Mind Worms

2007-08-29T13:14:00.000-04:00

Rainbow in Paradise

Jimmy Buffett sang the praises of a "Cheeseburger in Paradise" but I was recently treated to something not only less fattening but much more satisfying. Twice in three days my husband and I were delighted by the sight of a gorgeous rainbow following a late afternoon thunderstorm. Although not visible in this picture, there was a second rainbow trying to form just above this one.

Gazing at something as perfectly formed as this rainbow tends to bring back a remnant of the wonder children feel when something special appears in front of their eyes. Even as an adult you have wonder how the colors appear, not to mention the perfectly shaped arc. And there's the age -old question of what lies at the end of the rainbow. There may or may not be a pot of gold at the end of this rainbow but there is joy in Mother Nature's paintings .

2007-07-30T16:01:00.000-04:00

Out of Hibernation

It has always amazed me how quickly time can pass without you being aware of it even though you're right there all the time. Granted you're asleep a third of the time (well, that depends on the person I guess) and you can't possibly be held responsible for what happens during your beauty rest. So that leaves the other two thirds you have to account for. Since it's been over a year since I posted anything I must offer the only explanation I can think of to excuse the prolonged lapse......Well, um,......darned if I know where all the time went! I swear, one minute it was June 2006 and when I woke up it was almost August 2007!! Sounds like Rip Van Winkle syndrome to me ( gotta Google that...I'm sure there's a study to back me up).
Looking back though I do have some relatively clear memories of time snapshots that I'm pretty sure I wasn't dreaming. Take our retirement for instance. I'm sure I was wide awake at my office retirement party receiving gifts like coupon holders and Find A Word books. Otherwise there's no plausible explanation for having these items in my possession, short of an elf with a warped sense of humor. And I have pictures of my husband and I with our cake at our official retirement party and my eyes were wide open. Digital enhancement aside, it pretty powerful evidence I was there. And the most vivid proof is we're now living quite contentedly in our Florida home amidst palm trees and sunshine. Well, there ya go, that's the explanation of my lost time. Apparently my brain retired when I did and I've just been too busy to notice!!
Hopefully when all the cobwebs have cleared, my creative juices will flow once again and the lapses will become less frequent, although I've been told that I'm becoming a prime candidate for the dreaded senior moments.

2006-06-15T16:16:00.000-04:00

The Shoemaker's Children Revisited

Back in the beginning of my blogging days, I told the story of the shoemaker's children having no shoes as it related to my being married to a plumber and (big surprise) having unresolved plumbing issues. Last Sunday afternoon my husband and I spent a pleasant afternoon aboard the boat of another plumber and his wife and lo and behold, she made the shoemaker analogy within the first half hour!!
Apparently Carol had decided to water the new plants she had had put in and needed to attach the Miracle Grow dispenser to her hose to water and nourish the young plants. Well, her husband, the plumber, had years before put in what we call a commercial hose bib which basically means it has no knob to turn and requires a special key to turn on and off. So Carol attempts to squeeze the hose together long enough to remove the existing nozzle and attach the new dispenser. Needless to say, she wound up soaked head to toe and called her husband who was already aboard the boat to share in her misery. After he walked her through how to turn the water off, he offered to come home and help but was told quite firmly not to bother.
When Doug & I arrived at the boat, Ed couldn't wait to fill us in on his wife's mishap, laughing all the while, yet admitting he was in for it when she arrived. And right he was....it took all of five minutes for Carol to bring up this damned hose bib and the trouble it caused. It seems she had been after Ed for years to change it to the regular kind anyone can turn off and on.........this is where the shoemaker came in. I was immediately sympathetic as I have had a non-functioning toilet for three weeks now. Despite threats and promises, I sit here still with a toilet that only flushes when you reach into the tank (YUCK) and manually lift the flushing mechanism. Granted the water in the tank is clean, but still.....nasty!!
As Carol and I lamented the lack of attention to our plumbing needs, we finally came to the conclusion that the only solution was for us to call the other's husband's company for service and give the guys the bill!! Now where did I put the shoemaker's...I mean Ed's number??

2006-04-03T10:49:00.000-04:00

What a Year!!

So far, 2006 has not been a banner year for my family and friends. My long hiatus from this blog has been due to an unfortunate and sad series of events. The first week of January was fresh with the promise of a good year but took a bad turn on January 9th when our good friend Jack went into respiratory arrest while on a plane to Ft. Lauderdale. He and his close friend Jan were on their way to a cruise ship for a well-deserved week long vacation only to find themselves in a situation fit for a horror movie.
Imagine being trapped thousands of miles in the air, unable to breathe, nowhere close to medical intervention! Both Jack and Jan knew Jack had been fighting what he thought was a cold and despite Jan's willingness to postpone the trip, Jack insisted they go as planned. As Jan explained to me later, Jack didn't seem to be completely with it from the moment he woke up. Always early for everything, he was running late to pick Jan up and despite several phone calls, he couldn't quite get it in gear. When he finally arrived at Jan's he realized he had forgotten to put his teeth in and had to rush back home to retrieve them while Jan took her own car to BWI to get them checked in and upgraded to first class. Jack was a very large man in height and weight and we often referred to him as our gentle giant or our teddybear. Minutes before the flight was due to leave, Jack arrived huffing and puffing and assuring Jan he was just fine, he settled into his seat.
Two hours into the flight, the nightmare began. Jack began gasping for breath and turning gray as Jan, panic-stricken summoned the flight attendant who immediately got on the intercom to ask for any medical help that might be available. Luckily there were two doctors and an EMT onboard and they sprang into action with oxygen and sugar and anything else that might help. Since Jack was diabetic, the initial thought was the problem could be related to his medication or lack of food that morning. As this team worked to get air into Jack's lungs, the flight was diverted to Orlando where an ambulance would be waiting to take him to the nearest hospital.
As it happened, I was at our house in Palm Harbor taking a little time off when I got a call from my husband telling me about Jack. I couldn't imagine why Jack and Jan were in Orlando much less how Jack had wound up in ICU!! After several hurried calls, I made contact with Jan who needless to say was beside herself with fear and worry. Jack had been rushed into ICU and put on a ventilator as the doctors began running tests and determined that Jack had pneumonia and would require at least a weeklong stay at the hospital. Feeling that Jan could use the support, I drove to Orlando the next morning and we checked into a nearby Best Western thinking it would only be a week until Jack could go home. Boy were we all wrong!!
Our darling Jack was laying there in ICU looking much like Gulliver as the Lilliputians tied him down. My heart sank at the sight of this gentle giant lying helpless, tied to machines and tubes, struggling to breathe. The constant symphony of beeps and bells monitoring his every bodily function did nothing to alleviate the feeling that washed over me..... a certainty that Jack would not recover. Hoping beyond hope that this premonition was wrong, Jan and I embarked on a long voyage of ups and downs, tears and laughter, hope and dismay.
Spending hours every day in ICU, we got to know some of the most wonderful and caring people I've ever met. Those nurses were not only dedicated and professional, they cared about their patients and the families too. We became part of the ICU family and they embraced us, giving us hugs and words of encouragement all the while tending to Jack as if he were a close friend of theirs. Nurses would stop in to check on Jack even if they weren't taking care of him that day. He would respond to them with quirky smiles and cocked eyebrows, flirting as best he could and enjoying the parade of cute nurses at his bedside. Even in sickness, Jack was the jolly man we had always known.
As the days dragged into weeks, tests revealed the worst. Jack had lung cancer and the outlook was grim at best. His only hope was to clear up the pneumonia and get off the respirator so cancer treatment could begin before the cancer spread. Jan and I talked long into the night trying to decide what Jack would want us to do. He was adamant about not being kept alive by machines but we knew he would want to be home near his friends if it was truly his time. Jack had lost all of his family over the years but all of us that loved him made him a member of our own families. And so we promised Jack that we would find a way to get him home as soon as possible. Despite the great medical care Jack was getting, it became increasingly clear that he would not be able to breathe without the ventilator. Jack gave it a gallant try but his lungs just couldn't keep up.
With heavy hearts we put our efforts into taking Jack home. Word spread to the wonderful Annapolis High School Class of 1962 of which Jack, Jan and my husband Doug were members. I had become an honorary member over the years while helping with reunions and fielding emails about various members of the class. Knowing our only option of transporting Jack was an air ambulance that would cost $8600. and was not covered by insurance, Doug set up a fund and donations from all of Jack's friends poured in along with cards, emails and phone calls. Jack always said he didn't have many friends...he couldn't have been more wrong!! After a month in Orlando's ICU, Jack was flown home accompanied by Jan and taken to Johns Hopkins in Baltimore where just two weeks later, he died surrounded by his closest "family of friends".
In keeping with Jack's wishes, there was no viewing or public ceremony or wake. But since Jack had always loved parties we knew he wouldn't mind if we celebrated his life. We arranged a Celebration at our house attended by somewhere between 50 and 60 people (I lost count) along with his Vice Principal who attended every event the Class of 62 ever had. As we watched videos, looked at pictures and told stories, we toasted this loving man and I'm pretty sure I heard his booming laughter join in.
We'll miss you Teddybear.

2005-12-23T11:42:00.000-05:00

Happy Holidays

As I sat here this morning listening to Christmas carols and wrapping the last of the presents, it occured to me that I had been neglecting my blog and the special people who read it. It is a great feeling to know that there are some out there who look forward to my musings and unique take on everyday events whether my words bring laughter or tears. Although my postings have slipped the last few months, I hope to soon recover from my bout of "muchtoobusyitis" and once again regale you all with my tales and goofy insights.
This has been an eventful year for our family, some happy, some sad and some a combination of both. In the midst of our hectic schedules, we tend to lose track of how quickly the days are passing and how precious time and our loved ones are. We often forget to express our feelings towards our family and friends except on special occasions thinking they surely know how we feel about them.....besides we have plenty of time to tell them later. Knowing I am definitely guilty of this fault, there is only one thing to do..........
TO ALL MY FRIENDS AND FAMILY.....I LOVE YOU ALL AND HOPE YOU HAVE THE BEST HOLIDAY SEASON EVER!!
And in the coming year I wish for all of us Happiness, Peace and a Circle of Loving Family and Friends.

2005-11-16T10:12:00.000-05:00

"The worms crawl in..."

Remember that gross kids' song "The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out"? Well, what would happen if the Mind Worms crawled in and none crawled out? Your brain will turn to mush!! Let's face it, even the brain has a finite amount of space to store whatever is sent into it before it yells "Enough already!!", bolts the door and takes a vacation!!
I've often kiddingly said a mind is a terrible thing to lose and I firmly believe if mine isn't lost, it's definitely been misplaced temporarily. No, I haven't finally fallen off the edge of what passes for sanity, I've just pushed so much "stuff" into my poor little brain that's it's taken a hike until I do a little bit of housekeeping. So grab a broom guys and let's see what we can toss out!!
First, let's sweep the cobwebs away from the door and check out the file room.... oops, bad idea. Looks like everything has just been dumped into a heap in the middle of the room...guess the file clerk got a bit overwhelmed. This is gonna be a lot tougher than I thought!! So...what happened you might ask...well, it's a long story.
It all started when my husband Doug and I bought our house in Florida. Spending long quiet weekends in a warm, sunny place, sipping cocktails on the lanai, letting our minds drift became our favorite form of entertainment. Being away from the constant jangling of telephones, the squawking of two-way radios and the shrill sounds of customer complaints was pure heaven. Although having your own business has it's rewards, it also has it's drawbacks...plus it follows you everywhere like a child hanging onto your leg when you try to get away for a while. And so the dream began. It sounded so simple....first you sell the business, then you sell the house and then you pack up your most important treasures and head for a life of fun and sun in Florida.....simple right? Sure buddy...keep dreaming!!
Making the decision has been the easiest part of this whole process we call retirement. Months later...and many tears later when we broke the news to our three kids....we're still stuck at step one!! Coming to an agreement with the potential new owners was a bit of a trying experience but we managed to hash out the details and, celebrating the sucess of our negotiations, we proceeded on. Here's where things get more involved than any of us could have thought. Taking our two pages of plain English, the buyers made an appointment with their lawyer who managed to turn this simple transaction into forty-seven pages of ancient Sandskrit! Take it from me, by the time you wade through all the whereases, heinafters, aforementioneds and heretofors, you've forgotten what the heck you were trying to agree to in the first place much less which part of the party you're supposed to be!! And don't think that rereading it a few times will make it any clearer. Just when you think you finally understand what's being said, the words rearrange themselves and you wind up sitting there scratching your head in pure astonishment that any part of this might be considered the English we all grew up with. Maybe I should have taken "Legalease" as a second language instead of French.
So as I lay in bed the other night trying to form some coherent thought to quiet my frenzied mind, I heard my brain yell "Enough already!!" and over the barely audible sound of a bolt locking, the Mind Worms began singing... "Whereas the aformentioned worms (hereinafter referred to as the Party of the first part)crawl in.....

2005-10-09T13:38:00.000-04:00

Some Excuse

Some excuse is better than none as the old saying goes and my excuse is simply lack of time and what can only pass as a hopefully temporary writer's block. I've been meaning to sit down and post an article but it seems that the minute I touch the keyboard, my mind either starts going a zillion miles an hour or turns into a vacumn. I'm going to try to make a great effort to put my thoughts into some coherent order and fill up the vacumn with something other than empty air.
Life gets busy and time gets away from all of us sometimes. There are several rather large events taking place these days so I tend to get scattered quite easily. As things fall into place, I'm sure I shall regain what passes as my sanity and resume a somewhat more realiable pattern of creativity.
One of the most important events recently has been the safe return of my "Marine Son-in-Law" from Iraq. It's been a long seven months of worry and breath-holding as we waited for this day. Although a carpenter by trade, J.P. is a Marine in his heart and soul and gives his all to his country whenever asked. We all know how difficult it was for him to leave his wife and kids and travel thousands of miles from home to help the war on terror, yet he knew that his family had the constant support of family and friends to help them through.
It was amazing to me to watch some of the changes J.P. went through during his time away. The biggest surprise was his development in the field of electronics. I'm not saying he was a total novice with computers when he left but watching the videos he sent on special occassions and reading his emails, I gotta say I'm impressed!! Of course we'll all expect the same level of performance now that he's home so he better keep sharpening his skills. Actually, maybe he could give my husband a few pointers, but that's a whole different subject.
Seriously though, I want J.P. to know how proud we all are of him and how much he was missed. It gives great comfort to know we have men and women who are willing to put their lives on the line for the rest of us and help ensure our freedom. We grieve for the ones who have been lost as much as we celebrate the ones fortunate enough to return, and as long as any of our fellow Americans are away at war, we will keep them in our hearts and prayers.
Welcome home J.P. We love you.

