Category: Uncategorized

Nineteen means almost a count down to 10!!!!

Who doesn’t love socks? I mean truly, they are the all time easy gift to give and receive!  It’s not a secret that I have quite an extensive collection and or obsession with socks. I realized this when I was in middle school. I was required to wear white socks for my choir uniform. I did not own plain white socks. We had fun rainbow colored socks, printed socks, argyle socks, tights, polka dotted socks, but not WHITE socks.

It all started when we began celebrating Valentines day. Instead of giving us chocolate and candy, our mom decided to begin a tradition of giving socks for fun holidays.

Right, Debbie?! 🙂

We both have a plethora to choose from a few years after the tradition began. When I visited her in H.K. I came bearing a gift with 2 pairs of socks for us!  Naturally, they were fun ones with a print and pattern. I arrived on Halloween and we wore multi-colored wigs with our multi-colored festive socks.

Stated in Valley Girl accent: “We, are so cool! I know, right?” 

There isn’t a time in my life when I don’t feel it not appropriate to wear crazy socks, leggings, and socks, or stockings and socks. I mean, life’s too short not to layer people. So layer it up! Be bold with your bad self and get your socks on!

Well, I have a secret…the trend is spreading. I swear we started it though. I walked into the dollar tree a couple of weeks ago, because THAT’S what you do when you are a teacher on the hunt for a sale of creative supplies.

And BAM, there was a whole rack of, wait for it….

wait for it….(to quote Barney Stinson, aka, best character on, “How I Met Your Mother.”)

S-O-C-K-S. 

SOCKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It would have been funny if I spelled it wrong…hahahaha, oh wait, mainly in my head it was funny, or quite possibly had it been read aloud, or as a monologue. Oh, never mind.

But seriously, it’s catching. I give socks to people I love.

I gave all of my family socks for the holidays, I gave my husband what I THOUGHT were cool bike gear socks, he says robot, potato, potato-h. I even found fuzzy moose socks for mom. I gave my bff socks, I mean the list could tick on forever. If the cat would wear socks, she’d have socks too.

I think one of my favorite sock finds was ninga socks for my dear friend who is an amazing life ninga, I love her to pieces.

With all this being said…socks are great. BUT YOU, Debbie are greater. I love you! I love that you wear socks with your sandals, and I embrace the sock wearing, and do the same on occasion. We just can’t help it, we get cold, we’re from Alaska. You dress in layers to be prepared! Go hunt down some socks and have a fantabulous-errrrrrrrr-ific weekend! You deserve it! I love you!! 🙂

Learning to walk, learning to dance, learning to bogey down baby!  Debbie was there for it all. She sat through endless hours of me practicing my beginning ballet, prancing around the house in tutu’s and tap shoes. I can keenly recall dancing in our front entry hallway in our Anchorage house. It had 4 sliding mirrors. It was perfect for the emerging diva extraordinaire, moi!

One of my fondest moments in our home involved walking into a giant Passover seder with my child’s accordion strapped around my back, and serenading folks with song and dance. Only the uninhibited folks. That was me!

Flash forward to the most awkward years of my life and the years of settling into oneself for my sister. I was 15, shy, and a desperate fashionista who chose to wear overalls…yes overalls, why? I have no idea. Apparently I thought overall shorts were cool especially in the hot and humid August air of 2000 in Portland, Oregon. My sister had invited me to a swing dance class at, The Crystal Ballroom.

Two amazing things transpired that evening:

1. I learned that I really loved to dance, but needed confidence.
2. I saw my husband for the first time, unknowingly, I thought he was the cutest guy with the best moves. Little did I know that it would be a mere 4 years later before we’d meet again.

My sister has amazing groove if you didn’t already know this. She and her husband Doug met while at a Salsa club. They fell in love dancing and have been partners ever since. One of my favorite memories of the two of them was their swing dance at their wedding. It was ABSOLUTELY amazing and beautiful. They were made for each other. I loved watching them glide, smile, and spin around the dance floor.

