The Thank You Bone

Everyone who knows us will attest to the fact that we have the occasional squirrel visit our attic for some winter warmth. When we first moved in, we thought the scamping around in the roof above might be  a ghost, but that was until a baby squirrel was spotted sitting on my nightstand, as I was about to shut out the bedside light, made it's presence known. He sat upright and then jumped on the bed as if to say, "Hi, here I am!" Startled, I yelled "EEEKK", and the poor little thing flew off the bed, headed down the hall, and jumped into the toilet. We had a heck of a time corralling the little culprit, but unfortunately the damage was done...I scared the bejesus out him. For years we did our best to squirrel proof the house, but this summer everything changed. My husband Gerry and I were sitting on the front porch listening to music, when I spotted a skinny little squirrel with a crooked tail sitting by the tree. She must have gotten a pork chop bone from the dog bowl that I keep in the backyard for the various table scraps, and leftovers, that my woodland friends (raccoons, opossums, and foxes) enjoy. The bone was slightly curved and to our surprise Mrs. Personality (as she was later named) started playing the bone like a banjo! We started laughing, an before we could stop, she took the bone in her two little hands and started blowing it like a trumpet. OMG... it was the funniest sight to see, but wait... as we laughed and giggled, that lil bit of a squirrel took the bone, put it between her hind legs and started doing what can only be described here as a "lap dance". We were overcome with laughter, and wished we had caught it on video, as it would have been a million hit clip. Since that time, when Mrs. Personality comes scamping about, she is rewarded with potato chips, nuts or crackers. I often leave them for her on a chest that holds our garden tools on the back porch. I know it's her, as she has a distinctively crooked tail. She has no fear of me, and will sit with her unblinking eyes, staring at me as she takes a cracker, (which is like a human holding a dinner plate), and rotate it as she chips off the edges... it just cracks me up!

Well, the other day as I went to tidy up the spare room that sits directly below the attic where the squirrels scamper above,  I found that an odd artifact had made its way from the attic through the rustic beams of the ceiling. As I picked it up off the floor, it occurred to me that it was a remnant of a pork chop bone... about the same size as the one that Mrs. Personality played with this summer. It is now a sacred keepsake, as I do believe with the onset of a cold winter, that she is thanking me and Gerry for her cozy winter quarters, with a keepsake of her summertime performance.

Snake on the Beach

Yesterday's forecast called for another cloudy day, but with temperatures into the mid 60's... a perfect day to take our winter pilgrimage down the shore to Point Pleasant. As we silently drove, I watched the grey clouds in the sky part to expose blue sky with light rays from the sun shining through the scattered clear spots, and I felt happy. We listened to the 60's oldie station on the radio, and it seemed like all of my favorite songs played one after the other. It's only about an hour away, and as we drove into Point Pleasant, the sun was indeed shining through a veiled mist that illuminated the ocean foam in a snowy white at the breaking points. The wind was strong as we trudged along the boardwalk to watch the people, who like us did not let the winter deter their love of the beach. As we trudged out towards the waves, I felt that old surge of peace that only comes from being near the sea...when there is no one else around. After a half hour of walking against the wind, we headed back in the other direction, as our joints and muscles had gotten a pretty good work by then. We watched boats being bounced down the the inlet for a brief sail into the ocean, only to return from whence they came. It was too rough for a pleasure cruise or a day's fishing for that matter. The sun shone through the remnants of mist, giving a filmy glow to the landscape, as we searched along the shoreline for whatever treasures we might find. I always take a big clam shell that works well as an ashtray and left the more exotic shells for the few families that were also scouting the beach for treasure. As we approached the boardwalk, I noticed an odd shaped stick that was half buried in the sand. As I uncovered it I noticed that it was a perfectly formed little snake, probably a tree branch that was smoothed by the waves. Hurray! a prefect treasure just for me! I cradled it in my coat sleeve and got it safely to the car, where I laid it gently on the back seat (as if it was a priceless ornament). Then, satisfied with my find, we went back to the boardwalk for a slice of pizza and a soda. My husband laughed and said I was a cheap date... I laughed and stated, "I know, aren't you a lucky guy." We drove home back into the gloomy clouds, but I was happy... it was a perfect date. 

And the Scrooge Award... Goes to TD Bank

I'm a big fan of shopping online, as I don't have a car, and I like the convenience of having a really nice gift delivered to my parents in Florida. I ordered a beautiful Godiva gift basket for my mom, whose favorite thing these days is candy. The purchase was easy and I got my confirmation on email. After a quick look on my checking account to see if the purchase amount was debited correctly, I found that I was charged twice for the purchase. Keeping my temper in check, I called Godiva and they assured me that they only charged once for the purchase. The representative was very polite and told me that she had been having lots of complaints from customers, who like me, were charged twice from their accounts. She went on to explain that once the bank received the funds, one would drop off. I asked her why the bank would hold up my capital that way... it wasn't fair. She said it was probably to ensure that there was enough money in the account for the charge to go through. I was dumbfounded. I had plenty of money in my account, but now I had to make sure that the charge would indeed drop off. This is the same Canadian bank, whose chief officer said the bailout would be "a sugar boost to the US banking industry and just won't help." Meanwhile, they took over Commerce, (which was a wonderful bank), and now, hours are no longer convenient, and the service is gloomy at best.  I guess this scam is their version of a "sugar boost" for themselves... a means to trap clients who carefully budget their capital... into the dreaded overdraft. Well, Merry Christmas Scrooge bank. For my New Years resolution, I will be taking all of my money out of your dark chambers and finding an American Bank who will not use your tactics. And if that fails, I'll be investing in a home safe and I will become my own banker! 

Solstice Celebration

This year my husband Gerry and I celebrated Yule on the eve of the Winter solstice. This is a beautiful and sacred time of year when the northern hemisphere is at it's shortest day and we celebrate for the reversal of that shortening. It was cold and wintry following Friday's snowstorm, as we made our way to the store to buy our dinner feast. Normally we would have bought firewood to help light our yule log, but this year's frigid temperature and the possibility of winds precluded that plan. I had baked an oatmeal raison bread to feed my woodland creatures, as Gerry carved the roast beef of all fat and threw it out to attract the Turkey Buzzards that I adore. My favorite squirrel, Mrs. Personality visited me on the back porch and got a handful of nuts for her treat. Holiday music blared through the house, anything ranging from James Taylor to Trans-Siberian Orchestra, and my bunny Otis was unusually perky in anticipation of the celebration. We are training him to dance in a circle for his snacky snacks, and he can get almost half way around on his hind legs before stealing off to the corner with the vegetable puffs that he loves. Gerry herb encrusted the beef and we had a nice visit with his kids who are anticipating the Christmas celebration that we will also attend later in the week. It's so nice to pass the torch to the next generation to do the big family  parties, and it's probably why my Wiccan holidays are so meaningful... it's just the two of us who celebrates them. The holiday branch that we decorated on Jack Frost day glowed it merry white lights, as the sun set early, and occasional flakes of snow floated by. It seemed we laughed the whole afternoon away, drinking our holiday cheer as my husband prepared our dinner. Normally I bake or cook dessert, but we just couldn't pass up the tin of Belgian chocolate cookies at Cosco, so my work consisted of setting the table. At dinnertime we ate by candlelight and enjoyed the most delicious rare roast beef, sweet potatoes, and harvard beets, as the Celtic Women sang for us. After our own private and intimate ceremony, we snuggled on the couch with the box of Belgian chocolate cookies and watched "Home Alone"... which was even funnier after a Green Fairy cocktail! 

Spoiled Rotten Rabbit

My kids are grown and on to their own adventures in adulthood, and to avoid becoming the pining, "budinski mom," I got a baby bunny as a pet. Otis has been such a joy to my husband and I, but I must say he is spoiled beyond belief! At 4:30 in the morning my husband arises and goes to Otis's cage to free him to the kitchen. Once he is gently placed on the floor and the gate is in place, he sits by his empty glass bowl and stares at the fridge. Before pouring his morning coffee, my husband doles out Otis's six blueberries. We have tried to introduce other fruits for a little variety, but often he will take the glass bowl with offending fruit in his mouth, and toss it across the room. Then he will literally dive into his litter box, sending litter flying in all directions, and sulk. We've learned that it is just easier to give him what he wants. When I come down to the kitchen, I usually greet Otis with a husky endearment while bending down to stroke his silky ears. My husband is trained to let me know if Otis was good or bad getting out of the cage, and if he ate his blueberry breakfast. Once satisfied that my little "bunny boy" has been taken care of, then I can kiss my mate and pour my coffee. Me and Otis hang out most of the day, he lounging in his big fancy cat litter box, nibbling straw now and again ( his rabbit potty box is kept hidden in the corner, as he is shy about doing his business in public) and me talking and singing to him. When he was a bit younger, I could not  figure out why he would "go" in the litter box and then pick it up with his teeth and dump it over. It wasn't until I bought him the big one for lounging, and the small one for "going," that he settled down. Who knew rabbits were so darned fussy?! During the day Otis has free run of the kitchen. He plays amongst the pots and pans, begs for snacky snacks (dried puffed vegetables free of artificial anything) ... but mostly he sits and meditatively stares (he's so Zen). Heaven forbid though, if I have to show the house and put him into his night-time cage... his temper is completely unleashed. First he will take the little phone book that I give him to chew on and savagely rip the pages out. Then he grabs the set of jingle bells (one of his toys), and bashes them against the side of the cage making a terrible racket. From there he scratches and digs through the bedding  and then pushes it around his cage in all directions. It's as if he is purposely trying to dirty the surrounding floor. I try to soothingly talk him out of his rage, but usually I give in and entice him with an extra scoop of his malty kibble. He will hop on his eating shelf and munch furiously, while giving me the icy stare. Once the cage is in lock down, I bravely state to him, "now you just sit there and think about what you've done!" I just hope my grown kids don't see me when I am scolding Otis like that, as they would probably accuse me of going soft in my old age.    

