I’m in New York with my three granddaughters, sharing one bathroom for the four of us.  My turn finally came, with 10 minutes of pure uninterrupted peace, at last!  I climbed into the shower; I wasn’t there one minute before Jazmine knocked at the door. “Grandma, I need to get something.”  Another knock,  Maddie:  “Sorry, Grandma, I have to go.”  Knock knock  … Bailey came in:  “ Everyone’s in here; I was lonely.”

I spent the weekend working in my yarn room, which was badly in need of organization.  As I stacked up the projects I have all ready to knit, it dawned on me that I couldn’t possibly live this long.  Most likely I will go to my heavenly reward with patterns and yarn that will never be completed.  The thought depressed me until I sat in church on Sunday.  It was there that God reminded me that there’s knitting in heaven!  I’ll have an eternity to knit up a storm . . . I just hope that’s long enough.

Congratulations to the winners in all the categories in this year's Romance Writer's of America RITA Award contest, held on Saturday.  It was a fun-filled evening and seeing so many friends in this yearly gala was a thrill.  I didn't win in the category in which my book, 20 WISHES, was entered, but the competition was steep.  I'm delighted to announce Rachel Gibson is the winner in the Best Contemporary Single Title Romance with her book NOT ANOTHER BAD DATE. Way to go, Rachel!

Check out all the categories and the winners at the RWA website:  http://www.rwanational.org/cs/2009_award_winners.

Wayne and I are flying out to Washington, D.C. and will be away ten days.  While I attend the annual Romance Writers of America National conference, Wayne and our Florida friend, Gary Roche, will be touring Civil War battlefields in Virginia. 

I’m up for a RITA Award (romance writer’s equivalent to the Oscar) in the Contemporary Single Title category for my book TWENTY WISHES.  My fellow nominees include Jean Marie Pierson, Rachel Gibson, Samantha Graves, Susan Wiggs, Susan Mallery, Jane Graves, and Elise Chidley.  If you'd like to check out the finalists in the other categories, here is a link: http://www.rwanational.org/cs/2009RITA_Finalists#CST.  Good Luck to us all!

The awards ceremony is Saturday, July 18.  I'll try to post results on Monday!

My beautiful, blond, blue-eyed daughter has turned into a motorcycle momma. I kid you not! Last week Jody took a motorcycle riding class in order to add the endorsement to her driver's license. Wayne and our two sons both ride and Jody said she felt it was time for a female in the family to show them how it's done. Jody is just the one to do it, too. She's got the boots, the gloves and the attitude. Go get 'em, girl!

My oldest son, Ted, stopped by the house yesterday afternoon.  Wayne had set a heavy box by the basement door, and Ted offered to take it downstairs for him.  I noticed he was gone a good ten minutes.
 
When he returned he came to me and said, “Mom, we need to talk.”
 
He was so serious I was immediately concerned.  “What’s the problem?”
 
“It’s your yarn, Mom.”
 
“My yarn?”
 
“You have a lot of yarn down there.”
 
“Yes, well . . . it is my yarn room.”  Okay, I’ll admit, some of the yarn has bled out into other areas of the furnished basement.  I’ve been sorting colors , and there are a few books here and there and more than one pattern scattered about.  It has been on myTo-Do List to get down there and clean everything out, but I've been so busy with other things.
 
“I think we need to do an intervention.”
 
“An intervention?” I cried.  Now really, that was carrying it a tad too far.
 
“Mom,” Ted said, still serious.  “You need a twelve-step group.”
  
Can’t you see it now? Me, at a large meeting, standing up and admitting to everyone present, “Hello, my name is Debbie, and I buy yarn.” 

Bogie destroyed Wayne’s new sandals yesterday afternoon.  These weren’t cheap ones, either.  They were his Father’s Day Clarks.  The thing is, Bogie was so pleased with himself for all the hard work and effort that went into the destruction.  He dragged the shoe out to show me, head held high, tail wagging.  “Look what I did, Mom!  Aren’t you proud of me?”  Wayne’s sandals now join the heap of Bogie’s other conquests: the flip flops I wear to and from swimming, Wayne’s old belt (he needed a new one, anyway), and my slippers.  Ah, the joy of puppy hood.

This probably doesn’t come as a surprise to anyone—I love to cook. So it makes sense when I tell you that I also love to eat. I’ve lost count of the number of cookbooks I have. In case you didn’t know, I even have my own cookbook that is due on the stands in September, so you’ll understand that I often fiddle around with recipes. Well, I have a recipe for you that turned out so well I’ve been telling everyone about it. It’s for cold avocado soup. I was looking for something fun and easy to whip up for dinner last week and had these two ripe avocados. And as they say, the rest is history. Enjoy.

Avocado Soup

2 ripe avocados
2 cups buttermilk
1 cup milk
4 scallions, chopped
3 tablespoons lime juice
salt & pepper
10 large ice cubes

Place first six ingredients in blender and blend, adding one ice cube at a time.

I’ve always loved The Fourth of July and the way the community got together to celebrate our Independence Day when Wayne and I were newly married and raising our family. Some of my happiest memories are of taking the children to celebrate by watching the parade and the fireworks display. Our oldest son, Ted, was about five when he saw his first marching band. He was mesmerized by the sights and the music and seemed enthralled with the man in front with the big baton. When I asked him if he wanted to march in a band one day, he nodded eagerly. Then I asked him what instrument he wanted to play. It took him a while to answer, and when he did his eyes were bright with enthusiasm. “I want to play the whistle,” he told me.

The time I have to knit is so precious, and it seems I have less and less of it.  (That, however, doesn’t mean I have decreased my yarn buying habits!)  Last Sunday offered five uninterrupted hours of knitting as Wayne and I drove home from our Washington State wine tour.  I was in knitter's heaven.  I’m working on a vest and managed to finish up the body and one entire side, when I realized, to my horror, that I had made a mistake in the first row I knit after we hit the road.  A really big mistake.  This is the kind of error that can only be fixed by ripping out to the error and starting over again.  Every knitter knows there are three basic stitches.  Knit.  Purl.  Rip.  Some of us, however, are better acquainted with the third than others.  Sigh.