Back to the swing dance lesson: Debbie was so patient. She stayed through the whole hour class before the “real” swing dancers came to get down and groovy. I keenly recall the tall gangly guy who I danced with for about 15 minutes of the lesson session. He later sauntered over during the band portion with all the amazing dancers hopping about the floor. I smiled shyly and agreed to go out on the floor and work on the few moves we learned. Debbie encouraged me with a smile and I stepped onto the floor. Little did I know that my attire would get in the way of my movement. Tall gangly guy decided it’d be fun to spin me and rotate me with the other hand. However, he didn’t plan for an overall strap to hinder his spin ideals. Well, needless to say, we got quite tangled into one of the most precarious situations I’ve ever encountered. I squirmed, removed myself from his grasp, and slid back to my spot on the side lines beet red and panting. I happily tapped my toes and watched Debbie get asked to dance again and again.

Then, someone caught my eye. A flash of blue eyes and wide smile.  A white wife-beater tank top, suspenders, and a classy fedora just slightly tilted forward. “Man he’s cute,” I thought to myself. Debbie had just spun back over to me and caught my gaze. “Ohhhhhhh they’re just show off’s Rachel.” “They’re so good….” “Yeah, they’re a bit cocky, and good that’s true,” she replied.

Cut to a scene change to the second term of college for me.  There, standing before me and Lincoln Hall 75 was him. Show-off man, Andy. Now, my hubby. I am proud to call him my swing dancing king.

You see, Debbie first helped me to get into dance. She later introduced me to zumba which helped transform my work out routines. I am eternally grateful to her for sharing this passion with me. I can’t wait to zumba with you again Debbie! I love you, and I hope you shake or shimmy a bit today. Just a few steps will lighten your mood.

Be spark-lar-ific! I love you big sis!

   

“Hey (hey)
I am not my hair
I am not this skin
I am not your expectations, no (hey)
I am not my hair
I am not this skin
I am the soul that lives within”

-India Arie

Grooving to her song for the first time in the mid-2000’s I always felt a kinship with her words. Why is that we are so deeply connected to hair ladies? I do realize our hair is part of our physical characteristics, attributes, and identity of our selves. Although, for women it can often take on this higher power of how we view ourselves. I remember getting a random hair cut before the 5th grade school pictures. “Wahhhhh wahhhh,” moment early on in life. It was the beginning of the brick cell phone age and the hairstylist was pre-occupied with his telephone call.  A few snips too many later, my bangs were two inches from my hair line, or so it felt like. My poor self circa age 11 was traumatized. “Oh the horror…” 🙂  Mom solved it like any hair issue should be solved, she pulled out a bow with fun twisty colored tendrils and clipped it into my half up and half down ‘do. Easy fix, except for…my forehead was cold for a few weeks.

I know I already wrote about your hair crisis with the hair dryer, but I have one other favorite hair memory for you Debbie. It took place in the basement of Charlene’s beauty parlor. I had been playing upstairs after getting a quick hair trim.  I meandered down stairs into the  beauty parlor and you turned around in the swivel chair. You had this crazy nude colored hair cap on with a few long strands of hair pulled through. Here’s a photo to set the idea in place…

This was the 90’s version of highlighting hair folks. Enter…the cap.

Now, how many of you got your hair colored this way? One strand of hair crotched through at a time? Oh my well…needless to say, I went into a sheer fit of giggles that lasted until you gave me a look as if to say, “You can either get out or shut up, or I’m going to shut you up …” 😉 I had such a way of being endearing, I KNOW…  insert eye roll here: <  …. >

Hours later… you emerged a new lady, with bouncy, boinging curls. Delicately highlighted brown hair with blonde streaked through your hair for all to see. I’m pretty sure you loved it for the first while, but I don’t remember if you ever tired of it. I thought it looked amazing of course. As anything that you did, I considered pretty much the end all be all of cool!  I’m pretty sure I asked if I could get high lights and the response was when you’re Debbie’s age then: yes.

I hate to admit it online, but ok it’s fine to be honest here: I’ve never highlighted or dyed my hair.  I have been considering trying some fun color, but then I always feel like, ehhhhh, no thanks, I’m finicky and will get bored of it.

Who knows…maybe when you come back we could have a little box of color hair dye par-TAY. 😉 Could we dye the little guy’s hair a fun color too? Maybe some blue streaks??? heheeheeee. Maybe not.

Next time you want to try out a color, remember to throw on the blue or pink style from me! Sparkle on sister. I love you! Have a fantastic day! xoxo.

(Seriously, as a preface to this blog. I had to go back and look into what day we’re on here dear sister. THAT’s a great sign! 🙂 I lost count!)

“Now I’ve, had the time of my life, and I owe it all to youuuuuuuuuuu…..” 

