Cowgirl to Car Girl

 From Cowgirl to Car Girl

If you caught last week’s post, you know my parents moved to Arizona when I was four years old because I had asthma. If you didn’t catch that post, I put a link at the end of this one so you can check it out. 

The move to Arizona likely influenced my decision to be a cowgirl when I grew up. Well, that and the fact my dad and I watched westerns on television every Sunday afternoon.

In Arizona we went to rodeos and visited Old Tucson. My closest friend was a Mexican girl named Moey. She taught me a few words in Spanish. Her mother cooked tortillas on a griddle, flipping the thin round flour food they used as we did bread, with her bare hands. I was fascinated. We pretended broomsticks were our horses and we fought wild Indians together. (No comments on not being “politically correct” here, please. I was four.)

We moved back to Ohio near the end of my first-grade year to the house where my father was born. It was on my grandparents’ property. The move was necessary because my grandfather needed help on the farm following a heart attack. The medical assumption on my end was I had “outgrown” the asthma by that time. 

Once we settled in Ohio, my dad made good on his promise to buy me a pony. I named her Flicka after a pony on the television show, My Friend Flicka. I know. Not very original.

Flicka came with only a short lead. Dad talked with me about learning to ride a horse. He told me my pony had never been ridden and it would take a while to break her in. “And the thing to do if you get bucked off is to get right back on,” he advised. Dad looped a rope around Flicka and tied her to the fence post in the front pasture and left. 

I must have figured it was up to me then. She was, after all, my pony. I took a feed sack and draped across her back.  I tugged on the rope to get her close to the fence, climbed up and jumped on her back. 

In less than a minute I was on the ground. Undaunted, I tried again. And again. And again. I don’t know how many times I tried before my mom came around to the front of the house and saw me. She was not a fan of broken bones. She told me to stop before I broke my neck. 

It wasn’t my neck that was hurting. 

Dad came home later with a saddle, bridle and blanket for my pony. Under his instruction, Flicka and I learned the joy of riding. We had many adventures on that dairy farm. I was truly a “cowgirl.”

Flicka wasn’t my only horse experience. Flicka birthed Thunderhead. I had a Quarter horse named Duchess and her foal I called Princess. There was Tiny and the Appaloosa I called Saki. She birthed Abi. 

In high school I lost my passion for horses as my interest in boys increased. The only “horse” I enjoyed through those years was a Midnight Blue1966 Mustang. I named her “Midnight.”

Perhaps Midnight was a vision of my future. 

You see, since marrying Mike, I’ve become less of a cowgirl and more of a “car girl.” 

My Arizona Experience: I call it The Gift of Caring Parents. Click HERE.

    More of a Car girl, Less of a Cowgirl, though I get my "fix" every Sunday. My husband, Mike, and I now attend Stable Faith Cowboy Church in Brooksville, Florida.

 

 

 

Parents Who Care

 The Gift of Caring Parents

This past week I went to the doctor for my annual checkup. I’d gained a couple extra pounds. That didn’t surprise me. Mike and I have had a crazy schedule for a while. Eating fast food and taking our meals at varying hours doesn’t bode well for me. It’s just the way I’m made, 

But when the doctor listened to my lungs, she frowned. 

“I had asthma as a child,” I told her. 

“You have asthma now,” she said. “You are very asthmatic.” She sent me for further testing and prescribed an inhaler. 

Not the news I wanted to hear.

My parents heard that same statement many years ago. Nothing helped then. Nothing. The doctor recommended we move to Arizona until I “outgrew” my asthma. It was a huge sacrifice for them. We moved to Tucson. I was four years old.

I have always held great admiration and gratefulness for my parents embarking on such a journey because of my health. Dad left a good job without knowing what he would do when he reached Arizona. He and Mom knew nobody there. Nobody. 

But they made that sacrifice. They carved out a life in the West. In all likelihood, we would still be there except my grandfather had a heart attack when I was almost through first grade. I was breathing great by then so, we headed back to Ohio and moved into a house on Grandma and Grandpa’s farm. Dad helped Grandpa with the dairy farm for a couple of years before we moved to our own farm.

So here I am now, decades later, living in Florida, and once again dealing with asthma. 

I’m an adult so I should be able to manage on my own. The rare flare ups in the past I’ve addressed with a hot cup of coffee. This is not a flare up. It has become chronic.

