My Pops

My grandfather, Dr. John T. Barrett and otherwise known as "Pops" to his wife of almost 69 years, 5 children, 12 grandchildren, 6 great grandchildren, 2 nephews, 1 niece and the lucky few who knew him as a father or grandfather-in-law, passed away on Tuesday, January 26th after almost 93 years. Here is his obituary from the Providence Journal, which my father put together:

[You can see what a smiley man he was.]

BARRETT, DR., JOHN T., of Medway Place in Providence passed away peacefully at home on January 26, 2010, in his 93rd year, surrounded by his loving family. He is survived by Mary Eyre Sisson Barrett 'Puss', his wife of 68 1/2 years.

He was born June 11, 1917, in Lewisville, Indiana, the son of Ruth (Telfer) and the Rev. Maurice E. Barrett, who served for many years as the minister of Washington Park Methodist Church in Providence.

He graduated from Classical High School, Brown University and Boston University Medical School. He served in the Army Medical Corps during WW II in the European Theatre and again during the Korean Conflict.

He was in the private practice of pediatrics at 122 Waterman St. from 1949-1990, in association with Dr. Henry Utter, Dr. Wilson Utter, Dr. Robert Lord, Jr., and Dr. Judith Shaw.

While a student, he authored a paper entitled 'The Smallpox Inoculation Controversy in Puritan New England,' for which he was awarded the Sir William Osler Medal, the first such medal presented by the American Association for the History of Medicine. He received the W.W. Keen Award for distinguished service to the Brown Medical School.

He served as the Rhode Island Chairman of the March of Dimes campaign in 1957 to end polio and for that service was recognized by Brown Medical School along with Dr. Jonas Salk in 1982. He helped establish the Program in Medical Education which later became the Brown Medical School and was a Clinical Professor of Pediatrics from its earliest days.

He simultaneously served as Pediatrician-in-Chief at the RI Hospital and at the Lying-In (Women's and Infants') Hospital.

In middle age he took up golf and became a master of the short game. Fellow competitors will remember him rolling in ridiculous putts to extend or win matches with pipe clenched between his teeth. For many years he served a summer stint as camp doctor at Cragged Mountain Farm in Freedom NH. He was the school doctor for Lincoln and Moses Brown Schools.

He was especially proud of his summer garden at the family cottage in Hope RI, where he kept the tables full with zucchini, tomatoes, and pole beans. He enjoyed giving away his homegrown pumpkins inscribed with the recipients' initials. He and Puss were formidable bridge players and he remained active in the ACBL until the last days of his life.

He was 'ever true to Brown' and served as President of Class of 1939, often hosting gatherings at his home. He rarely missed attending, or later in life listening to, the football games. He was a member of the Friday Night Medical Club, the Hope Club, and Agawam Hunt.

He will be remembered for his unflappable manner and a subtle sense of humor. His family has been blessed by his patriarchy and we know that he is a rare man who will live in our hearts forever.

Besides his wife, he leaves his children and their spouses. William S. Barrett of Freedom NH and his children, Joshua and Jameson; John T. Jr. and Jane W.A. Barrett of Rehoboth and their four children, Abigail B. Bloom, Emily G., John T. IIII, and Eliza W. Barrett; Charles S. and Allison K. Barrett of Providence and Coventry and their children, Amy and CB Barrett; Margaret B. and Steve Holzman of Hurley NY and their children, Sarah H. Kelly and David Holzman; Elizabeth B. and Dennis Johnson of Nevada City CA and their children, Elisha and Miriam Johnson. He is survived by 6 great grandchildren. He also leaves nephews Tim and Rob Barrett; Larry, Bob and Stuart Rider and niece Susan Rider Rittling. He was brother of the late Robert Barrett.

His family will receive friends on Friday at Bethany Home, 111 S. Angell St, Providence, from 5 to 7pm. A Quaker memorial service will be held on Saturday at 11 AM at Moses Brown School's Sinclair Room.
Donations in his memory may be made to Hasbro Children's Hospital, Development Office, Box H, Providence, RI 02901 and will be deeply appreciated. Condolences may be left at
At this link, notes from his former patients - they are wonderful to read:


Desire to Acquire

this dressing room in a future house of mine.

Home to Aerin Lauder (granddaughter of makeup maven Estee Lauder, creative director of her grandmother's company, and very well-heeled New York socialite) and her ridiculously rude (translation: unfairly awesome) clothes.

