Holly Ann Fisher

I’m finally getting around to posting a photo of our new puppy, Isabelle Carolina. We call her Belle, for short, and she’s very lovable. At about 13 weeks old, she’s already pushing 30 pounds. I think she takes after me, don’t you?

What will make you want to drag the Christmas tree out of your living room and throw the whole mess in the front yard?

How about when you have the entire tree decorated — lights, tinsel, ornaments and even pieces of fake snow — and then the strands of garland lights just go out?

OK, don’t panic … Check the outlet. Maybe the outlet suddenly went bad … OK, not the outlet.

OK, try not to panic … plug the lights in again and hope it was some sort of weird fluke. That didn’t work …

OK, resist the urge to grab the tree and shake it really hard.

OK, sit on the couch and eat Little Debbie Christmas Tree Snack Cake.

Feel better.

It appears Elvis is alive and performing in Las Vegas. OK, not really. As mentioned in my Viva Las Vegas posting, I visited Elvis-A-Rama last month while attending a conference in Vegas. I even watched an Elvis impersonator and had my picture taken with him afterward. He really was quite good.

I feel incredibly blessed this year. God has really been good to me.

* Clint is cooking most of Thanksgiving dinner. He really loves to cook — and it’s fine by me!
* I have a great husband (and today is his 31st birthday!)
* I have two sweet Labs.
* I have great friends and a loving family.
* I am done with my master’s degree, meaning I don’t have any homework to do this weekend.
* I have a job I enjoy.
* I have a roof over my head, clothes on my back and food on my table.
* I am physically able to get out of bed each day.

I could go on but those are some of the highlights. This year has been a good, successful one and I’m looking forward to seeing what 2006 has in store for me.

May your lives be just as blessed.

If someone had told me 10 years ago I would have two Labrador Retrievers living in my house, I would have laughed — and laughed and laughed. I would have thought this person was crazy.

Come Saturday, I will have two Labs living in my house. Shall we say, a lesson in “never say never.”

This past April, my hubby and I purchased a chocolate Lab puppy. She is a great dog — well behaved, obedient and incredibly loveable. Clint has really enjoyed training her, teaching her basic commands. He doesn’t mind throwing Frisbees and balls dozens of times so she can do what comes naturally and retrieve. A few weeks ago, he started talking about a second dog — a sister for our sweet Mocha.

So, I e-mailed the same breeder and found she had a litter of yellow Labs that would be ready for homes in mid-November. Clint and I talked and debated — could we really handle another 75-pound (or more) dog in the house?

After seeing photos of the puppies, it was hard to say no and we’ve decided to adopt one. We drive to North Carolina on Saturday to pick up another daughter.

I know she and Mocha will become fast friends and playmates. I also know our house will be a zoo.

With two dogs, we will have:
* Twice the dog hair to sweep and vacuum.
* Twice the Lab-sized “land mines” to pick up out of the backyard.
* Twice the food to buy.
* Twice the toys to trip over.
* Twice the dog beds crowded into our bedroom.
* Twice the creatures to step over as I attempt to blow dry my hair each morning, cook dinner or load the dishwasher.

It also means, we will have:
* Twice the tails wagging furiously when we come in the door.
* Twice the doggie kisses.
* Twice the adoration.
* Twice the loyalty.
* Twice the smiles when go for a walk.
* Twice the love.

I guess our house will just be twice as full of all the friendship and unconditional love only Man’s Best Friend can give.

How I have changed my tune about cold weather!

I spent the first 22 years of my life in Southeast Ohio. It seemed winter started in October and lasted until June. The days were gray, rainy and bleak. Ice scrapers and insulated underwear were staples in everyone’s home. I hated it.

After college I escaped to Texas and I haven’t lived in the North since. I was thrilled to be rid of snow, ice and sleet. I remember my first Thanksgiving in Texas — I didn’t even need a coat! I called my family to rub it in.

But after five summers in Charleston, I have started to long for cool weather. Here, the days start to heat up in April and by late June, you can’t go outdoors. The humidity is so unbearable; you can’t catch your breath for three months.

