Where to Begin?

Since my last post, the following has happened:

* Shelley and I went on a vacation to Playa de Carmen, and narrowly escaped the wrath of Hurricane Wilma by getting out 2 1/2 hours before they closed the airport in Cancun. We would literally still be there today (a week later) if we hadn't gotten out when we did.

* My personal computer at home was all but wiped out by a nasty virus named Trojan.Vundo, which was finally removed Tuesday night but has left my computer with a severe case of the "slows". I will be re-loading Windows XP this weekend and hoping to recover all the files which seem to be lost for now, hopefully recuperating my ability to work on my business, as well.

* Did I mention Shelley and I are both taking two antibiotics each for the dysentery we picked up in Mexico? Dysentery, according to the dictionary, is an amoebic, parasitic infection of the intestines usually transmitted by contaminated water. [Note to self - next vacation must involve an area safe from hurricanes where the primary language spoken is English and the water is safe to drink. Consider trip to St. Paul, Minnesota to see "world's largest adirondack chair".]

* The Astros won the National League pennant for the first time in their history, but tickets to the games locally were $1,000 each, pricing Austin and me out of the market. Just as well, since they lost both games in Houston while being swept by the Chicago White Sox. Disappointment reigns at my house, but we are encouraged that maybe the souvenir t-shirts and pennants will come down to a less-obscene price over the next several days.

Finally a story intended to bring a needed smile to my sister. Three weeks ago, Braden asked Shelley out of the clear blue "where'd Aunt Julie go?" Shelley told him she was at her house in Oklahoma, with Uncle Jeff, Jefferson and Jacob. Braden looked at her, puzzled, and asked "Homa-homa?" which made Shelley laugh. And because she laughed, we spent the next week having our 3-year-old run around the house repeating "Homa-homa, Homa-homa" while all of us fell about in stitches. Eventually Shelley would try to correct him - "no baby, it's OKLA-homa" - to no apparent effect.

This morning, because such things were woven into our everyday lives by Mom growing up, I was singing the lead song from the musical "Oklahoma". (Except I was doing it to torment all the groggy people milling around my house trying to get going.) Braden interrupted me from his usual spot on the bar stool at our kitchen island to say "id not Homa-homa da-ee, id Okla-homa". So it is baby - so it is...

You're in our prayers, Sis.