Sigh.

Lovely day. Gorgeous night. Good friends. Too bad the game turned out to be so disastrous!

Small world.

In my classroom this morning, I watched the L.D. Bell Band perform in the Bands of America Grand Nationals preliminary competition in Indianapolis.

I had a few students finishing their finals at the time so I kept the sound off, but when I could catch a glimpse of the webcast, they looked really good!

Later, after I got home, I listened via streaming radio as the Amarillo Sandies won their volleyball regional semifinal in Abilene. 

It was fun to hear my friend's daughter's name over and over as she made some great plays.

I couldn't BE there for either event, but I WAS virtually there, in between teaching and grading and getting a temporary crown placed. Hooray for technology!

Even now, I'm miles away from Bell's playoff game, but my phone can tell me the score. 

Granted, it's not the score I'd hoped to see, but it's still amazing that I can get that info so readily. It wasn't that long ago that if I couldn't attend a game in person, I'd have to wait until the newspaper landed in our yard the next morning to learn the outcome. 

You know, this so-called "internet" thingie just might catch on.

Must see TV.

You know how it goes: You're channel surfing and come across a particular movie, and no matter how much time is left in the show, you stop and watch the rest. These movies have some kind of hold on us, whether it's great film-making or simple nostalgia.

For me, the original must-see movie on TV was Dirty Dancing. The first summer that we had our college apartment, my roomies and I had super cheap (maybe free?) HBO for the first few months. This was 1988, and DD was in heavy rotation. It seems like anytime we'd turn on the TV, we'd see Johnny and Baby, dancing away, always having the time of their lives while carrying a watermelon. It got to be a joke: If a movie was on TV, nine times out of 10 it was Dirty Dancing.

Just a little while ago I was looking for some football and came across Dirty Dancing's last two minutes. Yet again, I stopped flipping channels, just so I could see that dance floor filled with Kellerman's guests, dancing at the end-of-season show. Oh, Swayze. What a looker you were!

But it's not just that movie. Several others—romantic comedies all—have joined my must-stop-flipping-and-watch list. Among them, in no particular order:

• Overboard - There is absolutely no reason why I should like a movie about a woman who is kidnapped and put into slavery. But with that kind of realism, how could I NOT? Speaking of heavy rotation, somebody must've paid TBS to run this puppy. Seems like it was on three times a day for a while there.
• When Harry Met Sally... - I never get tired of this one, and with so many fall-over funny scenes, it's a can't-miss movie. I still have an unfulfilled longing to visit NYC in the fall (and wear cheesy '80s sweaters) because of this one.
• 50 First Dates - Gotta love a good amnesia story! Another preposterous plot (she REALLY gets caught up on all she's missed with one videotape every single day?), but what a cute couple. This movie's the Cool Whip of rom-coms: fluffy with just enough sweetness. 
• You've Got Mail - Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan, exploring the worldwide web of romance? Oh, yeah. Even though the bookstore scenes kill me, the couple's chemistry is so much fun to watch. I still think of this movie every time I sharpen a new batch of Dixon Ticonderogas in the fall.
• Sleepless in Seattle - Again with the on-screen chemistry. Meg and Tom (as Annie and Sam) are so good together, and even though they're not actually TOGETHER for 99 percent of the movie, it's still fun to watch them heading toward that first touch. (But good grief, that look they give each other at the end? Awkward!)
• The Proposal - A recent addition to the list, this flick has a quirky kind of appeal. Plus, any movie that includes The Office's Oscar performing a striptease can't be all bad. (Ryan Reynolds ain't too shabby, either.)

What's funny is that I own most of these on DVD, but that doesn't keep me from stopping should I come across one on U-verse. 

Calling fowl.

http://www.wikihow.com/Run-a-Flamingo-Fundraiser

Maybe you’ve heard of the “You’ve Been Flocked” fundraisers. With these, folks pay to have plastic pink flamingos placed in their friends’ (or enemies’) yards. To add to the profit, homeowners can buy “flamingo insurance” to avoid the embarrassment of being invaded by a tacky flock. It’s a simple and fun way to raise a little money for those football booster clubs, Cub Scout dens, or high school bands.

