I might be a bit twisted, but I'm fixing that.

Let me just say that I have a longstanding rule about going to the doctor: I do not web surf to determine what this or that pain might be or to learn what may lie ahead of whatever fix I have coming. I'm a world-class worrier already. I don't need more anxiety from the myriad possibilities the interwebs offer.

I didn't do it when I had a child.
I didn't do it when I had my first root canal.
I didn't do it when my knee hurt so bad I couldn't walk.
I didn't do it when I was sure I was dying of uterine cancer.

Spoiler alert: the baby arrived just fine while I was in a morphine coma; my only root canal pain came from having my mouth open for so long, which surprised me as I can yammer on; I didn't need knee replacement; and it was a UTI easily fixed with meds

So when I was first encouraged to see a chiropractor,  I laughed politely and said I'd consider it. I can pop my own back, thank you very much, I was thinking. Years later, still in pain, I capitulated. How bad could it be? Tons of people see chiropractors every day. And my friend Bree Emsweller owns the place I went to. You may remember her from steering me toward lip waxing. I was temporarily less hairy, but man, I'm pretty sure that's on the list of things Homeland Security does in dark rooms in third world countries.

At Book Club the other day, I was complaining about my leg. Bree pushed and prodded on me awhile and suggested I visit  the Joint in Broad Ripple.

I was expecting a strenuous massage.

I kind of got beat up.

Don't get me wrong: it's been helpful. But I was really expecting something different than what I got. Remember, I did zero research other than Googling to figure out what to wear.

So I was a little tense, not knowing exactly what to expect. There was a moment when I was sure the good doctor had mistaken me for a chicken on a Sunday when the preacher was coming over for dinner.

After a couple of twists and jerks, he said, "I think we'll try something different; you don't seem to be relaxing enough to make that effective,"

I thought: "You got that right, buddy." I mean, it was like he was Tom Cruise and I was a bad guy who had to die silently. Who can relax in a situation like that?

The alternative was he took something like a hammer -- I was face down by this time on the table and didn't see the device he used -- and commenced to thumping on the sides of my neck like I was a watermelon he wasn't sure was quite ripe.

It was waaaaaaay better than the wrenching thing. but all things being equal, it's not something I'd generally pay for.

If you haven't been to a chiropractor to get what they call an "adjustment", let me clue you in: an adjustment requires the chiropractor to prod and pull and push on your body until your joints cry "Uncle." You're on a table that pops with every vigorous pummeling. It sounds like a jail door slamming shut on your innocence.

Sometimes he'll just pull your leg, but not in a fun kind of jokey way. He literally yanks on your leg.

And when you stand up at the end, you feel.... better.

Or I did. I'm still analyzing it, but apparently I have a twisted/tilted/uneven pelvis that needs to be pushed, pulled and prodded back into place. It's been the issue affecting my walk and potentially is why I have had leg pain for the last several years.

I'm kind of excited about it. Until, you know, I have to lay down again and have my joints pummeled back into the position they should have been in all along.

I think I recommend it. But I'm twisted/tilted/uneven.

Take my word for what it's worth.

I'll be on the porch

It all started when Ali and I fixed the door from our garage to the back porch. It failed to shut properly since we moved in back in 1998 but it was the back porch and we had other other priorities.

The ugliness of the concrete block wall into which the door fit was an annoyance that I lived with, tried temporary fixes and groused about. For years, I had an item on my Christmas list for wall board to cover it up.

Then, earlier this year, on a trip to a local liquor store with Jeff, I saw an entry way paneled with a small mosaic of wooden wine crate panels. "That's it," I said. "That's what we should do with the porch."

In July, I started prepping. Was I putting off my angst over Alison's imminent residency at Purdue by scraping off the hideous brown, square linoleum flooring until I wore a hold in the center of my hand? Yes, of course.

We'd considered the flooring so terrible we didn't care if we spilled paint and glitter and glue from our various art projects when she was so little she didn't know I have no talent with paint or glitter or glue. I had happy flashbacks with every splatter I found as I tore off those squares.

It was another couple of weeks stripping the peeling paint from existing wood and the door, then priming and painting them.

Finally, we were ready to address the wall. I won't bore you with the hours of varnishing, measuring, cutting, re-measuring, re-cutting, sanding, gluing, mixing and matching it took to get us to the finished product. Notoriously impatient, I had Thanksgiving as a deadline for it all to be done.

