Travel Tuesday: Don Donnelly Stables

A little over twenty years ago, for my eleventh birthday, my parents got me a horse.

Well, not my own horse. My parents weren't crazy.

As a child, I was in love with animals, but I was a little flighty. My parents weren’t ready to take on full-time horse care.

So they did the next best thing. They got me a horseback ride. Not just a ride in circles on a hitched-up pony. A real, mountainside, hours-long horseback ride.

The ride was about two hours, up into the foothills of the Superstition Mountains, and it was led by a guide from Don Donnelly Stables, based in Gold Canyon. It was one of the best birthday presents ever.

Two decades later, I'll admit there was a little nostalgia at play when I first booked the ride for my son and me. A blurry snapshot of me riding over a mountain rise on my horse still occupies a treasured spot in my childhood scrapbook.

Still, at almost 10, my son -- captivated by animals, fascinated by horses, adventurous, and a lot little flighty himself -- seemed like a perfect candidate for the same ride. I scheduled a late-morning two-hour "Tenderfoot" trail ride with ourselves and one other parent-and-child duo.

David spent the rest of that evening looking up instructional videos online. (In case you’re wondering, "How to ride a horse" returns about 26,600 results on YouTube.) He was definitely excited.

Obviously, we didn't have to rely on the Internet. The folks at Don Donnelly's D-Spur Ranch & Riding Stables are experts at helping riders learn the ropes (or reins), and feel at ease with their horses.

Don Donnelly himself, sort of an Arizona John Wayne, was passionate about preserving the desert wilderness, was a natural storyteller and teacher, and had a soft spot for children; so it's only natural that his wife, Shelly, and his stable continue his legacy as ambassadors to the cowboy way of life. It's impossible not to "cowboy up" at Don Donnelly Stables, or at least to want to.

We arrived fifteen minutes before our ride was set to start, signed waivers, and were fitted for helmets. (Helmets are not mandatory, though you do have to sign off that you don’t want to wear one if you choose to decline. We both wore them.)

Our guide, Rusty Bates, gave a brief overview of riding etiquette and demonstrated how to control our neck-reined horses, which are used to following the trail and are trained to respond to very slight pressure from the reins.

The first big hurdle - literally - was mounting our horses. I know David had worried about this, but mounting blocks made it relatively easy. We all swung onto our horses, David onto a Tennessee Walker named Bart and me onto a bay-colored horse named Skip.

From there, Rusty led our little train out of the corral and into the foothills of the Superstitions.

Rusty was a wonderful guide. He talked with my son and me, as well as the other family, throughout the ride, and put us all at ease. Every once in a while, he'd holler back to David, whose horse liked to trot ahead at a faster pace than anyone else, until David reined the eager horse in. By the time we were getting to higher ground, David was controlling Bart with relative ease. These horses know the drill.

We soon began to know our horses’ personalities and feel comfortable with their rocking, sometimes jerky gait, as they stepped surefooted over the rocky terrain. My horse, Skip, was careful going downhill, carefully picking his way over rocks and down the thin strips of trail. On the other hand, he liked to get up a head of steam on the uphills. David’s horse (to my dismay) liked to run both uphill and downhill. We both learned to rein in our horses.

After about an hour, we stopped for a break at a lookout point, ---- and led our horses back down the narrow, meandering trail out of the Superstition Wilderness.

By now, we were comfortable. That’s the beauty of a longer ride. The trip back was as much a sightseeing tour as a trail ride, with Rusty pointing out desert plants (somewhat unnecessary, as our horses liked to run our legs into cactus and our heads into trees) and animals (common sights include javelina, deer, and coyote; we saw rabbits and a few phainopeplas, silky flycatcher birds that resemble black cardinals).

As we rode back to the stables, Rusty carried on easy conversation and stories, right up to the moment we rode back to our mounting blocks. David’s horse decided to get a five-minute drink, with David still mounted, before heading over to be dismounted. David certainly didn’t mind. By this point, he was trying to milk every last second of horseback time he could from the experience. I can’t say I blame him.

