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Thank god

The secret is out of the bag. Emily’s family and Greg’s family know about the pregnancy and I no longer have to avoid the phone for fear it will be Em’s mom Janis. I was sure I would accidentally spill the beans by slipping and screaming, “You’re going to be a grandmom again!  oops.”

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My new year’s resolution

I resolve to never again get into a serious argument over whether or not Dick Cheney is Darth Vadar come to life and that when he disappears from the public eye for months at a time, he’s actually out screwing up another galaxy.

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With hardly a mention

Am I the only one who noticed that December 21 has come and gone. The shortest day of the year is history. It will only keep getting lighter. For those of us with night vision problems, may I officially say, “ Yea!”

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Columns 2008

An Anchorage winter walk

I was getting dressed to walk the dogs.  I put on my sweatshirt. Pulled on a fleece liner.  Hauled into my winter parka. Tied a scarf around my neck. Sat down to put new cleats on my shoes.  They didn’t fit.  Despite the sizing information on the box, the cleats bent my boots in half when I was finally able to stretch the rubber out far enough to get them on.

So I took off the parka. Took off the fleece liner. Took off the sweatshirt. Put on a regular shirt. Put on my regular shoes. Got back in my

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And while I’m on the subject

Does the Spears family not represent the ultimate in American white trash? Finally, a title they can hold on to proudly without worrying about morals or sobriety getting in the way.

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My New Year’s Eve

I spent an hour on the floor playing peekaboo with Abdul who was hiding under the couch.  I’d say, “Where’s Abdul” and from the other side of the hanging fold of upholstery I’d hear his little squaky voice say, “Come here.  Abdul, good bird, come here.” And yes, that actually did amuse me for almost an hour. I’m old and I’m easy. Get over it.

I spent the rest of the night holding a fifty pound dog in my lap who was totally freaked by the explosions. Blondie sat on my chest panting fish breath into my mouth and refusing

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A Belated Christmas Newsletter

I always mean to have this newsletter done before Christmas but then I get busy with all those Christmas preparations. You know, barricading my door so carolers can’t get in; taking my phone off the hook so no one gets through with some cheery hohoho that makes me want to scream; sabotaging my mail box so that it automatically spits out anything that remotely resembles a card from some company that takes my money all year while providing minimal service yet thinks I want holiday greetings from them that my money paid for instead of service.  Well, you get the

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Sometimes

Sometimes, when a deadline looms and I’m pretty sure I will never have another idea in my life worth putting down on paper, I get up and talk to my birds till I feel better. I don’t necessarily get great ideas doing that, but it kills a few unproductive moments when I would otherwise be pounding my head on the keyboard, mentally screaming, “Think!  Damn it. Think!”

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