Really?

I received this in the mail today. (I've redacted specific addresses.)

This is a check to me from a firm in Fort Worth I regularly do business with. Both the return address and my address were clear and legible. I have no idea when the check was originally mailed.

The sticker added on the outside of the envelope says "we" found this in our mail room and we are forwarding it to you.

The mysterious "we," who could it be? The zip code of the stamp is downtown Fort Worth, although there is no cancellation mark. There is no business listing for a company with initials "CNOV." The check inside is dated April 1, 2011.

I tend to think the US Post Office found my mail in a neglected corner and sent it on to me. What do you think?

I wonder if this is how a government bureacracy administering a universal health care system would work......delayed and unpredictable service, anonymous supervision, little accountability, no recourse for the customer.

A little macabre

Earlier this summer, we started our vacation driving toward Florida on a Saturday afternoon. I can't remember exactly why, except that it was my fault, we left nearly an hour after our intended departure time. It probably had something to do with my waiting until nearly lunch time to start packing.

We were only a couple of hours east when traffic slowed quickly to a halt. We inched along, some cars jumping the line or u-turning to avoid the wait and then there it was - cars flipped over, people standing around, a county hearse on the access road. Sobering. Sad.

Taking in the scene, it could have been us, the wreck was likely about an hour old. Those scenes repeat themselves throughout our lives, usually in smaller ways. It could have been my daugher skidding on the ice, there could have been an explosion if I hadn't been in the right spot to smell the gas filling the house......

In 1994 we lived in a three story Victorian style home. I turned the corner toward home one afternoon,  and there was a fire truck on our street, at my house. I'd run out on a quick errand, leaving the kids at home. Ricky should have already left with one of them for practice. But as he was loading the car he heard something, maybe, and checked out the sound. The garage roof, sheltered from view by the house, was on fire. He yelled at the kids to get out of the house, called 9-1-1 and put a hose on it. About $50,000 later the fire department completed the job. If he had not been in that part of the garage at that particular time, I would have come home, been in the house with my children, and wouldn't have known our house was on fire until much later. With a wood shingle roof, the whole house would have been gone. (Turns out there was a roofing nail touching electric lines and it finally torched.)

The bottom line is that we are all fortunate any day we make it through intact. Who knows what might have been if .....?

Today the news has been all Hurricane Irene and its aftermath. While the storm fizzled somewhat, the news agencies are reporting fifteen deaths attributable to the storm. Keep in mind this death toll marks the eastern United States from North Carolina to New York. I am saddened for those families, but part of me can't help wondering how many other lives were saved this weekend with all the bars closed, the parties canceled and trips postponed.

I've decided that the best thing to do when things don't go according to plan is trust that there was another plan I just didn't have the details for.

Change of season

I wish I could say fall was on its way, but we continue to have daily high temperatures around 105 and daily low temperatures around 85. Even today's ten day forecast doesn't show much break. We will probably set the record for most number of days over 100 degrees in a year.

This has been the summer of my discontent.

I have looked forward eagerly to the start of school and the restoration of familiar rhythms - everyone else leaves the house in the morning and comes home in the evening. Summer vacations are over and no one is working swing shifts. The animals and I have the daytime to ourselves.

School started on Monday. I'm almost back to myself.

Even better, the first football game of the season is tonight. Wiley's already left, rehearsing one more time at school before the band loads up on six yellow dogs (aka school buses) and heads to the stadium. Ricky and I will travel in our comfortable SUV, eat some hot dogs, visit with friends, admire their children as they perform and pay attention to which of Ricky's students have notable achievements during the evening. The kids love receiving compliments in class from a teacher who notices what they do. And of course we watch our son.

In honor of making it to another school year, of appreciating what I have, I'm linking to one of my very first posts........it's Friday night in Texas, y'all!

UPDATE: The evening was a success, I've added some pictures. Notice the score at halftime - we ended the game 62-7, with only one score in the 4th quarter. The band put Part 1 of their competition show on the field, without a gaffe or a fall. It's a little different watching from the back side. It's a little different when the band is not in full uniform. But the temperature was 104 when the game started and still 98 when it ended. As the visitors, we got to enjoy a new stadium in the southern part of our metro area - a school district that had one high school ten years ago and now has five. Want a job? Come to Texas, it's sizzling!

