In My Room

" There's a place where I can go and tell my secrets to"... you know, the 1963 hit by Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys which is one of my favorite songs. I too, have a room where I go to find myself, or sort things out, or celebrate in my own little way. I refer to it as the Meditation Room, and it became mine when my oldest daughter moved out. I painted it the color of raspberry sherbet and pasted those sticky glowing stars on the ceiling. Four of the bigger stars designate the directions of North, South, East, and West so I can maintain my bearing in the world up there. There is silver carpeting and a big white meditation pillow that sits on the floor. In the morning when the sun rises in the east view window, I sit there and get lost in a meditation of color. Usually the first color I see is orange, (supposedly the color of my aura) but within minutes as I adjust the tension in my closed eyes, the colors change to yellow, maroon, purple, and then white. Occasionally I see green and turquoise as well. If it is dark, I will light a candle, and usually I burn incense as well. An old antique mirror sits on the floor, and often as I gaze into it I can see myself as I really am, and not how I'd like to appear. Below the window is an old bureau, where I change candles, and decorate this "alter" with natural elements from the season... flowers, pine cones, sea shells, holly... everything is sacred here. Sometimes I will do a reading or two from a Celtic prayer book, and I always read messages from my Angel Book to keep me grounded. A beautiful nude statue of Aphrodite stands with arms lifted to the heavens, reminding me of my own goddess good fortune. Sometimes, I will strum a little Tara harp that I've acquired, and I am proud that I can tune it by ear and play twinkle twinkle, little star. I have a set of Runes, which are diving stones that let me know what's in store for my restless nature... more than not, I will pick the Rune for required patience. This room has been a sanctuary for me these past few years, and I'm thankful that I have gained insight from my deliberations there. When the house sells (which it will) I will certainly miss my room. But I have learned from the Tao readings that I do, that all is impermanence, and I will embrace the change that comes from letting the material world (including my room) go.

The Waiting Game

Yesterday we had a second visit from a family who is interested in buying our home. Although I made a point of concluding that since they had already seen it, I did not need to go overboard with cleaning and polishing... I did. The morning was spent scrubbing , polishing, disinfecting, and generally running around like a nut with cleaners and rags. Once the dirtiest chores were completed I baked some chocolate chip cookies, as a way to make the house smell homey, and also as a welcome to our return family. I was happy they arrived on time, and we exchanged some pleasantries and then went about our Sunday errands. I thought for sure, they would have their realtor contact ours yesterday after the visit. Today I am getting antsy waiting and wondering why the phone isn't ringing with an offer. I have been practically walking around the house with the phone in my hand all morning. I held off my trip to the grocery store until noon, figuring that lunchtime would probably be the safest time to walk the hour trip and not miss a call. However upon return home... no call or message. I've been telling myself that just because I am impatient and when something gets in my head I have to do it immediately, other people are just as likely to be mullers and take their time making a decision, especially an expensive one. The suspense is mounting.... will they call, do they want it, did their grown children not like it, are they contacting a lawyer first... the thoughts go on and on. I tried to divert my attention to my creative pursuits, but I just couldn't get into it today. I want an answer in the form of an offer so I know where we stand on our mission to get going on the road... so close, just one little dollar amount will do the trick... c'mon please call. Jeez, if it was ever apparent that I could use a little more patience, more thoughtfulness, and a dose of reality, today is a banner day for that realization.

The Anniversary of Fired

Today is the one year anniversary of a day I will never forget... the day I got fired from my job. The circumstances surrounding this traumatic event have been relived, analyzed, and rehashed in both my waking life and dream states. I have finally come to terms with the situation that precipitated the dreaded event, and have moved through the various stages of grief. So today, I will recap the better story of my departure from a job I enjoyed for a little more than a year.