Flash into the light of the camera’s focus, pink taffeta and a group dance move, sashay and swoosh….oh yeah and Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Gray, what’s NOT to love about that movie, eh? I know how you feel about this flick Debbie, one of your all time favorites! I think I still have the copy of the VHS tape you made with Mannequin and Dirty Dancing double feature. Classic movies that we LOVE!

Speaking of dancing, and movies… shall we reflect upon your epic night in high school?

I wish I had that collaged box I made for you YEARS ago with the most fantastic photograph of you in your red prom dress with the giant bow. It’s amazing.

Although I did not go to my own prom, I did attend morp with a friend. Like you sister, good friends equal the best dates. No pressure, just fun, and silliness. HOWEVER, I wore my brides maid dress as my special attire for the evening. HA! Yes, bridesmaid’s dress. And since I am the keeper of such eternal costumes, we could take a walk down memory lane when you return and parade around the house in these threads if we so desired…I think the nephew might find it hilarious! 😉

I remember mom shopping for your dress at Nordstroms with I believe Roxanne or Donna. (May Roxanne’s her memory be a blessing. Her style was impeccable and FABulous. Always matching, always perfumed, immaculate, and glossy. I smile thinking about her. ) I digressed.

Back to the dress.

Mom came home with this beautiful gown all packaged up in a fancy bag and hanger to go. I, being ever so curious, tried to peak without tearing the plastic. HA! Stealthiness and six year olds do not go hand in hand.

However,  your sweet sixteen year old self was impeccable. Your long newly highlighted blonde coiffure all puffed up with a pretty bow. Black stockings, black heels, black gloves, yes gloves, and the bow. Ok now, the bow is something we need to take a pause for and discuss. The bow was more than a mere ruffle. It accentuated the derriere just slightly above the peplum layer. The diamond encrusted center completed the fabulous 1991 look. A true bustle for that new decade!

I don’t know what magazines were popular back then, that was way beyond my ability levels, but as far as I was concerned, you looked like a princess and absolutely perfect.

My other favorite prom memory was when you called home part way through the evening. Mom answered and couldn’t help but chuckle when she got off the phone. Apparently receiving help getting INTO said dress was all fine and dandy, but when you needed to use the restroom, things became quite complicated. Mom suggested to TAKE OFF the dress and then go about your BUSIness. Bahahahahaa, I laugh thinking about it. We’ve all been there ladies! The moment of true occurs when you self talk the following, “Oh wait, how do I….ummmm….let’s see….no wait, that’s not going to work….Oh the hell with it, I’m taking it off!”

On that note. May your dressing today be as flawless as your images in those photographs. I love you! Have a sparkly fantastic Tuesday in H.K.! xoxo, your adoring little sister and fan.

  

“Ta’amod…Devorah,”

One of the most important days in my life, aside from my birthday and marriage, was my bat mitzvah, June 1997. The other most impressionable moment in my life was my sister’s bat mitzvahs. Yes, not one, but two.

You see, when you grow up in Anchorage, ALASKA, it’s a long, LONG, way from the family on the east coast. So naturally, Debbie had two bat mitzvah’s. One in Jersey so our beloved Grandma Lilli could be present and the other was in our synagogue in Anchorage. I remember them. I love going back and re-watching the videos that we have of them. Oh how I adore your fabulous outfits, shy smiles, and confident voice chanting prayers and singing.

You were my first Hebrew teacher you know! We bonded through singing Debbie Friedman together. I keenly recall the moments when we’d receive a new cassette tape in the mail from you, when you are away at college. Good old mix tape days! Those were where it was at! 🙂

On my bat mitzvah you were there. We planned to sing,”Turn, Turn, Turn,” our mother’s love for folks songs instilled in us through and through. Not only did we sing a lovely duet, but we signed it as well. Because, naturally, that’s what you do when you know two languages, why not incorporate them both? AND one of our close synagogue friend’s was deaf. It was so meaningful to me and our community. Beyond words, in my opinion to share that with you encompasses so many things about our relationship: love, music, courage, and communication.

Andy and I were re-watching my bat mitzvah tape, around this time last year. It seems only fitting now to reflect back upon it a year later. You were so proud coming up to read alongside me with the torah. I can’t wait for the day that Declan will have his bar mitzvah. It’ll come sooner than we realize. Your sweet baby boy is growing up.