Awestruck by van Gogh

Today as I was sitting in my kitchen, digesting the words of an esoteric novel that I was reading, my eye was suddenly drawn to a replica of van Gogh's Starry Night that adorned a decorative cutting board that I received as a gift from one of the kids. Although not as captivating as the original painting that I have seen at the Museum of Modern Art in NY, I couldn't stop staring at it. As I gazed down at the little town, which was the vantage point from the sanitorium where he spent his final months, I felt the usual well of emotion that comes when I see a van Gogh painting... and I cried. For while he was living in pain and torment, this beautiful scene was destined to be painted, and shared with a world of people who considered him insane. There is the dark color of the tree pointing upwards towards the sky, set in front of the small whiteness of the church steeple, while the town and the hills are immersed in blues and violets. But what captivated me the most in that particular moment was the swirling ethers of the sky, set amongst the glowing stars. It looked as if two lovers were being entwined, or two closed hands were moving together to be interlocked by the fingers, and I almost felt as if it was a star in the making. The coming together of those two moving forces had me transfixed and emotional, and yet I could not reason why... there were no words, and so I just felt, and my mind went still. After several minutes, I took a deep breath and sighed. I looked out the window to my own backyard, as the sun illuminated patches of unmelted snow, and droplets of roof melt dripped daintily before me, and I appreciated, that with all of life's distractions, disappointments, and unfulfilled dreams... it is still a beautiful world.

The Day I Met Santa

Santa Claus, that jolly old elf of goodwill, will always make his appearance known to kids and adults alike... just when you need him the most. It was the early 60's, and me, my sister, and brother, were all excited about Christmas. I think my parents had the usual holiday stress about money, as they seemed to be arguing quite a bit, which inadvertently affected the sensitive nature of us children. It was Christmas eve, and although we were put to bed at the usual 7:30 PM, it was well after 9:00PM that we remained awake in our bedrooms, whispering, giggling and wondering what we would be getting for Christmas. My dad hollered up, "Be quiet and go to sleep!," several times, but within a short span of time we were back to our shenanigans. Suddenly, he came bounding up the stairs with a newspaper in his hand and asked my brother to come to our room for some news. Opening it to the mid section he read, "There will be no Christmas this year because Santa got into an accident with a helicopter, and now he is in the hospital. So you might as well go to sleep and forget about getting presents." Now as the oldest, I didn't really believe in Santa because one of the big kids on the block ruined it for me the prior year (I was 5 then). She told me to stay up late and peek downstairs and I would see my parents putting out the gifts under the tree (which I did). But since I wanted to keep the excitement up for my sister and brother, it seemed only natural to cry at the upsetting news, as they were sobbing. We cried ourselves to sleep that night, but not before I heard  my mom hissing and quietly yelling at my dad him for his cruelty. Very early the next morning, as the sun was still below the horizon, I awoke to the sound of jingle bells. As I looked out my window, I saw a shadow of Santa and the reindeer flying over our neighbor's rooftop. I could not believe my eyes, but I was sure of what I saw! Not wanting to draw attention to myself, I crawled back into bed and waited for my sister to wake. When she did, we went and woke my little brother and I got to deliver the news that Santa had come. They looked worried, but  I led them downstairs into the living room, and sure enough, the tree was decorated and there were presents underneath. My Dad and Mom woke in better spirits, and all was forgotten about the "helicopter accident." Later that day, it turned out to be warm and sunny, and as I skipped around the block with my new little pocketbook, I almost skipped right into a man who looked exactly like Santa, but in street clothes. "Merry Christmas little one, he said in a chuckled voice, "what do you have there with you?" Being shy, I stammered, "It's a p-p-ocketbook that I got for Christmas." "Well, well", he replied  with a warm smile, " I heard that you were extra good this year, and so I have something special for you." With that, he pulled out a shiny new quarter and gave it to me to put in my pocketbook. "  I thanked him, wished him a Merry Christmas, happily skipped home... and then kept the good news to myself. I didn't want to take any chance that my believing in Santa would be spoiled again. And to this day I remain a firm and faithful believer!

Veni, Vidi, Vici, Yappi, Dismissi...Finito

As I look back on a career path that spanned three decades and several years, I can't help but be proud of the fact that I was able to reinvent myself, and change course in several different fields. As each new job unfolded into the next best thing, I can see that this was done in an orderly progression, enhanced by what I previously learned and achieved. As a nursing student, I was terrified of hospitals and sick people, and yet I stuck it out and went on enjoy nursing in several key areas. I bounced around from nursing homes, to neonatal intensive care units, cardiac, and critical care units, and ended up a certified oncology nurse. At each turn, I remained skeptical that I had what it took to perform, and yet I managed to achieve clinical expertise wherever I applied myself. When an accident curtailed my physical ability to perform my job, I went back for additional education and achieved a degree. I returned to community nursing as a comeback, and realized that while I loved the visiting part, the homework involved was too demanding, as I could not complete paperwork in the presence of people who poured their heart out about what their illness meant to them. I took the nursing background and decided to go corporate.. as a case manager. It was a rewarding position, where I got to advocate for patient's needs, sometimes against the wishes of my insurance based employer. I used both persuasion and cost benefit analysis ... adept at the game, until the department was let go. I went on to Pharma world, where I landed a job in Data Management. After seven years I worked myself to a Senior Level and also got another degree in Information Systems while doing so. But, the job lacked a helping interaction with people, and focused on technical achievements, and so I left for a Sales and Marketing position. Though I was now helping people telephonically, forced into a daily social environment, often traveling several times a month around the country to give presentations, it soon became apparent that I was not extrovert that I hoped to be. I became burnt out and in an attempt to voice my dismay at what I perceived as a paltry raise for a glowing evaluation, I managed to get myself fired. It didn't help that I also voiced my opinion on my boss's lack of professional discretion (or as my son pointed out... "I couldn't keep my big yap shut.") It was a shocking verdict, but I have no hard feelings about it... it is what it is. I decided that I was through with the game playing that occurs in the corporate world, and I don't look back. Currently I have the luxury of being a kept House Goddess, and the time to pursue my creative talents. Sure, I have had to downsize my life, but it doesn't really seem like a sacrifice to me... just a fair tradeoff for a more enjoyable existence. And so in honesty I have to add another word to the above litany... Magnifico!

Soft Selling My Home

Today began as cold and gloomy, typical for this time of year in NJ. A few days ago a couple pulled up to our house, walked to the back yard and then came up on the front porch and looked around. When I opened the front door, they looked surprised, and a little embarrassed that someone was home. " Can I help you?" was all I could think to say. It was answered with, "We're so sorry, the realtor said you were on vacation ... we have an appointment to see your home this week." I replied,"Oh, that lovely... it's no trouble, this is a great house." The man looked at the peace sign that is decaled upon the window of my front door and said, " I like the vibe already" as he pointed to it." I told them I looked forward to their return, and they headed back to their car. I tried to be as nice as possible, as they seemed like a nice couple, and yet I had not yet heard from any realtor about an appointment. I could have gotten annoyed at the obvious snoop, and yet I had a pretty good vibe of my own. Oh well, no harm in looking, I thought, and went about my usual day. I did an extra cleaning yesterday, just in case... and today I got the call that indeed someone requested to view my home! Then a second call by the realtor came about 10 minutes before show time, saying the client would be late, so I felt a momentary dash of hope. This scenario played out a few times before, and the viewings were actually cancelled. The realtor actually arrived about 15 minutes prior to the client, and did his own little inspection. I told him that I would go to the porch with a book, as my usual way of getting lost, and he said, "no way, you're welcome to stay here, it's cold and rainy out there." I was happy to be welcomed in my own home. Now for some reason I decided to bake brownie cookies today, and so there was a nice aroma coming from the kitchen. I made a cup of tea for the realtor to go with the cookies he was eating, and when the client came, I was delighted that he asked for a cup of coffee. The old grind and brew was put into action, as the men wandered to basement, and then upstairs for a good look-see. When they came down, tea, coffee, and cookies were served informally, and some positive chatter commenced. I got to answer questions about the age of the house, how long we were here, the fact that the brook in the back does not flood etc. It was the first time I got to join in the the selling fun. I also let the client (who loves Victorian homes) know that another couple wants to buy the house so they can rebuild it into something more "updated", and wouldn't it be a shame (not lying here). The client said he liked it as is, and would return with his friend to get her take. Hurray! Not only did I get a good vibe, I got to play salesperson and hostess! So, I will remain cautiously optimistic, and will make sure I keep hot coffee and homemade cookies on hand.

