He’s snoring like a whale, poor guy. He wasn’t feeling that great over Thanksgiving weekend, but he mustered up all his strength to fully participate in all family events.

We returned to our beloved Cleveland and it was downhill from there. I woke up this morning to his ragged breathing and him poking me in the arm, “Leese? Could you get get me some medicine? And orange juice? And bread to make toast? And starter logs to make a fire? And some movies from Blockbuster?”

Now while some people don’t like when their spouses ask them to do things, I absolutely adore it and jump at the chance to buy him things. Nick is so low maintenance that I get a thrill from buying him cold medicine. In all the years I’ve known Nick, this is probably the 4th time he’s ever asked me to do something for him. Feeling domestic and all wife-like, I happily oblige.

And so I made him soup and stocked up on meds. We watched movie after movie today and had a roaring fire to keep warm.

He missed work today and since I am happily unemployed for the time being, I enjoyed the rare company in the house.

Here’s a few photos of our first Thanksgiving in our house with my side of the family. It took place the Sunday before Thanksgiving. I was proud to host our first holiday and cooked my heart out. Click here for pics.

No more leftovers.

I just downloaded an obscene amount of holiday songs from iTunes.

I’m kind of disgusted with myself.

As punishment, I won’t allow myself to listen to what I just purchased.

Because THAT makes sense.

It’s been a long week.

Beginning November is a weird transition.

In one moment, you are contemplating what kind of monster or rock star you will grace Halloween parties with and the next moment, your sister-in-law is asking whether you’ll make the Turkey this year while you suddenly see a commercial that has jingle bells in the background with the new store hours to accommodate your shopping needs. Yeah, November’s weird.

And then there’s this historic election we just lived through. I can’t even begin to write how glad I am it is over. It’s a constant negotiation at social gatherings over what and how much you can talk about when it comes to politics. Never a fan of labels, I hate when people ask if I’m a Democrat or push the Palin love. I just want to talk about issues, not the blame, and I’m relieved that – finally – I can watch Grey’s Anatomy without political ads bothering me.

It’s raining yellow leaves in our backyard and our neighbors have probably pegged us the laziest Clevelanders in the history of yard raking. Yesterday, though, Nick took the day off (a nice benefit from working so many evenings and every weekend) and we took on the third floor of our house. It looked like our moving truck had vomited whatever was left in its belly onto the hard wooden floors. It’s been a little over two months since I’ve been back and yet, I confess, there is not one thing hung on our walls or box unpacked.

There is no appropriate measuring stick to adequately communicate how much I loathe packing and unpacking. I HATE MOVING THINGS. I hate the concept of it. I hate doing it. I hate it so much, I want to crawl into a fetal position and whine in a dark corner. Everything that goes into moving, I detest. The sifting through of all your junk and realizing you should drop off 1/2 of your life at a salvation army, the dust from boxes that I am allergic, the polite questions from Nick asking if I going as fast as I can – I HATE MOVING AND ALL THAT COMES WITH IT.

But, what must be done must be done. So, we tackled the third floor with a vengeance and I must say, it looks pretty darn good. It is a guest suite/Lisa’s gallery and writing floor/future children romping room. The greatest feeling was finally seeing all of my art supplies – canvas, brushes, paints, drop sheets, cleaner, paints, crayons, clear glue, adhesives, buttons, leftover denim, s/crap-booking materials, rocks, sand, rafia, paper, bows, old cards, and gift wrapping paper – in an enormous closet. For approximately 11 years, i have carted my crafty tools in beat up cardboard boxes. Much to Nick’s dismay, I have a hard time putting those things away. Since I derive much inspiration in simply looking at the vast array of my creative guns, I leave most of it out in the open, waiting for lightning to strike.

I shrieked, “LOOK NICK! I ACTUALLY HAVE A SPACE TO PUT AWAY ALL MY ART SUPPLIES! I LOVE HAVING A HOUSE! I FINALLY CAN THROW THOSE OLD BOXES AWAY AND KEEP MY ART SUPPLIES IN A CORNER OF MY OWN!”