If you’re looking for a break from the usual; if you’re looking to splurge on a treat for your kids; if you want desert scenery or if, like me, you’re still secretly that 11-year-old girl who’s in love with horses -- you’ll have a blast at Don Donnelly Stables.

Rides range from Leadline/Greenhorn (1-hour, for beginners) to all-day or overnight trips. Call ahead to reserve a ride at (602) 810-7029. Print the waiver ahead of time at www.dondonnelly.com.

Diplomacy

Two facts to know for this story: First, we're hugely pedantic sticklers for accuracy in this family. Seriously, our family has gotten into three-way blowouts over book titles, biology facts, or X-Men character arcs. Facts REALLY matter in this household (even fictional ones). Second, my son goes to public school.

If you think you know where I'm going with this, you might be wrong. I'm a product of public school, and have a bunch of relatives who work or worked in public school. It's usually pretty great. My son's teachers, for the most part, have been wonderful. Even when they aren't great, they're not evil, and I'd rather he learn to deal with difficult people now, when it's just the mean P.E. coach, than for the very first time when he's working for a difficult boss.

No, our district is fantastic, and his experience has been overwhelmingly good. But public anything is filled (even more than private/niche versions) with lots of people with different ideas, with different backgrounds, and different access to information up to this point. This is awesome, 99 percent of the time. It exposes my son to things I'd never know to teach or show him, and I wouldn't want to regulate the information he learns even if I could. Still, even highly qualified teachers, in this diverse setting, might think silly things. These things might make their way into lessons.

My son is a master at weeding out, questioning, and decimating silly assumptions. I am so freaking proud of his talent in this area, you wouldn't even believe it. I can almost see how nutty parents get off on living vicariously through their kids. It's like I get to be an insufferable know-it-all, all over again, as I listen to his stories. It's awesome.

The thing is, he doesn't have an equally high talent for diplomacy.

This has played out around some highly charged topics. However, I am (I hope) slightly more diplomatic than my 9-year-old, so I'll choose a recent example that's not tied to any treasured beliefs. My son learned the other day, in health class, that our blood is actually blue until oxygen hits it. This didn't sound correct to him (Why does shining a strong light through your hand look red? What about blood tests?), so he asked me about it. I told him no, I'm pretty sure that's not quite right. More importantly, I told him the trick is to look up this information, to know where to look, and to know how to recognize a good source. We looked it up together, confirmed that unoxygenated blood, while maybe a darker maroon, is still red. When it carries oxygen it's a brighter red.

He asked all kinds of follow-up questions, not all of which I could answer, and we discussed it for a while longer. He wanted to know how the health teacher got it wrong; and we talked about how even educated, highly intelligent people can get caught up in incorrect assumptions. How there's probably something right now that we both think that's wrong. How it's important to keep an open mind, but not be gullible and fall for every "fact" you hear or read.

Lastly, we discussed how he might broach this topic with his teacher or the other students. (He really, really wanted to broach this topic with his teacher or the other students. He always does.) We talked about how being correct isn't the end of the story. I told him how you mention the topic, and your disagreement, can make all the difference. That it shouldn't be about correcting someone so much as discussing the topic. We role played it. I was the teacher. He decided to tell teacher-me that he was interested in the circulatory system, so he'd gone home and looked at such-and-such reference materials with his mom, and from that, it seems like her fact (veins look blue) is sort of true, but there's more to it (blood isn't, and it doesn't change dramatically when it "hits the air"), and here are those facts. I thought it was pretty good. I was hopeful.

After his next health class, he mentioned the blood thing again.

"Oh! Did you ever ask your teacher about the blue blood fact?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah! We had a sub, but I told the class anyway. One of the other kids said 'Nuh-uh! She TOLD us it was blue.' So I said, 'Well, she's totally wrong! She got her information wrong and that's what happens if you're gullible and fall for hoaxes and stuff!' And I said it's like lying to keep teaching it if we can all find out that it's not true! So NOW I guess they'll all have to go home and look it up for themselves. Haha!"