My variation of that idea is not motivated by raising funds, however. Instead, it would offer a public service by reminding our neighbors of what’s right, what’s just. Instead of flamingos, we would use TURKEYS—turkeys that would be placed in the yards of those guilty of the unforgivable sin of premature Christmas lighting.

http://www.etsy.com/listing/113021615/
personalized-ceramic-thanksgiving-turkey

Just imagine: The bright red lights and white icicles, the spiral lit trees, the animated wire deer, all invaded by a rafter of silent plastic turkeys, stoically reminding the hyper-lighters that ’tis NOT the season—not yet, anyway.

The early illuminati may THINK they’re just beating the rush when they plug in those roof lights in mid-November, but really, they’re just negating the glory of Thanksgiving, the celebration of gratitude complete with pilgrims and cornucopias and gourds and yes, turkeys. Our Turkey Tornado™ would gently remind those overly eager homeowners to tap the brakes and make time for Tom.

So who’s with me? Ready to invest? This project would be considered an act of kindness, a gentle reminder that the halls can wait to be decked. Can't you see it? The next time you pass by a prelit home, instead of just giving your neighbors a dirty look, you could give them the bird.

Sweet milestone.

October 6, 2013

I can scarcely believe we have two teenagers in our house. How am I supposed to accept that our baby girl is 16?

For her birthday this year, Katie accompanied Brett to the Dallas Comic Con. When she, Brett and Ryan got home that night, we ate dinner at Panda Express.

This has become one of our favorite semi-fast food places, but we were still a little surprised that Katie picked it for her birthday meal. Perhaps her Comic Con purchase might've had an influence on her choice?

Star Wars lightsaber chopsticks!

Afterwards we went home for a little cake.

With band, football, church, school and bowling all in high gear, it was nice to slow down for a few hours to celebrate our Katie Bug. We are so proud of our creative, brilliant, talented, gorgeous, funny, crazy, one-of-a-kind daughter! 

Might want to skip this one, John.

My adventures in dentistry continue. Today was root canal day! It took six shots to fully numb my mouth—at least I think it was six—lost count. Blah, blah, blah, yucky noises, blah, blah, suction, blah, blah, pain, blah, blah, blah.

The whole experience reminded me of my mom. I remembered how she was always pleasant to her health care providers, even when she was uncomfortable. I recalled that sweet spirit of hers that she could never hide, even when in miserable pain.

And then I remembered the song—her song, the one we sang at her funeral: "There's within my heart a melody..."

From that point on, I tried to keep a song in my head and in my heart. I ran through all my go-to songs, including multiple renditions of my latest fave, "God of Angel Armies." Oh, there was still pain and that other blah-blah, but the music really helped, and the meaning behind those words gave me comfort, too.

Thanks, Mom.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Almost heaven, West Virginia?

Um, NO. West Virginia almost turned into H-E-double hockey sticks for us Longhorn faithful. But at least the spelling medium was sweet!

For my musings on hidden logo images to a factcheck on West Virginia's "mountains," check out this week's Spell Texas post.

Hook 'em!

Cheering section.

There's this little section of carpet right in front of our TV that has seen more than its share of nervous pacing. When a game's close, it's where I'm compelled to stand, as if my yelling and gesturing will somehow impact my team more simply because of my proximity to the screen.

I stood there when Justin Tucker kicked the winning field goal in the Horns' last game against the aggies.

It's the place where I watched the World Series slip away from the Rangers in the ninth of that infamous game 6.

It's where we counted down the final seconds as the Mavs won the 2011 NBA title.

And it's right where I was during overtime tonight as the Horns scored their winning TD and then stopped the Mountaineers' OT drive.

I have visions of someday ripping up this living room carpet and replacing it with tile or laminate flooring, but you know, considering my sports allegiances, maybe we should leave it be. The older I get, the tougher these close games are on my body. If that little section of flooring were any harder, I could be one last-second play away from tearing my ACL.

This is the end.

While there are still plenty of milestones left in Ryan's senior year, we're closing the book on marching band. With tonight's postgame performance, the 2013 marching season has come to an end.

There was a time when it seemed these Friday nights were interminable, when it felt like we'd never survive the endless practice drop-offs and pick-ups. But here we are. The end. Finis.

I'm sad because I'll miss spotting our tall baritone player on that field. I'm sad because I'll miss seeing him in his sharp blue uniform. I'm sad because I'll miss hearing his stories from rehearsals and contests. And I'm really sad because this is yet another reminder that Ryan's days in our home are winding down. 

But my tears? These are mostly from profound gratitude, thanksgiving for the amazing experience band has been for Ryan and for all of us. 

