Book Review - Captain Corelli's Mandolin

Wasn't Nicolage Cage in a movie adaptation of this book?  If so, I cannot think of a more poorly chosen actor to portray Captain Corelli, an Italian officer in command of invading and later keeping the peace on the Greek island of Cephalonia.  This captain was charming, quick witted, musical and, I'm assuming, handsome.  Afterall, famed beauty Pegalia couldn't even resist his charms.

This is an odd book but I liked it.  World War II seems to have an endless influence on authors and this is yet another story of another people in another place that gave me yet another perspective on the great war.  This doesn't feel historical, really, because of the quirkiness of the characters and narration, which almost took on a fantasy tone, but maybe that how the Greeks really are.

I really am a romantic because my favorite part of the story, by far, was the romance between Corelli and Pegalia.  The story offers much more - description of music (it is part of the title), wisdom from Pegalia's father, Dr. Iannis, folklore, Greek history and geography, Italian history, notes on friendship and, yes, the cruelties of war.

It also has one of my favorite quotes about love.  I've posted it before, back in December (can you believe how far behind in book reviews I am????) when I actually read this book, but I'm going to post it again.  I love it.

"Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides.  And when it subsides you have to make a decision.  You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part.  Because this is what love is.  Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion, it is not the desire to mate every second minute of the day or lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every cranny of your body...No, don't blush, I am telling you some truths.  That is just being 'in love', which any fool can do.  Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.  Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two."


I'm so glad I read this.  I'm even more glad that I didn't have Nicolas Cage in my head when I did so.

Book Review - The 19th Wife

It was interesting to read two novels dealing with polygamy so close together.  I read David Ebershoff's The 19th Wife first, and as much as I didn't like it, I had to admit that it was well written.  Weaving a modern day murder mystery in with the history of Eliza Ann Young, the nineteenth wife of Brigham Young,  was well done and interestingly paced.

However, after reading The Lonely Polygamist, I decided I could justify my dislike of this book because it handled the subject matter so much more honestly.

The news portrays real life polygamist leaders as the very scum of society.  Warren Jeffs, the real life religious leader, made headlines a few years ago by becoming a fugitive after trying to force a young teen to become his umpteenth wife.  The government swooped in and the whole thing quickly unraveled into a huge mess.  The answer of what to do with the children, the women, and others who had committed no crime, was never answered.  The government and news media were much more concerned with handing down the moral verdict that what these people do is bad, bad, bad.

Maybe it is.  It's not something I would ever want to do.  But Ebershoff didn't just tell a story, he tried to sell his side of things, and as a result, The 19th Wife felt caricatur-ish and biased.  His descriptions implied everyone who lived this lifestyle was selfish, violent, vain and a sexual misogynist.  I even felt like their teeth might be rotting in their very mouths.  Blech.

Likewise, when fictionalizing actual historical figures, he took quite a bit of liberty with their motives and desires.  Maybe all historical fiction authors do this, and maybe I should squirm more often than I do, but the way he portrayed Brigham Young and other early leaders of the LDS church felt vindictive.  To just make up letters and journal entries that seemingly support his version of history, and explain in the author's notes afterward that, while completely fabricated, they have the "flavor" of things he's read in his research doesn't sit well with me.  I realize that's the influence of my own bias, but how is that right?

For me, there are more important things than a well written book.  Sure, Ebershoff is a fine author and knows his way around adjectives, narration and settings, but in my opinion, he cared too much about being right and too little about being honest.

Book Review - The Lonely Polygamist

Brady Udall's novel, The Lonely Polygamist, has everything I love in a book:  humor, sympathetic and flawed characters, conflict, action and a realistic resolution that ties up the plot's loose ends without forcing everything and everyone to happily ride off into the sunset.

So, why can't I happily recommend this book to everyone I know?

One word: polygamy.  I don't know how different readers might react to a book devoted to this uncomfortable subject.  Such a highly charged topic creates an immediate bias because most readers will automatically feel either defensive (for LDS folks, we kind of wish this part of our history would just go away - even if our own beloved ancestors practiced the controversial doctrine -  along with all of the fundamentalist offshoots that consistently tarnish our modern day image ) or smug, because clearly all polygamy - past, present and future - is evil, gross, atrocious and barbaric and any story about it is bound to portray it in all of its villainous glory. After all, how else could a story about a man who marries more than one woman go?