Band warming up in the end zone before half-time

Taking the field to start the 2011 season

Opening set

End of Part 1

Starting the Spirit Show (traditional old style spelling out Blue, Raiders, LD Bell)

Out of character

I don't usually post on Facebook. But my BFF (since 7th grade) got me all hot and bothered, starting a post about rich people, taxes, jobs, etc. She has a friend (turns out he's a lawyer, go figure) joining in as a whiner and I just couldn't stand it.


Here's an example of what fifty-something people are talking about.....

BFF: Scott Rasmussen just said that polls indicate that many people have figured out that in regard to the economic crisis"somebody changed the rules" and it has been bad for the country. I think Dan would agree. Sadly for me as a lifelong Republican, I am experiencing the creeping growth of a feeling that it might have begun with the Gipper himself ;(

Whiny Lawyer: In fact it did, he was put in office by the rich and powerful. Immediately lowered tax rates for the rich from 72% down into the 30's We were lambs going to slaughter with not a clue what was happening

Me: So how much should the "rich" pay? The most recent statistics say that the top 5% pay almost 60% of all individual income taxes.

http://www.davemanuel.com/​2010/11/04/what-percentage​-of-federal-income-taxes-d​o-rich-people-really-pay/ This is a current link.

What Percentage of Federal Individual Income Taxes Do Rich People Really Pay?

www.davemanuel.com

According to the IRS, the top one percent of all income earners in the United States in 2008 paid over 38 percent of the taxes.

For historical myth busting, check this article as well. When tax rates are lower, GDP rises and more taxes are paid.

 ttp://www.heritage.org/research/​reports/2001/03/the-truth-​about-tax-rates-and-the-po​litics-of-class-warfare (Sorry I'm not good at facebook posting links.)

The Truth About Tax Rates and The Politics of Class Warfare

www.heritage.org

The Truth About Tax Rates and The Politics of Class Warfare

Whiny Lawyer: The tax code is primarily to allow the rich to shelter income and avoid taxation which is fine. I would be pleased to see any statistics showing the 1% pays 60 % of taxes because it seems high. Our country is in trouble everyone should pay taxes to help reduce debt until it is retired. Across the board on a scale dependent on income. A consumption tax instead of income tax would work also. It is the Megarich or billionaires who are the problem not wealthy people who have success.

BFF: I love this discussion between my lawyer friend and my tax acccountant/BFF Kerry McCarley Balthrop! I am going to read these articles! But Dan, seriously, 72%??? I would never do anything if I understood that the government was going to get three quarters out of every dollar I made. And, do you really mean "everyone" should pay taxes? Even the "poor" in this country? You mean they might have to give up cigarettes, beer, and cable tv and not get there UN Earned Income Credit? And how do we tax the megarich when they have armies of lawyers and accountants (sorry guys) to defend their riches--betters than having the knights, castles and moats that defended the medieval lords.

Me: Why should I mind if other people have millions as long as I have the opportunity to succeed? Again, a rising tide floats all the boats. I do have millionaire clients. They pay plenty of tax. They worked hard to be successful. Why should I resent that? My millionaire clients provide jobs and support private charities (which are far more efficient than government "largesse.") And there aren't that many "millionaires" anyway. A 100 % tax on the people you think are millionaires would be a drop in the bucket. History says that taxes stay about 19% of GDP, doesn't matter the tax rate. So the goal should be to enact policies that increase GDP (jobs.) These policies include lower tax RATES (not lower taxes) and less regulation. For example, the government now wants all farmers to have commercial drivers' licenses, with all the fees and reporting that ensues. And look at the "deprived" poor and middle classes in our country compared to others. Our poor have cell phones, television and air conditioning. Check out India with a billion people living at real poverty levels. Check out Ricky's blog at http://rickysplace.wordpre​ss.com/ for discussions on economics and true poverty. There is so much information available. Instead of just saying "I would be pleased to see any statistics......" go look at the statistics for yourself. It takes a few clicks on the computer. And the statistics say that the top 5% (not 1%) pay almost 60 % of the taxes. http://www.money-guy.com/2​011/07/jet-owners-ogres-an​d-other-millionaire-myths/

rickysplace

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As a CPA married to an economics and statistics teacher, I have paid attention to these issues for a while. But now we are all starting to pay attention!