2005-08-24T10:35:00.000-04:00

The Mother of Invention

They say necessity is the Mother of invention. There was a story on the Today Show this morning that definitely reinforces this statement. The story involved a young man who moved to Arizona and due to financial constraints, had little money to furnish his place. He apparently has a background as a software designer so creativity is in his nature. And so, necessity prompted him to come up with a solution to the furniture dilema.
I've seen college students and young people just starting out on their own construct furniture from cinder blocks and boards. And who hasn't begged or borrowed furniture from friends and relatives, not to mention flea market finds and curbside discards. Let's face it, pride doesn't take precedence if you need a place to sit or somewhere other than the floor to sleep.
This young man's approach, however, was most definitely unique. He decided to make his furniture from FedEx boxes and packing materials! You wouldn't think that these materials would make for sturdy, much less comfortable furniture but you got to see it to believe it. This guy not only made a dining table and chairs, he constructed a couch and a bed and used the bubble packages for cushioning. To prove a point, he actually jumped on his FedEx bed with no ill effects!
So what does FedEx think of all this? Apparently they are less than pleased with both the young man and his furniture. Granted he got the shipping materials for free by signing up for a FedEx account and he has set up a website, fedexfurniture, detailing his story but I'm thinking that FedEx should take a second look at the situation. Instead of insisting that this is not the proper use of their packaging and asking this guy to stop showing the pictures of his creations on his website, some really bright ad exec could turn this into a positive marketing tool for FedEx. Come on now, isn't it really great that their boxes and tape are strong enough that they can not only protect whatever you might be shipping but can also be used as sturdy furniture and be recycled back into packaging when no longer needed as room decor. What a marketing concept!! Their new tag line could be "Not only can we ship your furniture, we can be your furniture!" And if FedEx redesigned the boxes in bright prints or patterns, the furniture would look even better and create a whole new line for their company. Just an idea FedEx.
Check out this guy's website for yourself. I sure hope FedEx finds a little humor in this whole thing and begins to appreciate the fact that their products were chosen. He could have gone with UPS you know. That would answer the question "What can brown do for you?"!

2005-07-14T19:39:00.000-04:00

And The Words go on....

For anyone following our ever-developing new family dictionary "The Word According to Doug" or Dougisms as we refer to them, we have the latest entry. Although my husband is the namesake and largest contributor to our collection of misnomers, I have recently become aware that there are at least two other family members with the potential to add to this literary effort. But more about that later.
Fourth of July weekend my son, his fiancee and their adorable one year old daughter joined my husband at our WestByGod retreat. Since I happened to be in Florida at the time, my son filed the following story in his memory bank to be relayed to me, the keeper of the words, as soon as I returned. As is usually the case at this time of year, the weather was hot and humid during the day, and as the sun was retiring for the evening, the mosquitoes came out to play. Being the doting father he is, my son decided to light the Citronella candles placed in various locations on the deck outside so as to keep his daughter free from the biting insects. A short time later, Doug noticed the candles had been lit and being relatively certain he hadn't done the lighting, he asked my son "Hey...did you light the Salmonella candles?". Barely supressing his laughter my son innocently asked "The what?" which naturally caused Doug to repeat "The Salmonella candles...did you light them?". Unable to hold the laughter anymore, he managed to choke out "If you mean the Citronella candles, yes I lit them".
This episode was related to me yesterday afternoon as we sat chatting at the end of the work day and needless to say, both my daughter and I had tears in our eyes from laughing so hard! Wanting to make sure I remembered the Salmonella candles to add to the growing list of Dougisms, I kept repeating it over and over again as I shut down the office computer. Just to be on the safe side and since I had a grocery list prepared so I could stop on the way home, I jotted down Salmonella candles at the bottom of the list and off I went to the store.
This morning it dawned on me what the repercussions could have been had I accidently left this particular grocery list in the cart after checking out. Letting my imagination run wild, I envisioned some unsuspecting shopper picking up this list and idlely reading it before throwing it in the nearest trash bin. Hmmm...sugar, coffee, toilet paper, salmonella candles.......SALMONELLA CANDLES???? Ohmygod, call in the FBI, the SWAT Team, Homeland Defense.......must be a terrorist! Think of the headlines as the store is evacuated and everyone single item in the store is checked for salmonella infection. My poor husband has no idea of the havoc he could have caused.
Luckily his mispronunciations and invented words bring great humor to a select audience and they are all innocent blunders. We wouldn't have him any other way. Stay tuned for more.

2005-07-08T10:30:00.000-04:00

Mars and Venus

My oldest daughter sent me a cute joke this morning about a husband and wife who were having a disagreement regarding who should make the coffee each morning. The wife's position was that since the husband got up earlier, he should make the coffee. His response was that since she was responsible for the cooking, it was her job to make the coffee. Intent on proving a point, the wife informed her husband that it says in the Bible that the husband should make the coffee. As the husband laughingly refuted this claim, the wife opened her Bible, turned a few pages and presented the evidence to her husband. There indeed, at the top of the page was printed "Hebrews"!
Differences between men and women have provided inspiration for jokes for centuries as we struggle to understand our mates. To women, men are simplistic creatures whose needs are readily apparent....Food, Beer, TV, Sex and Cars....not necessarily in that order. How many times have we tried to have a conversation with our husbands only to find ourselves competing with the TV? It's especially annoying when they turn up the volume or look blankly at their spouse and say "Were you talking to me?". No darling, just singing.
Recently I heard of some short summer courses designed especially for men. A symposium titled "Toilet paper...Does it really grow on the holder? " immediately caught my attention. I've often wondered if men are genetically predisposed to not changing the empty toilet paper roll, do single guys pay someone to do it for them? Following this course was a lively discussion about the virtues of putting the toilet seat back down. What wife hasn't stumbled half asleep into the bathroom in the middle of the night only to be rudely shocked into wakefulness when their rump comes in contact with the cold water in the toilet bowl. I'm sure a check of local emergency room records would attest to the various injuries inflicted upon the offending spouse.
Although women find jokes about men humorous, men tend to get a bit defensive. I actually heard one man say " I can remember when you thought I was all that and a bag of chips!" to which the woman responded " Yeah, but then you ate the chips and left the bag on the floor!". All wives struggle to understand the male mentality and there is some concern that attempting to think like our spouses could lead to brain injury manifested by extreme headaches, involuntary twitching and uncontrolable bouts of hysterical laughter. Granted there is no ongoing scientific study on the subject but an informal poll of a group of women at any gathering will easily support this theory. Men on the other hand readily admit that they don't understand women so as to avoid any possibility of brain strain.
Despite our many differences, the joining of men and women in committed relationships has survived the test of time. Besides, jokes about men really are funny!

2005-07-05T15:26:00.000-04:00

"Please Log In"

Computers are a marvelous invention but can at the same time be one of the most frustrating pieces of equipment known to mankind! Having spent the better part of the last hour in a vain attempt to check my email from my house in Florida, this conglomeration of chips and boards is lucky to still be in one piece.
Checking email is usually a simple thing or so one would think. It appears the gods of remotely connecting to an email source are in a bit of a playful mood today. They lead you down the garden path as you log on to your normal email carrier and are greeted by name. My, how easy was that?! It's so nice to be recognized. But don't be fooled! The gremlins are laying in wait just behind the "Check my email" icon, ready to pounce, inflicting mounting frustration as you are asked to log in. You dutifully type in your user name and password, click "log in" and ....... you are back to the Log In screen again. OK, let's try this one more time. User name, password, log in.....aha! success! There's that pesky Email Preview screen. Now where the heck is my inbox? Hmmm....well, let's just open the first email and see where that leads. It's nothing really interesting judging from the title, just an advertisement from Sears but nonetheless, it's a beginning. Click on the Sears email and............not again!!!! That dang log in screen is back!!!
Maybe it's just got a memory problem today so here we go again....user name, password, log in. Fingers tapping as you wait and there's that stupid log in screen again!! Once more...user name, password, log in....using just a tad more force punching the keys hoping to intimidate the system into obedience.....NOOOOO!!! "Please Log In". Finally the frustration level boils over as you yell "I DID THAT DUMMY" into the screen. Needless to say, screaming at your computer doesn't faze it a bit but it does save it from being smashed into the nearest wall.
OK,OK...deep breath as we close that screen and go back to the welcome screen. Type in your email site, gently now. There's that greeting beckoning you into the portals of Hell.....Check Email.....click.....Please Log In...user name, password, log in, click..................."Please Log In".............user name, password, log in, click.................."Please Log In"...........Welcome to the Twilight Zone.........Please Log In....click, click, click...........beeeeeeeeeeep.......

2005-06-19T11:20:00.000-04:00

Say What?

Another news story from the "What were they thinking?" file, or as the younger generation says "Well DUH!". Just picture the following scene. A lady returning from a trip to one of the islands approaches customs to go through the normal process of leaving a foreign country. As she is standing there talking to the customs officials, one of them notices an unusual sound. Listening intently to determine the exact cause and location of the sound, the customs officer seems perplexed at first. Finally he looks at the woman and tells her that she needs to follow him into the customs office. She immediately becomes irate and demands to know what the problem is. " Well, there seems to be flipping sounds coming from under your skirt and we need to investigate further." responds the officer. The other officers look at him strangely but are intrigued. Flipping sounds under a lady's skirt? How do you handle that delicately?
The officer summons a female officer to accompany them to the office, thoughts swirling in his head and his face almost as red as the passenger's. Having no official procedure to follow in case of flipping sounds, he decides to proceed with caution in hopes of not looking like a fool. The passenger and the female officer go into the office so the passenger can be searched in private as he stands outside the door. Several minutes later the door opens and a laughing customs officer invites the male officer inside.
Holding up two plastic bags filled with water and tropical fish she says " I think we found the source of the sounds." Believe it or not, this woman had taped the two bags of fish to her thighs in order to smuggle them out of the country! How does one manuever with bags of fish taped to their thighs? Walking might not be too much of a problem especially if the individual is on the heavier side, but how in the world do you sit down in a cab or on a plane with wriggling fish in your lap?
Just imagine sitting next to this lady for a couple of hours on a plane watching her skirt jump and ripple. And what if one of the bags sprung a leak? There's no discreet way of saying "Hey lady, your skirt is sloshing." Wouldn't Jay Leno have a field day with this one!

2005-05-22T15:30:00.000-04:00

Dedicated to the ones I love

As we get older, we tend to take stock of our lives in quiet moments of introspection. In our normal hustle and bustle, we find those moments hard to come by but every now and then a peaceful moment presents itself and thoughts wander to what we have accomplished in our lives and what is left to do. I think we all rush into adulthood fresh from high school or college with all intentions of making our mark on society or making the world a better place. Real life sometimes gets in the way of that noble purpose, yet it's the small things we do in real life with real people that is our most important legacy.
Taking stock of one's life accomplishments is at best a daunting task. To some it's the size of their bank account or their house or memberships in exclusive clubs. For me it's less complicated. My proudest accomplishment revolves around my three children. Though each has their own distinctive personality and all have had miscues and detours along the way, I sit and watch my "kids" at family gatherings and my heart swells with love and pride to see these three grown people with families and stable relationships and know that in some way I contributed to their loving, responsible nature.
Children don't come with an owner's manual and it wouldn't do any of us parents any good to try to write one since each child is different from the next. Sure there are the basics of keeping them clothed and fed, cool in the summer and warm in the winter and protecting them from themselves at times. From there it's all improvisation and a good deal of just crossing your fingers and hoping that they'll be OK by the time they grow up. Kids can be loving one minute and totally infuriating the next and there isn't a parent among us who hasn't silently, or not so silently, prayed for the day they grow up and leave home. And then they do.
People talk about the rewards of parenting but it's hard to find those rewards in the day to day rearing of children. Sure we celebrate the good grades, the winning game, the graduations and all the other joyous milestones of childhood. But parents are pretty much tired, harassed, misunderstood and unappreciated creatures until with the grace of God and a lot of luck, their offspring reach maturity. Then we finally become what we set out to be when we first had our children....a fountain of knowledge and guidance, a tutorial in loving and giving and an understanding shoulder to lean on as our children begin raising their own children. There's an old saying that goes like this..."If I had known grandchildren were so much fun, I would have had them first!!". Can I get an amen from all the grandparents.
I have had the awesome privilege of being there when all five of my precious grandchildren were born. Holding that warm new life in my arms minutes after birth is a feeling beyond description. Watching the tears of love and joy on the faces of my children and their spouses as they cradle their small miracle is one of those rewards all parents dream of. Knowing that as they begin their journey into parenting they face all the ups and downs, trials and tribulations, joys and sadness we went through, I can only hope that they too will someday sit back and smile, their hearts full, and say "Yes, this is my greatest accomplishment."
Dedicated to Shelley, JT and Laurie with all my love

2005-04-28T07:51:00.000-04:00

Dougisms and more

One of the funniest and funnest parts of my life is my husband's penchant for misusing and inventing words (funnest being one of his contributions). I've actually threatened to compile a book based on his vocabulary with the working title "The Word According to Doug".
The latest excerpt is based on a recent injury to Doug's shoulder. Being a bit of a mountain-man, my husband spends a good deal of time at our place in West Virginia. As soon as the weather begins to break he heads up there to clean up the winter's mess and begin whatever Spring project he has on his agenda. Since the campground doesn't officially open for a while after his first trip, he loads our generator on a trailer, hitches the trailer to his truck and tools merrily down the highway. Such was the case again this year.
Now, this trailer is not your ordinary small utility trailer. It is large enough to hold a motorcycle, which he also hauls up to God's country every Spring and has a little bit of weight to it. So, on a recent weekend, Doug headed to the mountains, hooked up the generator and began his season in the hills. When the time came to return home, he proceeded to hitch up the trailer in his usual manner. Grabbing the trailer tongue with his right hand, he gave a mighty grunt and hoisted it onto the truck hitch. This was quickly followed by a howl of pain as his shoulder screamed it's protest. Needless to say, the shoulder was not impressed by this display of machoism and the result was weeks of residual pain and stiffness.
Finally after several weeks of unrelenting pain, Doug decided to visit his doctor to assess the damage. The verdict was insult to the shoulder muscles and ligaments to be treated by the normal prescriptions and rest. When we met at our local watering hole for a drink that night, Doug proceed to explain the diagnosis and medicine required. He did fine with the diagnosis but when it came to explaining the medicine, the fun began.
According to Doug the doctor had prescribed Prilosec. Chuckling, I explained that that was for heartburn. Maybe it was Prozac he said. No sweetheart, that's for depression. Well, he said, it's a "dehydrater" for the shoulder. By now I was barely able to contain my laughter as he continued to try to explain what thie medicine was. Finally he proclaimed "You know.. it's a DEHUMIDIFIER!!". Wiping the tears from my cheeks, I composed myself and replied "You mean an antinflammatory?".
Eureka!!!....we finally had it.
Of course I haven't been able to resist the impulse to relate this story to friends and family at any opportunity. After hearing about the conversation, my youngest daughter went home and solemly informed her husband that Dad was taking dehumidifiers. Not missing a beat, he asked was he taking them orally or rectally. As she filled him in on the rest of the story, he looked at her and asked "How the heck did your Mom know what he was talking about?!!". All I can say is with over 30 years of experience, I understand Doug-speak. Now that's a scarey thought!!
P.S.: Happy Birthday Laurie