Native.

A story on the front page of Tuesday's paper sent me down a weird rabbit trail this afternoon. Talk about a strange train of thought...

The story was about the old subway that ran from the Henderson parking lot to the former Tandy Center. Just reading about the long-forgotten subway line reminded me of my pregnant self riding that old car to report for jury duty, praying I wouldn't throw up on the judge. My reminiscing seemed timely because recent visits to downtown Fort Worth have made me a little wistful for the old Tandy Center ice rink there, not to mention the Christmas tree lights that adorned each of the two Tandy buildings. 

It occurred to me that if I get nostalgic for the Fort Worth of yesteryear, it must be really rough for the "Old Timers." And with that thought, I assessed my own standing as a DFW resident. If someone were to ask me where I live, I'd tell them Fort Worth, but to this day, I consider myself a newcomer. And that's after 22 years here! It's strange to think I've lived here longer than anywhere else: longer than my 13 years in Tyler, much longer than my five rather formative years spent in Austin. So why do I feel like such a n00b in my own hometown?

Maybe it's because so many of my friends and colleagues in the Mid-Cities have lived here since birth. They have at least twice as many years here, which means they have much more extensive Fort Worth expertise. They remember the fast food joints that were on Pipeline, the stores that used to fill Northeast Mall. They know the quickest route from A to B in traffic, in bad weather, or during Mayfest. In many respects, I'm a Fort Worth virgin. I STILL haven't tried all the downtown eateries. I STILL don't know all the shortcuts to get around TCU or the hospital district. And if you ask me who is the best doctor/dentist/mechanic, I'm going to have to hit up Google.

The sad thing is, if a tourist were to ask me about Tyler, the town I consider home, I'd be even more ignorant. Best lunch counter? The Spread on the Loop. (Out of business for years.) Best Mexican food? Chula Vista. (Ditto.) Truly, the Tyler of my youth is no more. These days, with all the traffic and chain restaurants, I'd be hard-pressed to separate Tyler from any North Dallas 'burbs. Even the places that meant so much to me no longer exist: Our church building, where I spent countless Sundays and Wednesdays and VBS weeks and youth rallies? It was torn down to make room for a Luby's. Two of the three elementary schools I attended? Razed to make room for new buildings. As they say, you can't go home again. (Well, I COULD, but since strangers live there, it might get a little awkward.)

I guess I should be thankful for the Tarrant County history that DOES overlap my own. The BankOne building's plight from tornado-ravaged to eyesore to repurposed offices and condos. The long gone North Hills Mall on Highway 26, the shopping center with the holiday train and the REAL Santa every year. The Good Eats Cafe that was replaced by Mexican Inn. And how about Italian Inn with the private booths (with wooden doors!) and singing waiters? And Mi Rae's? And Harrigan's, before and after the fire? And Lil' Things?

Regardless, I'm most grateful for all my neighbors, old and new, who have made living here such a blessing: the friends and colleagues who became my family when I moved here, fresh out of college, in 1991. The city itself may still seem a little foreign to me, but thanks to the precious people who make this place a community, I'm proud to call Fort Worth HOME.

Still spelling.

Pop quiz: What do sunflower seeds have to do with the Longhorns' most recent opponent? Head on over to SpellTexas.org to find out!

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Another cheap post! But hey, could any blog of mine be completely football-free?

Quick thoughts from the antidentite.

I was supposed to finish grading research papers today but instead spent more than a little time with our friendly neighborhood health professionals. Since those papers aren't going anywhere, I'd better run. But before I do, here's a cheap NaBloPoMo post for this wild-and-crazy day.

Does anyone ever brush and floss as thoroughly as they do on the day of the dental appointment?

Is it a bad thing that I don't remember when I got my last crown but I DO remember what the dentist was wearing?

Are TVs in the exam room really a good idea when the show you're sorta forced to watch depicts violence? I mean, I'm all about a good televised distraction, but maybe I don't want to see someone punched in the jaw while I'm having plastic trays jammed into my mouth.

Why, oh WHY would a dentist express her surprise at my lack of pain? Does she not realize that a broken molar might not get me but the power of suggestion will?

Also, could there be two worse words for the dentophobic than ROOT CANAL?

Stay tuned Monday for Part 2: Comfortably Numb.

Pumpkinpalooza.