Starting the countdown

Tomorrow morning I will have my second ever colonoscopy, after having eleven inches of my colon removed a little over a year ago. There's more annoyance than dread. I should have had that first proceedure done a few years earlier, but you know how it goes - there was a wedding or too much work or vacation plans. Whatever. I would get it done eventually.

Eventually I was diagnosed with late Stage 1 colon cancer, after surgery and a four day hospital stay.

A colonoscopy is not that bad, folks. Everyone gripes about the "prep," but take away the theatrical exaggeration and it's just a few hours of being tethered to the house. Of course, if you really like to eat, you might disagree.

Yesterday was lunch at Applebee's and dinner at Outback. Today I've had a couple of cups of coffee and the ever popular Route 44 Coke at Sonic's Happy Hour prices. I've taken my first pill, then will drink the first round of magic potion an hour from now, followed by a second round later in the evening.

This summer's magic potion is different from what my doctor used in 2010 and is different again from what Ricky will be drinking on Sunday before his colonoscopy which is different again from what he had to drink four years ago. Last summer, my surgeon prescribed the easiest method - a LOT of powdered laxative dissolved in gatorade - cheap, relatively tasty, effective. How interesting that there are at least five different ways to clean out the pipes.

Have you had your first colonoscopy? If your answer is "yes," and it's been in the last five years, this post is done. If the answer is "no," go ahead and read the next paragraph.

Are you over fifty? Has it been more than five years? (The medical community is in the process of revising guidelines down to five rather than ten years between colonoscopies.) Are you over thirty-five with a family history of polyps or colon cancer? If you have a "yes" answer, then just go ahead and do it. Having some polyps removed now is so much better than surgery and possibly chemotherapy later!

Opposites Attract

They say that opposites attract. I never really believed that, because Kerry and I are very much alike. There were some differences, but we were always more alike than different.

Not any more. We couldn't be any more opposite if we had to be. We'll have to see if our marriage (32 wonderful and happy years) can withstand it. You see, I'm in Hyderabad, India, and Kerry is in Lake City, Colorado.

She's at 107 degrees west longitude. I'm at 78 degrees east longitude. Not exactly directly opposite sides of the world, but pretty darn close. Right now it's actually closer for us to go through Asia than through Europe.

She's in the mountains; I'm near sea level. Her temperatures are on the 50s to the 80s; my temperatures are in the 80s to the 100s. She's rafting on beautiful cold rivers; I'm in an arid region where the monsoons aren't here yet. She is surrounded by modern America; I'm surrounded by ancient India.

Seriously, I am so blessed to have been married to Kerry for 32 years. She has made me a better person, a better Christian, and I hope I've been a good husband to her. My parents were married for 68 years before my father died. I would like nothing better than to break their record.

Thanks for letting me guest post on your blog, Kerry. If you would like to read about my Indian exploits, check out my blog

Ricky

It's a Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow

I have a new post all ready to put up, but it requires illustration. The laptop was out of juice, so after plugging it in, I started the camera download while puttering around the room. About ten minutes later, I realized the camera is dead.

Looking around our room for the camera battery charger, it dawns on me that my bedroom is only a slightly more tasteful version of one of the rooms in Disney's "Carousel of Progress." If you've been there, you will recall the room that models the introduction of electricity to the average home - the tangles of electrical cords strung from a couple of wall plugs to every fixture and appliance in the room - the ceiling light, floor fan, icebox, radio,  lamps, coffee pot, oven....

In our bedroom, which triples as Ricky's office and our living room away from the kids, I count sixteen items (and the camera battery charger) that stay plugged in, plus the surge protectors they're plugged into. When you add in all the gadgets that then have to be connected to each other, the snake's nests of cords are mind boggling.

Have we made progress? I'm not sure. My boggled mind is skeptical.

UPDATE: I guess it could look like this, though.

7 Quick Takes - Frayed at the edges

Here are 7 Quick Takes - what's happening at home while my husband  is half a world away, finishing his first of four weeks studying economic development in India. Don't forget to follow his adventures!

