becoming mrs. bret

I HAVE A JOB!!!

After 17 months of unemployment, I have at last found the right place for me. Since September 23, I have been working at a travel certificate company, as the customer service rep for their top-of-the-line product.

For those of you who don't know — and that's all of you — travel certificates are those pretty brochures you're given when you earn a free vacation by attending a timeshare tour, or test-driving a car, or re-financing your house, or something. The company I now work for is one of the largest providers of TCs in the country, and one of the few that is a full-service agency; i.e., we have an in-house travel agency that handles all arrangements, and we specialize in TC fulfillment. That means we help people use their TCs correctly so they actually DO get a nearly-free trip (or air fare, or whatever it is they've earned).

And then there's the product I support. It's a package you buy for $1500-$2000 that gives you 30 free vacations. Well, sort of. Most of them provide free accommodations, some provide free air fare, two are cruises at up to 60% off. It's a helluva bargain, if you add it all up. My job is to help people understand how it works, so they can get the most out of it. And because this is our premier product, my clients are all treated with loving care.

I LOVE working here! The company is very classy, and the building is beautiful. By far, the nicest place I've ever worked. Lots of glass, tropical pictures, exotic plants and nice furniture. Very casually elegant. It even smells good in here! They must have little scent-makers hidden here and there. There's a faint, undefinable fragrance to the air that — combined with the pictures and plants — makes you think V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N. I keep expecting the Beach Boys to stroll through singing "Kokomo."

Best of all, I'm getting PAID to sit in this lovely place, talking on the phone with people about their vacation plans. Aren't you all SO jealous?

We had a power outage this morning. It started shortly after I got up at 3:00. I was alone in the computer room; Bret was still asleep. There was no warning flicker — everything just suddenly went off. Except my computer, which is plugged into a UPS (uninterruptible power source).

I am deeply, paralyzingly afraid of the dark. Have been since I was born. My imagination shifts into overdrive, and I am NEVER alone in the dark. And I don't mean that in a good way. There are BAD THINGS in every dark place. My terror is compounded by my inability to breathe in darkness. It feels as if the air is too thick to inhale, like a vise is clamped around my chest. That, of course, makes me even more panicky.

I sat huddled next to my monitor screen, the sole light in our apartment. The blackness outside the computer room door seemed to pulsate with evil. Nausea began to churn in my stomach, and I started to cry.

"Baby?" Bret's voice was like a beacon cutting through the darkness. He appeared in the doorway, my own personal White Knight. I walked shakily into his arms. After comforting me, he said we needed to shut down my computer, explaining that the UPS is only to allow you to save and shut down after the power goes out.

"But that's the only light we have!" I wailed.
"OK, well, where are all your candles?" Bret said patiently.
"In the closet. But all the holders are still packed. And the batteries in my big flashlight are no good."
"I know," he replied ruefully. "Sorry about that. No holders around at all?"
"There's Simon!" Simon is my crystal cat-shaped tealight holder. He lives on my bookcase shelf.
"OK, let's go light Simon." Bret grabbed a lighter from his computer desk, flicked it on and led me by the hand out into the darkness. I immediately attached myself to his side like a leech. He wrapped a protective arm tightly around me, and guided me across the apartment to our bedroom. Once Simon was glowing with friendly candlelight and I was safely curled up on the bed, Bret returned to shut down my computer and the UPS.

I lay on our bed and watched Simon's glow apprehensively. It wasn't burning steadily enough to suit me. There were far too many flickers and sputters. Bret was only gone a few minutes, but it was long enough for me to get jittery. He gave me a reassuring grin, saw that it wasn't returned and quickly crawled into bed.

"Come here, baby," he sighed. "Let's get you calmed down." He held out his arm, and I scooted against him. I snuggled in as close as possible, and Bret held me tightly. I even breathed in the scent of his skin, usually a sure-fire antidote to anxiety for me. But it was too late. I was already in the throes of nyctophobia.

I sat up abruptly, feeling unable to breathe properly when prone. As I often do when frightened, I began to rock unconsciously. Bret recognized the comfort mechanism at once.

"You're OK, babe. It's not dark in here. I think you should just lie down with me and close your eyes. Just pretend it's not dark out there."
"But I can still feel it. And I can't breathe when I'm lying down."

He moved closer and began gently rubbing my back, murmuring soothing sounds and reassurances. I felt my tenseness begin to ebb a bit. Until I heard something.

"What was that?" I hissed.
"What was what?"
"That noise outside the window. It sounded like . . . like a triffid!!!"*

Bret couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing. Loudly. As if on cue, the power came back on. My lighthouse nightlight again shone steadily, the fan whirred comfortingly and all the vertical blinds were rimmed with light from outside. And like magic, the vise around my chest fell away. I took a long, deep breath and released it on a sigh of relief.

"Thank you, God!" I whispered fervently. I slid down onto my pillow, next to Bret, who was already drifting back to sleep.
"Oh, babe?"
"Hmm?"
"Just for the record, that didn't sound anything like a triffid. It sounded like Freddy's blades."

I hate that man sometimes.

*A triffid was a mobile plant-like creature that infested Earth in the sci-fi classic, Day Of The Triffids.

Woo hoo! I'm in the ocean!

I am a happy, happy woman. Tracy is visiting us again, which also means that we see a lot of Juli. Tracy and I get along like cream and sugar, and I love having another Duke to take care of. I have a strong maternal streak (which makes me an excellent spouse for Bret!), and Tracy is very much like her father, meaning I get a healthy dose of playing mom.

Today Bret took the day off and the three of us went to the beach. Juli had to work, so she couldn't go with us. Bret and Tracy got in plenty of wave-riding, while I lost myself in a Dean Koontz novel. Now Bret has a sunburned head, and I have a neon-red back. Tracy was smart and slathered herself with sunscreen.