I’m set on following the doctor’s orders. I picked up the inhaler from the pharmacy. I’ve made Mike aware of the symptoms and possible triggers. My mom lives close by. She’s dealt with this before. 

I’m pretty sure a move to Arizona is not in our future. 

However, this experience has made me appreciate even more what my parents did on my behalf those many years ago. 

Look around. There are parents like mine out there who would give up anything and everything for their children, but they are few and far between. 

Jobs, careers, fancy houses, and club memberships are sometimes more important than the people living under their own roof. 

It isn’t true in all cases, but I’ve witnessed it as a teacher, a neighbor, and a friend. I am forever grateful to my mom and dad for that deep demonstration of love for me.

I once said to my mom, “That took a lot of faith and guts to move across the country to a place where you didn’t know anybody and didn’t have a job or anything.”

Her response?  “Not really. We loved you.”

By the way…An internet search reveals the jury is still out on the notion a person can actually outgrow asthma, but my recent shortness of breath suggests that would be a “no.”

Mama's Day

 Mama's Day

Mother’s Day is joyous for many, hard for others. 

I’ve given everything from a bouquet of dandelions to full blooming rose bushes to my mother through the years. But now that I am an adult, I’ve learned the gift of time is what we all value most. 

This Mother’s Day, my daughters and I (all moms, ourselves) presented my mom with a special sort of gift. We drove her to Kentucky for the weekend to the place where she grew up. On Saturday, we visited the cemetery where her parents, maternal grandparents, and brother as well as her great grandparents, and other family members are buried.

L-R: Mom, Danielle, Allison, Kendall & Me

I should note, we couldn’t have done this without the help of my cousin, Gerry, and her husband. It’s a hike up the side of a steep hill and not ideal for a ninety-three-year-old. Harold and Gerry drove Mom up in a truck while the rest of us made the climb. All of us. That included three of my mother’s “younger” cousins who were there to share the experience.

My grandmother was orphaned at the tender age of seven. Grandma often told me how she would visit her mother’s grave and talk to her. It was as close as she could get to her mom. As a teen, I helped Grandma make crepe paper roses to place on my great grandmother’s grave for Mother’s Day. Those are sweet memories for me. 

This time, my mother, daughters, and I placed flowers on the graves. Storebought, but the sentiment was there.

As we sat in the sunshine, my mother shared the family stories I’ve heard so often from Grandma. We reminisced. We prayed. We sang hymns of praise. We laughed. We cried. We shared a Mother’s Day I will forever cherish in my heart.

 There was one song I had considered for the day. I’ve heard my grandmother sing that song. It's a hymn written in 1922 called “If I Could Hear My Mother Pray Again.” I didn’t do it because I wasn’t sure I could pull it off. Still…

My grandmother left us a legacy of faith and forgiveness. Her story was a challenge to live knowing we are loved by God no matter our circumstances on this earth. This day at the cemetery was a reminder of the power of love and faith.

I could end this post there, but there was more to come.

The hotel where we stayed that night offered a full breakfast buffet. Mom and I were the last to arrive. My middle daughter, Danielle, had covered our table with a beautiful tablecloth and matching napkins. There was a floral centerpiece. It was set and ready for our Mother’s Day breakfast. A gift of thoughtfulness and care.

As we were all dressed for church, after breakfast we went out under the trees by the hotel for an impromptu Mother’s Day photo shoot. An unexpected gift.

Afterward, we piled into our cars to attend the church of Mom’s youth. We enjoyed the morning service but something special happened as the hour ended. 

A woman in the congregation stood and asked if she might share something. Her mother was gone now, so she wanted to sing a song that was on her heart. The pastor nodded in agreement and the woman began singing. As she came to the refrain, many of us joined in. 

“If I could hear my mother pray again,

If I could hear her tender voice as then,

So glad I’d be, t’would mean so much to me,

If I could hear my mother pray again.”

What a Mother’s Day gift to all of us!

Mother’s Day for us was more than a day to celebrate moms.  It was a day to celebrate family and enduring faith.

After church we gathered at my cousin’s house for a LOT of hugging, reminiscing, crying, laughing… and food. 

A perfect weekend. A perfect “Mama’s Day.” 

I don’t take that lightly. Perfect doesn’t come around often. 