Photo from Elle Decor

You can't see from the present view, but the legs of the Gabriella Crespi desk are in the shape of a 'Z.' Love the mod gold in such a pretty, feminine room. And the Gracie Studio wallpaper is sick. In a totally cool, 'my grandmother had rad taste and it still rocks 40 years later' kind of way.



Saz's is a local barbecue place famous for their ribs and sauce - we hit it up last night to watch the Vikings - Saints game.

Ribs for an appetizer (delicious - best ever, and I am not a ribs fan):

Followed by a pork sandwich for Jon and the specialty burger for me (topped with cheese, bacon, onion rings and bbq sauce - plus the pickles I added). I conquered half of my meal, and just barely. And I never plan on rereading that burger description again.

Yes, you are correct in gauging that burger to be half the size of my face. Those french fries are sour cream and chive and the most delicious fries I have ever had. Since we both ate them, we cancelled each other out with the horrendous breath. Houston may have noticed, but let's be real - her mouth smells like a latrine. I don't even want to investigate that comment further.

And then Jon wanted dessert. Right. To match our giant butts we went with the Giant Sundae, which our waiter said "was big enough for two people." If a Milwaukeean is calling it a large portion, we're pretty much effed.

 Which we were. Photo of completely clean dessert bucket coming soon. Perhaps I will reconsider that and destroy the evidence.

Thank God for stretch pants.
(Seriously, I wore them to the restaurant and too chubby and tired to change later, went straight to bed in them. I'm reaching lows I didn't even know existed over here! You know, except for the ones that come on the scale. Happy Monday!)


Here she is, in all her steak knife glory:

You can zoom in on that photo to really get an idea of how long they were. Manicure was a success on Friday!


Click This Daily!

Over on the right side of this blog here we've got some blogs and sites I visit daily.  At the very top of "Daily Reads" is Animal Rescue - with each click of your mouse on the home page's purple box, you prompt a sponsor to provide food or care for an abandoned animal living in a shelter or sanctuary. 100% of sponsor money goes to charity.

Not only does the site care for pups and kittens in need, but tabs along the top of the page allow you to similarly support breast cancer, hunger, child health, literacy and the rain forests. All in less time than it takes to type your pet-name-password into

Your passwords are so busted!


Want: Bacon Savers

Love this. Canadian glass-blowing artist Jill Alan has created two piggy banks for the Toronto design exhibit, Radiant Dark. These "Bacon Savers" riff on our complex and, let's be honest, often untruthful relationships with money.

Photo from

The translucent pig reflects the contents inside, enlarging the size and amount of pennies (or other coins) inside. The mirrored pig shows a distorted reflection of the onlooker, while simultaneously hiding the contents, and value, inside.

My favorite part? You insert all coins "through the nose."

Hah! Just genius!

Planning to Single White Female this Chick

Okay, so it's Viviana Volpicella, an editor of Vogue Nippon (Japan). Check out her style - bright, effortless, comfortable. And she smiles! I thought that was illegal at Vogue.

via SugarMagnolia

Via CircaMeow 
Viviana on the right, with Fashion Director at Large, Anna Dello Russo



That post title may be a little on the creepy side. Still kind of wishing I was her. Want to own those saffron-colored pants. Love!

What's Happening on the East Side

Here's a snapshot of what we've been up to the last couple days:

Jon's growing a beard. He observes and documents each day's growth in the bathroom mirror. And has taken to calling himself my "new husband."

Pizza Man, our local pizza/legit wine bar (I mean, you don't normally get those two delights in the same place), burned straight down to the ground and is gone forever. We're in mourning.

I made a floral arrangement for an actual delivery (Teleflora's stunning "Tulips and Pine")! Slowly but surely moving up in the world. Remain number 1 packager, however.

Jon was pulled over by a cop on his way to pick me up at yoga. Not only was he dressed entirely in sweatpant material at 8:30 PM at night, he has a beard and hair that sticks straight up on end. Essentially, Unabomber Numero Dos. And when the cop asked why we didn't have a license plate on our back bumper (the bolts are so rusted over we couldn't get them off; the plate sits against the backseat headrest), UnaJon ATTEMPTED TO GET OUT OF THE CAR to show the man. You know, instead of pointing. Prompting the popo to tell him, "Don't you dare get out of this car." And most likely followed by the thought, "Or I will shoot your Unabomber head off."