While they were boogie-boarding, I tried out the new audioblogging service. Click on the link below to hear my beach blogpost!

Today is our first anniversary. It doesn't seem possible that Bret and I have been married a year already! Juli is gifting us with dinner at the Claim Jumper tonight. Tracy arrives tomorrow for a visit, so tonight will be our last evening a deaux for the next week.

Our friends Valerie and Tom (and their three-year-old, Scott) came to visit us last weekend. Val created an amazing wood sculpture of a guitarist for us, and we were all pleased with how awesome it looks on our entry shelf, just below the framed Deep Purple albums. They also brought along the video of our wedding, which Val had filmed and we had yet to see.

Although Bret and I each HATED the way we look in the video (I look like an overstuffed sofa, Bret has long-but-thinning hair), it was still fun to watch. I had forgotten so many of the funny moments. My veil must have fallen off 15 times that day (Val and I joked that I should have thrown the veil instead of the bouquet!). The part where I was to put the ring on Bret's hand, only he held out his right hand and the ring wouldn't fit — and I didn't notice why, was hilarious. I said in a bewildered tone, "But it fit just fine before!" Then we all realized it's the wrong hand, and I was mortified — but our guests sure laughed!

Val successfully captured our strategy session on how to best cut the cake, as well as my reaction when Bret fed me some — my first taste of chocolate in 14 months. I nearly swooned. Juli asked if it was as good as I remembered, and I replied, "You know, it kinda tastes like Miracle Whip..." (I had used Sheryl's mom's delicious Miracle Whip Chocolate Cake recipe.) As I nibbled my way through my piece of wedding cake, some crumbs fell into my cleavage, prompting me to refer to my bosom as "my crumb-catcher."

My bosom drew attention again later, during the gift-opening, when I opened a card containing cash. I commented that, "It's just my size — and my color!" and promptly stashed it in my cleavage, garnering more laughs.

In between events, Val filmed many of our guests wishing us happiness. She must have gotten a bit annoyed with so many people just saying, "Congratulations, Suzi and Bret!" because after Brenda made a lovely, longer wish for us, Val commented to the mic, "She gets an A+ for her statement!"

I hadn't seen the flower toss, because I had my back to everyone. Viewing the video, I got a thrill watching my daughter deftly snatch the rose I'd tossed as it arced through the air. Unfortunately, Bret's toss of my anklet was not caught on film — but that I did see. I wonder what Zack did with the anklet?

Even the final moments of the video were not without humor. As Sheryl prepared to sign our marriage certificate, she commented that the wording referred to her as "the person who solemnized the vows," but her tongue got tangled on the word. I said, "Solemize? I thought that was illegal in 48 states."

I'm happy to say there is as much laughter in our marriage as there is in our marriage video. More, actually. Much more.

I had a job interview yesterday. It was for a combination receptionist/assistant position with a broadcasting company that owns five radio stations. Because I've been jobless for more than a year now, I am getting desperate to find employment. I'd had a phone interview with the woman in charge of hiring on Monday, and she'd been very positive. She liked my voice, I had all the right skills, we had an excellent rapport. I was looking forward to the in-person interview, but with no small amount of nervousness.

The woman with whom I was to interview at 11:30, Peri, called me at 10:00 to reschedule for 1:30. She was having a bad reaction to her chemical peel*, and needed to make an emergency visit to her cosmetic surgeon, who was also going to remove her facelift stitches. I promptly redid my makeup from my usual "natural" look to a more sophisticated style (i.e., I put on some lipstick). I normally wear slacks to interviews; this time, I decided to pull out all the stops and wear a skirt. Whipping out an outfit I had bought two years ago for interviews but never worn, I added a pair of high-heeled shoes I hadn't had on in over a year. As soon as I put it all on and looked at myself in the mirror, I remembered WHY I'd never worn that outfit. I did NOT like the way I looked. To me, I looked too matronly — frumpy and dumpy. I left for the interview feeling less than confident, but determined to do my best.

The offices of ABG are stunning — very classy and elegant. But empty! The temp receptionist was nowhere to be found, and the guy who finally came out to help me told me Peri had not yet arrived. I sat in the lobby for 10 minutes or so, fortunately calming down a bit. Then Peri arrived, her head swathed in a designer scarf and big sunglasses like a celebrity. She was wearing a chic suit that looked like it cost more than Ms. Malarkey (Juli's car), and stiletto heels. An equally well-dressed young woman followed in her wake, carrying a pile of papers and bags. They swept by without even noticing me. However, the man who'd helped me must have told Peri I was there, because a short time later he ushered me to her office.

In my opinion, I lost the job the minute I stepped into Peri's doorway. Judging by the look that flashed across her face, I suspect that a short, fat woman whose purse didn't match her shoes was not quite what she was hoping for. All shreds of self-confidence I'd gathered fled. I felt like a Kmart Blue-Light Special in the middle of Neiman-Marcus. What followed was the shortest interview I've EVER had. Peri looked over my resumé, took a phone call, asked me a few random questions and then asked if I had any questions. I took the opportunity to briefly explain to her why I thought I was the perfect person for the position (what I knew of it, since she hadn't offered any more info), and asked if the company offered a benefits package. She looked annoyed, and said yes, they had a pretty standard package. THEN, she said that she had five more people to interview. She said, "Give me a few days. I have to go through the process, but I feel like I'd be really comfortable working with you. I should have an answer for you by Friday, if not sooner." I thanked her, said I hoped she felt better soon, and left.

