GraceWrites

Shanghai Skyline

2011-05-21T04:41:00.001-05:00

DSCN0460

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What in the World is Trent Doing?

2010-03-15T09:35:00.001-05:00

Trent throws caution to the wind as he vies for the best footage possible. I know he knows Grace's Rule No. 1 - Get the story. I only hope that he remembers Rule No. 2 - Protect the equipment.

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What in the World is Trent Doing?

2010-03-15T07:54:00.001-05:00

Trent throws caution to the wind as he vies for the best footage possible. I know he knows Grace's Rule No. 1 - Get the story. I only hope that he remembers Rule No. 2 - Protect the equipment.

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Grace Teaches While Shawn Evades

2010-03-14T06:04:00.002-05:00

In this video, I've known Trent Hilborn and Mark Mazur for all of 20 minutes. I felt they were ready for Grace's Rules of Good Journalism. While I used my time in the car in a productive way, Shawn McAfee, who was in the car ahead of us, decided to channel her inner Bond. She tried to lose me in the untamed West (of Oshkosh). She did this knowing that I didn't have any food in the car. Could have been ugly.

Posted via email from gracelim's posterous

Where in the World is Mark?

2010-03-13T22:31:00.001-06:00

Posted via email from gracelim's posterous

2008-12-27T13:01:00.002-06:00

What would you do if you rummaged around the kids' toy shelf and found this book and three balls?
And you read: "If you have dedication and ten free minutes a day for a week, you can join the millions who have learned to juggle."

Well, you'd naturally think, as I did, this thought: Hey, I have gobs of dedication and I have 10 free minutes a day.

See what happens when you have gobs and time.

To read rest of post, click here.

Winning Christmas and a Holiday Haiku for You (yes, you!)

2008-12-27T12:52:00.001-06:00

I'm been talking about winning Christmas for a while now. This year my friends JJ, "Heidi" and I decided to forgo the consumerism, the excess of holiday gift-giving and give each other something from truly from the heart -- Holiday Haikus!

I'm totally going to win Christmas this year with these personalized haikus.

To JJ:
A woman so rare
like the bone-in rib-eye at
Lombardi’s Steakhouse.

To Heidi:
Finds treasures in junk
Sees beauty where there is none
World, meet My Sergei.

Now, my Holiday Haikus to you:

for the rest of post, click here.

Do You Hear What I Hear/7 Question With...

2008-12-27T12:46:00.002-06:00

7 Questions with the Woman

who got the World to Stop Mumbling Around Me

(and a bonus joke, too)

Now let's hear it from the woman who gently, but firmly, showed me that the world wasn't conspiring to mumble around me. In my Q & A with Candy McGinnis Dahl, a long-time audiologist in the Fox Valley, she debunks a hearing loss myth, tells an audiology joke and mulls the tree falling in the forest question. (See previous post GraceWrites on Lessons Learned from World of Hearing and When the Whole World Mumbles in the New York Times Well health column.)

For rest of post, click here.

GraceWrites on Lessons Learned from World of Hearing

2008-12-20T16:53:00.001-06:00

For the past month, I've been hearing the world anew. Are you thinking, Did GW finally stop her own filibuster and allow others to chime in? Nah....that'd be ludicrous.

Nope, turns out that I am hearing impaired, and I need hearing aids. Read my essay When the Whole World Mumbles in the New York Times Well health column.

What have I learned since I entered the world of better hearing? Click here to read rest of post.

GraceWrites Has Bionic Ears/Read Essay in New York Times blog

2008-12-18T17:10:00.001-06:00

Click here to read about the Lindsay Wagner aka Bionic Woman in me.

Prize Giveaway Smackdown!/ GW Caught Flat-Footed by Guileless Golferdude's People

2008-12-18T17:08:00.000-06:00

Click here for the prize giveaway smackdown.

And the Winner of the Joke of Day is.../Big Honkin' Love-Conquers-All Prize Reveal!!!

2008-12-18T17:07:00.000-06:00

Click here for big prize reveal.

GraceWrites Presents...Another Joke of the Day/Good, Clean American Fun/Prize Alert!

2008-12-18T17:06:00.001-06:00

Click here for more funny stuff.

GraceWrites Presents...Joke of the Day*/Attack-Ad-Free Zone

2008-12-18T17:04:00.000-06:00

Click here for some funny stuff.

Huge Pro-America Non-Partisan Prize Reveal!/And the winner is...

2008-12-18T16:57:00.002-06:00

Click here for the big reveal.

You Know You've OD'd on the Elections When...

2008-10-19T20:10:00.001-05:00

You Know You've OD'd on the Elections When...

1. You use the shopping list whiteboard at dinner to explain to the children the difference between delegates and superdelegates. (Yes, I'm aware my addiction began eons ago, and the whiteboard is now forbidden at the dinner table.)

2. Your 9-year-old talks about being disenfranchised.

For the rest of the list and contest rules, click here.

Five Things I Think I Think* - politics and trans fat free (mostly)

2008-10-19T20:07:00.001-05:00

(Note to my three regular blog readers: I've been gone for reasons we won't get into. Let's just use the line the Hollywood stars use when they check themselves into some swanky spa - "exhaustion." Don't fret. My condition will cure itself come Nov. 5.)

Five Things I Think I Think* - politics and trans fat free (mostly)

Click here to see list, cool video and photo.

GraceWrites: Mike Schroeder's Ultimate Getaway/For those who crave alone time

2008-10-19T20:04:00.001-05:00

Seeking an escape from my latest obsession with the presidential election, I ventured to the back of the Time Community Theater Saturday, where I watched with wonder magician extraordinaire Mike Schroeder get away from it all.

And, boy, when Schroeder gets away, he gets away.

For some inexplicable reason, Schroeder thought it'd be a fun activity to get strapped into a straitjacket and then hoisted 100 feet up in the air. Upside down, mind you.

And just for kicks, he has to free himself from the jacket before he passes out or panic sets in.

For the rest of the story and cool video, click here.

Open Mic Night at the GOP Convention

2008-10-19T20:02:00.000-05:00

Read the original post here.

GraceWrites Gives Intellectual Discourse a Whirl/Gov. Palin Ready for This?

2008-10-19T20:00:00.000-05:00

A journalist friend e-mailed me this video created by the Women's Media Center during the height of the Democratic primaries.

I watched it, sickened by what I saw - blatant sexism in the media. I was offended because I am a daughter of a woman who, along with my father, believes that boys AND girls deserve every opportunity to succeed. That is why they brought us to America decades ago. I was offended because I am a mother, who teaches her boys to treat people with respect. Period.

For the rest of the story, click here.

Blog readers EXPOSED!/Bonanza Prize Winners!

2008-08-27T08:20:00.001-05:00

With great trepidation, I ventured to Two Brothers at 5:58 a.m. Monday to meet the latest GraceWrites Inane Contest prize winners.