1.  Heat

This is where Ricky is right now, with cool nights and expected highs of 93 degrees.

Yelagiri Hills in southern India

While running errands this afternoon, my car thermometer, generally accurate, didn't go below 107.

2.  Hairballs

Last night I brushed my teeth, turned out the lights and headed back into the bedroom. My foot came down on something squishy. The sludge made it up between my toes. Ewwww... . lights on, I still didn't know what I had stepped in since, without contacts, anything closer than six feet is blurry.  Correction - I just didn't know from which end one of our five animals had exploded. I cleaned off my foot, the gag reflex kicking in enough for me to apologetically ask my son to clean up the mess. He found it, cleaned it up and laughed at me in a nice kind of way and said I didn't need to explain. The good news is that it was feline regurgitation and not canine defacation. The other good news is that my son's future wife will appreciate how well I have trained him for her.

If Ricky had been here, he would seen the hairball and cleaned it up even before I miraculously missed it going into the bathroom.

3.  Lightbulbs

In the past week, I think at least one light bulb in every room has gone out, most of which are some sort of fluorescent and are supposed to last for years. Don't believe a word of it.

4.  Tools

I bought a shelf for an awkward location and have the perfect tool, a Christmas present new B&D power screwdriver that bends in the middle. The screwdriver is out of charge. I am out of charger. Only Ricky knows where the charger is and he is in the mountains of India incommunicado.

5.  Cash

Ricky likes to go to the bank. He is my ATM machine, my personal debit card. Down to $3, will I remember to go to the bank Saturday before it closes? We're going to the baseball game Saturday night. Parking is more than $3.

6.  Dogs

Did I say it was hot? As in over 100 degrees until late in the evening hot? Our high energy shiba inus need more indoor play and more short walks than usual. They miss another adult in the room.

7.  Space shuttle launch

I was late to a meeting today so I could watch "live" the last space shuttle launch. Wish Ricky had been here to see it, too. He participated in an intense six week astronomy program the summer before his high school graduation and has always had a passion for the stars. The United States' space exploration program is about as old as we are and the shuttle program has been around about as long as we've been married. I will miss that vicarious thrill of going where no man has gone before.

So many things taken for granted.

While the cat's away.........

Do you like moving? Not the jumping up and down kind, but the get another house and start over kind? I do.

The only time my house is consistently clean and orderly is when it's for sale and must be "show ready" at a moment's notice. Glorious living for those few months as we all work together to defeat the enemy clutter.

We have lived here for over twelve years, the longest I've ever lived in one place.

I have the itch. I want to move. (Actually, I want a bomb to go off after the strategic removal of a few items so that I can collect the insurance and build the current version of my dream house.)

Chained here for at least a couple more years, I'm doing the next best thing. Operation House Reclamation has started, one room at a time.

Today's project - the boy cave, a.k.a. The Den.  I will spare you the "before" picture. And thankfully, boy odor doesn't transmit over the internet so you are spared that as well.

We are cleaning out cabinets and bookshelves and actually hanging the pictures left shelved after the last paint job (three years ago.) Ricky would do a more thorough job if he were here, but his slash and burn style of attacking the mess doesn't allow me sufficient time to agonize over decisions.

In the trash go crayons, old school supplies, broken games, dozens of National Geographics saved for the next, long past, elementary school project. I did rescue a son's discard of Ricky's grade school chess set, in perfect condition and still holding sentimental value (I think.)

The boys helped a lot, especially if you ignore their attempt to bribe my office assistant to "lose" the feather duster. Brian was moving Ricky's album collection to a better location and noticed this one:

(And no, those are not my hands.)

Whatcha' think? Further proof we are the world's nerdiest family? Who else owns a two album set of the dramatic highlights of congressional investigations, with one whole album, both sides, devoted to the McCarthy hearings? Must be fascinating. Keep or toss? Not mine to say.

We have umpteen sets of dominos, I'm embarassed to admit the true number. There are double nines and double twelves for playing "Chicken Foot" or "Train." The rest are double sixes for playing straight dominos or my favorite game of all time, "42," which has just been legally declared the State Game of Texas. Seriously.