Writing for Amusement

Lately, I have been eager to complete my morning exercise routine, and chores, so that I can move on to a real treat for me...writing. I have slowly been working on my memoir of growing up in a small, blue collar town during the 60's, and some days my memory gets jogged to a funny, or poignant event, and I will have to jot it down for the next writing time (usually during the afternoons). I have also been known to get up from a sound sleep and go jot something down for later translation during writing time. I enjoy the challenge of writing entries to this blog four days a week ( I don't believe in a five day work week) as it stimulates my thinking process and hones my writing skills. Most days the entry will take an hour to perfect, and yet the time goes by as if it were only five minutes, which is a good indicator that I am enjoying what I'm doing. I also write poetry and have done so for the past 30 years. Poems are a little tricky,  as usually I don't sit the computer and say to myself, I think I will write a poem now, although recently this occurred when a topic popped in my head and a poem was completed in 5 minutes... and it was good! Most of my poems come from nagging words strung together that will persist, then evolve into an original thought. Sometimes the meaning isn't crystal clear, but the words just seem right. Often the words rhyme, but it gives me more leeway if they don't. If there is a lot of emotion in what I want to say, I will let it spill out from my mind as fast as I can type (which is a pretty good clip) and I don't stop to edit until the full force of what I want to say is completed. Other times, if I am in a thoughtful, or expressive mindset, each sentence is carefully worded, then edited, before moving on to the next. Recently, I was doing my chores, when my mind imagined a place, gave it a name, and the plot of a novel starting surfacing. Now when I am walking to the store, or having a minute to stare out the window and think, my characters develop, or I hear dialogue, or see a scene or circumstance that gets stored for writing time. When I do sit down, I have long thought about the chapter and the writing becomes automatic... and its the coolest thing in the world! 

Peace on Earth ... Starting with the Family

Ah, the holiday season is upon us,  as we play carols, and watch cartoons that proclaim "Pleace on Earth, Goodwill Towards Men"... (we have probably all cried after Linus's speech on the "Charlie Brown Christmas") knowing it is our most human desire that this be so. And yet for me, it calls to mind the difficulty of the task at hand, as I reflect on the usual drama that is caused by families, comprised of a diverse set of members, with differing circumstances and emotional temperaments, who come together to share the common bond that binds. Leo Tolstoy once wrote, "All happy families resemble each other, each unhappy family is unhappy in it's own way." No truer words were ever spoken, and yet we fight within the convicted place that lies between our heart and our head that this should not be so. We so much want the fairy tale existence, where everyone should be merry, and gay, and loving, that we lose sight, that if this were so... we would not have opportunities to grow and learn, and become better versions of ourselves. And so this holiday season I am prepared for the usual drama, for better or worse, and will deal with it in a different way this year. Of those family ties that I can find a common ground for peace, I will savor, and share, and enjoy the goodwill that emanates. For those I cannot control, and cannot reconcile... I will let go, knowing the time is not yet right. For this year, I can synthesize the lessons of the past ... that to fully enjoy peace you must find it first within yourself. No harsh judgement, no condemnation... just acceptance for the person I am and the life I am living. Only in this way can I transcend the drama, and enjoy the many blessings, that are the greatest gifts meant to be shared.

Celebrating Jack Frost Day

This Saturday my husband Gerry and I celebrated our first Jack Frost day and it was wonderful! We awoke early and as the sun peeked above the horizon we could see the patches of frost that were decorating our front yard. He announced "Happy Jack Frost Day," and we were off to an excellent start. I had looked for historical reference to the little elf who is the namesake, and the information was  scant... an elfin figure who personifies crisp, cold winter weather. It inspired me to write a poem which I shared with my friends on Facebook. We did our usual Saturday errands as we decided on a few rules for the holiday. First, we would make a meal of all white food. Secondly,we would bring back the tradition of decorating a Holiday branch in lieu of a Christmas tree. Thirdly, we would exchange and recite poems about winter... oh and the unsaid was that merry silliness would be the tone of the day. My one purchase was a small white pointsettia that I used as a base for a holiday centerpiece (the white pointy flowers looked like elf ears). I made Paula Deen's coconut cake, which although labor intensive turned out both delicious and stunning to look at. Gerry was quick to go to the back yard and find a branch that was suitable to decorate (he has experience on this front). Before I could look out the window for progress, he was securing it a styrofoam container in which a Holiday package of frozen Omaha goodies arrived. As I started to upload our holiday music into itunes, Gerry strung the branch with lights and decorated with tinsel. It was magnificent, and although I may want to add a few bows and balls later on, it was a perfect symbol of simple elegance. As we listened to the holiday music and enjoyed some holiday libations, we laughed at our bunny Otis's antics. He picked up his food bowel with his teeth and threw it, scattering his kibble across the floor. He'll do the naughtiest things for attention! Then we both went and found our chosen poems for our reading. We had both chosen 'Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" by Robert Frost. Gerry also chose "Dust of Snow" and "A Winter Eden" by Frost. I chose, "To a Locomotive in Winter" by Walt Whitman. We read to each other as the sun set low in the western sky. At dusk Gerry started our white meal: crab stuffed flounder, twice baked potatoes, white asparagus and endive and heart of palm salad. We dined by candlelight enjoying the white light glow of our holiday branch. After dinner and before dessert, a special cocktail was made. We took turns pouring cold water over a slotted spoon with a sugar cube on it, into Absinthe, a green liquor. As the water melted the sugar and it blended with the liquor it magically turned a cloudy, milky white. Thus our Green Fairies were made. It was good that we drank this with the moist and heavy coconut cake, as the alcohol content is 130 proof. Suddenly, we noticed it was snowing outside and our glee soared! The night ended with singing and dancing on the patio... well that was me... my husband video captured it as we both laughed hysterically (this will remain locked in the private collection). Yes, in the cold and dark of winter there is so much fun waiting to be had... you just have to have the imagination to name it, and the joy to experience it.

               

They Call me the Snapper

I love to dance... and so it is fitting that I explain why this is so. You see dancing for me is not just a way to express myself through music, it becomes a meditation, a fantasy and an escape. It was also good at annoying my way too cool teenagers, as their friends would come in see me whirling around the living room, snapping my fingers, shaking my hips, clapping and swinging my hair to and fro... like a schizophrenic on speed. I could see their embarrassment as they hinted with that teen disdain..  don't look at the weirdo. But usually at that point I was oblivious and immersed in my own brand of trance. I might start a warm up with some Rolling Stones, and I'm right on stage as a blond version of Tina Turner, jumpin around with Mick. Or I could get funky, as when I hear "Cowfunk" by Brandon Marsalis. I cannot NOT dance to that tune, as I sway way low with extra loud snapping of my fingers...mmnn mmmn, that's my favorite! Or maybe I'm in a Madonna mood, and want to be really expressive and interpretive. Then it's all Vogue baby. I even have special hand signs for the lyrics that talk about the Vogue- ers named in the song. I need a lot of room for this one as I do the pirouettes and ball change steps learned in a long ago jazz class. But sometimes, I just want to get rowdy and so it's Alan, Jackson, George Strait and Jimmy Buffet live.. and I'm at a dancing hoedown (and I can Woo-Hoo with the loudest of them.) You see in my world, I am right there with the performers, and the Furies in my mind finally shut up their mindless chatter. So look out Bono, I'm coming to "Vertigo" to clap, snap, sway and shimmy!

Rabbit Loaf

Ah, I'm so glad Otis is finally back to his old self. He really had a good vacation with us in Florida, but the two day 18 hour trip each way really took its toll on the poor lil varmint. Now he remained all snuggled up in the back seat in his travel cage, but I could tell that he was a little carsick... he did no eating on route or coming back, only sips of water. But he was really very good... there were no calls to go to the bathroom, no chants for fast food, and not once did he whine and say, "are we almost there yet?" ( I did several times, but as the driver, I had to focus on the white line and couldn't turn to look at the signs). Otis didn't even squeak when I took the NC exit at 65, when the limit was 25, nor did he protest like his Dad did when I coasted full speed into the gas station and stalled before reaching the pump. No he was a perfect angel, sitting primly in his cage, only hopping about when I let him out at the Econolodge, to be barricaded with the ironing board in the bathroom and vanity sink area. Though he made a little mess by strewing his litter and hay about, we cleaned up all his droppings, and figured the cleaning lady would just assume we were big tipping red-necks with chickens in tow. It was even... we didn't shower there, so the extra vacuuming was in exchange for not having to clean the tub and shower. We did let him lie on the bed and watch the Ellen DeGeneres Vegas special with us, and petted him throughout, so it wasn't like he was neglected. When we finally arrived home the next evening, he started eating again, thank goodness! For the past two days Otis has been assuming the sphinx position, alert and ready for the constant vibration that would not cease during the road trip. I had been cooing at him and singing his favorite song... "here comes Peter Cottontail", but as of yesterday he would just give me that squinty eyed look that means, " good God woman, would you shut up, you're annoying me!" He is a pre-teen, so it's to be expected. But today, he hopped into his favorite sunning spot amongst the pots and pans and he seems his old self again... happy to sit and loaf... in the meatloaf dish.