How would we recognize each other? Would blog reader Marvin49 show up toting an itsy-bitsy ray gun? Would CJMcD unleash her dogs as per her avatar?

It turns out my fears were unwarranted. I don't know how she did this, but CJMcD, who won the Hulk-bashing egg-laying chicken, knew me right away. The fact I was carrying a Darth Vader head did not in any way aid her super-recognition powers.

Soon after, Marvin49 showed up to claim his fire-truck-laden tie, a tie I've been holding onto for years, just waiting to bestow it upon someone worthy of such fine couture.

Finally, I was able to put faces to the names of my two readers.

To see what they look like, click here.

Chicken, the Hulk and Dealing with Phelpsian Withdrawl/Win a Big Prize

2008-08-22T10:10:00.001-05:00

With no more mountains for Michael Phelps or Usain Bolt to climb, what is one who lives in a state of denial about school starting to do?

Well, there is really only one answer to that question.

For the rest of story, click here.

How to be an Olympian or Look Just Like One

2008-08-14T15:50:00.004-05:00

I, too, am caught up in the Olympics fever.

Michael Phelps? The man is simply not human. The 23-year-old broke the world record in the 200 butterfly..."Broke it while swimming with a Dixie cup full of water sloshing against each eye, guessing where the walls were on the turns..."

The 30-second mistake that rocked U.S. Flyweight World Champ Rau'shee Warren is too horrible to read, much less watch.

These stories put on the world's largest stage humanity's greatest strengths and weaknesses.

Who among us have not secretly envisioned standing on the gold medalist podium, smiling humbly and waving at the roaring crowds?

It's one thing to dream...it's quite another to do.

I draw inspiration from Dara Torres, the 41-year-old mother of a toddler AND a five-time Olympic swimmer. I watch her and I think, "Hey, she's about my age. If she can do this..."

Never mind that I'm the only one in water aerobics NOT allowed in the deep end without a life-jacket.

Think big picture.

Join me on my journey to the Olympics 2012.

If you have any other Olympic-worthy training tips, send them my way.

And, yes, I'm looking for sponsors.

120 Seconds with Chairman Bob of Roundy's

2008-08-08T15:30:00.004-05:00

I stopped at the Koeller Avenue Pick 'n Save Friday afternoon for some cheap eats. With my kids in tow, we shelled out $3 for two hotdogs, one brat, chips, soda and ice cream. The outside barbecue was a fund-raising event to benefit Father Carr's Place 2B, the local soup kitchen and homeless shelter.

I also went to meet Chairman Bob -- the chairman and CEO of 153 Roundy's Supermarkets in Wisconsin and Minnesota. Chairman Bob's full name is Bob Mariano, but for some reason I couldn't call him Mr. Mariano or just Bob. It was like the time when I interviewed author Stephen King and he completely threw me off my game when he said, "Just call me Steve." My mind reeled. You can't call Stephen King "Steve." It's just wrong.

But I digress.

I wanted to meet Chairman Bob to see how a corporate bigwig acts at a parking lot barbecue. Was he going to the proverbial fish out of water? Or was he going to man the grill?

I am happy to report that Chairman Bob acted very much the host with the most. He chatted with kids, made sure everyone was happy and full. He looked as if he wanted to be there, unlike Brett Favre whose smile looked forced as he held up a Jets (!!!) uniform at Brett-as-a-Jet press conference.

Chairman Bob is not a straight-out-of-business-school-and-into-management-type of CEO. The man knows his groceries from the ground up. He worked as a deli clerk and worked his way to the CEO-ship of Dominick's, a Chicago-based supermarket chain. Along the way, he did earn his M.B.A., but he places great value on his time working the floor at the stores.

Here is what Chairman Bob has to say about job hunting, competition and the one issue that has kept us awake a nights.

How to Break Up with Brett Favre/Pop-Up Book Bonus!

2008-08-05T21:06:00.000-05:00

The Brett Favre tragic saga is hitting a mite close to home.

While I catch myself reading everything, obsessing over every Favre/Packer minutiae, I didn't realize how this gut-wrenching turn-of-events has affected my best friend JJ.

If what you see on this video doesn't end the Brett Favre/Packers stalemate, then nothing will.

Tell me, break up or make up?

How to Survive an Auction

2008-08-03T17:26:00.002-05:00

I survived my first auction today...barely.

It all started on a melancholy note. Our wonderful neighbor, who has lived in her house for 40-plus years, had hired Don Wagner, auctioneer extraordinaire, to help lighten her load.

Take a look at what I was up against.

Intrigued, I traversed the 10 yards from my house to the neighbor's yard, where more than two dozen veteran auction-goers have already planted their lawn chairs.

I nonchalantly viewed the items to be auctioned. If this auction were a poker game, I was the one with zero "tells."

Calm, cool and collected. Smooth as silk.

That how I was as I rushed to the window where a man handed out numbers (you need a number to place bid) and asked breathlessly, "CouldIplaceapreemptivebidonthepicnictable?"

He looked at me, confused.

I repeated myself. The man said, "The auction starts at 10 a.m."

It was 8:10 a.m.

I'll cut to the chase: I got my picnic table, but it wasn't easy.

Don Wagner talked fast. That's the thing about auctioneers. They talk fast, and they interpret my frantic please-talk-slowly wave for I'll-die-if-I-don't-get-this wave.

Don kept saying, "And the lady in the back."

I stopped looking behind me after the sixth time.

My heart pounded, my T-shirt soaked with sweat. In the midst of this dogfight with some faceless person who kept upping my bid by $5, I thought, "I don't have to go to the gym, I could just go to auctions to get a great workout."

I got the picnic table. And my children will have forgo college. But that's neither here nor there.

Flushed with success, I stuck around to see who else I could beat into auction submission.

Then I saw this...

For the rest of the story, click here.

What's Wrong with America and Big Prize Reveal!

2008-08-02T14:40:00.002-05:00

The other day, my good friend JJ threw one of my oft-uttered lines at me.

She said, "You’re what’s wrong with America.”

That is the line I use when I express my self-righteous disdain for things like wrapping paper. I don’t understand why I need to pay for paper that some kid is going to ruin in 3 seconds flat. I wrap my presents, if I wrap at all, in newspaper. Some people say I’m just cheap and crass, but to those folks I ask, “What are you doing to reduce, reuse and recycle? Hmmm?"

But JJ’s proclamation about my being the cause of America's woes? Now that hurts.

What would prompt such a harsh statement from a woman for whom I’ve climbed up a 16-foot non-OSHA-approved scaffold to help wall-paper her stairwell ceiling? (Really, who wallpapers ceilings?)

But I digress.

So how did this let’s-pile-on-Grace moment come about?