I'm really sorry, Mrs. Health Teacher.

(Super) Spider Sunday!

Let's get this show back on the road. I shall start with your favorite topic and mine, spiders!

Well, it's my favorite, anyway.

If I haven't plugged it recently, you all need to get on Google+. It's growing into an awesome place to hang out (pun intended, for Plussers). It's especially good depending on your interests. I'll always troll the internet for science stories, but there are some awesome (and active) experts on G+ in fields ranging from astronomy to entomology. (There's also boring stuff like technology, but who cares about that when you can catch up on the latest in solar flares and spider penises?) And Flickr will retain it's place in my heart, but G+ is great for photography too, from amateur to pro, and the discussions there are fantastic.

Another great thing about my time on Google+ is that I've come to co-curate a weekly spider photography theme, Spider Sunday! (I mentioned it when I last posted, about a million years ago.)

In keeping with the theme, I'm going to start a new Spider Sunday feature to share the latest freaky/cool spider news, articles, pictures, and things I read when I should be working cutting-edge research. Enjoy!

Milking a what?!
Passed onto me by BJ, among others. I can't imagine why anyone would think of me when reading this story. On milking silk from black widow spiders (the spiders, while probably not too pleased, are not harmed) for potential human benefit. Origially posted, fittingly, in the r/WTF subreddit.

It takes (away) balls to mate, if you're a spider.
Well, more like palps. But it certainly takes some figurative balls to self-castrate just to maximize your procreative chances (since you are likely to be eaten before you're, um, finished). You probably thought I was joking about spider penises. Nope. "Spiders dodge cannibalism through remote copulation." Written by Google Plusser and science writer extraordinaire Ed Yong, and a nice double whammy on my husband, who was less than thrilled to find an article about both spiders AND snapping off one's genitals on the computer in place of his football scores.

Spider webs strengthened by local sacrifices
Spiderwebs are strong buggers. Just try stumbling into one. Here's a nice article on the resilient properties of the silk and webs, that keep damage localized. Materials scientists, civil engineers, and biologists are all studying the incredible little builders. It's almost enough to make me interested in the boring practical field of engineering. Read more on the resiliency of spider silk here and here.

What a black widow does when she's agitated
Well, before biting, hopefully. I can confirm this. When mine really gets going, her web is like a little upside-down trampoline. So adorable! (No? Not adorable? Come on!)

Spiders jump with deadly accuracy in green light
I've seen this one around for a few days now. Really cool experiment and conclusion on how jumping spiders use what's called image defocus, aided by a green-pigment layer in their retina, to nail the distance to their prey. Now I know when that jumping spider landed on my face, it was on purpose.

That's it for now. Share more spider stories, links, and other coolness in the comments if you have 'em, and if you have spider photos, head to Google+ and join in the Spidery Sunday fun. Anyone can watch the Superbowl. It takes balls (or, you know, a detached palp or two) to love spiders.

Monday Goodies: Tarantulas

Well, darn. Yesterday was a day off from school, which in my brain made it not Monday. So, I wrote up the Monday Goodies really late, uploaded the pictures, and then fell asleep without posting them. My comeback is not off to a great start. Bear with me.

I thought I'd start this week with some spiders. While we're on the topic, are you on Google+ yet? If so, add me! Also, every Sunday I curate a group of really awesome spider photos with two other Google+ friends, Kjetil Greger Pedersen and Chris Mallory. If you like my spider pictures, come check out a bunch more good ones on the Spider Sunday page. And join in next Sunday!

So this week's spider ... That big spider you had in your house was probably not a tarantula, especially not this time of the year.

I say this because, about once a month (last week was the most recent one), someone will send me a photo or tell me a story about a "HUGE spider," ask me what I think it was, and then cut me off to tell me never mind, it was probably a tarantula. Usually, it's a wolf spider, maybe a giant crab spider, or just a house spider and a really scared homeowner who swears "It must have at least been a baby tarantula."

