Oh To Be A Singer

I have lots of dreams and fantasies that go along with my over-active imagination. But if I had to pick one dream that stands at the top of my list it would be to be a singer with a really great voice who could belt out a song to an audience of listeners and touch them in some way. Remember how you felt when you heard Whitney Huston sing the National Anthem... I know I was blown away with emotion. Or more recently I saw Van Morrison in concert... we took our two middle children who are fans, and they were completely overwhelmed. Though his voice isn't the best voice I ever heard there is a distinctiveness and a confidence that is beyond compare. How great to share such a talent! I know when I get feeling a little blue, I will put on the music and dance, and I can dance pretty well. But when I have some free time and I feel pretty good about myself, I will put on the music and sing at the top of my lungs. I was told years ago (by a music teacher) that I only have a range of three good notes and that was a big blow to my ego because I loved singing in the chorus. She told me I would do better if I sang with the boys as my voice was so low. It made me mad and I often would sing the soprano parts falsetto... just because I wanted to feel like a girl with a pretty voice. I kept on singing in the privacy of my room, or in the car by myself, and as long as I was singing in a lower register, I thought I sounded pretty good. There would be no singing in public and definitely no acapella songs either... without an artist behind me I don't think I could find the notes. So today I will again share a video of me singing in my low, slightly off key voice... just because I can and I'm content to pretend I'm a singer. Maybe you can get a little chuckle off it and that would make me happy.

How to Iron An Oxford Button Down Shirt

I know to some it might seem very elementary, however there is a certain knack to ironing a man's button down shirt... especially if it is not the wrinkle free kind that just requires a quick hang up after coming out of the dryer. If you're kinda absent-minded like me, you rarely catch those beauties in time and they will require a pressing too. First it helps to have a good solid iron with a pronounced point... I use the Rowenta Focus, a sturdy German made model of excellent design. This has both a steam blast button and a spritz button to ward off those stubborn wrinkles... especially the ones you create when your not being careful. I keep a small bathroom cup handy to fill the water chamber (it's best to use distilled water) and find that one little cupful will iron a pair of men's cotton pants or two button down shirts. First, make sure all the buttons are unbuttoned and then start with the collar opened and flat and steam blast front and back. Then pull the shoulder of the sleeve over the tapered end of the ironing board and iron the front and back of shirt up to the shoulder seam. Next, I smooth down the full length of the sleeve and carefully iron front and back with a crease opposite of the inner seam. Iron the cuffs closed but unbuttoned... front and back. Repeat the opposite side of the shirt and sleeve as above. Arrange the front of the shirt parallel with the tapered end of the board and smooth the surface with your hands first. Start with the buttoned edge (if your right handed) by gently pushing the point of the iron into each space between the buttons. Then in long sweeping stokes go down the length of the shirts front. Rearrange the shirt to iron the sides using the point toward the seam and keep rotating the shirt when each section is completed. Use care around the back pleat of the shirt, doing the center of the pleat first and then on either side will prevent unwanted creases. Carefully rotate and smooth the shirt, and then iron until you get to the button-holed front. One slow sweep along the buttonholes is usually good enough. Lastly, I fold down the collar and iron the points down flat, then place the creased back of the collar over the taped end of the board and iron this flat as well. Place the shirt carefully on a hanger and hang on a door hook. Then re-button the collar points and the top button. Make sure the shoulders are properly hung over the shoulders of the hanger. Place in the closet with plenty of room between the shirts so all your effort isn't wasted... no cramming. Enjoy the beauty of those shirts hanging so smoothly and know that with the effort that it takes to perform this task, you've saved yourself a bunch of coin.

When Sorry Just Doesn't Cut It Anymore

There is nothing so heart warming as a sincere apology delivered after an honest human error. We have all rendered them from time to time and hopefully have received our share in due measure... it's the first step of forgiveness. But there comes a time when "sorry" becomes just another weary word, uttered in the same breath as an absent-minded "excuse me." Too often we become habitual offenders of insensitive words, actions, or behaviors that we inflict on those most willing to accept the inevitable apology. Mistakes are a given in the human condition, but repetition of the same mistakes over and over wear down the defenses of even the most saintly of forgivers and over time will erode all trust, and eventually all love. With each repeated "sorry" delivered there comes either the loss of conviction that what you did was really wrong, or the escalation of related dramatics where the forgiver suddenly becomes the apologizer. Either way it's a losing game brought about by those who are not aware enough to learn from their mistakes and correct them. That face to face realization with the self often comes after the irreparable damage is already done, and then the only one who is really sorry is the perpetrator who has ultimately lost his/her game.

Treasures on the Beach

Yesterday we had the the last Open House of the year. After a week of scrubbing, a morning of making homemade cookies (oatmeal scotchies), and setting up the brochures for potential house buyers, we took off for a day at the beach, or as we say in New Jersey, "Down the Shore."

It was a warm day, 73 degrees and the filtered sun brightened the cloud filled sky to an opalescent splendor. This is my favorite time of year to visit the beach as their are no crowds and I can usually get some pretty good beach photos without the sea of oil slicked bodies getting in the way. At first as we walked up the boardwalk, we saw sand that must of washed up from the recent storm and surrounded the park benches on the edge of the boardwalk. It was funny to see small children playing with pails and buckets on the boardwalk instead of the beach. There were several couples who passed us by and they seemed as curious as we were to see a large swath of the beach covered with flocks of seagulls who sat like summertime sun-bathers. After a nice stretch of the legs we went to Jenkinson's Pavillion where we had a lunch of pizza and soda and wondered why there were no seafood items on the winter menu board. Then we headed to the beach where Gerry took off his sandals and proceeded to get his shorts wet while checking the ocean temperature which was cold but not bone chilling. I got right to work exploring the sand for unusual items of my own curious interest. The waves although not gigantic, were bigger than usual and the churn of the recent storm caused big tufts of soapy looking foam to cling in patches to the shoreline. The bubbles glistened brilliantly in the sun! I found a piece of triangular wood with a big splinter pointing out from it. It had just washed up from the sea and was covered with the foamy bubbles. There were feathers and leaves sitting side by side, and collages of debris that were so artfully arranged by Nature that upon seeing the photos at home, Gerry playfully accused me of arranging the shoot... as if! I got excited by a few sparse patches of Kelly green algae with glistening bubbles and odd pieces of bamboo that I had not seen on this beach before but my favorite find was a shell with a butterfly cut-out. On the ride home the sun came out to set on the remaining trees that have held their glowing Autumn color beyond peak season and I was silenced by the beauty of the day and the happy sounds from the radio. Unbeknownst to me, as I was snapping photos on the beach, Gerry was collecting his own treasures for me... treasure more precious than jewels... fragments of colored sea glass that I shall keep in a jar by the windowsill!

A Poor Me Day

Do you ever get one of those days when nothing is really wrong but you feel sad, lonely, and utterly useless. Maybe it's my age, or this new onset of insomnia... or just maybe I always felt this way and just never admitted it to myself. God, forbid anyone should tag you as a "poor me"... a really horrible insult... and so you force yourself to shake it off and get cheerful and stuff those hidden insecurities away in the glovebox and go about your business. TV makes the hidden feelings worse, as you see all the beautiful and successful people getting accolades for all their many talents, when you sit there in the realization that you don't even have one damned thing that you excel at. Athletes are suddenly best dancers, actors become best selling authors, and even cooks get talk shows and meet all the famous people. Doesn't seem fair that most of us shlubs have spent years trying to find a niche where we can say with certainty..."yes, I've successfully arrived," only to find that you've arrived at the door of the Ordinary Hall of Non-fame and your best years are behind you. Maybe it's because we grew up believing parents who promised that we could be anything we wanted and challenged us to "be somebody." On the other hand you might have had parents who spew negativity saying, "you'll never amount to much, get over yourself." In either case there comes a time when you have to admit to dreams that never came true, and probably never will, and say "WTF... not fair... poor me." So today I say that out loud to myself, no shame, no apology... just an honest sentiment that got tired of hiding.

Happy Housecleaning

Oh we have our final open house coming up this weekend... at least for this year. As always, it means a week of extreme housecleaning and yet I found some happy ways to perform these mundane tasks. I begin by putting on some loud happy music and old clothes. Most of my living room furniture is gone and so in order to polish up the parquet floors, I might play Huey Lewis and the News and spray a little pledge on my socks and dance and twirl around the floor to the beat of the music. A little pledge on the old sleeves and I can swipe away dust on the piano, computer table, and bookshelves as I dance and sing to gain momentum. Hand scrubbing floors needs a little more angst driven elbow grease and so I might blast Green Day as I get down to business of the scrub. When it comes to taking down curtains and washing the windows I need a little more concentration and so the music comes down a peg... perhaps a little psychedelic sound of Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. I'm new to their music and so I listen to the lyrics as I climb on stools to remove dusty curtains and clean the windows... my singing gets carried away and so I reserve the singing songs for when I'm grounded and not tettering on the kitchen stools. I hate vacuuming most of all and I need to hear the voice of Bono at full volume to get through with this most odious of chores. Luckily I only have area rugs, as I would probably go deaf if I had to vacuum wall to wall at this volume. For closet and cabinet cleaning I usually go old school... very old school... with Tommy Roe, the heart throb of my childhood. I know all the words by heart and can still his old bubble gum songs even though my voice has deepened with age. I can forget about singing with Petula Clark even though I could as a kid. As I perform the chores to my happy music the time flies, I get a work-out, and also exercise the lungs as I shout out my songs. Who knew housework could be so fun! I'm just glad no one can see my antics or hear my voice as they'd probably think me insane... like Otis, my bunny who hides when I get in this groove.