It came when I was engaged in a rare act of self-reflection. (Warning: Do not attempt alone or with JJ.)

I thought about my blog Grace Writes What Grace Likes and the topics I’ve been tackling – killer chipmunks, spontaneous masonry, downhill wagon racing, chucking the city life to raise alpacas, only to realize that my lack of skills would enable me to survive about a day and a half in the wild or on a farm.

For the rest of post, click here.

GraceWrites Gets Out of the Chipmunk Funk

2008-07-25T07:30:00.008-05:00

After my grueling battle with Chippy, the killer chipmunk, I suffered from survivor's guilt. My good friends JJ and Heidi thought I needed to get out of the house, away from the place that reminded me of the once-ferocious furry four-inch beast.

They took me to our favorite karaoke bar.

On the way there, I opened up and shared my angst about Chippy's life and my role in shortening it. I told them about my Lady Macbeth spotty-hand moment.

JJ looked at me with kind eyes. "You are soooooo going to hell. Those spots are NEVER, you hear me, NEVER COMING OFF!"

Well, thank God, another friend was there to distract me from my impending fiery end with her profanely poetic rants.

But what got me out of my chipmunk funk was a couple of the karaoke singers. Never mind JJ's changing Hank Williams's Your Cheatin' Heart to this:

Your chipmunk's heart...
will make you weep,
You'll cry and cry, and try to sleep.
But sleep won't come, the whole night through.
Your chipmunk's heart, will tell on you.

I met Tiny, the singing trucker from Juneau, Wis., who is Louis Armstrong reincarnated tellig me about this wonderful world.

Then I met Doug Eggers, a foundry worker from Kaukauna, Wis., who sounds just like Timon from The Lion King. (I know Timon is a cartoon, but just listen to Doug, and tell me you don't agree.)

My chipmunk blues? Gone before JJ and Heidi even started their spot-on rendition of Julio Iglesias and Willie Nelson's To All the Girls I Loved Before.

Breaking News! How to Catch a Killer Chipmunk/The TKO

2008-07-24T18:27:00.001-05:00

First off, thank you to everyone (with the exception of Marvin49, who suffers from bouts of laughter) for all the critter capture ideas.
As of 1: 30 p.m. today, my basement is now critter-free.

You may be wondering, “Wha? Huh? Grace won?”

Well, I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say what occurred in the basement is reminiscent of a particular scene in Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction.

Know which scene I’m talking about?

Here’s a clue. The character introduces himself with this line: “I’m Winston Wolf, I solve problems.”

Our own Winston Wolf did his job and left no trace.

Those of you who feel you must know what happened, I’ll never say, but I did take the low road and used one of the readers’ tips.

Right now, however, I am feeling a mite like Lady Macbeth, constantly looking at my hands and muttering: “Out, damnn’d* spot! Out, I say!”

And I'm trying to figure out what to say to Renee of the Humane Society when I return the live trap

Woman vs. Killer Chipmunk/Day 2

2008-07-23T13:42:00.004-05:00

Update: After pacing (on tiptoes, don't ask) for hours, I finally heard Hubby groggily come downstairs.

"Have you checked the trap?" I ask with great hope in my voice.

He said, "I heard some scraping metal noises last night."

My heart leaped with joy. (Never mind what the Heart Surgeon says in a previous post.) Could it be true? Could that devious little creature be caught in the cage?

Alas, no.

Hubby went downstairs only to report that the cage remained empty.

But...

Some nuts were missing, and the cup of organic peanut butter was tilted.

Take a look.

Confound that wily wascally weasel! (I know, I know it's not a weasel.)

OK, Chippy has thrown down the gauntlet. I am not some shrinking violet sniveling in the corner. So...I haven't slept or gone down the basement in 24 hours doesn't mean anything. I've chased tornadoes in my Cheverolet Chevette. I've joined meth labs raids, armed only with a tape recorder, a notepad and a pen.

That basement is not big enough for the both of us.

One of us will have to go.

Who will it be?

(Anyone want to place odds?)

Read the original post about Chippy and me.

How to Catch a Killer Chipmunk/Round 1

2008-07-22T20:09:00.003-05:00

It’s 3:17 p.m. and I’m on my friend Heidi’s porch, calming my nerves with a stiff concoction of unknown ingredients. I’m in self-imposed exile from my home because of an unwanted guest – a killer chipmunk.

You’re thinking, “There she goes again -- telling tall tales.”

I’ll just tell you this: If you had seen the said chipmunk, you’d be sitting on Heidi’s porch nursing a strong one, too, and we’d be exchanging how-we-survived-the-psychotic-rodent tales.

This is how it all came to pass:

Hubby left the front door open for all of a minute so we can bring in a new chair. When we went inside, I saw a small moving object in the middle of our den. Being quite the observant type, I astutely determined that it was not a remote-controlled car.

Puzzled, I stood looking at this thing, which stared at me with its beady eyes. “What’s that?” I yelped.

The chipmunk scurried through our kitchen down the stairs to the basement, to my home office, where ALL MY STUFF LIVES!!!

Hubby and I scampered after the little critter which hid in Hubby’s workroom, home of three tools. I tried trapping the chipmunk with my large piece of cardboard, but the sneaky critter got away.

We found it by our sump pump where I thought, “OK, end of the road, little fella.”

I made my approach, stealth-like, a veritable ninja. I lowered my cardboard so I could trap it in the corner. But I was not prepared for what happened next.

The four-inch chipmunk launched its body at my cardboard shield. All my working out with JJ at the Y, wasted, useless against the sheer strength of this crazy critter.

I shrieked. Yes, I admit it, I shrieked, and I AM NOT A SHRIEKER!

The chipmunk found a chink in my trap-the-critter-with-the-cardboard plan, darted by me, tramping over my Teva-sandaled feet.

It was awful. Just awful.

Now you're thinking, where was Grace's Hubby when all this was going down?

Good question. Hubby was stunned by my anti-chipmunk ninja techniques that he was rendered useless. Laughing, he watched helplessly as the chipmunk dashed away.

Hours later, I’m still suffering from post-chipmunk-traumatic syndrome.

I called the Humane Society, talked to Renee, who told me that I could rent a live trap for $5/week with a $20 deposit. Before she could hang up, I was reliving my tale in person to her.

She said, “It’s OK, it’s just a little scared animal. It’s more scared of you.”

I stammered, “No, you weren’t there. You didn’t see its cold, cold eyes.”

She smiled, nodding her head as if humoring some nutcase off the street.

I could feel my agitation rising. “Look! I love animals! That dog over there! I love that dog! If I didn’t have a chipmunk in my basement, I’d take that dog home!”

She calmly showed me how to use the live trap without snapping off my fingers and sent me on my way.

Now I’m parked on Heidi’s porch, mustering up my courage to face down the dangerous creature.

