I was going to blog about my lunch today. The tomato basil soup I picked up and brought back to the newsroom only to discover they had neglected to give me the little container of parmesan cheese to sprinkle on top. Can you imagine? I mean really.

And then I thought about this.

My colleague Deena Winter is still in North Dakota with her family, keeping vigil for her dying brother, David. And I'm cranky about cheese.

He stopped being able to carry on a conversation years ago, but he could still smile. He had the biggest smile in the world — his mouth would open wide and you could see his Mountain Dew-stained horse teeth.

He stopped being able to even enjoy the pleasure of a Mountain Dew years ago. After dysphagia made it difficult to swallow without choking, he got a feeding tube and largely stopped eating and drinking.

So the world would look at David and see what he can’t do: eat, drink, write, talk, walk — or any of the things in between.

But he could smile.

How dare I complain about my life?

Our cops reporter Lori Pilger let the news room vote on the best (or worst) speeding excuses heard by LPD before she wrote her Monday story on lead-footed drivers.

I tend to speed. Five miles over the limit, not much more. I can't remember the last time I had a ticket, but I do remember the last time I was pulled over. I was at 17th and South Streets. I was late driving my kids to piano lessons, as usual. I suppose I was having a bad day in general. I pulled over. The officer said something like, "Did you know how fast you were going, Ma'am?" I opened my mouth. I thought about how much money I didn't have and how late we were going to be NOW and how my kids hated piano lessons, really, and then I started to cry. I hate to admit this. It sounds so predictable, in a weaker sex, woman driver kind of way.

I think I mumbled something about "late" and "no money" and "stupid piano lessons."

The officer walked back to his cruiser. He came back with a warning. I blew my nose and drove (slowly) away.

I don't have a barrel to catch my rain, but I want one. I would even take a plain barrel (although an appropriately-painted one would be lovely, too).

I like the idea of saving rain and turning on a spigot in a barrel when I need to water my flowers. (Or wash my hair!?)

From today's story: "'Every droplet that drops on your property when the rain comes is yours to do with as you please,' Meder said.

"And that can amount to a lot of water.

"In eastern Nebraska, 400,000 gallons of rain fall each year on a typical half-acre lot. Still, about 40 percent of an average homeowner’s monthly water bill in the summer goes toward lawn and garden use, Meder said."

We should all have barrels. I think I'd like Van Gogh's "Sunflowers" painted on mine.

I'm not much on resolutions. Mostly because I don't have much resolve. It seems the only big changes I've ever made happened either so gradually I didn't notice them, or so suddenly I didn't have time to actual decide, I just acted.

An example of the latter: I quit smoking in March 1982. I was 21. I'd been smoking since junior high. I had just gotten off the phone with a nurse at my ob/gyn's office. She'd told me I was pregnant, which wasn't in the 10 Year plan, let alone the Just Got Married Hadn't Finished School plan. I was smoking and then I was shaking and then I wasn't smoking anymore.

An example of the former: In November 2006 I decided to join the gym for one reason: So I could have less arm flab for my son's wedding. I liked the classes and I kept trying new ones: weights then yoga and pilates and spinning. Then I started riding my bicycle more outside, too. And this summer (a year after the wedding, 20 months after my YMCA membership began) the paper had a wellness check. Since the last one (two years before) I'd lost 10 pounds and 9 percent body fat (which doesn't mean I don't have plenty of body fat, just less than before). And my cholesterol and blood pressure and all my "numbers" were perfectly perfect. (Not sure how the arm flab project worked, but, still....)

Which is all an extended way of saying I'm not making any resolutions in 2009. I'm not setting any goals. I think I will sit in my living room sometime tomorrow and think about what I want in my life. And see what happens.

I suppose some people think Rex Lamb was crazy for even attempting to run 50 miles for his 50th birthday. And I guess it does sound like a ridiculous number.

But after riding my bike 100 miles one day this fall, which some people told me was a ridiculous thing to do, I don't find Rex as crazy as I might have a few years ago. There is something to be said for pushing yourself.

You only live once, after all.