A Birthday for Beauty

Yesterday was a balmy 67 degrees and I pent most of the day just sitting on the front porch enjoying the sunny day and watching the leaves fall. I kept thinking about that wonderful day 31 years ago when my daughter Tara (nicknamed beauty) was born. I remembered both the joy of holding her for the first times and the trepidation of caring for a real live baby. I wonder how she will feel when her own daughter Annabelle is born this month? She looks wonderful and is feeling much better this past month. She came for her birthday dinner yesterday with hubby Chris and Lily and Betty and bother Dale came too. It was mayhem for poor Otis as the snuffling bull-dogs traipsed around the house and tried not to get too close to my bunny. They have both been attacked by Otis and I think they think that he is just a silly cat, but Otis was on high alert watching their every move and standing his ground when it was carrot time in the kitchen. Gerry made a real homey feast of roast chicken, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy. I made a salad, cooked the broccoli, and earlier in the day made Tara her favorite poppy seed cake. I told her this would be the last time we would light candles and sing to her now that a baby is coming and she said, "Good, I'm too old for that anyway." Gerry and Chris were watching the Giants lose ( and Chris even stayed calm about it) while Tara and Dale were watching funny SNL clips on the computer. I got to hang out with my grandoggies and spoil them with small pieces of chicken giblets and lots of head pats and coos. It was a nice evening and made me even more excited to think about becoming a real grandma.

The Aftermath

Weddings are never a single day event in my family and Erica and Davey's wedding was no exception. The whole family stayed overnight at the Radisson and the next day we all seemed to meet in the hall several hours before check-out. My sister Bonnie and her husband Mike were up from Florida and were leaving to go their daughter Kelly's house and begin preparations for the "after party" as they like to call it. We headed home after stopping for coffee at a quick check... a little crunchy but feeling pretty good in spite of the minor dehydration. Once home we met up with Gerry's son Colin who flew in for the wedding from his new home in San Diego. Gerry whipped up pork-roll egg and cheese sandwiches, which is the best breakfast after a night of drinking. I gave my bunny Otis plenty of attention, as I felt guilty leaving him alone overnight. We make a quick stop to the store to buy the Halloween candy, a chore that I neglected in all the excitement of the wedding, and also picked up a cheesecake platter to take to the after party. Gerry's tux was returned and then after returning home we sat on the porch and gave candy bars to the trick or treaters. At 4:00 it was time to go to Kelly's house and so we put three bags of candy in a bowl, left the porch light on, headed one town over to the party. Mike is a retired chef who started a catering business with his daughter Krystal and they were cooking up a storm. The table was set with a carved pumpkin that had guacamole, sour cream, and salsa cascading out of the mouth (a puking pumpkin) along with chips for dipping. There was cheese and crackers and deviled eggs that were decorated with spiders made from black olives. Krystal made a hot crab dip that was to die for and served it with deep fried wonton chips. Mike's sister-in-law Frannie was sporting a Santa costume in the spirit of Halloween and the fun and merriment continued with about 30 invited guests. The rain didn't dampen anyone's spirits although we were planning on eating on her deck, but tables were brought inside and there were plenty of chairs to go around for a sit down meal. Mike cooked two huge prime ribs with au jus and a horseradish sauce. He baked potatoes on the grill and served them with sour cream, bacon, chives and grated cheddar. There was sauteed broccoli and garlic cooked tender crisp to perfection and a big Caesar salad. It was another night of feasting and laughing. The dessert spread was like a Viennese table... carrot cake, almond cinnamon cake, a chocolate cheesecake platter, a homemade cheesecake with cherry topping, brownies, and white cake with cherry filling. There was plenty of food for leftovers and everyone took home extra dessert. I hate to think of all the calories consumed this wedding weekend, but it was all so fabulous and so I won't.

The Reception

After the wedding ceremony, we checked into the Radisson Hotel to wait for the shuttle bus that would take us to the reception hall. We had three hours to kill while the wedding party took pictures on the grounds of the South Gate Manor. It would have been nice to take a nap, but since we were already dressed up, we strolled down to the hotel bar for a couple of drinks. There we met up with some of Colin's friends who graciously bought our round and also shared their nacho platter. I met the parents of one of my son's friends, who I used to babysit for when we were kids growing up in our old neighborhood. As I kid, four years seems a whole generation apart but here we were as peers, laughing about the antics of our own grown children. The shuttle bus driver gave us quite a ride to the reception hall, as he made funny jokes, blared disco music and drove like a bat out of hell. We pulled into the South Gate Manor to the sight of twinkling rainbow lights on the trees. Once inside, we marveled at the opulence of the hall... it was exquisite! After a quick gathering of the immediate families for group photos, we entered the cocktail hour reception and were stunned. The room was huge, with a ceiling that was covered with twinkling stars. There was the usual bar and also a separate martini and vodka bar. The waitstaff circulated trays of various hors d' ouvres and there was also a raw bar and a sushi bar along with a lavish fruit, meat, and cheese display. The room opened onto a terrace where their were lounge chairs and ashtrays for those who wished to smoke. The night was balmy and so many of us were content to enjoy the cool night air in the elegant surroundings. After about an hour of drinking and feasting we were all lead to the ballroom which was equally exquisite and sported the biggest dance floor I had ever seen... it was a good thing too as this was a big dancing crowd. The bridal party strolled in to what seemed like heavy metal music and then the newlyweds danced to a slow cool song by Sade. The father-daughter dance was to one of Gerry's favorites, "Green Mansions" by Van Morrison and the two of them shared their joy with happy laughter and a couple of fancy twirls. Once the dance floor opened to the guests, Gerry and I headed out and danced to "Unforgettable" and within minutes the floor was crowded with slow dancers from all ages. The best man's toast to the bride and groom was one of the most heartfelt and funniest speeches I had ever heard given at a wedding... but then again this wedding had a huge assortment of the" kids" that we had watched grow up together and still remained a close knit group. The DJ played nice slow music during the dinner hour, where people were invited to three different stations of food. One was a pasta station with eggplant rolatini, tortellini alfredo, and various other Italian dishes. Then in another corner was a carving station with boneless pork roast, roast beef, and turkey, along with mashed potatoes and gravy and green beans. And in the third corner there was a whole seafood display that I never got to see, as dancing is more important to me than eating, and I was full from the cocktail hour! Once an acceptable amount of time passed for dinner music and dining, the DJ cranked up the music and kept a full crowded dance floor singing and dancing right up to the very end of the night. Of course you could see some grimacing from some of the older folks as the rock and roll and club music blared. But this is the music of the young generation and it is wonderfully easy to dance to. At one point my daughter Tara's husband led the whole dance floor of guests in a choreographed dance to Thriller (after all it was mischief night) and he did a super job of both teaching the steps and keeping everyone in step. Tara, who is eight months pregnant danced most of the night in her bare feet, and my son Dale and Gerry's son Colin made sure every woman who was alone or with a non-dancing partner got their chance on the dance floor. It was so sweet of them and made Gerry and I very proud! There was the traditional feeding of the cake by the bride and groom and I think the older folks were glad of the reprieve from the loud music. I couldn't tell you what kind of cake it was (I don't eat desserts) but it was decorated for Halloween and everyone said it was delicious. At the end of the night the shuttle buses safely took the guests back to the hotel where the partying continued into the wee hours of the morning. It was quite a wedding to remember and everyone had a wonderful time!

