Back from a nice ski/hot tub vacation, and the poinsetta (on my desk at work) that Solveig gave me is still alive. Hoo ha, I'm good. Part of my vacation included re-watching Scent of a Woman with Al Pacino. Damn, he did a fine job in that picture.

I've asked a friend at work to add a link to my blog, and Now I feel a bit limited in what I want to share. I'm not sure if self-censor is a good thing or a bad thing ... it seems to be a way of life with me. This Blog was meant to be a record of signifigant events and thoughts that came to me throughout the course of my days. Some of those events are shitty things that happen at work. Now, I find myself wondering who might be reading them. Did I start this blog as an exhibitionistic display, or as a convenience for me to record a diary at a place where I find myself quite often - in front of a monitor and keyboard? Jury's still out on that one. If it's the latter, I may just ask Mr. G. to pull my link.

Speaking of Mr. G., I have a neighbor (who also goes by the handle of Mr. G.) who has to be the sweetest old man I have ever met. He is kind to the kids, has never spoken a cross word to me or even implied my family has done anything to perturb him, is a spiritual and tolerant (there's two that don't always go together) fella, and whom is always ready to help out, like the evening we almost blew up our house with a gas leak - he offered to have us stay in his downstairs guest room ("the kids are grown and long gone, see?"). I know I'm a Machiavellian when I ask, what kind of skeletons has this guy got in *his* closet?

My kids continue to amaze me. They are both into reading - sometimes to the detrement of their innocence. The family was out for a drive to do some errands. We all (except Brianna, my eight-year-old daughter) went into a store on Saturday to return some tile samples (home renovations, you know). When we came back to the car, I saw that Brianna had grabbed the newspaper and was reading an article titled, "Girl Abused, Murdered by Parents." The article described how the young girl had been forced to sleep (naked and bound) in a cold bathtub, made to eat dogfood and table scraps, until she finally died of complications resulting from hypothermia. Of course, questions ensued from that article. the "why, daddy" questions are hard to answer when you don't know the answers yourself.

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On a happier, note, the basement renovations are another step closer to being done. The finishing guys (doors, trim, baseboards, cabinets and bookshelves) have worked their magic - and what magic it is! My cool secret closet worked exactly as I'd hoped - if you're around our house, ask for a demo. We are now waiting for the painters, the finishing hardware and then the flooring guys. I'll be soooooo happy when this project is done. It's taking for-bloody-ever! Right now, my computer (and only the most essential of it's peripherals) is sharing a room with my youngest daughter, her Barbies, her cut-out craft projects and pencil crayons, indiscernable sharp plastic bits that seem to have no other purpose than to get under my sock feet as I pad into her room while she sleeps (like she's doing right now). Once the basement (and therefore, my office) is finished, she can have some much-needed space back, and I can have my privacy.