let any of us out of their sight for two days.  That was fine because we had only a day and a half to prepare for my Wedding.  Thank goodness Annette is a brilliant Hair Stylist.  Also thankfully, she is a calm and serene island in the middle of my Stress Mess.

…..Stay tuned for My Completely Viking Wedding.

I Can’t Just Wing It!

April 2017

The Viking’s brother and his lovely partner Annette are coming for a visit from Denmark in July.  For three weeks.  And I’m not concerned at all.  Because I’m an adult and have two and a half months to prepare.  As a matter of fact, when I told The Viking that I was a little stressed, he said “You have two and a half months to prepare, for fucksakes!”

I shouldn’t be worried at all.  There should be absolutely zero stress involved.  I’ve been the Hostess with the Mostess before; it’s not like I’m a rookie.  I’ve had the Boss and his wife over for dinner.  It was nothing! Friends? Easy-peasy!  The kids?  No problem!  You know where the linens are, help yourself.  If the chicken was a little over-cooked, who cares, right?

This time it’s different.  This time it’s The Viking’s Brother, Erik!  And Annette!  They had the most amazing bed linens and meals that were perfect and hot buns and cheese and cold cuts in the morning and a beautiful home and everything was perfect!  Most importantly, no one was losing their fucking minds trying to be perfect.

I can’t just wing this!  I can’t procrastinate until 3 days before they arrive and then panic.


Today

So guess what I did?

That’s right.  I procrastinated my way to 16 days before their arrival.  And now I’m LIKE THIS!

I need to be fresh and relaxed so they will feel fresh and relaxed.  I can’t meet them at the airport in a full-blown hot flash, reeking of Windex and Bleach.

I should hire people.  Professional people.  Waiters and Chefs and Housekeepers and couriers and a Butler.  I wonder if Ramsay is busy?  No, scratch that!  I can’t have him telling people to fuck off and calling them donkey’s asses while I’m trying to be perfect.  Jamie Oliver then.  Yikes! What if he serves Squid Ink Pasta!  I’ve written an entire blog about my feelings involving Squid Ink Pasta!  If only Julia Child were alive and available.

A mature, experienced woman would start by creating lists to be completed in chronological order as the date of arrival approaches.  But I didn’t do that.  Sure, I scoured the internet until I found amazing linens but that is the extent of my preparations.  I still have so much to do!

  • Paint the family room
  • Hang family room pictures
  • Shampoo carpets
  • Re-Side the house
  • Re-Sod the front yard
  • Build professional flower beds and plant flowers
  • Re-plant flowers because the first ones died
  • Get a Pedi-cure and my nails done
  • Cut The Viking’s hair
  • Get MY hair done
  • Buy a designer water pitcher with matching glasses for the guest room
  • Transform the Office Cubby Thingy in the spare room into a Martha Fucking Stewart creation
  • Re-hang curtain rods in spare room because I fucked up the ones in there already
  • Get a complete make over
  • Make more Poo-Pourri – we only have one bathroom after all
  • Hang The Viking’s Battle Axe and Shield on a wall so he’s not tempted to use it on me
  • Lose 30 pounds
  • Hire a Look Alike so I can hide in a closet and have panic attacks
  • Get the car detailed
  • Buy a hand gun and shoot myself in the head
  • DON’T BUY A HAND GUN!

Crazy GIF - Find & Share on GIPHY

There is a bat-shit crazy squirrel in my head playing every disastrous scenario possible.  What if they have allergies to my laundry detergent? What if I can’t think of anything to say?  What if I say the wrong thing? What if they notice my stress and hate being here?  What if they decide to go home early because I’m a mess?

Maybe I should get some Weed.  If I get stoned will I be like this…..

Apple GIF - Find & Share on GIPHY

or like this?

Getting On GIF - Find & Share on GIPHY

Probably this, because it’s me we’re talking about.  And this is also the reason we don’t have a big fountain in the house – I don’t need to be wasted to fall into it.

Maybe I’ll just try essential oils first.  Apparently lavender, rose, vetiver (whatever the fuck that is), ylang ylang, bergamot, chamomile and frankincense (I thought that was only for Jesus) are good for alleviating anxiety.

I can always go for the devil’s weed later if necessary.

 

 

A Slightly Kinder Version of Hell

I opened my email today and then quickly closed it again.  There were 238 new messages.  238!!  I’m in no shape to deal with that!  I’m barely able to brush my teeth.

It all started last week.  Wait, more accurately, it started 3 years ago but last week was an event of sorts.  It’s genealogy – convoluted, confusing genealogy.  My Great Grandmother started this whole thing when she watched Roots: The Miniseries, way back in the 1970’s.  She started digging and researching and put together an impressive lump of material without the aid of the internet.

My parents took up the cause and collected an even more impressive chunk of information, including photos.  They wandered all over the USA, wrote letters and badgered relatives until they now have branches on the family tree that go back to the 1600’s.  The pile is spectacularly imposing.

All of this information and keepsakes and heirlooms and photos……all of it…..will go to my older sister.  But where does that leave my kids?  What if they want to know the stories about their great, great, great, great, great Grandfather/Grandmother?  It would break my heart to lose all the information that’s been lovingly compiled over 50 years.

I decided that wasn’t going to happen.  About three years ago I started writing a short book about my parents and their parents.  I’ve spent the last 6 months scanning over 800 photos.  Some photos deserved better than my old Brother scanner that tops out at 1200dpi, so I bought another scanner that does 6400dpi.  I taught myself Photoshop and spent hundreds of hours touching up photos.

This brings me why I’m in no shape to deal with 238 245 (more have come in since I started this post) damned emails.

