Recently, the hubby came home from work, had this quirky grin on his face and said, “You and I, tomorrow morning, have plans.” He wouldn’t tell me what they were, just that he was taking me somewhere. First, let me say, never speak words like that to a writer. Can I tell you how many things (some very good and some very, very bad) went through my mind? Um, hello, dramatic by nature, overactive imagination by profession! Well, I finally had to give up guessing because I was driving myself batty. Cut to the next morning and he tells me he’s taking me to the shooting range. Not what I expected, but something I’d really wanted to do. As had he, so began our Saturday morning date.

Who can beat a date with bullets and gun barrels.

He and I have been talking about going for years. I’ve used guns in almost all my books, if not on the page itself then the people have a workable knowledge of their uses be it from their profession or their lifestyle. Me personally, prior to my “date”, I’d fired a gun once nearly 20 years ago at my uncle’s house. To this day the hubby and I still debate what guns were used—I trust my memory better than his even though he’s a dude and whatnot—it was a .22 hand gun, a .22 rifle and my uncle had a WWII Chinese pistol—I specifically remember it because I tend to talk with my hands and after shooting did so followed by a lot of ducking. Amazingly, my last time to shoot .

Back to the “date”. The hubby like to surprise me with research related treats from time to time. (I have to say that is way more romantic than flowers—it shows he cares about what I do… but I digress) And the shooting range was the perfect morning. I will admit, I was uber-nauseous as we went out there. Didn’t quite know what to expect and/or how to process what we were doing. It was a new one for me.

I’d go into the details of what we used but frankly past telling you I shot two different .22 pistols, I couldn’t tell you much. But it was awesome. Not that I am proficient at anything, but I can (if need be) load a gun, fire said gun, and be relatively certain I can hit my target. I also know how freaking loud guns are. It took me a good five to ten minutes to get used to the popping sounds at the range—I was afraid I wouldn’t stop jumping at the noise and it was mess up my aim.

I eventually settled into it and hit my target all but 3 times (out of 50)—and one miss, I was trying to use the site on top. I had much better aim with eyeballing it. It was an awesome feeling to shoot even if a little disconcerting at first. The hubby moved up to a larger gun, but—even though a .22 isn’t the optimal defense weapon—I was satisfied that day with what I learned. I do have every intention on going back for further learning, I just haven’t picked the day yet.

I don’t know if you’ve ever shot a gun or have an opinion about it, but it was an experience I rather enjoyed and hope to repeat. We’re not going to run out a buy one to keep in the house (at least not just yet). But it is something that is marked off of one of my need-to-learn lists. And, as far a research goes, it was pretty dern cool!

(Now I am kind of excited to figure out what my next research jaunt will be. Hmm… so many choices. )

So, I am pretty sure that I’ve mentioned before that I have vivid dreams that I remember well. Always have. And I’ve had some repeat dreams that are years old (come to think of it though a couple not in years, but the memory of them is still just as clear now as the last time). So recently I have had a couple of dreams that are off the chart vivid. Like to the point that it almost feels like a—this is the out there part and I may be revealing too much but—it feels more like a memory than a dream itself. To the point of spooky. And let me just say that I know with certainty that they are *so not* memories, not suppressed, forgotten or otherwise.

And before you ask, no, I have never been one to study or interpret my dreams. Sure, I know some dreams help you work through things, but I figure my brain’s working through that all by itself, I don’t need to help it along, so I don’t read the books and whatnot on the subject. And I am pretty sure this one was not working through things... just a feeling.

The thing that has me so—shaken seems too dramatic a word, but as close as I can come up with so—shaken is that this one particular dream, when I woke I could almost taste and feel the “memory” of it. Weird. weird and weird some more! Nothing terrible happened, nothing ominous or even foretelling in it so it wasn’t like some premonition or warning.

Another weird fact, when I dream I typically don't see faces (it's like, you know who they are but don't see-see them), and in this one there were three distinct faces in it, possibly more, but three I can still remember now even days later. I’m not going to go into detail with the dream, but suffice it to say, there was an old west brothel and patrons—and I wasn’t a patron. Please don’t try to interpret, I am just telling you so you aren’t spinning wild(er) scenarios over what it might have been.

It was all so very strange when I woke from it. Still, I never try to not have dreams. They feed my imagination as much as anything else does if not as a whole but a sliver of a dream might wind up in a story.