The Wedding

It was an overcast October day, just slightly past peak leaf season as the golden and browns replaced the peach and orange leafing of the week prior. Dad was in his tux and step-mom in her black velvet cape... the one that I save for my most important ceremonies. We drove to the old stone church, and as usual, were the first ones in attendance. We waited in the back until the wedding party males arrived to seat the guests. The limo driver rearranged Gerry's boutonniere as I certainly didn't know what side it belonged on, and crudely pinned it on for him in the parking lot. Then the driver got the emergency kit to wipe away the stray crumbles of pollen on his lapel. I was escorted by my handsome son Dale to my place in the church and waited for the procession. The music swelled and all eyes watched as the beautiful bridal party sashayed down the aisle. My daughter Tara was radiant as the pregnant matron of honor, with her red hair, brown eyes and little pot belly. Then came the trumpeting and we all stood as daughter Erica and dad Gerry strolled up the aisle. From my view I couldn't tell if they were laughing or weeping, but the smiles were evident and both pairs of green eyes were radiant. She looked beautiful, and he as handsome as ever. Her husband Davey winked at her as she approached, as his sign of appreciation. They exchanged their vows with the smiling stares of two people in love and the dad gave his daughter away with the phrase, "The Dad Abides." He then came and took his seat with me. Gerry's sister Ellen did a reading from the Bible (Genesis 2nd chapter, I think) and did a wonderful job considering she was recently widowed, and it must have been hard not to think of her own wedding just 14 years prior. The Presbyterian pastor gave a warm and brief blessing, and rings and kisses were exchanged. There was applause and then the orderly exit of the the paired bridal party. After the congratulatory greeting line for the the bride and groom, there were more immediate family and bridal party photos in the church. I waited outside admiring the cool breeze and fast moving gray clouds that would give way to a brief slanting of sunshine. As the wind blew my cape around my ankles and the leaves danced on the pavement for me, I was thankful that the big day finally arrived and all was perfect as planned.

A Wedding Rehearsal Dinner

The official festivities for Erica and Davey's wedding began on Thursday night. The wedding party and their guests, along with parents and grandparents were treated to a wonderful dinner at Girasole Restaurant in Bound Brook. Everyone dressed up a bit as this is a pretty upscale Italian Restaurant. The first course was set on the table family style. There was fried calamari with marinara sauce, bruschetta, sauteed mushrooms, clams casino, and roasted peppers and fresh mozzarella. Wine or beer was served and there was warm bread and oil on the table. The waiters were attentive, even folding napkins as people got up between courses to mingle. Next came a nice salad of mesclun greens, olives, cheese and a savory vinaigrette. For the main course we were given the choice of three entrees to choose from. The first was a herb encrusted salmon, the second was veal medallions and shrimp in a wine sauce, and the third was a rack of lamb served around a ricotta and basil stuffed tomato. There was plenty of sharing and sampling going on... after all we're all family. My lovely daughter Tara read a beautiful tribute to Erica and Davey which included many of the childhood recollections she shared with Erica, as well as their differing viewpoints. It was heartfelt and cleverly offered the new couple insight for their life from lessons she had learned from her younger sister Erica (who was moved to tears). Then the coffee was served and out came trays of assorted dessert offerings. There were cannolis, tiramisu, dark chocolate mousse cake, and perhaps carrot cake (since I'm not a big fan of dessert food , I can't be too sure). There was plenty of food and many stories to share and everyone completely enjoyed themselves. It's not often we get to sit and enjoy a three hour meal with no fuss and no muss!

The First Drunk

Did you ever stop to think about the first time in your life when you can say you were drunk? Though that state of mind holds no special fascination for me, I do drink and enjoy the mellow buzz of feeling when I can put my overactive mind on hold for a while. Here's the memory.

I was about 12 years old at the time and had just started going to the local dances at the Catholic church school. The lights were dimmed, a live rock band was hired, and it was the coolest place to be on a Friday night. My friend Mary and I loved to dance, and we both wished we could find boyfriends but, alas, we were too shy to even approach boys so we danced with each other and watched in the corners of the dance for the older boys who did not notice us. Well, before one of the dances we discussed the fact that perhaps if we were to get a hold of some alcohol, maybe boys would see that we too were cool and they might approach us. Mary's parents did not drink so it was up to me to "find something." What I found was a dusty old bottle of Noilly Pratt vermouth in the cabinet above the refrigerator. It was there for the rare occasion when my grandfather would visit and request a martini. At the time my parents only drank on special occasions so that was going to be as good as it would get. I washed out a peanut butter jar and poured the spoils into it and stashed it in my fringed hippie hemp bag. We got to the dance, and upon being dropped off went around the building to drink the vermouth. I had a half a jar of the vile tasting stuff and we took turns chugging until I thought I would throw up. Actually we couldn't finish it, and left the jar by the corner of the building. Once inside we waited for magic to happen as if, now, because we did something totally cool, everyone would know. As usual we danced our hearts out and still not one boy approached us. We went home crestfallen. I was met at the door by my Dad who had an uncanny sixth sense when it came to figuring out what I was up to. "Come here, he said as he took one look at my face, you've been drinking, I can smell you." Never one to argue when I was in the wrong I confessed to my stealing and drinking episode. " OK bigshot," he roared, "you want to drink, now your gonna drink!" With that he went to his closet and pulled out a bottle of Canadian whiskey and poured a tall kitchen glass full of it. "Now you sit there and drink that until it is finished!" My mother came into the room to see me in tears, gulping the burning whiskey and shot my dad a dirty look. He cut her off before she could protest and defended his action by saying "I'm going to teach her a lesson she won't forget." My mom left the room in disgust. I tried to sip slowly and sure enough, in the process my dad had to go to the bathroom. In his absence my mom appeared, grabbed the half drunken glass away from me and quietly finished it. She then handed it back to me and left the room, mumbling "he is such an asshole" under her breath. When my dad came back, I pretended I was taking the last gulp. By this time the whiskey was taking hold and I started laughing. Then I got up and staggered over to the little organ that I had gotten for Christmas. I felt wonderful and giddy and started playing "I Love You Truly" from the music by numbers book. I even started singing at the top of my lungs the song which I never heard before, but knew it was from my dad's era. "I loovee yooouuu truuuleeee, truleee I dooooooo." It was more than my dad could take and he ordered me up to my room. I accidently fell off the organ bench and crawled on my hands and knees up the stairs to my room still singing the offending song and laughing like a hyena. I got into bed and although the bed was rocking like a cradle, I didn't get the spins or the pukes as I'm sure my dad hoped I would, but slept soundly. Although I had a bad headache the next morning, I came down to breakfast as if all was right with the world and announced brightly, "I'm as hungry as a bear, how about some bacon and eggs." My dad looked away disgustedly. Lesson not learned.

Remembering My Vision of Hell

I have a lot of time on my hands, and I spend it wisely going about my chores as a domestic goddess, sharing my thoughts and images on my various blogs, and reading and researching. I am very thankful for my life and yet I have an unrest that I wasn't able to put my finger on.. til now. A memory flooded back from the time that I was studying for my BSN at Kean University that has come to surface. I was taking a world literature course and one of our assignment's was to read "Dante's Inferno." It was a chore, as I was not at all familiar with the politics of that time period and had no interest in the religious dogmas of the era either. But our professor posed a question to the class that sparked interest in this otherwise dusty old work, " What is your vision of Hell?" There was talk of zombies and devils and the usual images conjured up by what we have been taught from our collective religions... but I was an old-timer in a class of young people and I thought long and hard before I answered. I asked a question in place of an answer. " What if after you died, you realized that when you lived upon the earth, you had all the power to change the course of the world for a greater good through your words, and thoughts and actions... and instead you wasted that power in the pursuit of fleeting vanities?"

Someone in the class yelled out, " well then you'd just ask to come again and have a do over!"

Everyone laughed (including me) and was I happy to see a plug for reincarnation. My professor looked me square in the eyes and audibly whispered, "Good thinking." Since then, I haven't really given much thought to the idea of hell as a place to go, as I've been there in my thoughts a hundred times since... usually from tormented imaginings that probably stem from boredom.

But really... what if you could change the world just by changing your prospective from one of self absorption to one of compassion and consideration for others. How would you do that? Again, I don't really have an answer, but it begs the question, "What are you waiting for?"

Turkey Truck

I was scanning over all the pictures I took on our cross country trek to San Diego in early September and I had to post my commentary on this one... well before Thanksgiving. As the truck was passing us at about 80 mph on the Interstate, there were feathers flying everywhere as I gazed into the passing crated truck carrying turkeys (for slaughter?). Thankfully we had the music on, even though the truck tires on the road would have drowned out any protest from the poor caged birds. Some of them had lost so many feathers during the high speed delivery that I could see little bald patches of skin through the fluttering feathers. Most of them just sat there immovable, as if they knew where they were going and resigned to their fate. But what distressed me was one turkey who poked his head through the grate and seemed to be mouthing a call for help. It was as if he was the only one who in the realization of where he was headed, became frantic and horrified, and at the risk of breaking his neck was calling for attention. My stomach turned thinking of the golden roasted turkey that has graced our Thanksgiving table for as long as I remember. I felt so sad for those birds, and am sure if I saw a truck of cows or pigs and saw one of them looking so distressed, I would probably not want to eat one for a long time. Now I understand what prayers before meals are for... thanking the living creatures for their sacrifice for the sake of our nourishment. I know it's a long way off until Thanksgiving, and I can't be sure that this disturbing image will not haunt me, but if indeed I do forget the fate of the Thanksgiving bird and the suffering scene of the ride to the "turkey factory," I will at least say a prayer of thanks to our "food" as I drizzle the gravy over my vegetables. Will I ask to eat the drumstick as I normally do? I think not.