Turkey on the Beach

I am one of the luckiest people in the world. You see wherever and whenever I go on vacation, treasure lands right at my feet... no need for cheesy souvenirs (my husband is lucky too, as I shun the usual beads and bangles often coveted by my female friends.) You can imagine the delight I felt, when strolling along Cocoa Beach in Florida during this past Thanksgiving holiday weekend, during one of my hunts for unusual shells, I came across this turkey shell! Halleujah, what a find! You see, nature is always looking for ways to entice you into a world of wonder, a world that has left most adults a long time ago due to a serious sense of disbelief. I marvel at everything when my eyes are alive and looking, and my tongue is not idling chatting. The world of quiet observation evokes imaginations and during this time... well, the world is your oyster... or scallop, so to speak. The universe has a divine sense of humor if you just give it a child-like chance. If you shut your eyes and quietly listen, for example, trees will whisper words of encouragement to you, and so will the ocean, or the morning doves. Usually these Muses of Nature will gently remind you of the miracle and beauty that you are, and then encourage you to take those tucked away dreams out of the closet of your head and make them real. But you have to be on guard that those voracious voices of reason don't come barging in with accusations of crazy, and stupid, or silly, to dash away your plans. Secondly, you must remember that no one, not even your closest ally, really knows who you are, and so you can't let them dispel your unique sense of wonder by bringing you back to a worldly reality. Once you can free the mind and quiet the tongue, the promised magick, known to you in your early youth, will come flooding back like an old imaginary friend... letting you know you are truly loved and welcome... and treasures will arrive to prove it!  

The Joyous Wonder of Child's Play

While in Florida last week, I eagerly looked forward to seeing my niece Aubrey, and her little cousin Brynnie. Of course, I looked forward to seeing my brother and his wife, and knew that there would be great food and a lot of laughter, but I really miss being around the 7 and under crowd. Children are so real, and when they laugh and play all is right with the world. So I had to share the moments we spent in the backyard watching the girls jump on Aubrey's new trampoline so you could partake of the the wonderful joy of being a kid again... if only for a moment. Bet you have to smile when you see those cherub faces gaily laughing and unabashedly showing off for the adults.  I'll bet that like me, secretly you wish you could do the same (without feeling foolish or getting hurt). Now if you're able to hear the adult commentary, then you will hear the smile on the voice of the adult as he tells them that they could be hitting the stars, or the tree, but like an adult, there is always the need to introduce a little warning or a subtle fear into the fun. The last comment made to invoke more laughter, was to be careful of a bird that might peck you in the head! Thank goodness children disregard much of what adults say, or it could have ruined all the fun. I started feeling nervous after that comment, which just goes to show, that once you have reached adulthood, that wonderful joyful abandon gets colored with warning.... as an unconscious stab of regret for a time when jumping for joy is not attached to an event... but is the event itself.

Worst Interview...Ever

I am a pretty honest and forthright person, and so I will share what was to be my worst job interview, and you can be the judge of the obvious outcome here. OK, lets play. I responded to a recruiter for a job as Head of Data Management for a large Pharma Company. Normally I get Data Management job offers all the time but this one seemed right up my alley. You see, I spent 7 years in Data management, and while it was not the most exciting job in the world it paid the bills and kept me busy. I even went back to college for a Masters degree in Information Systems Management so I could become more "tech savvy." I learned a lot, but it was apparent that my people skills were far more advanced then my capacity to understand the logical premise of the tech world, and so I decided that that people management was the only area I would really enjoy (and be good at). The offer for this position required knowledge (not proficiency) in a few Data Management related technologies, but the emphasis was on supervision of people and communication with other departments. So, you could imagine my delight at being granted a phone interview for what I thought would be a 3 mos. lucrative contract position as a people/project manager. I did my homework in regards to finding everything I could about the Pharma company, such as their history, sales figures, and global presence. I memorized many of the 76 products that were on the market, and I prepared test dialogue in my head about what makes a good manager... gaining employee trust, treating others with dignity, leading by example... the ideas were flying. I even figured I would offer to do a SWOT analysis where I could identify the strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, and threats to the department through my investigative leadership during the 3 month tour of duty. So I felt fully prepared when the phone rang 3 minutes after the scheduled interview time and a high pitched male voice identified himself as the interviewer. I answered pleasantly and tried to be social by asking," how are you today?" I was cut off mid sentence, by what seemed like a type A individual who "just needed to ask a few questions." "Ok, this is not a social person", I thought, as he fired questions in rapid succession on various Data Management tools that seemed very specific and very unfamiliar (not the ones that were mentioned in the job description). At one point I could hear the exasperation as he demanded, "alright what are the specific applications you used at your last two employers then, huh?" I didn't particularly care for his tone, so I said, "excuse me but I signed a non-disclosure with these companies and I don't feel comfortable giving away their proprietary information". Now, he was really annoyed and started almost shouting... 'have you worked with eRT, do you even know what it is?", and I thought about it...but I could not remember what it even stood for, so I stated, " I have worked with a good many DM applications, some developed in-house, and some as off the shelf industry standards, but I'm more interested in the people management aspect of the job"... to which he boomed, "there are only three people to manage and I'll do that, I need someone to get this new system up and running, as my former head of the department left!" "Ohhh... I see", I thought," there is no management of people, or team leadership, or project management of clinical trials. This guy needs a task master for technologies that are new, and he will give that person a fancy title to get the job done." Now I knew it was clearly over, so I said, " I'm not interested in doing heads down data management, as I am more of a leader, and it seems like you need a programmer, which is not what the job description indicated." He abruptly replied, "although you might have been a good leader in our old way of doing business, I need someone who is technically solid and won't need any training here, so I don't think your what I'm looking for." As politely and friendly as I could muster, I began to say," well thank you for the opportunity to interview with you, and good luck with your new system." I was interrupted after the thank-you, as he demanded,"What?, as if he couldn't hear me, but when I started to repeat the line, he abruptly hung up on me, and so I finished the line as a facetious,"good luck with your new fangled system...a**hole"!

Journey to Florida

Well, I'm basking in the Florida weather and although the sun his hiding behind grey clouds at this moment, I am warm and happy. We got a late morning start on Saturday for the 6 hour trek to VA beach (which for some reason I thought would be the half way mark) and Gerry took the NJ turnpike corridor to start, as I don't like driving on angry, ugly roads. Stopped for lunch at the Walt Whitman rest area and ate greasy Roy Rodgers fried chicken with a biscuit that tasted like fake popcorn butter. Otis was safe within his travel cage in the back seat, with water and kibble, and didn't utter a peep. We covered his cage with a towel while we went inside to dine, so no one would think we were neglectful parents. After lunch I took the wheel, which was pretty brave considering 1) haven't really driven for the last 4 months, 2) haven't driven a stick shift in over 5 years and 3) I'm terrifyed of bridges and tunnels and I had to cross the Delaware Memorial bridge. But I bravely managed to crunch those Subee Outback gears into shape along route 13 through Delaware, Maryland and VA. Gerry took over at dusk, as prospect of driving over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge (and tunnel), and my severe night blindness would have added just too much stress for one day. We got to Colin's bachlor pad at about 7PM with plenty of beer and the fixins for Turkey subs ( we all know Gerry is the sandwich master and boy did he deliver!) We hung out watching an episode of My name is Earl and a Crocodile Dundee movie from the 80's. Lotsa laughter and fun, and Otis really dug being free in the apartment. He stayed in the kitchen that was penned in by two laundry baskets, and waited for permission to explore the whole apartment until I woke up in the morning. We resumed our trip at 8AM and I drove us out of VA for two hours as Gerry was a little bit crunchy. He then drove for two hours through NC where we lunched at a subway. While there, a young ponytailed quadripegic man struugled to give his order in a garbled and gruff manner, and the staff was so kind patient with him. As I was leaving I smiled at him, and he said to me, "how you doing cutie"? At 51, this was a great compliment and so we had a brief, pleasant exchange. I took the wheel with the mission of driving until dark and lo and behold I made it to the Florida Welcome Center. I did 80 most of the way, and at one point, as I whizzed by a cop, he put his lights on and I thought I was screwed (I never got a speeding ticket, only a warning). He must have gotten another call in the pursuit, as he didn't follow me, and so I slowed to 70 ...briefly. Otis didn't make any fuss whatsovever, but looked a little carsick, if I must say. Gerry took the dark leg of the trip from Jacksonville to Oviedo with a quick stop at a McDonald's, so thrifty me could order off the dollar menu (I'm soo money.) After whining about a beer thirst, Gerry stopped at a liquor store for beer and scotch, and we picked up food for Wiggy (my elderly mom) at an Albertson's. When we finally arrived at sister Bonnie's house it was dark and I had to peek in the window to see if it was actually hers, as we forget the house number and they are all somehat similiar (gated community). Was glad to hug and kiss my mom, who looks older and feebler than my last recollection, but still happy and cared for. Otis enjoyed running around the pool in their enclosed screen room (called a 'lin- I', which I can't spell) and we went to bed at 10PM thrilled at the prospect of a vacation in warm and sunny Florida.