 It was a beautiful Spring day, with the bright sunshine pouring through the windows. I quietly went through my morning routine as I had for the past year, but I had a sinking feeling and tightness in my chest. I would be taking the 10 minute drive to work for the last time today. I was fired over the phone, but needed to show up for the paperwork to be processed. As usual, I was the first employee to arrive. Normally I would swipe my ID card and go up a flight of stairs to my bright and cheerful office. Today, I chose to sit in the lobby and wait for my ex-boss to arrive. There was a new security guard on duty, and she chatted on about the difficulties of her job and how she needed a change. I could only listen and smile. Two of my co-workers who were very friendly with the boss glanced at me, and turned away in embarrassment... evidently they knew my fate. When one of my senior colleagues arrived, he asked why I was sitting in the lobby. I told him I was terminated. In disbelief, he said, "that's just ridiculous, you're one of the top performers... he can't just do that. Go up to your office and start working and I'm sure the whole disagreement will blow over." Reluctantly I followed him to my office. I logged into my computer and deleted my personal contacts, password files, and then emailed my personal files home. At 9:00 I was summoned to my boss's office to meet with him and an HR rep. She asked me to give my version of the story, which I did as calmly and honestly as I could. My boss would not look at me, but glared out the window. When I finished my story, I was told by the rep that since my boss felt I was so unhappy, it would be in my best interest to leave. I told her that I loved my job and would not leave voluntarily. I was then escorted into a private room with her, where she asked me if there was any information about my boss that might change my situation. I stifled the impulse to blurt out my grievance regarding his lack of professionalism and moral judgement, and instead offered, "I can't work for someone I don't respect." The HR rep looked visibly upset, as she had remembered that I had sent her a birthday card just a month prior ( it was something I did for all the employees whose paths I crossed in the company I was proud to work for). She then offered to help me pack my office, and together we went to work. The office outside my door was very quiet; there was no usual morning banter or trips to the coffee pot. I was thankful no one came to watch me or say good-bye, as I would have probably cried... these were my friends. As the last of my office decorations were loaded into my car, I thanked the HR rep for her help and professionalism in what must have been a tough task. With tears in her eyes, she hugged me and wished me the very best of luck... with a reminder, that perhaps God had a better plan for me. I left inwardly defeated, but with my head held high, smiling in the brilliant sunlight.

After a year of regroup and reconnect (and the unwavering support of a loving husband), I think perhaps she was right.

Sneaky Pete Otis Gets Caught

My bunny rabbit Otis has been a bit lazy this winter. Most of his day is spent in the kitchen, where he will sit for hours on end in the various pots and pans we keep stored under a butcher block table. I was always afraid to give him free run of the house, because rabbits like to chew things and I was scared to death he might chew an electric cord and electrocute himself. Lately though, I've decided to spend a hour in the morning letting him roam the downstairs of the house. There are only four rooms besides the kitchen, and when I let him out to hop and explore, I can usually hear the thumping of his big back paws as he scoots around with his big old butt. At first he is cautious and will slowly hop around the perimeter of a room. In the dining room he feels safest in the middle of the table and chairs, which provides a nice maze of obstacles to hop around and over. As he gets a little bolder he will sprint across the hard wood floors and when he sees me coming at him, will go into full blown rabbit escape mode, sliding and skidding to a halt, and then change direction in the blink of an eye. Sometimes as I watch him sitting on the green and yellow pattern rug, he will soar into the air and do a 360 degree spin and then shudder in delight. This is his happy bunny dance, otherwise known as rabbit maneuvers. He has been so good about exploring and exercising these past few days, I decided to sit at the computer and do a little work as he played. I became engrossed in one of my blogs for a few minutes, when the thought struck me that I couldn't hear his hopping and thumping around. I called for him and only heard silence. Then, in a moment of panic I searched the four rooms to no avail. Never would I have suspected where he was. He had quietly hopped up the flight of stairs to the second floor, and tried to hide behind the photo albums that are wedged between the rungs of the stair case. When I approached, he sprinted up the stairs and down the long hall and under one of the beds. He knew he was in trouble as I crawled under the bed and grabbed him. Down the stairs we came, and I gated him in the kitchen. He went immediately to his litter box, and proceeded to push the litter and hay onto the floor in a temper tantrum. When he commenced making a mess of my floor, he sat staring at me and chewing on a piece of hay. I couldn't even scold him, as it was I who was dumb enough to think he was not capable of hopping up the stairs. Tomorrow he can again have his hour of freedom, but this time I will not have the freedom to keep my eyes off of him for even a second. He is a Sneaky Pete, but I am a Nervous Nellie.  