That's the bad news. The GOOD news is that Peri was definitely not herself. She told me several times that she was in a great deal of pain, and was woozy and nauseated. I suspect she was also extremely self-conscious, since her face was raw and swollen, and she had no makeup on at all (as a natural blonde, she therefore appeared to have no eyelashes or brows). It was so painful for her to move her lips that she ended up attempting to talk without moving them, holding a cloth against her chin to brace them. We actually talked more about how dreadful she felt (and why) than about the job. The lovely young woman turned out to be Peri's daughter, who had driven her to work and was taking solicitous care of mom. Her condition could well account for why Peri seemed so uninterested in me, and why she asked so few questions. Clearly, she was not thinking clearly. If my face felt like someone had worked it over with a potato peeler, I don't think I'd remember my own name!

Peri actually spoke as though I pretty much have the job in the bag. Sheryl thinks Peri had likely made up her mind she wanted me before I even went in, and the interview just confirmed it. Juli, on the other hand, thinks Peri was just blowing me off. It remains to be seen which one is correct.

Stay tuned for continuing coverage of the latest developments in this gripping story.

*NOTE: A GOOD reaction to a chemical peel is that all the skin falls off your face. What the hell happens in a BAD reaction???

Last night Bret set the couch on fire.

OK, maybe that's a slight exaggeration, but it got your attention, didn't it? And he did burn a hole in the couch. Worse, he burned a hole in my favorite pink pillow!!!

Those of you who know Bret well are no doubt familiar with his habit of doing virtually everything with a cigarette in his fingers. Eating, gaming, driving, cooking . . . he even keeps an ashtray and lighter in the bathroom. So far, Bret hasn't figured out a way to smoke while he's showering, but if anyone can, he will!

Last night, Jamie called to chat. Bret had just lit up a fresh cigarette. I don't know why he didn't just set his cigarette in the nearby ashtray momentarily, but instead he attempted to juggle cigarette, cell phone and remote control. Naturally, he dropped the cigarette. Because it was lit, he made a mad grab for it, but only succeeded in knocking it flying. After asking Jamie to call him back in a few minutes, Bret started a frantic hunt for the smoking butt. As soon as I figured out what had happened, I joined him.

We couldn't find it. It wasn't on the floor, the end table, under the couch, in the couch, in the stack of magazines under the end table, not even in the box of old 45s sitting at the end of the couch. We were mystified. How could a burning cigarette just disappear? Bret, reasoning that if we couldn't see smoke it must have extinguished itself, gave up the hunt when Jamie called back. I went back to cooking dinner, but with no small amount of trepidation. A smoldering cigarette does not simply vanish.

When Bret got up to go into the computer room, I decided to give the couch another thorough search. Starting at Bret's end, I began systematically removing the cushions and checking the hide-a-bed underneath them. Finally I reached my end of the sofa, and flipped over my pink pillow. There was the errant cigarette, still burning. And there also was a dime-sized hole in the sofa cushion, still smoldering, AND a nickel-sized hole in my pillow, also still smoldering. I squashed the butt in an ashtray and pounded out the glowing edges of both holes. When I called out "I found it!" Bret came in to see where. He was amazed that the burning butt had ricocheted that far, and deeply apologetic for burning a hole in my pillow. I gave him a stern safety lecture, commenting how lucky we were that I had found the cigarette before the couch erupted into flames. Sheepish, Bret promised to be more careful in the future.

All I can say is, he's damn lucky I found that pillow in the dumpster.

Bret and I have recently begun collecting LPs. For those of you too young to know that term (I'm talking to you, Tracy!), LP stands for "long-playing," as in a vinyl album. What people listened to before CDs, before cassettes, before even 8-track tapes. What WE saved our allowances for, and listened to endlessly back in the '60s and '70s. I used to leave the arm of my turntable open, so that it would keep playing Jefferson Airplane repeatedly — until my mom yelled at me!

Because I tend to hang onto things I treasure, I still have most of my LPs. Bret was astounded to discover this, and has been drooling over my collection ever since. However, some of the groups he was really into are sparsely represented on my shelf of albums — in particular, Deep Purple and King Crimson. So we decided to search for them on eBay, just out of curiosity. And what an excellent idea that turned out to be!

We've been amazed at some of our finds. We got FOUR Deep Purple LPs — originals, not remasters — for $10.00, all in near-pristine condition! Another one arrived Monday, and still another is on its way from Great Britain. I've already framed and hung Burn, and In Rock will join it as soon as it arrives. The accent shelf below them will soon be occupied by a guitarist sculpture my artist friend Valerie is creating for us.

We haven't had such good luck with the Crimson albums. We've been outbid by a good bit every time. I was particularly crushed by the loss of a rare PINK vinyl promo 45 of "In The Court Of The Crimson King," but nearly as disappointed at being outbid on a gorgeous two-LP set of In The Wake Of Poseidon and Lizard. People are outrageous in the amounts they will pay for Crimson items! Bret has a firm rule of no more than $20.00 per album, and wouldn't bend it even for the pink 45, no matter how much I pouted. Since we are picky about the condition we'll accept, we may never win a Crimson album!

Still, we're having fun trying, and watching our collection grow. And that's what counts, right?

Yesterday, we had our first significant earthquake since Bret moved here. A 5.2 shaker at 3:30 in the afternoon. And Bret missed it! He is SO disappointed. He's been anxiously awaiting his first earthshaking experience for more than a year. Now we finally got a noticeable quake, and he didn't even feel it, because he was working on the huge table saw at the shop.

I was (naturally) at my computer at the time, revamping my resumé. I felt the quake right away, and either it went on for a good while, or this building continued to shake after the fact. It scared me, because that is often how the big ones are — a moderate shake that lessens but doesn't stop, then BAM! And you're leaping into the nearest doorway while the floor bucks beneath you. That's when you turn on the news later, and learn that some freeway near the epicenter pancaked.