Well, Udall surprised me by catering to neither group.  His hero, Golden Richards, is a bumbling, unattractive and abundantly hairy man who rather haphazardly falls into the polygamous lifestyle.   From his childhood to his adult life, he sort of just lets things happen to him and four wives and twenty-eight children, a struggling construction business, and three homes with not enough bathrooms later, he realizes he is not a happy man.  He's lonely in the midst of a very chaotic life.

The book has several narrators which each give an interesting perspective into how a life such as this might be.  One of Golden's wives, his youngest, gets several chapters and feels unhappy because she's not MORE involved in the gigantic family drama.  With only one daughter from a previous marriage, she feels left out among the sister wives, and all but forgotten by her husband.

Another view comes from Rusty, the son of wife number three, whose mother is on the verge of a nervous breakdown.  Alone, tormented by his many, many siblings, he gives the book its much needed comical edge.  I wouldn't want a son like Rusty, but his antics sure made me smile.

I'm not saying I approve of a family dynamic like this, or excuse it as being an acceptable variation of what I consider the very bedrock of our society.  But, a good novel is one which allows me to see, feel and be something that I mostly likely never would otherwise.  I suppose that's why, in spite of everything, I throughly enjoyed this glimpse into what should be an unfathomable, and yet is surprisingly familiar, human drama.

Book Review - Faithful Place

I've read both of French's previous novels, Into The Woods and The Likeness, and quite enjoy how she takes a character from the periphery in an earlier novel and pushes him or her to the center the crime/conflict/relationship in the next novel. In Faithful Place, detective Frank Mackey's past gets stirred up when the suitcase of his former girlfriend, Rosie, is discovered in the chimney of an abandoned house they used to meet in during a renovation.  Heartbroken, he left their hometown and most of the relationships with his very dysfunctional family behind.

Frank, whose whole life changed the night he assumed she bailed on their plans to run away together, has since been  married, become a father, and eventually divorced.  .Now, he's determined to face his past and discover if something else might have happened that night. Maybe she didn't runaway to the big city without him. Maybe something much darker happened. Maybe Rosie never left town at all.

French's skill, in my opinion, is to allow the mystery of the crime to take a backseat to the development of her main character. The clues are still unfolding and the whodunit pushes the plot along, but the breakdown of her protagonists - their fears, prejudices, motives and skewed perspective - make it a much more interesting mystery to read. In this particular case, I listened to the audio instead of reading and the addition of a Scottish accent in my head made it even more engaging.

You don't have to start with The Likeness to understand the storyline of Faithful Place, but I think having read it beforehand and the additional glimpse it gives into who Frank Mackey is, made Faithful Place a more interesting book.

I'd Blog But....

I can't. There are not enough words to describe the gauntlet of emotions that have been mine this past week. I am functioning but coherence in written format is out of the question.
There's a chance that statement is tinged with my flair for dramatics but I've tried to write something all day, and I just keep deleting everything I type. It's not coming out.

But, I'm still here. I'm fine. My eleven year old can't stand me most of the time, but its good. I'm the parent, right? Not the child beginning puberty who is most likely confused by new emotions and all the changes that are going on both seen and unseen in his body. Knowing that should make a difference. My feelings shouldn't be hurt. My heart shouldn't be heavy with disappointment while he defiantly sluffs off his responsibilities or when I discover a note not intended for his mother's eyes. And I definitely shouldn't feel angry that I have no clue what I'm doing and wondering what in tarnation Heavenly Father was thinking sending me children to raise.

It's not always bad but tonight it was. Yesterday too. Saturday had mostly good moments but I thought I'd just enjoy the surprising truce instead of blogging about it. Friday was ok but probably only because my expectations are lower at the start of the weekend. Thursday was bad. Wednesday was downright awful. I could only cope by putting headphones in while I read in an attempt to keep myself from shouting. Tuesday was bad. And Monday was so wonderful, it makes all the other days even worse. Because I know it's possible to have a really great day together (it was his birthday).

I feel like he is much too young to already be going through this hormonal change but I can't think of another explanation - at least one that doesn't totally freak me out. So, I'm going to try and be cool. I'm going to pray a lot harder, read and study a lot more diligently and hopefully, hopefully, emerge from this terrifying fog of change a better mother with a loving and intact relationship with my son.

Mind, Body and Spirit

Without my Biggest Loser classes dictating my workout schedule, I have been to try some new things this week. Well...I've always been free to explore, but after two hours of exercise, rare was the day that I felt like doing more, unless it was a Zumba class or skiing.  This week, however, has been a different story.   Everyday, I have tried new things, gone to new classes at different times to see what fits.  I hope I don't mess things up with my bohemian workout experiment.