By September, I’m begging for cold weather. I relish the thought of the first freeze, which will kill off the mosquitoes. I can’t wait to pull out sweaters and gloves.

The winters here are mild compared to Ohio. And really we only have truly cold weather for three or four months. But I’m determined to soak it up so I can think about those cools days when I’m melting in the August heat.

I swore I would never live in a cold climate again, but one more summer in the South just might have me packing my bags for Montana.

Two of my pet peeves are people who litter and people who steal. People who litter are lazy and disrespectful. People who steal are lazy and disrespectful.

My husband was on a weeklong business trip to Florida. Rather than spend a lot of money on bottled water or vending machine snacks, he packed a cooler filled with bottles of water and several cans of Mountain Dew. The cooler also contained a casserole dish (one of my good ones with a lid) filled with snacks.

Someone stole the cooler from the back of his pickup truck.

We had just purchased this nice new cooler for a recent camping trip and now some idiot is using it — and drinking my hubby’s Mountain Dew!!!

It’s a simple concept: If it’s not yours, don’t take it. Most people learn this at an early age, but for a few, it apparently doesn’t stick.

I’m quite unhappy about this incident and hope the thief feels really guilty every time he looks at the cooler. The only thing that could make this situation worse is thinking this same thief might toss the empty Mountain Dew cans out the window.

This a copy of an e-mail I sent to Ted, a low-fare (?) airline operated by United Airlines.

Dear Ted,
There’s just something about your baggage weight limit that isn’t making sense. I recently flew your airline from Las Vegas through Washington, D.C., and onto Charleston, S.C. When I checked in at Las Vegas, I checked two bags in under my name and none under my husband, so we were well within our baggage limits. When we approached the ticket counter to get our bags tagged, we were told one of them was too heavy at 55 pounds.

“Could you take some things out?” the employee asked. I was wondering where I would put 5 pounds worth of my clothing and personal items. Was I supposed to leave them in Las Vegas? I was told there was a $25 charge for bags exceeding the 50-pound weight limit.

Again, the employee asked if we could take something out of our bag. Again, I wondered where I would put those items. The airport was a such a crowded mess, I never could have gone to a store to purchase another bag without completely missing my flight. So we paid the $25.

Here’s where I’m confused. I can understand your need for a weight limit. I can understand your need to limit the number of bags people can check to 2 per person. But I’m confused by some of your logic: basically, you would have preferred for me to have checked another bag (under my husband’s name) that weighed 50 pounds rather than have one of my two bags exceed the weight limit by 5 pounds? So you want another bag to transport, lift, move around and potentially lose? You want another bag weighing 50 pounds? That’s better than an extra 5 pounds? I understand rules are rules but logic should come into play here somewhere.

I visited Las Vegas for the first time last week. What a place! The city of Las Vegas is all of America’s worst qualities dropped into one location. There’s greed, money, gluttony, sex, alcohol, partying and a disregard for consequences (what do you mean I just lost my house playing Blackjack?!)

All of Vegas’ sins aside, it was a neat city to visit. I was there attending the Society of Professional Journalists Convention & National Journalism Conference. With almost 900 attendees, we had a fabulous conference and I managed to squeeze in some time for fun.

My husband came along for his first visit to Las Vegas too. While I attended conference events, he strolled the Strip, checking out all the most famous hotels—the Bellagio, New York-New York and the MGM Grand. We stayed at the Aladdin Casino & Resort, which will become a Planet Hollywood casino and hotel next year.

The hotels in Vegas are amazing. Each with a specific theme, the décor is amazing. Most have large shopping and restaurant areas. The buffet at the Aladdin was incredible—although at about $20 a person, it’s a little pricey. But we did our best to eat as much as we could!

One evening we headed to the Rio to see Penn & Teller do their magic and comedy act. It was a great show and the stars were outside afterward so we managed to snag an autograph.

