The Halloween miracle . . .

It's truly a

miracle,

a true blue spectacle,

a miracle indeed.

If that doesn't take you back somewhere scary, maybe this will help:

That's right, folks.  Those are the lyrics of the one, the only, that fine specimen of manhood, Barry Manilow.  Barry doesn't do it for me these days, but make no mistake . . . 

. . . when I walked out of Rose's Department Store with my hands carefully caressing the sides of the most beautiful album the world had seen to that point, I was a happy I'd never known.  Aaahhh.

If you didn't know that feeling, you and I might have little to talk about.  Poor you.

For the rule-followers among you, I'm well aware that I haven't revealed the Halloween miracle yet.  That was the lead-up.  It had to be done.

Here is the miracle.  I want to share it with you all.  I've made you aware of miracles in the past.  I've told you secrets.  I've tugged away at years and years of layers to show you some ugly truths, but today's announcement might be in a class by itself.  I just hope my mother hears it in heaven.  She wouldn't believe it.  I don't believe it myself.  

Here it is, friends.  The waiting is over.  

I uttered words in conversation today that I never thought I'd say.  I said something that almost seems sacrilegious, not of my people, wrong, uncalled for.  I said it, though, and I want you to hear it from me.  You know I'm on my third mini-van; you may as well know this.  

I said, "I just love my laundry room.  I love it.  It makes me happy.  I don't even mind doing laundry in it.  I just love it!"   

There it is.  It's out.  My Halloween miracle is now yours, too.  Enjoy.  I never thought I could actually love any part of the laundry process and now I love the whole dang room!  It's upstairs and it has crooked peaks and triangles from the roofline and it's nook-like and it has two happy windows and I do my work at one of them and the sun comes in and the cold stays out and little birdies fly by and there is even room to fold stuff.   I just love it.  I do.  There.

Enjoy what I've said and just go with it.  Never, ever, ever - though - throw it in my face.  Got it?  Don't make any plans to see me and shout, "Deana, aren't you excited about getting back to your dirty clothes?" or anything at all like that.  Okay?