Comfort Food

It's cold, gray, blustery, and threatening to snow. All I can think of this minute is hot mashed potatoes made light and creamy but fluffy, with lots of salt and butter. It's no wonder... now that it has turned into my least favorite season and the 1/2 mile walk to the grocery store is a necessity and not a pleasure, all I can think of is comfort food. My comfort foods are those that I grew up with, and although as a kid some were not great meals, I want them now more than ever. A while ago I made tuna noodle casserole, which was a Friday classic at our house. I put in more milk than I remember my mom doing and added chopped roasted red peppers and it was heavenly. Another Friday favorite was baked macaroni and cheese, which has been haunting me recently. Now this is not the Kraft variety that we begged for as kids, this is my mom's homemade version. It involved elbows, cheddar cheese (the kind that doesn't melt too good), milk, and a can of stewed tomatoes thrown in for good measure. As kids we hated it, but in my day if you didn't eat what was put in front of you, you didn't eat anything. Now, however I want to make that macaroni and cheese with stewed tomatoes, but instead of just adding lumps of cheese and pouring in the milk before baking, I think the production of a good Mornay sauce mixed into the elbows with the addition of drained chopped stewed tomatoes would be delicious. There is no law that says you can't improve your comfort food, but it should also maintain a certain familiarity to the foods of your past. For instance, steak and potatoes are not comfort foods for me, as we rarely ate that growing up. Fish can only be on the list if it is breaded and fried, with lots of tartar sauce on the side. Chili con carne is high on the list, as is Spanish rice (which in our house was chili con carne made with rice, and the beans omitted.) Chicken is not a comfort food, as we only ate legs and thighs back in the day before Perdue, and there was always some weird grisly thing hanging off the meat...eww. But the number one spot for the best comfort food goes to ... rigatoni and meat sauce. When I was a kids we only had spaghetti with meat sauce, and although my mom's version was terrific, if one of my sisters or brother even hinted at the word worm, I would lose my appetite. Since they were good sports and knew how much I loved to eat, that rarely happened, but now as the cook of my own comfort food I don't take chances. 

Won't You Please Buy My House

Just look at that majestic beauty sitting on the expanse of green lush lawn. Check out the original colors of that Victorian delight... if  you can show me a house with those colors within a 50 mile radius from here, I'll give you a $20 bill on the spot. No siree, this is a one of a kind house that needs to love you and yours. If you go up the stairs to the covered porch you will see a set of rockers that have provided hours of listening and laughing pleasure, from early in the morning as the first songbirds trill, until late at night when the owls make their rounds. Music has played each balmy evening... as loud as you want, Lou Reed, Van Morrison, INXS, Hillbilly Boogies... name your style and genre, the neighbors have heard it all and they don't mind. You'll want to dance when the spirit moves you, and that is all right, cause no one from the street can see you... it's so private and secluded. Once inside, you can leave your hats, umbrellas, galoshes or sports gear in the pre-foyer to keep the rest of the house neat and tidy. An old oak door crafted before the turn of the century will greet you with a Gaelic plaque that reads... A hundred thousand welcomes...  and from there it only gets better! The foyer is large enough for book cases, curios, or even a grandfather's clock, to let all your friends know upon arrival that you have style. To the right there is a beautiful staircase with a window seat at the base, so you can sit as you yell marching orders upstairs to your kids in the morning. To the left is a pocket door that will close off the living room, (whose floors are covered in elegant parquet), just in case you want a room that stays pristine, while the rest of the house is "lived in". As a matter of fact, the living room and combined parlor is big enough to host a dance party, and there is another set of pocket doors that will close to seal you in complete privacy ;>). The dining room is spacious... why we have hosted a party of 14, with no trouble at all, and it is truly elegant, yet charming at the same time. From there you will marvel at the renovated kitchen, with sculpted book cases on either end of an ancient fireplace... but don't let that fool you, the kitchen has new floors, cabinets, and counters. There are top of the line appliances... which we will throw in for free! Though cozy, you will find your friends and family laughing merrily as your dinner is cooking... and we will even provide the butcher block/pot rack and four stools that will allow them to enjoy your company as you cook. As we say, "Belly up to the bar!" Off the dining room, there is a TV room for all those sports fans that can't miss the game while dinner is progressing.. and a powder room, so no one needs to see the disarray of the upstairs sleeping quarters... unless they are truly nosey. Also off the dining room is a door and stairs to the basement, where a washer and dryer will magically do your laundry with very little effort on your part, and there is a fridge for all the extra wine, beer, and desserts at holiday time.  Off the kitchen there is a patio that is big enough to land a helicopter on...  just in case one of your jet setting friends wanted to fly in for the weekend, and beyond that... a park as far as the eye can see, until it drops off to a babbling brook, where a hammock awaits your romantic escape. Deer are your frequent companions... and foxes, bobcat, and raccoons patrol at night so you are always safe from human predators. On the second floor there is a master suite and two smaller bedrooms... one even has adjoining door to the master suite in case a nursery or dressing room is needed. A full bathroom looks out over your beautiful tree lined back yard. Up a cozy flight of stairs, lies the third floor with its skylights, two bedrooms (one features a real balcony), full bath, and attic room finished to look like a rustic cabin at the Jersey Shore. There is even a huge walk in cedar closet that is big enough to serve as an office. You will find that living here, you can eat what you want and not gain weight, as the stairs will keep you in tip top shape!

So won't you please buy my house?... please buy my house..... come on... do it now... please?

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!! ... GIVE THE BOYD'S A BREAK!

The Walk of Winter

This morning as I sipped coffee and stared out into the stark and gloomy scene of a November landscape, I noticed the first vestiges of the dreaded winter that was descending upon my yard. Small frosty flakes were silently falling in skips and beats under the mournful melancholy rattle of the crispy brown leaves that clung to the oak outside the window. A shiver went through me, as the water banged through the pipes in the old house I call my home. It's here... my bones told me as I creaked my way into the warm comfort of the couch, with the exuberant weatherman predicting a day of "unusual cold and flurries". "Hat, coat and gloves"... was all I heard as I settled in, slumped against the armrest, and folded my cloth clad legs beneath the warmth of my robe. Alright... I'm ready to hunker down, I thought, as I sneezed  and reached for a tissue. The sun came and went several times behind the cold, grey, mottled sky that I spied through the latches of blind, and the haziness of curtain. Later in the day, I was lured into the delusion that somehow I was going to enjoy the walk to the store, as I grabbed my all weather coat and headed for the door. As expected, I was hit in the face with an Arctic kiss of air that watered my eyes, if only for a moment. A burst of sun greeted me briefly, as if to egg me on, as I trudged down the street, kicking the withered brown leaves out of my way, as a petulant child would when there is no one to play with. The bare stark tree limbs swayed silently, as the sparse brown leaves whispered in the wind. Occasionally as I walked, my hair was swirled around my face in a tangled frenzy, as the frosty air nipped at my ear tips. I secretly wished that I had at least worn a hat, as I stuffed my frozen fingers into the cool pockets of a jacket without fleece. Occasionally I spied a tease at seasons past... there a yellow dandelion, or a bud of an azalea, or there a small tree that clung to the colorful leaves of yesterday's past. All taunts, I thought, as the wind whipped the crumpled leaves that seemed at times to follow me on my journey. My bones seemed hollow as I gazed up into the angry clouds tinged with gray and charcoal. Unseasonably cold.. or the start of winter... I was happy to hear the dainty chimes that welcomed me back to my own front door, and I thought of the teapot that would be singing for me in the next few minutes... leaving winter safely behind me for a while.

