It's not what you may be thinking--because for one thing, since I live near Reno, what happens in Reno never stays in Reno. Someone finds out about it and tells all your neighbors.

My husband and I went to Reno this weekend for our too-much-together-time escape (we work together, and obviously live together.) We’re still together in Reno, but we’re together in a different locale. It’s good to change things up. Before I left, I wrote a very nice blog that actually had something to do with writing for a change. Do you think I can find that blog? No. How many places could a blog be? Three—that’s how many computers I have access to. One of those computers is now forty-five miles away. I’m pretty certain that one—the one I never write on—is the one with my blog.

So, instead of posting that blog, I’m going to tell you what I learned on my trip to Reno.

I learned not to give my husband the notebook with the shopping list in it, but rather to tear the shopping list out. This one simple act would have saved me two trips back to the store to try and find my notebook. Normally, I wouldn’t have worried about losing the notebook, except that I had a careful list of all my recent financial transactions in it and I didn’t want to lose that. We eventually found the notebook on aisle 3 sitting on top of a can of coconut milk (the lite kind). We don’t even drink coconut milk.

I learned not to buy round furniture. Our furniture is twenty years old, so my husband and I are furniture-buying rookies. We also share a taste for the unusual, so when we saw the big round sofa, we both instantly fell in love with it. We took it for the test drive in the store and found that three people can sit in it quite comfortably, and four can sit in it if one doesn’t mind hanging off the edge a little. Sold. We had to wait two months to get it and this was our delivery weekend. We planned to leave town on Monday, but the delivery bay is only open Tuesday through Saturday. No problem. We’ll pick up the chair and take it to my son’s place.

No problem until we back the truck up to the bay and find three men and a fork lift waiting to load the sofa. Hmmm. “Oh, it’s not that heavy. It’s just hard to get hold of.” Correct on one account. It was hard to get hold of. And maybe it wasn’t heavy—if you had access to a forklift. To make a long story short, my son was out on a Search and Rescue call, so my husband and I drove to his apartment and after several attempts to get a grip on the plastic-wrapped roundish, heavish monster, literally rolled our first piece of new (and rather expensive) furniture in many years across a parking lot and into the apartment like a great big tire. The things you do when you don’t have a forklift.

I learned some other things on this trip (like not to go into Macy's during the President's Day sale just to look unless I want to come out of the store with my credit card smoking), but one of the most important things I learned was that I married a heck of a guy. We actually had fun during our notebook-finding, furniture-rolling adventures and I can’t ask for much more than that.

Except for maybe to find the blog I lost.