One of the things I tried this week was a class called Nia.   I've tried the class once before when my friend, Meghan, taught it in Utah, but I didn't remember much about the class other than it felt a bit like modern dance.  The Zumba instructor at my gym, whom I enjoy so much, also teaches Nia and from my few conversations with her, I can tell Nia is her true passion.  She encouraged me to come try it but warned me that it was quite a bit different from Zumba.  I believe she described it as "more organic."

I got there right as the class started and the only space left was in the front row, immediately behind her and to the right.  No problem, I thought.  I'm fairly coordinated and pick things up quickly.  I'm sure it'll be fine.

Organic, by definition means, "derived from living organisms" and indeed it was - the living organisms being us. The burning candles along the floor in front of the mirror were the first indication that this was a different sort of class.  And when the music started, I immediately knew I wouldn't be hearing any Black Eyed Peas in the mix.

The instructor kept talking about "form and freedom."  Every move, she explained, had a form.  But, within the form, she wanted us to experience the "freedom" of the form.  Interpretation: we were supposed to do our own thing a lot of the time.

I don't know why, but that lack of inhibition, the freeness of it all, is really hard for me to enjoy.  When she was giving us steps to do, I did fantastic.  Just as I thought I would, I picked the moves up quickly and followed her spot on.  Then, she'd say, "Now, use your freedom!" and all hell would break loose.  In my head, I'm a 1-2-3-4-step ball chain, step ball chain kind of girl.  I like to move.  I love to dance.  I consider myself a spiritual person.  But, when she wanted us to do our own thing, I didn't feel free.  I felt silly.

We weren't left to our own devices for the majority of the class.   Mostly, those freedom moments were short and contained to a few beats of music.  For instance, during one song, eight counts were spent doing a move called "heart to earth."  Sounds kooky, but basically, we stomped two beats per legs with our chests bent over our feet with our arms slightly lifted from our bodies.  I was fine with that.  The next eight beats, she called out "Towards the sky" and all we had to do was aerobically skip backwards with a really straight back, and with as much vertical motion as we could muster.

The next eight counts were "to our community" and we basically salsa stepped diagonally forward with our arms open and reaching out and up.  That was my favorite move.  Maybe that means I really love my community and the earth and sky not as much.  If I had to rank them, though, earth comes before sky.  Community - earth- sky...can that order be good?

The final eight counts were when I really panicked because they were "ours."  We weren't supposed to follow her, and I don't think I could have had I tried (she can move really organically).  We were just supposed to BE and move our bodies the way our bodies wanted to move.  Oh my goodness, this is hard for me. I kept looking around at everyone else (which, I'm pretty sure is a no-no) to get ideas.  One woman looked like she was doing the robot but mostly, everyone just kind of jumped around.  I tended to stick to the salsa step in some related form or another.  I mean, there wasn't much time to come up with anything really fancy.

Until there was.  Towards the end of the class, there was an entire song dedicated to our freedom.  We could move however we wanted, in whatever direction we wanted - fast or slow or not at all.  The tempo was quite quick, so I started out doing this odd boxing shuffle.  I don't know why.  Perhaps my subconscious body wants to be a boxer, but shuffling just seemed safe at the time.  I knew I was supposed to do something with my arms, so I started swinging them in circles.  Soon, I remembered I am not an airplane so I switched it up and did various different things - usually needing to balance things out by doing an equal count on the other side.  I think I threw a jazz walk in there at one point.  Not an obvious one with splayed jazz hands or anything, but I knew what I was doing in my head and it was a jazz walk.

I can't tell you how hard it was for me to keep a straight face throughout that song.  As a group, I think we resembled some Native Americans at a Pow Wow, shuffling around in a basic clockwise direction doing odd little things with their arms and legs, but  there were some definite stand-out individuals.  One woman started crawling.  I had a hard time not staring at her.  Then another woman got on her back.  She stretched out for while but, next thing I knew, she was rolling around.  I prayed the song would end soon.

When it did, we started out cool down.  This will seem strange after what I'm sure appears to be a post full of mocking this class, but it was really moving.  The tranquil music playing and the sweat dripping off my arms and face (my jazz walk took more cardiovascular effort than you'd think) and the brushing motion we made back and forth on the floor with our fingertips while on our knees all combined into this...experience.  I think it was almost spiritual.  I was so grateful for my body.  I felt grateful for the beauty of the earth and the humanity found in all our different customs and cultures.  It was a short moment but it was a moment.  Then, my legs fell asleep (I'm not there yet) and I was very self-conscious again.