Since our kids were just toddlers, a group of friends has gathered to carve pumpkins. Over the years the location has changed and some faces have come and gone, but the creativity never ceases to amaze.

Some highlights from this year's extravaganza:

Katie's Bride of Frankenstein

Our photo pumpkin

Creepy decorations

Prizes

The big winner

Many thanks to our amazing hosts! We loved the fun and fellowship. It's always a blessing to celebrate the season with good friends.

Truth.

These last few months have been rough ones here at Casa Dub. From car trouble to health struggles, we seem to spend all our time dodging bullets or surfing rough waters. The hits just keep on coming.

It’s funny how God reminds us who we are and WHOSE we are just when we need it. It wasn’t that long ago that we started singing this at church, and wouldn’t you know it, these were exactly the words I needed to have running through my head:



Matt Maher - Lord, I Need You (Acoustic) with Audrey Assad from matt-maher on GodTube.

After all the crises we’ve faced, you’d think I’d know that God’s got this, but no. I worry. I doubt. I fear.  I do exactly what he warns us NOT to do. And when I—arms flailing, heart sinking—finally reach for his hand, he’s already got me.

Please pray for our family, and please pray for me to keep my eyes on Jesus, “my hope and stay.”

Texas laws.

If you're driving to San Antonio, you must stop at Buc-ee's.

It's a law.

If you eat a meal in San Antonio, you must have Mexican food.

It's a law.

And if you are a true Texan who spends any amount of time in San Antonio, you must visit the Alamo.

It's a law.

Just thought everyone should know.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

This was Halloween.

Last night, Brett set up a card table with an old TV/VCR and played Frankenstein movies. We goofed off with the dogs and greeted the adorable and creepy princesses and ninjas who wandered up our driveway. This is Brett's second year to follow this routine, so we're thinking this is our new, post-having-kids-who-trick-or-treat Halloween.  

The dogs had the time of their lives.

They were some pretty fierce ghostbusters, even if their backpacks kept falling off.

No lie: We miss the days when we could put the kids in costumes of our choosing.

Good thing we have a dog!

 Happy Halloween!

Nothing to save?

A new school year always brings change, and this one brought a doozie: a different online gradebook. Grading is rarely a teacher’s favorite pastime, and having a clunky method for recording those grades doesn’t make it any better.

Throughout the first six weeks on our campus, we’ve hiked the steep learning curve, relying on our beloved techies, figuring out this new system’s language and idiosyncrasies, making sure technology does not interfere with our students’ learning. Waiting for reports to render may slow us down, but we just grit our teeth and keep posting grades, communicating progress.

Still, I have one pointless yet real complaint. When entering grades, if we happen to click the “save” icon more than necessary, we see this alert:

“Nothing to save.” Boy, does that grind my gears. I understand messages that prevent us from losing data, but do we really need a notification that basically says, “Hey, dummy, you just clicked an icon unnecessarily”?

Besides, we’re TEACHERS. Of all the phrases to use around us, the least applicable would be “nothing to save.” In our line of work, there is ALWAYS something—or someone—to save.

No matter the odds, we refuse to give up on anyone. That girl who missed seven days of school this six weeks? We’ll work with her before and after school so she can catch up. The boy who works 53 hours a week and struggles to stay awake in class? We’ll help him see our classes as his ticket out of his minimum-wage job. The chronically late-to-class kid who collects tardy referrals? We’ll convince her that sleeping in means she’s missing out. The student with the 48 average? We'll let him fail if he refuses to do the work because we prefer he face the consequences of his inactivity now rather than later when there may be no summer school, no backup plan. The students who are happy to just warm their chairs with no interest in warming up their minds? We will build rapport with them so they will trust us and take a chance to invest in their own learning.

Yes, we teachers are out to save the lot of them.

We know that education will rescue them from the ranks of overworked and unfulfilled employees. We believe that our training will convince them to show up on time and prepared to work. We understand that logical consequences will show students the value of their time and effort. We are convinced that our encouragement will push them past their current crises, from bad break-ups to getting kicked out of Mom’s house, so they’ll know how to overcome obstacles in their lives after high school.

In our world, there are no lost causes, no hopeless cases. We will not drop the rope, cannot abandon the rescue mission. We may give up on that slow-to-print gradebook report, but when it comes to our students, there is always something to save.

Who is Andrea Sloan?

"Who is Andrea Sloan?"