So should I throw away the extra red or some of the ivory sets, the dominos personalized with our name or the set decorated with the name of our alma mater? Should I toss the dominos given to and inherited back from my father-in-law decorated with pictures of bass? Ricky can ponder those decisions as he travels across India on Friday.

I will still stash my tubs of beanie babies back into the cabinets, too, planning to dole them out as bribes to future grandchildren.

But still, a couple of trash bags now on the street. I'm finally moving!

Decorations of Independence

There is a flag flying on the front porch. As they do every year, neighborhood volunteers, up at the crack of dawn, lined our streets with flags. The flag adorns businessess, shirts, the hood of another neighbor's antique car. My next door neighbor displays red, white and blue bunting on his driveway gate from Memorial Day through Labor Day.

I love this American tradition, this United States of American tradition, of celebrating our demand for freedom. In our community, the fireworks, the picnics, the carnivals are small exclamation points to the years' displays of patriotism. In our schools we say the Pledge of Allegiance. In our town, businesses fly the flag. At our games we sing the Star Spangled Banner. In our city, the orchestra plays and the audience sings the National Anthem at the start of each concert. 

Our church has a patriotic service each year. We sing the Battle Hymn, America the Beautiful, My Country 'Tis of Thee, the Star Spangled Banner. Uniformed veterans walk in their branch's flag as the choir performs the Salute to the Armed Forces. For the past several years I have particularly enjoyed the World War II Navy veteran, tall, still slim in his khakis, jauntily marching in and saluting his flag. We shed tears at the pictures, videos and "freedom displays" of active duty and veteran congregants.

Our pastor preaches on appreciation, responsibility and respect - on the interweaving of faith and government. We must honor our defenders. We must vote our convictions. We must pray for our government's leaders.

Should there be this intermingling of church and "state?" Of course! Each promotes the stability of the other. The following is a quote from Benjamin Franklin, eighty-one years old, as he addressed the delegates at the Constitutional Convention, struggling to agree on a founding document:

In this situation of this Assembly groping as it were in the dark to find political truth, and scarce able to distinguish it when to us, how has it happened, Sir, that we have not hitherto once thought of humbly applying to the Father of lights to illuminate our understandings? In the beginning of the contest with G. Britain, when we were sensible of danger we had daily prayer in this room for the Divine Protection. -- Our prayers, Sir, were heard, and they were graciously answered. All of us who were engaged in the struggle must have observed frequent instances of a Superintending providence in our favor. To that kind providence we owe this happy opportunity of consulting in peace on the means of establishing our future national felicity. And have we now forgotten that powerful friend? or do we imagine that we no longer need His assistance.

I have lived, Sir, a long time and the longer I live, the more convincing proofs I see of this truth -- that God governs in the affairs of men. And if a sparrow cannot fall to the ground without his notice, is it probable that an empire can rise without his aid? We have been assured, Sir, in the sacred writings that "except the Lord build they labor in vain that build it." I firmly believe this; and I also believe that without his concurring aid we shall succeed in this political building no better than the Builders of Babel: We shall be divided by our little partial local interests; our projects will be confounded, and we ourselves shall be become a reproach and a bye word down to future age. And what is worse, mankind may hereafter this unfortunate instance, despair of establishing Governments by Human Wisdom, and leave it to chance, war, and conquest.

I therefore beg leave to move -- that henceforth prayers imploring the assistance of Heaven, and its blessings on our deliberations, be held in this Assembly every morning before we proceed to business, and that one or more of the Clergy of this City be requested to officiate in that service.

The Assembly agreed with Mr. Franklin's request, and the rest is History.

May God Bless America!

The tortoise and the hares

The boys and I played golf this morning, starting the holiday weekend early. I kept my cell phone handy and, sure enough, about half way through the round Ricky called from India to report a successful arrival at his New Delhi hotel. I didn't want to waste my good tee shot and passed the phone to Wiley while I hit from the fairway. There wasn't a whole lot of news to share since he'd been traveling for eighteen hours while we'd been sleeping and hanging out.