Luckily, this time was not a big one. But it was certainly strong enough to rattle me. As soon as we stopped swaying, I zapped Bret a text message: EARTHQUAKE!!! Did you feel it? XOXOXO. When he got home later, he asked me what it meant. "Didn't you feel the earthquake at 3:30?" "We finally had one?!?! I missed it, damn it!" "Well, cheer up, honey. There could be an even bigger one on the way! You're bound to get another chance."

Summer does tend to be earthquake season, after all. We don't call it "shake and bake time" for nothing!

Tonight was absolutely one of the funnest (it is too a word!) evenings Bret and I have ever shared. We've been playing with MusicMatch Jukebox quite a bit lately — I'm even in the process of creating a custom "skin" for mine, because there are no pink ones available to download. Bret came home in the mood for music instead of TV, and somehow we wound up having our own personal karaoke session.

This is how it evolved. Bret is continually challenging me on my music knowledge. He's got this crazy notion that he has been musically aware longer than I have. I keep reminding him that I am five years older than him, and my siblings were listening to rock & roll when I was a toddler. Therefore, I was getting exposure to music BEFORE BRET WAS EVEN BORN! And not just rock music, either. My entire family has always been into music, and I grew up hearing my parents play Big Bands, country, show tunes and a variety of other musical genres. He is not going to trip me up with some old classic that I was singing along to while he was still in diapers! But he keeps trying.

He tried again tonight. He'd stacked a variety of songs — everything from Artie Shaw to Techno Babble — in the playlist, choosing them from our extensive music library. Then an old favorite caught his eye, and Bret exclaimed, "Wow, I haven't heard that in years! 'My social life is dirt, my name is really mud . . .' " And I joined in for the next two lines: "I'm up to here in lies. Guess I'm down to size, to si-i-i-i-ize!" Then I turned around to correct him. "Actually, it says, 'My social life's a DUD,' to rhyme with 'My name is really mud'." Bret stared at me in astonishment. "You know this song?" "Of course, I do. 'Talk Talk,' by The Music Machine." "You can't know this song. Nobody's ever heard it but me and my brothers." (I swear, he thinks the Duke boys had their own personal radio station that only they could hear!) I looked at him like he'd sprouted another head. "Are you nuts? That song was a big hit! Anybody our age would know it!" We then launched into a heated argument about A. Was "Talk Talk" a big hit or not? and B. Do the lyrics say "dirt" or "dud"? I know for a fact that I am right on both counts, and was able to easily prove the second by having him search an internet lyrics database.

Well, once we had the lyrics in front of us, Bret decided we had to sing it together. He's been dying to try karaoke, but his self-consciousness in front of people makes him chicken out every time (I, on the other hand, thrive on the attention). Now he's thinking that if we come up with a few songs to sing together, and practice them at home, he won't be so scared to give public karaoke a try. So we sang along to "Talk Talk," and weren't half-bad. And that's how The Dukes' Homemade Karaoke Night began.

We had so much fun with "Talk Talk" that Bret wanted to try some more. We scrolled down the LONG list of songs, debating the pros and cons of various possibilities. How about Janis Joplin? No — easy for me, but Bret would have to become a castrato before he could hit some of her notes. Paul Revere and The Raiders? NO. That prompted another hot debate over whether that group SUCKED (me) or RULED (Bret). We finally settled on Jefferson Airplane's "Triad," a beautiful, unusual love song from their second album. "Are you sure you know the words?" "Oh, yeah. Believe me, I know ALL the words." And he did! But while singing this song, Bret discovered he could harmonize better with me if our heads were close together. No, not just close together, smack up against each other's! Now, that is an odd position to sing in, literally ear-to-ear with someone else. I found it more comfortable if we faced opposite directions, temple against temple.

Bret decided we should try something more upbeat next, so we picked out Joe Cocker's version of "She Came In Through The Bathroom Window." No head-to-head for this one, because in order to get into full Cocker Mode, Bret needed to flail his hands around. As soon as he started that, I burst out laughing and couldn't sing. OK, maybe if I do the Cocker thing, too. So not only did I flail my hands, I rocked and threw my head back and rolled my eyes and made the fish-mouth. Bret just lost it. He literally fell out of his chair laughing. I joined him, and once we could speak again, we decided Cocker songs just were not going to work. We moved on to Joe Walsh's "Life's Been Good," for which we had to find the lyrics. Bret wanted to do the head thing again, too. Good thing I knew all the words, because he was facing the computer screen!

The evening ended on the same note it had started with — another old song Bret couldn't believe I knew. And again, I knew every word. He was playing Ray Price's version of "Heartaches By The Number," an old rockabilly song I grew up hearing sung by Johnny Tillotson. I'd never heard of Ray Price before Bret introduced me to him. Nice voice, but his music's too twangy. I don't much care for most of the old-style country music. Give me Toby Keith or Travis Tritt any day.

Next time we hit Acapulco for Karaoke Night, Bret's singing.

Entré, s'il vous plait . . .

I think I'd like to have my own restaurant. A bistro-type place, very cozy and atmospheric. Booths (built by Bret, of course!) covered in pink, purple and turquoise paisley fabric. Beaded, fabric-shaded hanging lamps. Chunky pottery jars of alstroemeria on each table. All the glassware custom painted with designs by Brenda. Dimly-lit, with a faint, underlying scent of patchouli in the air. Downlights illuminating artwork by Valerie. Concert posters on the walls (both past and present), and some of the most excellent (artistically-speaking) LP covers framed and hung here and there (see list on Chronic Listaholic). In the background, music from the Moody Blues, Loreena McKennitt, Deep Purple, Robin Trower, Staind, Joe Cocker, King Crimson, Etta James, Pink Floyd, Joss Stone, Bela Fleck & the Flecktones, k.d. Lang, Tom Waits — and a few Phish, for when Juli stopped by. On Friday and Saturday nights in our funky-chic bar area (fully designed and built by Bret, decor by ME), we'd have live music from hot local bands like 34 Below, Rambis and Wonka Bar. Wednesdays would be Karaoke Nights. If you came in to celebrate your 21st birthday, all your drinks would be on the house — and so would any designated driver's.