Cleaning Closets

The past two days have been spent do the major fall housekeeping, a ritual that is repeated every season in my home. There is the washing of windows and baseboards, vacuuming of ceilings, scrubbing and polishing of floors, furniture and knick-knacks... you know the list is endless. The most dreaded of my tasks is the cleaning of closets and yet this is also the most therapeutic. As all the hidden stuff is pulled out and assessed for it's necessity or usefulness, decisions are made to either keep it, throw it out, or give it away. Suddenly in the midst of these banal decisions I am hit with a doubt, or worry, or fret about something going on in my life. Like the junk in the closet, the cluttered junk in the mind usually surfaces while I'm focused on performing the closet cleaning tasks. I allow myself to really think about the problem or issue, I don't stuff it away and usually the assessments for it are the same as for the stuff in the closet. If it doesn't serve me well (like a worry) I throw it away. If it is a problem that doesn't really belong to me ( this is usually a fret) I mentally send it back to whomever it belongs. But if it an issue that demands my personal attention, belongs to me alone, and needs a home in my head, I keep it. Once the clutter is gone, the real issues can be put into focus and worked out. That's why to me, there is nothing as satisfying in the realm of the seasonal cleaning ritual as a tidy and spacious closet.

When Rabbits Play

My little bunny rabbit Otis, (a blue and white dutch dwarf) is such a great pet and has brought my husband and I far more laughs and pleasure than we ever imagined. I really just wanted a cute furry animal that I could pet and coo at and didn't expect that rabbits could actually do very much in the way of tricks and people interaction, but boy was I wrong! Otis sits guard in his big indoor cage all night and guards the front door with the seriousness of a London guard. No matter what time I wander down at night he is wide eyed and seated at perfect attention. I keep a set of jingle bells in his cage and when he is ready to come out he will grab them in his teeth and shake them as his cue to "let me out." His favorite times of the day are early morning and early evening when he really get rambunctious and will do his tricks and maneuvers. After a breakfast of 5 blueberries (which he eats with his eyes closed in deep enjoyment), he is raring to go. He'll sprint out of kitchen into the foyer faster than the eye can see, and then do a series of shiver jumps (about a foot off the floor) and then 360 degree spin jumps... just to show off. When we are sipping at our morning coffee he will hop full speed ahead into the TV room and take a flying leap on the couch next to his Daddy for his morning pet. It is alarming the speed at which he charges us before leaping into the air for that soft couch landing. If you stop petting him, he will coax your affection with little licks of his tongue on your hand and then look at you as if to say, "Alright you got your kisses, my turn now." He just adores being pet and will even allow kisses on his little furry face. Before Daddy goes to work, Otis can sense that it's time for his snacky snack and will run into the kitchen and hop figure eights through Gerry's legs until the puffed vegetable snack is produced. His big trick is standing on his hind legs with upturned nose to reach the treasured snack. Once snagged, he hops away with a pronounced kick of his hind legs as if to say, "shoo, let me be with my treat." He does need supervision though, as he likes to chew things he shouldn't. Wires are my biggest worry, and like having a toddler in the house, most wired things are unplugged and hidden when he is freely hopping about. When he starts chewing furniture, books, mouldings, or houseplants a clap of the hands and a holler are usually enough to make him stop. When that fails, placement in his safe haven (the gated kitchen ) is his punishment. He will hop in his straw box and munch on his hay and then flop on his side as if to say, "fine then, I'll just ignore you." The tantrum doesn't last long... his memory is keenly short term. At night, when he knows it's time for kibble and cage, the game of hide and seek often ensues. He knows just the right places where it is hard for us to reach him... under the dining room table, the computer table, or just scooting under the couch. Lately though he has gotten a bit chubby for the space under the couch and once there will scratch furiously until we have to lift it to allow him to escape. He is smart enough to know that at bedtime, a snacky snack means cage and you just can't lure him with that trick at night. But rabbits, although very quick, tire fairly easy and after a couple of games of tag, and hide and seek, will usually settle down and let us catch him. Here is is sitting in one of his favorite hiding places... he is such a smart rabbit!

A Healing Smile

There is a little old lady whom we frequently see while shopping at our local supermarket. I noticed about a year ago that she had what appeared to be a noticeable growth on her upper lip that she covered with a Band-aid. She walks to the store for her groceries and seems to be in pretty good health otherwise, and is the kind of little person that seems almost invisible in the hurried world of the Saturday shopping crowd. Alarmingly, I have watched that lesion grow to the size of an orange on her lip and fear it might be some kind of malignancy. It is so grotesque at this point that other people upon seeing her immediately look away with disgust or horror as if she is some kind of freak. I'm saddened to think that perhaps she could not have this removed because of a lack of insurance or maybe for some reason it is inoperable. I certainly would not have the nerve to approach her and ask... it's really none of my business. As others had done, I avoided looking at her when she approached, mostly out of pity. But last week as I saw her pushing her cart towards me, I felt somehow ashamed to look away. I decided I would meet her gaze and just say hello. She approached and I smiled and to my astonishment she looked straight at me and her eyes lit up with a smile when I said hello. I could barely see her mouth as the lesion which was covered with a huge band-aid almost covered her mouth, but in her eyes I saw such a light that touched me deeply. I said a quiet healing prayer for her. It dawned on me that this brave woman with a disfigured face was going about her life as if nothing was wrong. Suddenly I felt very humbled that I had been the recipient of a smile from someone incredibly courageous who remained joyful in the face of adversity. Yesterday, I again saw my little angel woman and when we met and gave our smiles and hellos of recognition I again said a silent prayer for her healing. It seemed the natural thing to do, as she had given me dose of healing that I never saw coming.

Who is Crazy Enough to Shoot the Moon?

Today I am saddened and sickened by a news story on CNN presented as a tongue in cheek look at an event that will take place tomorrow morning. Out of nowhere it was announced that NASA will be sending a rocket to blast into the southern hemisphere of our beloved moon... not once, but twice. It's bad enough that our planet is under constant threat of someone trying to blow up stuff, we call them terrorists or combatants depending on whose side your on. It is a way of scoring points in wars that will never be won. People even take their children to view violent action films where the excitement comes from things crashing and blowing up, as they eat their popcorn and never think of the real life consequences of these senseless acts of aggression. But to those of us who revere the Moon, as the feminine light in the darkness, and whose face has always represented the loving shine of a Mother's face who inspires poets, dreamers, and children... this is a terrible tragedy. Supposedly the mad scientists are looking for water under the surface, but I think there is something more sinister going on here. Japan crashed an orbiter into the surface in June and just look at the havoc going on now... earthquakes, tsunamis, and oh yes a typhoon in Japan. China and India will also be getting in on the action in the near future with similar moon trips. Hmm, superpowers blowing up the moon in a show of "intellectual" superiority with the raw grit of a show off bully. We have plenty of water here on Earth even though we are doing our damndest to pollute it. Wouldn't the money spent on blasting the surface of the moon be better spent on water purification for impoverished nations? Or will the next designer fad for the rich and bored include designer bottled moon water, as the new cash cow for the over-privileged. Sorry, but I see NASA as a techno-terrorist group who is invading the symbol of our hopes and dreams. There is no need to blast a hole into the surface of the moon to check for water... would these same men shoot their mother in the mouth to check for a cavity. I just wonder.