Shadows of Spring

Ah Spring, and another chilly day it is. The shun shines warmly, the sky is blue... but the temperature is 10 degrees below what is normal for this time of year. I'm trying to be patient for coming beauty of my favorite season, but getting through March is tough. I chose to post this picture to remind myself that at least we don't have to deal with snow, but somehow with the reflection of the tree branches highlighted in blue, while the sun shines overhead... it's not completely winter stark... there is a warm glowing hope. I need to be steady and patient like the tree branches, who are probably just as excited to begin budding again... and so I shall. Instead of making those big discontented sighs that I am known for when things don't go my way, I will take a deep cleansing breath, sit in the sun with my eyes closed and think about all the good things that are currently happening in my life. I won't dwell on the fact that my plans haven't reached the fruition I had hoped for as yet, but will remain steadfast in the belief that they will occur when I learn to be patient and trusting. For hope, without patience and trust, just seems like an unattainable pipe dream.  

A Simple Stroll

Each day as part of my morning routine, I go to my mediation room and perform my own little spiritual service. One of my readings comes from my Daily Guidance from your Angels written by Doreen Virtue. These are inspirational little words of encouragement that always seem to brighten my day. Today's message was to celebrate the surroundings and go for a stroll, in an attempt to commune with nature and open up one's heart. It's still a little chilly, especially with the wind chill, but I decided to bundle up and stroll, and experience. My first encounter was with a trio of squawking crows, who were noisily chasing a red tailed hawk. I watched as the nervy black birds chased and dive bombed the graceful predator and wondered what the "bad boy" did to deserve such a chasing. Soon after, another hawk appeared and the crows flew away. I continued to watch as the two hawks were joined by two turkey buzzards, and the foursome flew high into the air and began circling in the currents. It never occurred to me that these two species could play together. Next, as I strolled along, I noticed someone's yard was a-buzz with all these flying insects that stayed low to the ground. On further inspection, they looked liked bees, but were flying in and out of little mounded holes in the ground. Knowing that bees usually congregate and live in hives, I wondered if these "bees" were actually mud wasps or hornets (something for me to look up on the web later). Walking further along at a slow and leisurely pace, I experienced the faint smell of smoke. At first it reminded me of the smell of leaves burning in the streets after a fall raking (which was allowed when I was little) and it was a nice memory. But then I remembered the smell of smoke after a small house fire we experienced last year, and the memory changed from pleasant to worrisome. On the local news today, I recalled a high fire warning due to the low humidity and winds, which was an unusual warning for our area. I hoped that what I smelled was someone's fireplace or coal burning stove, and not a dreaded disaster. As I continued with my leisurely stroll, I noticed everything I could take in with my senses and felt a calm peace as I wondered and watched my thoughts. As the wind blew my hair around my face, in the same way it blew the branches of the pine trees high in the air, I felt connected... and contented just to be.