The menu would be eclectic. Deep Dish Lasagna, Tuna Melt Wraps, Roast Pork Tenderloin with Garlic-Sour Cream Smashed Potatoes, Chicken & Olive Enchiladas, Spinach & Mushroom-stuffed Manicotti, Pad Thai with Fried Yam, Suzi's Stacked BLTs oozing melted cheddar. Down-home side dishes like Butter-Soaked Baby Limas, Fire-Roasted Corn-on-the-Cob, and Young Asparagus in Colby Sauce (NO BROCCOLI). Surprising appetizers like Hotter Than Hell Devilled Eggs, Deep-Fried Macaroni & Cheese, and Red Pear, Pecan and Gruyere Salad. Decadent desserts like Death By Chocolate Cake, Double Fudge Brownie Sundaes and Suzi's Tie-Dyed Almond Cookies. Coffee so good, so rich and fragrant, it could only be Jamaica Blue Mountain. Oolong, Jasmine and Chai teas (and Lipton, with cream and NO lemon, just for Sheryl). A nice variety of herbals — Bengal Spice, Red Zinger, Chamomile. Stone Ales, Newcastle, Bass, Klausthaler, White Merlot, and a house Blush wine from Orfilia that sparkled in a beautiful, translucent pink. Bottomless glasses of Dr. Pepper, Barq's, Schwepp's Ginger Ale and Jolt Cola. Crystal Geyser water, and ice made with it, too.

SuziJane's would be located at the intersection of Bond Avenue and Duke Street in San Diego. We'd have to have an underground parking garage to accommodate the weekend crowds. Friday would be "by reservation only" from 4:00 to 10:00. Our friends would never be given a check. We'd be the hottest cool place to go in town.

SIGH . . .

I am absolutely loving our new home! Especially the kitchen. It's so wonderful to have a place to put everything, and still have plenty of room to work. Not to mention the joy of having a dishwasher! And the full-size oven has been getting a workout, too.

Last night, I was making Tamale Pie for dinner. Bret was sitting on the couch, watching Stargate SG-1, so I was keeping the volume low on my singing. I happened to glance over at him, and he was watching me with a soft smile on his face. Puzzled, I said, "What?" Still smiling, he just shook his head. "Nothin'. Just enjoying watching you." "Was I singing too loud?" "Nope. Just perfect." (I didn't have the heart to tell him the song he was enjoying was a Billy Joel one — "Until The Night," a beautiful, passionate song that I have long loved. He detests Billy Joel.) It's a good thing Bret likes my singing, because I've been doing it pretty much nonstop since we settled in here!

Today, I had from-scratch banana nut bread in the oven when Bret came home from work (cooking song-of-the-day: Linda Ronstadt's "Blue Bayou"). He must have asked me five times how much longer it had to cook, even though the minutes were clearly counting down on the timer. We ate warm banana nut bread slathered with butter, which totally wrecked our appetites for dinner. But God, it was good! Although, I think it went better with my milk than with Bret's beer.

Monday has become my "make the house immaculate" day. Since Monday was a holiday this week, I cleaned on Tuesday instead. It is impossible to make the house immaculate when Bret is home. He walks around with cigarettes, dripping ashes. He dribbles cookie crumbs and drops chocolate chips. He leaves empty Dr. Pepper cans wherever he happens to be when he finishes them. He removes his clothing one garment at a time, and drapes each one over the nearest protruding object. So I confine my cleaning to after he's in bed, and while he's at work. It's a system that works well for us. Anyway, while I was vacuuming Tuesday, I suddenly realized I was singing REALLY LOUD. Like I was trying to be heard over the vacuum! Amused, I made myself take the volume down a few decibels. But none of the neighbors had banged on the wall, so I guess I didn't get caught. Or maybe they did, and I just didn't hear them.

One month ago today, Bret and I moved into our new apartment, and the place is actually starting to look like home now! We now inhabit a 2 BR, 2 BA apartment in the same complex Juli lives in, and we LOVE it. Everything except the water pressure, that is. I've never seen a washer take so long to fill up! But hey, we've GOT a washer — AND a dryer, so I'm not complaining.

It's an amazing feeling to have multiple rooms again! I love the fact that, when Bret goes to bed at 8:00, I can stay up blogging and watching TV without disturbing him. We haven't set up our computer room yet, because Jamie and Dan were sleeping in there while the kids were visiting. But we've got it planned out, and Bret will be building our desks soon.

Bret volunteered to restrict his smoking from the bedroom, so by default, that made the adjoining bathroom mine. I've done it in a "hippie-girl" motif, with a paisley shower curtain, pink flower rug and a picture of Janis Joplin on the wall. My Mexican pottery cat looks right at home in there! Bret's bathroom (about twice the size of mine) is done in shades of blues, beiges and browns. Juli picked everything out, and Bret was quite pleased with the end result. And I love drying off with towels that smell fresh and clean!

We don't have much on the walls yet. I know what I want, but have been holding off on non-crucial purchases. We're trying to be careful with money right now. I had gotten a job at the local Albertson's deli counter, but only lasted four days. It was extremely unpleasant, with pay not much above minimum wage. I left in tears on the fourth day, and have not yet been hired elsewhere. I've had two interviews, but didn't get either job. It's pretty demoralizing. Tomorrow I have another interview, and I fervently hope this time, I'm chosen! Of course, then we'll need to deal with the problem of transportation for me! If only Bret's boss would sell us that pink and white truck he's got . . .