We went through four tubes of "all weather" Gorilla Glue, two cans of paint stripper and have, of course, leftover primer and paint. I used most of our Goo Gone and probably will need more if we're to keep the floor. Jeff hates my idea of using wine corks as a baseboard, so we have that battle still to come. But miraculously it was a project with little marital discord.

Mostly because I gave Jeff moral support and fetched this and that while he worked out what when where. Our neighbors may tell you there was a fair amount of cursing and muttering. They're probably exaggerating.

More than 130 panels made it onto that wall; some in their original size and some pared down to fit.

The circle is a French oak red wine barrel top we scored on a trip to Casey Brewing and Blending in Glenwood Springs, CO. Seemed fitting that we included it because it blends Jeff's love of craft beer with my wine appreciation. (They age some their beer in wine barrels.) John, our tasting guru was kind enough to sign and date it for us.

Other than the wine barrel lid and my insistence in the spring (long before I saw the wall in that liquor store) that yes, we would find a use for those cool wine crates,  it was Jeff who secured the 170-plus wine panels we had to work with.

Some of the panels came as actual wine crates from local liquor stores. The last-minute donation from John and Chris at Kahn's Fine Wines saved us from the terrible fate of having to use duplicate panels.

Jim at The Wine Shop and the crew at SoBro Spirits contributed crates and panels, as well. Others were sourced by the bargain-hunting, eBay surfer, Captain Reed.

In addition to his procurement skill, Jeff is the master when it came to execution. Mostly because math and I kind of hate each other's guts and it turns out that math skills are key when trying to fit mismatched shapes onto a flat surface.

The Captain and I are at odds over whether to keep the floor as is. I kind of like it. It's old and has character. I can see it on the floor of a wine cellar. We'll get the curtains back up soon and I'll figure out what furniture will go in there. There's no heat or cooling out there, so we won't likely keep wine out there except to serve. There will be a lot of serving...

I'm settling into the idea that Ali doesn't live here anymore. Typing that sentence did make me cry, so maybe I'm not really there yet. It is so weird that she's not here. Sigh. But she's doing so well at Purdue. And she'll be home to visit soon. It's all good. All good.

Man, I might need some wine. Or I'll get started on the floor. Or the furniture. Or a care package for my little Boilermaker. Or actual PR work. Maybe I'll get back to what's going on in Claymont, and you know there's a ton of stuff happening there.

Until winter sets in, I'll be on the porch. Come on by. We'll have some wine.

We said it would be a month

Thirty days. 3.0. A month before we'd see our little Boilermaker.

It's advice gifted me by my friend Chris Austin in the form of "The Naked Roommate: For Parents Only." It's designed to ensure your child goes off to college and forms relationships and routine such that he/she will be more inclined to survive, if not thrive, their freshman college year.

But I forgot about Labor Day and its 3-day weekend.

"Let's go get her," I said to the Captain.

"We can't," he said. "She needs a month. You said so."

I huffed a bit but decided he was right. She made plans to visit a friend in Chicago and arranged for a bus ride to get herself there.

Back in Indy, we had an awesome time with Eric and Tracy at the Indians' game (Tracy's first baseball game, somehow), dinner with them, Jeff & Susan and Jack & Karen on Saturday; then a jaunt on the Red Line's debut day and dinner with Tracy & Eric and Karin & Dale on Sunday.

I checked on Ali -- she had a great time other than having to step around a pile of steaming vomit on a Chicago bus. Her friend Allie, shrugged and said, "You get used to it."

Sometime during the weekend, I lamented the 30-day thing to Jeff, who coughed and hesitated. "Yeah, about that," he said.

I narrowed my eyes.

"Remember that I go to the Purdue/Vanderbilt football game every year with Andy and Bryan?" he said.

I nodded.

"It's next weekend," he said. "We have an extra ticket. For Ali."

I wanted to complain. OK. I complained.

But I did want one of us to get eyes on the girl. Did I want it to be him without me? Nope. But such is life. Plus, I'd asked for a lot of additional work to keep me from being helicopter-y and the universe delivered. So I needed a day to catch up.

They had a great time. She showed up with proper spirit and appetite, hung out with them a while and ditched them to watch the game with some new buddies. 

As for the Indy weekend, here are a few shots. Should have taken more but we were more in the moment than I thought. It was a great weekend.