Witness to a Marriage License

Yesterday I served a very honored and important purpose, I got to be the witness for Gerry's daughter Erica and her husband-to-be Davey. The three of us arrived at the municipal building in the little town they live in, and though the outside of the building was fairly new, the inside still had a feel reminiscent of the Norman Rockwell print "Marriage License." We wandered up to a windowed counter and a lovely woman of Hispanic descent, greeted us warmly. There was a moment's panic when she asked Erica and Davey for two forms of ID, and Erica lamented that she wasn't aware she needed two forms and only brought her license. The kindly woman sensing her dismay, explained that it was alright, she could bring it in when she picked up the final copy. Davey produced his car license and his crane operator's license, and luckily I only had to show my car license. Then the questioning began and it was my job to make sure that the truth was told. Most questions were simple enough and I nodded with their every answer. There was the question of residence, parents names (including mother's maiden) places and dates of birth, parents places of birth, place and date of wedding, social security numbers (though I certainly wouldn't have been able to tell if these were fabricated or not). Gone were the two questions I remember from my own first experience in getting a marriage license, "Are you an imbecile" and " are you under the influence of drugs or alcohol." I remember laughing so hard at those questions at 19 years of age, that it was a wonder they even granted my ex and I a license at all. Instead, the big question was, "are you two related." They both answered no, and I didn't even chuckle, just nodded that the answer was correct. I then got to relay the number of years I have known the couple, and although I couldn't do the math right then and there, my memory flooded back to the first time I met Davey in my backyard as a new friend of my son Dale. He was 7 at the time, and they were playing football. Back then I used to ask Davey to keep an eye on little Dale as they played together down at the brook, as he seemed so responsible for a young boy. I first met Erica when she was 5, when her mom brought her home from kindergarten, she jumped on my lap and told me that I looked like a fairy princes with my long blond hair. That little Erica now calculated the math instantly (+20 for both) and I felt very proud and nostalgic in the presence of these two very special adults. When the woman behind the counter realized I was the step mother, she asked if Erica was a good teenager, relaying the fact that teenagers could be most difficult to raise. Erica was quick to point out that she is now a good adult. I hugged her and replied, "she was a good teenager" and although we had our difficulties, they are far in the past. I added that yes, teenagers could be difficult, but if one remembers their own teen-hood with honesty, there is no use in throwing stones, it is a difficult time. We signed our names and she asked us to swear we were telling the truth. I answered yes, and she repeated, "Do you swear?" In my mind I found the repeat of the question funny, and thought, "shit yea I do!" Instead, being the adult that I am supposed to be, I demurely answered, "yes, I swear it's the truth." The woman then said Erica and Davey made a beautiful couple and she wished them much happiness. I couldn't agree more!

Tomato Soup and Noodles

Well, it was certainly a fine fall weekend and I'm glad the "flu" was short lived. On Saturday I was able to march to Petsmart for Otis supplies and then to the grocery store. On Sunday, I did half my normal bike ride under the falling leaves and then it warmed up nicely and there was porch sitting time. Cocktails, poetry, music, and a dinner of chili con carne and a beautiful full moon. It was a happy night, and I tried to keep the party on moderation. Somehow that little snifter of Limoncello and a cherry Klondike bar topped off the night as a bit too much fun. I awoke at 3:03 AM and was wide awake in a pool of sweat, and so I got up, drank some water, and laid on the couch watching Weather Channel. I petted Otis and did not feel sleepy, mainly because I felt as if I was starving. Coffee made me feel worse... starving and jittery and so I had a cheesy muffin ( an English muffin with mustard and cheddar cheese on it). I dozed a bit and waited for the sun to come up. It was almost 7:00 before that occurred... I guess he had a good weekend too. At 10:00 I was starving again and so I heated up a bowl of chili and had a Fresca. I went about my chores like a zombie and by 11:30 I was again crazed by hunger. I was craving macaroni and cheese, but didn't feel like making it, and I don't stock up on the boxed variety that we ate as kids. But there was an old can of tomato soup, (Campbells of course) and an open package of those little skinny egg noodles that I purposely avoided checking the expiration date. Suddenly, I just had to have tomato soup and noodles... a dinner favorite of my childhood. I decided to jazz it up a bit and make it seem more like adult fare by adding a squirt of pesto paste. As the soup boiled and the noodles and pesto were added, I could hardly wait for the three minute timer to go off. This should take care of my voracious appetite, I thought, as I dumped the whole pot of noodle soup into a bowl, tucked a napkin under my chin, and ate it with a big old soup spoon. I'm glad no one but my bunny Otis was watching, as I slurped it down and slopped noodles on my well placed napkin. It was heavenly... I felt like a kid again... all warm and cozy. It wasn't so much the quantity I ate, but the memory of the smell and texture of the noodles that was so satisfying. I felt invigorated and energized like I was now ready to go out and play in the leaves. The housework became a labor of love and all was right with the world. Who knew that comfort food could have such power? It's now three o'clock and although I'm hungry again, I think a small handful of nuts and a cup of tea will do the trick in holding me until dinnertime. Of course I can't help thinking about the macaroni and cheese with peas on the side that I plan on making for lunch tomorrow. Mmm Mmm Good!

Which Flu?

Last night I didn't sleep a wink, and today I know why. After watching a TV special about the National Parks where Gerry and I hope to visit (as soon as we sell our house), I went to bed feeling wide awake and sort of strange. After an hour of listening to the familiar snoring and rolling around at least a dozen times until the covers were all bunched up, I got up and went to another room. I felt more tired then usual and yet I could not get to sleep. I tried every position of comfort, even ones I try to avoid because they cause my limbs to "go to seep" and I could not relax this agitation in my muscles and so I laid there all night just thinking, changing position, shaking my foot, and listening to the night sounds for some distraction. At 4:30 I finally got up, which is not an unusual time for me and then it hit me like a ton of bricks... I was sick. My throat, now sore caused my voice whisper, I developed a hard, dry cough which burns my lungs, glassy eyes, headache, sneezing, muscle aches, and the start of chills. Yikes, I can't remember the last time I was this sick. As I'm dizzy just writing this little post, I just have to wonder, which flu is this? Swine flu or seasonal flu or... oh well... too late to worry about a flu shot now.

A Voracious Read

Yesterday I was remiss in completing any of my domestic duties, except for the preparation of a fine meal for Gerry, who deserves better than a sandwich for all of his hard work. There was no laundry done, no sweeping, vacuuming, exercise, blogging... and even poor Otis was left to his own meditative state. I promised myself when I bought the new Dan Brown novel, " The Lost Symbol" that I would read it slowly and savor his suspense, style, brilliant research, and intrigue... but noo, it was not possible. I sat in my bathrobe and read it until reaching the fabulous conclusion. Don't worry, I will not disclose anything plot related... as a matter of fact, I cannot. Once I read a book, although I enjoy it immensely I cannot relay the details of what I just read. I usually forget the names of main characters, and I find that I can't articulate the progression of the story with any semblance of linear thought (probably why I scored miserably on my SAT's, although I was a good student). But this story so touched the core of my belief system that I can't stop thinking about it. It is not just a great suspense thriller, but also a thought changing miracle of sorts, worthy of a second read. I always feel a little sad when I finnish a book that is so compelling that it transports me right out of my own little world into an alternate reality. Books are a great escape for me, always have been, but this one takes the prize... I can't stop thinking about it. I know there will probably be a movie in the future, but just as I loved the Da Vinci Code... I couldn't stand the thought of Hollywood competing with my own imagination. So today while I'm catching up on my mundane chores, I will be sneaking moments to reread snippets of this truly amazing novel.

My Baby's Shower

Saturday was my daughter's baby shower hosted by her mother and sister in law, Pat and Kim. Tara doesn't like surprises and so she was able to give input and watch as we prepared the festivities. It was a good day for her and I was glad because she has still been having trouble with morning sickness and light headedness. I got up early to make her favorite Swedish meatballs.. 120 in all. Thank goodness for the melon baller that kept them uniform and also kept my hands from touching the sticky mixture. I chilled some red, white, and blush wine for the attendants... a brand called Barefoot... which featured a baby's footprint on the labels. Then I headed to Cosco for the carrot cake and the shrimp platter... what a nice job they did with that! It was inexpensive as well as convenient! I cried a little writing the note on Tara's card, as I tied the message to her gifts. One was a treasured music box that shows a young mother holding a baby in her arms and behind her dress is a little girl. The song is "Turn Around" and the lyrics (which I printed) talk about babies growing up and when you turn around they are having their own babies... of course the lyrics are more touching than that. When my mom presented the identical music boxes to my sister Bonnie and I one Christmas after our daughters were born, we both went into instant tears upon opening our gifts. Tara was touched as well, and I'm glad she didn't read her card at the shower as it was personal. I also found a frilly rosebud dress so similar to the one that my mom Wiggy bought for Tara's christening. My mom wanted to be sure Tara was going to be a girly girl to offset the other grandma's choice of "tomboy" clothes... overalls and boys tee shirts. Though Tara likes to dress up, she is not one for frilly clothes... if I get my way, Annabel will be outfitted in frilly clothes befitting a fairy princess! Pat brought a chicken salad wrap platter, cold cuts and rolls. She also made a punch with Hawaiian punch, Sprite, and orange sherbet which was delicious and reminded me of the punch I drank as a child at a relative's home. Pat's friends made pasta salad, coleslaw, potato salad, and homemade cookies. Kim arranged some amusing games like baby trivia facts, pin the pacifier on the baby, and guess the girth of the mom to be. We all had to estimate with plastic ribbon Tara's true size. Pat's mom won with a perfect measurement! Tara got great gifts, but more importantly, all the ladies there seemed to have a special admiration for my lovely daughter. There was plenty of good natured female banter and lots of laughs! I am so grateful to Pat and Kim, and Gerry's daughter Erica for putting such time and effort into a splendid celebration.