We're trying to get back into some semblance of a golf habit. Ricky and I played quite a bit when our first three kids were little. I got fancy new clubs about the same time I became very unexpectedly pregnant with our fourth child. Then our golf came to a screeching halt as we spent the next fifteen years shepherding teens with a precocious younger one trailing behind.

This spring we all got new clubs and are determined to get back in the swing of things. I'm not any good, but I enjoy playing, as long as it's not slow. At the first hole today, I switched my clubs from the electric cart to the hand cart. So the boys shared a cart while I walked the course.

The course marshall commented on it to me about the twelfth hole - "Kinda' funny you're walking while those boys are riding." "Yeah," I said, "but they zig and they zag their long shots and have to hunt balls while I hit my four iron down the middle. It works." A couple of holes later, he crossed paths with me again - "I see what you mean."

We finished the round in under four hours, a pretty good morning. Lots of fun. Right now, I'm playing golf with my hybrid four iron, a seven, a wedge and a putter. Every now and then I throw in an extra club. On vacation my hybrid six worked well several times. Today it was my eight.

We spent the first part of our Florida vacation playing golf with Ricky's sister and brother-in-law in Port St. Lucie. They have a time share week at the PGA resort there. We played one of our rounds on a Pete Dye designed links style course. One hole has about fifty yards of marsh grasses between the tee and the edge of the fairway. Sherry, having watched her husband and sons play the course several times over the years, commented quite out loud that someone always lost a ball in the grass here. Dennis, a consistently good golfer, fussed at her for jinxing one of us. Then he proceeded to hit not one, but two balls into the grass. Didn't even make it past the ladies' tee. Hee, hee. Thanks for taking one for the team, Dennis!

Golf is such a head game. Your opponent is yourself. Can you play better than you did last time? Can you play better than you did last hole? Can you ignore your last bad shot and focus on this one?

I wish there was a way for all young men to have to play "Ground Hog Day" golf. A boy would play golf over and over and over, three rounds a day, rain or shine, cold or hot, until he learned how to have an even demeanor, whether playing awesome or ugly.

Ricky played a lot of golf while in high school. Now he can go years without playing and still score in the eighties. He can play a little bit and consistently score in the low eighties. I started playing golf as a way to share his hobby. With limited playing opportunities, he expected to score as well as he used to. I was happy if I didn't whiff. (Whiffs usually gave me two whiplashes - first from the miss and then from trying to see who had noticed.) I couldn't understand how he could get so upset - slamming clubs, tossing clubs, muttering "stuff," stomping off, when I would have been thrilled to trade places. He's a talented athlete. I'm a slogger.

Watching him sulk, golf's appeal diminished for me. But you know what? He figured it out, developed some personal discipline, and we have had a great time playing together over the years. (Right, sweetie?)

I listen to my sons' golf stories and watch them when we play together. It's a tricky thing, knowing when to compliment a shot or how to comment without annoying. Two years ago, Brian played generally ugly, cringe-inducing-to-a-mom golf, and I'm not talking about his scores. He and Ricky played more together last summer while I was laid up, a dad taking the opportunity to demonstrate patience, to walk the talk.

While in Florida and again today, Brian played awesome golf. Wiley, modeling his dad's and brother's behaviours, played awesome, too. Like father, like sons.

When's our next tee time?

Back to Basics

After an eventful month, I am back.

In fact, it seems like deja vue all over again.

The boys, Ricky and I took the Florida vacation we had scheduled a year ago, before my blurred week of colon cancer diagnosis and surgery forced its cancellation.

The rest of the month has been filled with getting Ricky ready for thirty days in India. In fact, he should be pulling back from the tarmac right now, headed with a group of seventeen educators to catch a fourteen hour flight from Chicago to Delhi. He will leave Chicago about 4:00 pm today and land about 5:30 tomorrow afternoon Indian time. India is ten and a half hours ahead.

A year and a half after we married, I spent three weeks on a business trip to South and Central America - no cell phones, no internet, no employer budget for personal communication. Ricky and I had two prearranged thirty minute phone calls, all we could afford. The following summer he had internships in Texas while I continued to work in Chicago. Without a doubt, that was the longest twelve weeks of my life, even with spending all his summer salary on my plane trips to Texas every other weekend.