Thank you, Allison, Danielle, and Kendall for sacrificing Your Day in the Limelight to bring pure joy to your grandmother...and me.

 

 

Moving Conversation

 It’s Time We Had a Rather Moving Conversation

If you follow my blog, you know my mother moved to Florida. Mostly. She has been living in a condo about six miles from our house. She bought it and moved in right away. One little glitch…most of her belongings were still in Ohio.

She had a bed, a couple of chairs and a sofa. She had a small dining set, a washer and dryer. Basics.

I loaned her a small skillet and saucepan. Doable for the short term. As for dishes? Paper plates, plastic cups, and disposable silverware is fine for a picnic or party. But every day?

Fortunately, Mike had a spare coffee pot and we had mugs. But still…

Even her car was safely tucked away in her Ohio garage.

Mom has lived that way since the end of March. 

She made the most of her time. She has met several neighbors, gone on long walks with a few of them. We pick her up in Mike’s truck on Sundays for Cowboy Church and in Mike’s boat on occasion for our Friday night cookout. I take her with me to the grocery store.

Living in a space without all your own stuff surrounding you gives you time to reflect on your true needs. 

This past week, Mike, Mom, and I headed north to retrieve her “things.” Mike rented a 6’X12’ U-Haul trailer and we packed it, making good use of every inch. Actually… not “we” exactly. The sons-in-law and grandsons helped Mike.  I stood in awe. If you had told me we could practically fit a house of stuff in that trailer, I would have said, “Impossible.”

As we worked through closets and cupboards; desks and boxes, we came across photos and newspaper clippings; lots of books and old letters or documents. It is interesting the amount of plain old “stuff” we accumulate.

"STUFF"

Mom has lived in that house for twenty-five years. Moving and packing, you relive your life. The process brings back memories. Mom’s good nature and positive attitude helped us work through the process. But it WAS a process. 

The experience magnified for me the need to turn loose of things. Purge as you go. 

That cute party favor you saved from your niece’s wedding?  Send her a card on her anniversary and pitch the favor. She’ll be happy to hear from you.

Received beautiful cards or sweet notes from someone you love? Put them in a scrapbook. Or better yet, call the person and tell her or him you came across a sweet note and it made you smile. Then toss the note.

Saving that sixteen-place setting of good China for some unknown special occasion that may or may not happen in the future? Let’s face it, if you’re entertaining sixteen people, do yourself a favor and use paper plates. You DO NOT want to spend your evening in the kitchen cleaning up.

Simplify your life now. It is freeing. And…. It will save you a lot of stress when you move to Florida.

If you missed the post about picking Mom up at her Dock, CLICK HERE.

Ninety-six and Counting

 Ninety-Six and Counting

This past weekend, my mother and I had the opportunity to attend a very important birthday party. It was the ninety-sixth birthday for a special woman. Lou is my sister-in-law’s mother. 

Ninety-six is pretty cool, but something I found particularly wonderful was the guest list. Lou is ninety-six and with her stood a few of her siblings for a photo shoot.

Only a few of the family
who traveled from afar for the big day.

She was surrounded by several of her ten children, a bevy of grandchildren and great grandchildren. Moreover, we saw a picture she received in a birthday card showing a sonogram photo of a GREAT-GREAT grandchild on the way. Also in attendance were friends and extended family who all love her.

Lou is pretty cool. She collects elephant figurines and pictures. She enjoys people and offers an easy laugh…even when it’s on her.

My mom is a few years younger than Lou. I enjoyed watching as the two of them sat on the sofa and chatted. When you’re in your nineties, it’s sometimes hard to find people who remember the world in which you grew up. The world you know and understand. 

My Mom and Lou

Even if you’re talking about the food or the party, if you are of the same generation, it is couched in an understanding of the way things once were. When you look at the adults around you, you still speak of them as your children. 

But the best?  The best is the laughter. Fully appreciating those around you. Knowing who you are and embracing every moment with joy.

 

Joy. That is the real gift of birthdays.

I don’t know what God has in mind for me. But if I live to be ninety-six, I want a party with all the bells and whistles. And if I have my way….I won’t be the oldest person in the room. 

 

Easter on the Isle

 Easter on the Isle

Easter bunnies? Easter egg hunt? Not exactly. 

