Matt just got named "Anchor" on his school's morning announcements broadcast :) This is a slot held by fifth-graders, so next year he'll be an anchor, with his friend Lynn the co-anchor girl.

He had an advantage, he's been doing segments of "Book Talk" on Mondays already.

Have a very Merry Christmas, Happy Holiday, celebrate a little break at the end of the year however you see fit. Life is good, hope you enjoy every moment of it.

Take a look at this 12 Days of Christmas rendition by some Indiana University a capella singers.

As a wise person once wrote in song:

May your talents serve you well
May you often get to use them.
May the stories that you tell
to your friends always amuse them.
May your health and wealth and wisdom
Go on and on and on
And may you find yourself in heaven
Before the devil even knows you're gone.

In my belief system (handcrafted over many years), the angel and devil are each of us, in a beautiful, important duality. I'm working to find myself in heaven in every moment, by sharing life and love with people like you.

Is our culture evolving into one where each person will have more choice and take more (appropriate) responsibility? Where are we on the curve, if so - and what can we do to further it?

I obviously assume it's happening, and I think it's a good thing.

I started pondering this question after beginning research on my novel - it's historical, covers such topics as democracy and slavery (and their interesting intersection in history). Reading books like Joseph Ellis' Founding Brothers, and biographies of Benjamin Franklin, Beaumarchais, the Marquis de Lafayette, Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, have made me believe that they must have perceived, and tried actively to foster - this growing sense of responsibility.

What do you think?

Sticks versus carrots. I would love to hear your thoughts on creating a sustainable, healthy corporate culture. I see lots of pressure on groups to perform. Fear is a good motivator short-term - but eventually it loses its effectiveness (the donkey becomes numb to the stick). Carrots are similar - money, recognition are powerful motivators, but what's the trick of keeping them appropriately sized, keeping the donkey hungry?

Ideally I want people to self-motivate. As executive, is that my job, to identify and align people's passions and drives with corporate goals, provide the opportunity and step out of the way?

The more experienced and self-confident I become, the more I realize how much FEAR drives people. Considering the effect fear has has helped me understand problems that used to baffle me (in myself and others). I wonder whether, as people gain responsibility within an organization - does the fear morph into other related behaviors? I suspect it still operates.

Are the stakes higher for those at the top, lending more pressure to the fears that are there?

For the past 2 years, I've been engaged in actively trying to grow a small company into a thriving larger one. It's not easy, and I've sought advice from several trusted others.

I'm establishing a new category called "Company Culture" to ask, and invite them to answer, our questions on this fascinating subject.

Well, here's an update on my ab-flex guy. I met him on the track again, and guess what? He approached me, grinning. I took off my earphones again, expectantly.

"Hey, let me tell you something!" he beamed.

"About the ab-flex?" I asked, in case he didn't remember me.

"Ab-Lounger," he corrected me.

"Ah. OK," I said.

"It really is amazing!" he gushed.

"I know! You told me!" I smiled, trying to forestall the belly-show again.

He cocked his head. "You know where to get one?"

"TV!" See, I listen! I'm a good girl!

He smiled smugly. "No! They have them at Target and Wal-Mart now." This time I waited expectantly.

"You should get one!" he said. Up came the shirt. Poke-poke-poke in the would-be six-pack. "See!"

My friend Julie had recommended that, if I saw the guy again, to ASK him whether or not he sees me as a peer. That's not my style at all. I had already vowed I would answer "I need a butt-and-thigh flex, not an ab flex" if the situation presented itself.

But as it turned out, I didn't need to say anything. He's happy, I'm happy. What difference does it make?

And maybe I *should* get an ab lounger, eh?

Who authorized Spring Break and Easter to appear so close together? I can barely keep up with the holidays as it is, but when we’ve only got four days in between, it’s a bit tight.

We’ve been down to Corpus Christi three times in the last three weeks, and I’m exhausted.

I was trying to stealthily load up a big bag of Easter Bunny loot, but Matt caught me at it. I wasn't sure how I was going to explain the big bag of stuff during our travel anyway, so I took the plunge.

“Wow, what’s all this stuff? It’s toys! Candy!” Matt yelled happily.

“It’s Easter stuff. Don’t look at it, it’s a surprise.” He was already digging into one of the bags, pulling out toys.

"Honey, I need to tell you something.”

What?”

I took a deep breath. “I’m the Easter Bunny.”

He stopped still, shocked. Then, “You are not. You’re always asleep when he comes.”

“I wait for you to go to sleep, then sneak around and put the stuff out.”

“Nuh-uh. No way, Mom.” But I can see the wheels turning in his mind. Noooo! I hear him screaming inside.

I began to be sorry I'd spilled the beans. “Well, if you still want to believe, I can understand that. Just forget I said anything. You can still believe if you want to.”

He considered this a minute. "Do YOU believe in the Easter bunny, Mom?"

"No, baby, I don't. I'm the one who's been doing the Easter bunny stuff. Just like my parents did for me." I felt like the biggest rat on the planet.

He was glum. "Can I at least look at the toys?”

“Yes, sure,” I said. “But then they won’t be a surprise for Easter. Maybe you should wait until Easter, with Makayla and Faith.”

I’ll just look at them,” he said, diving in. I reported the conversation to Greg.

***

We stayed in my Aunt Deanna's lake house near Mathis the first night; the same place we had our serene, happy little Spring Break. This time, though, I’d locked the sliding door I wasn’t supposed to lock, and we had to call Deanna, then break into the place like burglars. (Matt enjoyed crawling in through a small window and “saving the day”.)

