Me and my beachwear.

Over the summer, Kendrick's friend at work told him about a beach town not too far from us called "Capitola." He said it had a cute downtown, great restaurants, and a cafe right on the water where you can sit and get a drink while you watch the surfers. We've been meaning to go forever, but because we have spectacular timing we decided to wait until November. To go to a beach town.

Sometimes the Internet can feel like this - but other times it lets you get through.

I had an interesting little thing happen to me last night, and it got me thinking, so I wanted to tell you about it.

The story actually starts way back in 1990, when nine-year-old me developed an obsession with the horror writer Dean Koontz (whose books my parents probably should not have let me read, but I seem to have turned out okay, if slightly more invested in the Saw series than the average bear). I decided to write Dean Koontz a fan letter telling him that I wanted to be just like him when I grew up, and several months later I received a typed (on a typewriter!) letter in response. It was clearly a sort of standardized fan mail response letter to which he had added a line about how I should "stick with my dream of being a writer" or something to that effect - but when I opened that envelope I died. I could hardly have been more excited had the man himself shown up at my house with an invitation to accompany him to a private screening of another 1990 obsession of mine, the movie Leviathan (it's a classic; don't judge).

Both of my children are looking at the camera and not being (too) weird.

Halloween miracle.

I'm fully aware we're nice and oversaturated with Halloween content over here, but there are two things from last night that I really do have to show you.