Mike and I celebrated our second wedding anniversary in Islamorada in the Florida Keys. We were there for our honeymoon and again last year for our first anniversary. We stayed in the same room with the incredible view. 

This is actually a reflection
 on the glass door going into our room.
Isn't it beautiful?

This year, our stay stretched over the Easter weekend and although we were miles away, we managed to “attend” the Stable Faith Cowboy Church service on Facebook. You may want to check it out. We really like our church.

Still… it was Easter…a day to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus from the tomb. Everlasting life made available for us. That is the reality of the day though I know many use the day to celebrate the Easter bunny or chocolate candies.

Of course, Mike and I are a bit beyond marshmallow bunnies. I contend, however, you are never too old for chocolate. 

As for hunting eggs? I’m not into that anymore. Instead, we hunted critters and all the beauty of the flowers and trees and water to be found in Islamorada. With our camera, of course. 

The flowers are gorgeous!

We watched manatee swim past us as we sat out by the water. We filmed a crocodile swim toward us where a man had been cleaning fish. I think the croc retrieved a piece before a bird could grab it. It is unlawful to feed the crocodiles. Let’s hope the fisherman did not intend to attract the critter. Two dolphins played near us at the restaurant where we had breakfast.

See the Manatee Swimming By?
Two of Them.

And if you’re tired of hunting colorful Easter eggs, in the Islands you can hunt beautiful birds or curious and colorful lizards. They are all over the Keys. Not to mention the gorgeous flowers.

A Curly Tailed Lizard

A Baby Iguana?

This was Mike’s twenty-fifth year staying in Islamorada. My third. But I’m willing to shoot for twenty-two more. Let’s see…that would make me…Uh, never mind. 

Good-bye You Graceful Creature
...See You Next Year!
Now...Where is that Chocolate?

 

 

  

Living Life & Loving Mike

 Living Life and Loving Mike

Mike and I are celebrating our second wedding anniversary. Yep, two years. In many ways we both feel we have been together much longer. It’s strange. 

Engagement Photos
Courtesy of Allison Curran

Though we went to the same high school and graduated at the same time, we didn’t really know each other all that well those four years.

Mike was a friend of Tom’s. They boated and waterskied nearly every weekend when the weather was good. Tom lived on a beautiful lake down the road from Mike. Tom had the lake. Mike had the boat. I wasn’t part of that crowd in high school. I dated Tom my senior year and married him the December after I graduated and he was in college.

Some of my readers know my story with Mike. I had been widowed nearly eight years when our high school hosted a reunion. Mike had been widowed for over thirty years.

I planned a post-reunion potluck picnic at the Lake House for the day after our official reunion and invited everyone. Yep, the same house where the crowd waterskied all those many years ago. 

Mike still lived on the same road and offered to drive me to the reunion. He offered to help me with the picnic. It was a whirlwind weekend. 

A weekend sealed with a kiss before I finished loading the car and heading back to Ohio on August 29, 2022. 

Songs are written about “young love.” I’m here to tell you, loving someone and knowing they love you back makes you feel young.  Okay…younger.

And since we were both feeling a bit younger, we dated with the times: lots of phone calls, text messages, Facebook posts and FB messages. He sent flowers. More than once. Several times, in fact. And…he drove the more than a thousand miles to visit me and meet my family. Several times.

By Christmas we were engaged. We hosted a sweet, family wedding that next April and took a trip to Islamorada in the Florida Keys for a honeymoon. Life is good. 

Wedding Day in the Park

Mike and I returned to Islamorada for our first anniversary… and now? Yep, we are once again going to our favorite resort for a few days of sun and water, rest and relaxation, and of course, celebration. 

I don’t live life on a whim. I live it on a prayer. I’m not oblivious to the fact that it is God who brought two good men into my life. Instead, I live knowing I am blessed beyond measure. 

Happy Anniversary, Michael Tyler! Thank you for loving me! (I already thank God every single day for bringing you into my life.)

 

 

 

Door to Door, Dock to Dock

 Door to Door, Dock to Dock

As many of my readers know, my mother recently moved from Ohio to Florida. It is, in a sense, “coming home.” She and my dad called Lutz, Florida “home” for many years. They had a place in Dunnellon, Florida as well because they loved the crystal clear and icy cold Rainbow River. 

Eventually, after work and educational opportunities pulled my own little family to Ohio, Mom and Dad followed. Ohio is basically all my children have known. When I married Mike in 2023, I moved back “home” to Florida.