That's not a tarantula. This is a tarantula.

Once you've seen a few tarantulas, you won't make the mistake again. Adult tarantulas are all-over bulky, not just long-legged. And they're hairy. To use a Dave Barry quote, they're more like “spiders so large they appear to be wearing the pelts of small mammals.”

Of course, Mr. Barry also asserts that menfolk are the spider killers, and women the spider haters. Which of course gets both me and my husband dead wrong. The point is, we know our spiders. (He, so he can run the other way; and me, so I can get closeup photos and be a know-it-all online.)


Our local tarantula is the Arizona blond; also called the western desert, Mexican blond, and probably a few names I haven't heard before. They tend to be in 1- to 2-inch burrows anywhere where saguaros and other desert flora abound. As you can see in the photo below, they blend in surprisingly well, until Agh! When did that get here?! The stocky females, which reach sexual maturity around seven to 10 years old, are a uniform brown color. The slightly lankier males, which are the ones most commonly encountered, have copper-colored bodies and black legs.


Also, if you're my son, you think they're absolutely adorable.


More on the Arizona blond tarantula soon, because it's also in my Species a Day, which is getting a big boost as soon as I catch up. As soon as Monday: The Sequel (known to more responsible individuals as Tuesday) gives me a breather. Happy week, everyone.

What do I think? (A rant)

I wanted to focus on editing some bug and landscape photos. Really I did. However, I received just one too many of these in my inbox today. Most of the time, the sparkly-kitty, America-and-Christendom-under-attack, send-a-hug junk just makes me chuckle. I might read them to my husband, and I usually consider replying with Weird Al's sentiments, before figuring that it's best not to rock the boat. Medical myths extra bug me, though, as some of you might have previously noticed. And this message did include a "What do you think?" solicitation, so I decided to be consider and reply.

I'll say this up front: I don't think this person, or the thousands or millions who pass these on, is stupid. That's kind of what bugs me. These are perfectly intelligent people, accepting (or halfway accepting) claims that take literally thirty seconds to debunk. And what's the harm? Well, nothing, just from following ridiculous urban-legend advice about placing onions all over your house (except maybe taking a hit socially). But there's very real harm in trusting cut onions over medicine; and even more pervasive harm in the backward mentality that the less elite someone is, the more they're to be trusted; the more ridiculous and hokey something seems, the more legitimate it must be: Why would people do these ridiculous things, otherwise? Sorry, no. Someone going out on a limb and doing something silly isn't exactly proof. Why, just an hour ago, I got this e-mail:

PLEASE READ TO THE END: IMPORTANT

In 1919 when the flu killed 40 million people there was this Doctor that visited the many farmers to see if he could help them combat the flu.. Many of the farmers and their family had contracted it and many died.

The doctor came upon this one farmer and to his surprise, everyone was very healthy. When the doctor asked what the farmer was doing that was different the wife replied that she had placed an unpeeled onion in a dish in the rooms of the home, (probably only two rooms back then). The doctor couldn't believe it and asked if he could have one of the onions and place it under the microscope. She gave him one and when he did this, he did find the flu virus in the onion. It obviously absorbed the bacteria, therefore, keeping the family healthy.

Now, I heard this story from my hairdresser in AZ. She said that several years ago many of her employees were coming down with the flu and so were many of her customers. The next year she placed several bowls with onions around in her shop. To her surprise, none of her staff got sick. It must work.. Try it and see what happens. We did it last year and we never got the flu.

Now there is a P. S. to this for I sent it to a friend in Oregon who regularly contributes material to me on health issues. She replied with this most interesting experience about onions:

Thanks for the reminder. I don't know about the farmers story.. but, I do know that I contacted pneumonia and needless to say I was very ill.. I came across an article that said to cut both ends off an onion put it into an empty jar...placing the jar next to the sick patient at night. It said the onion would be black in the morning from the germs.. sure enough it happened just like that.. the onion was a mess and I began to feel better..