I thanked the instructor when the class was over and she asked me how I liked it.

"It was interesting.  Different.  I liked it but it's hard for me to get out of my head and enjoy the lack of inhibition," I replied.

"Really!  I couldn't tell.  You looked great and seemed to really get it."

"Um...I was faking it."

She laughed at that and said, "Well, you know what they say.  Fake it 'till you make it."

Would you enjoy a class like this?    Do you think experiences like this are really spiritual?  Am I too cerebral and judgmental?

There Was Sunshine In My Soul Today

And on my neck.

And on my chest.

And on my left arm.

And on my nose.

And on my forehead.

For an hour and a half (maybe two), I had a great time chatting with my friend, Michelle, outside.  We discussed loads of topics under a bright, Colorado spring sky, lapping the sunshine into our winter dreary spirits.

As the evening has progressed, my skin has gotten hotter and hotter, tighter and in a lot more pain.  Why do sunburns have to hurt so bad?  And am I going to have these bad tan lines for the rest of the year????

Biggest Loser - Reflections From Final Weigh-In

After 3 months of waking up at 5 am Monday through Friday, exercising with an intensity I never have before and keeping a daily nutritional log, I have reached the end of the Biggest Loser journey. In many ways, I am sad to no longer have the program to guide me on my quest for health and fitness. But, I know I have the tools in my head, heart and body to be successful on my own. I'm not done yet...not even close.

I lost 2 more pounds from last week making my total loss from January 3rd to April 4th 33 pounds. It's a number I'm feeling better about after learning that last year's winner, who lost over 40 pounds, had quite a bit of help with some cleanses. I'm not saying my colon is carrying an extra 7 to 10 pounds, and if it is then I'm seriously disturbed, but I'm glad that I know that all of my weight loss came off healthily and from making the lifestyle changes I need to keep it off.

I'm more excited about some other final numbers, however. In three months, I have lost 12 percent of my body fat. From each arm, I have lost 1.25 inches. From my chest, I have lost 2 inches (of all my areas, I was hoping for more from here.  Aren't women always complaining about losing their bosoms first?  Sadly, mine are persistent). From my upper abs, I have lost 4 inches. From my lower abs, I have lost 3.5 inches. From my hips, I have lost 5 inches! (I can't wait to fly.  Five inches just might keep me from touching the person next to me and that is one of my goals!)  From my legs, 2 inches off each. And, finally, my calves are .75 inches smaller. That is a total of 22.5 inches....gone! That's almost two feet off my body.

I believe there have been some definitive reasons for my success. First and foremost, I have the most supportive husband and children. They have never complained about my absence in the mornings. They have found ways to work together and become efficient at getting to work and school with new routines and habits. Last Thursday, when Jay and I needed to drive for a total of seven hours round trip to pick up his new truck, I chose to ignore my 5 am alarm. In my head, I justified my future missed workout with the defense that I didn't want to be in my car for any longer than I already needed to (it takes 20 minutes to get to where I work out. That's 40 minutes total). When Jay realized I wasn't moving, he literally started poking me in the back. Poke, poke, poke. After several minutes of him ignoring my protests and explanations that it just wasn't going to be a workout day, I realized he wasn't going to stop. So, I got out of bed, drove into town and had an awesomely hard boot camp workout. I hate it when he's right but I'm grateful when he's supportive.

Secondly, signing up and paying to participate in this program did what is called "putting some skin in the game." It was a significant chunk of change, an uncomfortable amount to waste, and there was a level of accountability, to trainers and teammates, that I've never experienced when I've tried to do it alone. Every day, I knew I had a class to attend. Every day, the workout was varied, difficult and pushed me past the point of being comfortable. And I had to go. For 2  hours, every day but Sunday, I had to go. Also, having someone literally look over everything I ate, every day for the first month (after that it was more random and eventually, just a verbal confession if I overate) was a huge motivation to eat well. Obviously, going to a gym on your own and eating healthy foods in appropriate portions all on your own will work, but I just never was consistent enough on my own to develop the necessary habits. I had to up the ante.