Seeing Red

What started out as a perfectly good day has gone south... where I wish I was right now. I am studying the Tarot, so when I chose my card today (to see what good fortune I would find), I picked the Sun card. The meaning could be summed up in four phrases actually... becoming enlightened, experiencing greatness, feeling vitality, and having assurance. Perfect! However, not to be content with the draw of the cards, or blind luck as it were, I also read my horoscope which stated... "You are the person that your friends and colleagues go to when they need a critical eye to assess a situation. Today, however, you are the one in need of a reality check. The problem is that you cannot rely on others right now, for they could inadvertently pull you off the track even further..." Well, no truer words were every stated. I had only to read a comment posted on my husband's Facebook wall that read...Gerald is so glad it's Monday... and I not only fell off the track, I exploded in flames and then numbly looked at the smoldering carcass that was left in the mud. My "enigma wrapped in a riddle" gave me my best test of my enlightenment, and now I should just go and put my face and all of it's shining glory on fail.org. Vitality? Yes, if I had a tackhammer I would put it to good use on his beautiful baby head with the assurance that his brain would swell and stifle the words, that spoken so innocently, would spout incoherently, so others could not deduce the dreaded outrage that I feel. We had a wonderful weekend, celebrating with friends, and cooking, and laughing and ... oh never mind. Mrs. Personality... my pet squirrel, is distracting me by trying to climb into the window next to where I am writing . She knows I am upset... and I am glad for her kind company. Or maybe, she is just thanking me for the nuts that I left on the back porch for her. One thing I know I am good at... is leaving the nuts behind. Cleansing breath...

JWB and Me.... Perfect Together

After a hard day's work of scrubbing, laundry, exercising, shopping, cooking, and writing, there are several sounds that ring like music to my ears. Ok, I admit the sound of the front door opening and my husband announcing his arrival home takes top honors. But in close second comes the combined sounds of ice being drawn into a pint glass, a screw top opened, the quick splash of a soft pour, a cold stream of water, a clinking stir, and the stab of a straw into the pale beverage that is indeed, the "water of life".  That is my cocktail, Johnny Walker Black ... the only other "man" in my life that rivals my husband for my attention. The first sip always reminds me of Christmas, though I don't know why, and the last sip of the night cheers my spirit while numbing my mind of mental chatter. I've tried all the other alcohol laced drinks over the years, but none of them can compare to my whiskey water cocktail. Wine is the worst, I can have a tiny glass of white and it's ok with a meal, but if more than that is consumed, I get very, very irritable. If it's red wine...forget it...I guarantee there will be a fight of some sort. Beer is great, I love the taste, but the bloat and the gas are not really worth the happy buzz. Vodka is just plain gross, gin gives me a headache, while the whole parade of sweet drinks will guarantee that I guzzle instead of sip and get sick. Now on special winter occasions, I love a small snifter of single malt scotch, particularly Laguvulin ( which is real peaty and not for the delicate palate). I have recently learned that JWB has a percentage of Lagavulin in it, which is why no other blended scotch can compare. JWB is expensive, so I only need a very small amount in a lot of ice water to provide me with the pleasure of his company. I stay hydrated as I sip, and I can have more than one if I so choose and never get the dreaded hangover. Yes, I have had a long pleasant affair with JWB and my husband is fine with it...as long as "he" continues to keep me happy.

A Near Death Experience

Sometimes when I'm feeling a little discouraged, confused or distressed, I tap into memory that has changed my life. It was 1994 and I had just had a myelogram to pinpoint the ruptured disc that would require surgery to correct the increasing paralysis of my right arm. The radiologist and nurse were engaged in a friendly banter as dye was injected into my body. Suddenly the room got quiet and I heard the words whispered, "I thought you turned it off." I was placed in a tilted position, head down and thought my head was going to explode.. the pain was excruciating. I was wheeled to the CT scan room where I felt dizzy, sick and weak. When I complained about the severe headache I was experiencing, I was told, "It's normal". While in the same day recovery room, the headache worsened and I needed to crawl out of bed to the bathroom where I was projectile vomitting..."all normal side effects I was told." When a young orderly took my blood pressure it was 70/30, which any nurse would tell you is a sign of impending shock, and yet when I mentioned this fact I was told, "naw, the machine is just not working properly." At closing time in the same day unit I was told that my mom had arrived to take me home, and although I protested, now having double vision and chills, I was told "sorry you have to go." A young man helped me into a wheelchair where I lost consciousness, my heartbeat, and blood pressure, and was quickly thrown back on the bed. Hovering above myself, I heard that a code was called and several nurses ran over to start IV's, as my mom held my hand and cried. I was myself, as I watched the scene from above, except that as the vision slowly disintegrated into a warm white light, I felt no fear, no sorrow, or emotion of any kind. I was completely at peace as a thought, content that everything was part of me and I was part of everything. Though only a few minutes were spent in this state of radiant bliss, I was suddenly flanked by two beautiful angels who were laughing kindly, while escorting the essence of me downward. "It's not your time, you have many things to do yet, they communicated." Soon after, I awoke in the intensive care unit, with IVs attached and a terrific headache. Although I felt a little sad, I was grateful for the second chance. I was even more grateful that I was able to sustain the memory of those few glorious minutes. It has made me believe that while there is no ending to who we are, what we usually place so much importance on, is really not that important at all. Living is a necessary journey and a gift... a reason to relearn that what seems separate is really part of a beautiful whole. And so when the occasional dilemma arises, I try to think about that gift from the radiant realm and remember... ALL is well.

The Secret of Sexy

I am a great watcher of people and although I occasionally learn from the behavior of others , one of the greatest lessons I've learned comes from a simple comment from my husband, and then watching my behavior in comparison to that comment. You see, like most women I have gauged my own sex appeal by comparing myself to other women. It's no secret that women get a sense of sexiness from all the competition that flashes on the silver screen, the TV, the Internet and in magazines. The truth is, that when we are looking at the exterior of all that glitter and glamour to identify the sexy factor, we are completely missing the point. I suspect most men would find the the high fashion and explicit sex chat of the Sex and the City girls completely inane, and yet this show seems to be the premiere showcase for what sexiness is all about.  But I remember one time watching my husband stare at a women, who according to my calculations was about 50 lbs overweight, in sweats and a tee shirt, with her head held high, and her shoulders thrown back, marching down the street looking pleased as punch with herself. I asked, "what do you make of her"? His reply.. "she's sexy". I was stunned, but was able to meekly ask... "why is that"? "Well, look at her, she has a lot of confidence in herself." Confidence?! After a brief slow burn, I decided right then and there to check in with my confidence now and then... never really thought about that one. Sure enough, it soon became evident that the lack was there, as I started to ask him... "do you think I look fat?" Bingo! the light came on and I caught myself. Since then, I have shelved the self derogatory comments and questions about muffin tops, bunts, gut pouch, and cellulite. No more asking, "what would you like to see me wear?"... I know what I like. Admittedly, at first it was a struggle, but ultimately I have made peace with my body, my face, my personality... and quite frankly, I like me. Now when my husband tells me I look great, I refrain from past pathetic comments, like "your just saying that.." and I proudly respond..."damn right I do!" So what if it sounds a little cocky... the results of my new attitude have been worth the effort. 

Bring on the Vicks

Today I am feeling a bit under the weather. It started as a vague nausea and body aches, so I tried to bite the bullet, bundled up and went for my hourly bike ride around town. The wind was not in  my favor, so I struggled to keep my usual pace and instead of ending the ride invigorated, I got off the bike and limped into the house. Every muscle and joint was complaining, my sinuses were stuffy and my only thought was getting up enough energy to take a bath and reach for the jar of Vicks Vapo Rub. Now I have to admit that I use a dab of that aromatic vaseline quite frequently, as the smell is a comfort left over from my childhood. On real sick days from the distant past, I would slowly walk down the stairs like a zombie and announce to my mom (in the most pathetic voice I could muster) "I'm sick." My mom was a nurse, which meant that you got some tough scrutiny before the OK was given to march back up to bed. " What hurts?", "did you do your homework?" and then" let me get the thermometer" would precede the decision. Staying home sick was not fun time in my house. The breakfast cure all was a poached egg with dry toast bits thrown in the soupy egg and mixed around... which was the perfect emetic if the flu was of the stomach variety. This was served with weak tea and lemon. The rule was, that if you stayed home from school, you had to lay in your bed in the quiet of your bedroom (no TV or toys) and rest during the entire school day. At lunchtime, my mom would bring up the Lipton chicken noodle soup, and would spend a few minutes stroking your head, maybe reading you a book, and if you had the "congestion flu" she would turn on the steam vaporizer, and dab a little Vicks under your red chapped runny nose to help you breathe. There was something about that long awaited together time with mom, that more than made up for the quiet morning spent staring at the ceiling. Usually by the end of the day, you were allowed to watch a little TV (but late afternoon is when your temperature would be at it's highest, and by then it was like watching a noisy blur). At bedtime, after another bowl of soup and maybe some ginger ale, mom again would take the temp, stroke your feverish forehead, dab the Vicks, and put on the vaporizer. There was something about that ritual that I miss when I'm not feeling quite right, and so I am often dabbing the cooling grease under my nose before bed... several times a week sometimes. It will cure a headache, open up sinuses, dull joint pain, and I'm convinced it will even smooth out the old lady mustache wrinkles that are starting to form above my top lip. But mostly, I think I use that pungent product to soothe me... as I remember my mom's cool hand stroking my head once did. 