Pedestrians Have the Right of Way

It was a soft autumn day this morning, and after a bit a gray covered sunrise, the low lying clouds parted and the sun came out. It seemed a nice morning to take a Nature walk around the block. As I strode past the dew covered grass that scintillated under the sun, I caught a glimpse of my shadow stridently walking beside me. It was a comfort, but made me laugh with the crazy arm swinging that was going on... OK this was an exercise walk today. When I came to a busy intersection I had to wait at the corner as a parade of cars rode by going much faster than the 25 MPH speed limit and the faces of intent thought let me know that these were probably people on their way to work. I patiently waited until all cars went by and then signaled the turning ones to go ahead of me. I thought about the first time I visited Vermont, back in the late 70's, when all a person had to do was step off a curb and the traffic would instantly stop and let the pedestrian cross, whether it was at a cross walk or not. There were no dismayed glances from the drivers, just a natural stopping and everyone participated. I also thought about the Via Vieto in Italy where the motorbikes whizzed by at incredible speeds and no one would stop until you bravely walked out into the street... then everyone on bike came to a screeching halt. It was very intimidating for us tourists. But NJ has had a law that drivers must yield to pedestrians at crosswalks, and yet what I have experienced is that unless there is a sign posted in the middle of the road, or if a crossing guard present, most people just ignore the law. I know sometimes it's hard to tell whether a pedestrian is just standing at a corner or has a need to cross, sometimes if someone is making a turn, the rear driver's view is obscured and they might not see a pedestrian... it's happened to me as a driver. But when you are marching in place, with arms swinging , looking right and left from the cross walk before you and not one in ten cars stops to let you cross... well, I guess here in NJ people probably feel the crosswalk law is just a optional courtesy. The impact of the law has not really taken hold as yet.

A Suspicious Surveillance

I have a good imagination and a pretty good sense of intuition about things (I actually predicted the economic shambles we are in about 5 years ago) and so when I went to the store to pick up a couple of packs of cigarettes, I was astounded to find out that now the Pathmark is required to ask for ID from those buying cigarettes (which are under lock and key) but they also must type in your birthday in order to complete the purchase. At first the thought of being ID'd kind of tickled my sense of vanity... then reality set in as there is no possible world where I would pass for the under eighteen crowd. The checkout woman seemed flustered with the system and had a hard time finding my birthdate (even with her glasses on, to which I could relate) and her register would not let the transaction complete. It wasn't until she realized that she kept entering the issue date instead of the birth date did the register settle down and permitted the purchase. Have things gotten so ridiculous that a 52 year old, or a 70 year old person needs to prove they are not a teenager, or is something else going on here? Mmmnnn, my mind was curious, my imagination piqued, and then my anger flared up. I was careful not to upset the clerk any more than she already was and so I kept my sarcastic comments to myself. Perhaps, this is some new form of surveillance, a big brother ploy to track the smokers, collect the data of their habits, and then sell the information. Who would care, you might ask? Well insurance companies would care and could very well put those small print disclaimers on policies canceling any payment for illnesses that could be carcinogen related. Or wouldn't the tobacco companies love that information, so they could send mailed, targeted coupons and rebates to their valued customers, after all if you are buying, wouldn't you buy more in this economy if you got a break? Prospective employers would love to know who the smokers are, so as to put them low on the list of employment candidates, and just think of all the character reference information that could be exposed... "sorry coach, you can't work with kids as we know you are a closet smoker"... you see where I'm going here. Now I can understand the ID law for young people and if I were 20 I wouldn't mind being carded, but a mandated collection of one's personal ID when it is obvious as to one's age in decades is obviously a ridiculous waste of time and money... and at worst a sinister theft of identity.

Bring on the Shower

Last night I met with my daughter Tara's mother-in-law so we could discuss the baby shower planned for Saturday. We had a lovely dinner and when the listing of to do's was compared and delivered we settled in for a nice walk down memory lane to talk about our two children who are to become proud parents in November. Both Tara and Chris were the ideal babies... hardly ever crying or fussing, and as both grew to be toddlers they were loving and kind to their younger siblings. We both know they will be terrific parents. I'm very glad that this shower is not a surprise because I needed Tara's advice on what cake to order, what appetizers to prepare... I've become a bit of a scatterbrain lately (though the truth be told, I've never been a great organizer of events.) So, after my motherly inquiry this morning I was off and running to get my errands done. There were plates and tableware to buy, I was making good headway at Cosco until I realized that the cake I thought I would order only had buttercream frosting, and Tara doesn't like it. Luckily I had my new cell phone, and was able to call her at work to get permission for an alternate cake combo.. frosting should go with the cake and the filling is important too. I ordered my shrimp party platter, after establishing (with Tara) that pregnant women can eat shrimp... no sushi, shellfish, raw lettuce, cold cuts, soft cheeses... the list goes on... I wonder how my kids survived, there were no rules back then. If you ate or drank something wrong you got sick... end of story. As I stood in line at Cosco going over my next set of errands, I saw a woman about my age talking to a little cherub faced girl who sat in her basket. She was obviously a grandma, as I would soon be, and suddenly my eyes filled with tears and I had an emotional moment. I tried to distract myself by thinking of Gerry's humorous comment to me when we visit Cosco on Saturday's... Wen, do you want your usual dozen churros? knowing full well that I don't eat fried, doughy, sweet food. It didn't work, and the tears rolled down my face while I thought of my beautiful baby girl all grown up and ready for motherhood. I feigned a yawn and quickly wiped my face. Next stop, Babies R Us to check the progress of her registry... I'm a nosy bird. All was well as there were only a few pages of non-essential items left (my gift was already thought of well in advance), but it took me 20 minutes to choose an appropriate gift bag for my gift... decisions, decisions. Then it was off to buy wine, and since I am not a wine drinker and have no clue what ladies sip at the noonday hour... that took 20 minutes to decide as well. That done, I raced in my little redwing car to the card store and spent another 20 minutes searching for the perfect card, while avoiding anything laced with too much sentiment... I'll write my own when I could let loose some tears at home. As I headed home a terrible thought hit me... the greeting on the ordered cake, I was not sure of the spelling of my Grandbaby's name. I know her middle name will be the same as Tara's and my own... Lee, and I was so thrilled about that I never inquired as to the spelling of the first name. How could I find out without calling my daughter and probably frustrating her with yet another inquiry, especially one I should have known. Think... and then it hit me. Chris is on Facebook, and I was hoping in his excitement for the upcoming event there might be mention of the name I knew so well. Bingo... it was there on his wall for all the world to see. Annabel... the most beautiful name to me right now. I headed back to Cosco to change the spelling on the order... as I spelled it as Annabelle. Perhaps, it was a sub-conscious message as Tara's nickname has always been 'Beauty' and 'Belle' means the same thing in French. My deed corrected, I am now prepared for my role at the shower and I hope I can attend without an over-emotional cloudburst of tears... joyful, sentimental, tears..., if not... well it's not called a shower for nothing.

The Vast Beauty of the Grand Canyon

I'm not one for crowds of tourists, especially when I am admiring a natural beauty such as the Grand Canyon in AZ. I need time and quiet to take my pictures so I walked a bit away from the crowds and found my own ledge to view from. There were no fences or rails and I think Gerry might have been momentarily worried when I turned around and waved at him to take my picture on the jutting piece of rock on which I stood. The drop was steep, but as someone who is not bothered by heights... it was exciting as well. As I stood and gazed at the wondrous shades, colors, and patterns of the canyon, I knew it would be of little value snapping hundreds of pictures. There is no camera (or at least one I could afford) that could ever do justice to the spectacular splendor that lay before me in three D delight. I was content to watch a condor circle the air currents overhead and then below and it was amazing how utterly quiet my surroundings were... as no one followed me. And so I just stood there for many many minutes, mesmerized and alone with my thoughts, wishing I could fly as well... until Gerry found me. He was able to spend time alone in reverence from his viewing spot closer to the tourists (he is not a fan of heights, as he gets vertigo) but I thought he took a nice photo of me and my shadow up there on the ledge. Often we have joked that if life on the road gets too tough we will do a "Thelma and Louise" flight in the Eurovan over the canyon. But from the look on Gerry's face at the edge, I don't think we have to worry about that... as long as he is driving.

