make a note of it

I make blog notes. A LOT. The writer in me used to always carry a notebook in my purse, but now I just text myself or, preferably, use the "notes" application on my iPod. When I recall a cute story, or hear something humorous, or experience an epiphany (as my husband says, "epithany"), I jot them in my electronic journal, so I can share them with you at a later date.

Like the following:

I always sleep on my side with the sheet AND the blanket covering my ear - but NOT covering my nose. I like to BREATHE cool air, but it appears that I like to LISTEN to warm air.

I want to magnetize my nail polish and my key ring, so every time I reach into my purse, my keys automatically find ME. I know. Brilliant.

I suspect you would be the best parent EVER if you always treated every day with your kids as though it is the only day you will ever have to be their parent. Impossible to go wrong.

I am convinced the item my life is most lacking is a portable tip jar.

I experienced the literal definition of a "rude awakening" when Greg woke at 2 a.m. screaming, "STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!" and sucker-punching me in the kidneys.

I told my mom she really needed to get an email address, because I always have things to send her. When I suggested this, she looked at my dad and said, "Paul, I DO have an email, don't I? Isn't it nana.com?" Uh, sure mom. :)

I have a penchant for useless trivia, so upon writing the previous, I actually googled www.nana.com only to find it is the website for the Northwest Alaska Native Association.

I'm curious why it's Aldi's and Kroger's and Sam's and McDonald's but not Wal-Mart's or Burger King's or Taco Bell's or Target's?


Undoubtedly, my note-taking is vitally important, but there's a dilemma: I'm not a meticulous note taker . . . I'm more a "hit the high points" kinda gal. Key words are all I really require. See, I have such a good memory I only need a modicum of information to recall the specifics.

Back in October, when I attended the annual Saddle Boy Competition, I had an excess of free time to think. (It's either that or watch cowboys load horses in and out of a trailer while trying to avoid the manure piles . . . ) I made some notes that weekend. Scant notes. Tidbits, really. I then forgot about the notes. About an hour ago I rediscovered them, but baby, 47 has hit hard, and the days of short-term memory retention (and, for that matter, perky breasts) are so over. Now when I say I have such a good memory and only need a modicum of information to recall the specifics, what I REALLY mean is I USED to have such a good memory I only NEEDED a modicum of information to recall the specifics.

Still, I made the notes, so I feel obligated to blog the notes:

"Chuy interesting picture saturday nuclear bermuda ambulance pot pour medula not even a ponytail mike at hicks the statistics of someday scuba doo"

I'm sure they would have been informative/ insightful/ illuminating/ hysterical . . . if only I had a clue what they meant.