My Daughter, My Friend

Saturday will mark my daughter Tara's 30th birthday, and it has taken some time to get used to the fact that she is no longer my little girl. I remember the first time I laid eyes on her little cherub face and saw the red patch of hair upon her head and my heart swelled with love and pride ... much the same way it does today when I see her coming up the front porch, pocketbook and keys in hand, as she picks me up to take me to lunch. She worries that I might get lonely the same way that I worried about her when she went away to college. I miss those early years when she was a toddler and would sit patiently, two middle fingers in her mouth, and hold the bottle for her cranky brother who was positioned in the infant seat. She never complained when I ordered her to get his diapers, keep and eye on him, or make him stop crying. At two years old she was able to manage all these skills and even now she continues to be a little mother for her grown brother. Her favorite food as a child was cookies, and it seems like yesterday when she would sneak up behind me in the pantry and pull on my apron, and state "one cookie, dats all," (her little finger proudly holding up one finger to really make the point). I couldn't resist that ploy and would often give her two, just for being so cute. Now when we "do lunch" and are both ordering salads, she is apt to remind me that my cookie generosity is one of the reasons she is ordering hers, and we both laugh. I am guilty as charged. We had few disagreements as she grew up because she always seemed wiser than her years. As a young mother, I could easily produce a temper tantrum when things didn't go my way, and Tara always had a way of calming me down, usually by just sitting next to me and stroking my hair.  She always made me so proud, whether it was getting great grades in honor classes, singing and playing piano in various choirs, dancing with the troupe at school...all things that I had a secret wish to achieve (it was as if she knew). Even as a teen, when parents are supposed to be the enemy, we never really got into power struggles. She exchanged views and ideas so maturely that as long as safety wasn't the issue, I would usually let her have her way and there was never trouble of any kind. Tara has written some of the most beautiful cards and letters for me over the years, one of the favorites is the essay she wrote for college entrance about how I have inspired her. My favorite gift of all time is when she decorated a glass jar with a gold bow and a label that read 'Reasons why I Love You'.. there were 67 reasons on slips of paper in that jar... perfect little messages that continue to give me strength when life gets tough. She is such a nurturer and shares my love of animals. Not only does she mother Lily, my grandoggie and two kittens Milo and Mimi... she has been sheltering dogs who were on their way to be destroyed... and has given them love and care until a good home was found. I could go on and on and on about the beauty of my daughter (whose nickname is Beauty) but one of the greatest gifts my daughter has given to me is the gift of her friendship. She is my best girlfriend and although there are times when she needs her mom (I will always be there), I love knowing that we truly enjoy each other's company. Happy Birthday to my Wonderful daughter and friend!!!

The Age of Aquarius has Arrived

Last night I was glued to the TV set watching the election results, listening to the political chat, and eagerly awaiting the final announcement that Barack Obama had won. I thought about all those Americans who waited hours in line to cast their vote with the hope that it truly mattered. I cried as a watched three generations of an African American family talking about how much the election meant to them. The eldest member could barely speak through her emotional tears of pride and joy, and her voting grandson quietly stated that his candidate has made him strive to do better with his own life. I thought about the economic meltdown that was able to wake up a nation to the fact that political thieves had just about bankrupted the nation and a radical change was needed ( talk about a silver lining!). I remembered the Chicago riots that occurred after the death of  Martin Luther King Jr. and thought how fitting that 40 years later this would be the city to welcome the first African American President.. the "dream" was truly coming true for so many. When I watched the crowds assemble at Grant Park I marveled at the diversity of the crowd. It was truly a proud American melting pot of people of all ages who were side by side, waving flags, laughing, crying, singing, cheering and sharing the joy of the slogan YES WE CAN! I couldn't help but think of that hopeful song of the 60's sung by The Fifth Dimension,  whose lyrics rang out in my head :

 "Harmony and understanding

   Sympathy and trust abounding

   No more falsehoods or derisions

   Golden living dreams of visions

   Mystic crystal revelation

    And the mind's true liberation"...

 And I thought with a smile on my face and joy in my heart..  yes indeed, the Age of Aquarius has arrived!

A Day to Remember

At 5:00 AM I was immediately wide awake and checking the clock to make sure I did not oversleep. As I jumped out of bed, I felt like a child getting up for the long awaited trip to Disney World. The TV was on, and as I sipped coffee and listened to the newscasters talk about Election Day, I could barely contain my excitement. Today would be the first time in my life when I would be going to the polls with a clear choice for a man I truly admire. No voting for the lesser of evils, no disgruntled vote for an independent without a chance... just the honor of a lifetime to cast my vote for a brilliant and humble man with a strategic vision that has woken up a sleeping country devastated by the last administration. My husband and I got dressed and headed to the local firehouse at 5:55 to cast our votes. We were the second couple there. The first was a businessman and his wife in soccer mom sweats, and although we kindly said good morning to each other, I could tell we were probably on opposite sides of the fence. I think my tie dyed shirt and ankh cross, and my husbands Carhardt pants and knit cap gave us away to them as well. No matter, we all stared at the heavy door, peeking through the window, as the poll maids fussed about. Soon there was a small line of about 6 people, and I was getting impatient as it was already after 6:00 AM. The businessman finally tried the door and it was open all along. Names were exchanged for slips of paper, and I now waited patiently (as the second in line) to cast my votes. I hit the push buttons as hard as I could to make sure they lit up as they were supposed to, and hit the 'cast vote' button with an exaggerated flick of my wrist. It was over in a matter of seconds (I actually studied the sample ballot several times prior to coming... just to be sure). Now comes the hard part... waiting for the results and listening to the inane chatter of media. I will be both watching and listening throughout the day, as a means to alleviate my excitement in anticipation for the historic acceptance speech I hope to hear from my candidate, Barack Obama. 

As The Wheel Turns

Friday was a glorious Autumn day, marking the end of Summer and the beginning of a New Year. Known to most as Halloween and celebrated by many as Samhain (pronounced Sow'en) it is perhaps my favorite day of the year. My two pumpkins stood proudly between the mums on my porch steps, waiting to be carved into Jack-O-Lanterns to welcome the spirits of my deceased ancestors. The squirrels, being ever the pranksters, secretly carved a cavern into the back of one of them when I wasn't looking, probably as a goodwill gesture for all the cashews and potato chips that my husband has been throwing their way. I brought in the one that was left intact and carved a happy face, saving the seeds to be dried out and baked as a salty snack for another day. I was graciously invited to help my mother- in- law decorate the public library for their Red-Hat Halloween celebration. So donning a Happy Halloween tee shirt, I was picked up by one sultry flapper and a Little Red Riding Hood (who at 95 years old is as cute as a button and as sharp as a tack) and headed over to help with the decorations. In no time, the room was as festive as a kids party, as a jovial group of costumed ladies paraded in to celebrate. I took my cue to leave when it was pointed out that I was just a kid... maybe a Pink Hat gal, but certainly not old enough for the Red Hats. So home I traveled to prepare my celebration for the New Year and also to get ready for the little tricksters who would be begging at my door. Otis, my bunny was in no mood for his little Merlin costume, and I didn't argue knowing full well that my grandpuppies would be coming over dressed in costume to get their bony treats, and he would be upset enough over that event. Sure enough, the bulldogs arrived, Lily as a Giants fan and Betty as a bee, and Otis needed to be caged to protect them from certain ninja kicks to the head (he is a little jealous and a lot feisty). As I cooked cornbread stuffed pork chops and listened to my favorite harpsichordist, Igor Kipnis, play Bach and Beethoven, the sun slowly melted under the tree tops. My son came over for the night, as he was having a Halloween fright of a serious ant infestation at his apartment, and so the table was set for six. He didn't even mind as I gave my lengthy blessing for the coming year and toasted our deceased grandparents who were such an important part of our past. As this dinner is an important part of the celebration, the candy bowl was left on the front porch with a help yourself note while we ate. Afterwards, my husband and I retreated to the porch and handed out the candy to the Halloweeners who came, and exchanged pleasantries with some new parents in the neighborhood. As the Caspar the Ghost candle and my Jack-O-Lantern flickered in the dark night, and the revelers dwindled, we took turns reciting our sacred poetry to the wind in preparation for the long Winter season that was coming our way.