So I leave you with this prayer today as this second half of the radiation rounds continue.

Nowadays it’s this type of lit that is all the rage: Dystopian literature, which is merely a shoot on the literary tree of options, branching off from what is known as science fiction.

If you know my sister than you know that she loves to read. She is the biggest advocate of children’s literature, and getting kids to read anything and everything that they are interested in. We both get this from our mom, who instilled in each of us a love for learning and reading.

One thing I distinctly remember about my childhood was my sister’s tiny paper back books. She would devour a whole series in a matter of a few days. She always had a book with her. When we went to dinner, drove in the car to and from Sunday school, ate breakfast, helping me get dressed, books, books, books and nothing but books.

On her first day of middle school she walked the icy morning route to the bus stop. Little did she know that she would meet her life long friend on that bus. They bonded over sci-fi lit and have been best friend’s ever since.

Here’s the thing about Sheli, this friend I’ve described, she’s amazing. Hands down. A-mazing.  She was considered our adopted daughter/sister of our little family. I loved her to pieces and I can still hear her laugh to this day. I smile just thinking about it.

She and Debbie would go to these Star Trek viewings at a friend’s house. Ohhhh, as if I really even understood what the whole deal was in the first place?! But my understanding was this: they had an amazing kinship and it was rooted in a mutual love of literature.

I could ramble on about my observations, and memories of those two, but I think that’s Debbie’s story to tell at a later date. Although I will say this. One thing I loved about the two of them was their amazing ability to share laughter with one another. Oh, and especially the dance moves to Madonna’s, “White Heat.”

Now, I recently requested a revival of this dance when Sheli was in H.K. She politely declined, HOWEVER, I was really looking forward to it. Maybe I’ll have to make that happen at Diva Den then? I’ll look into that and leave you on a cliff hanger until next time. 🙂

Just remember, you’re new best friend could be reading or have read that novel in your purse! Open a book up, you never know what it might lead you to!  I love you Debbie, and I know you’ll open a book or two today!

xoxo

Alright, raise your hand if you recognized the title?  This is the title of a well known story from the ’90’s involving: Two tiny white mice, a crazy seagull/bird, an orphaned child, a crazy lady who could be Cruella Deville’s sister and a rescue mission with a giant diamond encased in a skull!  Phew! If you guessed right, here is your gold star *!

This large story book was given to me by none other than, my sister.

I remember it as if it were yesterday, I was surrounded big pillows, propped up in mom and dad’s bed re-watching Alice and Wonderland on vhs for the thirtieth time, covered head to toe in chicken pox. “Don’t scratch!” Debbie snapped at me….”BUT IT ITCHESSSSSSSSS!!!!!!” I growled. Ugh….chicken pox. If I didn’t think I would die from the bumps I was surely going to drown in the bath of oatmeal as a result of said pox. Damn those little bumps.

She was adamant I wasn’t going to have crazy scars all over my face. She helped out by rubber banding on thin gloves to my hands each night for a week. “That way, you won’t pull them off in the night,” she told me as she helped tuck me in.

I love you too, and thanks.

I only have two tiny scars that are so difficult to identify, so you were right Debbie, your glove technique worked.

Where does this whole, “Rescue Rangers,” fit in you might be wondering…well here it comes…

Back to the pillows and tv.

Debbie came in and sat down on the bed next to me. She showed me my school picture from the year prior and promptly stated, “You’ll look like this again in no time! And in the mean time, here, you can look at this book and I’ll help you read it.” She pulled the big picture book out from behind her back and laid it down next to me.

I loved that book, I loved the movie, I watched it many times. I also enjoyed, “The Rescuers Down Under,” aka the story continues in Australia.

Who knew that all these years later children do not have to endure the trials and tribulations of chicken pox any longer. To be deprived of such an awful experience… 😉 I’m so glad that Declan didn’t have to go through it! Although, my memories of it are far better than many children’s. Especially having a mom who looked into alternative options to help ease the pains, and a sister who began her library lending early on. Who knew you were becoming an early literacy advocate with your sister as your first student?! I’m proud to have been your first kid to provide good fit books for!  Thanks for being there for me.

I love you! 🙂 xoxo

I will always remember the first time I saw this movie. Or…rather movie-musical. These moments stick in my brain like gum to side-walk, they just won’t let go. Perhaps I’m just drawn to story telling of all kind, and hence my love for musical theatre.