That was my daughter's question as she strolled through the living room the other night. She'd seen my tweets and Facebook posts. She'd noticed how I've been begging friends to sign Andrea's petition. But she, like many others, had no idea who Andrea Sloan is.

Hmmm... How to answer that one. Well, to start with, there's this:


And then there's the backstory: Andrea has been waging war on ovarian cancer for the last seven years. She has faced chemo, radiation, surgeries, and stem cell and bone marrow transplants. Now her cancer has returned, and her doctors say her bone marrow can't tolerate traditional therapies.

Enter BioMarin's BMN-673.

This experimental drug offers Andrea's best chance. Her world-class doctors at M.D. Anderson have seen it work well in clinical study participants, and they want Andrea to have it. The FDA says that even though the clinical trials are full, she can get it if the company will agree.

Therein lies the rub. So far, BioMarin says no. But more than 20,000 of us aren't accepting that answer.

Certainly, many who have signed her Change.org petition did so on principle alone. She's running out of options, this pharmaceutical company has her best chance, and by acting on the "compassionate use" clause, they can allow her to benefit from it. Most people "get" compassion—even when corporations don't—and that's enough to warrant signing an online petition.

For others, though, this cause is also personal. And that's because we know Andrea Sloan.

We know her as the morning herald who greets us, her Facebook friends, with carpe diem messages and encouragement.

We know her as the fighter who, even when discouraged, never, ever, EVER gives up.

We know her as a woman who is hyper-aware of the blessings that have come her way via family, friends, and yes, even cancer.

And a few of us were even blessed to know her as the sassy classmate who struck a pose behind Mrs. Johnson on our last day in Algebra I.

Yep, that's her! Last day of eighth grade.

I've known Andrea Sloan for 30+ years. Through middle and high school, we shared homework projects, club meetings, classroom presentations and graduation brunches. Even though we both ended up at UT, we lost touch until Facebook reconnected us. That's when I first became aware of Andrea's cancer fight. I've been a part of "Andi's Army" ever since. It's been an honor to follow her story, to watch her triumph and struggle and fight the good fight, all while maintaining the sweet spirit everyone saw in her back when we were just crazy GT kids. 

So here we are, less than 24 hours away from her big sit-down with the doctors at M.D. Anderson. BMN-673 is on the premises, and with one little "yes," Andrea can get the treatment she needs to fight this nasty disease right away. We—her friends, her ARMY—are doing everything we can to show BioMarin that Andrea is worth any risk the company may incur. We will post, we will tweet, we will beat down the doors. We will get her that drug.

Because of who Andrea Sloan is.

You can help! 

• Sign the petition: www.change.org/andisarmy
• Join her army on Facebook: www.facebook.com/OfficialAndisArmy
• Follow @andi_sloan on Twitter: www.twitter.com/andi_sloan
• Tweet your support and include #BioMarin, #BMN673.
• RT her tweets (and other "army" members')
• Share posts, videos and links from her Facebook page

I want to be a millionaire. Final answer.

I've loved Who Wants to Be a Millionaire since its Regis Philbin days, so when the show held Dallas auditions, I couldn't resist. A trivia buff, I have always thought I could hold my own on that show, so back when the primetime version had phone tryouts, I called and called and called. Now that the program is syndicated, auditions are held in New York and "select cities." This time Dallas was one of those lucky cities, and since the tryout was in July, I was already off work. I had nothing to lose except for some sleep and a quarter tank of gas!

I arrived at the Hilton Garden Inn in Allen shortly after 6 a.m. on Monday, July 8. (Allen is a good 45-60 minutes from our home, so yeah, I got up rather early.) Doors opened at 7, so I joined the line that already wrapped around the hotel's exterior to wait. It was really interesting to talk to the other hopefuls. One guy was a technology trainer who worked nearby who had adjusted his schedule to attend the auditions. An older lady was a retired high school and college instructor who's a big fan of trivia (and had lots of advice for me). Then there were two women, one in her 70s and her friend, who was probably in her late 40s, who had spent the night at that hotel to save themselves the early morning drive from Arlington. The elderly lady had a tiny stature but a big personality. When the Millionaire producers came around to keep us fired up, she had plenty to say. (Her friend had plenty to say, too—mostly to complain about having to sign a release to allow the show to use her image. Um, you know you're trying out for a TV SHOW, right?)