Bret, Tracy, Jamie and Dan at a Tijuana marketplace.


The house seems so quiet now. Bret's two daughters and son-in-law have been visiting us for the past week, and they left yesterday morning. I spent the rest of the day cleaning house, so was too busy to notice how quiet it is now. Today, I'm noticing!

Last week was the definitely most fun we've had since our honeymoon. We took the kids to the beach twice, to Casa de Pico and to Tijuana. I was extremely relieved that both Jamie and Tracy seemed to genuinely like me, and we all got along great. I had been quite nervous about meeting them, and what they would think of me. They both said how glad they were that their dad has someone who loves him and takes such good care of him. That made me feel much better!

Tracy would have gone to the beach every day if she could have. And she managed to accomplish something I haven't been able to: She got Bret into the ocean! Not just his feet, either — he actually went out into the waves and rode the boogie board Tracy had bought for him. Only a few times, but I was quite impressed, knowing how he feels about water. It took a lot out of him, though — once he came out, he refused to go back in, no matter how much Tracy begged.

The night we all went to Casa de Pico (Juli joined us), I got violently sick (NOT from the food!). Juli was already under the weather. Dan, Tracy and Bret all got stinking drunk on Mucho Grande Margaritas, but thankfully, Jamie remained both sober and well. She "mommed" us all, even running for cold water while I deposited my dinner in a wastecan. Somehow, we all made it back to the car, and Jamie drove us home. The big thrill of the evening was that, on the way home, we got into TWO races! People always underestimate Dan's car, and we left both challengers eating our dust. It was quite exciting.

Bret and I have been to Tijuana together twice before, but this time was by far the most fun. As usual, we rode the MexiCoach bus across the border. We shopped our way down one side of Avenida de la Revolucion, and back up the other side. Dan is fluent in Spanish, and had a great time bargaining with the local merchants. Bret fell in love with a huge, gorgeous blown-glass scorpion, so Dan attempted to haggle the price down to $15. He wasn't successful, but I played Senora Turista, and had better luck. We got the scorpion for $20. My big purchase was a cute, brightly-painted pottery cat that I got for $5. I bought Juli (who had to work) a blue version of my sombrero ashtray, as she had requested. Tracy chose a T-shirt, and a lovely enameled silver bracelet. Jamie and Dan were the big spenders, bringing home both a ceramic Aztec wall calendaria and a set of blown-glass pitcher and glasses in a wrought-iron stand. We wound up our visit with tacos and Coronas at our favorite taco stand, inside the MexiCoach terminal. Juan even made a special vegetarian version for Jamie. Unfortunately, we got stuck waiting in the bus for an hour to pass through inspection at the border, but that was the only sour note in an otherwise marvelous day!

In loving memory of my brother, Jonnie
who passed away Saturday, April 17th

April 7, 2004

My dearest beloved brother Jonnie,

Today is your 60th birthday, but because you are so ill, I can't call you like I always do to say Happy Birthday, and then talk for two or three more hours. We may not talk that often, but we sure make up for it when we DO talk!

But I want to tell you how much I have always loved and idolized you, Jonnie. You have been the best brother a little sister could ever hope for. I have such wonderful memories of times we've shared. Remember when we were coming home from Libya on the USS Rose? You and Bunnie were playing ping pong, and one of you sent the ball flying through the swinging doors into the dining room, just as someone opened them. The ball landed right in some guy's mashed potatoes!

I remember when you bought your first car, when we lived in Poway the first time. It was a Ford, I think maybe a '53 or '54. You were so proud of that car, and I remember you took me cruising around Rexford Terraces. That car was butt-ugly, but it was a thing of beauty to you, because it was YOURS!

Did you know the first time I ever ate at a Denny's was with you? It was when we lived in San Bernardino. You were babysitting me, and you and your friend John wanted to go see some movie. So the two of you took me along! We had dinner at Denny's, and it was such a thrill to me the way you and John treated me like an equal instead of like a pesky little sister. Funny, I can't remember what the movie we saw was, but I sure remember dining at Denny's!

One of my fondest memories is from my first trip to New Jersey, with Mom and Dad in 1972. It was our last night there, and I was disconsolate because I had forgotten to buy one of those "invisible dogs" they sold on the Atlantic City Boardwalk. I wanted one so bad! You suddenly decided that we should just jump in the car and drive there and get one. So we did! Do you remember that night? It was just you and me, and we talked so much, all the way there and back. Remember running through the parking lot, giggling like a couple of little kids? We got to the place just as they were closing, and I got my "invisible dog." On the way home, you told me that you were amazed how much alike we were, how many similar interests we shared. You were especially pleased that I had developed a talent for photography, and that I wanted to be a writer. The bond between us was so much stronger after that wonderful night.

Remember the Christmas of 1974? It was the last Christmas that all our family was together. We all gathered at Mom and Dad's house on Rose Street in Escondido. The presents under the tree spread halfway across the living room! Amazingly, we actually managed to get through the entire day without anyone having an argument! That was the Christmas Joyce gave you some antique gun that you had been desperately wanting. A Colt 45, maybe? I have the cutest picture of you, glaring like a desperado with your big mustache and that gun in your hand. And I LOVE the picture of all of us grouped together around Mom and Dad, making goofy faces. How could we have guessed that we'd lose Mom just three years later?

By the way, thank you for bringing Joyce into our family. Mom told me once that of all her children-in-law, Joyce was the only one she loved like her own. We have all been so glad to be related to her, and so pleased with the happiness she has brought you. See? You even gave me another great sister!