If y’all have any ideas on how to get this chipmunk out of my basement, out of my life, please send them my way.

GraceWrites: How Not to Dicker for the Monkey King

2008-07-19T11:31:00.006-05:00

During our visit to my mom's in Southern California, I told my sons, ages 12 and almost 9, that we'd visit Chinatown, a place they know only from books and Jackie Chan movies. I wanted them to taste real Chinese food and see people who look like their mother and grandmother, who they call Amah.

But first, we hit a couple local Oriental gift stores in search of hidden treasures.

The first store, although tiny, looked promising with all its Asian artifacts, statures of Chinese warlords, hand-carved figurines. I cautioned the boys with the usual warning: DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING!

But my words, as usual, go unheeded.

The boys ooohed and ahhhed over each new item they encounter.

We were soon joined by the proprietor who magically appeared besides me. The man, sporting long black hair to the middle of his back, looked as if he had just walked off a low-budget kung-fu movie set. He wore a mandarin-collared blue jacket and black silk pants.

He asked me in Mandarin if I spoke Chinese. I responded with a tinge of regret: "Sorry, no."

He quickly assessed the situation: Get the boys, get the mom.

He zeroed in on Son No. 2, who glommed onto a 2-foot statue of the Monkey King. The proprietor grabbed an over-sized calculator and asked in English: "How much you pay?"

I begged off, saying rather demurely," No, no, just looking."

But what raged in my mind was this: "Are you kidding me??!!! I don't need anymore stuff in my house!"

The man punched a few keys and showed me the figure: $380.

I hissed at my boys: "DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING!"

He took the arm of Son No. 2 and pulled him to a corner of the store, where he revealed with great flair -- a life-sized Monkey King.

I could see I was losing my son, who locked his hazel eyes on the glorious figure.

Smiling, the man punched a few more keys on his calculator: $3,800.

Panicked, I yelled at the boys: "DON'T LOOK AT THAT! DON'T BREATHE. BACK AWAY!"

Sensing my increasing distress, the man pondered for a few seconds and made a wait-I-just-remembered-something-spectacular motion. Again, he pulled Son No. 2's arm, this time to the front of the store, where he reached behind a large statue. Like a magician he pulled out a miniature Monkey King, a 12-inch figure.

Both boys now were lost. They ahhhhed at the same time.

Son No. 1 said, "Mom..."

The man grinned victoriously.

For a fleeting moment, I tasted defeat, but, no, I am my mother's daughter. I am the daughter of the wiliest barterer in the world, the woman whose limited English made an used car salesman weep pathetically. Really.

The man punched more numbers. This time: $120.

Son No. 2 blurted: "I have that in my bank!"

Sigh...He is his mother's son. Inscrutable to the core.

I said firmly, "That's too much."

The man persisted. He pushed the calculator at me. "How much you pay?" he asked again.

I said, "No, no, the little one," pointing to Son No. 2.

I backed out the store. The man followed. "How much you pay?"

Just for fun, I told my son to punch in $20.

My son looked at me, puzzled. He knows his math. And $20 is not $120.

I whispered, "Put in $20."

He did.

The man looked at the number, straightened up and said, "No, no! Too little!" He herded my other son out of the store and made a shooing motion with his hands. "Go away! Go away!"

When we caught up with my mother and told her what had transpired, she said that the man also shooed her away. She had wanted a necklace priced at $30. She had offered $10. He told her he had paid $15 for it, but would let her have it for $20. This way, he said, he'd make $5 on the deal. Mom said, "I'll give you $10."

The man shooed her away too.

My boys laughed at the thought of anyone shooing their Amah away.

Epilogue: Son No. 1 actually bought a Monkey King, the one pictured, in Chinatown. He paid a grand total of $15. And he didn't even have to barter.

Celebrate the Good: Dance Around the World with Matt Harding

2008-07-14T09:00:00.000-05:00

Need a lift? Watch Matt Harding as he dances around the world. Harding was recently featured in two New York Times articles. Read the following:

A Private Dance? Four Million Web Fans Say No By CHARLES McGRATH and Well: Dance Even if Nobody Is Watching By Tara Parker-Pope.

Then watch this video.

My kids watched it with me and, without prompting, they started to dance. Soon, we're all dancing.

Tell me what you think of Matt's video.

Topaz and Charlie, the unlikely friendship between an alpaca and a guard dog

2008-07-10T09:00:00.001-05:00

On a recent visit to Cascade Alpacas of Oregon, which breeds award-winning huacaya alpacas, I met Connie Betts, who along with her husband, Thomas, run the 35-herd ranch in Hood River, Oregon. The Betts also run the on-site yarn shop called Foothills Yarn and Fiber.

Here Connie tells the story of Topaz, an 7-month-old alpaca, and Charlie, the 3-year-old Great Pyrenees guard dog.

Five Questions with Connie Betts, owner of Cascade Alpacas of Oregon

1. In 2004, you and your husband left well-paying jobs in the tech and marine retail industries to run an alpaca ranch. Why alpacas? Why not something more traditional like cows or pigs?
Alpacas are highly profitable and easy to care for. I am a knitter, and I love fiber and yarn. Besides, how cute is an alpaca? But, seriously, when you buy a pregnant female you generally are granted an additional breeding after that baby is delivered. You have a 50-50 chance of having a female offspring. When you sell that female offspring, you will probably sell her for as much or more (if you bred to a high-quality herd sire) than you paid for the dam. At that point, you’ve paid for your investment and any other females that are born from that dam contribute to profit.

2. How does your professional background as a software training instructor help you as an alpaca rancher?
Well, I thought that I would get to teach knitting and crocheting classes, but people don’t want to drive to our location in the evening in the winter when knitting and crocheting are in full swing. I have taught dozens of people how to spin, which is very rewarding.

3. There is a popular children's book called Is Your Mama a Llama? by Deborah Guarino. Ever think about giving that book a run for its money with a book on alpacas, which I'd say are just as cute if not cuter.
We have a friend who is an alpaca rancher on the other side of the Columbia River who has written a children’s book about an alpaca and hopes to publish it. Her passion is alpaca photos, which she turns into cards, and writing about alpacas. My passion is the alpaca fiber and yarn.

4. What do your former colleagues think about your new vocation? I’m sure there were some skeptical people, but they were kind enough not to tell me their thoughts. Many are congratulating us after being featured on the cover of the Women in Business special section of the Hood River News last year, in the American Express Open Book (distribution 1 million) last July, Kiplinger’s Personal Finance magazine last November, and Fortune magazine this month. They can see that we are doing very well, loving what we get to do, and loving where we get to live.