Once the doors opened at 7, the producers let the first 200 people into a big ballroom. Alas, I was number 204. Those of us who didn't get in with that first group waited in a long hallway. After about 40 minutes, it was our turn! 

We were given manila envelopes and ushered into this large room with long tables. Those of us who were closest to the front of the line were seated at the back of the room, which ended up being a drag since the producers tossed T-shirts to those sitting near the front. The local TV station also filmed our group for the nightly news, but we earlybirds did not get that worm. ("See me? I'm that big blur in the back!") 

As everyone filed in, loud pop music filled the room. After getting all of us seated, one of the producers welcomed us and explained the audition process. Then we got our Millionaire pencils (that we got to keep!) and the audition began. We had 10 minutes to complete 30 multiple choice questions. As the show says, the questions can cover anything from Hamlet to Honey Boo Boo! Some of the questions were beyond my ken, but most of them I either knew or could figure out. One of the questions was simple multiplication but was a little tougher since we couldn't write on the test or the Scantron. 

A few days after the audition, I saw one of our test questions
on the show that originally aired last November. So if you
plan to try out, WATCH THE SHOW! You never know which
questions will be recycled.

When our 10 minutes were up, producers collected our tests and Scantrons and ran to an adjacent room to score them. While we waited, we could ask questions about the show and its new host, Cedric the Entertainer. There was a lot of discussion about traveling to New York if we were chosen for the show. The producers explained that if we're in the contestant pool and get the call, we would travel to New York on our own dime. We would get a list of hotels near the studio (which just moved to Harlem, BTW), and we would have about two weeks to make our travel arrangements. Several folks were concerned about the expense, but we were reminded that even if a contestant misses the very first question, he/she still goes home with $1,000. That would go a long way toward paying for the trip to New York!

When the Scantrons were scored, a producer read a list of numbers representing contestants who "passed" the test. I never found out my score, and they never said what constituted passing, but I was thrilled to hear my number called! It seemed like about 15-20 percent of us qualified for the afternoon callback, including my tech trainer pal (but not the know-it-all lady or the two women who'd spent the night there). Those of us who passed picked up a contestant questionnaire and were told to return around 12:30 that afternoon.

With several hours to kill, I found a Torchy's Tacos. While feasting on my breakfast taco, I answered the questions in the audition packet. (Some of those questions were hard to answer, like what I would do with the million dollars. What I would do is boring, so I had to come up with a creative answer. Another question asked about a hidden talent. Um, I dunno: I can yell really loud when the Horns are on defense? That was tough. I tried to answer in a way that would show my eccentricity. Let's just say my football obsession and Bradymania made it into the questionnaire.) Once that was complete, I drove to Frisco to visit my beloved IKEA. After walking around a while, it was time to head back to Allen for the interview portion of the audition.

This time we were ushered into a smaller room to wait for our interviews. I happened to end up sitting next to my tech trainer "friend" from the morning session. It was nice to have someone to talk to, both to pass the time and to keep from getting too nervous.

Then it was my turn. I was directed to an even smaller room to talk with a producer. She glanced at my questionnaire, asked a couple of questions, took my photo, and told me, "I think you're great!" (Aw, shucks.) Then she said that from that point on, it's all luck. She said my name would now go into a lottery pool. In a few weeks, after the show reps had been to a few more cities, names would be drawn from that list to form the actual contestant pool. Once you're in the contestant pool, you wait to see if you get "the call" to go to New York and play.

I must admit that the cynic in me doubted this whole "lottery pool" business. In the room where we waited for our interviews, I spotted a dozen "characters," people with interesting features or mannerisms who seemed like they belonged on a game show (much more than a middle-aged English teacher, anyway). I had to think those folks were "in" after their interviews! Still, it was nice of the producer to ACT like I still had a shot after she talked with me! In spite of my cynicism, I left feeling like I'd done all I could do.

Two weeks after the tryout, I got the anticipated "maybe next time" email. Even so, I was glad I'd given Millionaire a shot. It was interesting to see the process and chat with some interesting folks, and it was flat-out fun to take—and pass!—the test. And who knows? If they come around again, I might be spending another early summer morning waiting in line.

More family fun.

While Cara's family was in town, we made the most of our time together. One afternoon, we gathered at Nana and Papa's for some good ol' cornhole.

The girls kept themselves entertained near the driveway.

Another day, another blessing! It's wonderful that we're all close enough to spend this time together.