This is just a quick note to let everyone know that Debbie's surgery was successful and she's recuperating at home.  She is grateful for everyone's prayers!

Renate

I'm off for the next ten days on business, starting with meetings in New York City.   From New York I head for Detroit and the start of the tour for KNIT TOGETHER.  I’ll be in five cities in as many days.  This is a form of speed touring, which should work well.  I have a secondary goal, other than meeting my wonderful readers and autographing as many books as possible.  My quest is to find a baked potato.  As I wrote earlier in the week, the much-loved baked potato has disappeared from Port Orchard restaurants.  I’m beginning to wonder if this is an industry trend.  Is it any wonder America is in a spiritual and moral decline?????!!! 

I might not have a technical mind but I am not a stupid person . . . or so I thought until I purchased a Blackberry.  I should have recognized I was in way over my head when the “phone” came with not one but two instructional CDs.  It required an entire CD to show me how to turn the phone on.  (I am not making this up.)  As for voice mail and text messaging . . . I’m going to need college level classes.

Wayne has my Blackberry this morning so he can set up the Blue Tooth capability on the phone.  (I’m not entirely sure what that means beyond the fact I can talk on the phone hands-free while driving.)  He’s gotten a lot of enjoyment watching my struggles with this new toy.  My husband, God bless him, has a very high IQ (he’s a member of Mensa) and he thinks setting this up is going to be easy.  Forgive me while I snicker.

I’m wondering if anyone else has noticed what’s happening in restaurants all across America.  They’ve done away with the baked potato.  I wonder if Idaho knows about this. At first I was shocked, but then my shock turned into stunned disbelief.  Now I’m just plain peeved.  It took me some time to realize that there’s not a restaurant in all of Port Orchard that offers a baked potato with the entrée.  Don’t get me wrong.  I enjoy garlic-mashed potatoes as much as the next person, but give me my baked potato.

I don’t know when this happened or what prompted this clever ploy to do away with the baked potato.  All I can say is that I’m taking a stand.  If you’re like me and don’t want to go to Wendy’s for a baked potato, then join me in protest.  Let our voices be heard all across America.

Bring back the baked potato!

I’ve had the most frustrating and yet wonderful week of my year.  Frustrating because I really haven’t accomplished much of anything work-wise.  On the other hand , it’s been a good week because I’ve been enjoying meeting with family and friends.

On Wednesday my Breakfast Club met for a two - mile trek around the Bloedel Reserve onBainbridge Island ( http://www.bloedelreserve.org ).  This garden field trip had been on the books for months, and I wasn’t about to miss it.  I should preface this by mentioning that we were given a map.  What we didn’t realize is that none of us is capable of reading one! 

Thankfully, we didn’t require a Search and Rescue team to lead us back to the parking lot.

Yesterday Wayne and I drove into Silverdale to upgrade our phones.  All I’ll say on the subject is that I’ve given birth in less time.  This afternoon, Renate, my assistant, and I are taking a knitting class.  Did someone mention revisions, writing the synopsis for the 2009 hardcover?  If so, it’s a distant and faint voice that is fading into space.

Reader Bonnie Arnold mailed me a chatty letter about her summer adventures.  She mentioned she’s on a new diet, and in an effort to avoid temptation she avoided the route to work that took her directly in front of the town bakery.  Then one day she forgot and drove past.  Sure enough, the bakery window was loaded with delicacies.  Her resolve wavered, and she decided to let God make the decision for her.  She prayed that if God meant for her to stop there would be an available parking space directly in front of the bakery.  Sure enough, the eighth time around the block, a parking space was there! 

I’ve been reading Nora Ephron’s book I Feel Bad About My Neck and laughing myself silly.  The book bemoans the problems of aging and what we do as women to slow down the process.

I’m willing to admit I own probably ten different types of creams and lotions that I purchased for specific body parts.  I buy a special face cream, then another for my elbows and still another for my feet.  My favorite is body butter, of which I have no less then five flavors.  Yes, flavors, although I wouldn’t dream of spreading a single one on my morning toast. 

Nora states the amount of money she spends on hair, nails, and skin products is ridiculous.  She’s not alone in that department.  The truth is, and it’s shocking to report this, each one of us is about eight hours away from resembling a homeless woman on the street unless we keep up with our moisturizing routines!

I’m really not much of a Civil War buff, but Wayne is and he jumped at the opportunity to tour Gettysburg with our friends the Roches from Florida. I figured I’d ride along with Wayne and Gary, who is a certified guide.  Thinking I’d probably be bored, I brought along my knitting to help occupy myself while Gary explained the details of the battles.  It didn’t take long for me to set my knitting aside and get caught up in the tales of the conflict that so divided our country.

Wayne and I came away with a renewed appreciation of the history, the lives of the men who lived during that time period, and with each other.  We discovered history at its very best at possibly the worst time in our country.

I’ve often wondered if any of my children would develop the desire to write.  All four are wonderfully creative, but to this point none has shown any inclination toward the written word.  Just recently, however, my eight-year-old grandson James, started writing stories.

Now I realize you might assume I’m a proud grandma.  Make no mistake about it, I am indeed proud.  However, my sweet James reveals real talent.  One of his stories involved a actual event.  His school was broken into and vandalized.  James wrote a story about it.  In his story his suspects were apprehended and he sent them off to the clinker.  In James’ words, "By the time they got out of jail, they were too old for bingo."