We are building an awesome wall

It's probably not The Wall that first sprang to your mind. This one is a happy wall. An inviting wall. A wall that says, "Hey, come on in here and stay a while."

That's of course as long as we don't get divorced getting it up.

The Before, though in my defense this was a rare
time we used the porch as a storage shed.

The Captain and I don't have a stellar record of working closely together. Years ago, before we were married, he dropped in on me at work to spend some quality time just hanging out. I was at work. I may have given him the hand.

Later, he came home to find me rebuilding the walkway from the driveway to the house. "Have you done ANY research into how to do that right?" he asked.

Talk about a project delay. The Central Avenue bridge project has nothing on Jeff Reed interrupting my divine inspirations.

No excuse for letting this go so long.

Our project right now is covering up the ugly, painted concrete block wall that serves as the garage wall on one side and the back porch on the other. It's going to -- one day -- be covered in wine crate panels. I did all the grunt work of stripping old paint, repainting and removing some fairly hideous linoleum tiles from the floor, cleaning, prepping, etc... The Captain kept measuring the wall in his head and comparing it to the size of the panels.

I was all set to start gluing the panels we had on hand straight to the wall. He kept muttering about the effect moisture and extreme temperatures have one wood. (The porch isn't heated or air-conditioned.)

I maintained that the wooden ceiling is in pristine shape and, I thought to myself: "Wine crates survive in caves and coolers and out in the vineyard. They must love weather shifts. Plus, imperfections in the wood is what will make the wall extra cool.

He decided we needed furring strips so we could test the glue on painted concrete and we could adhere wood to wood. Sigh.

"Did you wait for that paint to fully dry before you put on a second coat?" he asked me after inspecting the door.

I wisely did not answer. A few weeks later, he said, "You're going to have to do more painting around that door."

As he's was paying way more attention, I waited a loooooong time between those coats.

Then, he said we needed to coat the wine panels with urethane. The guy at Lowe's agreed with him, so he came home with more brushes and rollers and other home improvement paraphernalia.

Him: "Two coats!" "Get the edges and the grooves." "Don't drip on the edges!" "Go slow! It bubbles if you don't and I have to sand that down." "Slow down!"  "Let it dry!"

Me: Sigh.

While he measured and muttered and chastised the wood for not being exactly what he wanted and wondered if the panels had grown or shrank since his last measure, I spent a good hour or so arranging the first section of the wall with the panels that were -- finally! urethaned and properly dried.

I used an old sheet on the garage floor that I'd marked with the dimensions of the wall. (Not my idea; but it was a good one.) Except the sheet was old and stretchy, and my lines didn't match up exactly right. In my defense, you try using a Sharpie to mark a straight, 88-inch-long line on a sheet that you don't discover until later is already not straight. I could have used Donald Trump's expertise at this point.

"Hmmm," said the Captain, later examining my work and mentally judging it against the actual wall. I went to bed. He stayed up and reconfigured.

Over the years, we've learned a few things about working together.

1. I will never have his patience and when it comes to needing to measure stuff, I should just let Captain OCD do it. 
2. He will never like grunt work or cleanup and I should play to my strengths.
3. When he talks to himself, don't engage. He's arguing with the wood or the faucet or the glue. Entering those conversations just delays the project.
4. What I lack in precision and detail, I make up for in energy and flexibility. You've got a better idea? Go for it. I'll be watching TV. And I'll bring you a drink and a snack later.

This explains why today on our full day of wall work, I'm at my laptop and he is buzzing about outside measuring our latest panels, and doing his own version of the jigsaw puzzle of how the panels will fit. He's become more committed to the project of late and when asked, "How's your wife's wall project coming along," His response was, "It's my project now."

Truth be told, I need him on this. I may or may not have glued one panel upside down while I was working solo the other day but caught and corrected it before the glue dried, and, more importantly, before the Captain got home. It was perfectly positioned in its place but for the upside down thing...

Do I need his concern that we not have two French wine panels right next to each other? Nope. But I direct you to Rule No. 1 of The Rules of Working Well with Captain Reed. If we ever finish, it'll be better fitted together than had I done it alone. Will anyone really notice but us? I say no. The Captain disagrees and reminds me that HE will notice.

There's not a lot of uniformity when it comes to wine panels when it comes to width, length or thickness -- a fact I'm counting on to make the wall interesting.