Third, I really think the size of my gym was ideal for me to shed my usual comfort of anonymity. I know ALL of the instructors. I'm starting to know a lot of the other people who come to work out. It's not a big gym where you can get lost and everyone keeps to themselves. There are no rows of treadmills or ellipticals, no large room of weights. Instead, there are three small studios and the only option is to take a class where they use toys you could buy on your own (kettlebells, bosu balls, resistance bands, medicine and fitness balls etc.) and be seen. Each time I ever joined Weight Watchers, I'd go to meetings for a few months but then stop because I couldn't see the point of paying to have someone weigh me and then sitting quietly for the class because I didn't know anyone. Sure, I could have been outgoing and gregarious and I could have made comments and been more involved. But, I didn't do it. Ever. I get oddly shy in situations like that. Same goes for large gyms. I don't even like to go to classes because it always seems like everyone knows each other. The small sized forced me out of my comfort zone and I think knowing and being known by like-minded individuals is a definite advantage.

Lastly, journaling about it has helped. I know I wrote about how embarrassed I was when my pictures were first taken and when my weight was displayed on that blasted white board, but, eventually, I lost that ego. Everyone knew how hard I was working so I cared less about the exposure. It almost became a source of motivations as more and more people started noticing the changes in my ability and size. The same thing happened here. Your comments, support and feedback kept me going. I've always wanted to quietly and, without fanfare, overcome my weight issue. Kind of like how I always wished I could keep my pregnancies quiet for longer so that the 40 weeks seemed shorter somehow. But, no, 5...maybe 6 weeks along and pretty much anyone who made eye contact with me would hear me confess my condition. I'm kind of a blabbermouth. It would have gone against my nature to go through the Biggest Loser silently. I'm so glad I was able to share it. Thank you for being so supportive.

Because I'm vain, I had to take a picture with some make-up on and clothes that weren't stretchy. Plus, I really didn't have any pictures of me over the last three months. No full body shots. It was interesting looking at the pictures I asked Seth to take this afternoon. I can see how far I've come but can still see so far to go. I'm going to take more pictures. I think it'll help me get where I want to go.

I'll still check in now and then. I'm not stopping and I've got some new goals to keep me in check, but it probably won't be a weekly post. But, it might be. If I need it to be.

February 6th.  Twelve pounds lost.  Only picture I have of me since early December in Memphis.  I didn't post this at the time because I was so disappointed with how I looked even after losing twelve pounds.  

Today, April 4th.   21 pounds lighter from picture above.

In normal clothes.  I bought these jeans at the end of last summer and couldn't wear them.  I couldn't even button them.  They are almost too big now.  

The Garden Party

I love my boys elementary school.  It is small, family oriented and constantly putting on events to draw the schools' families together.

Of course, being somewhat of a homebody, I don't actually want to go to these events, but I think it's quaint that they put them on.  Last night, my boys talked me into going to their annual Garden Party.

They served beef brisket, baked beans, potatoes, applesauce and a roll a la cafeteria style.  It was o.k.  They also hosted a dance with a middle-school aged band.  If that doesn't pull you off your couch, I don't know what will.  In all honesty, they were a really good band and the kids who danced had a blast.

Of course, my boys preferred playing soccer outside.  One of my favorite things about the size of this school is how inclusive the play is.  It has to be.  There couldn't form full teams if they left people out.  So...girls play with boys, grades intermix and it just feels more wholesome somehow.  I enjoyed watching them play outside with their friends.

But, I enjoyed watching them dance more.  Henry was hamming it up.  I don't know if he's an attention hog or just a very passionate dancer, but he was tearing the floor up all night.  Seth safely walked the borders of the dance floor until the very end, when his silly side got the best of him and he started some toe-tapping of his own.

Sam safely stuck to Bingo.  He played one game and won!  Sixteen dollars!  There were some jealous grandmas in the crowd.

Some pictures:

Choosing teams.  Brutal!  I don't know what Sam was so excited about.

Seth going for the goal.

High fives with his friend, Luke.

Elise dribbling (this is for you, Michelle.  She looked like she was having a lot of fun).

Henry doing some of his ninja moves he's been into since watching the Samurai Pie episode of Backyardigans (Jen, you can imagine the sound effects that go with these sweet moves, can't you?)

I love watching girls dance.  I really do.  It brings back so many fond memories.

Henry making a long circle around the gym doing some kind of robot march.

He danced even when no one else did.  And the band played on.

Some floor dancing.  Some of his best moves.

Seth playing ninja, an actual game, NOT learned from Samurai Pie, with his friends.

I had to take this picture.  Two fifth grade boys at a dance and two fifth grade girls at a dance.  They are so different!

Still dancing....

Meanwhile, over in the cafeteria, Sam takes on the Bingo crowd.

And won!

One final dance with dad.

Not the most exciting Friday night, but I love my boys and love that they love their school.  But I have NO idea why they called this a garden party.