5. What advice would you give to people who are thinking about raising alpacas?
Do the research, take classes on the alpaca business, visit alpaca ranches, and talk to your accountant because every person’s financial situation is different. Decide if you want to have a few alpacas for a supplemental income or if you want to make it a full-time business. And, make sure that you have the energy and skill to run your ranch like a business. That said, if you have a passion for something, go for it and do what you love.

For more information about Cascade Alpacas of Oregon, please visit www.cascadealpacas.com. Photo of Topaz and Charlie courtesy of Connie Betts.

'Tis a small world moment: Janice Dotson, who spun some alpaca fiber for me and my kids, went to the University of Wisconsin Oshkosh in 1970.

Tasks for you:

1. What do you think about Topaz and Charlie? Tell me about the unusual friendships you know or are part of.

2. Suggest other interesting vocations for me to spotlight.

Spontaneous Masonry and Other Hidden Talents

2008-07-08T09:00:00.002-05:00

Before we get to to the spontaneous masonry, let me give you some background on the type of skills I possess. Simply put, my best friends Heidi and JJ, Midwest natives, often look at me, shake their heads and say: "City folk like you will be the first to go."

While I know my bestest friends in the whole wide world love me, I also know that they are smart, practical women. That means in case of a major disaster, I'm completely dispensable to them.

Both have already told me independently that they would leave me behind but take Heidi's hubby, who apparently is a good man to have along (it says so on his business card), and JJ's dad, who is even better than MacGyver.

Me? What's a city girl who can cover a disaster if she survives it to do?

Well, she goes and gets some skills.

For two years, I had begged JJ's dad to let me use the tilling machine. (JJ patiently reminds me, "It's called a tiller, Grace, it's called a tiller.") I love how people who till look so Zen-like as they prepare the earth for new growth. The last time I asked JJ's dad if I could till, he took one look at my soft hands and walked away. But something in my relentlessly whiny voice got to him. In a moment of weakness, he handed over the controls.

This is what happens when I become one with the earth.

Feeling lumber-jacky, I decide then to wield something mightier than a pen -- an ax.

As you can see my ego suffered a big blow. Still unskilled, I sought solace in the most unlikely place - at JJ's.

JJ, in her uncanny way, convinced me to help her put up a basketball hoop, pole and all.

Along with her dad and my hubby, we poured and mixed 1,200 pounds of concrete. That's hard work. (To all those who do this professionally: I know your pain, and I thank you for your good work.)

We had a batch of concrete left. I think most reasonable people would just toss the leftovers, but not JJ. She took that opportunity to teach me another skill -- spontaneous masonry.

Take a look at what we made.

Grace's concrete blob thing.

Tasks for you:

1. Always a student and an embracer of participatory journalism, I'm looking for other skills to master and another story to tell. Share your hidden talents. Please keep it clean.

2. Name the concrete blob thing. The prize will be a permanent folded index card placed next to the concrete blob thing that says you named it.

Update! Sign of the Apocalypse*/hotdogs and prizes!

2008-07-04T19:01:00.002-05:00

UPDATE: KermieD gave me a few suggestions on my search for a new sport. See comments below.

Then read the original post before you jump to the newly added old footage of my competitive day as a downhill wagon racer.

It is a rare day when I read something in the news that makes me do two things:

1. Laugh out loud.
2. Think "This is why the rest of the world hates us."

In the early afternoon on the Fourth of July, CNN.com had this breaking news headline stripped across the top of its Web site:

Joey Chestnut wins Nathan's annual hot dog eating contest in a "dog off" with ex champ Takeru Kobayashi.
Story Developing.

The size of the breaking news headline was worthy of, say, the death of longtime lawmaker former U.S. Sen. Jesse Helms or the daring rescue of three Americans, Colombian presidential candidate Ingrid Betancourt and 11 other Colombians from the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia.

Feeling self-righteous, I swore I wouldn't read about Chestnut's win. I wouldn't be one of those people who gawk at car wrecks on the highway, tying up traffic with their prurient curiosity. But if you don't mind being one of those types, you can read it here. (and maybe tell me about it while I pretend I'm not listening.)

I have to admit the idea of eating as sport intrigues me. I am really, really good at eating. Been doing it all my life. In fact, I'd say I was a natural. I have said half-jokingly that I've given up competitive marathoning because I found less painful ways to abuse my body. I thought about picking up competitive eating until I read:

Death by Cheese and the Dreaded Ruptured Stomach
The Past and Future of Competitive Eating Injuries
by Jason Fagone in www.slate.com. You can read his article here.

Prize alert!!!
So now competitive eating is out. I'm now open to suggestions on a new sport to try.
Best suggestion will get a prize even better than the brass-like desk lamp and the color-changing light cube.

Note to golferdude and others motivated by prizes: I know you're thinking, "She's lyin'. Nothing is better than the brass-like desk lamp." Well, you'll just have to see.

* Sports Illustrated has a feature called Signs of the Apocalypse in which some sports figure is quoted saying something so out there that one has to accept that the end of times has arrived.

UPDATED STUFF: I scrounged around my files and found this old footage of my debut as a downhill wagon racer.

WARNING: Please do not try this at home or anywhere else. Stunts like these should be left to the professionals.

GraceWrites: Spotlight on Sparkle/The Third Planet

2008-07-02T18:25:00.000-05:00

What can a self-described gay cross-dressing pagan teach the immigrant daughter of a dirt-poor preacher (Christian, if you must know)who grew up in the mountains of Taiwan?

Turns out, a lot.

Sit back and relax.

Meet the single-monikered Sparkle, who works at The Third Planet in Lawrence, Kansas, which sells funky clothes, bags (bought one) and artifacts from all over the world. All fair trade products. In the seven-minute segment, Sparkles talks about freedom, fashion and why Steven Spielberg should leave the poor aliens alone.

Sparkle's World as done as a movie trailer, courtesy of animoto.com, a cool Web site that takes your photos and converts them into a snazzy professional-looking movie trailer. For free. By the way, the tattooed chest belongs to Trista, who also works at The Third Planet.

I am an unabashed fan of this store, which also carries an array of bumper stickers. Among my favorites:
Zen Buddhism
Don't even think about it.

Question for you: What do think about Sparkle's world? Think there's a way we, the messy lot we call humanity, can coexist peacefully? Or are we too far gone? Weigh in, my friends.

Showdown at the Downtown Fountain/Prize giveaway

2008-06-30T16:45:00.003-05:00

A little background: I had declared to my blog readers that at high noon Sunday, I would park myself at the downtown fountain to hand out the brass-like desk lamp and the color-changing light cube to the blog challenge winners. Lest you think I had nothing better to do on a Sunday, I had plans to meet with a former student, who was getting cold feet about going to grad school at NYU. I knew what she needed -- some encouraging words that would set her straight.
“Have I taught you nothing???!!!! Of course you’re going! Why are you still here, sucking the air around me? Go already!”

Yes, I knew what she needed.