I scored the top of a wine barrel a brewery in Colorado uses to age beer. Seems like a perfect way to merge my wine appreciation and Jeff's craft beer fixation. Plus, it's wicked big, round and will take up a lot of room. Configuring around it will be a chore for Captain OCD and his new/old saw he brought home from Maine.

Some of the panels we got at local stores, but Jeff has been eBaying like a demon. We have had and even still have some of the bottles from the brands, but not most of them.

All in all, it's been a fun project. He's occasionally mentioned the cost of all the panels that he's been ordering. I remind him that my wall will stand for years while his craft beer is literally pissed away, remembered only on his beer app.

Here's where we were yesterday. We're hoping to finish the short wall today. Judging by the conversation going on in the porch right now, I'd say that's ambitious. If you're within earshot, I apologize for the language.

Sea urchin? Of course. I'm cool like that.

I like to think I'm an adventurer. I'm a curious person and I will try just about anything. Climb to the top of the world just to see what I can see? Sure. Jump off a roof? All the time when I was a kid.

Jump in a two-seater airplane with no instrument panel and a rope system for guidance flown by a pilot 20 years past the time he should be driving a car ? Why not? It was for a news story.

So when the owner of a restaurant in Colorado offered us a delicacy that he'd acquired just two hours ago and was super hard to get, of course I said I'd love to try sea urchin.

This is what sea urchins look like in their natural habitat →→→



This is what's inside a sea urchin.
←←←


This is what sea urchin sushi looks like.  →→→→

Ours had only one dollop of the delicacy, and the vessel that held it was much taller and filled with rice. Our restaurant friend described it as "the butter of the sea."

Now, I'm not sure who first decided to:

A. Dive to the ocean seabed to discover and acquire a sea urchin;
B. Think, "Hey, that looks tasty!"
C. Battle the spikes to open a sea urchin; and
D. Taste the innards of a sea urchin and decide, "I gotta get me more of this!"

But it wasn't and would never be me.

I  grew up in the country and know full well where my protein comes from, but I still don't like debris on my dinner plate. My mother-in-law would have disowned me if she knew I think digging out lobster or crab meat is more work than it's worth (not to mention the carcass pile.) Alison disagrees and is up to her elbows in crab legs as often as she can be.

I know it's not sophisticated of me, but in addition to not liking bones on my plate, I never want a fish to be looking up at me. That said, I did have a lovely oyster on the half shell this week. (I put the shell back in the center dish and was grateful when the plate was retrieved.)

My general thought is that when nature gives you barbs or shells to protect your insides, your insides are either pretty damn awesome or they're deadly. And you'll probably live your life just fine not knowing whether that creature would be the best thing you've ever wrapped your tongue around or would leave you with poison bubbling from your burned out mouth.

But back to the sea urchin I didn't have to catch or debarb. The chef was not wrong about the texture. It was like butter. But I doubt your butter tastes like, fish. But with extra fish. Like, lots and lots of fish.

And, it was a two-bite portion.

So yeah. I'm sitting there with the owner of this restaurant who's GIVEN us this treat, which you know has to be super expensive and we know is as fresh as seafood in Colorado can be. I take the first bite.

The chef is standing there, beaming, knowing we're going to love it. I don't know what the Captain's facial reaction was, but Meryl Streep had nothing on me even as my brain was delivering an all-caps banner ad in bold, red capital letters: YOU HAVE TO TAKE ANOTHER BITE OF THIS THING.

I sent a quick message to my stomach to hold on tight to the butter of the sea and quickly shoveled in the remaining morsel, all the while nodding and marveling as I described its scrumptious-ness to our host. I don't think I visibly shuddered.

It was an experience, that's for sure. The rest of the meal was out-of-this world fabulous, by the way. I'd totally go back there. But I'll be dodging the generous chef.

In other Colorado news, we had an amazing trip. I got to see my awesome friend, Kathy Van Buskirk and meet her super fun family. We went to an area of Denver famous for food and murals. (Indy may need to go there and learn how to roll out murals.) Food was great. The company was way better.

We were in Colorado because Jeff had an opportunity to learn some wonky, arcane utility stuff and it came the day after we delivered Ali to college. I went along for the ride, and we tacked on a couple of days that allowed Jeff to visit Casey Brewing & Blending, which creates some of his favorite fruited, sour beer.