The House Goddesses of Old

My site is sub-titled 'Reflections of the everyday House Goddess', which for many is just a euphemism for a housewife. It is a shame that in this day and age, woman should ever feel apologetic for their role as a housewife, stay at home mom, or woman without a job. In ancient Greece there was a Goddess named Hestia, who was a Goddess of the Hearth or Sacred Fire. She was so highly regarded that she was one of the 12 Olympians (or gods) that ruled over the mortals. She favored a quiet, humble hospitality, and because she became weary of her family's quarrelsome nature, she gave up her seat to Dionysus, God of Wine. It is said that this God, chased women around and they frequently became mad and violent (which is why I never drink the stuff). Although a beautiful woman, Hestia chose not to marry, but instead dedicated herself to tending to those who needed the sanctuary of a stable home environment. As the keeper of reserves, she made sure everyone who came to her home was comfortable. Another Goddess in the Greek pantheon was Hera. She was the wife of Zeus, and although she gets a bad rap for being jealous and vindictive, she actually was the mother figure for his children, and enjoyed a 300 year honeymoon with him. As he was a philanderer, sometimes Hera would retreat to her own world, hoping he would miss her... perhaps he did, but it was she who always relented and returned. As she was the Goddess of Marriage, one would expect no less an emotional response on her part. She was called upon to protect children, the sanctity of marriage, and financial security. Lastly, there is Aphrodite, whose power stands apart from any God... she had many dalliances. She is known as the Goddess of Love and Beauty, but lesser known are her powers over laughter, art and poetry, and lovemaking. She was very dependent, but also fiercely protective of her children. So, as I reflect upon these Goddesses of old, I can relate to them in my own life... and I call upon their strengths when I need to, and always find solace. As a domestic goddess in my own right, I want to be a saintly helper of people, a supportive companion, a strong defender of the family, an artist, and enjoyer of life. I embrace the tenets of these Goddesses of old.. and many others. Though I live my life at home, I feel I am moving the world along ... in my own glorious way.

Facebook Etiquette

Facebook is a great way to connect with friends, especially for those of us who are either housebound, in unfulfilling jobs, or just plain lonely. However, once the newness of the novelty has worn down a bit, there are some rules of etiquette that should seem apparent. Recently I had to delete some of the so-called friends that I had accumulated, and I'll give my reasons why:

1. Constant quizzes - Once in a while, or even on a daily basis, it might be amusing to know that you have taken a quiz, and you're in alignment with a celeb, a movie, or an IQ score, but if you choose to take 20 quizzes in a day to validate yourself... realize that you are cluttering up every one of your friend's wall with your annoying narcissistic behavior and you should probably see a therapist.

2. Meanness - It's ok to respond with a snarky comment now and again, but if you feel the need to attack someone's character on a regular basis, the rest of your friends will get the hint that you are a bully, and no one who is mature will have respect for you.

3. Voyeurs - Friendship is a shared event, but if you just collect friends and don't contribute to banter or camaraderie, people will get the idea that you are probably just snickering behind everyone's back without taking a risk on showing yourself. That is cowardly, not friendly.

4. Too much me - It's great to share an important event that occurs in your life; however, no one needs a minute by minute update on all of your fun. It makes you look like a pathetic loser and pathological liar.

5. Constant complaining - When life sucks, it's your friends who can give you a pick me-up or boost; however, if you constantly bitch and play the poor me, others will roll their eyes and consider you a hopeless downer.

6. Kiddy swearing - I'm not adverse to four letter words on Facebook, it adds amusement and sometimes is the best way to express yourself ; however, if you are one of those juvenile types who had a strict upbringing and now everything that you express has to be a string of swears and potty-mouth, you just look like a socially immature idiot who needs to grow up. The site wasn't designed as kiddy camp for misfits.

I know it might sound harsh, but with all the joy that the site has to offer, there is always the option of the friend delete button. You have been warned.   

Raise a Glass to Confusion

Today is St. Patrick's Day and a reason to raise a pint or two, but not in spirit of religion (I know very few Christians who actually attend mass on this day).  It seems, that Patrick was not born in Ireland, but in either Wales or England. Story has it that he was captured by Pagans and taken to Ireland to be a herder of some kind. He prayed, he escaped, and went back to England. Then, as legend has it, he had a vision and returned to Ireland to spread Christianity. Supposedly, the Druids tried to kill him several times, but eventually they gave him money to build his first church. One sees a parallel with the Jesus story here. Jesus also went to a foreign land, India, and studied. He came home to spread his word, which was in opposition to religion of the time. He, like St. Patrick became recognized by the church, after his death. I think the greater question here, is how and why the landscape changed, and why people were lead to different directions than their forefathers and mothers. Maybe cause life is continually changing, and the natural rebelliousness that occurs, forces those changes that will ultimately bring forth greater understanding and growth. But change is also fearsome, and not without sacrifice. Sometimes in wanting to move forward, people may have to retreat back to misunderstanding and confusion, until a greater good is finally achieved. So as the day is celebrated with "spirits" and revelry, perhaps it signifies the celebration of confusion of the dueling faces of a mysterious past. I'll raise a glass to the present, and let the future chips fall where they may.    