Now my mom has returned as well to the Sunshine State. After viewing several homes and condos, she found the perfect place for her. 

The Dock Area at Mom's

Mom bought a condo nestled in a quiet, though active community near us on the Nature Coast. Not a high-rise apartment type space. This is more like a small house situated on a tree covered corner lot. The place is just the right size with plenty of room for entertaining and overnight guests. There is a pool (heated in the winter months) and a clubhouse complete with a game room and bookshelves full of books to borrow. 

Everyone we’ve met in her new neighborhood so far has been extremely nice and welcoming.

A few days after she moved in, Mom and I took a walk in the neighborhood to sort of get the lay of the land. Just a couple of blocks away we came to the property’s dock area on the canal. We had seen it from the water before. The dockmaster and another gentleman were there. I asked about access to the dock if we were to come by boat from our lake.

Armed with details and permission, Friday afternoon, Mike and I climbed in our boat, crossed our lake, and picked Mom up at her dock. We headed back to our house where Mike grilled hamburgers for dinner.

Our dock and Lift

I clocked it. It took us roughly eight minutes from her dock our dock.

Mom’s reaction? “Now that was cool.”

Having Mom living close to us is wonderful. Her place is six miles from us, door to door. Six miles and approximately ten minutes driving. Not bad. 

But eight minutes dock to dock? Mom’s right. That is cool.

 

Of Sunsets and Friends

The Unbeatable Glow of Sunsets and Friends

 Last Christmas, I commissioned an artist I know to paint a picture for my mother. Mary is a wonderful artist. She is also my mother’s oldest and dearest friend. The painting depicted the two of them standing in the cold, clear water of the Rainbow River. Praying. 

It is beautiful. 

Yes you can see everything in the cold water of Rainbow River

This past week my mother moved into her new home here in Florida. We’ll soon head back to Ohio to collect her things. Including the painting.

I love the way Mary uses her talent. As a self-taught artist, she has captured beautiful scenes on canvas. Paintings of children swinging from trees and playing in the river. The flora and fauna of Florida.

Mary is native to the area and able to capture the best of Florida’s nature coast. Though she is no longer running it, her artistry is spilled over the walls of the family business, the Front Porch Restaurant in Dunellon, Florida. The family keeps her art as well as the tradition of her famous pies alive in the restaurant.

Mary has a God-given talent.

When Mom returned to Florida to house hunt a few weeks ago, one of the first items on her list was to contact her dear friend, Mary. We met in Inverness at Stumpknockers, one of our favorite local restaurants. Mary wanted to see the house Mike and I call home, so after lunch we all headed that way. 

Our house is situated on a quiet cove of a large lake. We have a few fruit trees and palm trees in the front. The backyard is dotted with large oak trees and a variety of flowering shrubs. The Spanish moss sways gracefully from the large old trees with the slightest breeze. It is beautiful to watch, but the view we embrace each evening is the spectacular sunset across the water behind our house. 

I’ve posted several pictures of the sunset on my Facebook page. It seems each one is more beautiful than the last.

Mary looked at my page. She must have. I know. Because on that day she came for a visit, she handed a gift to me. A wedding present? A housewarming gift?

No. It was a gift of love. Mary studied the pictures I posted. And then?  She painted the sunset. Our sunset.

 

 

 

Land of the Giants

 Land of the Giants

If you follow my blog, you know my mother came to Florida a few weeks ago and started looking for a place of her own. She found a condo that fits her perfectly. Mike and I thought she might stay with us.

Her independence is important to her. I get it. 

The second oldest grand flew down with her. If you missed that post, you can check it out HERE. We enjoyed Spencer’s visit. Spencer is a great twenty-year-old man. 

He is a man who is “present” when he is with you. Not on his phone. Not distracted. Never does he indicate he’d rather be somewhere else.

This past week the oldest grand drove down for a visit. 

Joshua is one of the “good guys,” too. He is a caring and tender “old soul” in his mid-twenties.

 Joshua and Mike are both “car guys,” so a trip to Streetside Classics north of Tampa was on the docket. When they left the venue, Mike climbed in the passenger side of our Corvette and turned the driving over to Joshua. Mike is a natural at being a grandfather. Joshua beamed as he told me about his experience.