2005-03-24T19:56:00.000-05:00

Wish I had thought of that

There was a rather lively discussion on the radio this morning about some of the ideas people come up with for products that seem to catch on for whatever reason. Although many of them only acheive fleeting fad status, it is kind of fun to wonder how someone comes up with some of these ideas.
Take the Chia Pet for instance. Who would have thought of taking a lump of clay, molding it into a head, poking holes in it, smearing on seeds, adding water and VOILA!!....instant plant!! Much as we may not want to admit it, I would venture to guess that just about everyone I know has owned a Chia at one time. They are great fun in the beginning but lose a lot of their appeal if you forget to water them. Somehow, the wilted Chia just never caught on.
And look at the Pet Rock. Believe it or not, my husband and I were just discussing Pet Rocks the other day. No, our life is not that boring. We just got on the discussion of the perfect pet and while he prefers dogs, I tend to like fish. I mean, fish don't need to be let out or groomed. They don't bark or shed and you never find them perched on your favorite chair. So you can't walk them on a leash or let them hang out the window in a car but they sure are easy to care for.
After talking about fish versus dogs, it occurred to me that perhaps the Pet Rock might be the perfect pet. Whoever came up with this idea couldn't have had to invest much in startup costs and had to make a mint while the craze lasted. Picture the inventor playing around in his garden one day, noticing some rather pleasant looking rocks and.....the light bulb went off!!! Why not find the best looking rocks, polish them up, maybe even give them names, put them in fancy tissue-clad boxes and sell them as pets!! Who could resist?? Even the most pet phobic or allergic person could have a pet and mothers wouldn't have to nag their kids to feed or walk their pets. No food, water, sunlight or attention required....no visits to the vet, no hair on the furniture, no puddles on the floor. And when one tired of the Pet Rock, it could still be used as a paperweight or doorstop with no repercussions from the Humane Society. At least I don't think there's a Save the Pet Rock Foundation.
And don't forget the Virgin Mary Grilled Cheese that recently sold for big bucks on EBay. I still don't understand how this woman kept a half of a grilled cheese in a box for 10 years without it turning moldy. Heck, leave half a sandwich on a counter for 24 hours and you've got the beginnings of a science project. Now she's trying to auction off the pan she cooked the grilled cheese in. It wouldn't surprise me if someone paid a handsome amount for that too although at last report the bids were less than $200. Stay tuned for updates on that one.
What caught my attention on the radio this morning though was a new product for women that's gaining popularity in Japan. There's a new gum out for women made from some unpronouncable plant extract that supposedly helps increase bust size. It's called....are you ready for this?.....BUST OUT!! Not being an anatomy expert, I'm pretty sure the exercising of jaw muscles while chewing gum is totally unrelated to bust size however, whatever plant extract is in the gum is said to cause swelling of the breasts, thereby increasing bust size. Of course, the males on the deejay team had a field day with this thought but readily admitted they had other alternatives to accomplish swelling in desired areas.
I guess this all just goes to prove what P T Barnum once said..."There's a sucker born every minute". Or maybe we all need a little novelty in our lives sometimes. Wish I'd thought of that darn Pet Rock thing!!

2005-03-12T16:21:00.000-05:00

My Zeneration

Tooling down the Florida highway with Nancy the other day, fresh from our latest Mall experience, we were discussing her ironing adventure the day before. Needless to say, she hadn't as yet read my blog discussing her various Zen activities although in good conscience I felt compelled to let her know that I had indeed written my thoughts on ironing and her Zen genes in general. As she extolled the relaxing qualities of ironing, I wondered aloud where I might have been the day these extraordinary genes were handed out. Nancy described an experience unlike any I've ever known while tackling a pile of wrinkled clothing. She was actually singing a song as she took a break from ironing!!!
Ok, something is definitely amiss here...no one sings while ironing...at least not in my world! Finally, the answer came to me like a bolt of lightening. It was so obvious I had completely missed it. Nancy is five years younger than me. She was still playing with dolls when I was in high-heels. Plus she was the youngest child and had never had children besides the five furry boys that now reside with her and her husband. Eureka!!! I looked at Nancy in the midst of her ironing reverie and declared " Well, it's obvious....we come from two different Zenerations!". Well, I've had blank looks directed at me before but Nancy's took the prize. So I proceeded to explain...you know, GENerations...ZENerations...got it? Yeah my sense of humor can be a little off-base sometimes but GEEZ, this was a really good one.
It must have finally become clear because when I visited Nancy & Harlan and the menagerie yesterday, Zeneration was the word of the day. In fact we were all singing that old song....."Talking 'bout my Zeneration". So maybe you had to be there to appreciate it.
Although I constantly lament the lack of Zen genes, it occured to me today that I do actually have these genes. What Nancy calls Zen is good old-fashioned relaxation. It's something that I'm just beginning to relearn after three children, five grandchildren, a family business and all the other stuff that keeps our minds whirling like a top gone wild. Sitting on our lanai in Florida soaking up the last warm rays of sunlight before returning to Maryland, I found my Zen. It was there all the time. All I needed was the quiet to tune into myself and just chill.

2005-03-09T16:24:00.000-05:00

Zen and Zen Again

I've often mentioned my sister Nancy, the catalyst behind my becoming a PTFP (part-time Fla. person), and her natural penchant for gardening. As my followers know, gardening to me is more like Chinese water torture than the cathartic, mind-freeing experience that Nancy enjoys. Having a somewhat off-beat sense of humor, I tend to tease Nancy about the "Zen" involved in various activities. Not that I question her ability to achieve Nirvana while up to her elbows in dirt. Quite to the contrary, I sometimes envy her being able to totally lose herself in an activity that reduces stress levels and leaves a calmer mind to continue on with the day-to-day situations we all encounter.
Today dawned a rainy, chilly day in Fla (our common reference to Florida). Temps in the fifties and a steady drizzle set the mood. Whatever thoughts I might have had for visiting parents or shopping or any other outdoor activity quickly vanished as I looked out the window at the damp gray day. After all, part of the lure of being in Fla is not having to do anything if I don't feel like it.
Nancy called earlier today and we discussed our "plans" for the day. We both agreed that there was no necessity to venture out into the damp, cold world. As we talked, Nancy revealed that today she was going to spend the day ironing. Chuckling, I said "Sure you are. Sounds like a thrill a minute to me.". I tend to iron only whatever I'm going to wear on the morning I'm going to wear it. Having spent many an hour ironing as a teenager, permanent press has become one of my best friends. Besides, even if you iron on a regular basis (there is therapy for that compulsion), by the time your clothes hang in the closet for a while, they need at least a touch-up before you put them on...at least in my closet they do.
So as Nancy assured me that she actually enjoyed ironing, I couldn't resist the temptation to make a laughing reference to the Zen of ironing. I can see it all now.....a white cotton shirt, the steam from the iron rising in patterns above the ironing board, that thrill of conquering the wrinkled sleeve...... and yes, losing oneself in the perfect crease.
Once more I admit to not possessing the Zen gene.....gardening or ironing. Maybe because I was the middle daughter and was subjected to the chores of weeding and ironing my father's work clothes, I've developed no fondness for either one. Freud would have much to say about that!
I've come to the conclusion that my Zen resides inside my mind-computer connection. Spending the better part of today playing computer Majhong and thinking about writing this blog, I've managed to clear my mind and find that serene place inside myself. OK...maybe that's a bit of a stretch but it is progress.

2005-03-08T18:45:00.000-05:00

The Mommy Mobile

It's taken the better part of my first three days back in Florida to finally feel my fingertips again after the cold and snow in Maryland. Being warm is such a cozy feeling and the sunshine is glorious for this sun deprived Northerner. Thawing out after months of cold is much like coming out of a cocoon.....a slow, slightly painful experience but very fulfilling in the end. Sounds something like a butterfly story doesn't it? Actually the two situations are quite similar and this butterfly is happy to have broken loose from the frigid grip of winter.
Although getting warm was the impetus for this trip, there were several other reasons for visiting. My mother just had a birthday on March 5th so I thought I'd surprise her and join my sisters and father in celebrating another milestone. To hear Ma tell it, she's 39 and holding but in human years she's actually 84. Outside of a hip operation, she's in remarkably good condition but, being my mother, she enjoys holding court and being waited on. The more fuss the better. Red Lobster happens to be one of her favorite restaurants so we all gathered at her house on Sunday to whisk her away to the lobster of her choice.
Normally when I visit I rent a Dodge Stratus, however, this time around it seems there were no mid-size cars available so I was offered the choice of a smaller vehicle or a free upgrade to a larger car. Since I normally drive a Jeep, the thought of anything smaller than the Stratus was not comforting so the obvious choice would be the larger vehicle.....that is, until the smiling young man across the counter announced that all he had left was a mini-van! Certain I had misheard him, I repeated "MINI-van??". Sure enough, my ears were perfectly tuned and he had actually suggested a mini-van. Why in the world anyone would think that one person might require this mini-van was beyond me. Besides I honestly don't look anything like a soccer mom. As the young agent politely pointed to the long line of potential renters behind me, I finally reluctantly agreed to the van. Good grief...what happened to Jeeps or Chryslers.......Mini-van...hmpf!!
Since there were five of us attending Ma's birthday bash, I readily offered to drive the "Mommy Mobile" as I had come to refer to this vehicle. Getting my mother into most any vehicle is a test of patience and the van was no exception. First she has to make her way to the vehicle using her "Red Cadillac", a fancy wheeled walker complete with carrying pouch and hand-brakes. Then she manuevers into position and with much huffing and puffing settles into her seat. Lest you think I'm not sympathetic to the inconvenience of aging, keep in mind Ma tends to be a bit of an actress...not quite Academy Award material but nonetheless pretty good at times.
So off we go to the local Red Lobster, appetites increasing as we approach the restaurant. Settling in at our table we intently peruse the menu...except for Dad who has already decided on his favorite, Fish and Chips. The menu is quite expansive and the colorful pictures of various seafood concoctions don't make choices any easier.
Finally we all commit to our choice of entree and the meal begins. Beginning with the Ceasar salad, we all notice a rather strong presence of salt in the dressing. As the meal progresses we conclude that someone in the kitchen has an obvious love affair with the salt shaker since even the skin of the baked potatoe was coated with salt. Since a large part of the Florida population tends to be somewhat elderly, we wonder what percentage of the restaurant's clientele might notice an elevation in blood pressure after eating at this Red Lobster. Although the service was good and the food probably better with a little less salt....after all, how does one make coconut covered shrimp taste salty.....we were all feeling a bit dehydrated by the time we were done. Ending with a chocolate cake provided by the restaurant, we sang "Happy Birthday" to Ma as she blew out the candle.
In spite of toxic salt levels, a good time was had by all and Ma continues to be 39 and holding and holding and holding.

2005-02-24T14:38:00.000-05:00

Snow is a Four Letter Word

Have I ever explained exactly how I feel about snow?? Living in Maryland for all of my fifty some years, one would think a person would be accustomed to snow events. Yes you get used to watching large white wet flakes fall relentlessly from the skies at least a couple of times a year and some people actually find it not only beautiful, but fun to go out in. To those people I have just one thing to say...Are you out of your minds??!!!!
Snow is only pretty on postcards and Christmas cards. Maybe the first snow of the year is mildly attractive as long as it doesn't require shoveling. Beyond that, there is no redeeming quality to snow that I can think of. Even as a child I didn't find snow to be an alluring playground. I can recall trying to explain to my mother that I didn't want to go out and play in the snow with the other kids since to my mind it was just wet and cold and I was perfectly content being dry and warm. Besides, just the thought of being stuffed into the necessary snow clothing made me wince with pain. Who the heck can maneuver wearing 30 pounds of waterproof gear and a hat that insists on sliding down over your eyes. I mean it's like seeing the Michelin man in a skullcap and boots!!! And the mittens.....who's bright idea was that. Let's just stick all our fingers in one wool sack leaving the thumb separate and grab handfulls of wet snow. The result....wet wool and frozen fingers.
I honestly tried to like the snow but it has the same appeal to me as weeding gardens. By the time you get done fooling with it, you're tired, sore and just plain cranky. Just like the weeds that start inching back up the minute you turn your back, the snow insists on re-covering the sidewalk and driveway you just spent an hour clearing!! By the time you finish that well-deserved cup of hot cocoa, it looks as if you hadn't sent your back into spasms shoveling a path at all.
In case you're wondering what could possibly have provoked this outburst, I'll fill you in. Just this morning my husband left to play a softball tournament in Melbourne Florida. He loves to rub it in as he leaves about how hot he'll get while he's away and isn't it just a shame it's cold at home. So when I awoke at 5:30 this morning to be greeted by falling snow, I was less than thrilled. As I sat in our office watching the progress of the snowfall, 4 inches by noon, contemplating the prospect of cleaning off my car, driving home and shoveling snow, thoughts of inflicting bodily harm on my spouse played in my mind. After the last two years of snowfall during which he's managed to be in Florida, I swore I'd never, ever shovel snow again!!! So doesn't it just figure??!!
The only thing that's put a smile on my face all day is knowing that I'll be in warm, sunny Florida next Thursday and I may just have to make good on my promise this year.........if it snows while he's gone, I'm going to Florida and not coming back till Spring!!

2005-02-08T17:58:00.000-05:00

It never ceases to amaze me how time can go by so quickly. Although it seems like merely days since I last posted an article, it has actually been over a month. I have no viable excuse, but, as usual, I do have a theory to explain this lapse in productivity.
At first I thought that perhaps my brain had just run low on energy and needed a jump start so I proceeded to spend 10 lazy days at our house in Florida in some attempt to awaken my concious thought process. I found relaxing easy, in fact way too easy. The first few days were spent enjoying the sight of sunshine and palm trees with coherent thought far from a priority. Actually it took at least three days just to warm up from the frigid Maryland temperatures in January. Florida was experiencing a colder than normal spate of weather while I was there and I can remember chuckling as the news people lamented the "bone-chilling" air. Granted a low of 40 degrees seems cold to Floridians but a high in the 50's during the day can hardly be considered "bone-chilling" to one used to highs in the 30's.
And so I excused my lack of productivity as a low brain battery and being just plain weary of work and cold weather. I even attempted writing an article while in Florida but found putting sentences together drained what little brain function I seemed to have left. When asked by my sister where I would like to have lunch, I looked at her as if asked something in a language I had never heard before....similar to the tilted-head looks my dog gives me when I ask her a question.
Apparently she expected me to "think" which seemed way above my abilities at the time.
After my ten day escape from reality, I returned home to definite bone-chilling temperatures and a little snow just for good measure. Landing in Baltimore to gray, cold skies and several inches of fallen snow, I not so silently wished for the pilot to return to the runway and whisk me back to Florida. Unfortunately, we pulled into the gate and I reluctantly made my way outside......brrrrr!!!
Thawing out has again taken considerable time and I have come to the conclusion that my brain has gone into hibernation, not to awaken again until the temperatures rise into more human-friendly readings. Thankfully we are experiencing a wave of warmer weather but not being an eternal optomist, I fully expect to relapse into my brain freeze before the winter is over. After all, didn't the groundhog see his shadow??