Paddy's Day Celebration

I am a running a little slow today, not for a lack of anything but a great time yesterday at our Paddy's Day celebration. I was so excited about having my grown kids over for dinner, that I awoke at 3 AM in anticipation of the day. Luckily, I thought better of staying up at that wee hour and slept a little later than usual. At daybreak, I was up and running, getting the usual housework stuff done so that I could focus on preparing my desserts. Since it was a Sunday, and my niece requested car-bombs, I decided to make car-bomb cupcakes (to save everyone from a Monday morning hangover). The cakes are made with Guinness beer and the icing has Baileys and Irish whiskey for flavor. At the same time, I put together a lemon tart, for those few family members who might not like chocolate or whiskey. It took three hours to complete these two seemingly simple desserts, but I was rewarded when my husband returned from the store for the green sugar that I needed... with a dozen red roses and a beautiful Spring bouquet. I was planning on giving him the day off from cooking, but after stirring the lemon filling for my tart for a half an hour, I needed help with the peeling of potatoes and the chopping of onions. He also constructed a lamb, barley, leek and Guinness pie... I don't know how I would manage without him. Corned beef is easy enough, but colcannon, which is a potato, onion, and cabbage casserole can be a bit tricky. The Irish soda bread, which is always on the menu at this feast is a simple delight to prepare. The kids and their friends all showed up around 3PM, and went out to the patio as the beer flowed and my husband made a fire. The Irish music blared out the kitchen window from the ipod, and even my neighbor visited to see what all the commotion was about. Everyone was in great spirits, and dinner for 12 of us was served promptly at 5PM, just about the time everyone was loudly laughing and joking. Everyone toasted the cooks with their beer bottles. After dinner, as I was preparing the coffee for those who might want an Irish coffee with dessert, someone spotted the bottle of Baileys, and as I should have suspected, car bombs were being made and delivered. I pulled mom rank and demanded that whoever did shots, had to eat a cupcake of the same name. They all obliged and gradually the drinking went on the wane, as the kids played Kan-Jam in the yard. I was so delighted that everyone had such a good time, and the designated drivers were all sober to drive. The party broke up around 9PM, as all my kids are blessed with day jobs. I was up hours later doing the final clean-up, and finally getting to sip at my whiskey cocktail. It must have been the car bomb I did, on top of my whiskey that took it's toll this morning. I should have followed my own advice and had a cupcake with that potent shot. Oh well, I think I earned the hangover.