We drove from Denver to the brewery and overnighted in nearby Glenwood Springs, home of the Thai restaurant where we encountered the sea urchin. We also had a fabulous breakfast at Sweet Coloradough, which boasts the best donut in Colorado. I feasted on samples and had a breakfast sandwich and a wicked good bloody Mary.  Jeff had donuts and declared them amazing.

The night before, we walked to a hot springs that offers a variety of temperature tubs that overlook the Colorado River. We were there at sunset and walked a super spooky mile back into town in the pitch black dark along the river.

Had we encountered rapists or murderers along our river walk, I had planned to tell them that we were full of sea urchin...

Our view from the hot springs.

There's a School Around Here Somewhere ...

"I know there's a school around here somewhere. It's not always going to be like summer camp."

That was Ali on the eve of her first "real" day at Purdue University.

Her summer camp reference was to Boiler Gold Rush, a $320 chance to move in a week before classes, meet new friends, get acclimated to campus and campus life. For those of you who will face a decision like this in the future: spend the money, swallow hard and send your baby early.

It's not about you anymore. Not that it ever was.

BGR offers a ton of activities, including some assemblies, which Ali pointed out later, are actually optional. "Because, you know, we're adults now and we can decide what we do."

She did do some of the "official" stuff, but she also played glow-in-the-dark capture the flag, ran through fountains, danced and acted like a crazy kid. It was mostly lots of fun and gave her the chance to actually know some of the thousands of people who, come class time, will be jostling through the stairwells and sidewalks.

I joined a Facebook parents group just to see if there was stuff I needed to know. Mostly I lurk and make fun of some of the parents who seem to want to live under their kid's beds. (Yeah, yeah, it occurred to me, but I would never DO it). One guy had the guts to post something like, "Are any of your students actually doing any of the move-in work?" That guy better never run into some of the moms who chewed on him like feral cats. "This is supposed to be a SAFE place!" one whined. That page is a lot like watching reality TV -- makes you feel better about your own level of crazy.

We had some teary moments during drop-off, but it was mostly good. BGR makes move-in easy as crew meet you and lug most of your stuff upstairs for you. They don't accept tips, but give good advice and so most of the heavy lifting.

Ali's Herron High School and Ireland travel buddy, Corie, came by and hung out with us. She downloaded all she'd learned by moving in the day earlier. We found a place for lunch where Ali could indulge her love of crab, loaded the girls up on snacks and dropped them on the sidewalk with just enough time to get to a BGR meeting. Leaving her with Corie made it a lot better than leaving her alone.

I didn't cry all the way home, but there were more than a few misty miles. It's a good thing the Captain was driving. I'm not going to sugar coat it, it was hard and I miss her. I had a lump in my throat the size of Chicago for most of drop-off day Made it hard to talk. To breathe.

At the same time, I was/am so proud of her.

Until, of course, I got home and realize she's relocated the stupid rubber snake she'd bought to torment me just before her departure. I'd purposefully left it where she'd hidden it so it wouldn't give me a heart attack. I was going to take care of it when I got home. And yes, I almost stepped on it and wet myself when I finally found it again. I could hear her evil cackle as I recovered my composure.

So she spent her first several days having fun. She's been great about sending a text now and again.

She called us her first Sunday night to report in before she had to actually get to schoolwork. All seemed well and she was excited for her 8 a.m. chemistry class -- one of three chem classes she's taking. (Crazy, right?!)

"Well, I guess I'm going to have to set two alarms," she reported to her father the next day.

That's right, she slept through most of her first class on her first day. I'm sure she was cussing up a blue streak and skid into class with her glasses askew and hair sticking up on all sides. She made a point to introduce herself and apologize to the professor after, though. Chemistry is her favorite subject and her major, so I'm glad she took the initiative. The lecture was recorded, so no real harm done. Welcome to college, Ali.... :)

And yes, she's been setting two alarms ever since, and she's learning that her high school habits don't exactly work for college assignments. There's a lot more reading, a lot more out-of-class work and a lot more work in general. But she's digging in.

Some things she's learned:

• If you don't lock your bike, it will end up in a tree. (That's not her bike. She was part of the squad that planted it up there, because she's evil Alison Reed.)
• If your room-mate gets sick, you will, too.
• Staying up til 2:30 a.m. watching movies with your new friends makes it hard to get to morning classes, even with two alarms.
• It's awesome to have a stir fry station in your dorm.
• Calling your mom on her birthday is the best gift you can give her.