So far in 2010, UnaJon and my's combined work week totals 5 days. I'm on Mondays and Tuesdays, and he's got Tuesdays through Thursdays. Leaving this schedule in Milwaukee may be the most difficult thing we'll have to do.

Houston's new nickname is "Velociraptor," as in, nails so long she looks like the Jurassic Park dinosaur that stalks clever children in fancy kitchens. Though Houston has taken to tapping her steak knives on the kitchen floor and staring longingly at her empty dog bowl. She's getting a manicure tomorrow.

It's a thrilling ride over here!


I Said I Was a Florist

So here's some actual proof.

Out of the now 6 arrangements I've made, I've never posted a picture. Because I've never taken one (more like shoved them in the store's front cooler and never looked at them again). Here are two photos of an arrangement I made yesterday - it actually looks much more normal than this first photo suggests (I did not, in fact, make devil horns out of larkspur). There are eucalyptus branches that mimic the shape. I have no idea why you can't see them.

I had to use blue glass beads in the vase, which dictated the color palette. Greens: Salal (broad green leaf) and pit (small green leaves with white edges) with eucalyptus for height. (Oh, dang do I hate the smell of eucalyptus. It has the same effect on me that the smell of oriental lilies - such as the stargazer - does. Shudder.)

Flowers: Spider mums, roses, purple carnations (these are pretty ones), larkspur, sunflower, monte casino asters, and alstromeria.

Ah, a better photo. Left the hanging valentine 'curtain' in the picture as a vision of some of the Valentine's decor covering every inch of the shop. Get your roses early, people!

Valentine's Day is a Sunday this year.


Next Stop on the Eating Train

Friday night we hit up Bacchus, one of Milwaukee's nicest restaurants, started by the Bartolotta family (a rare splurge for us and only because we sold the NYC apartment just before Christmas). Suffice it to say that we went overboard with the food: our waiter told us at the end of the night that "you guys ate a lot." The menu included a "Breakfast of Champions" (miniature brioche French toast topped with sauteed foie gras, a quail egg, a sliver of local bacon, bourbon maple glaze and apple-pear compote - holy Jesus, it was the best thing we ate all night), seasonal mushroom soup with truffle oil, a 'middle course' of fresh tagliatelle pasta with lobster, a flank steak for Jon, short ribs for me (what?), chocolate mousse and chocolate chip cookie bars topped with hazelnut ice cream and whipped cream.

What diet?

Followed by homemade enchiladas on Saturday (we call this healthy, as it was made at home) and dinner at Milwaukee's #1 rated pizza place last night, Zaffiro's. Attempting to keep it light we had an appetizer of 2 homemade meatballs (officially the only ones I like other than my mother's turkey meatball recipe) and an "EBF" pizza - 'everything but fish' (those anchovies have a high salt level content*). The pizza was a thin crust variety, you know, so that was better for the belly, too. Have to watch the carbs! And we took home leftovers. I think it's pretty clear we exercised restraint.

January is often known as "The Thaw" in our family, a time to cleanse out the system. We're taking that more in the direction of actual melting ice, thereby allowing us to leave the house . . . and try more restaurants.

*Technically, I made that up, but it sounds likely.


Late Night Convo

Getting comfy in bed the other night, mashing my pillows, I turned to look at Jon and his new haircut, which was extending in all directions away from his head courtesy of a squash match.

Moi: Woah . . . You have a helmet. It is officially two inches in length on all sides of your head. It is literally a helmet of curly human hair.

Jon: [Dagger eyes.]

I quickly averted my face to the side and returned to punching pillows. In the midst of my mashing and Jon attempting to get comfortable on his own set of pillows (we are very specific about whose is whose and the order in which they lay), my elbow flew out unexpectedly and stabbed Jon directly in his eye hole.

Jon: What are you crazy? [Hand over damaged eyeball. Dagger out of the remaining good eye.] Watch it!

And because I was really going for gold that night:

Moi: Too bad that helmet didn't come with a face guard.

Followed by hysterical laughter. And me sleeping alone.


500,000 Lost

Reports are estimating that up to 500,000 people may die as a result of Haiti's 7.0 earthquake on Tuesday.

Text 'HAITI' to '909999' and donate $10 to the Red Cross.

Thousands of people are still trapped in buildings while others are without food and water. It takes no time at all. 


P.S. Yoga. Again.

Hit up a different yoga joint on Saturday. WHAT. Suffice it to say the class description said "all levels," which was a complete lie.