But one of the best things you ever did for me was giving Juli and me the trip to New Jersey in September of 1983. My life was in shambles around me, and I felt like I was on the edge of my sanity. You and Joyce paid for Juli and me to come visit you for a week or two, and it gave me a chance to get my feet under me again. That trip remains one of the highlights of our lives for both Juli and me. Everything about it was so wonderful - from the charming room we stayed in, upstairs in your lovely Point Pleasant home, to the trip to Barnegat Lighthouse. You offered to carry Juli to the top, but she wanted to walk all those steps herself. And she made it, even though she was only three! She loves the picture I took of Jonathan and her at the top of the lighthouse. He was really great with her. I know I have thanked you for that trip many times, but once again, thank you for saving me.

Jonnie, do you realize that was the last time we actually spent time together? Twenty years ago! That's incredible to me, because we have remained so close. I guess that's due to those long, LONG phone calls! I hope and pray with all my heart that that last one we had, talking for two hours about the family slides, will NOT turn out to be the last one we have in this lifetime. I hope you triumph once again over this damn disease, and make a full and complete recovery. But if that is not to be, Jonnie, I want you to know that I will carry loving memories of you and gratitude to you in my heart till the end of my days. And with all my heart, I believe that we will see each other again beyond the bounds of this lifetime. However this battle of yours ends, with all my heart, I wish you peace and send you love.

Your loving sister,
Suzi

Bret navigating Canyon Sin Nombre.


Yesterday Bret and I spent Easter morning out in the Anza-Borrego Desert! We left the house about 4:45 a.m., in order to get to the desert by sunrise. Armed with our wonderful new Fuji FinePix S-5000 digital camera, we packed sausage & biscuit sandwiches, plenty of hot coffee and cold Dr. Pepper — and the desert off-roading guidebook Bret had borrowed from Ben — and set off in the pre-dawn darkness.

We drove straight out Interstate 8 to County S2, taking a side trip to explore McCain Valley. As we were bouncing around the dirt road leading to Cottonwood Recreation Area, a deeply-rutted "road" resembling a Mexican goat path caught our eye. Well, that's not exactly true. It was the large wooden sign labeled "Sacatone Overlook" that caught our attention — the path itself was nearly hidden by brush. The gouged ruts and jutting rocks caused me no small amount of trepidation, but Bret assured me he'd driven worse, so off we went.

At first, I admit that I was terrified. The roughest road I'd ever ridden down was the gravel road leading to my grandparents' farm. But the first bump we hit that bounced me clear off my seat had me squealing with excitement! By the time we'd covered the first mile, I had a grin the size of Dallas on my face. Bret was laughing with typical guy pleasure at conquering the unknown roughness. The middle section was the worst — or should I say best? — with part of the path nearly obliterated by winter run-off. Bret eased the truck over exposed granite hunks, and we continued our upward climb.

We reached Sacatone Overlook just as the sky was beginning to lighten. It had been nearly two hours — and numerous cups of coffee — since we'd left home, and nature was urgently calling us both. We jumped out of the truck, seeking appropriate bushes, and did our part to water the arid desert. But let me tell you, it was damn cold out there! When that chilly pre-dawn air hit my fanny, it felt like I'd backed up to a cholla cactus. I've never peed so fast in my life. Then I scrambled back to the truck, and into my hoodie. Bret was already in position with the camera.

We took a series of gorgeous sunrise photos, then headed on over to S2. S2 winds through a huge ancient seabed, covered with thousands of ocotillo plants. They look like thorny versions of aquatic plants that somehow adapted to non-marine life. Maybe they are, for all I know! We made a few photo stops, capturing the bizarre beauty of our surroundings, on our way to our second planned destination.

Canyon Sin Nombre (Canyon Without Name) is rated "easy" in the off-roading guidebook. I sure can't wait till we can tackle a "moderate" route! The 11-mile drive took us through a tight rocky canyon with a bottom of treacherously soft sand, past prehistoric folds in the layered rock, across a miles-wide smoke-tree wash, and eventually back to the main road. We were airborne a good percentage of the time. Along the way, we passed what has to be one of the strangest sights I've ever seen — a street sign indicating the intersection of Hollywood and Vine, smack in the middle of the desert and relative to absolutely nothing. "Look, honey," I said to Bret, "Somebody has the same sense of direction you do!" That made it imperative that I photograph him standing at the foot of the sign.

Our third and final destination was Blair Valley, which turned out to be a huge disappointment. No rough roads, no narrow canyons, no fascinating plant life. Just dirt roads leading to unappealing, amenity-free campsites. By this time it was noon, and we were hungry, hot and tired. We caught Highway 78 where it intersects with S2, and followed it all the way over the mountains and back to the coast. We were too tired to care about the charming village of Julian, except for a gas-and-potty break. But all the way back to Pacific Beach, we were discussing how soon we could return to Anza-Borrego to check out a few more of the so-called "easy" drives.

You've heard of the seven-year itch in relationships? Well, Bret and I seem to have hit the seven-MONTH itch. Things are pretty rough right now, and have been for some time. Last week, he admitted to me that he had not been completely honest with me about some aspects of our early relationship, and now he seems to regret his candor. There are several other factors involved as well, which are causing him a great deal of stress. He is reacting to all this by shutting me out, which is extremely hurtful to me. Now and then, I am able to break through the wall he's erected around himself, but most of the time I just feel abandoned. That makes me depressed and scared.

So, for the time being, becoming mrs. bret will be on hiatus. Most of the factors contributing to our estrangement are too personal to share, and my focus right now needs to be on supporting my husband and salvaging our relationship. I cannot say when — or if — I will resume posting entries here, but in the meantime, I invite you to enjoy my alternate blog, Chronic Listaholic. I will DEFINITELY continue posting random lists there. It's a creative outlet for me, and sometimes it's about all that keeps me sane!!!