Art in the Kitchen

The time is 5:45 AM and I am waking in the dark and slowly heading for the closet to retrieve my striped fuzzy bathrobe. The parquet floors are cold and I head for the light switch to illuminate the room and search under the bed for my cozy bedroom slippers. As I head down the stairs one step at a time (listening with dismay at my creaking knees and ankles) I have one thought in mind...need coffee. My nose leads the way to the kitchen where I mumble a curt "morning" to Otis my bunny, who having had his breakfast of 5 blueberries, is hopping around the dimly lit kitchen. My husband is already out on his morning bike ride and I shudder to think of him in the cold and dark. I reach for a coffee mug and head to the counter where our proud "grind and brew" coffee pot sits perched on the counter. I grab the handle which feels very heavy at this ungodly time of the day and pour my fill. I then retreat to the TV room to see what the day's weather will be and half listen to the NY news, as I sip my coffee. So far, all is within the routine. However, on my next trip to the kitchen I just happen to push the coffee maker back towards the wall and I am awestruck by what I see. There on the counter top is a brown swirl of leaked coffee that is staring back at me from the white corian counter... looking like some prehistoric snow leopard. I stand transfixed and exclaim to Otis, "will you look at that!" Nothing gets me that excited at that time of the day as when I find something that looks like artwork. I head to the foyer and grab my Canon rebel, that lives there waiting for a pretty sunrise or a shot of the moon, and snap my masterpiece. What luck, today is starting out just right, I think to myself. Although it is just coffee that has leaked out of the bottom of the coffee maker, and I should be irritated that this has occurred and is staining the counter top, I can't bring myself to cleaning it up until I feel I have the right angle for my masterpiece. Once I feel that I captured this wild beast, I upload it into the computer to make sure it is for real. Satisfied, I return to the kitchen and wipe up the spill. My kind of art is lurking everywhere, especially when and where I'd least expect it. 

The Lowly Earthworm

Nothing strikes fear in my heart as deeply as the earthworm, who after the night-time rain falls in the softer climates, writhes pink and naked from rugged pavement towards the dark moist safety of the soil. A creature without eyes to see, or ears to hear that breathes through his skin and embraces both genders as one entity (even though they still have to mate with other hermaphodites to have babies). The earthworm is a true anomaly in the land of faces. A skinny sliding body who, if not careful, will be baked to a crisp in the noonday sun or be drowned in the puddles at the edge of the curb. The worm knows no fear and holds no malice; he simply knows without reason what his mission is. It is a very high calling to cultivate the soil for crops and gardens to grow and thrive. She is also in good company as there are about a million of them gliding around in the ground per acre of property. He is preyed upon by birds and mammals, and even man will try to catch him as bait for fish, and his only defense is to try to glide away and wiggle fiercely. It's not that she doesn't have a heart, she has 5-10 aortic arches that function as a heart that allows her little body to swallow mountains of dirt and change it into a nurturing compost. No one thinks much of her as she glides silently through her dark quarters, and gardeners and children alike pull and throw her tender body. But lowly he may be to the visitors who tower above, and unknowingly or unwittingly step upon and squash his very being, he is a true child of the Earth ( an Earth who pets him as he dutifully blesses her bounty). Am I afraid of him, this segmented mantle of flesh whose only defense is a writhing dance? Or am I afraid for her as she meekly seeks her way back home, exposed in a dangerous world of scavengers? Or do I see myself as a lowly worm, crawling for a long forgotten place in the Garden and sense my mission is futile (as the snake has told me)? Since I don't quite know what it is about that worm that frightens me, perhaps I'll just have to watch, learn, and try to understand.

Snow in October

Well, it has been snowing those big lazy flakes that seem to signal, enjoy us now as this won't last too long. It's a 28 degree wind chill according to Weather Channel, and I am happily gazing out the windows with a sweater on and the heat pushed up to 70. I know I'm colder than I normally would be only because of the unannounced appearance of the snow. It's funny but although some snow was predicted this morning for northwestern regions of NJ, I heard of nothing but a possible wind advisory and lots of rain in the forecast. It was just yesterday though, that I spied some cirrocumulus clouds as I went about my walk. Usually these clouds lurk high in the atmosphere at about 20,000 feet and are made of ice crystals. They look like tiny puffs in a pattern, and they reminded me of a snow dusting in the sky. Since it was rather balmy and sunny, I didn't give them too much thought, although it was the first conscious thought of snow in a long time. Frankly, I thought we would already be on the road cruising points south to avoid the cold and snow that will probably be above normal on both accounts, at least according to the Farmers Almanac. My personal opinion is that snow appearing before Halloween is a sure sign of a scary winter (unless, you really like the stuff and then it would be a winter paradise). So, although I couldn't resist hanging out both the front and back doors snapping photos of the weather anomaly, I am now happy to be inside with the heat up, sipping hot tea and trying not to listen to the menacing sound of the cold northwest wind. 

Celebrating Oktoberfest

Yesterday was a perfect autumn day to celebrate what has become a yearly tradition in our family, Oktoberfest. It is hosted by my ex-husband and his lovely wife Heather, and includes the grown children from marriages past and current, and any nieces, nephews and friends who are available to participate. Many of my friends are amazed that my husband and I have become such good friends with my ex and his wife. Normally divorce is a bitter end to a family's way of life, but when two people sincerely put the welfare of their children ahead of negativity and resentment, the rewards are astounding. What you get is a bigger extended family in which the word "step" does not enter into the vocabulary. Heather is a terrific cook and a fabulous entertainer who has a real eye for detail. Both her home and her buffet table look like a page from Country Living magazine. My ex Jay is a grill master extraordinaire and still has the most contagious laugh I ever heard. The food was incredible! There were brats, ribs and london broil, homemade baked beans, and a pear, goat cheese and radicchio salad with walnuts on the side. Heather is so close even to my current husband's children, she knows and corrects recipes for their food allergies. She treats all the kids (including the nieces and nephews) as her own, and in return the kids adore her. I am proud when my own children state that they have two mothers, as she has been there for them right from the start. The only bit of trepidation I had in attending  this year stemmed from the fact that my cooking skills have become a little rusty (generally I'm a baker), and so I labored over a german potato salad recipe right up until party time. Luckily Heather and Jay only live 5 minutes away. You can't really miss with any recipe that calls for a pound of bacon. The kids (all over 21) brought various beers or wine, and our girls contributed appetizers of cheese, crackers and fruit, and desserts of drunken pound cake and apple crisp. There was no shortage of laughter and stories around the fire that burned in the chimenea, as the family enjoyed the last of the outdoor celebrations for the year. Midge, Midas, Lily and Betty (two pit bulls and two bulldogs who are family pets) ran around the yard playing and chasing in their own version of merriment. Even the finches hiding in the nearby bamboo got into the boisterous fun of the party, which carried on well after sun down. Driving home, I thought of our family as a true testament that life can be better after divorce ... once the decision has been made to get along. 

P.S. I am now including all my mentioned recipes from a gadget at the end of my blog. Just scroll and enter the recipe name.

A Necessary Intrusion

Our house has been on the market since May, and although many people have come through to view our labor of love, to date we have not had any serious offers. With the economy in a tailspin, this is probably the worst market to try and sell a 100 year old Victorian micro mansion. So when I received a call at noon today that a local realtor would like to show my house, naturally I was excited. However once he stated that the only time he and his clients could make the viewing was at 1 PM today, my excitement quickly turned to panic. I was having one of those lazy days, when the breakfast dishes were scattered about and last night's pot was still soaking in the sink. Otis my rabbit, had one of his little tantrums and had managed to scatter his litter and droppings all over the kitchen floor. He also pulled apart a napkin that didn't quite make its way to the garbage can. I had been simmering a pot of navy beans on the stove with some chipotle peppers, and although my enchiladas will be delicious later, that beany pungent smell would probably not be that enticing to most people. With as much enthusiasm as I could muster, I told the realtor it would be just fine to come at 1 PM. As soon as I hung up the phone I flew into action. Otis's Italian designer cage was cleaned and he was quickly put into it. I scrubbed the pot and unloaded and loaded the dishwasher, throwing anything that looked dusty in as well. Two vacuum cleaners were pulled out of their hiding places and the litter and the napkin were sucked up into the hand held one, followed by an overall cleaning with the upright. I then continued my frantic vacuuming into the dining room, TV room, living room and foyer and then both vacuums were stowed away in the front hall closet. Next priority was grabbing a plastic bag where garbage cans from 4 floors of the house were emptied and then it was stored in the basement. While there, I put  in a load of laundry that was lying on the floor and then raced up two flights of stairs to check the state of the master bedroom. All the creams, potions and makeup that littered my dresser were thrown into a basket in the closet. A quick wipe of the dressers with a sleeve was all I could spare, and I opened the window to air out the room. Luckily the bed was already made and so I dashed into the bathroom to do a quick polish of the sink and tub, and hid some fern droppings under the bathmat. A second floor office needed the iron and ironing board to be hid in a closet, and the guest bedroom only needed the lights to be flicked on. Sweating and panting I flew up to the third floor and hid my mystical tools in the meditation room, turned on all the lights in the two bedrooms, bathroom, and closets, and sprayed some air freshener around. Like lightening, I flew down to the first floor and put out the brochures and realty calling cards on the dining room table, hid the stacked up mail that was strewn over the table, and dashed to turn all first floor lights on. I had only enough time to sweep the back porch when I heard a knock at the door at 12:4o. I was met by the realtor and a delightful young couple who apologized for their early arrival. Oh well.. it is what it is. I sat on the front porch, breathing heavily and secretly hoping they would be the final takers of the house. Only a quick 10 minutes later they were gone, after making the usual comment that the house was so tastefully appointed ( which has come to mean, it is not really what we are looking for). So now I am completely exhausted and I'm currently cracking a beer to help alleviate the stress. My work is done here.