Hombre instructor, let's call him Shri, because well, that was the devil's name. I alert him at the start of the class that due to my back issues, downward dog, forward fold, and any pose involving straight or even partially bent legs with hands simultaneously touching the floor is not happening.

I like yoga because you focus on just yourself (breathing, feeling the body settle into postures) and do your personal best. Not this class. For the next HOUR AND A HALF, after almost every pose, the instructor walked over to me to either push me into something I could not do, or to inform me I was not allowed to do that pose due to my inability to do it 'correctly,' followed by him forcing me to do an abbreviated/child version.

I learned two lessons that day.

1. Thanks to back injury, I am at kindergarten yoga level.
2. The new yoga joint is serious with a capital 'S'.

Okay, 3. I will never take a class from Shri again.

Our newest friend!

Charlotte Grace Swift

Born January 13, 2010
8 pounds, 3 ounces

Welcome to the party!


Thanks, Folks

It was so nice to read the comments on my last post. I'm not going to leave, at least not now. I won't lie though, I do kind of wish something would magically make it impossible to continue. Like me accidentally breaking an arm slipping on ice in the driveway heading out on a casual errand to Walgreen's. Those fantasies are totally normal, I am told.

Anywho, I'm here. And I'll keep trying. Unlike the Packers, whose quest for the Super Bowl died this past Sunday after a terrific game. (45-45 into overtime . . . until QB Aaron Rodgers fumbled for a Cardinals touchdown. Devastating loss.)

We attended a Packers chili party thrown by one of Jon's colleagues, a true blue Wisconsin sports fan. In typical Mili-wau-kay style, there were Bloody Mary's, complete with a microbrew chaser (spoiled rotten over here in beerland). Check out the garnish on this piece of spicy tastiness:

That would be: lemon, lime, onion, shrimp, string cheese, beef jerky, asparagus and something else I don't remember or recognize.

We also feasted on two types of chili (chicken and beef), homemade corn bread, salmon dip, Mexican cheese dip, plum cheese dip and assorted chips. I was introduced to a drink called the 007 - I am not a fan of rum, but this was dangerously delicious: 40% Bacardi O, 40% Sprite/7-Up, 20% Orange Juice. Quite refreshing on a Sunday afternoon and perfect for a brunch!

I brought the baked Mexican layer dip and it's always a hit. Maybe not the most elegant, but so freakin' good it doesn't matter. Here's my recipe (and believe me when I say that no one, not one single boy, has ever been able to taste the "diet-friendly" ingredients):

1 can chili (I use fat-free vegetarian chili, just in case)
1 8 oz. package cream cheese (I use reduced fat)
1 package shredded Mexican-blend cheese (reduced fat, again)
1 green bell pepper
1 orange bell pepper
1/2 onion
1 tomato

Preheat over to 350 degrees.
Layer the following ingredients in a baking dish (cream cheese, chili, shredded cheese).
Bake until cheese is bubbling (approx. 15 minutes). Chop peppers, onion and tomato.
Remove from oven and add chopped vegetables. Bake 10 more minutes and serve. (If you're traveling, add veggies and heat for 10 minutes at your party destination.)
Return home with empty dish.

I made Jon take a photo of the icicles hanging off the host's porch (yeah, people are weirded out when the two of us grab our phones and start snapping away at their private goods; hasn't stopped us yet). Here's a sample of the kinds of views we enjoy daily here, due to the "lake effect."

While getting a refill beer on the porch (who needs refrigerators when it's this cold anyway?), an enraged guest broke each icicle off with his bare hands. Just awesome.

To conclude, this was not a day for our diets.


Pumped for Work!

Why I continue to subject myself to daily humiliation is beyond me. Last week at work we had to switch out all holiday decorations for Valentine's gear, our biggest day of the year. My task? Break down and pack up all of the Christmas stuff (there wasn't an inch of Jewish or Kwanzaa in the joint). The sweet 23-year old who I work with's? Conceptualize and create a new window design. My daily to-do's? Clean buckets, prep flowers, take walk-ins (wrapping loose flowers in our signature purple tissue and issuing the point of sale). My college graduate superior's? Create arrangements for sale in the front cooler and fill the odd customer vase order.

Here's how we rack up:

Abbey vase arrangements? 4 or 5 (they've been so far apart it's like the memory of my last dentist appointment - didn't go well and I'd like to forget it).