I don't exactly "fit in" with the "Giants."
That's okay...the youngest is still shorter than me!

And now? This week, daughter Danielle and her family flew down for a few days. Danielle is a wife to Tim and a mother of four. They live in Wisconsin…and yes, the day they left there was snow on the ground. 

Mike refers to Wisconsin as “the land of the giants.” Rightly so. The only one in the Morrow family shorter than me is the youngest boy, Nathaniel. That will likely change before the next school season starts. 

We’ve enjoyed their visit. The weather has been perfect. Perfect for riding in the boat. Perfect for playing outside. 

But mostly, it is perfect to breathe deep, sit on the back porch and talk…or read… or watch the sunset…especially with giants. 

Under Attack

 Under Attack

It was late. Time for my shower. I went into the bathroom, leaned into the shower stall and turned on the water so it would be nice and hot when I was ready. 

Thunk! A slab of wood from atop the shower door came down on my head as I reached for the faucet. The wood was about eighteen inches long. The end was as big around as a Denny’s pancake. I was shocked and let out a little yelp as the wood clattered to the floor. 

Thank you FreePik for the image.

Haltingly, I made my way to the doorway leading to the living room to report my injury to Mike. I’m not sure he heard me. The television was on. However, he could see the distress on my face. 

“What is it?” he asked as he came to meet me.

“I’m alright,” I assured him. “Didn’t you hear the clatter?”

“No.”

I told him what happened and you’re not going to believe this, but the man laughed. I’m serious. He laughed. 

Still in shock, I followed him back to the couch. I was hoping for a little TLC. A little babying. But no. Even as I related the entire incident to him, he laughed. Out loud. To my face. 

Fortunately, my injury was something I could overcome. At least the physical one. The emotional toll was huge. 

I returned to the scene of the incident. I picked up the wooden thing from the shower floor to show Mike. It wasn’t all that heavy. Wood flying at you doesn’t have to be heavy to hurt. 

“This is what thunked me in the head,” I told Mike.

Did I get sympathy? No. In fact, when I returned with the projectile, Mike laughed harder.

I ask you, is this the way to treat the woman you love?

Well, the truth is, by this time I was laughing, too.

I’m planning a little “addition” to the shower. A hook should work. In the meantime…don’t they make a lightweight, plastic back brush?

Brush or Weapon?
You decide.

Dirt, Water, and Sunshine

 

Dirt, Water, and Sunshine

Last week I wrote “I’m walking on sunshine.” I am. It is wonderful to have my mama staying with us. If you missed that post, you can check it out HERE.

I love Florida sunshine. And I love the weather this time of year... though it isn’t all sunshine. 

No matter what the weather, our cat, Tiki, loves to sit on our enclosed back porch. Mike often lets her out in the morning. She sleeps on the chaise or sits in front of the windows watching squirrels and birds in the backyard.

Early this morning, a plunking sound woke me. Mike was already in his office and Tiki was outside. She was at the window looking into our breakfast nook. She tapped at the window again asking to come in. 

Tiki: Weather Watcher

That’s unusual. She likes to stay out as long as we let her.

I opened the door and she scooted inside. The cat was barely in the house when a heavy rainstorm appeared from nowhere and moved across the lake toward our house. The rain pounded the yard and deck. The fierce wind threatened to blow the Spanish moss from the trees.

Somehow the cat knew the storm was on its way. We both watched it move toward us. 

It was dark and intense, but it was also strangely beautiful. 

Our house has a metal roof. Tiki curled up on the couch and I  headed back to bed, quickly lulled into a deep sleep by the sound of the storm on the roof. By the time Mike woke me up, the storm had ended, the sun was shining, and the grass was green. Rainstorms in Florida are often sudden and intense, but over quickly.

I grew up in Florida. I know it can actually rain in the back yard and be sunny in the front.

Yes. At the same time. 

But isn’t that kind of like life? We focus one direction and see clouds. Darkness. Rain. For some, that is discouraging. Yet if we look at our lives through a different window…or lens, we see sunshine.

My paternal grandmother once told me when I was bummed on a rainy day, “Remember, Becky, every living thing needs  a little dirt, water, and sunshine to grow.” 

She was right. I only came to fully understand the “dirt” part when I became a mom. 

Tiki came in to check out the blog.
She's great at proofreading, but never says anything about it.