She has her first week in, and I haven't called to check on her. Her name did come up last night, as we had an impromptu dinner with friends. Jeff said, "She's probably out drinking."

He's such a comfort.

I'm not crying; you're crying

We're all wearing our game faces as life as we know it winds down to what I truly hope will be an exciting,wonderful and inspirational time for my little redhead.

We have four days left until she heads off to West Lafayette to Boiler up! I use the exclamation point because that's what comes after those two words, not because I'm always excited at the thought of her starting her college career.

I'm proud of her -- it's hard not to be.  And I'm happy and excited for this next chapter in her life. We've been preparing her for it since we read that first book to her and stepped back with our hands up in surrender when she insisted, "I can DO it myself."

But it's also sad to think that I'll soon call her name to tell her something funny or ask "Do these shoes live here?" and she won't be here to answer. Her shoes won't be clogging up the entry way. Her empty mac-n-cheese bowl won't be on the couch. She won't be on the other end of the couch when it's time to read or watch TV or nap.

Sigh.

A friend of mine told me about "soiling the nest," a phenomenon where kids about to leave home start acting badly in a subconscious way that makes it easier on everyone when it's time to part. Ali hasn't done that. If anything, she's done the opposite as she battles the bittersweet along with us.

She's not afraid to take on the challenge of college. She knows she'll be OK and that there will be a time of adjustment. But she admits that she'll miss us, too.

We've been shopping and packing and doing the things you need to do.

"This is weird," she said the other day as we were literally getting things she'd need in her new home.

I looked back at her and said, "What's weird is that I'm helping you do it."

In addition to her prep work, she's spent time with her closest friends. Two weeks in Ireland with one group and most recently with a different group she first met when they all sat at the same table at lunch their first day at Herron High School.

Every kid should be so lucky to have found friends like she has at Herron. I'd do anything for anyone of those beautiful people.

Ali's lunch table group has remained close all four years. At one point, they joked about forming a band that they'd call Seeds & Things, which is what they now call their little group.

They started their last-gathering-before-college at the state fair and then brought their giggles home to the living room where they splayed out everywhere. Because it was their last time together for a while, I didn't mind their giggles and goofiness. By 3 a.m., though, I had to give in and remind them that some of us had to work the next day. (Some of us included some of them.)

This was one of those rare times when Jeff's hearing issues worked to his advantage... I couldn't stay to make them breakfast, but I made a bunch of bacon, left them a note and told them to lock up when they leave. They even left me a thank you note!

In addition to the farewell tour, Ali has gotten her checking account, credit and debit cards. She's connected with her roommate, done her advance work and bought her first textbook. I asked her what she had left; was there anything she wanted to do.

"I just want to hang out with you guys," she said. So we had french onion soup at one of our favorite restaurants and played cards last night.

While Ali has been going out and being silly, I've been tearing apart the back porch. It was only recently I realized it's been keeping me sweaty and occupied so I don't think so much about Ali's departure. I've bloodied my knuckles scraping up old linoleum and torn nails as I stripped, primed and repainted wood elements out there. Soon, we'll be ready to apply wine panels to an ugly concrete wall that I've been staring down for 20+ years.

If I know me, I'll be over servicing my clients as the summer winds down and fall sets in. Let me know if you need work done -- any work, any work at all. I'm not picky. Anything's better than moping about like I've lost my favorite toy.

Which, of course, brings me to the Captain. He's putting on a brave face, too, but I think he's going to be just as sad as Ali and me. He'll make fun of us for it and hide most of his chagrin, but he's going to have a tough time. We've been so fortunate in Ali -- she's fun to be with. Almost always. 

One thing that WILL help me cope is that she came home from babysitting the other day with a plastic snake. She'd taken her little charge to the arcade, spied the stupid thing and remembered the time she put a similar one on my shoulder while I was driving. She called my name from the back seat to get me to come eye to fang with the plastic reptile and I almost hit a tree in the midst of my panic attack.

Unremorseful then and unremorseful now, she claims she's going to hide it somewhere in the house before she leaves. Just, you know, so she's remembered. Maybe the little brat HAS soiled the nest...

The other night we debated whether to make dinner or go have onion soup. We ended up in Broad Ripple and were greeted with the sight below. She snapped the shot just as we walked in. I'm trying to take it as a harbinger not just of that evening but for what's to come. Wish me luck that I focus more on the rainbow than the gray skies headed my way.