The place was hot, so Greg immediately began trying to cool it down. He pulled a ceiling fan cord to speed it up, which came off in his hand. Then he got on a chair to adjust the fan, and it stopped working completely.

He’s been pretty patient with me about staying in my relatives’ houses, but his frustration finally got the better of him. I miss my mother, especially around holidays. Staying in a hotel in my own hometown makes me sad. My aunts' houses smell and feel like home, and are filled with items familiar to me since childhood. When I reach for a glass or a spatula in their kitchens, I always find them right where I expect to. These places are filled with the sweet feeling of belonging that I miss so much, along with my mother and grandmother.

Greg was upset and stressed about breaking the ceiling fan. Matt was tired and grumpy. I had my "Aren't we having a good time?" relentlessly cheerful face on, but nobody was buying it. We tried playing dominoes, but Matt began misbehaving, so I broke out the laptop to watch a DVD. Matt wanted more play; we were exhausted. Matt began hiding, slamming doors, yelling. I ended up threatening, cajoling, then delivering a spanking. I felt like a lousy parent, out of options.

The next day, we drove on in to my Aunt Patsy’s house – she was having Easter with her daughter Melanie in Katy. We went to the beach, which was windy as all get-out and weirdly hazy, but Matt and I splashed in the cold waves and had fun while Greg patrolled the beach and shivered.

Then back to Patsy's. We cleaned up and went to my brother Tommy’s house for dinner. The evening started delightfully; my dear family, my brothers playing guitar, arguing politics, the kids hunting Easter eggs in the grass. My stepmother insisted on making me a margarita with amaretto in it, in a big glass. I got stinking drunk. What an example to set for Matthew!

Matt lost his big front tooth that night, and when we were going to the car (me with two people assisting), someone gave him something extra to carry and he dropped his prized tooth in the road, not to be found! This is the second tooth that got lost or thrown out before the tooth fairy could remunerate him. This, plus the loss of the Easter bunny myth, hit him pretty hard. Greg somehow navigated back to Patsy’s with me giving directions and moaning.

At 3 a.m. a front blew in and knocked the power out. Greg stumbled around cussing in the dark, trying to find the bathroom. He woke up Matt, who chided him for cussing. I was hung over and dizzy, filled with remorse and shame. I couldn’t go back to sleep, which was just as well.

The power company’s work convoy parked right in front of Patsy’s house. They trained huge bright worklights on the house, their crackly radio talk reverberated through the house. Several men went tromping through her back yard and out the back gate to get access to a big field where a tree has blown down onto a power line. They cranked up the chainsaws.

I lay in bed with the chainsaws ringing in my ears, feeling guilty and remorseful about being a drunken mother, sick as a dog. I worried about Patsy’s two freezers full of food; would it go bad? What should I do about that? The lights came back on, with radios and computer beeping, all kinds of noise. We silenced the electronics and tried to sleep.

7 a.m. - ding-dong-ding-dong-ding-dong! Insistent doorbell. Greg stumbles blearily to the door, as I’m unable to raise my head. I hear his side of a discourse:

"No, I'm not the man of the house.”

“The man of the house, Al Harper, is deceased.” I’m thinking, Don’t tell people that! It’s none of their business! Who are you talking to?

The discourse continued.

"Last week. I'm the nephew. My wife's her niece - she's out of town. Sue? Soooozziiiee!"

I struggled to rise, holding my head to keep it from sliding off my neck. I staggered to the front door in my pajamas.

Ah, it was the police; that’s why he was telling them so much. The vigilant neighbors reported a "suspicious truck" in Patsy's driveway. I quoted them chapter and verse on the family tree, but they wanted to know exactly how we got in. The two policemen barged into the living room and start looking around suspiciously. The larger one peered into my eyes.

"Do you have a key? How'd you get in?”

“She left us a key to the back door,” I moaned, holding my head.

"Show me. Make it turn the lock,” he barked.

While I fumbled with the lock, the two cops looked around the place making clever remarks like "Well, I see no bags of loot; they’re not very competent burglars, hee-hee." They finally accepted our story and left, after making us agree that we were grateful that the neighbors were so protective of my aunt.

"Yes, I can see that. Yes, if the shoe were on the other foot, I'd be really glad you checked. Yes, thank you."

Matt woke up a few minutes later and wailed, "The Easter bunny didn't come! Did he?"

Our trip improved somewhat after that. Frana invited us to a lovely Easter brunch in her hotel. I got steadily less sick, and my sister-in-law, Marsha, didn’t tease me as much as I deserved.

The wind was fierce; Patsy’s patio was a war zone of turned-over plants and potting soil. I tried to buttress the plants together, weight them down, scoop the dirt back into the pots.

The next day was a school and work day, so I was ready to get on the road home. I had cleaned Patsy’s house and washed the towels we'd used, prepared for a clean getaway. But Greg had promised Matt another trip to the beach, and felt that between the Easter bunny and the lost tooth, Matt had endured too much disappointment. So we went to the cold, windy beach, and returned to Patsy’s to pack up - but with several wet towels, which I don't want to leave to sour. I finally put them in the dryer. Patsy is going to find dirty towels in the dryer and think I've lost my mind. I can't worry about it.

Still slightly queasy, I decided to drive to avert my usual motion sickness. In Mathis, I came over a rise and saw a police car lurking in the median. I glance down; I'm going 80. Yep, he stopped me. He was really nice about it, though.

"Did you have a happy Easter?" he asked.

That’s when I finally broke down and cried.

We’re home now – finally. I never want to leave home again. I never want to drink again. When I must visit Corpus, I will stay in a hotel, where dirt and breakage are straightforward business transactions.

And I am NOT telling Matt about Santa Claus. Ever.