A Return Trip to Miami

So our youngest was safely delivered to his new home after a day's delay in OK and we needed to get back to NJ so Gerry could resume work at his new job. We stayed overnight and slept on Colin's floor for three nights, which wouldn't have been so bad, but I forgot we were in a city and so on the second night, I was awakened by the drone of a nearby helicopter and a loud voice from a megaphone, stating "come out with your hand up, the house is surrounded, we will let the police dogs in and you may be bitten." Now Gerry and I are not city people and although this bank robber suspect was within close vicinity to Colin's apartment, we went running out into the night air to see what was going on (not smart, I know, as there could have been gunfire). But it all resolved and that was the extent of big city excitement. We shoved off and were able to see the Hoover Dam which is an engineering marvel, and then spent a few hours at the Grand Canyon which is more spectacular than my photos could ever depict. Our biggest thrill however was returning to little Miami, OK to return a copper bracelet to our friend Justin, and to say hi to our new friends there. We walked into Boomers Bar at 8:30 that night and had just missed Justin and Dee who had previously left. It was a whole new crowd of people and we instantly struck up a conversation with Sonny (a 72 year old Native American who loves John Bonjovi) and his wife Karen who giggled as I relayed the story of a cigarette ash burning a clump of hair off the top of my head giving me a mini mullet (true story). It was karaoke night and soon a small crowd wandered in as Christa our bartender told us we couldn't leave because some of the local talent was coming in to sing. She actually got the ball rolling with Stevie Nick's Landslide (one of my favorites) and she did a great job, as she shyly sang from behind the bar. We were treated to a version of "Black Dog" by Led Zeppelin by an unassuming guy in a baseball cap that was spot on perfect, and he humorously altered the lyrics a bit to suit his own angst. Then there was an older Cherokee woman who set up a makeshift jewelry display right on the bar (I had to buy a beautiful necklace for $10) and then sang a stirring country song whose title I did not catch. You could see by the hardened lines on her face that she probably lived through the heartbreak that she sang about. There was a young woman ( the house diva) who belted out the Melissa Etheridge song, "I'm the Only One" and brought the house down. Another older woman (about my age) sang a beautiful country song and sounded just like Patsy Cline, and when we were leaving she yelled to us, "where are you going, "I'm going to do a Patsy Cline hit next." There was a young 20 something who got up and did a great version of "What's Up" by 4 Non Blondes and everyone couldn't help but chime in... though no one could belt it out over her voice.. it was electrifying. There were singers of all ages, sizes, genders, and the songs that they chose were as diverse as the people singing them. For some reason I thought it would be all country music, but I was surprised that it was not (another stereotypical thought dispelled). There was even a doo-wop song just for Gerry... called... angel something, and he sang along with gusto... so you know we felt comfortable there! I have never seen such talent, such fun, and such camaraderie at a karaoke venue.. there were no egos present, only a warm bunch of people out for a good time. Once we are on the road for good, I know we will be back at Boomers, so maybe I should practice up a song for karaoke night. Ya never know.

The Doll Head Haunt

So we broke down in Miami OK, and Gerry rode to Joplin, MO to get a rental van that would allow us to continue the trip, while Colin and I had a breakfast at the Great Western Restaurant and wondered, what now? I heard about the Indian run casino some two miles up the road and thought, well, maybe a meander to check it out was in order. The alternative was watching mindless TV in the hotel room... not a good option for someone who hates mindless TV. We strode down the sidewalk-less stretch of Route 10, him with his hand pulled suitcase, me with my old Canon rebel camera around my neck, and tried to ignore the signs of a troubled despair of a town that seemed abandoned and foreclosed in the heat of the midmorning sun. We saw the white of the old white grainaries ahead of us as we walked, and joked that we were going to Oz to see the wizard. What would I ask for and what would he? was left unspoken between us. We got to the Stables Casino, but not before seeing the macabre sight of a doll's head lying amongst the litter of the sleepy town. I had to get a shot of the carnage, as Colin urged me to use caution, as pick-up trucks were flying down the road and would have hit me as I shot my picture of horror. We went in the casino and pumped change into the glitzy slot machines until it bored us to tears; we got a free lunch as there was a mix-up in the kitchen that only had to serve lunch to the two of us, and then we started the lonely trek away from Oz. We laughed and joked and in our imagination we were an unlikely pair of drifters in a Steven King novel... what if we walked and did not find our motel, what if this was our destiny to drift and try to laugh in the desolate landscape where decapitated doll heads smiled in the debris of the roadside?... I had to contain my macabre imagination as Colin doesn't really know me beyond the love of a mom that he will not refer to as "step." We meandered back to the hotel to meet Gerry and our new ride, and I suddenly felt old as the young passerby females, in Neons and Mustangs, looked in awe at Colin's movie star looks, and then disgustedly glanced at me, an older woman companion who had no business in the company of this young and hopeful man. Silently we walked side by side as weary travelers, knowing we made the most of this unforeseen delay.

Dining on the Road

Our trip out West did not feature the usual epicurean adventures that we cherish whenever we are on vacation. Instead this trip was one of a timed determination to get Colin to his new home as quickly and efficiently as possible., and then to return in time for Gerry to get back to work. Most of the food we ate ( as I had guessed) was taken as a quick scoff at the all too familiar logos that loomed from the Interstate and were printed on signs prior to the exits that featured small towns. I'm a big fan of breakfast and luckily most of the motels we stayed at featured some kind of breakfast... mostly continental. I did have a disappointed stab at biscuits and gravy at an Econolodge, which tasted mostly like cold cardboard and glue (I thought there was supposed to be sausage in the gravy?) On a few occasions, breakfast was a packaged bear claw or other sweet confection and a large coffee purchased at the convenience stores that lead us west. I got a little more excited at lunchtime when we stopped at Subway or Quiznos, only because I was able to have a salad which seemed a bit healthier than greasy fast food. By dinnertime, we were often so hungry and tired from sitting all day that it didn't matter what we ate. McDonalds or Wendys seemed to be the logical choices along a stretch of road that wasn't geared for vacationers, but rather folks just passing through as quickly as possible. There was a lunch at a Stuckey's which featured popcorn chicken and fries and mostly I drank Mountain Dew soda to keep myself alert in the face of the hours of driving we all had to share. But once we got to San Diego, we did have a nice meal at a Spanish restaurant with tapas, and a nice big platter of paella... just fabulous. We walked to the restaurant which was about a mile from Colin's apartment and the walking did a lot to stimulate our appetites. It was also great to finally have some cold imported beer with dinner, as that is not something you do when your're on the road. When the waiter offered us dessert, Gerry made the sweetest compliment to me in decline... it made me blush. That comment will be savored forever! The next night after visiting the beach, we had a dinner at a pub where we sat outside on a porch to enjoy the sights and sounds of San Diego at night. I ordered a steak, baked potato, and a caesar salad, and after all those days trying to be creative with the fast food options, it tasted like heaven. But my favorite places to eat resided on old Route 66, as we made our way back home. First, their was a little rib joint about an hour from the Grand Canyon. I think Buffalo Pointe was the name. We had the best (and only) smoked beef ribs I ever had. My jaw dropped when this Fred Flintstone hunk of ribs was brought to the table. I only ordered three and thought it would be a ladylike portion... who knew cows were so big? I sucked all but one bone clean. It was served with kidney beans in a fine broth with peppers and onion and was just delicious. The coleslaw was tart with just a hint of sweetness and not too much mayonnaise... perfect, cause I am real fussy when it comes to mayo based salads. There was even two guys playing some fine bluesy music with a guitar and drum at the entrance... dinner and a show. It started to feel like vacation. We also had a breakfast at the Route 66 diner in Santa Rosa, NM and it did not disappoint. The place looked like it hadn't changed much from the 50's, with lots of decorations and memorabilia, but it was charming and clean, the service was quick and courteous, and everything was cooked to perfection. Gerry said it was the best omelette he ever had, and I was so satiated I did not dispute the claim. I can't wait to go back on the road, to drive along the full stretch of Route 66 and sample all the local cooking. We had just a small taste and there is plenty more road to cover there.

Oklahoma is OK by me!

It is always a pleasant surprise when an experience that is first seen as a disaster turns into one that becomes a cherished memory. Such is the case when our car broke down in Miami, OK just two days into our cross country adventure. Low on gas in the mid-afternoon, we coasted into one of those off the Interstate gas stations that sport a convenience store where the inevitable bathroom and junk food pit stop occur. It was my turn to drive, and as I backed the car out of the parking spot, it stalled and would not start again. At first I thought it was because I was a little rusty driving a clutch car... and so Gerry and Colin both took over to confirm that it wasn't my driving, it was something way more serious. Within minutes, a kind stranger asked if we needed any help and gave us the name of the local mechanics who might be of help the next day. They were currently out racing cars, as it was a Sunday, but he said they were nice fellows who would help us out. His wife even offered the use of her daughter's name (who was good friends with the young racing crew), just so she was sure we would be taken care of properly. Other local residents stopped to ask if we needed help with the use of their cell phone or information about the town in which we were stranded. Luckily, there was a Great Western motel adjacent to the gas station which had a little bar called Boomers and a restaurant attached to it. The three of us pushed the car from the convenience store into the motel parking lot and while Gerry read the manual and Colin tried to start the engine, a thin man in a straw hat and carrying a banana bread strolled over and asked if we needed help. Being from NJ and a bit suspicious of strangers, I nervously offered that our car broke down. He looked under the hood and strolled back to his car to get a wrench so we could disconnect the battery for a few minutes and reconnect it to see if that would do the trick. When it didn't and the tow truck from AAA showed up to tell us that it would be better for us to wait until the next day to tow our car to the dealership in Joplin MO (26 miles away), Justin, the hatted stranger invited us to come have drinks at the bar. He let us know that he was trading a fresh baked banana bread for a gin and tonic. We got us a couple of rooms in the motel and then entered the small local bar which featured guitars and memorabilia from famous celebrities. The few patrons that were there listened to our story and assured us that we would be taken care of properly. Then as if we were old friends, they shared stories, jokes, and laughter with us for the next several hours. Before long the little bar was alive with a boisterous and friendly atmosphere that took us away from the sting of the breakdown... and a heck of a good time! We met Dee who was an 82 year old WWII vet who traded facetious banter with Justin (the straw hatted cowboy) who drove cattle along the entire American continent for a living. At one point Justin took the copper bracelet that he claimed was too small for him and gave it to me for my own complaint of arthritis. I assured him I would find him one that fit him on our travels and present it to him on our return trip (which I did). You could tell that even as the locals exchanged verbal barbs, they had a deep respect for one another and the town in which they lived. The bartender Karen who was originally from California, told us jokingly we'd better run for our lives, as this was a place that once you come to... you never leave. She then presented us with Boomers tee shirts and introduced us to her daughter Christa, who took over as the night bartender. After many hours of laughing and drinking with our new found friends we headed home to our rooms, sorry that we broke down and lost a day, but somehow thankful that it couldn't have happened in a better place surrounded by such a warm group of people.