2004-12-31T11:23:00.000-05:00

Reflections

Although my blog has taken a back seat to the holidays, this being the last day of 2004 gives me cause for reflection. It has as usual been an eventful year not just for my family but for our country and the world. As humans, we tend to be involved in our own small corner of the universe until tragedies like the hurricanes in Florida and the recent tsunamis in Asia grab us and shake us awake to the fact that we are part of a larger family.
Having family in Florida naturally made the rash of hurricanes more personal as we sat here in Maryland hoping and praying not just for our own but for all the overburdened residents in Florida. Our family members were lucky enough to have only minor damage and inconvenience but stories of all the displaced families touched our hearts. The coming year will be a challenge of rebuilding for all those affected by the hurricanes and we wish them peace and constant help in righting their lives. And along with all the people of the world, we will grieve for those families in Asia torn apart by the forces of Nature and offer whatever we can to ease their sorrow and rebuild their countries.
The war in Iraq continues to touch many of us here in America as our young men and women put themselves in harm's way to defend our way of life. We all follow the news stories each evening and many of us know someone who is over there. As a personal note, our son-in-law who is is a Marine will be joining the other brave marines, soldiers and service people in Iraq after the first of the new year. Although we will constantly worry about his safety, we are proud of his dedication to his country and his wife and children will be held closely in a loving atmosphere awaiting his safe return. To J.P. and all the others in Iraq we wish you God Speed and we thank you for your sacrifices.
And to all my family and friends and to everyone the world over, I hope 2005 brings us the blessings of peace, joy and love for without those things we only exist rather than live.

2004-12-11T16:06:00.000-05:00

The holiday season is in full swing. People are running around like the proverbial "busy bee", shopping, decorating, baking and of course, making the rounds of family gatherings and parties that fill the calendar from Thanksgiving until after the New Year. It seems that Thanksgiving has always been the official start of the seaon of overeating and drinking to one too many person's heath. Add to that the stress of finding the perfect gifts, baking your "homemade" cookies from scratch, hanging ornaments, stringing lights, writing cards, etc., etc. and it's no wonder that the holiday season just happens to coincide with the Holiday Heartburn Season!!
Scoff if you will, but take it from one who knows, the heartburn season is also in full swing. Having been a girl scout as a child, I pride myself on being prepared for most major problems. I keep a ready supply of headache remedies, sinus medications, bandaids and the normal assortment of antacids. You can find not only Rolaids and Gas-x in my bathroom cabinet but in my office cabinet as well. Let's face it, you never know when heartburn will strike!
Thinking I had all my bases covered, I cheerfully prepared a traditional Thanksgiving feast complete with turkey and stuffing, candied yams, gravy and all the other family favorites. The dinner was delicious and as is our usual custom, we all ate entirely too much. Everyone settled into the nearest comfortable chair lamenting that perhaps they shouldn't have eaten quite so much but boy was it good! In short order all my dinner partners had fallen asleep and I smiled knowing I had done my part in making this another great Thanksgiving. Quietly patting myself on the back, I barely noticed the slight stirrings of that holiday spoiling beast we fondly refer to as "indigestion".
Indigestion sounds like a mere inconvenience easily overcome by a couple of antacid tablets. Heartburn on the other hand is the evil cousin of indigestion causing the stomach to boil and burn and the sufferer to run to the medicine cabinet, chugging Maalox and Pepto-Bismol in hopes of dousing the flames. Watching my dozing family, I began to get that old familiar feeling...uh-oh. Trying not to wake anyone I quickly headed for my supply of stomach-calmers. OK, start with a couple of Rolaids, followed by one Gas-x and hope the beast will retreat. All seemed well as my family slowly began waking up.
As they yawned and stretched, feeling refreshed and just a little less full, someone casually mentioned dessert. The thought of ingesting one more morsel of food sent my stomach into spasms and my smile was just a little strained as I inquired if anyone had brought dessert. The negative shaking of heads was just the trick to once more settle my innards back into the indigestion stage. Shortly thereafter I kissed my departing guests goodbye and changed into my comfy clothes...you know, the ones that actually let you breathe.
Dressing for work the next day, I continued to feel as if I had just consumed a small elephant and vowed never to eat again. I opened the drawer in my vanity to reach for my Prilosec, the consistent savior for stomach maladies and reeled in shock. Not only was there none in the drawer, but when I checked the shelf in the laundry room for my reserve supply, the beginnings of a tear formed in my eye. How could this have happened?? Some girl scout...hmpff!
Leaving work, I stopped at the local Giant to renew my supply of Prilosec, only to be greeted with a large empty space on the shelf. Undaunted I headed for the CVS certain I would be rewarded. Again a large empty space. It just couldn't be!! Dejected I arrived home wondering if perhaps Prilosec had been recalled and I just hadn't gotten the memo. Internet research revealed the unpleasant truth....Prilosec was on back order from the manufacturer. Had I known there was a shortage I could have stocked up........there was so much in the news about the flu shot shortage but not one peep about the Prilosec situation!!
So you see, the Holiday Heartburn season is in full swing and those luckier than I have scarfed up most of the available Prilosec stock leaving others to suffer. Although I spent several unpleasant days mourning my bad luck, I admit to not feeling the smallest twinge of guilt when I finally found the very last package of Prilosec on the store shelf and, holding it like a prized posession, sprinted to the nearest self-checkout.

2004-11-21T09:53:00.000-05:00

There is an addiction as yet unrecognized by any physcologist. I admit to having been afflicted by this disorder for a number of years and have always chosen to refer to it as a "hobby", but in the last few days I've come to realize that this innocent pastime can easily become an obsession and yes, a full blown addiction. Not only that, it seems it can be passed unknowingly to others, especially close family members! Just yesterday I had to face the fact that not only was I addicted, I had somehow unwittingly infected my sister Nancy.
Some may scoff but the newest addiction is........Christmas Village collectibles!! Now, before you disolve into fits of laughter and dismiss this as a silly notion, let me lead you along the progression of this all-consuming holiday malady.
Well doctor, it all began innocently enough when my children were young. I had always loved the Christmas season and it's sparkling decorations. As a child I was fascinated by the intricate display at the Dundalk firehouse featuring running trains, lighted houses and landscaped scenes. I could spend hours just staring at the moving lights and vehicles, longing to be at the controls. Although my father had set up a train platform in our living room, it couldn't match the grand scale of the firehouse display.
Wanting to give my kids some sense of the wonder of my childhood experience, I purchased a battery operated train and some small inexpensive houses. As I set up my small village scene complete with snow (OK so it wasn't REAL snow), I declared the Christmas season had officially begun. Of course my kids had no idea of how sacred this little display was to be until one day when I returned home and, horror of horrors, found the houses had been rearranged! Hyperventilating, I put things back in order and, calming myself, explained that these were Mom's toys...look with your eyes, not your hands became the recurring chant of the season.
And in just a few short years, IT happened. The battery operated train was replaced by a large scale electric train, the little houses were joined by Department 56 collectible houses. People and trees inhabited various villages, each with a theme. Over the years, with encouragement from my husband, the Christmas display began to take on a life of it's own, growing and expanding until it took over three rooms in the house. Animated people were added, fiber-optic angels moved and glowed, ornaments on the tree revolved. Music, lights and motion were everywhere and still I denied that this was anything more than just enjoying the season. Maybe the year we put the living room furniture into storage to allow more room for the villages and constructed hanging platforms for the train tracks and North Pole should have given me the first clue that perhaps I had a serious problem. But as I explained to Nancy when she would look at me like I had completely lost my mind, devoting eight hours to making one scene as perfect and realistic as possible was just being creative. Besides, I found it as theraputic as she found gardening.
Sure, the years we had tour groups coming to see our display and found ourselves on the front of our local paper's Homes section might have been a teensy bit over the top. And so what if I started putting things up in October and left this massive display up untill Super Bowl?!! Just because the pizza delivery guy referred to us as The Christmas House and didn't need to ask the address didn't mean we were obsessed...or did it?
The light finally dawned this weekend as I shopped with my sister and her husband at a wonderful Christmas store in Florida and I watched a familiar light come into her eyes as we walked around the displays, pointing and oohing at the houses, the animation and detailed inhabitants and backgrounds. Two hours later we emerged with our purchases, sharing new ideas for scenes and babbling contentedly about Department 56 versus Lemax. Watching Nancy wrestle with the decision between the lighthouse or the train station, I looked into those bright happy eyes and said "You're addicted too!!".
Knowing that there are collectors' groups and many devotees to our particular compulsion, I think the problem is more widespread than we know. I'm sure some would suggest therapy but none is needed. You see, lovingly putting together our villages and adorning them with lights and people is our therapy. And for me, gazing at the finished product and watching the eyes of my children and granchildren light up when they enter my Christmas Wonderland fills me with a sense of joy that is well worth the effort of putting it all together. Besides, isn't there still a "little kid" inside of all of us at Christmas?

2004-11-05T13:24:00.000-05:00

As I have mentioned before, my husband and I purchased a lovely retreat in Florida this past June. The first five months of what my sister and I refer to as Fla territory have proved to be an adventure in fortitude to say the least. Both my husband and I fell immediately in love with this house and community but from the beginning there were a few bugs to be worked out, starting with getting the owner to sell. Of course there is a story behind this.
My sister and her husband had spent considerable time and patience touring various areas with the husband's Mom who had expressed a desire to join the Fla ranks on her previous winter vacations in Palm Harbor. They eventually happened across this lovely 2 bedroom home in a well-kept park and the purchase was made. My husband and I had decided it was time to look for a place of our own near my sister, so naturally a good starting point was to look at the Mom's new home to give us some insight as to what might be available. Keep in mind that Mom had not as yet taken up residence in her Fla digs but was scheduled to arrive in April. My first thought as we crossed the threshold was "I want this house!!". Since it already had a new owner, I managed to keep my thoughts to myself as we proceeded to tour other homes in the same park. I admit to putting my sister to considerable trouble looking at houses for us and emailing pictures as we turned away every house she thought we'd like. As luck would have it, Mom decided to go back to Maryland and we jumped at the chance to take this property off her hands. I'm sure the Cajun gris-gris (voodoo) I mentally sent Mom had nothing to do with her decision not to remain in Fla. We happily sealed the deal in June and the adventure began that very weekend.
Those of you that have followed my mental wanderings in past blogs can recall the story of the Murphy's Law vacation I shared with my daughter and grandson. Figuring that all the kinks had been resolved, my husband and I came back to Palm Harbor in September just in time to be greeted by hurricane Frances. OK, what's one more little glitch? Granted Florida suffered through an unprecedented number of hurricanes and hurricane threats this year but, despite mutterings to the contrary, this was not precipitated by our recent purchase in Palm Harbor although the possibility does exist that my Cajun gris-gris decided to behave more like a boomerang than a targeted device.
Once more I decided to test fate and prove it wasn't me wreaking havoc in my adopted second home. I planned an October girls' getaway weekend with a good friend of mine thinking perhaps the gods would be kinder if I left my other family members at home. Just before our arrival, one of my new neighbors had asked my brother-in-law when I was due in and his immediate reaction was "Why?!! What did you see on the Weather Channel?!!". Talk about feeling like Typhoid Mary!!
I'm pleased to report that the girls' weekend went perfectly and a good time was had by all, perhaps too good a time Saturday night (Where's my Excedrin?). Firmly convinced that all hexes had been neutralized, my husband and I arrived in Palm Harbor last night with only slight trepidation. Noting that the electric was on, the air-conditioning functioning well and no signs of any tropical storms on the horizon, we settled onto the lanai to finally enjoy the contentment we sought when we purchased this home.
As I sit here in Palm Harbor writing this ( yep, I even finally got my Internet connection functioning after months of trying), I am glad to be a PTFP......Part-time Fla person!!

2004-10-31T07:39:00.000-05:00

In the category "What were they thinking?!!", I heard a story this morning that had me shaking my head in total disbelief. According to the broadcaster, someone in Indonesia has come up with a new gourmet coffee flavor. Now this by itself is nothing out of the ordinary since just plain coffee has lost ground to mocha, vanilla, chocolate and untold numbers of other flavors, not to mention lattes, frappes and cappuchinos. This particular coffee is said to have a slight chocolate taste according to the manufacturer or a bit of a smokey taste according to the lady who called in to say she had sampled this new flavor. Priced at about $28.00 an ounce, the coffee is only processed in small quantities and only in Indonesia.
Although there are many pricey gourmet-flavored coffees on the market, it's the process these beans go through that are said to give it a distintive flavor. It seems there is a particular breed of cat in Indonesia that can reach the coffee beans on their plant or bush or whatever they grow on and eat them. The next step in the process is to wait for the cat to expell the beans, wash them off, grind them up and make a "fresh" cup of coffee from the seasoned beans. YUCK!!
At first I was sure this story was meant to be a joke but when that woman called the radio station to say she had tried it, I had to laugh. Who would ever think to reprocess coffee beans ingested by a cat? It conjures up images of someone in a coffee field idling away their time watching the cat pick the beans and eat them, and then following the cat around with a pooper-scooper waiting for the grand event. Then you have the chosen ones given the duty of picking out the beans from the cat doo-doo, washing them off and packaging them for distribution. And do you tell the taste-testers the origin of this brew before they sample it?
Just picturing the packaging sends me into a fit of giggles. Not to mention coming up with an advertising campaign! There apparently is a website where you can research coffees and this one is featured with a cartoon cat being pumped by the tail as coffee beans come tumbling out........doesn't this just sound like a taste treat?
Call me boring but I think I might pass up the opportunity to try this particular flavor.........Mocha Kitty Poopa Latte anyone??

2004-10-07T10:28:00.000-04:00

My sister Nancy recently posted an article on her website describing all the preparations she goes through prior to leaving on a trip. I can easily relate to the need to have everything in order at home, down to the last sock being washed, tables dusted, floors vacumned and assorted odds and ends back in their appointed places. Nothing is more comforting than that last backward glance at a neat and tidy home before grabbing the suitcases and locking the door behind you knowing that when you return all will be the same as you left it.
In theory this is a soothing mind picture to take with you on your travels, but the reality tends to be more like the aftermath of a tornado when you return unless, of course, you are accompanied on your trip by all members of the family that inhabit your abode, including the furry ones. Husbands, children and pets just don't seem to grasp the importance of keeping your home the way it was when you kissed them all good-bye. OK, maybe you don't kiss your pets and you don't expect them to wash a dish or grab a dustcloth, but what's up with the humans? After all, we spend years training these people and the minute we're gone all lessons flee their brains and nothing short of chaos takes over.
Naturally we don't expect children to understand our concept of clean since they are still in training. Look at how long it takes the average kid to straighten his or her room. Kids can drag a one hour job out for the better part of a day as they piddle and poke around in their rooms in a half-hearted attempt to clean up. Then they drag themselves out of their room after hours of "hard work", wiping the perspiration from their brow, and, looking very put out, announce that the room is clean. The most amazing part though is the look of surprise on your child's face when you go to check out this "clean" room and immediately open the closet and look under the bed. It is a minor scientific marvel to see how much stuff a kid can cram into a closet and under a bed without raising the bed several feet off the floor. And the wide-eyed, open-mouthed shrug with outstretched palms as they claim complete innocence as to how that stuff could possibly have gotten there is just a signal that they have forgotten you were once a kid too!
Husbands on the other hand are supposed to come complete with some training since they were once kids and had a Mom making them clean their room. But after thirty years of studying the wonderful man I married, I have reached the conclusion that his dictionary and mine come with two totally different definitions of clean and neat. Just last year, after a week long trip to Florida to visit family, I arrived home anxious to just unpack, relax and catch up with my husband's activities while I was gone. As he proudly opened the door exclaiming "Look how neat the house is honey.....I did the dishes and even made the bed!", I entered the house and made a gargantuan effort not to lose the smile on my face as I surveyed my once tidy home. Yes, he did the dishes as was evident by the pile of clean dishes overflowing the countertop....obviously he was at a loss as to what to do with them once they were washed. And he did make the bed...in a fashion known only to men. He must have missed the part of the training in bed making that involves straightening out the sheets and blankets before you throw the bedspread on, and I do mean "throw". Not sure what the lumps under the spread might be, I decided to leave my suitcase in a corner to be unpacked later. OK, at least he tried so I gave him a kiss and suggested we sit down over a cocktail and discuss our week. As he mixed the drinks, I slowly wrote my name in the dust on the coffe table, watched the dog hair float lazily into a corner, and decided that I'd wait until tomorrow to start cleaning the house. It was good to be home.