It turned out that she also knew what she needed. Prior to meeting me at Blue Moon, she decided and committed. She’s going.
Crisis averted, I was able to focus on the time and the fountain.

This was what happened next.

11:59 a.m.: I push my bike across the street to the fountain.
High noon: A bespectacled man gets out of a nondescript car that’s parked nearby.

He approaches me and asks, “Are you Grace?”

I am cautiously suspicious. “Yes?”

He smiles. “I am golferdude’s emissary.”

Now, I pride myself for my rock-steady ways, but dabnabit, that golferdude threw me a curve ball.

The man did say, “Maybe I’ll send my people.” And thinking he was just bluffing, I had responded, “Maybe I’ll send my people.”

It was too late, much too late. I didn’t have any people with me, and my former student was still wrestling if not her decision to go to grad school, then her peanut-buttered bagel.

All the training and life experience I had as an intrepid reporter went out the window. (See, I’m writing clichés.)

I hand over the brass-like desk lamp fixture. Before I could ask my questions - “Where is golferdude? How do I know you’re not golferdude?" - the emissary disappears.

In my mind I’m yelling, “Tell golferdude to show his face or I’m writing that he’s a grade-A duffer.”

Too late, much too late.

My former student misses the entire exchange. I’m sure a part of her wants to believe me, but who knows with these young ‘uns.

She sits with me for another 20 minutes, feeling, I’m sure, rather conflicted. She wants to be polite and humor her aging prof; she wants to stay away from her addle-brained prof.

In the end, she leaves, taking the color-changing light cube with her. (Sorry, KermieD, Wiffleball tournament or not, you snooze, you lose.)

Note: Marvin49, I still have your fire-engine covered tie; golferdude, This is not the end of this.

golferdude's person: Who is this man holding the brass-like desk lamp?

A Side of Music with Your Oven-Roasted Turkey

2008-06-29T16:35:00.002-05:00

On a routine trip to Pick 'n Save ... I have to digress here. Every time I see that sign, I want to add another apostrophe to the store's name. It really should be Pick 'n' Save. OK, back to the main programming.

On a routine trip to Pick 'n Save Sunday, I was pleasantly surprised by a duo playing live music in front the liquor department, facing the parking lot.

Filled with nostalgia, I thought of the street performers of my past.

Could the parking lot of Pick 'n Save be just like Central Park in New York or the boardwalk at Key West? Be still, my heart.

Maybe, just maybe.

Turns out the two guys, Anthony Stanley and Charles Hutchinson, both 21 and from Milwaukee, are two-thirds of the Charleston Wade band. Keyboard player Wade was a no-show today.

The band was hired by Roundy's, which owns Pick 'n Save and Copps, to perform at a more than a dozen sites.

Says Hutchinson of playing at grocery stores: "It's kinda strange, but it's pretty cool."

Take a look.

For more info about Charleston Wade, visit www.myspace.com/charlestonwade.

Question for you: Which acts would you like to see at Pick 'n Save? I'd like to see a fire-eating juggler.

Starbucks Smackdown/Great Prizes Reveal

2008-06-26T23:05:00.000-05:00

Earlier this week, I was dubbed the Murdock Avenue's Starbucks Customer of the Week. (Read earlier post here.) My Starbucks bud JJ with whom I've toiled tirelessly to get this designation was out of town, missing my coffee coronation.

This is the response I received from JJ. Click here.

Methinks JJ's slightly delusional. A sticker does not make an official Starbucks Customer of the Week.

Note to all who participated in the Anti-Apathy and "No Mas!" challenges. Take a look at the grand brass-like desk lamp and the flashing color-changing light box.

Claim your prize. You know you want to. (Yes, I'm talking to you, golferdude.)
E-mail me at gracewrites@gmail.com.

GraceWrites: 5 Questions with...a Heart Doc

2008-06-25T10:00:00.002-05:00

Before I get to the Heart Doc, I have to give a little backstory.

I dubbed my blog Grace Writes What Grace Likes as an inside-joke for me. For years, I’ve covered countless school board meetings, city council meetings, interviewed regular folk and irregular folk. And I’ve written many stories on topics that I did not like.

Like Roberto Duran reportedly has infamously cried, “No mas! No mas!”

From today on, I will no longer kowtow to humorless editors.

I will ask all the irrelevant and irreverent questions that I didn’t get to ask.

I will talk to people who don’t make the 5 o’clock news, but are newsworthy in their own way.

I will live up to the name of my blog. I will write what I like.

Today, my friends, is emancipation day.

My first segment of 5 Questions features John B. Hiebert, M.D., a renowned clinical cardiologist in Lawrence, Kansas. He has been a practicing clinical cardiologist in Kansas since 1973. From 1993-1997 he was a member of the Kansas Board of Regents and chaired that body from 1995-1996. While a Regent, Dr. Heibert was nominated for the national Regent of the Year award for public universities.

That’s just a snippet of his professional bio.

Just know this: the man is tops in his field.

Take a look.

What do you all do keep your heart healthy and happy?

(Full disclosure: John B. Hiebert is Hubby's uncle and a great all-around guy. The questions came from me; the subject did not ask nor was he given a preview to the 5 questions.)

Prize alert: I will offer a cool yet-to-be determined prize to anyone who can tell me the circumstances of Duran's "No mas!" No fair looking it up.

Des Moines, Cedar Rapids, Dubuque, Iowa at 70mph

2008-06-23T12:01:00.002-05:00

On the way to Lawrence, Kansas, we took the long way there, avoiding the flood-ravaged state of Iowa.

A little over a week after the Mississippi flooded Des Moines and Cedar Rapids, we headed back home. This time, we traversed the Hawkeye state.

See the rest of the story here.

Say What?/Skewer the Bad Lede

2008-06-23T11:57:00.001-05:00

Sometimes I'll see something in print that just makes my head explode.

See the rest of the story here.

Winner Turns Down Prize/New Winner

2008-06-23T11:55:00.002-05:00

In a stunning move, the winner of the Anti-Apathy Challenge turned down the prize sight unseen.

See rest of story here.

The Anti-Apathy Challenge/Winner Revealed!

2008-06-20T10:47:00.001-05:00

Thank you for all the helpful suggestions on how I can be a better role model to the youth, whom I had unfairly deemed an apathetic lot.

After careful deliberation and finesse dodging of Marvin49’s Illudium Q-36 Explosive Space Modulator (read comments), I’ve declared a winner in my Anti-Apathy Challenge. CJMcD’s suggestion is perfect for someone whose world revolves around food.

CJMcD wrote:

Since it has taken me THIS long to fully realize the importance of food to you, I've gained an insight that may be THE ultimate act of role-modeling for you. Cook for friends and family. Share dinner with a shut-in. Volunteer at a food bank. Work a day in a soup kitchen.