Because, you know, sometimes you have to laugh to keep from crying.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY,
MY DARLING HUSBAND!!!

Thank you for loving me just as I am, baggage and all.
And for showing me that there was still happiness to be found,
if I would just let it find me.

I will be forever grateful to share your life and your name.

My daughter looks beautiful when she first wakes up. She looks beautiful all the time, but I had forgotten how precious Juli's just-woke-up face is. It came back to me this morning as I lay on her bed, watching her struggle toward full consciousness. Deeply hung over, with sleep-mussed hair and mascara-smeared eyes, she still looked like an angel to me. I snuggled cozily under a fleecy leopard-print throw, talking quietly with her about our plans for the day. My heart was glowing with happiness at sharing such a sweetly close moment with my now-grown daughter.

Juli went to see B.B. King at 4th & B last night, and had -- as she usually does -- called me mid-concert to let me hear a song she wanted to share. She called again much later, quite drunk, saying she needed my help because she couldn't stop laughing. I have no idea what she expected me to do from a distance of 30 miles. I was just grateful she wasn't driving.

I rode up to Juli's house this morning with Bret, who dropped me off on his way to work. I took our laundry with me to do while visiting with Juli, and we also planned to go to the Social Security office. I hadn't yet changed my last name with either Social Security or the DMV. It took us two trips -- the first time, the line was literally out the door! -- but I am now officially Mrs. Bret on Social Security's records! I was under the impression that I'd have to wait until I actually had my new Social Security card in hand before I could have the DMV issue me a new license, but the SSA clerk told me the DMV would accept my printed receipt as proof. Unfortunately, Juli wasn't feeling well enough for another bout of standing in line, so we had to forego the DMV trip. My hair wasn't photoworthy today, anyway. :>) But I will be truly, truly thrilled when I see my beloved new last name on my driver's license.

I love spending the day with my precious daughter. Now that she is grown and living in another town, I treasure every opportunity I get to share time with Juli. She is definitely her own person, but there are still ways in which we are so alike. As we drove around looking at houses for rent, I kept thinking how Juli's tastes are so much like mine. She would hate living out in the country just as much as me -- we both prefer cozy tract neighborhoods. Much of the music she played was of the same type I listen to at home. And when she mentioned Jilly's for lunch, my taste buds leaped to attention.

And yet, I think it's our differences that make our visits so much fun. We always do a bit of good-natured bickering off and on, usually related to something I can't remember. My increasingly-poor memory exasperates Juli no end. She seems to think I CHOOSE to forget things, just to annoy her. So naturally, I was amused yesterday to hear from Juli's roomie, Keri, that Juli herself is becoming forgetful. Since Juli is only 23, I feel this HAS to be karma. She certainly doesn't have the excuse of middle-age! It's that cardinal rule of karma: What goes around, comes around.

I can't wait to see what sort of kids karma will deliver to Juli. Since she has such a wild streak, I figure they'll be a bunch of narrow-minded little prudes who will make their mom's life a living hell. Nothing else would be fair.

Well, I am certainly not doing very well with my New Year's resolution to keep this blog up-to-date! I intended to get all caught up, and then post new entries at least twice a week, but have failed miserably. Here it is February 2nd, and I still haven't posted the Christmas entry yet! It's in draft form, at least, but not complete yet. I guess I've been spending too much time lately on my new blog, Chronic Listaholic. I've also been doing a moderate amount of job hunting (although nowhere near as much as I should), and doing our taxes.

Brenda has started a wedding blog, for family to use as an information point for her wedding. I've been helping her with it, setting up the colors, and inserting a commenting service. I also set up her links for her. I guess that makes me her webmaster! :>)

Bret and I recently found out that Deep Purple is going to be performing in LA on Valentine's Night. We thought it would be fun to give that to each other as a Valentine gift. Unfortunately, the tickets would be $60 apiece, plus dinner and maybe even a hotel room that night. Add to that losing a day of overtime pay, and it is just way too much money. We reluctantly abandoned that idea, and discussed just doing dinner at Casa de Pico, followed by a good movie at home. Not as exciting, but much cheaper!

My beloved Babycar went to Auto Heaven today. She has been sick for a long, long time, and in a coma for a couple of months. Our apartment manager has been hassling me to get her out of the parking lot for quite awhile, as her little blue body has been sitting motionless in the same parking space since her battery died. I have not been able to find anyone who would buy her, so I had to call a DMV-licensed dismantler to come haul her away. He said she would be "junk by sundown." I had said my tearful goodbyes to her before the tow truck arrived, but I cried even harder watching her last journey down the street. She was a good little car, after I spent $10,000 having her rebuilt in 1997. We made lots of memories together. Juli learned to drive in Babycar. SIGH. Well, at least I remembered to remove my "No Music, No Life" sticker and save it. But I am now officially carless.

On a more upbeat note, I FOUND BRET'S SOCIAL SECURITY CARD TODAY!!! It's been missing for months. I thought I remembered putting it "someplace safe," but neither of us has been able to find where that safe place was. While I was working on my computer today, I noticed that my computer desk has a generous coating of dust in the less-accessible areas. I blew a puff of air into those nether regions, and a flutter caught my eye. Puzzled, I reached back there, and felt something under the dust. I knew instantly what it was. Sure enough, I pulled out Bret's long-lost card! Very dusty, but safe indeed. I must have laid it next to my monitor, and it somehow got nudged out of sight. The rapid accumulation of dust helped hide it further. I was absolutely ecstatic! That is Bret's original card, the one item he has held onto the longest. I have felt terrible about misplacing it. It is now safely stashed in an envelope in our file drawer. Honest to God.