Another afternoon, we boarded a shuttle and headed to the Elvis-A-Rama for a walk through the Elvis museum and a 60-minute show by an Elvis impersonator. Even though I was a mere year old when Elvis died in 1977, I’ve always been a fan. The show was great and the tribute artist (Justin Kurtis) did a respectable job impersonating the King of Rock ‘N’ Roll. He posed for photos after the show and I couldn’t resist (once the film is developed, I’ll post the photo).

We also trekked out to the Hilton, using the monorail. There we experienced the Borg Invasion and the Klingon Encounter, part of Star Trek: The Experience. Married to a Trekkie, I had no choice but to attend. I’m a recent convert to the Star Trek world, so some of the references don’t make much sense to me, but I do my best.

I had never wanted to visit Las Vegas. I’m not into gambling and just didn’t have Sin City at the top of my “places to visit” list. In fact, it wasn’t even on my list at all. But when I found out the SPJ convention would be there, I figured this would be an excellent opportunity to at least say I had seen Vegas.

Vegas was better than I had anticipated. There’s plenty to see and do outside the casinos (I spent only enough time there to lose $3 in the slot machines). The hotels are amazing, the neon lights are dazzling and there are countless shows to be seen and even more restaurants to sample.

Las Vegas puts on quite a show and I was impressed. I might even go back someday.

My name is Holly and I’m addicted to office supplies.

I’m not really sure how my addiction started, but I think I may have been born with it. As a child, I was thrilled to go shopping for school supplies every August — fresh reams of paper, new Crayons, an untarnished pencil box and perfectly sharpened pencils with unused erasers. This joy lasted all the way into college, where I had given myself permission to buy new school supplies at the start of each quarter.

Apparently I haven’t outgrown this obsession. In fact, it may be slightly worse because, unlike a 10-year-old, I have disposable income (sort of) that I can spend (more like waste) on new pens, office organizers and a dizzying array of legal pads and folders.

My workplace happens to be located next to Staples, so occasionally when I need a breath of fresh air and 10 minutes out of the office, I’ll walk to Staples where I gaze lovingly at pens and day planners (even though I’ve used an electronic organizer for years).

Today, I needed just such a break and a green ink pen for editing (everyone uses red, so I like to mix it up with other colors). After making a careful pen selection, I made my way to the next aisle and was giddy to find a well stocked clearance rack. I purchased four 13-pocket accordion files because they were 50 cents — marked down from $7.99. Whether I needed four 13-pocket accordion files is beside the point. I mean, come on, they were 50 cents!

I also purchased a folio filer complete with five removable folders, room for a legal pad and two pockets for pens. Again, on sale for 50 cents, marked down from $11.99. What true office supply addict could resist?

I did refrain from a stroll down the desk organizers aisle. I can find those accessories for less at places like Target — I may be an addict but I’m a thrifty one.

I find a new pen or fresh packet of colorful Post-it Notes is just the thing to brighten my day. It’s amazing what some new note cards or a whimsical notepad can do for my attitude. I like to think it’s a pretty harmless obsession.

Of course, the “high” can wear off quickly and I usually have to move on to something else. Did I mention I also have a thing for shoes and bags?

I am not an outdoorsy kinda gal. I hate bugs and sweating. I don’t really like to get dirty or mess up my hair. OK, so I own an orange and blue Trek mountain bike, a matching orange bike helmet, a pair of hiking boots and a Columbia fleece vest. So I own a sleeping bag, a tent and a Jeep Liberty. I give the appearance of being outdoorsy, but I’m really not. Or so I thought.

Over the weekend, my husband and I went camping in the mountains of Western North Carolina. We each took Friday off from work and headed to Chimney Rock Park. We spent about three hours walking the trails around the park, taking photos and enjoying the breathtaking scenery. We had left the heat of Charleston behind and were soaking up the pleasant temperatures.

That evening, we headed to Pisgah National Forest where we picked out a campsite for two nights. We had driven through this campground before, but this was the first time we had spent the night here. We knew they had restrooms and assumed they had showers. Hmmm….we all know where assuming gets us. This was going to be a true camping weekend.