To collect the super-duper yet-to-be determined prize, please e-mail me at gracewrites@gmail.com.

Thank you all for playing, and may the Force with you.

The Anti-Apathy Challenge/Part 2

2008-06-18T21:32:00.002-05:00

Here are some of the suggestions on how I can be a better role model to the youth. See earlier post on the original challenge here.

From Marvin49: You could deliver breakfast to my office each and every day. Aside from that, being the best Mom, wife and daughter that you can be is all the world can expect.

From golferdude: As for revving up your tired, cynical soul,raisin bagel and cinammon cream cheese always works for me. You, Marvin and I should meet for bagels and mayonnaise sometime and be role models for each other.

Another fine gem from Marvin49: You're fine the way you are GW...cynicism is NOT a bad thing in today's world. Don't worry about it... have a Hoagie...

From CJMcD: Better role model?
Practice random acts of kindness.

And from AFitz, who inadverdently started this revolution of peace, love and kindness: I suggest: smile at a stranger...hug your kids and a friend...think compassion...be kind...The Golden Rule is a winner...and eat a bagel with or without mayonnaise!!

Last minute suggestions before I choose a winner? I'm cleaning off my desks, and I've unearthed many treasures that I'd like to share with smart, well-meaning, well-informed folks like you.

The Anti-Apathy Challenge

2008-06-17T11:17:00.001-05:00

Blog reader AFitz took me to task about my excessive lamenting of the good ol’ days where people cared about what’s going on outside their circle of friends and family. I lamented about the apathy I saw in the college classroom. I whined. I gnashed my teeth and lashed out at the uncaring egocentric youth. See this earlier post and comments to catch up.

AFitz wrote:

“Well...wow...enuf...!!!...GraceWrites & golferdude turn the death of McKay and Russert into a "ain't-the-younger-generation-awful!!!"...and "why arn't they like good ole us???"...
Sorry, but I think that is boring...!!!...and demeaning...!!!
The "old" generation has created the world that the "young" generation lives in...I hope we affirm/live enuf justice/love/compassion that the "young" will be inspired by our "role modeling"...such as McKay and Russert...!!!...They deserve attention and appreciation suggesting that all of us might be lifted to their level of personal/professional achievements...!!!...Help: I need such leaders...!!! AFitz, SeattleWhether AFitz knew it or not, he threw down the gauntlet.

I ask you smart, well-informed readers to pick up the gauntlet. Give me some ideas on how I can be a better role model.

The Passing of Two Journalism Giants

2008-06-15T00:00:00.000-05:00

Two of my favorite journalists died within days of each other.

Jim McKay, 86, American sports television journalist, died June 7.

Tim Russert, 58, host of Meet the Press, died June 13.

Here are some fitting tributes to these giants of journalism.

Bob Costas on Jim McKay.

I am incredibly saddened by Russert's untimely death. (Really, is death ever timely?)
One of my best friends who writes for the New York Times called me to commiserate about a man whom we've never met but feel we know so well. We're reeling that this man who has such a passion for politics will miss the presidential elections. Election night won't be the same without Russerts' smart, pointed analysis.

My children asked me why I was sad. I told them that two honorable men who loved what they did and did it so elegantly had died.

Memorable Tim Russert Moments

The Bailing Butt and Bucket Biceps Workout Program

2008-06-14T12:16:00.011-05:00

Before I get to this new whizbang workout program, I have a few final words to say about my foray into detoxland.

At my celebratory breakfast at American Table at the week's end, Heidi says to me: "Thank you so much for inviting me to your retox."

JJ, being the always supportive friend that she is, eyes my two breakfasts. "I'm eating one of your crepes," she declares. "You are not supposed to overdo. You're just supposed to do."

And apparently, I was supposed to make do with two crepes.

Now the new workout program - The Bailing Butt and Bucket Biceps Workout Program.

During stressful times, I forgo activities like regular exercise. Like the time my husband and I bought our first house, I had been training (for real) for the Madison Marathon. With three months to go, I went cold turkey. No training. No running. With two weeks to go, I realized, "Hey, I have a marathon in two weeks."

Those of you who run marathons know that the last two-three weeks are supposed to be easy weeks. I did it backwards. I went easy for the first 12 weeks and crammed the final two weeks. I went for a long run. Well, why the heck not? Marathoners will tell you the importance of the long training run.

Marathoners will also tell that that doing a long run cold is stupid, stupid, stupid.

When I told my sis-in-law who has run marathons what I had done (or not done), she says brightly, "Great job, Grace, you made it almost half-way." (I had suffered through a grueling, ugly, ugly 11-mile long run, 2.1 miles shy of a marathon's half-way point.)

So when the skies opened up Thursday, I refused to let my regular exercise regimen be swept away.

A sidenote on the recent floods: I am gratified to see people helping people. Good on ya. (That's the Aussie in me coming out.)

Here is the six-step Bailing Butt and Bucket Biceps Workout Program.

1. First squat for hours on end while scooping flood water into a small bucket.
2. Pour water into a five-gallon bucket.
3. Carry five-gallon bucket upstairs.
4. Walk away from house.
5. Pour water.
6. Repeat.

I took turns with two other people and carried buckets, while our flood-stricken friend bailed. If filled to the top, the five gallons of water weighs 40 pounds. At the beginning, I was all gung-ho, thinking, "Oh, my working out at the Y is paying off." A few hours later, I'm dragging the bucket behind me, water splashing every which way, thinking, "I need to eat more meat."

Two days after the flood, I visited with my friend who tells me, "My butt is sore."
I reply, "My biceps are sore."

A great workout, indeed.

To comment or to return to the Northwestern site, click here.

Top Five Lessons Learned from a Week of Detox

2008-06-10T22:27:00.008-05:00

What have I learned after almost seven days of being meat-free, caffeine-free, processed sugar-free, dairy-free and wheat-free?

1. I can go meat-free for a week and still live. I'm known for bringing extra meat to dinner parties for fear of not having enough meat. For one Thanksgiving, a friend flew in to share the day with hubby and me. She knew I had no culinary skills and told me she'd take care of the cooking. All I had to do was to get a turkey for three. I bought a 19-pound turkey. I figured that much of the turkey was bones, so it was really a 15-pound turkey. My husband, a mathematician, put his hard-earned degrees to work. He said, rather incredulously: "You thought we'd each eat the equivalent of 20 Quarter Pounders???!!!"

Well, when he puts it like that, it does sound a little much.

But I digress. Back to the lessons learned.

2. Caffeine headaches aren't terminal. I suffered greatly the first two days, but after that, I embraced it and became one with the pain. No, I didn't, but let's just pretend I did.

3. A tall decaf soy no foam latte is just good as the real stuff (if you live in an alternative universe, then yes, it's just the same.)