2004-09-21T17:40:00.000-04:00

My oldest grand-daughter and her Mom stopped by yesterday with a catalog of candles for a cheerleading fund-raiser. Naturally Mom-mom is a must on the list of people to see whenever any of the grandchildren are selling anything. My grand-daughter is eleven going on Britney Spears and like most of her peer group, lapses into Valley Girl at the drop of a hat. Looking every inch the contemporary fasion-plate in her poncho, draped carefully off one shoulder, my grand-daughter listened while my daughter and I discussed the latest sales at our favorite clothing stores as I perused the candle catalog. My daughter casually mentioned her purchase of two ponchos at the store where she had gotten her daughter's poncho. As if ignited by a remote switch, my grand-daughter jumped and staring wide-eyed at her mother exclaimed "Mommmm!!!! YOU got ponchos too!!!". Obviously my daughter didn't quite grasp the idea that Mom wasn't supposed to wear anything even vaguely resembling the current fashions of her pre-pubescent offspring. As my grand-daughter continued her moans of disbelief, my daughter and I attempted to explain that some fashions can traverse more than one age group.
Now I was never faced with such a dilema as a pre-teen since my mother's wardrobe was more for function than fashion. In fact, I swore an oath at a young age to never, ever be caught wearing anything polyesther for as long as I lived. Fashions were a lot less less daring and trendy back when I was eleven. Most girls hadn't even graduated to training bras by that age and the popular teen idols were more like Donna Reed and Jane Wyman (Mom types...for those not old enough to remember the TV characters played by these ladies) than the current sexy, midrift baring teen queens. Our idea of fashion was the shirt-waist dress (calf length mind you) sported by the teen daughter of Donna Reed's character with hair pulled back in a ponytail. Annette Funicello was daring enough in her two piece bathing suit romping on the beach with Frankie Avalon. Of course we all thought our parents the oldest, most clueless people we knew...much like the kids of today...but chose wisely to be less vocal about our parents short-comings than the kids today are. The most drama we showed whenever our parents didn't "understand" us was to run up to our room and throw ourselves on the bed wailing as if the end of the earth had come.
Watching my grand-daughter protesting her Mother's lack of "understanding" fashion etiquette as pre-teens understood it, I quietly reminded my daughter of similar events in our Mother-daughter history. Unlike my own Mother, I tend to dress in contemporary fashions which was a source of unending sighing and eye-rolling during my daughter's teen years. I reminded her of a particular cute outfit I wore one day when she emphatically pronounced that she refused to be seen with me if I insisted on wearing THAT!! Keep in mind that I was barely thirty with a decent figure and, despite my daughter's protestations, bought my clothes in the Junior department of the very same store where she'd purchased the ponchos. The outfit that prompted her outburst consisted of a pair of bright yellow capris with suspenders and a white tee shirt.....nothing outrageous, just properly trendy for young thinking women. As I brought this memory back to my daughter, she responded the same as she had at that time... "Mom's aren't supposed to be cool". My grand-daughter smiled smugly as she said "Yeah Mom...Mom's aren't supposed to be cool.".
As I jotted down my candle order I casually mentioned that I had been thinking of buying a couple of ponchos myself. Peering over at my grand-daughter for her reaction, she smiled and said that would be great. I guess grandmothers ARE allowed to be cool.

2004-09-19T14:11:00.000-04:00

Remember when you were a kid and it seemed to take forever for anything to get here? Back then a year was so much longer especially when you were waiting for something special like your birthday or Christmas. The only thing that seemed to fly by was summer vacation. Heck, it had barely gotten started before it was time to go back to school. That just wasn't fair. It took at least a zillion years to finally be old enough to ride around the block with the other kids on your bike or walk to the shopping center with your friends to see a movie. Not to mention the time it took to reach driving age....had to be at least one lifetime if not longer!
Now I find myself wondering where all the time went. Just the other day I was shopping for a birthday present and was stopped dead in my tracks by a Christmas display! Staring open-mouthed at the Santas and wreaths, I couldn't help but exclaim out loud "No...it can't be that close!". Taking a deep breath I slowly realized that, yes Virignia, Santa Claus was coming in just a couple of months. Surely it had just been a short while ago that I had finally gotten all the decorations stowed away. And wasn't it just a few weeks ago that I got out the summer clothes? Double-checking the calendar when I got home only proved the quick passage of months since last Christmas. Where did all the time go?? I mean I'm not ready to give up warm air and sunshine for cold and snow. And the thought of shopping for Christmas presents hadn't even begun to creep into my head yet.
Thinking back to the slow passage of time when I was younger, I'm beginning to think that someone had to have pushed the fast forward button by mistake when I wasn't paying attention. There's still 24 hours in a day and 365 days in a year, but don't blink or you'll miss at least half of them. Granted weekends seem so much shorter now and vacations zoom by at twice the speed of light but that's just because we don't look forward to going back to work any more than we looked forward to going back to school as kids.
Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could adjust the speed of time to suit ourselves? We could speed up the work week to a New York minute and slow down our free time to the pace of a political debate. It would be heaven to be able to race through the wait at the doctor's office and to stroll leisurely through a good novel. Just think how quickly all the little things that annoy us could be over.....an hour's commute would flash by so road rage would be non-existant, you'd never feel a thing in the dentist's chair in the mili-second you'd be sitting there and all those red lights that never seem to change would be twinkling like Christmas lights! Christmas...yikes....it'll be here before I know it. Oh well, back to reality.

2004-09-10T19:53:00.000-04:00

Someone once asked "What's in a name?". Judging by the rash of hurricanes determined to batter Florida, I'd have to say there's one heck of a lot of wind and rain in some names. I've often wondered why we have this penchant for naming things and who started it. We name our pets, our cars, our boats and, in some cases, various parts of our anatomy and we always tend to give them strong or cute or classy names. The same premise applies to naming hurricanes. Look at Charley for instance. The name Charley conjures up images of a laid-back, good old boy but someone forgot to tell hurricane Charley as he tore through Florida. Frances on the other hand brings to mind teachers or librarians. Who hasn't had a teacher whose motto was " You'll do it over and over and over again until you get it right". Frances lived up to her name in a seemingly unending effort to blow down or drown as much territory as she could before the end came. Now, here comes Ivan.....yep, Ivan the Terrible....and watching the latest updates, he could easily embody the traits of his namesake.
What would happen if we gave these storms less personal names? Perhaps we could influence the physche of hurricanes if their names came from the seven dwarfs or a cartoon character or even one of the endless nicknames we've all grown up with. Maybe if we called Charley "Chubby" or "Clumsy" he would have slipped quietly out to sea, too embarassed to make much of an appearance. And surely if Frances had been "Floppy" or "Frumpy" she wouldn't have wanted so much attention. We could even adopt the George Forman approach and give them all the same name and discourage these storms from developing their individual personalities. Granted this is not a scientific approach but, who knows, it might work.
Whatever we call them, hurricanes are frightening, destructive things. Much as I'd like to rename Ivan to "Icky", I can only watch with my heart in my throat as he barrels towards Florida. My thoughts and my prayers are with my family in Palm Harbor and Clearwater and with all the other victims of Charley, Frances and Ivan. Mother Nature has a mind of her own and we can only hope she will take Ivan in hand and lead him away from land and people to blow himself out in open waters. Meanwhile, be safe my family and, to everyone in harm's way, we're thinking of you and hoping for the best.

2004-08-23T13:27:00.000-04:00

Some people are natural born gardeners. They love the feel of soil in their hands and spend hours outdoors lovingly planting, weeding and cultivating their gardens. Then there are people like me. I love a pretty garden as much as anyone, however, it's the hours outdoors tending to the gardens that I find increasingly more distasteful. Now don't get me wrong, I like picking out flowers and planting them and I even enjoy the planning process of a new garden. It's the constant upkeep I seem to have the most trouble with.
Just a couple of weeks ago, I was sitting outside talking to my son and gazing out into our backyard. I have already given up tackling the garden by the pool house since the Mother of all weeds insists on overtaking the area despite my best efforts. Besides, I found out the hard way that I was highly allergic to something in that garden and spent several itchy, oozing weeks recovering from our last encounter. So, completely ignoring the pool house area, I slowly looked around at the fish pond garden and the sidewalk garden. Granted I don't weed on a weekly basis, but where the heck did all those tall, nasty looking weeds come from. I could have sworn that just days before none of them had reared their ugly heads so someone, somehow, must have planted them there when I wasn't looking. OK, OK, maybe they were there all the time and I just chose to overlook them but in any case, now that I had noticed them I couldn't pretend they weren't there.
As Monday, my only day off during the week, dawned sunny and relatively cooler than the normal for this time of year, I resolutely headed out to deal with the weeds. Armed with all the modern gardening tools, hands gloved for protection, I decided to attack the sidewalk garden first. As I stood surveying the area, I wondered what had happened to the flowers that I was almost sure I had planted just a couple of months ago. Deciding there was no easy way around it, I attacked the first clump of grass and began yanking with all the enthusiasm I could muster. I've never understood how grass can grow so well in a flower garden without having been purposely planted there. I dug and tugged and swore for several hours, stopping only for a few gulps of cold water and to wipe the sweat from my brow. After what seemed an eternity, I stepped back to check my progress. Thinking I surely must have covered the majority of the garden, I was astonished to realize that I had barely covered the first two feet. And worst of all, I was pretty certain I could already see the beginnings of the newest crop of weeds trying to poke through.
With renewed vigor I continued on to finish not only the sidewalk garden but the fish pond garden as well. I had some thoughts of doing the front gardens but as Clint Eastwood says "You've got to know your limitations". Knowing my limitations, I called it a day and went in to enjoy a cooling, refreshing shower and wash the weed residue off my skin. Sitting on our deck that evening, I was proud of my day's work and certain I had survived untouched. Yeah, sure.
Barely twenty-four hours later, the first itchy bumps appeared on my right arm, followed by one large, oozing blister. Not too bad what with all the weeds I had pulled but none the less a little disconcerting since I hadn't touched anything I hadn't pulled a million times before. Just to be on the safe side, I immediately jumped into the jacuzzi, followed by another vigorous shower in an effort to completely wash away any remnants of weed resin. I have always read that allergic reactions to plants come from contact with the plant resin and once washed away, the allergic reaction will not be spread by the water from the blisters. Well, either those people are wrong or I am a medical anomaly because once that blister started ooozing, more and more itchy bumps appeared until I, once again, looked like I had been in a cat fight and the cat won!
After two weeks of itching, oozing and explaining my obvious wounds to everyone who noticed, I have planted something new in my garden. Looking out into my backyard you will see a white flag prominently placed for all the Weed Witches to see. I surrender!! I have finally concluded that not only am I allergic to some weeds, I am also allergic to the act of weeding. Just the thought of putting on gardening gloves makes my skin begin to prickle. So perhaps I'll just cautiously trim the large clumps of weeds that have already grown in place of their relatives I so casually pulled out. Animal shapes would be nice...maybe a rabbit or a turtle. Or just maybe I'll take my husband's approach to weeding. Now where did he put that Weed Whacker?

2004-08-16T12:50:00.000-04:00

Who ticked off Mother Nature?? So far this year we've had the ciccada invasion, floods, tornadoes and hurricane threats here on the east coast. Watching Hurricane Charley head for the Tampa area last week I suddenly realized how much I stood to lose if it hit there. Almost my entire family lives in the Clearwater and Palm Harbor area and they seemed to have a big red target painted on them for a while. Although thankful my family's area was spared, my heart goes out to the friends and familiy of all those in the Punta Gorda and surrounding areas devastated by Charley. Having had an up-close and personal visit by Hurricane Isabel last year, I can only imagine the countless hours and untold expense that will be involved in the cleanup and restoration of the affected areas of Florida.
Although I have many family members in the Tampa area, none are native born Floridians. My sister and her husband transplanted about 8 years ago from Baltimore, to be followed by my parents several years later and my sister Carolyn from Maine not too long ago. I've spent many wonderful visits with my sister Nancy who began the family love affair with the area and can easily understand what drew them there. I've found the Palm Harbor area to be beautiful and one of the most relaxing places I've ever been, so much so that we just 2 months ago purchased our own home not far from the rest of the family. In spite of the "Murphy's Law" weekend I recently spent in Florida, I always look forward to returning and already have plans for the Labor Day weekend in Palm Harbor. So I followed Charley's progress with trepidation, hoping he would change direction and praying for whoever he chose as his victim.
Friday was spent listening to the updates, making calls to family and crossing every available body part in some small effort to stay connected to those in peril. My family in Florida all congregated at my parents' home, animals in tow, and waited for the worst. Sitting here in Maryland I felt powerless to help and paced endlessly, mentally sending my thoughts to my family. The possible loss of property was not much of a concern since houses can be rebuilt and possessions replaced. But the injury or loss of any of my family members was as monumental a concept as I've ever faced. Watching Charley's determined progress, I constantly consulted the maps to see how close he was getting and when he made the sudden turn into shore I finally exhaled in relief. The video from Punta Gorda is heart-wrenching to watch and knowing it could have just as easily been the Clearwater and Palm Harbor area is almost inconceivable.
Phone calls to my parents and Nancy finally convinced me that everyone, though tired and stressed, made it through the day and were preparing to return to their own homes. Never have I been so happy to hear the voices of my family members and to know that all was well. Even as Charley continued to threaten our area of the east coast, I felt in my heart that we would all survive the experience intact and with a much greater appreciation for the people in our lives.
I have always believed that a sense of humor is an essential part of life and even with Charley's threatening presence, I called Nancy to apologize for the hex I unknowingly brought to Florida on my last visit. The problems with my air conditioner, telephone, modem and rental car coupled with my parents air conditioning unit breaking down last week and Charley bearing down on Florida seemed much more than just a string of bad coincidences. In a small attempt to inject a bit of humor I asked Nancy if perhaps Murphy's first name might just be Charley. Now with the sun shining and the threat past, I'm thinking our next visit in September will again be beautiful and relaxing and spending time with my family is at the top of the agenda.

