It’s official. Bill’s and my entire honeymoon itinerary is cursed. The disappearance in Aruba, the death at Epcot. Even the killing rampage in Atlanta a few months ago (though technically, we just had a really long layover there, so I’m not sure that should count).

I’m especially sad about Aruba. It’s getting a bad name, and it really shouldn’t be. Granted, I was not aware of all the drug trafficking that apparently was taking place under my very nose without me having any clue. But the entire time that we were there, I felt very safe and welcomed. So if we encountered any drug traffickers, apparently, we only encountered the very polite, helpful kind. Hmm…perhaps that was not actually powdered sugar on the poffertjes that I ate every morning for breakfast…okay, and dinner. When else do you have the excuse to eat what amounts to funnel cake anytime you want and call it ethnic cuisine?


On a completely different note, I am probably going to get a kitten in 2 weeks. I begged my parents for a kitten for every Christmas since I can remember and always received the same answer, “maybe.” Which may have meant “yes” or “possibly” from your parents, but from my parents, it meant a big fat “NO.” I want to get a small white, female kitten and name her Adelaide from “Guys & Dolls”. Of course, she may end up being non-white since I’ll walk into the shelter and fall in love with the first one that I see.

My husband’s family had an amazing 6 cats growing up (all at one time), all inside/outside, and apparently, some of them looked a lot alike and his dad never knew that they had that many. They’d just rotate in and out. As a child, my husband liked to have a cat sleep down at his feet on the bed at night…not particular about which one…so when he’d go to bed, he’d yell, “Mom, bring me a cat!” And she’d scoop up whichever cats were nearby and plop them on his bed. That story cracks me up.