"Superior" - 30. Minimum. And they look straight-up professional.

My last arrangement, which I attempted Friday between sweeping the floor of 1000 descarded stems and a pile of buckets 25 deep, had my boss saying, "Hmmm . . . it looks a little like it's dying."

I wish I was kidding. (Personally, I blame the flowers, as the only ones in the price range I was going for were quite mealy.)

Kind of leads me to the point of what am I doing here? Clearly this is not a natural talent of mine. And yet, with instruction and practice so few and far between (I've been working 12 weeks; that's 1 arrangement every 3 weeks or so - I'd be doing better after a 1 day course at the Milwaukee School of Flower Design), how could I possibly be good at this? And someone's got to do the buckets, the floors, the packaging, the cleaning, the in-store sales. "Superior" is just faster and better when the opportunity arises to make those arrangements. In the spirit of efficiency and business, I understand my learning loses. 

Kind of a catch-22. I'm not sure if I want to address this for the 3rd time with my boss, as I feel comfortable, at the ripe old age of almost-30, admitting my friend Laura's kind words as truth ("Maybe you weren't meant to be a florist"). We're certainly not all going to be good at everything we try! Asking for more work when I know there's no future in it feels like I am wasting time, spinning my wheels. And ultimately, wasting my boss's time training someone who truly does not see a future in this.

Thoughts? Quitting is not only not a financially sound decision, it just feels like admitting failure. Every job I've left in the past has been for another one (except when I wrote that book, ye olde Palm Bitch. I still love that title).

If you were in my shoes, what would you do?


Yoga Pain

As part of my 2010 resolutions, I promised to get some yoga into my life. So I did just that on Wednesday, 11 AM, at Invivo Wellness, a local upscale gym. The yoga studio was really nice - two floor-to-ceiling walls of windows overlooking the Milwaukee River, frozen, snowcovered and tranquil. I set myself up on a mat and prepared for the class. Which immediately started out with the woman next to me loudly passing gas.

I told Jon later that day and he started cackling, asking if I laughed out loud. I did not, though I congratulated myself on being more in shape than my gassy neighbor. Until we were about 1/3 of the way through our poses and reality set in. "For those of you who would like to, feel free to use the bricks as support." Feeling free had nothing to do with it. My hands wouldn't have made it past my hips without the assistance of the damn strap, bricks and the large column I conveniently placed myself next to. Holy Christ, was I in pain. At one point, I was supposed to wrap both arms around a twisted knee, one leg in the air, my waist turned in the opposite direction, and lock my arms behind my back. I'm still confused as I write this.

Result? I've been in head to toe pain for a full day now. Every. Muscle. Hurts. I wish I was kidding. This reminds me of the first time I did yoga, the day before my friend Sass's wedding. 'Hah, I can do this.' I thought, 'Yoga is just stretching'. And then competition set in - must do every pose exactly as the instructor does. 24 hours later? I could barely lift my own drink (simply tragic, at a wedding).

Swap the sun of Newport with the freezing snow of Milwaukee and that day is today. Parts of my body that I thought were bone ache. Hello, ribs. 'The plan' was to take a class Thursday, Friday and possibly this weekend, jet-setting me off into a new health routine. Oh, HELL no. Yesterday didn't happen, today's off and I'm pretty sure Saturday and Sunday will involve sweatpants and a mat-tress. With pillows and a decidedly less flexible person sitting beside me (though I am sure he will rival and surpass her on the gas front).

Since I'm not quite back to the stage where changing my own pants brings me near tears, I'm going to assume this is a move in the right, albeit painful, direction. Beauty is pain. I must remember this.

Though chunky and comfortable is sounding pret-ty sweet right now.


I Shot Myself In The Foot With This One

"This is now a real Wisconsin winter, though we're missing the snow."

What an a-hole. Check out the view outside our bedroom window at 8:00 AM this morning. This photo does not adequately convey the amount of snow on the ground nor what's coming down so thick it's like a coating of Houston's dog fur every time a flake touches something solid. Yikes.

It took 25 minutes to drive 2 miles and there were two near misses with parked cars. Rita needs a winter wardrobe, specifically in the shoe department.

Forecast January 7th:

Accumulations should reach 8 to 10 inches . . . Northerly winds will develop later Thursday afternoon . . . resulting in blowing and drifting snow. North to northeast winds will increase to 15 to 20 MPH with gusts to 30 MPH this evening. . . Severe winter weather conditions are expected or occurring [duh]. . . that will make travel dangerous.