2004-08-07T17:05:00.000-04:00

There are many types of vacations....there are beach vacations, skiing vacations, cruise vacations...and then there are Murphy's Law vacations. Whoever this Murphy person might be, he apparently came up with this profound pronouncement, possibly based on his own life experiences, that whatever could go wrong would go wrong. Sure we all have days where this law applies but until you've spent four entire days in Murphy's world, you can't begin to understand what he was talking about.
It all began innocently enough with plans to spend four relaxing days at our new home in Palm Harbor Florida with my oldest daughter and her four year old son. Maybe I should have been a little more wary when, due to a power outage the night before, my alarm clock failed to go off at the appointed hour and I was shaken awake by my husband telling me it was already 6:15 a.m. Knowing my daughter was due to pick me up in 15 minutes, I hurriedly dressed, turned on my curling iron and grabbed a quick cup of coffee to wash away the cobwebs in my brain. I was still trying to coax some shape into my hair and cramming the last makeup items in my suitcase when my daughter arrived. We finally headed off to the airport about 30 minutes behind schedule but with plenty of time to make our 9 a.m. flight. Parking in the long term lot, we wrestled our suitcases out of the car and made our way to the shuttle stop. Now normally you barely have time to set your stuff down before the bus pulls up, but in keeping with the morning's theme, the bus took almost a half hour to arrive. Rushing into the airport, we checked in and ran for the gate dragging this four year old along at an unwilling pace. We managed to make it to the gate with minutes to spare before they started boarding. We settled into our seats and, taking a deep breath, looked forward to our trip.
The flight was smooth and uneventful and we landed in Tampa to be greeted by sunshine and clear skies. We stopped by the Hertz counter, picked up the keys to our rental car and headed out to the lot. OK so the child seat being on top of the car instead of inside was annoying, it took my daughter only a couple of minutes to unwrap and install the seat and we were on our way. Driving across the causeway was beautiful as always and we arrived at the house in good time. I unlocked the door, expecting to be greeted with a rush of cool air since we had had the air conditioner replaced in June. The rush of air was more like a pizza oven than a freezer and I immediately began checking breakers. Checking the unit itself, there was the sound of the fan running but no reassuring sound of the condenser kicking in. Houston, we have a problem. I went back into the house and picked up the phone which had been turned on the day before. Instead of the hum of a dial tone, all I could hear was loud static and the barest echo of a dial tone. Cellphone to the rescue. Deciding the air conditioner was more important than the phone, I called the AC people and they agreed to send out a serviceman that afternoon. Fifteen minuts after his arrival, he came back into the house shaking his head. Apparently the new unit had a leak which was why we had replaced the old one in the first place!! Since it was a warranty situation, they would turn it over to the company that handled the warranty work and it would get fixed the next day. The serviceman recharged the unit to get us through the night and making sure the office had my cell number, we called Pizza Hut and settled in for the evening.
Just because the air conditioner was leaking, the phone wasn't working right and the cable stubbornly refused to come on for well over an hour, it still hadn't occurred to me that Murphy might be lurking somewhere close by.
We left the house early the next day and spent a wonderful day at my sister's, lounging out by the pool and relaxing. I had even begun to regain my sense of humor when as my brother-in-law opened the door to greet us, I smiled and politely asked "Could I borrow a cup of air conditioning please?". Since I received no calls from the AC company, I naturally assumed that they had taken care of the leaking unit and saying goodnight to Nancy and Harlan we headed back home around 8 p.m. I had heard the expression "Hotter than the hinges of Hell" but had never felt it until I opened the door to my house that evening. The thermostat was straining to burst out of its box at 95 plus degrees, and after checking around, I was fairly certain our repairman had not shown up. As my daughter and grandson camped out on the lanai since it was much cooler outside than in, I spent a restless night, hot physically and emotionally, resisting the urge to leave a blistering message on the answering machine of the repair company at 2 a.m. Finally at 7:15 I called the company and they promised to have someone out by 9:30. True to their word, the repairman arrived, fixed the leak and apologizing for our problems, wished us a good weekend. We lounged in the cool air, ignored the phone issue and contemplated what to do that day.
Finally summoning up a little energy after very little sleep the night before, we went off to visit with my parents for a while and then stopped by Nancy's again. Nancy's husband Harlan wasn't feeling well and had begun to break out in a mysterious itchy red rash so after a quick dip in the pool for my grandson, we hopped in the car. I waved to Nancy standing at her door, turned the ignition key and...CLICK!!! Trying it again I was met with absolutely nothing. Nancy grabbed her phone to call AAA and we trudged back through her door to wait. Although the situation was anything but humorous, I walked through Nancy's door shaking my head and laughing out loud. OK Murphy, where are you hiding?? AAA started the car and we drove home. Needless to say, after all the events of the past few days, I was a little hesitant when I opened the door to my house. Thankfully we were greeted by cool air and all seemed right with the world again. Just a string of bad coincidences and the rest of the weekend would be fine. Uh-huh sure.
Sunday dawned gray and rainy and noone was in a hurry to do much of anything. My grandson apparently was engrossed in a marathon cartoon-watching contest so I began connecting the computer Nancy had dropped off intending to spend the afternoon surfing the net. The phone connection had cleared considerably after the heat was out of the house so I was optimistic as I sat down to play. After several hours and many mumbled curses, the stubborn machine still refused to admit that it had a modem much less let it connect so I admitted defeat and turned the blasted thing off. Nancy stopped by and gave it the good old college try, and even though it used to be her computer, the machine was defiant. My other sister Carol came by and we decided to just sit and talk as it seemed the least frustrating activity of my vacation. After my sisters left, we pried my grandson away from the TV and went in search of a restaurant. We found a Perkins which fit the need and after a good meal, we got back into the car. I turned the key.....and.......CLICK!!! By now I was certain that even though I hadn't seen him, Murphy had somehow invaded this vacation and was lurking somewhere enjoying my frustration.
I called Hertz roadside assistance and after about an hour, the serviceman arrived and jump started the car again. As he told me I ought to think about trading it in for a different rental, I assured him that though I had thought about that, it wouldn't make much sense now since we were leaving the next day at noon. Besides, it seemed to start fine in the driveway and as long as I didn't to turn it off again, we should get to the airport OK. Obviously Murphy had one last joke up his sleeve.
Feeling a sense of caution, we packed up early the next morning and locked up the house at 8:45 a.m. Plenty of time for the drive to Tampa and our noon flight. I got in, inserted the key and....Damn it Murphy!!! The stupid vehicle didn't even give me the courtesy of a Click this time. Grabbing my cellphone I called Hertz again, barely containing my mounting anger, and was assured help would arrive in less than 45 minutes. Repeating that I had a noon flight and time was of the essence, we settled back to wait. Watching the minutes tick by, I waited an hour before I called Hertz again. They assured me the man was only 10 minutes away and I agreed to wait. Meanwhile, my neighbors had seen us standing outside all this time, and concerned something was wrong, came over to offer assistance. Bob offered a ride, another man ran home to get jumper cables and others just offered sympathy. Despite the neighbor's efforts, the car refused to start and making my final call to Hertz, I accepted the neighbor's offer of a ride as I told Hertz where they could find their vehicle so they could tow it in. Due to the heroic efforts of our neighbor Bob, we arrived at the Tampa airport at 11:30 a.m., quickly checked in and, ending the trip as it began, arrived breathlessly at the gate with minutes to spare before boarding started.
Although I wouldn't want to think that Murphy may have tagged along with my daughter and grandson, having spent much time in Florida without mishap, I found myself wondering. Just to be on the safe side, I have decided that until further notice, noone under the age of 55 will be allowed at the Florida house. After all, it IS an over-55 park. Besides, knowing I have such good and helpful neighbors makes me even more positive we chose the right house to buy. Take that Murphy!!

2004-07-27T18:35:00.000-04:00

Much as I love all the latest electronic gadgets I sometimes find some that just make you want to say "WHY?". Pda's, cell phones, computers and the like are to me an essential part of life. Why write something with pen and paper, even if you could find a pen and pad when you needed one, when you can push a few buttons and store all important information in one place. Isn't it easier to look in your cell phone for a phone number or turn on your Palm Pilot for an address than to remember where you put that napkin or scrap of envelope with a really important number written on it?
But then, there are some bounderies that just shouldn't be crossed when it comes to electronics and their place in ordinary life. Not long ago I was watching the evening news and there was a reporter doing a story on the latest in cell phone crazes. Someone had come up with the bright idea of offering an "excuse" group. The concept was to join this group and if you needed a convenient excuse for not showing up for work or standing up a date, you put out a message to the network and someone would make a call to get you off the hook. The "excuse" call would even come complete with appropriate background noises such as traffic or bar sounds or airport paging systems in order to make the excuse even more authentic. Where were these people when I was trying to duplicate my mother's signature on an absence note when I skipped school? Although I do believe my mother's signature was a lot easier for me than having to come up with inventive excuses for people I don't even know.
Then there was a new invention on the Today show one morning. Here there were several attractive young ladies sporting tee shirts with built-in monitors across their chests showing various streaming videos. WHY???? Let's face it, it doesn't take streaming video to make any man take a second look at an attractive woman. And another new thing on the market is a refrigerator with a TV built into the door!! Again I gotta ask...WHY??. Americans have for generations timed their trips to the fridge during commercials, so what good is a TV on the refrigerator door. Besides, is all that cold air good for the TV? Why not come up with a TV for the shower while we're at it....although steam could be a problem. It makes me wonder who would buy this particular refrigerator and would visitors congregate around the fridge to watch the latest movie......hmmmmm. I guess we could just move the fridge into the bedroom and make all our husbands dreams come true.....a TV & fridge full of snacks and cold beer all in one convenient place. I wonder if the fridge TV comes with a remote.
But the topper came this morning during the local news. Some brilliant mind has come up with a raincoat complete with a built-in MP3 player and a built-in cell phone for the low, low price of $795.00. Apparently the headphones come up through the collar of the raincoat and one can listen to music and make calls every where they go. Although the concept is interesting I think it might get just a wee bit warm wearing that raincoat in 90 degree weather and one just might draw the interest of local law enforcement wandering around in a raincoat talking and dancing by oneself. Somehow I don't see a big market for the raincoat but you never know. After all, Columbo did well with his rumpled trenchcoat, so just imagine how he'd come across with this coat as he says "Just one more question".........."WHY??!!".

2004-07-24T10:40:00.000-04:00

As I was surfing my cell phone provider's site debating on which of the newest phone features were a "must have", I was reminded of just how far something like the telephone has come. I know if I mentioned things like "party line" and "rotary dial" to my kids, I would be met with blank stares and mumbled comments regarding my age. People in their thirties assume telephones have always been push button and the idea of sharing a phone line with other families on your block is as foreign a concept as not having portable phones.
When I was young, and no, it wasn't all that long ago, we had this harvest gold telephone that hung on the wall in the kitchen. It had a rotary dial which for those that have never seen one, is a big circle in the middle of the rectangular body of the phone with holes to place your fingers in. Each hole represented several numbers and letters and you would place your finger in the appropriate hole for each number you needed to dial and turn the dial as far to the right as possible. Then you withdrew the finger and let the dial go back to it's original position and start the process over for the next number until you had completed dialing the number you wanted. If you were really good at dialing, you could just let your finger glide back with the dial as it returned to it's starting position. This rotary thing might seem slow and cumbersome to the younger generation but you'd be amazed at how quickly you could dial numbers with a little practice.
The phone in our kitchen was the one and only phone in the house and was only used when absolutely necessary. Unlike my kids, the idea of walking in the door and immediately picking up the phone to call the friends you had just left was unheard of. And then there was the "party line". Although this may sound like a bunch of people chatting and having a good time on the phone, it was actually sharing a phone line with at least several other houses in the block. So when you lifted the receiver, you first had to listen to see if anyone else was using the line which could actually be quite entertaining. You could listen in on other people's conversations and, unless you were breathing too loudly, they would never know you were there! I recall placing my hand over the mouthpiece to muffle our background noise and listening in for a while if the conversation was interesting. Disconnecting without being heard was another delicate manuver. You had to gently place your finger on the hook the receiver hung on and ever so slowly pull it down and place the receiver back on the hook as quickly as possible. Of course, if you had an actual emergency or the other party was just taking too darn long on the phone, you could butt into their conversation and let them know you really needed to use the line please.
And the calling plans were much different then too. After we finally got a private line at our house, we were instructed to keep use to a minimum as our calling plan only allowed thirty calls per month. It took quite a bit of begging and crying to be able to make a call and minutes were monitored by a timer. Even after unlimited local calling became the latest thing, my mother would still watch the clock when any of us was on the phone like she was paying by the minute. She seemed to think that whatever you had to say should be concluded in five minutes or less so I found it easier to rehearse whatever conversation I needed to have on the phone in order to get everything in quickly without it sounding like jibberish to the other person.
Now we have the luxury of portable phones and extension phones in almost every room. Who would have ever conceived of having a phone in the bathroom when I was a kid? When my parents' phone rang in the kitchen, someone would have to run from the other end of the house or from upstairs in order to answer it. Letting a phone ring ten or fifteen times was the norm back then as it allowed the person you were calling ample time to reach the phone. These days if you call someone and they don't pick up by the fifth ring, you expect to hear the answering machine kick in. Would you believe there are still people in this day and age that don't have an answering machine?!! Much as my husband complains about having to talk to machines, when he's trying to call someone and they don't have a machine his immediate reaction is "What's wrong with these people!! How are they supposed to know I called if they don't have a machine!!"
I must say that today's telephones have it all over the old ones I grew up with but they do present their own special problems. We recently had a party and, as is my usual habit, I took the portable outside in case anyone called. To me it seems easier to answer the call which is most often one of my children or a friend, than to remember to check the machine when I go back inside. So I took the portable and put it on the table near the pool where we were entertaining. Later on, we decided to fire up the grill and throw on some steaks and I moved the phone closer to the deck. Now normally I know exactly where I left the portable but on this particular night, I had moved it several times, and with no incoming calls to alert me as to it's location, I was faced with the worst drawback of portable phones. As we took in the last of the dishes and glasses late that night, I looked at the telephone holder and was shocked to see it missing it's most important component. Where the heck did I leave the phone? I quickly went back outside, in the dark, with a flashlight, frantically searching for my phone as my husband watched chuckling at the door. Finally admitting defeat, I walked slowly back into the house and quietly confessed to not knowing where the phone was. My husband burst out laughing, saying "Well that's a first!" and , saying a silent prayer that it wouldn't rain during the night I trudged off to bed still racking my tired brain as to the mysterious disappearance of the phone. The next morning, armed with a cup of coffee I resumed the search. I retraced my steps of the night before, checking the pool area and the yard with no success. As I headed back to the deck where we ended the evening, I glanced to the left, checking to make sure the gate was closed so my dogs wouldn't wander out, and lo and behold, there sat my portable phone on the deck rail!! I quickly put it back on it's charger and satisfied that this essential part of life was safely back home, I sat down with my coffee and newspaper to resume my normal Sunday routine.