The first time I saw Grease was the summer after Debbie’s second year at college. The summer of 1993 I was so excited to have Debbie home. We got to breathe the same air, she could drive us to run errands, and more importantly cart me around with her on the weekends, YAY! What memories… I was thrilled, I’m sure it was stellar for her to have her eight year old sibling with her when she was home for summer break.

The movie adventure began when we were sitting at the table discussing something or other and Debbie was reading the usual funnies as we call them in our house, or i.e. comics.  She skimmed the movie section of the paper and said, “Oh the Diamond Center is showing Grease! I love that movie.” I promptly replied, “Grease?! What’s THAT…what a weird title for a movie.”

Long sister stare transpires.

“I’m taking you to see it, that’s that.”

I can see the title credits rolling before my eyes even now, the overture tune playing, those blaring horns, “Dahhhhhhhhh nuh nuh nuh… Grease is the word, have you heard…bop bop bop bop….” Needless to say, I loved it. I soon became obsessed with all things 1950-60’s the next year. My music education from those decades later came from my parents.

Dad taught me how to jitterbug on our rug in the family room and my cassette tape of the classic 1950-1960’s playing through the stereo.

Debbie’s poodle skirt would later make an entry into my 8th grade Halloween costume. It’s hanging in a closet somewhere…I think our nieces now enjoy those delightful costumes I wore and Debbie before me.  Thank you mom for supplying amazing opportunities for creative play.

I’m so glad that my first memory of a big screen movie musical was shared with my big sis. We have watched and re-watched MANY Hollywood musicals, but this one stays emblazoned in my memory bank.

Strike a pose today from Grease Debbie! I love you! 🙂

It seems rather fitting with the, “snowmageddon,” on the east coast of the USA right now to discuss a winter weather memory.

What might that involve you ask? Well of course I’ll reply with one single word: snow.

Growing up in Anchorage, Alaska all those years ago, we were no strangers to winter weather, freezing rain, miles and miles of snow, and shoving said snow in order to get from point A to point B. Things really haven’t changed that much in the last forty years, in terms of human being’s traversing pathways with snow. We used shovels, snow blowers/plows, giant snow machines, and ginormous snow plows that created a miniature version of the Chugach Mountain Range in the center of our street or cul-de-sac to get out of the house every winter.

I think it was around the late 1980’s or early 1990’s when we had an, “unusually,” large snow fall in Anchorage. The type of snow fall when Dad would get up onto the roof and push the snow off the roof so that it wouldn’t cave into the house.

Am I painting a delightful picture or what? Go grab your blankets folks!

Well, with said snow fall came all sorts of fun! Some of these fun times would involve helping shovel a pathway from the front door to the end of the driveway, and then continuing all across the driveway so that the car could back out of the garage. How many of you can relate to this description as follows:  Opening the door from the house to the outside world, and a foot of snow falls onto you so that you have to kick, shovel, and scrape it out of the house before even going outside?

Debbie and I were shoveling snow off of the back porch, over the railing of the deck, and onto the yard. Shovel after shovel, after shovel full. I was probably, in all honesty, playing around and not helping at all. Romping around in my snow pants, boots, and jacket all the while gleefully making snow balls to throw at Debbie was my absolute ideal of fun time in January. The joys of being five years old know no bounds. I distinctly remember Debbie stating, “There’s so much snow in the yard now, I could probably jump off and have a fluffy landing.” Ok, well maybe those weren’t your exact words, but let’s just go with it. I looked over the edge of the high upper level deck and thought to myself, “Hmmmm, you’re probably right, but that sounds like a bad idea.” I quipped back with, “What if you jump into the vegetable box below huh? You’ll poke your tush on the wire!”

The next thing I knew, she climbed over the 1 story high railing, and jumped into the snow below!

I screamed, with all my lung power because that’s what you do when you’re five years old.

Our mom came rushing outside and calling, “What’s going on, why are you screaming, where’s your sister?” Debbie was laying in the snow below laughing away, and I was eagerly tried to climb over the railing to join her. Needless to say, I didn’t make it in time.

Oh the joys of so much snow! I have so many funny memories that involve winter time in Anchorage. But that is one of my favorites by far. Your face was all pink and flushed from the cold air, the fluffy purple coat from head to toe was outlined in the snow and your laughter filled the air.