That evening we snuggled deep in our sleeping bags, using the dog for extra warmth. The 50-degree temperatures were chilly but a welcome breath of fall air. The next morning we awoke to a cool morning and the quiet campground.

By late morning, we were hitting the bike trail. My husband picked a bike trail marked on his fancy new National Geographic map. The trail in one word: uphill. I’m pretty certain I pushed my bike way more than I rode it. We went up 1,200 feet – yes, that’s right – 1,200 feet. I was huffing like a 500-pound woman who had walked to the mailbox and back. (It seems hitting the gym three to four times a week might not be enough.)

Every time I came to the top of a hill – there was another hill. I was beginning to think we were on a hiking trail and someone forgot to tell me to leave the bike at home.

The hills were rugged, covered in rocks and trees roots. Even coming downhill was tough because the path was so rocky and rough. When we finally came back down the mountain, we were able to ride a little more, but still had to cross Fletcher Creek several times. To see exactly where we were, go to http://www.mtbikewnc.com/bestrides/brfletcher.html. (Note: despite the photo of the rattlesnake, we never saw a rattlesnake, thank goodness!)

The entire trail was just over 8 miles, so not incredibly long, but the whole adventure was almost six hours. Needless to say, we were quite exhausted. And a nice hot shower would have been wonderful. Oh, wait, no showers at the campground. Well, how about washing off with ice cold water in the bathroom sink – not exactly the same.

Even though the trail was incredibly challenging, I felt accomplished. Even though I was so worn out, I was practically in tears by the end of the trail, I felt accomplished. Not too many people would tackle something like that.

I had conquered a mountain and, in the process, I think I proved myself a real outdoorsy kinda gal.

Why are we embarrassed when we trip and fall?

A friend and I were discussing this over the weekend as she recounted a recent tumble in a motorcycle shop. Her husband dropped his bike off for a brake check and of course had to look around the showroom. While squeezing out of a particularly crowded corner of the shop, my friend trips and goes flying. (Fortunately she didn’t fall into the bikes, sending them cascading like a row of dominos.)

Her first reaction after hitting the floor? Immediately jump up and pretend she was perfectly fine although the blinding pain in her knee brought tears to her eyes.

We’ve all done it–lost our balance, caught our toe, stumbled over our own two left feet. And we all have the same reaction–jump up, dust ourselves off and assure the world: “I’m all right, I’m fine. Yes, I’m fine, it’s nothing.” (This said while blood runs down our knees and bones protrude from our arms.)

We have all taken a tumble in our lives (and I mean past the age of just learning to put one foot in front of the other). And for those of us with clumsy tendencies, we’ve fallen many times. In fact, when I was an undergraduate at Ohio University, I tripped all the time–and so did everyone else on campus. The sidewalks and pathways are all brick–uneven, very uneven, brick. So everyone was stumbling and it had nothing to do with the fact OU is a top party school. Yet even though I knew every single student had caught a toe on a brick, I still looked around mortified every time I was out of step.

So, again I ask: Why are we embarrassed when we trip and fall?

Because answers to all life’s great questions can be found on the Internet, I asked the great and powerful Google about “fear of falling.” I was directed to www.phobialist.com.

It appears “Basophobia or Basiphobia” is the inability to stand or the fear of walking or falling. And “Climacophobia” is the fear of, not just falling, but falling downstairs.

To take this falling fear just one step further, “Philophobia” is the fear of falling in love. Well, that sort of falling can be embarrassing as well.

Now I know our fear of falling has a name, but I’m still not completely sure why we’re so embarrassed by falling. I only have one theory: because we know for a fact others will laugh at us. It’s common knowledge that it’s funny when other people fall (but not when we do).

So the next time I go flying across a slippery floor or rolling down the stairs, I’ll just laugh and think, “Fear of falling isn’t so bad, at least I’m not suffering from “Geliophobia.” (fear of laughter)