2004-07-11T13:41:00.000-04:00

The English language can be the source of unending humor especially in the hands of children trying to learn the language and in adults who tend toward mispronounciation and misuse of words. I recall a little girl I used to babysit for who once told me she was reading a "mazagine" while listening to "musekick" on her radio. My youngest daughter had a wonderful name for a merry-go-round. She insisted it was an American-round. My son's favorite steak was "sewer line" and the floor in the kitchen was "lilloleum".
Our 5 year old grandson recently had a conversation with his mother regarding swimming attire. His almost 2 year old sister did not yet have a bathing suit and he was explaining to his mother that it was time to go to the store to buy his sister a "baby suit" for the pool. His mother said "You mean bathing suite don't you?". Becoming exasperated he said "No, she's not taking a bath. She needs a baby suit like mine to go swimming in". His mother reminded him that he wasn't a baby anymore and with hands on hips he replied " I know I'm not a baby but EVERYONE wears a baby suit in the pool!"
My husband has a sometimes endearing and other times exasperating habit of mispronouncing words and substituting his own names for things. Our grandson was out in the yard one day when he heard a loud whirring in the sky. As he looked up and pointed, he shouted " Look it's a .....what does Pop-pop call it?...Oh yeah...it's a "heelicopter!". No amount of correction will make this child realize the real word is helicopter. Then there is his term for our favorite activity on Friday evening at the local bar. What others may call karaoke he insists is "terriake" which has gotten him many confused looks when he talks about the people singing on terriake night. Does that make terriake sauce "karaoke sauce" ?
I can understand the confusion sometimes when you come across something unfamiliar. We recently bought a house in Florida that has a screened porch referred to as a lanai. Not having heard the term often, my husband was talking to my brother-in-law on a recent visit to Florida and saying how much he had enjoyed having coffee out on the "Renay". As my sister & I disolved into fits of laughter, my brother-in-law asked "Who's Renee?" My husband has gotten the hang of saying lanai now but my brother-in-law kind of liked the "Renay" better.
We've all laughed at New Englanders who tend to drop the R from words. Remember the phrase " Pak the ca"? Translation: Park the car. Well, I've discovered what happened to all the R's they discarded. These lost consonants attach themselves to certain people and wind up in words where they weren't meant to be. My husband tends to add r's to words, a habit I suspect he picked up from his mother. He often refers to "Chicargo" and "orbituary" and has passed this along to one of our employees who recently went looking for a new car at the "Burick" dealer. At least these orphan r's have found a home.
Then there are the times when he glances too quickly at something and the result is hilarious. Recently we were preparing for a party when our son dropped by. Diligently working on the cheese platter, my husband continued the coversation as he reached into the cabinet for the crackers. Picking up several boxes, he checked the labels to see what kind they were. When he turned around to ask what the heck these "Mulligan" crackers were my son and I could barely contain ourselves long enough to explain that they were "multigrain" crackers. And there is his name for the culottes women wore back when were we young. Being a cross between a skirt and shorts, culottes were a fashion favorite which he immediately dubbed "kumquats" and it has remained that way forever.
This morning I sat thinking of these funny phrases and words that have become a part of everday conversation and came up with a little story incorporationg most of the favorites: "Sitting out on the "renay", I was reading an "orbituary" about this woman in "Chicargo" who was wearing white "kumquats" last Friday and, leaving her favorite club after a night of "terriake", was suddenly squashed by a "heelicopter" whose pilot was so engrossed in his "mulligan" crackers that he misjudged the airport."

2004-07-04T10:53:00.014-04:00

We've all known people who have a fear of something that most people find easy to deal with. There's the usual fear of heights and tight spaces, possibly brought on by some childhood experience, but the list of phobias recognized in the world is positively staggering. There is actually a website that lists the conditions and corresponding "phobia" name for everything you could possibly imagine. For instance, the name for fear of being too close to high buildings is called Batophobia. Unless there were bats flying around the building or one had been scared by Batman, I can't quite understand how the name applies to the fear. Wouldn't structurophobia or even masonryophobia give a clearer meaning?
As I was scrolling through this long, long alphabetized list of phobias, I noticed that there were many names that quite simply defined the condition. Like the one for fear of taking tests is Testophobia.....makeses sense to me. The fear of words is Verbophobia. Again pretty self explanatory, although it does leave the question of whether one is just afraid of verbs or is just as phobic about nouns and adjectives. There's even a name for fear of phobias.....yep, you guessed it....Phobophobia.
There was one glaring ommission in the list though. It's a fear I developed growing up and one that haunts me to this day. It began as a small child when after every meal my mother would reach for one of the multiple small empty margarine containers that occupied an entire cabinet and proceed to fill them with small quantities of whatever happened to be left at the end of the meal. It could be a scoop of mashed potatoes, 2 tablespoons of corn or lima beans or even one lone dinner roll. Every last morsel was packed into a container and stored in the refrigerator. Now I can understand the waste not, want not concept but it can be taken too far. These containers would sit in the refrigerator for days, and sometimes weeks or months. If we were lucky, some of the little tubs would get hidden behind a larger object and go unnoticed until they began resembling a science experiment. I won't confess to guiding the tubs into a hiding place but sometimes you have to move things around a little when you're looking for something in a crowded refrigerator.
Now, my mother's little leftover collection may not seem frightening to the average person but to this day, the words "Do you want to keep the rest of this?" uttered by anyone holding a small plastic storage container can send me screaming into the streets.
The real problem began when I innocently inquired one Friday evening what we were having for dinner. My mother replied "Mustgoes". I looked at her in total confusion and asked her what that was. Her answer " It means all leftovers must go" sent a chill down my tiny spine. I had gotten used to never knowing what cereal may come falling out of a box marked Cheerios since my mother tended to mix the remaining small amounts of cereal into one box on a relatively consistent basis, something she now denies ever doing but both of my sisters and my brother can vouch for the truth of this happening. It seemed the only cereal box that was sacred was the corn flakes since that was my father's daily breakfast and I'm pretty sure he wouldn't enjoy the WheatiesKixShreddedWheat we kids found in our bowls.
So, when my mother called out that dinner was ready on Mustgoes night, I slowly trudged into the kitchen dreading what concoction awaited me. Sitting quietly in my appointed place, I watched as she spooned out the vegetables she called succotash and the "stew" floating in gravy. The succotash was an amazing combination of corn, peas, green beans, beets, cabbage and other unidentifiable pieces of whatever vegetables had been residing in the refrigerator all week. The stew was even more difficult to figure out as it had chicken, beef, ham, and, I swear, corned beef and barbeque loaf all stirred into chickenbeefmushroom gravy. As I shuddered through this leftover dinner, I knew I would never be the same again.
As an adult, I can finally choose what, if any, type of leftover appears in my refrigerator and to perfectly honest, there aren't any. I heartily encourage any dinner guests to please feel free to take the rest of the ham or macaroni home with them since they enjoyed it so much. My friends and family know I seldom save the remains of a meal but I've never shared the secret of my fear with them since I felt sure they would think me slightly unbalanced. So I dilligently searched the phobia website for a name for my condition, only to be met with disappointment. Apparently noone else in the world suffers from the same fear of leftovers as I do so I've been forced to name it myself. Fear of leftovers is now called Mustgoesaphobia and believe me it's a terrible secret to bear. Mustgoesaphobics be not afraid.....all leftovers MUSTGO into the trashcan where they can do no more harm to young psychies!

2004-06-25T19:22:00.000-04:00

Vacation season seems to be in full swing now that the kids are out of school and their parents are thinking longingly of a series of days where there are no alarm clocks, no job pressures, and no telephones. With the advent of the cell phone, no phones is just a distant memory but the rest is still an achievable dream. Nothing soothes the soul and the brain like escaping from the work world into the retreat of summer vacation. Little did we realize as children how valued those summer vacation months would become when they were no longer available. Didn't we all, by early August, constantly whine that there was nothing to do during that long hiatus from school and studies? There is an old saying that youth is wasted on the young and I think it may apply in the case of summer vacation. Maybe we should have 2 weeks of vacation to use per year when we are young and the long, wonderful almost 3 months that our children get when we are old enough to appreciate and enjoy them. Somehow though, I doubt our employers would find this concept acceptable in business...ah well, one can dream.
Our family has taken many vacations in the past, some more outstanding than others. We tend to be just a bit off-beat, whether by nature or circumstance. My husband and I plan vacations with all the best of intentions, but sometimes, without warning, circumstance rears it's head and our plans are tossed and turned to the point where the original concept can be completely lost. There is one such vacation trip that defies any explanation except that it happened and tends to be repeated amidst much laughter at least once a year.
My husband, once a huge country music fan, read about this great country music festival just outside Wheeling West Virgina and immediately began planning all the details of our family attending this grand event. At the time we had 2 children, our youngest was still a gleam in her father's eye, and this seemed a perfect adventure. The only problem we had was that unless we wanted to drive from Maryland to West Virginia by car and stay in a hotel, we would need transportation more accomodating to the outdoorsy nature of this event. The concept of the 3 day event was to camp on or near the main event area so that music could be enjoyed at all hours of the day and night and one could practically walk to the main stage area when a particular favorite performer was on or retire to your camper for a nap or a meal when you weren't too interested in whoever was on stage.
After examining all the available options, my husband went to our favorite local Ford dealer with whom we and our company had done quite a bit of business over the years. This dealership has just begun renting motorhomes of various sizes and the idea of renting a vehicle of this nature was the answer to our our quandry. What could be better than a self-contained unit while traveling and camping with children. After all, it had a bathroom, a bed, a refrigerator and even a television. All we had to do was drive it to the site, park in a place of our choice and enjoy all the comforts of home. If there was no electric hookup, we had a generator, and since it was the heart of the summer, air conditioning was especially appealing. So we rented an RV, loaded up the kids and supplies, and with brochure and directions in hand, off we went to Jamboree in the Hills.
The trip to Wheeling was pretty much uneventful, traffic moving at a good pace, the children content, and thoughts of a relaxing weekend dancing in our heads. Being the co-pilot, it was my job to read the travel directions to my husband as we neared Wheeling and we followed the printed directions in the brochure to the letter. As we approached the exit we were to take, we were smugly confident that we would soon be among the thousands who had made this same pilgrammage to enjoy our favorite performers. Little did we know, the adventure had just begun.
Following the directions, we took the appropriate exit, went slowly around a curve, through a short tunnel and came out at the beginning of a bridge. Ordinarily that wouldn't have been a problem except the sign on the bridge approach warned that the bridge was just over nine and a half feet high. As my husband hastily applied the brakes, I rechecked the brochure directions noting no mention of a low bridge and my husband hastily looked for some marking on the RV to indicate it's height. The most unfortunate part of this bridge approach was that there was no way to not continue over the bridge from this point, so amidst much honking from the cars behind us, we ventured slowly forward. Holding our breath, my husband and I tried to will this RV to pass under the first crossmember of the bridge, inch by agonizing inch. Thinking we were home free as the largest part of the RV passed through without mishap, we were totally unprepared for the squealing, scaping noise that filled the entire space of our vehicle. Mindless of the traffic behind us, my husband stopped the RV and jumped out to assess the damage. Satisfied that we had only barely scraped the top of the air conditioning unit, we again proceeded cautiously forward.
Moving at less than a snail's pace, we noticed this elderly couple walking along the pedestrian walk along the bridge pointing and trying to get our attention. Satisfied that the worst was over, my husband smiled and waved back at the couple and....Thunk, Bang, Kaboom!!!! It seems the other end of the bridge was lower yet!! As we sheared the AC unit off the top of the rented RV, the kids were happily shouting about the convertible roof that had suddenly opened up. We pulled off into a parking area just past the end of the bridge so my husband could retrieve the AC unit that had landed in the middle of the bridge. Thinking he would place it inside the RV to hopefully be reattched at some point, you can imagine my dismay when, with a mighty heave and a string of expletives that would cause any sailor to blush, he threw the AC unit off the bridge into the water below. Knowing that once he calmed down, sanity would again overtake his brain and he would realize that perhaps tossing this piece of the RV overboard wasn't quite the appropriate action, I watched as he fumed and cursed and paced for the better part of 10 minutes. Finally, his frustration spent, he entered the RV and collapsed quietly into the driver's seat. The children peeked out from behind the bedroom door and after a few tense moments, decided it was safe to come closer.
So here we were, only miles from our destination, with a newly renovated RV sitting in a parking lot quietly contemplating our next move. Deciding to continue on to the Jamboree, we poured over the map and the written directions and satisfied that there were no more obstacles in our path, we started off again. We finally arrived at the RV parking area, chose a spot and set up camp. The setting for the Jamboree included a large stage and seating area, concessions and some shaded areas. The RV lot unfortunatley had none of these amenities, especially trees and shade. With the AC unit missing in action, we were left with a rather large opening in the roof which became an open invitation to all manner of flying insect. Falling back on his boyscout training, my husband came up with what we considered a workable solution. He grabbed a large black trash bag, affixed it as firmly as possible to the roof and Voila!, problem solved. Granted we had no air conditioning but heck, we had food, water and each other. Besides, we were on vacation!
The Jamboree lived up to it's advertising as we listened and danced along to our favorite country songs. We were thrilled to be watching live performances by the likes of the Oakridge Boys, Tanya Tucker, George Jones and many other stars of the times. Surrounded by thousands of other fans, we sweltered in the hot sun, downing soda and water by the gallons. There were ways to cool off even without AC as it seemed just about everyone had large plastic sprayers like the kind used in gardening filled with water and indiscriminately sprayed anyone and everyone that they walked by. The organizers of this festival had also had the foresight to employ security guards equipped with these same sprayers as well as several fire trucks that periodically sprayed the entire crowd. Although initially annoyed by this constant onslaught of water bearers, I quickly realized that the purpose was to help keep us cooled down so we could avoid trips to the First Aid tent.
The 3 day festival went quickly, and despite the heat, we concluded that a good time was had by all. The last night of the Jamboree though, there was a large thunderstorm that dumped several inches of water quickly on both audience and participants. Already having spent several days in a constant state of wetness, the rain wasn't too much of a deterent. So we stayed until the last performer took a bow and the last notes of song had faded away. Gathering up our soggy belongings, we made our way to the RV for a good night's rest and an early start to our trip home. Deep in conversation about the great acts we had seen, my husband and I had not given any thought at all to our makeshift sunroof cover until we walked through the door and turned on the light. Hanging down through the hole in the roof was that black trashbag, exposing the RV to the elements. Needless to say, the carpet and furniture in that area were a little the worse for wear. Mopping up what water we could and reaffixing a new trash bag, doubled this time for extra strength, we checked our sleeping quarters, thankful the beds were still dry and settled in for the night.
The new cover held for the entire trip home, and without further mishap we pulled into our driveway late that evening. Thankful to be home and dry again, I unlocked the front door and just stood there enjoying the blessed cool air inside. Unloading our belongings from the rented RV, we soon had to face the reality of the condition of this vehicle. How do you explain the disappearance of an AC unit and the dampness pervading the carpeting? Lucky for me, this was left to my husband to figure out since he was the one who had to return it to the dealership the next day.
As he tells it now, he pulled nonchalantly into the Ford parking lot and went inside to return the keys to the manager. When asked how the trip went and how the RV performed, he assured the manager that the trip was good and the RV only had one small malfunction. As the manager inquired what the problem was, my husband, without skipping a beat, politely suggested that perhaps the RV should have had an AC unit on it's roof. Running outside and quickly climbing into the RV, the manager's jaw hit the floor with a resounding THUD! as he looked up at the now uncovered hole in the roof. The manager slowly exited the RV and stared speechlessly at my husband not even able to utter the beginnings of the multitude of questions forming in his mind. My husband handed him the keys and said "You wouldn't believe it so just send me a bill and keep this to yourself". Several hundred dollars later, this vacation went down into the annals of history and became just another funny story.
The Ford dealership apparently didn't quite see the humor in the situation and shortly afterwards stopped renting RV's. Guess they just didn't think a convertible RV was an idea that would catch on.