What do I think? Well:

I think the "onions fight the flu" story is bullshit. I think it's been debunked for quite some time now, and the most cursory amount of searching for any combination of "onion" and "flu" will set you straight.

I think this is hardly a new or particularly clever idea, and I don't think it came from a hairdresser in Arizona. The "onions are magical germ zappers" myth goes back to about 1900 at least, and before that there were all kinds of folk myths about keeping onions around for various reasons. (Once I read that keeping an onion under your pillow led you to dream of your true love. I was 13, and my friend and I tried it. My next dream was about lions. She got Montel Williams. Let's just say I call that myth busted.) I think onions, while great, do jack-all to combat anyone's illness in the way described.

I think it doesn't really matter what I think, because these are all matters of fact, which you can look up from well-established sources. I think you should want to know if something is true, not take an opinion poll.

I think you lack a fundamental curiosity and intellectual rigor to really find these things out, or you would have looked these facts up for yourself, or at least tried to find any credible accounts that weren't told thirty-second-hand at best.

I think it's kind of silly to suppose that a farmer's wife would spontaneously decide that onions might de-germ her home and family. I think it's even sillier that folks are quick to mistrust actual experts about scientific and medical issues, but can't wait to find some folklore, golly-gee, just-so story about someone discovering a cure "they wouldn't want you to know about." If this wasn't total crap, I could almost see someone with a working knowledge of disease trying it and stumbling upon a novel solution, but this was (supposedly) a farmer. That would be a little like me saying "Hey, you know what? I know I'm not an athlete; hell, I trip over my own feet; but for some reason today I thought, 'What if I stuck baby carrots up my nose? I bet I'd have killer balance and speed, and could suddenly play football at the pro level.' And so I did it! And I haven't fallen since! AND, I made my husband do it, and we played football, and won! Carrots up the nose, everyone. Miracle sports trick."

I think if the doctor saw the flu virus in the onion and concluded that it "absorbed the bacteria," he might not be such a good doctor.

I think correlation is not the same as causation. Learn that, and you're halfway there. Furthermore, we don't even know that there was a correlation, and beyond that, we don't even know if these stories are legit or totally made up.

I think coincidences happen all the time. Let's assume no one in the hairdresser's salon got sick. Fine. I've gone without a vaccine before, and been fine. I went without one year, and got really really sick. You might luck out. Then again, you might not. "We did it, and never got the flu." Well, bully for you. I crossed my fingers before turning my ignition key last time the car wouldn't work, and it turned over. According to you, I've stumbled upon a genius mechanical strategy. Shall I start the chain letter or will you?

I think a "hairdresser in AZ," while not the last person from whom I'd take medical advice (she'd probably rank above Wakefield, for instance, or this guy I used to know who didn't shower), is pretty far down the list.

I think you, message originator, are full of crap. Your friend who "regularly contributes material to me on health issues?" Um, no. I regularly contribute to publications. Your friend sends you spam. I guess, technically, she "contributes material." On a related note, would you like to take posession of a veritable wealth of "contributed material" I have sitting in the cat's litter box right now?

I think it's sad, tragic, illogical, and totally unnecessary that people turn to chain e-mails and salon rumors when flu vaccines and other real medical advances exist.

I think I can just as easily debunk your other miracle onion claims. Don't stuff them in your socks. They don't cure fevers that weren't going to break anyway. They're not a miracle cure for pneumonia, or the black plague, or cancer. They also don't cause cancer. More importantly, though, learn to apply rational thought. Some totally weird things are actually true. It's not so important what you know, or what you think, as it is learning how to think and learn. And you don't do that by forwarding crap and taking opinion polls.

I think onions have various beneficial properties. When eaten.

I think your brain, and medical science, have nigh-limitless potential. When utilized.