Nick hugged me, “That’s great babe!”

But I could have sworn as he jogged down the steps, I heard him mutter under his breath, “…great for all of us…”

Surprisingly (or perhaps, not surprisingly) references to Milli Vanilli frequently come up in our talks. Whenever we have a difference of opinion, Nick will squint his eyes, scrunch his features so his head looks wrinkled, put it two inches from my face and sings, “GIRL YOU KNOW IT’S TRUE! YES YOU KNOW YOU IT, GIRL YOU KNOW IT, YES YOU KNOW IT’S TRUE!”

The other day I off-handedly said, “…blame it on the rain,” having no idea where that come from.

Nick thoughtfully repeated, “Mhm. Blame it on the rain. What do you think that means?”

“It means blame it on the rain.” For once, I was the factually based one.

“No, the song. What does it mean? I think this is the first time I’ve ever thought of those lyrics.”

Well, my darling wonder of the peanut butter sky, here are the lyrics. This is what I think it’s about: a fool breaks up with his girlie; knows it’s his fault; isn’t man enough to apologize because of his pride; and blames everything but himself.

BLAME IT ON THE RAIN LYRICS by Milli Vanilli
You said you didn’t need her
You told her good-bye (good-bye)
You sacrificed a good love
To satisfy your pride
Now you wished
That you should have her (have her)
And you feel like such a fool
You let her walk away
Now it just don’t feel the same
Gotta blame it on something
Gotta blame it on something

Blame it on the rain (rain)
Blame it on the stars (stars)
Whatever you do don’t put the blame on you
Blame it on the rain yeah yeah
You can blame it on the rain
Get
Ooh, ooh (ooh)
I can’t, I can’t. I can’t, can’t stand the rain
I can’t, I can’t. I can’t, can’t stand the rain
Yeah, yeah
Should’ve told her you were sorry (sorry) huh
Could have said you were wrong
But no you couldn’t do that. No, no
You had to prove you were strong ooh
If you hadn’t been so blinded (blinded)
She might still be there with you
You want her back again
But she just don’t feel the same
Gotta blame it on something
Gotta blame it on something

Blame it on the rain that was falling, falling
Blame it on the stars that did shine at night
Whatever you do don’t put the blame on you
Blame it on the rain yeah yeah

You can blame it on the rain
Cos the rain don’t mind
And the rain don’t care
You got to blame it on something
(Blame it on the rain)
(Blame it on the stars)
Whatever you do don’t put the blame on you
Blame it on the rain yeah, yeah
You can blame it on the rain
Girl

Ooh, ooh (ooh)
Girl
I can’t, I can’t. I can’t, can’t stand the rain
I can’t, I can’t. I can’t, can’t stand the rain

Get
Girl
(Whatever you do…)
(Blame it on the rain yeah, yeah) x 3
You can blame it on the rain, blame it on the rain,
blame it on the rain baby
(Blame it on the rain yeah yeah)
Blame it on the stars that did shine that night
(Blame it on the rain yeah yeah)
Blame it, blame it on the rain
woo
I’m walking
I’m walking

Walking in the rain
Walking in the rain

(Rain, rain)
(Stars, stars)
Whatever you do don’t put the blame on you
(Blame it on the rain)
yeah yeah
(Blame it on the rain)
that keeps falling, falling
(Blame it on the stars)
that did shine that night
Whatever you do don’t put the blame on you
Blame it on the rain yeah yeah
Blame it on the rain (rain, rain)

Or a photographer? Or freelance writer?

Those are the three avenues of job hunting that I’ve been doing.

If you’re new to the Ratcho’s life you need to understand something kind of obvious: I’m a writer determined to have my way with the world.