There is something to be said about the child in all of us that comes out when snow fills the air. I also quite like the stillness that seems to descend upon a neighborhood as the cold flakes hit the ground. It seems surreal to be hearing about all this snow fall and not yet experiencing it in 2015. I’m thankful for the memories, and I’ll take the liquid sunshine any day in Oregon.

Happy Sparkles to you sister! I love you! xoxo

First off, some people may know I teach young children, if you didn’t, now you do. Secondly, I teach 4th grade which is a big year for writing and hence forth the introduction my friends…

Every year I am faced with teaching the same modes of writing: narrative, expository, opinion…etc… I sprinkle in poetry, creative writing, and NANOWRIMO. I’m such a rebel, I know, hold the gasps for later, you have no idea how I roll…:)

It should come as no surprise that when teaching narrative writing, I use my own personal experiences to share stories and model with my students. For the last five years I have shared this particular story with many, many children. So today, I share it with you. Now, please remember this is told with a specific emphasis on introducing students to utilizing elements of writing such as onomatopoeia, and other elements of figurative language. It is told in simple language with clear details that support the topic. Do enjoy…

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“The Time I Broke The Rules”

     “Creeeeeeeeeeak!” Aw man, I stepped on the creaky floor board again. “Rachel what are you doing up there?” I froze in my tracks. I didn’t move and I quickly responded with a shrill, “NOTHING MOOOOOOM!” Ever so slowly I slid my socked feet across the carpeted hallway towards her door. I grasped the door handle in my hand and slowly opened it without a sound.  Next thing I knew, I was in her room. The blue walls bearing down on me. I could hear the burbling of the fish tank in the immaculate shelving unit. This is it, I thought to myself.

I tip toed over to the shelf and snatched the green fish net. I slid open the black fish tank roof as Debbie had showed me when she cleaned out the water a while back. “Hmmmmmmmmm,” I murmured to myself. What should I fish out? I saw the poor fish swimming around frantically. The beautiful dark blue fish glided right by the net. I went for it, slowly it swam in, I dunked in the large plastic cup filling it with water and carefully sliding the net into the cup. “Voila!” Fish in cup. Success.

Now what? I wasn’t even really sure what my purpose was. Perhaps it was the fact that being in her room, touching what I wasn’t supposed to and being rebellious felt really good. (Even to my four or five-year old self.) Poor fish, it was swimming around, and around in circles. “Uh oh….” what do I do? I dumped the cup back into the fish tank, the beautiful fish began to swim again. “Phew!” Everything must be ok. I went in for the grayish guppy with the blue line on it’s body. But what I didn’t realize was, I forgot to refill the water cup. Before I knew it, the fish was jumping around, I lost my grip, water droplets were all over the carpet, the fish went floundering all over, on my arm, onto my hand, then onto her desk. Oh good grief! I’ll spare you the gory details. I was felt like a terrible child at that moment. I finally got a good grip on that poor defenseless fish. I dumped it in the water, slammed the lid shut, shoved the net onto the side of the tank, ran out and closed the door. I stumbled down the stairs and headed for the kitchen table.

Later that day, after my sister had returned from school she headed up to her room. I sat at the kitchen table coloring inconspicuously. However, it wasn’t more than a few moments later when I heard her shriek and come running down the stairs. “MOOOOOOOOOOOM, Rachel killed my fish!” I sunk back into the chair with an impending doom setting in. No getting out of this one. So you see dear reader, next time you feel like breaking the rules, think twice before making that choice!

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And that folks is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. In all actuality, I feel incredibly horrible about that guppy fish. Years later, many, many years later I experienced the grief of fish loss once again. Andy and I bought a fish tank. Well it started out rather simply at first. I wanted a gold-fish in a bowl, much like the one in Amelie, the movie. Only, Andy suggested, “Why not get a fish tank and more fish?” It sounded delightful to me. Little did I know it would be a pain in my tush and I’d end up dealing with dead fish, on my own. We adopted 2 guppy’s and I named them Hermie and Kermie. Karma is a b*&^%. They both died. I adopted a red fish and named it Ernie. He attacked poor little Hermie. Then Kermie soon followed later. I was traumatized.

I’m sorry I killed your fish Debbie. I’ll buy you a new one when you come home. 🙂

I love you! Have a sparkly day, and watch out for the fish….they are tempting, but they jump. xoxo.