Babysitting Lily

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        Yesterday was a busy day for me, full of love and surprises. My granbaby Lily, a beautiful English bulldog, was left in my care overnight, while my daughter and her husband attended a sports event. She arrived all wags and smiles, however, it was reported that when they put her Syracuse doggy tee-shirt on her prior to her visit with me, she would not budge out the door. Perhaps she worried that my cantankerous pet bunny, Otis would make fun or her. Needless to say, upon Lily's arrival, Otis got cranky, and as Lily came over to greet her cousin, she was met with two ninja kicks towards her face with Otis's front paws. When I reprimanded Otis for his bad behavior, he hopped into his meatloaf dish and sulked for a good while. Lily was smart enough to get the message and, although she seemed a bit forlorn, she avoided all contact, including eye contact with Otis. I left the gate to the kitchen down for the day so Lily could wander the house, and by the afternoon, Otis got bored of just sitting there. He hopped off his glass throne and hopped around the kitchen. Then, to show his fierceness, he tipped the hay and litter from his litter box. Little by little Otis and Lily made peace with one another and ceased avoiding eye contact. At one point, while Lily ate her dinner, Otis hopped right up to Lily's ear and gave a little sniff... no more ninja moves. I was a little nervous, as dogs do not like to be interrupted at meal time... Otis's timing was not very good, but Lily continued her grunted chowing, and so I rewarded Otis with a snacky snack for being so brave. By evening, Otis realized that the gate was down and went exploring parts of the house that were new to him. He hopped around the dining room table and at that point seemed more intent on escaping from me than escaping from his cousin, who watched in amusement. Lily was well behaved and affectionate, but every so often she would run to the door as if to check if her parents were arriving. By nighttime she looked a little homesick, and had trouble settling down in our bed for the night. Jumping on and off the bed, making big sighs and snorts, and generally mooching around, she kept us up well beyond our usual bedtime. When she finally found her place between our feet, she slept through the night, snoring loudly like all bulldogs do. This morning, I tried to do Pilates, but Lily would not let me. Every time I laid down to perform my routine, I was pounced on, and licked all over my face, until my sides hurt from laughing. I tried dancing to Madonna, but Lily kept barking as I swirled and snapped my fingers. She wanted my full attention, just like the two year old she is. When my daughter Tara finally picked her up at noon, she was besides herself with tail wagging joy. Although it was fun at Granma's, she was homesick for her siblings Milo and Mimi (cats) and her parents. It is a lot of work babysitting Lily... more so than taking care of Otis, making me feel glad that I am only Granma to her.

Girls Night Out

Yesterday I waited all day in anticipation of my big night out with the girls. The girls are my daughters, who invited me along to their weekly Zumba class. I don't get out much these days and, so for me, this was a very big deal. Last week, I secretly danced an hour a day at home to Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine, just to get in shape. I know, it's like cleaning the house before the cleaning lady comes, but I wanted to be sure I was able to withstand the lively work-out. I worried that I would flounder about, out of breath, and then faint in front of them... and I would not be invited back. I worried about what I should wear. Years ago I taught an aerobics class, and I was sure that tights, leotards, and leg warmers were no longer in style... not to mention, my then six pack abs are now a middle aged spread. I also worried that, although I love to dance, Latin music is a bit foreign in my repertoire of dance music, and my boyish hips could not withstand the unhinged wiggles of those salsa dancer types. So much pre-night out jitters, and yet my Tarot card pick of the day, Three of Cups, alleviated my fears. It showed three women, holding up three cups, smiling, with the message: feeling exuberant, enjoying friendship, valuing community. I relaxed. When one of my daughters picked me up at 6:30, I was dressed in spandex capri style pants, sneakers and a big white Beck's (beer) tee shirt (this way no one could see my spread or my fused hips). With my high pony tail, water bottle, and towel, we headed for the door. She must have sensed my nervousness, as she assured me that, although the class was a good work-out, it was also fun and funny. Our instructor was a cute young male (the girls made sure to inform me that he was married) and when the music started, I forgot all about my nervousness. The routines were easy to follow, the music was eclectic ( I even sang along with an Elvis song "Devil in Disguise.") I kept at my own pace, and when the class was energetically hopping and jumping, I opted for more grounded and expressive  maneuvers. The rap-style song was a little challenging... thank goodness the routine was not too difficult. But I was on an endorphin high by the end of the class, sweating, swilling water, and enjoying the camaraderie of my fit and beautiful girls. They will never know how much I appreciated their offer to get me out of the house. So you can imagine that when the owner of the studio asked if I liked it, and would I return... I gasped a resounding, Yea, you bet!

2012: Inspiration for Poetry

I'm not a big fan of TV except maybe Jeopardy or Wheel of fortune, where I watch as a stimulator for my memory. I was intrigued, however, as two of my kids excitedly told me all the great documentaries that I am missing on History and Discovery channels, and so I decided to give it a try. I happened to catch the very hyped story of the end of the Mayan calendar, set to take place in 2012. There were theologians and scientists revealing gloom and doom facts and speculations that were nothing short of sensationalistic. If you felt no fear before watching the show, it was sure to draw you into the fear that something catastrophic was in the works. Images of nuclear explosions and natural disasters were planted with the ancient rhymes of Nostradamus, as well as passages of revelations from the Bible, all of which seemed to shout annihilation and doom. It became rather silly after a while and as I thought about the image that kept flashing, which showed a man holding an empty book, a lion and a lamb, and two women, I got to thinking. What if, instead of a disaster, all this hinted about the end of a belief system. Empty book: end of religion; lion and lamb together: no war; and two women: end of a patriarchal society. And so my poem surfaced, as a dream of hope:

2012: Apolcalyptic Vision

The lion is lying

in respectful repose,

as best he can...

tamed, quieted.

