I’m back from western Oklahoma where I witnessed the once sleepy Elk City/Hammon area transformed into a thriving boom town (thanks to deep gas wells and soon-to-be monstrous windmills). Recession be damned. I also survived two hours in a torrential rain storm on the runway of the Houston Hobby airport…with a two-year-old. I caught up on the latest Wynn-family gossip, ate my body weight in home made desserts and stood guard as several of my cousins helped my father bury the ashes of his old friend, Max, and Max’s mother, Velma in our tiny family cemetary in Carpenter.

“People will wonder how these two Germans ended up in our Welsh-filled graveyard,” my father said with a smile.

“It’ll give ‘em something to talk about,” my cousin Lisa replied. “And small towns need something to talk about.” Truer words were never spoken. RIP Max and Velma.

Last night, as Kaye, my mom, my sister and I drove back from dinner (Grandpa volunteered to take care of the little tyke while we sipped on vino and gossiped with renewed small town vigor), we had the misfortune of catching sight of the only obese, shirtless motorcycle rider this side of the Mississippi. The moment can only be captured by our sweet Kaye’s words:

“When I’m eighty, you better be damn sure I’ll be riding naked on a motorcycle down this street. I’ll toss my titties over my shoulder, let my hair down and welcome the hushed chatter at church on Sunday.”

“Why not do it at seventy,” I asked.

“I won’t be blind yet,” she replied. We all nodded our heads, peed in our pants from laughter and secretly wondered how freeing it would feel to not give a shit. I think I may do it when I’m sixty. Or next weekend if I can find a willing designated driver. And a really desolate stretch of road.

Before I reach that milestone…let me tell you about another. I finished the rough draft of my second children’s book last Friday. Now I just have to edit twenty-two chapters in two weeks. Please pray for me…and promise to take me out for celebratory cocktails when it’s complete. If the stress hasn’t caused my heart to stop functioning.

It’s 10:21 p.m. I must now spend the next two to six hours continuing aforementioned edit. Then maybe I’ll sleep for an hour or two before working on projects that actually pay my bills. Then I will quietly go insane.

I will also watch this video over and over, because it is appropriate timing and friggin’ hilarious (and because the idea of Seasonale has always freaked me out a bit). Enjoy: http://www.nbc.com/Saturday_Night_Live/video/play.shtml?mea=221774

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