I drove 4 hours to my parents and spent Friday afternoon, all day Saturday and part of Sunday working on notes for their book and going though keepsakes in the family trunk and then drove the 4 hours back home.  I want this project finished so I can move on with my own projects, namely a book on how The Viking and I stormed Europe, offended Catholics, pissed off the Autobahn, shocked small villages and educated Florencians on how to curse.

But for now my brain is full.

It’s so full there isn’t room for anything else.  And I’m tired to the bone.  It’s probably because my brain is so busy trying to compartmentalize all that information that it has nothing left to actually operate my body.  That happens to computers all the time!  It’s so busy updating the Anti-Virus that it can’t play a single game of Solitaire.  That’s totally legit.

Except, apparently, it’s not legit when it’s anything other than a computers.  Because I came home and my car vomited all the binders, photos, keepsakes, tintypes and diaries all over the kitchen.  On Monday I looked at the mess and…..NOPE!  It just wasn’t in me to deal with it.  Yesterday was the same way.  Until The Viking decided that all this shit was messing up the clean kitchen he had personally arranged for me.

 

 

 

So, with aching back and foggy mind, I have picked up the harness of Mundania.  I’ve got no great ideas for a blog post – or supper for that matter.  I’ll come up with something I guess.  It’s supposed to thundershower this afternoon, fucking up any thoughts on barbequing.  I might be able to but as soon as I rely on it the heavens will open up and drown me, the barbeque and whatever the hell the main dish is.  Maybe something in the slow cooker?  It doesn’t give off much heat so shouldn’t turn the house into a slightly kinder version of Hell.

In the meantime, I will tackle the monster that is my Inbox.

Steve & Cheryl – Lost Again!

It’s been a blah week for me.  I can’t seem to get enough sleep.  Usually my pain meds knock me right out – I wouldn’t hear a bomb go off – but lately I’m waking up 2 or three times every night.  And it’s hard to be creative when I’m a zombie.

Actually, if I were a real Zombie, I could probably make a fortune in movie deals.  That’s the only kind of movie they make anymore, isn’t it?  TV series are even worse.

So, I’m glad I have Friday Fictioneers & Rochelle Wisoff-Fields to help with the creative juices.  And Sandra Cook’s photo made it easy for me. Two years ago, The Viking and I spent 7 wonderful weeks driving through Europe.  I kept a journal of our adventures which I will write out into a full Travel Book soon-ish but, in the meantime, I poached a typical moment for Friday Fictioneers.

Steve & Cheryl – Lost Again!

“For Gawdsakes, Cheryl!!  That’s our hotel!  We’re right back where we started!”

Cheryl looked from the hotel to the map.  Once, twice, three times.  “I don’t understand.  The Cathedral should be here!”

“Are you holding the map upside down?”

“No, Steve, I’m not!  It’s all these twisty streets and palazzos every second block!  And why won’t they put proper street signs up?!  How am I supposed to know where we are without street signs?!  Aaaagh!!”  She hit the map with the back of her hand and it ripped in half.

“Okay.  Calm down.  Let’s get a coffee and start again.”

Word count:  100

To read other 100-word stories, click the link below and have fun!  There are some great writers here!

A Family History, A Tax Return And A Book

I’m over-extended. I bit off more than I could chew. I’ve procrastinated myself into a maelstrom of missed deadlines. The pressure is on. I don’t have any time. Every distraction puts me further behind.

It’s my own fault, of course – which makes it worse. I can’t even point a finger at someone and holler “IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!” I can’t even lose my temper because The Viking might list all the time I have wasted in the past 6 months when I could have been working on the projects that I’m now stressing over. I hate it when I think I know what he’s going to say.

Priority One right now is Year End for our business. It’s kind of time sensitive – I can’t put it off for another week because I have invoices for 2017 that have to wait until I’m done 2016. It’s not like it’s difficult, it’s just been neglected into a sweaty, angry mess that I have to untangle and decode before I can end it.

In my defense, I found something I wanted to do more than the things I am supposed to be doing. I can’t be alone in that. Who wouldn’t want to write a blog post instead of entering depreciation of company-owned machines? I took a whole diploma program for business accounting so I could do our books only to discover that I hate accounting. This sort of thing happens to me more than you might imagine. Be that as it may, it’s a chore that has to be done and I’m the only one capable of doing it.

I’ve promised to stay on top of it in the future so I don’t have to spend weeks at the end of the year. Sigh.

Priority Two is the huge project that I took on without knowing exactly how much work it would actually be. I wanted to give my children a story and pictures about where and who they come from. Every kid should know that.

So, I’ve been scanning old pictures; I’ve spent hundreds and hundreds of hours doing it. The book portion of the project is about half finished but I’m not really happy with it so will start from scratch again. It’s all worth it for my kids and grandkids though. Right? And as soon as I’ve finished Year End, this becomes my Number One Priority.

Priority Three is a labour of love. The Viking and I subjected ourselves on Europe for 7 weeks in 2014, from Denmark to Italy to Croatia and back to Denmark. I kept a journal of our adventures and I will expand it and, hopefully, have it published. Trust me that no one has ever taken a European Vacation like The Viking and I did. Seriously.

And now that I’ve written all my priorities down, I can see a hint of New Year’s Resolutions which I had decided not to do because I never take them seriously enough. These might resemble Resolutions but they definitely are not Resolutions. These are……um……hmmm…..well I don’t know what to call these other than Priorities so that’s what they are.

I have a plan. It’s a good plan, a meaty plan that, once accomplished, should make me feel like a Goddess. A Goddess with a Family History and a Tax Return and a Book! If only the Gawds will play along…..

And then I can celebrate!