The lamb is nibbling,

alert, learned,

in the fresh newness

of the Spring.

The tide has shifted,

the pages of man's wisdom

are washed away.

In the dawn of the new era,

the gentle breezes

caress, nurture;

a cycle is completed.

She has come at last

to her rightful reign!

No death march here,

just an expressive dance,

coaxing the pages of a 

new chapter.

Celebrating Lion and Lamb Day

March is a fickle month, as the old adage goes, "it comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb."Sometimes, we are tricked by Mother Nature, and the opposite holds true, as seemed to occur on Saturday. Originally, my husband Gerry and I were planning on celebrating the "Feast of the Mighty Winds" on March 7. We make up our own holidays , as you may already be aware, and were planning on celebrating the March winds, complete with a rich gassy meal of beans, vegetables, and beer, on which to laugh at our own mighty winds. However, it was such a beautiful, calm day, with temps soaring into the 70's, it no longer seemed appropriate. It was renamed Lion and Lamb day. Like a kid on a treasure hunt, I went to the Internet and found two perfect pictures of a lion and a lamb, printed them, and posted them on the fridge. We then set off to the grocery store to purchase our dinner, on which lamb stew and lion cake were decided. I couldn't resist buying two bunches of daffodils, just to keep things festive. Once home, I got busy making a red velvet sheet cake with buttercream frosting, and when it cooled, I used tubes of decorative icing to turn my cake into the head of a lion. I was pleased with my artwork, while Gerry was sufficiently amused. He then went to work preparing the curried lamb stew, and when done, put it in the oven to slow cook. We then retreated to the patio, with our bunny Otis, and watched as he hopped around his puppy pen. Our resident goose couple paid us a visit for their daily bread, and Gerry fed them with stale rolls. Otis watched intently, until the gander got a bit too close to his pen... and he charged the poor bird. Honking loudly and flapping his wings, a panic ensued as the geese flew off, and Otis, now terrified, flew around the pen looking for a safe place. He seemed traumatized by the ordeal, and so we had to put him back into the safety of the kitchen. The afternoon wore on lazily, as we listened to music... mostly Van Morrison (Gerry found a "lion" song) and U2. I wrote a poem, (which I will share at a later date), so I was exempt from wracking my brains for a song with the word "lamb" in it. We had a nice dinner of lamb stew, honey mustard brussel sprouts, and roasted parsnips (plenty of fuel for wind). The night ended with the first backyard fire, that was fueled with sticks lying on the ground from the last wind storm. For dessert, we cut into the lion cake and then hit the couch for some mindless TV. It was another perfect holiday... that came out of nowhere. 

A Song to Remember

A few weeks ago, we attended a family birthday gathering, hosted by our long time friends. Due to the growing size of the family, they are now holding seasonal parties for several members of the family whose birthday's fall within a season. It was a fine gathering of folks of differing age groups spanning some 80 years. The highlight of the event for me, came as the star birthday boy, who I guess would be considered a "tweener", asked several of us adults to come and look at his new stereo system. He was very excited and put on a Beatles CD to demonstrate. I was a bit surprised by the choice, but figured he probably was just being considerate of us older folks, who were admiring his new birthday gift. As he flipped through the various songs, he seemed to know the words. I was now intrigued, as I have never known his parents to have played Beatles music with any enthusiasm that seemed to match his. As the adults left the room, he confided to me that he loved the Beatles... they were his favorite group. I chimed in with complete honesty... Mine too! With that, my young friend asked if I wanted to hear his very favorite song of all time. "Of course!" I replied. He put on "Let it Be" and started singing... I couldn't help but join in. Together we sang our duet, both knowing the words, the pauses, and the inflections, as we held our imaginary microphones. During the guitar solos we even played air guitar, and did the Ner, Ner, Ner's together.  For those few minutes, it didn't matter that I was some 40 years older, we were two friends enjoying music meant to be shared. I will treasure that memory, and if the time comes when I get old, and start complaining about the "youth of today" ( as so many old cranky people do), I hope I will remember that duet, stifle my complaint, and remind myself to let it be.

