America at Its Finest

Saturday night my husband and I attended a small town rodeo in St. George, Utah. It was packed with families dressed up in cowboy boots and big belt buckles. Snow cones, nachos and hot dogs were feasted upon with great enthusiasm.


Before the start of the rodeo they honored all of the U.S. servicemen who have given their lives for our freedom and they prayed for the men and women who are currently serving our country with honor. They brought out American flags and they sang the national anthem. The announcer prayed for the evening and thanked God for the freedom to pray and to play in freedom. Truly it was America at its finest.


Please let's not take our freedoms for granted. If you are not registered to vote, please go register. The freedom to vote in an election should not be taken lightly--vote. Let's keep America at its finest.

A Day Off ?

My favorite commercial on TV right now, is a State Farm commercial. (Of course, it could have something to do with the fact my husband is a State Farm agent.) Anyway, I digress. The ad is the one with the young woman sitting in the airport with her laptop. She's complaining about how busy her life is and then she says, "I haven't had a day off since the 3rd grade!" Oh my! How I relate to that statement.

Life is so busy all the time. Even when I plan a day off, something happens, like my water heater ruptures, the car breakdowns or someone invites us to something that I feel we just can't miss. Honestly, it's been like that since the 3rd grade.

Currently, I am holed up finishing up my next manuscript. For the next ten day, my life is married to this manuscript. Once it in the hands of my editor. I am taking a day off!

In Hot Water

Every time my husband is gone away from home for an extended time a "home crisis" occurs. Once the freezer in garage went out. I came home to discover blood running down my driveway from the unthawed meat! Gross! The list of these type of "trials" could go on and on.

As I said in my last post, my husband is in Milwaukee being a Harley biker. I'm tucked away writing the manuscript for my next book. Everything is calm and quiet. Until I trot out to the garage to get myself a diet Pepsi. Stop! Wait! Water is running through the garage and and down the driveway. Oh, great! The hot water heater ruptured--now I have no hot water and a soggy garage. Oh, well. What did Peter say?

"I know how great this makes you feel, even though you have to put up with every kind of aggravation in the meantime. So be truly glad. There is wonderful joy ahead, even though you have to endure many trials for a little while. Pure gold put in the fire comes out of it proved pure; genuine faith put through this suffering comes out proved genuine (1 Peter 1:6,7 MSG)."

Okey, dokey! I will rejoice in the streams of hot water until the plumber arrives. Now what did I go into the garage for anyway?

A Harley Hog's Wife

My guy's a Harley guy. I love him dearly, but a two week motorcycle trip across country is a bit much for me.

My husband is off on a two week motorcycle trip with one of his buddies to Milwaukee, Wisconsin. (We live in Las Vegas.) So for the next couple of weeks, I am watching chick flicks, staying up late, sleeping in late, plus eating all kinds of girly type of foods.

However, I can't wait to be serving meat and potatoes to my man again. I miss him a ton.

On another note, I was asked about my thoughts on The Shack. I did blog about it a couple of months ago. I just listened to the audio version of the The Shack. My personal opinion is the book is much better than the audio version. The audio version sounded amateurish.

All right, I am signing off. I have a movie to watch.

My Little Boy Blue

On Saturady we celebrated my grandson, Michael's first birthday. I wondered how the year past so quickly.

Grandmommy Barb and I reminisced about what we were doing a year ago. (Waiting anxiously for baby to arrive.) We were allowed the honor and privilege of being in the delivery room. Now a year later we sat together and celebrated his life of one year.

The exceptionally talented, in all areas, Grandmommy Barb created the monkey cake.

Times flies! Enjoy your family.

Nightmare Comes True--But Results in a Bargain

My biggest phobia is anything than crawls with six or eight legs. Just the thought of insects and spiders almost cause me to experience anxiety attack. My nightmares consist of bugs scampering across my sheets and onto my skin. I awake brushing "things" off of me and my husband, Mark, shakes to me reality "Susanne! There are no bugs"

So, I was in a store the other day considering a new computer case. I held it. I opened zippered pockets. I sniffed the new leather. I opened the bag wide to inspect its depth. Unfortunately, I disturb a very large, ink black cricket. It leapt onto my hand and twitched itself awake.

I screamed! I jerked! I danced as if I was on hot coals. I threw the bag.

The store clerk almost died of fright, too. (Not from the cricket, but by my frantic antics). She apologized repeatedly. Although she was jittery about insects too, she gallantly swept it out the door. Again, she apologized profusely.

My pounding heart slowed to a regular beat. I apologized for my over reaction to the critter.

We both stood looking at each other with embarrassment. Finally, I broke the awkward silence.

"Uh, I'll take the computer case," I said.

She responded with, "Well, I am giving you a twenty-five percent discount, for this unfortunate incident.

A nightmare come true--a bargain--I am still trying to figure out if was worth it.

Older than Dirt

Hey, I am back! I have to tell you that my dear friend Lysa has the best blog. I have laughed and thought to myself, "My goodness she has a funny life!"

Well, I guess I need to revisit my own daily life.

Recently I went to Myrtle Beach with four of my dearest friends. We ate tons of seafood, sat on the beach, laughed, shopped and decided to get a henna tattoo. Four of us headed into a store front that advertised henna tattoos. We trounced into the store to be greeted by a guy who had more body piercings than I have pores. We smiled. He scowled.

"We would like to get henna tattoos," I said.

"We're out of paint." he said.

"Out of paint?"

"Yeah, go across the street to the beach store," and he turned his back to us.

Hmmm. . . maybe he didn't want to mess with four very out of place women who were looking for a little adventure.

So we trotted across the street to the beachware shop. Still smiling, "We would like to get a henna tattoo, please."

"We don't do henna tattoos here, but there's a place down the street. Let me give you directions," said a very nice young man in his twenties.

He gave us the name and detailed instructions on how to drive there. As I listened, it didn't seem to me hat it was very far away.

"How far is it? Could we walk?" I asked.

His face turned serious and he reviewed each one of us closely.

"It's about a block and half away. Y'all look like you're in fairly good shape. You might be able to walk it."


Did I hear him right? Did he think that we "old" ladies might not be able to walk a block and half? I did hear him and he was serious. We thanked him and left somewhat deflated in our adventure.

We toddled off to the next store where we all finally got our little old lady type of tattoo and felt quite young as we sported our henna trophy back to our beach cottage for the night. It was about 7:00 pm. Hmmm . . .

In Faith,