Camouflage Style

My husband looked at me contemplatively as I got dressed that morning. “Sweetie,” he said, “why are you wearing a camouflage shirt?” I didn’t think I’d heard him correctly. “A what?” I said. “I’m wearing a what?” He nodded his head as if to confirm his fashion diagnosis. “Yes. You’re wearing a camouflage shirt and I just wondered why.” I could not believe what I was hearing. “What’s wrong with you?” I said. “This is not a camouflage shirt. It’s an abstract floral pattern in earth tones — very ‘in’ for spring, I’ll have you know.” He just smiled. “Sure, dear,” he said. “Whatever you say. But it’s a camouflage shirt.” And, really, looking at these photos now, I can sort of see what he means. Just as long as y’all know it is not a camouflage shirt but it a highly stylish piece of fashion art. Or something. Also: I blame the neck wrinkles, tummy bulges and droopy boobs you see here on my husband’s photography and the fact that he would not let me do the half-turn hand-on-hip camera-friendly celebrity pose.  And those are streaks of blonde in my hair, not streaks of gray. Other than that, though, this is pretty much me. Minus the camouflage shirt.

Of Food, Clocks and Men

Here are some things I’ve written lately — a couple of food stories and my weekly newspaper column — that you might like to read. And this does not mean I’m too lazy to put up a blog post this morning. No, it does not mean that at all. Nope. Definitely not.

Did you know that food can help you deal with the stress of this weekend’s time change? It’s true. Studies show that the first few days after springing forward (and you have to do that this Sunday morning, remember) can be stressful as folks adjust to the changing routine. But using mealtimes as a way to combat the effects of eating breakfast in the dark and supper at 10 p.m. can help! (This story includes some fun and easy breakfast ideas.)

And don’t forget that St. Patrick’s Day is Thursday. Even here in northwest Alabama, where leprechauns are pretty rare and Guiness is considered an exotic brew, there’s a deep Irish connection we can honor with food.

I’m almost 54 years old. I still do not always understand men. And by “men,” of course, I mean my husband. But when the “men” are a precious 3-year-old who’s cute and sweet and has a smile that makes me melt and say things such as “Sure, sweetie, I’ll read ‘Cat in the Hat’ again for the fifth time,” I understand completely.

Computers, or Why the @#$% Isn’t Mine Working?

You know, I usually think that I’m a pretty independent person. I mean, I don’t need much hand-holding. It’s true that my husband is in charge of critter removal and he insists on doing the heavy lifting when we go to the recycling center, but other than that, in general, I consider myself as tending toward the capable side. Except, apparently, when it comes to my laptop. I was a late adopter of wireless computing — I’ve only had my beloved workhouse for about four years. But I use it everyday. It’s part of my routine: Snarl at the cat to get her claws off of my shoulder at 5 a.m., give up and get up, feed cats, make coffee, get paper out of box, turn on laptop and the day has started. So a couple of days ago, when my laptop refused to cooperate, it threw my whole schedule out of whack. (And, as my husband thoughtfully pointed out, do we ever say that anything is “in whack?” Interesting. Sort of like you never hear about “gruntled” employees.) I always forget how much I depend on the computer for work and friends and news and mindless entertainment until I don’t have it anymore and that makes me ponder how it happened that my laptop is such an integral part of what I do and who I am. And then I just drink more coffee and harangue my computer guru about WHY IS THIS TAKING SO LONG???? After a couple of days of testing and getting advice and trying different things, I’m still laptop-less. But we’re getting closer, I think. And, honestly, my computer guru is the best ever and I’m not telling you who he is because I don’t want to share. So there. My husband has taken great pity on me — or maybe he’s just tired of my ranting and raving — and volunteered his laptop for my early-morning forays into World Wide Web Land until mine is back among the living. Keep your fingers crossed.


Okay, everybody out there who sleeps with a snorer, raise your hands. Just as I thought: A lot of you all know what I’m talking about here. Oh, I love my husband deeply and he’s a great guy and where would I be without him? But he snores. And here’s the thing: He sort of knows he snores. He’ll snore and I’ll wake up and then he’ll wake up and ask me if he was snoring and I’ll say “yes” and he’ll say “sorry” and then he’ll immediately go back to sleep and … start snoring again. At home this is not a problem since there are other sleeping spots to choose from. And when we’re on the road we usually try to get those two-room suites with a couch. But sometimes in some situations there’s nowhere to go. A couple of weeks ago that’s exactly what had happened: It was 2 a.m. and we had a long and tiring day ahead of us (my husband actually had two long and tiring days ahead of him) and we had one bed in one room. Luckily, I came up with a creative solution. Sort of, at least. Read my weekly newspaper column at to find out what it was and tell me what you think.