New Year's not-resolutions

I never make New Year's resolutions. I'm too backlogged. By business. By family stuff. By photos, writing, my blog queue, my pitch queue, the queue of people outside the door every time I open it. And most of all, by my own internal clutter. I dwell on everything, and it guarantees I'll stay stuck in the backlog, rehashing and revisiting things for months after they happen (or don't).

See, I make resolutions all the time, and I'm stoked. Then, when things don't go smoothly, I get majorly stuck in this evil feedback loop of what-ifs and I-wishes.

So here are the things I wish, which I know will never happen, followed by what I do have, and a to-do list, from my 2011 self to my 2012 self. Maybe I can publicly shame myself into purging the I-wishes and getting my ass in gear on the to-dos.

I wish I could get to write the stories I know are good, instead of sitting on great ideas while waiting to hear back, only to have someone write in my place who thinks psychics are real and St. Nick's name is spelled "Santa Clause." I wish I weren't so dumb as to worry about it instead of sending off the next batch of great ideas. I wish I could know for sure my ideas were great.

Well, I can't. What I do have: ideas. Some of them, I'm almost certainly sure, are pretty great. And if that one idea that got turned down multiple times "because there won't ever be that much interest," in favor of a really dumb article -- If my story did turn out to be a big story, months and months after I first pitched it, and Big National Publication did a big national thing about it ... well, at least my husband saw it, and got furiously indignant on my behalf. And whether or not Big National Publication's version actually "sucked all kinds of ass" as my husband asserted, it was nice to have someone on my side.

[To do: Just write the damn pitch, you self-absorbed moron. If it tanks, write another. Repeat for all of 2012.]

I wish everyone in my family enjoyed perfect health. I wish no one was hurting, or suffering, or in the hospital ever. I wish this could be a migraine-free, puke-free, fever-free, surgery-free, mortality-free, pain-free, just normal ... year.

Not going to happen. Not everyone escaped unscathed this year, and they probably won't in 2012. Not all of them. It's horrible, seeing people you love hurting. I don't really have anything to say except that it's a terrible, helpless feeling, and I hate that most of you probably know firsthand how awful it is. We won't be pain free. But my family is a together, tough bunch. We don't hand out I-love-yous and you-can-do-its like crazy, but in a way, that's better. We just help, we're just there. We're sarcastic, we quote stupid movies to ease the tension, we nag one another, and when we bring out I love you and You can do it, it strikes home -- I'm really saying you can actually do it. Now get to it. And I really, really love you. If I don't have anything better to offer than a listening ear, chauffeur services, and situation-appropriate quotes from Monty Python and Mel Brooks; then I'm glad I'm good at those things, at least.

[To do: Be more helpful. Reach out. Do more. Make more phone calls, even though you hate it. Also, find new movies to quote. "Put ze candle back" and the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow are only applicable so many times.]

I wish I had money. Not a ton. Not even lots. Just enough to avoid waking up in a cold sweat at 3 a.m., wondering who's going to call and harass us today.

Well, I have enough. Not enough to avoid cold sweats, but enough to wake up in a bed, in a house. That really is something.

[To do: Get finances in order, and who cares if no one ever taught you. You're a grown-ass woman, and your husband's a grown-ass man. This is getting ridiculous. Then, help others. Even a little.]


I wish I had time. Again, not a ton. But here's the thing -- I want consecutive minutes. This minute here, minute there, half-hour if I'm lucky AND if I stay up until 2 a.m. -- it's making me insane. I cried the other day because I couldn't find the margarine. I just a moment of calm. I need my mind to work like a normal person's mind.

I don't have time. At least, it never feels that way. I don't have big chunks of time, and I can't focus in little bite-sized chunks. My brain is focused on a million things at once, and that's usually a bad thing. Then again, connecting disparate things is occasionally wonderful. The really important things always seem to carve out their own time. Sometimes I really don't notice or deal with things like everyone else does, and that's OK.

[To do: Calm the hell down. Stop trying to steal time -- stop even trying to make the time -- and just make do with the time you have.]

