The Remedy, Well, Sort Of

Lounging against the cushion of the deck chair, I gazed across the backyard toward Bald Mountain Lake in North Carolina.  After a day of putt-putt, swimming, scolding Grant for overturning his kayak and rescuing Harrison (Grant's 10-year-old cousin) after drifting too far out into the lake without a life jacket, I was ready to confine the children to the indoors and relax.

"It's well past 5 o'clock," I heard Michael say, implying it was cocktail hour.

"Would you like some wine?" my brother-in-law Troy asked him.

"Well, if you're going to open some, I'd hate for it to go to waste," Michael replied with a smile.

"Hey Di," Troy called out to me, "Can I bring you a glass?"

With my stomach still rumbling from my lingering illness, I politely, but regretfully, declined.

Planning Gone Awry

“If I’m really going to make a lifestyle change, then I have to figure out how to vacation without going berserk.”

—Me, July 9, 2010

I should really listen to myself because I’ve got great ideas. I plan ahead for almost everything. I plan my weekly meals. I plan my workouts. I plan my escape route on a plane, being careful to look behind me for the nearest exit. I’m always planning. What I need help with is executing the plan. That’s my downfall.