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.