Now he's gone again, and I am home, but this time not alone. In the intervening thirty years I've accumulated two dogs, three cats and three kids to help hold down the fort. The fourth child and spouse live nearby.

While I was in South America Ricky grew a beard and moustache. It was so pitiful he shaved it all off before picking me up at O'Hare. I only have pictures. This time he shaved his head before leaving, something I'd seen and admired before. (You can see a picture here.)

Last time we were apart, communication was sketchy. This time, whenever internet is available, we will chat on Skype. We will email and update our blogs. He paid the $8 for ninety days that will allow him to use the internet to call any phone in the United States. The longest we will go without talking will probably be today. He has left his cell phone home, so I won't hear from him until he is settled in his Delhi hotel. The communication blackout may happen again as he moves around the country and stays in less modern hotels, but maybe not. We'll see.

Last time apart we were young adults still learning each other. Now we are marriage veterans able to have extensive conversations with few audible words. Then we filled the empty spaces with worry and perhaps a little jealousy. Now we just rely on each other with confidence. He is going to have a fabulous adventure without family worries and responsibilites. I will get the same adventure by proxy and will make myself do some things with girlfriends usually deferred for family reasons. Ricky gets a month without having to clean up cat messes, put dogs to bed, wake up kids or work on his "honey-do" list. (While he's gone I have farmed out the cat and dog assignments to the kids and will pretend to be childless as much as possible. After all, the youngest is sixteen.)

I have totally enjoyed watching Ricky prepare for this trip. For the past couple of months, anticipating our separation, he has been particularly sweet and attentive. What fun! And I've watched with amusement as he worried over trip details. Ricky wants to KNOW the plan when he's traveling. This is the first time in his adult life he has no control or choice regarding his schedule. He will have no control over home while away, either. He has worried that we won't be able to function without him. He has worried that we will be able to get by without him. Funny man, my now out of control husband.

Thinking about Ricky's worries reminds me of his dad, Jim Balthrop. Jim, a hungry teenage boy during the 1930's depression, ran his adult life around mealtimes. We, his children, mocked him for arranging his meals by clockwork and for setting his travel itineraries by the highway locations of Stucky's and Denny's Restaurants. Ricky has spent the month of June preparing to be hungry in India. Here's the email he sent me a week ago when we got back from Florida:

     With a week to go before I go a half a world away, here are some things that sound good for stocking up my stomach.

          Mexican Inn
          Lasagna
         Chicken chunks
         Kinkaids
         Outback (or other steak place)
         Italian restaurant (either Italy or Cafe Sicilia)
        Barbeque (at least once thats not Spring Creek)
    Those are probably the biggies. Chocolate cake maybe sometime?

Unfortunately for him, I only had a week to "make my weight" at Weight Watcher's, so we didn't get to the lasagne. I remembered Tuesday night to make his favorite chocolate cake and it turned out all right. (Since I weighed in after dropping Ricky off at the airport this morning, I can now have a piece, too!)

His other preparations included shopping, a favored activity barely second to eating. He bought the Ipad he's been pining for and a nice mid-sized camera with lots of zoom we both wanted. He has a new Eddie Bauer backpack and monsoon worthy shoes and lots of beef jerky. So now he and all his preparations are in the air.

What will I do while he's gone that I don't do when he's here? Grocery shop, make my own coffee, decide what and when to eat. (I had Ricky buy ground coffee yesterday so I can keep my coffee bean grinder-free track record intact.) I will have to pay the few bills he could not pay in advance and may actually learn how to use the various TV remote controls. Brian is covering the pool maintenance, I made Wiley learn how to operate our robot floor cleaner, neither of which I have ever done or will do. I'll have to make sure the trash is set out, the cars are gassed and the house is secure when things go bump in the middle of the night. I will have to turn on the bedroom celing fan myself, then turn it off, back on, off, on, ....... (Remember, I'm fifty-something.) And I'll find out how to do all the other things he does without thinking or me noticing.

When the boys and I head to Colorado for a few days in July, I must study the route, book the hotels and make sure we have more than the usual $5 or so of cash I usually carry.

And he's worried we won't notice he's gone? I already said he's a funny man.

If you want to follow his India adventure, he has a blog at http://rickysplace.wordpress.com/