Welcome to Wisconsin!

P.S. 30 MPH winds?! It's currently 20 degrees. That's like thousands of tiny flying ice picks stabbed into your eyeballs at the speed of a car!


And Why You Should Not See Revolutionary Road

Yesterday Jon picked me up at work (even though it's just a three block walk, the wind has made the 10 steps to the car painful. My boss also announced that 'this' is now a real Wisconsin winter, though we're missing the snow.). Jon handed me a piece of paper with a photo of Amy Adams and Matthew Goode (the handsome brother from "Match Point" who dates Scarlett Johanssen before the crazy dude from The Tudors steals her.). Turns out the secretary at his work, famous for her calling schemes to local radio stations for anything in a giveaway, had won two free tickets to see "Leap Year" and offered them to Jon.

We trek 25 minutes out to Brookfield, which is in the middle of nowhere. I mean, really. The city looks pointless. It's so cold Jon is in his usual non-work outfit of head to toe sweat materials and I am wearing a hand-me-down fur coat. It's vintage in style and fact (over 60 years old), hits me just at the knee, with bell sleeves and the original lining intact. It was a gift and I love it. [Fur haters (and I understand your stance), the poor animal that did not live for this coat, has now gone on to lead a much longer life than nature intended. Further than that, we can agree to disagree.]

This coat is the sartorial version of wearing a furnace strapped to my body. It's amazing. Jon wants me to get down on all furs and see how Houston reacts, but since the thing's so old, clearly doesn't smell like an animal, and will just look like me in a coat, I don't think she's going to care. He's also jealous that a fur on a man is not only 'not PC,' but beyond flamboyant.

Clearly we are dressed to impress. We arrive at the Majestic Theater, an old theater that has been converted into a multiplex with restaurants. Not the Sbarro counter, but restaurants. We get in line because it appears everyone in the state of Wisconsin has decided to see a movie tonight. Mind you, it's 40 minutes before showtime. And guess what? The show sold out of the free tickets at 6:00 PM. AN HOUR AND A HALF before it started. On a Tuesday. Because there's nothing else to do.

So we take our sweatpants and old fur back to Rita and drive home and watch Revolutionary Road on TV. Um, holy crap was that a serious movie. Where was the warning sign for "depressing content"? Someone actually told me they really liked that movie. Are you crazy?! Kate Winslet should pick something lighthearted next time. Revolutionary Road and The Reader in one year? Having a conversation about her work was probably like throwing yourself in front of an oncoming train.

Jon and I were traumatized. We promptly went to bed, speechless. And then slept through Jon's alarm this morning, thereby missing his squash date, obviously still scarred from the movie.

The kicker? Walking downstairs, I discovered Houston had crapped on the living room rug.

Jeez, that movie took a toll on all of us.



#8. Turn 30 with grace and poise . . . and fewer wrinkles, courtesy of miracle dermatological solution worth firstborn child.

It's pretty much my only birthday request.

Jon refuses.


Such as "Wear More Belts"

Taking a cue from my dear friend Anne (who is currently lounging on a beach in Hawaii watching whales breach with a maitai in hand), my resolutions for 2010 will be to add more to my life, rather than diminish it.

Anne resolution circa 2006? "Wear more belts." Priceless.

Here are mine for 2010:

1. Spend more time pursuing my favorite things to do: writing, reading, any and all things home design related, and less time ruining brain cells on terrible reality television, etc.

2. Get this traitor of a back in shape. Yoga, chiropractor, physical therapist, granny-style Sleep by Number bed - whatever it takes. (Perhaps this may lead to a shrinking of the blubber bubble around my middle? One can only hope.)

3. Get more education, whether that's a class or full-fledged school once we land Down South. Yikes! Just the thought gets me nervous.

4. Do something that scares me. Not 'swim with sharks' kind of action, more along the lines of trying something different and new that forces moi to grow. Swimming with sharks does nothing but feed aquatic dinosaurs, which is why I rarely venture into the ocean. This should make living in Florida quite "the situation."

5. As always, be a better daughter and friend. I have a physical aversion to the phone and it's flat-out childish.

6. Drink nicer wine. Savor the good stuff (in smaller and fewer sips). That's my rationale and I'm sticking to it.

7. Get at least one of these done. And not counting #6.

What are yours?