After 13 years . . .

. . . I sold it.

From the time I first saw a Corvette in 1957 at the drag races in Alton, IL, I wanted one. But, I could never afford it. Then came college and family. With five of us, there was no way it was practical.

One day in 1997, I was shopping for a small pickup to replace the one that just went off lease. This red car was sitting on the lot with a sad look, saying "take me home." That's a reasonable alternative to a pickup, says I, so home it came.

That same summer, Mrs. B and I took it on a road trip to New Orleans, and I was in hog heaven (link added so Ian doesn't have to look it up.)

Many Corvette drivers park their cars in a garage, and never drive them unless the sun is shining.

Not me.

I may be picky on the cars I own, but I drive them. I drove this one for 120,000 miles.

That's what they're for, isn't it?

I thought I'd miss it, but I don't. Probably because it's turned on me, the ungrateful wench. I washed it, polished it, replaced worn parts and took care of it. So what do I get in return? Left stranded on the road twice in three months, that's what - and a significant dent in my purse to boot.

So, now it's gone. I hope someone else has a chance to enjoy it. Really.

Open letter . . .

. . . to the woman in the big truck

If you hadn't cut me off when I was trying to park at the Wawa, I might have told you that your skirt hiked up when you climbed out of your truck.

Waaay up.

And, it didn't fall back in place.

And, it exposed a pair of rather age-inappropriate black panties.

And, they weren't anywhere close to covering your rather brobdingnagian arse.

And, said arse was hanging out as you entered the store.

Come to think of it, I Should have warned the folks in Wawa.

Half of them are probably blind by now.

Sometimes Karma is hell, innit?

Boots on the ground . . .

. . . 21 APR

That is all.

Hold that . . .

. . . (thought) Tiger

Veronica Siwik-Daniels, one of Woods' alleged mistresses and a former pornographic performer, watched the event with her attorney in a Los Angeles radio studio. She said she wants an apology for the unwanted attention the scandal has brought her.

"I really feel I deserve to look at him in person face to face in the eyes because I did not deserve this," she said.

Stop.

Time out.

First, you are a porn actress, and you're boinking the most famous athlete in the world. Did it not occur to you that you just might attract a tiny bit of attention?

Second, you are complicit in committing adultry. What do you think THAT deserves? Is there supposed to be a reward?

Third, I'm betting face-to-face is NOT what attracted Tiger to you.

Face it. Tiger will NOT be writing you a check. Besides if he did that, what would that make you?

Belay that.

We already know.

Carry on.

Random thoughts . . .

. . . for a Thursday.

SOLD IT! SOLD IT! SOLD IT!

(Before it even went on listing)

Reality sets in . . .

BREAKING NEWS . . . ABOVE THE FOLD

We listed the house on Tuesday.

A couple walked through on Wednesday.

They walked through again today.

The realtor will present us with an offer tonight.

Item the first: It's been a while since I posted. However, since I only have three readers, I'm not particularly worried.

Item the second: We hosted The Barkers for several days over the weekend. We ate too much, talked for hours, failed miserably at making a black and tan, walked on the beach (and froze), watched the sharks (in the aquarium, not on the beach), wandered around much of Virginia Beach, and generally had a great time.

Ian kept commenting about how our back roads reminded him of rural England - except for driving on the wrong side of the road. We even showed him a minor roundabout.

We found a store with Tetley in stock, and I learned to make a proper cup (milk, no sugar, thank you). At least it passed Ian's rigorous inspection.

Déjà vu moment: Lisa living in a bedroom, upstairs, IN OUR HOUSE. Although it hasn't been that way for many, many years, it seemed so very normal.

We miss them already.

Item the third: Our passports arrived, so the move to Naples actually has a touch of reality. There is a "FOR SALE" sign in our front yard. It doesn't get more real than that. A couple toured the house yesterday, and are coming back for a second visit today.

Item the fourth: The house is all rearranged and orderly for viewing by potential buyers. If we had to keep it this way all the time, we both would go totally, completely insane. My garage, however, is a total wreck. It needs attention this weekend.

It's snowing . . .

. . . yet again.

Over the seven years we have lived here, we have seen only one snowfall.

Now, it's two within a week.

We won't see the 30" that's hitting northern Virginia, but when Hampton Roads gets an inch or more, the stores are cleared out of milk, eggs and bread.

Bella Napoli . . .

. . . update

I have been neglectful in posting updates, but since only 3 people read my blog, it really doesn't matter in the cosmic scheme of things. Here's the latest:

- All the preliminary paperwork is done, and I actually have travel orders in hand.

- What I do not have in hand is my official (as opposed to tourist) passport and my visto de missione (mission visa). Under the Status of Forces agreement with Italy, I must have both types of passports/visas.

- Tentative entry on duty date is 01 APR, but that can move depending upon receiving the passport and visa. Timing is very tight at this point. I can't book a flight or arrange for shipment/storage of household goods until I have the completed passport in hand.

- The house will be listed for sale by 01 MAR. We sign the papers on Sunday. Cross your fingers for a reasonably quick sale.

I called Naples this morning to ask some questions of the Human Resources Supervisor. She is an Italian citizen and has a very Italian name - but she sounds like Ian.

In a slightly higher register, that is.

Her parents moved to England when she was a small child, and she grew up there, but she's been back in Italy for almost 20 years. She speaks English with an English accent, and Italian with a pure Italian accent.

My brain cannot wrap around that, even after many hours in the company of Rosetta Stone.