4. I don't have to feel guilty about leaving abandoned food behind. Some people collect stray animals, I collect stray food. I caught myself reaching for the kids' leftovers, grabbing a handful of pretzels and unwapping loose candy. Eight times in one evening. And I wasn't even hungry.

5. I am stronger than my cravings. JJ and I walked through Caramel Crisp Cafe this afternoon for the first time. I was sorely tempted by the ice cream and caramel corn. But I didn't succumb today. (Tomorrow, however, is another story.)

Odds and ends: Two of my detoxing friends bailed with a few hours left. One ate fruit; the other sneaked a slice of pizza. I'd taunt them about their wimpy weak minds, but I won't because the detoxed me is a kinder, gentler me. I won't point out that I won the detox. I'm above keeping scores even though I did lose 2.5 pounds. (But who knows how much of it is real.) And I beat JJ 5-0 in raquetball this week. But, again, who's keeping score?

Today I felt the most normal.

But tomorrow (Wednesday) I'll be even more so because I'll be celebrating my week with breakfast at American Table, which serves the best crepes ever.

Thank you for listening.

To return and or comment on the Northwestern site, click here.

Racquetball? Yoga?/Detox Day 4 of 7

2008-06-09T16:12:00.003-05:00

Having gone without food for more than 33 hours, I see the light at the end of the proverbial tunnnel.

See what happened during the day of fast. Go here.

The Saddest Dinner Ever - Day 3 of 7

2008-06-09T15:53:00.005-05:00

None of that quiet martyrdom for me during this 7-day dextox program. When I suffer, the world suffers with me. See how here.

My Bad, My Fowl - the Big Chik'n Reveal

2008-06-08T16:38:00.000-05:00

See the Pickin' the Chikin' results here.

The Saddest Cup of Coffee Ever - Day 3 of 7

2008-06-07T12:13:00.004-05:00

AS you know I'm detoxifying for seven days. This is day 3. Read previous blogs to catch up. My nonalcoholic drink of choice is a Starbucks tall nonfat NO FOAM latte. I don't believe in paying for foam. Foam, like air, should be free.

Today this is what my barista Michelle handed me.

Here is what it looks like up close.

To think, I'd even thanked her for it.

(Thanks, Michelle, and the rest of the Starbucks clan at Murdock for being good sports.)

For the record, my coffee today tasted like liquid rice cake. Yum.

Will Write for Food - Day 2 of 7, the extended version

2008-06-05T17:48:00.002-05:00

First lesson learned from being in this detox program: Read the label.

In this particular detox program, in addition to meat/caffeine/sugar, I am also supposed to eschew wheat and diary. So I avoid the milk, yogurt, cheese in bread aisles at the grocery store.

I'm in the organic food section, thinking I'm safely ensconced from insurgent trans fat and whatnot. (You have to know that I prepped for this detox by scarfing down the last of the Memorial Day brats and my kids' Halloween candy the night before. Yes, you read that right. Halloween candy that I was supposed to have taken to work to share with students and co-workers.)

My husband and children were eating chicken last night so I didn't want to feel left out. I bought what I thought was soy-based chicken, you know, fake chicken.

Instead, I bought fake fake chicken.

I bought meatless and soy-free naked chik'n cutlets. When I told my friend, a flexitarian, what I had eaten, she asked, "If it's not soy, what's in it?"

Good question. It turns out that I had inadvertently sabotaged my detox. I suffered for naught. My friends would say they suffered more with my constantly blurting out, "Fix me! I have a headache! I haven't had coffee or meat in __ hours."

My fake fake chicken contained mycoprotein, rehydrated egg white, onions, textured wheat protein.

Oy.

Well, might as well finish the box tonight.

Random thoughts:

* I feel like that guy in SuperSize Me, the guy who ate only McDonald's for a month to see what it would do to his body. He logged everything.

I'm going to follow his model. A day after I started the detox, I played racquetball with my friend JJ. It was a little after 9 a.m., and I already had a headache brewing for lack of brew of any sort.
At 9:25 a.m. I had to stop and suck air. I've never had to do that before.
At 9:45 a.m. I got dizzy, but my headache was gone.
I whiffed several balls, but that could just be lack of talent and hand-eye coordination.

JJ made an astute observation this morning after my lackluster effort.

"Maybe you thrive on toxins," said JJ, who does not believe in depriving oneself of anything. "Maybe this detoxifying is really bad for you."

At this moment, JJ speaks the truth.

* I just finished the box of fake fake chicken. I will start anew tomorrow. But that stuff ain't half bad.

Funny, it tastes like chicken...

2008-06-05T16:33:00.000-05:00

Going meat-less Day 1. See what happens here.

Will Write for Food - Day 1 of 7

2008-06-04T14:07:00.004-05:00

I am 3 hours into my detox program, and I've already fallen off the wagon.*

How's that for an intro?

My name is Grace, and I'm die-hard sugar/caffeine/meat addict.

But for the next seven days, I'm giving it all up.

Why? Why am I giving up what I consider integral ingredients of "the good life" for an entire week?

Because it's a good story, and if you've read my profile, you'd know that I put myself into nutty situations for a good story. (For a little background on my adventures, read Selling the Brand 'You' and Going the Distance.)

I am doing this "Seven Day Program to Aid Digesting, Elimination, Detoxification and Cleansing" (That's the actual title.) with several friends among whom are a physician, a dietician, a social worker and a crisis counselor. We're all women in our late 30s to early 40s, with children ranging from toddlers to college-aged.

Today we had our kick-off breakfast. All but one of us (I won't name names) are happily on board with the program. One of us began whining 20 minutes into the breakfast. She prattled on and on about not wanting to give up meat, ice cream and her tall, non-fat NO FOAM lattes.

Let me tell you, the whining was relentless.

And that was just breakfast. More to come.

* In my husband's eyes, I committed an egregious crime against good coffee. Instead of milk, I mixed organic rice drink in my fully caffeinated coffee. Let my mistake be a lesson to all: Don't do that.

What Grace likes to do for fun and money

2008-05-09T06:22:00.000-05:00

Make Bad Ads with Heidi.

Here's a shining example.

Finally, a Story about Nice Girls

2008-05-04T17:36:00.000-05:00

Fair warning: Watch with a handful of tissues.

A Final Farewell

2008-05-03T18:30:00.002-05:00

I've never met Dr. Randy Pausch in person, but I feel as if I had through his now-famous last lecture at Carnegie Mellon University. He and Jeffrey Zaslow, one of my favorite Wall Street Journal writers, co-authored The Last Lecture, which I have to admit I haven't read just because I know it's going to reduce me into a sobbing mess. Because of Dr. Randy Pausch I've changed the way I teach and, I know I risk sounding cliched, the way I live.

Read Zaslow's A Final Farewell.

Here is Dr. Pausch's last lecture.