Doing It Dave Ramsey Style

This is one of those posts where I debated, "Should I or shouldn't I blog about it?"  Because, frankly, blogging about possessions is obnoxious. Sorry, but it is. Especially in this economy and knowing so many great people who are struggling and feeling overwhelmed.

So, I must be clear that I am not blogging about a new possession for the sake of the possession, though it may seem like it. Instead, what thrills me and what I feel like shouting from the rooftops is the pleasure I feel about being married to a disciplined man and my joy that comes from witnessing the reward of his patience.

Jay finally got a truck. A really nice truck. A Dodge Ram truck. The exact truck that he wanted.  I can finally put another answer to question number six on the year-in review posts (See 2009 and 2010).

Five years ago, Jay was driving a beat up 1987 Toyota pickup.  That same year, we took a Dave Ramsey called Financial Peace University that changed how we would buy things forever.  One of the biggest tennets of his budgeting plan is to pay cash for everything.  He makes exceptions for homes and education, but barely.  Jay and I signed on and have been living like no one else (a catch phrase of his) these past five years.  That Toyota truck was purchased for $500 from friends of ours in Denver during medical school. Hoping it would simply last until graduation, we were thrilled when that little blue truck continued to faithfully transport Jay to the hospital through his residency until it got totaled after being got rear-ended in 2006. Would you believe the insurance adjuster gave us $1500 for that truck????

He took that $1500 and bought a rebuilt 1995 Dodge Ram 1500 from some shady Ukrainians. There were no records for the truck and the carfax report only said that it had been in a collision. Still, for $1500, it ran and it was a truck. Jay was happy.

One year later, we were in Salt Lake City and he had a wicked commute to the U of U hospital. After the third or fourth time it stalled WHILE driving on I-215, he sold the truck for $1000 and bought a 1999 Volkswagen Passat. Using the budget ideology learned from our Dave Ramsey class, Jay never budged from his belief in paying cash for a used car. I suppose I didn't fully admire his faithfulness to the budget because a $6,000 used car still seemed really fancy to me. It was a great little car. For a few months.

Then, as it often happens with used cars, things started breaking down. At first, he fixed every problem. Gotta make this car last, we both thought. Once we got to D-town, however, something screwy happened to the computer or electrical system or something, and his dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree. When the mechanic explained that nothing was actually wrong with his engine or his brakes or his oil level or the temperature or his tire pressure, Jay decided to save the $1,000 it would cost to fix the computer glitch and put up with all the blinking red lights.

He's driven it like that for the past three years. During that time, the transmission has become questionable, the power steering is going out, I hit a deer and ruined his passenger side, the door came off the glove box, the sun roof stopped working, the back windows need to be taped to stay up, and a loud, obnoxious beep dings three times about every twenty seconds.

I couldn't have put up with it. I love our budget and claim to be a total believer, but I could not have driven that car for three years in the condition its been in. I mean...I suppose I could have, but...no, I don't think so. At least not with a cheerful disposition, like Jay, who has only really complained about his car a handful of times and even then, only when the beeping became too much for his frayed nerves.

What really ups the ante of my admiration is that Jay has made good money for the past three years. Enough so that he could have walked into any car dealership and picked out whatever car he wanted and would have been able to make the payment with relative ease. I even encouraged him to do just that.

"Go buy a truck!" I would tempt, after seeing a commercial for zero percent financing or a chunk of change in rebates. He'd just give me a kind of sad, closed-mouth smile, the equivalent of a you-just-don't-get-it pat on the head to his weaker-willed wife.

Instead, we saved. And saved and saved and saved. And saved some more.

It seemed like we'd never have enough to get the truck that he wanted. Occasionally, my loss of focus would return and I'd encourage him to abandon our cash-only ship and use financing. He stayed true to the course, however, and today, he drove to work in a vehicle whose bells and whistles are actually supposed to be there.

He found it on Carmax. It took over a month to get it to the nearest-to-us Carmax dealership and we drove down yesterday to pick it up. It is used but barely so. Jay figures he saved $10,000 by having someone else put 5,000 miles on it first. Best of all, Jay got it on his terms - by paying cash.

For the first time in the fifteen plus years I've been with him, Jay has a car that he likes.  Also, for the first time since he bought that reliable Toyota pickup, he owns a vehicle made in the same decade we currently live in.

I really like Jay.

Seth enjoying the sun roof

What man doesn't feel more like a man with his own big truck?

Pretty sweet ride.