Now that we’re all on the same page, you can understand that writing, unfortunately, does not come with any guarantees. It has the stability of, say, a 10 year old boy surfing out on Australian coastlines. It’s volatile, my friends. (No McCain pun intended there at all.) And so, that means I must find a way of finding a sustainable income. First there’s the practical part of me: the part that is a-d-d-i-c-t-e-d to all things academic and mental stimulation and books and theory and debating and learning. That’s the part of me that loves to counsel, fight for women’s interest issues, and psychology. The downside is that NO ONE IS HIRING BECAUSE OF THE LOUSY ECONOMY. Now, if I had fulfilled my mother’s wishes and my father’s demands to go into healthcare (Dad: Medicine is the ONLY noble profession. Or law, that’s ok too.”) (Mom: “Why not nursing? You’ll always have a job! You can do anything!”), I would be set here in Cleveland, home to approximately 298716 hospitals and medical centers. With Cleveland Clinic so close and Case Western around the corner, medprofessionals are cruisin’ the good life here in Brownsfanville.

Then there’s photography. Ahh, my third love (Nick #1, Writing #2)…photography is this artistic release for me. It’s the one thing that I seriously feel I could do all day and feel like I have not worked at all. It’s simply a joy to look through a lens and calculate white balance, lighting, exposure, ISO, and all these other acronyms that I have no idea of what their function is (but I sound smart so I use them like I know what I’m talking about). I started shooting photography the moment I could afford a camera. If you didn’t know this about art (especially photography and painting – my other obsession) they require quite the pretty penny; something without a steady income makes the starving artist/starving wife not very happy.

So, I’ve been doing a few weddings here and there just for fun and then Nick started getting on my case, “Why don’t you just do this as a side business?”

My standard reply, “Once I start doing it for money, the fun leaves. That means I’m responsible for someone’s wedding photos and I don’t want to be the photographer that forgot to turn something on and -oops- I missed the bride coming down the aisle.”

One thing you have to understand about wedding photography is that it’s just like trying to find a home – there are mansions, impressive houses, condos, and apartments – lots of variety and it’s all about fit. Some are definitely better than others and everyone has a price and quality they aim for (both customer and photographer). My pitch isn’t for the population that can spend thousands upon thousands of bucks on photos. I want clients who want good photos that capture a story and who can’t afford a great photographer. For folks struggling to make a wedding happen or just have a memory preserved, I want to be able to provide that for folks who may not otherwise be able to afford it. So, yeah, I’ve got a price, but I’m working on a sliding scale. As Nick loves to gloat, “You’re not only awesome, but cheap, too! You’ll be a hit!” I’m not looking for the mansion clients, just good people.

So after about, oh 3.5 years of shooting weddings for fun, I finally broke down and announced that I’m available for hire. Yep, I teamed up with a web designer to create: Lisa Factora-Borchers Photography

Preserving your memories since 2008!

Just kidding, that’s TOTALLY not my tagline.

If you’re interested and know of anyone needing portraits or a wedding photographer – go to my website:
lisafbphotography.com and you’ll see my current work in progress.

With gaining a brother (in-law), you lose a sister to Knoxville
A brand new front loading washing machine, a leaky valve
Fresh black tires for the Corolla means a new rustling noise for Bill to diagnose
A gorgeous wedding in Long Beach Island, New Jersey lends itself to overeating in a major, major way

Hitting Philadelphia traffic is nauseating, but we were able to visit the Rocky statue (aka the most important monument in my life)
October Fall means trying to understand how to turn on a furnace for the first time
Nick leaving for El Salvador in 36 hours means begging my sister to move in for a few days
An impending fun Cincinnati trip this weekend means more traveling in the car
Wonderful opportunities to write means harsh editors and quick deadlines

Sending out resumes for awesome jobs means email rejections from time to time
Having so many terrific friends who choose the same Saturday wedding date means horrendous choosing for us (our 100th apology and love to Meg & Dave, Cara & Drew, and Kerri & Chris)

SIGH
[end of poem]

On deck: trip to Cincy for me, trip to El Salvador for Nick (5 days)
And then: NYC wedding for my cousin
And then: OSU vs. PENN State game for me, Nick sweating somewhere else in Columbus area