I always hate the part on a questionaire where it asks what special talents I have. I can see that it's an applicable question most of the time, but I never have a good answer. I don't play an instrument, I can't sing, and I'm not good at any sport. Instead of writing "none" like I want to, I end up making up some crap about talking easily with others.
I received an email today that has me thinking I may need to change my response. I'm still undecided whether I should put "Excellent missionary skills" or "Recruiting expertise", but for now I'm just content that I finally found something.
This hidden talent didn't surface until just over a year ago when I found out Matchbox Twenty was doing a benefit concert in LA. Steve had already taken off work to go see Rob Thomas with me that year so I called my sister to see what I could talk her into. With a little coercion and the gift of pirated CD's, Lyndee came aboard the groupie express.
I had to post a video because this night provided the first time I'd ever thought about how I'd like to die. The video doesn't show it, but Lyn and I were a few rows in front of this camera. We were in the loge which I guess is like a balcony except its lower and closer to the stage. The building was a hundred year old theatre that had closed for a decade but then recently revamped and reopened. As soon as the music began, the whole crowd (including us) started jumping and dancing. I am not exaggerating when I say that the entire balcony was quaking and I felt like we were headed for a crash at any given time. I looked at Lyn and told her that I couldn't think of a better way to croak, so we kept our groove on, unstable as it were.
Matchbox came to Utah a few months later and I handily talked Kari and Trav into going. Lyndee went also, of course. I will post video of this fabulous evening on its one year anniversary, but I also prepped Karianne with Cd's and such before the concert. To say that night at the E Center was one of the best nights of my life would be putting it lightly. I couldn't stand the thought of not seeing them for several more years so I smoothly proposed going to Reno the next week. Kari bit and we were off like the bra of a new bride. Lyn knew Jeff would not hear of it so she stayed behind to sulk. For the record, we also had tickets to see Matchbox in Cheyenne last July but the show cancelled due to Rob's stance against animal cruelty (did I mention that I love this man?)
A few months pass and I find my cousin, born fifth in line among us, persisting I make her a CD of Rob and Matchbox compilations. This would be the same cousin that suggested a possible intervention to control my following of the said band. I sent her an email today requesting her brother's email status. She forwarded the necessary information and added a sentence telling me she was listening to Robbie as she wrote, but the best part is that she concluded with a "ooh baby!" I then asked her if this meant she would be joining me and my roadies once Rob announces another solo tour. Her reply was that she'd love to and that she has really missed out.
So that's it! My unexposed talent has shown face after all these years in the shade. I cannot take full responsibility since Rob is the actual ear-melting songwriter and performer, but I will accept credit where due. And thanks to my devoted converts. I love you girls!




After I read that B.R. was held in the highest respect by everyone, the deal was done. When I was pregnant with Brooksie, I went through a phase of wondering if people would think it was a girl name and started tossing around other names, but Brooks always came back to me. I think it's because Brooks is the perfect name for our sweet boy.

Norman Rockwell was picky about who he drew, but held such high regard for Brooks Robinson that he made him the subject of this painting titled, "Gee thanks Brooks." I don't think even a handful of players can say they have their own Rockwell. Here are 3 quotes that explain what type of defensive player B.R. was -
Next stop...Jay Cutler, baby. Count on it!

My love for the blue and orange began in childhood. My Grandpa grew up in Colorado so liking the Broncos is somewhat of a family tradition. My Mom took the following to the next level and brought us up properly, taking us to games at Mile High and buying us various Broncos treasures like my first Raider Hater shirt. Mom also taught us sound football etiquette while at the stadium. During the pre-game above, she in her Steve Watson jersey and I in my Hater shirt, Mom yelled to the wide receiver, "Hey number 81, I got your number!" That was classic. Every year she got more daring. At the next Raider game, we sat on the 2nd row about the 10 yard line and Howie Long was standing approximately 8 feet in front of us when she decided to tell him, in a loud yet substantial tone, what a nice keister he had. Howie then turned around and gave us a chin up. My father was in a different section for that one. He is a Raider fan, believe it or not, so we sometimes tried to keep a good distance from him.
This is Mom with our season ticket holding cousins, Cid & Johnny, who insisted on trading us their 2nd row seats for our nosebleeds this game. They said the view was better up there, lol. It was a Monday night game vs. the Raiders, we have exceptional cousins!! Below is a heavenly Mile High kiss from 1o years ago.
I used to loathe video games, so how is it that my rump is sore, my fingers are cramped, and I cannot pull myself away? I am only posting to give the kids a turn. Finally, Santa brought something for Santa!