I wish I could travel. I want to go to the Galapagos Islands, Tanzania, Yosemite, the Congo and the Amazon, Antarctica, Borneo, with sharks, with bugs, in the air, in the water ... yeah. I'd like to travel, one day.

Yeah, right. Like, who doesn't wish this? (Answer: My husband. He told me I could go to Borneo when we have the money, as long as I don't make him go. I'm penciling it in.) Seriously, this isn't a unique wish, nor a unique failing. My failing is, of course, neglecting my backyard. I live in a freaking awesome place. I haven't even been to the Grand Canyon in years, to say nothing of a thousand other trails, hikes, climbs, drives, and haunts. And that's not even counting my own backyard. This to do almost goes without saying.

[To do: Travel, just in the state. Travel travel travel travel. Travel some more. Travel to the Grand Canyon, those hikes I grew up on, that place I got lost once, new hikes I've been wanting to try, and ones I've only just heard of. Check out side roads and creek beds, cliffs and mountains; and, of course, my own backyard. Take photos. Write words. Share. Repeat.]

I wish you all a happy New Year, and a happy entire year, full of love, beauty, health, sunsets, spiders, giant beetles, rattlesnakes ... wait. Those last three were wishes for myself. That other stuff is for everyone. Take care, everyone. Happy 2012.

I partially succeeded! (Or I failed at failure?)

My husband and I have a sort of running joke about our shared incompetence. Sometimes, we become abruptly horrified by our inability to carry on as well-adjusted, grown-ass adults with a child. We look around one day and realize that we're watching the third Star Trek: Deep Space Nine rerun in a row instead of cleaning out the garage; and that we're eating our cobbled together leftovers-Taco Bell-hot-sauce-and-melted-cheese quesadillas with tiny cartoon character forks because all our real forks are dirty and the dishwasher is clogged with something unidentifiable.

Anyway, we realize that this isn't the way adults with a child are supposed to behave, and that we would like to have a clean, happy home, and that we really don't want to be featured on an upcoming Hoarders episode. So we decide to grow the hell up. This time, we say, we're doing it right. No more ignoring dirty dishes until they pile up. No more avoiding the garage because we're scared of spiders (him) and clutter (me). From this point forward, we're domestic superheroes.

It never happens. But here's what does happen: We get slightly better each time we attempt it. I think, subconsciously, we know that we have to set ridiculously high goals. Then, when we inevitably fall short, we're failing into moderate success. This time around, the dishes are only mostly piled up, the table is mostly clear, and there are no funny smells anywhere in the house. And it's cleanup day, so it only gets better from here! I know; it's amazing. Yea us!

I'm the same way with most things. I planned to blog every day last month for NaBloPoMo, and I didn't. I guess I have some excuses. We had a ton of Serious Life Stuff issues going on this past month. (The thing with Serious Life Stuff is, it usually involves other people, and I'd much rather blog about rattlesnakes and black widows.) Still, I meant to put something up each time. I didn't. But look what I did do! Twenty-one posts in a month. That's something, right? And it's something I think I can keep up. This month should be a little quieter, but there are still appointments and assignments, family events and Chrismas visits. My anniversary is tomorrow (she said, in a shameless ploy to get "Happy Anniversary" comments), and I don't even know if we're doing anything. So yeah; I'm still busy. But 21 posts a month? Turns out I am totally capable of that. Who knew?

Really, I could have put up something most of those missing days, but I don't want to phone it in. I like making quality posts, and I think you all like reading/viewing quality posts, so I'm going to post as often as I can and not do bullshit "Well, here's a post; I'm busy" entries more than once a month or so. I think that's reasonable.

I could spend more time here. I could stress about spending more time writing, and more time looking for writing gigs, and more time with my son and my husband and our families; more time outside and more time cleaning and more time volunteering. But first, that's not possible. And second, I'm tired of stressing about spending time. I think I'll just focus on the spending quality time.

Anyway, thanks for sticking with me while I found my stride. Have a spider and a sunset.