Home Again!

Well it seems like ages since I last sat down at my computer to post, but after a day and a half of laundry, housework, uploading photos, and digesting the the road trip across America and back... here I am, excited to be reconnecting with my friends and family. What a wonderful trek it was, the scenery along the Interstate across NJ, PA, WV, OH, IL, IN, MO, OK, TX, NM, AZ to CA was incredible to say the least. I have taken about 400 photos, but because we rarely stopped, many of them were taken through the car window at the average cruising speed of 75 MPH (most of it legal). We had one little snafu on Sunday (day 2) when our car broke down in a small town off I-44 called Miami (pronounced Me-ama) and would not start again. Some computer chip to the fuel pump burnt out and so poor Gerry spent a day at the nearest Subaru dealership while Colin and I ambled to the nearest casino to lose some cash... hey we had to do something! As it turned out I am glad we broke down in that little town because we met the absolute friendliest people in the world! I will do a whole blog on our new found friends (yes, we will be returning there) but suffice it to say that the dealership people in Joplin, MO were just as friendly and accommodating as well. You see, they had to order the parts for the fuel pump issue and so they rented us a big new minivan so we could continue our trip out west. If you could believe it, we were only charged about $200 total for the use of this luxury vehicle (no miles!). It was a blessing as our Subaru was so jam packed with his things that we could not see out of the back or rear windows and the front passenger had to give the OK of when to change lanes. The back seat had just enough room for sitting up straight. Colin was starting a new job the following Tuesday and needed to get his apartment in order and buy a car, so we really had no time to spare. The new van afforded us the ability to drive without window obstruction and the back seat was cleared for the passenger to curl up and take a nap if they chose. We were driving in comfort and style, which takes a lot coming from me who swore I would never drive a big dumb mini-van! I will eat my words... they are great for road trips and big families. Once we got Colin settled, we did get a chance for some sight seeing on the way back. The highlights included Hoover Dam, Grand Canyon, and several superb eateries on Route 66. For the most part we stayed at Econolodges (low rent hotels) and ate at fast food places (as I suspected and dreaded) so I think I can say that we roughed it at least a little in preparation for our future extended road trip. Gerry and I had fun and there was only a little unpleasantness when I got hypoglycemic and there was no place to stop to eat. It was my own fault, as I should have had the sense to carry some cheese and crackers as Gerry suggested. Otherwise, I loved driving 75 miles an hour, singing to my hearts content, listening to rural country music stations, and gaping at the most incredible scenery I have ever seen. Today is just an overview... I will tell stories in more detail next week!

Oh, the pix is of the "men" assessing the car situation in OK. The man in the straw hat is our friend Justin (known as "cowboy" by the locals).

Road Trip!

Today I am busily doing my domestic goddess thing: cleaning, vacuuming, laundry, caring for Otis, while also packing clothes and making lists preparing for the second launching of Gerry's youngest son Colin. We are taking him to San Diego, Ca where he found a job in his field and will meet up with friends and probably be attending college in the Spring to pursue a Master's Degree in Engineering. Since he is an avid surf boarder and guitar player will will be loading up the Subaru wagon to drive him to his next stop in life. Of course, it is also good practice to see how we do on the road... as we plan to fulfill our dream of checking out of society for a while (once we sell the house) and living a frugal existence in a Eurovan, while seeing the sights of America. Tonight all the kids will be coming over with beer and pizza to celebrate Colin's leaving and my 52 birthday (which is tomorrow). I'm hoping that they will tag team to take care of Otis in our absence... he's really no trouble at all, but there will be no room for him on this trip (he is coming to live with us in the Eurovan one day). I'm pretty excited about the trip and hope to do a lot of the driving so I can choose where we pull over when I see a good photo opportunity. The only thing I'm not looking forward to is the fast food that will probably sustain us on our trip... I'll try to keep that order to a happy meal minimum, after all there will be very little exercise with all that driving. I just wonder how far we'll get by the day's end tomorrow... it would be nice spending a night in a state I have not yet visited... Ohio maybe?

Anyway, I hope to have some good stories to post when I get back... take care all!

Some Kinda Prank

We been trying to sell our home of 13 years for over a year now, and although many people have seen it and loved it, they either offered us a foreclosure price or it was not exactly what the seekers wanted. It is a 123 year old home, a proud victorian Princess with lots of little rooms. There is a faux fireplace in the kitchen, but not one in the living room. The dining room has seated 12 people comfortably, but there is no wall space for a hutch, breakfront, or china cabinet. The kitchen was gutted and remodeled in 2002 and although it is the gathering place for our large family to congregate while Gerry and I cook, it is pretty much standing room only. The house has shifted and some of the walls and ceilings that are of the original plaster, have cracks and creases... I know the little flaws. On the plus side it is solidly built with all the charm that these type homes have to offer... pocket doors, decorative trim, a shaded front porch... oh don't get me started. I watch every day as people ride by and stop and admire and I wonder what they are thinking. So I was surprised the other day when someone rode by in a car, slowed down in the middle of the rode to look, when I realized the for sale sign was missing. Was this an omen of things to come? Did the wild animals who roam our property and are rewarded with "treats" steal the sign in protest of our planned escape? Or did our contract end and the realtor took the sign away? I called him to ask. "Nooo, I did not take the sign down, we have several more months to go" he stated. "it must be vandals. I'll call the police and replace it." He came to replace the sign a few hours later, and relayed the story that there have been other reports of for sale signs in town missing, and from what the police told him, someone's home in a neighboring town (whose house was not on the market) was targeted with over 50 for sale signs adorning their front lawn. Wow, imagine the terror you might feel seeing that sight. One might feel completely unwanted in the neighborhood and it would make you wonder who or how many people didn't like you, or you might just chalk it up to young vandals performing a random stupid prank. Even so, I think that scenario is just creepy enough to fuel some worry and perhaps a dark nightmare.

Otis, Cool your Jets!

Yes the dog days of summer are upon us and finally the temperatures have gone up into the 90's where they belong. I just love the hot and humid weather and have only recently put AC in our bedroom for sleeping when it gets above the 90 degree mark. The rest of the house stays pretty comfortable because of all shade trees that surround our home. Poor Otis in his summer fur coat doesn't really like the heat and humidity and so he gets really lazy during the day. He can't sweat by panting like a dog, doesn't like to drink water our of a bowl (if there is anything but food in his little glass bowl he gets mad, and will pick it up with his teeth and hurl it across the room in protest and so he just sulks. He really is a bit of curmudgeon! I give him plenty of lettuce so he gets enough hydration, but sometimes he seems so hot and grumpy that I have to take extraordinary measures... like putting an ice-cube on his little head. The first time Gerry did that I thought it was funny but kinda cruel. Otis's eyes got real big and he got that panicky rabbit look on his face. It seemed that he was too scared to move, so he just sat there until the ice started melting down his face and then he shook his head, shivered and then did the happy bunny jump. After that he started hopping around the kitchen doing his little rabbit maneuvers (jumps and spins) and then seemed a little happier. Now when I see him looking hot and hang dog, I place an ice cube on his head and I think he really likes it. It must be refreshing, and then when it melts he shakes it off and then attempts to bite it with his teeth (a sneaky way to get him to sip some water. Afterwards he gets a little more active and then when he finally settles down he seems contented. The top picture shows him just after the ice cooling looking all snugly in his hay box (he has a separate one for his litter as he doesn't like laying in his own poo.) Isn't he the vision of contentment as he munches on a blade of timothy grass? His paws are held in front of him as if he was praying... probably for some cooler weather!