Have you ever had a dream that just struck you as odder than your normal nighttime story telling? Do you go in for the interpretations of the dreams and what they represent or do you just chalk them up to that late night burrito? Maybe you fall somewhere between and just enjoy them as they come—I think that’s where I land. Or do you not remember a dern thing … for my hubby and a couple of our kids that is the case. I always feel sorry for them that they don’t get to enjoy dreams once they’ve woken up.

Recently the hubby went to the doc for one of those 0 (oh) check ups—you know when you turn something with a 0 (zero) on the end of it. The regular check-up went well but after he had the blood work done, he got one of those calls, “we need you to come in right now…” the very next day (it wasn’t quiet as urgent as it sounds, but the doctor was on vacation the next week and it was either then or two weeks later). So hubby goes in, the nurse looks at his charts and exclaims, “Oh!” Then the doc comes in, looks at his charts and exclaims, “Oh!” The hubby’s Triglycerides were off the chart. Normal is supposed to be under 150, his… are you ready… 890.

Holy cow is right!

That was two months ago. The doc put the hubby on meds and told him to restrict his carb intake (to next to nothing). He has totally cut back and his numbers last week were down to 190—Atkins is now his BFF. All that put the entire household into a new way of having to eat. More me than the kids, I have been eating different—can’t cut carbs out as much as him, but cut back a lot. The last time my numbers were checked I was at 82, so it’s all good here… Still, I am sympathy dieting. It can’t hurt, right?!?

So, in food-mode, I found this app. It has caloric counts for most fast food and a few sit-down restaurants. *OMG* I wish I had NEVER downloaded the app. I need it but it’s so depressing to see what I’ve been eating over the years. There’s this one new fast food burger place that just moved in near us, on a whim, I looked up what the kids would eat. The bacon-cheese burger and large fries were 2245 calories, without a drink. That’s more than I should eat in a day (I will *never* eat there, now).

Thanks to the app, I may never have a chocolate shake again—and I LOVE chocolate shakes. I mean I’d have a shake over just about any other food group. That, and warm, mooshy chocolate cake. Those are the hardest things I’ve had to give up (dang, I am making myself hungry). Though, I did hear recently that chocolate is good for you; the good far outweighs the bad so I will keep eating it! Anyhoo, now that I have the app, I have skipped many a chance to not make dinner and just grab take-out, my kids are so depressed!

The app, BTW, is called Fast Food Nutrition, it was Amazon’s free Android app the end of March. Knowing what’s in the app, I’d have paid for it. It’s so worth having to curb my propensity for hitting drive thru lanes once in a while. And just to reassure, the hubby is fine. He was fine with the high number—he just needed to get it down because it *could* cause a problem.

I am a listmaker, to the point my family makes fun of it (though I got one person back recently when she was telling me about her list--mmm-hmmm, not so funny now is it...LOL). But for me, I *have* to make lists to remember things—my memory has gone to moosh over the last few years. I've talked about my book spreadsheet that I have for all my books. It was one of the first extensive (and is still the *most* extensive) list that I have.

Some of the need comes from have a family of six. It's hard to keep everything coordinated and scheduled without a list. I've tried to do it without and I ended up missing one kid's game and almost another since they were at the same time. Even with the lists, though, I still eff it up from time to time. Last December, I missed a doctor's appt and hair dresser's appt (the more important of the two, let me tell ya) because while I wrote out my list, I didn't look at it again until the day after—which cost me a much needed trim and $35 to the doc for missing.

I especially need the lists for busy kid times like back to school or Christmas. One year school shopping, one kid ended up with 8 or 9 shirts and another with only one because I deviated from the list (and the 8/9 shirt-kid is way more persistent when he wants things). I try never to back-to-school shop without my list (and in case you might ask—yes, I build a spread sheet for what the kids "must have" and "would like to have" so I don't go overboard buying since I *am* the push-over parent).

The lists and even PostIt Notes (I mentioned before—I love me some PostIt Notes) are everywhere in my house. I have paper in all the rooms just in case I need to write stuff out. And funny enough, when I make lists, unless it's for something very specific, I have to have a minimum amount of items (won't make a list of two--that's just weird to me) and it *has* to end up odd-numbered. I don't know why and yeah, it's weird that I have a list-quirk...

Are you a list-maker? Do you get antsy without your lists? Or are you easy-peasy going so it's not necessary *all* the time? Can you remember with out your list?