A Touch of Gray

I was born with a red tinge to my hair, but throughout my young childhood, my hair was almost platinum blonde. All through high school and during my two years in nursing school, my hair would have been considered honey blonde or strawberry blonde, depending on who was making the call. In my early 20's, after the birth of my daughter, my hair suddenly turned a dark mousy blonde, and so I began dying it various colors of blonde. At 40, I got tired of doing the deed myself, and began having my head professionally foil highlighted with pale blonde highlights. Usually this was done 4-5 times a year, taking about 3 hours of time, and at a cost of about $170 (which includes all the tips and the hair products that I was assured that I couldn't live without). Now, at age 51, I am letting my hair go natural again. It's not that I couldn't go get it done if I wanted to, but I'm kinda nosy and would like to see how gray I really am. For the past two years I have been noticing these wiry white hairs that periodically spiral upward from the top of my head. At first I was horrified, as they looked more like pubic hairs growing in the wrong direction. I would pluck them out as they appeared. Now, however, I assume they are just another annoyance of menopause, and I decided that they can stay. One small spritz of hairspray in the morning, and the handslick on both sides of the part usually keeps them in place. After eight months of no highlights, my real hair is finally showing. It is the same mousy blonde of my twenties, but with a hint of gray and the occasional white hairs, somehow it still blends in pretty good with the highlighted hair below. When the light shines on it, there are even some strands of red visible. So for all those years of chemically treating my hair, now without even trying, I have highlights that are actually more interesting than the professional ones. Sure, it's a little darker, but I'm not trying to be a sunny blonde ingenue, rather, I'm going for the mature, mysterious look. I'm secretly hoping that those crazy whitish hairs that are now errant, will finally grow right and eventually turn my head a brilliant silver! For now, though, I am content to make peace with my natural highlights and touch of gray.

March in the Yard

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Sometimes pictures say it better.

Snow Day, Yea!

I'm not a big fan of winter, in fact, I'm pretty sick of it by now. But last night as I listened to the weather report, they were touting a mega storm, and I got a little excited. Maybe it's just a carry-over from childhood, although that was decades ago, but there was some excitement that called for a celebration. All through the history channel program that I watched, I kept flipping to weather channel, to make sure that the big storm was still coming. I skipped my normal 8:30 bedtime and stayed up for 2 hours past it. A celebration usually calls for an extra cocktail, or two... after all we are facing a major weather event, and so just to feel naughty and quell my excitement for a snow day, I imbibed. When I got up this morning, albeit a little late, I was disappointed to see the snow had stopped and there were only 3 or 4 inches on the ground! I went straight to the news to see what was going on, and found my self hoping schools in my district were closed. I don't have a job, so I don't get the sneaky pleasure out of a snow work from home day, but I wanted to make sure last night celebration wasn't for naught. Sure enough, schools were closed because as reported, the heavy stuff won't be coming down til the afternoon. It is still being advertised as a mega storm! I put on my snow apparel and went out to shovel... just for the fun of being outdoors. I was still waiting for the blizzard, as the snowflakes gently fell, and the borough plows went down the street twice within a half an hour. The biggest thrill was eavesdropping on my husband's teleconferenced meeting. It's a side of him I never get to see... but I'm impressed! By mid-afternoon, the whole storm was over and was a complete bust, even though the media was still going on about it. Oh, well, just like when I was a kid, the anticipation of a snow day is often more exciting than the actual day off.