2004-06-21T14:28:00.000-04:00

Judging by the glut of tv and print ads these days, it would appear that choosing the perfect mattress has become an obsession in our culture. What used to be a simple choice of twin or full and soft or firm has evolved into such a complication of sizes, firmness, type of material and whatever fills the mattress that one almost needs to take at least several courses in mattress education to have any hope of being able to choose one that might serve the purpose.
Mattress 101 would cover size I think. After all you would have to keep in mind the dimensions of the room the mattress occupies as well as whether to allow sufficient space to walk around the bed rather than climb over it to reach the other side. Then of course there is the decision of adding other furniture to the room such as bureaus, dressers and nightstands. One could probably do without the nightstand or even the dresser but I would think at least one bureau would be essential unless your clothes also have a room of their own. So here we have to choose between twin (not bad if you sleep alone & don't move much), full ( a better option yet, even for one person), queen which is great unless you're taller than the average person or my personal favorite, the King size. King allows for all manner of sleeping positions, sharing the bed with a partner or your favorite pet, or both, and less possibility of getting shoved off the edge of the bed in the middle of the night. So, Mattress 101 is an easy course for most of us.
However, on to the advanced class in choosing the type of mattress. The sheer numbers would make even a PHD hold his head in agony. Not only do you need to decide on firmness which seems to come in as many choices as the population of a small town, you also have to figure out whether to go with the usual mattress filling or water or air or foam that molds to the body. Then there are the manmade fillers, the natural fillers such as down feathers, and add to that the pillow top or springs, heated or unheated and on and on and on........Excedrin please!!!
The advent of the waterbed wasn't too difficult. You chose regular, meaning constant sloshing as if on a rough sea or the waveless which only moved for a short time after you were settled. Heat was preferable unless you were fond of sleeping on a block of ice. The only drawback to a waterbed was if by some stroke of bad luck the bed developed a leak. You could awaken thinking you possibly didn't quite make it to the bathroom soon enough if the leak was small or you could be wishing for an ark to rescue you if it all gushed out at once. The latter could cause extreme discord with your downstairs neighbors if you happened to live in an apartment. I assume this particular problem occured on a regular enough basis since many apartments banned waterbeds from all but the bottom floor apartments.
The air bed seems to be gaining in popularity since each side of the bed can be adjusted to suit it's occupant. One person may enjoy sleeping on something resembling an overfilled balloon while their partner prefers something more marshmallow like. Although it does seem possible that the marshmallow person could get crushed in the middle of the night if the other guy falls off his balloon. My husband and I chose the air mattress in King size of course and luckily we tend to keep our levels close enough to avoid a middle of the night 911 call. This particular type of air mattress has air chambers in what resembles a regular mattress with air hoses and a pump attached to the upper end. The remote control makes adjusting easy unless you happen to hit the wrong button and inflate or deflate the other side of the mattress. Well, how can you tell if left and right refers to when you're laying down or just facing the bed...it's a common mistake don't you think?
The newest thing out is the space age foam type of mattress that is supposed to conform to each person's contours when they lay down. This brings to mind pictures of laying on a giant sack filled with jello that oozes into spaces that ordinarily don't lay flat when you do. I wonder if this conforming foam poses any particular problem when couples attempt to do what couples tend to like to do. Think I'll leave that up to the imagination of the reader.
By the time one does all the research and travels to a variety of mattress stores to lay on every mattress type available, someone will have come out with another new mattress and we'll have to start all over again. And, after all this strenuous study, we're likely to just go home and collapse on our old double bed, firm mattress and sleep just as soundly.
All this makes one wonder if perhaps it's easier to decide on which new car or which house to buy than it is to choose the perfect mattress. Maybe I'll just lay on the couch and forget the whole thing.

2004-06-20T13:10:00.000-04:00

Our soon-to-be five year old grandson is a bright, beautiful, loving child, all boy for sure yet with a sweetness that at times can melt the hardest heart. He's always been an active toddler and like many children found it difficult to sit still for long. It wasn't until about 2 years ago that we began to realize that he was showing signs of hyperactivity and, to our distress, an aggressive and unpredictable nature. In the course of a short period of time, we could watch as he went from being almost over-the-top "up" only to plummet quickly to an extreme low. Normal temper tantrums escalated to him physically attacking people, throwing whatever he could reach, screaming threats of bodily harm and an increase in physical strength well out of proportion to his size. Having held him as tightly as possible during one of these episodes to protect both him and whoever his target was at the time, I can attest to the magnitude of of the storm raging inside this small boy. It is without a doubt, the most draining, unworldly thing a grandparent can experience as you watch this cloud consume the bright eyes and mind of a child until the rage subsides and the child collapes in your arms sobbing from the experience.
Thanks to determined family, concerned medical personnel and the grace of God, it was finally determined that he was both bipolar and ADHD. This diagnosis was as foreign a concept to our family as any that could have been made. His mother, prepared for the ADHD pronouncement, was shocked into total disbelief and denial by the bipolar component. It seemed absolutely impossible that something like this could afflict any child in our family. We had been blessed by healthy, happy children and naturally expected our grandchildren to be afforded the same type of life. So it was, with a heavy heart, we began our efforts to gain as much insight into his disorder and ways to help him as humanly possible. The internet proved a neverending source of information and support, starting with bpkids and branching out to other informational and support sites. My daughter devoted countless hours to learning about medication and coping mechanisms and has become a self-taught expert on this condition. Although only 19 when her son was born, she quickly developed the insight and devotion necessary to doing whatever it might take to ease her son's suffering and guide him to places and people that could help.
One such place is a wonderful school in Baltimore The Children's Guild that we were fortunate enough to have available in our area, and with much help from a group of very special people our grandson was able to gain admittance to this marvellous school. As he happily boards his big yellow school bus each morning, we know that not only is he getting the education he deserves, he's also getting the attention and therapy necessary to ensure that he is equipped with all the knowledge of how to cope with and understand his condition that will give him a happy, healthy life.
All of these thoughts have been passing through my mind lately due to a very special and unexpected happening in my office on Friday. My daughter was helping out in the office and a very nice, elderly gentleman came in to ask if we had a scrap piece of pipe he could purchase. He apparently wanted to slowly curve a piece of wood for his boat railing and needed the pipe to act as a kind of sweat chamber to soften the wood. We always have a barrel of scrap pieces of many kinds of pipe in our warehouse so I took him back into that area and we found a piece that would serve his purpose. When he asked me the cost, I told him to please jsut take it at no charge, after all it was only scrap. He smiled and said "In that case, I have something for you too." Not knowing what to expect, I went back into the office as he went out to his car. Several minutes later, he reappeared and handed me a delightful looking children's book with pictures of whales on the cover entitled Tailey Whaley As I thanked him he said "I didn't draw the pictures but I did write the book". As I stood there stunned, I noticed that he had taken the time to autograph the inside. When he asked if I had anyone to give the book to, I spoke of my 5 wonderful grandchildren, all the while looking through the book. As we chatted I read the summary of the story about a whale that had been born with an extremely large tail and was consistently teased and tormented by his peers. Because he was different, the other whales could not easily accept him, but with the help of his mother and a series of wonderful events, he was accepted for who he was. The moral of the story seemed to be that everyone is different in some way and all true friends are special treasures.
This story seemed so fitting for our "special treasure" and I decided that our 5 year old grandson would be the recipient of this grand surprise. As Charles Boyle, the author, sat down and inscribed this book to our grandson, both my daughter and I were fighting the tears welling up in our eyes at this sweet gesture from a complete stranger. And as he was given the book that evening, our grandson immediately recognized the whales and with total delight, he saw the inscription including his name. "Mommy, it has my name in it!" he squealed with happiness. The book now occupies a special place reserved for only a few well-loved books and will be treasured for a long time to come. Little does he realize at his tender age that this book is indeed about him and will serve to illustrate that anything is possible as long as you believe in yourself.
Thank you Mr. Boyle and all my love to my little buddy.

2004-06-17T19:26:00.000-04:00

My sister Nancy recently published an article on her site the gardensgift relating a conversation she and I began a couple of weeks ago. My husband and I recently purchased a wonderful manufactured home in Palm Harbor Florida with much help from my sister and her husband Harlan. Having our own place in Florida has long been a dream of mine as I find myself able to totally relax when I'm there. I attribute this to a combination of palm trees, sunshine, and some very special friends who also happen to be family. This home of ours is a light, cozy place that my sister originally found for her mother-in-law, and to our good fortune, we were able to purchase it when Nancy's mother-in-law decided to return home to Maryland. The moment I set foot through the front door I knew this was meant to be our Florida home and my instinct was reinforced when my husband took a quick trip to Palm Harbor and immediately felt the same way when he entered the house.
So, my husband Doug and I worked feverishly to get all the elements necessary lined up to make the final purchase and, the first weekend of June, we landed in Tampa with much anticipation. Although it was past 11:00 at night when we arrived at our new home, we turned all the lights on, checked every nook and cranny, and delighted with our upcoming purchase, we decided it was time for a toast. My wonderful brother-in-law Harlan had provided all the ingredients for our favorite cocktails so as Doug began to mix the drinks, I opened the refrigerator........lo and behold, Harlan had chilled 2 cocktail glasses in anticipation of our late arrival. This sweet personal touch meant more than I can describe and as we toasted our purchase and our life together we naturally included all those that we dearly love, thankful to be fortunate to have the family and friends in our lives that we do.
The next day Nancy and Harlan arrived to finalize the paperwork on the house and, as we tend to do any time we're together, Nancy and I were chatting as we fondly observed our respective husbands. My husband, though a thoughtful, loving person, is not exactly the neatest person I've ever met. I give him credit for trying to clean up after himself but I've come to realize after almost 30 years that there are certain disparities between men and women when it comes to keeping house. A man's idea of neat and clean basically involves having the covers pulled up on the bed, the dishes, if not washed, at least piled in the sink, and the lights turned low so you don't notice the dust. I tend to be just a bit more particular...especially when it comes to open drawers and cabinets and lights and televisions on in rooms with no human occupants. Having observed several males in my life I have come to the conclusion that the gene that regulates thoughts of opposites in males has mutated to the point of being pratically non-exsistent.
Although I'm sure there are exceptions to every rule, it appears that when a guy closes a drawer, it's usually done with a quick flip of the wrist or a nudge with the hip or better yet, a backward kick of the foot. The end result is usually a drawer that is either not completely closed, or, depending on the kicking distance, a drawer that pops open even further than it was when they started. The only logical conclusion is that most aspects of a male's life tend to be sports oriented. so all things are approached as a game. Two points for landing the clothes in the hamper from a foot and three points if it's across the room. Televisions and radios, though are a totally different matter. "On" is easy, "Off" must be a concept that just does not compute. Although I find it difficult to leave the house with the TV on or the radio blaring, my husband can walk out of a room knowing he's not going back in there anytime soon and not notice the noise or flickering light in the background as he shuts the door behind him. I have returned home on occassion after Doug has been home and then left again to find my dogs contentedly perched on the couch watching the evening news. Our parrot George also must like loud classic rock since he listens to it on a regular basis. I remember when Doug installed outside speakers so we could have music when we were on the deck. It was a nice concept until I got a call at 2 a.m. from my neighbor who apparently couldn't sleep because the radio had been playing all night.
So as Nancy and I were discussing this phenomenon of male antioppositeness, we began to compare notes. It seems she also has inherited the clear cut opposite gene that I have. Doors and drawers should be closed completely, lights should be turned off when noone is in the room, the TV should have an audience other than animals or plants. And the funny thing is, no matter how much time we spend trailing along behind our guys closing drawers and turning things off, we wouldn't trade them for the world.

2004-06-12T14:06:00.000-04:00

Once again I have to credit my favorite radio station WPOC in Baltimore with sharing more funny stories on their morning show. Laurie DeYoung comes up with some of the most outrageously funny stories that I find myself laughing out loud while driving to work. Not long ago the subject was unusual weddings. The concept involved men whose "best man" was a woman and evolved from there. My youngest daughter's wedding would easily fit into this unusual category. She had asked me (her Mom) to be her matron of honor and naturally I readily agreed. My husband thought it was kind of odd but as I explained to him, I was so touched by the request that I would never have dreamed of discouraging the idea. I did feel a little sorry for the pastor on the rehearsal night though. Apparently he had never had a situation where the Mother of the bride was also the matron of honor and it made for some interesting moments as he tried to work out the logistics of the ceremony. First I would walk down the aisle with one of the groomsmen and join with the groom's Mother to light the candles on the altar. As she returned to her seat, I would make a hasty retreat down the side aisle, through the back door, and resume my place in line with the best man. During the rehearsal there were many jokes about the expressions on the faces of the invited guests when I suddenly left the room before the bride had even arrived. Although a few close friends knew I was doing double duty, I envisioned the rest of the guests thinking I either couldn't face the thought of my daughter getting married or perhaps I had some strange digestive problem that forced me to run quickly to the nearest ladies room. The wedding the next day was beautiful and even though I got a lot of strange looks when I took off down the side aisle, all became clear when I reappeared as a part of the wedding party.
So when Laurie DeYoung brought up the subject of odd wedding parties, I could easily relate. The best story in this category topped my daughter's wedding and was just about the strangest wedding I had ever heard of. It seems the groom in the wedding had his ex-wife give him away and her boyfriend was his best man. The idea of the ex-wife giving away her ex-husband struck me as a rather good thought. Heck, I always thought that after a divorce there should be a big party and the wedding ceremony should be done in reverse, starting with the "I don't"'s and ending with everyone yelling out "Don't do it" when asked if anyone objected. Back to this particular wedding though, it seems that the newleyweds and the ex-wife & her boyfriend were such good friends that they all went on the honeymoon together. Now that is just a tad strange!
This story reminded me of a couple my husband & I met on a cruise a few years ago. Nancy and her boyfriend were from Pennsylvania and we spent many fun hours with them on and off the ship. As we got to know them better, Nancy began to relate their story. Nancy and her husband owned a flooring company and her boyfriend worked for them which was how they met. After some time, Nancy left her husband and moved in with the boyfriend and both continued working with Nancy's husband. This seemed rather awkward to me but as I learned more, I just shook my head in bewilderment. Not only were Nancy and her boyfriend on this cruise, but her ex-husband and his new wife were on the ship along with Nancy's daughter! Imagine my hesitation when the ex-husband, his wife and the little girl showed up next to the four of us at poolside one day. Not knowing what to expect, I just held my breath for a moment hoping there wouldn't be a problem. Nancy proceed to introduce us to everyone, the little girl ran off to the pool and the six of us grabbed a cocktail and spent several hours chatting. We ran into the ex several times and it never ceased to amaze me that they were all totally comfortable with their arrangement. Now, although I also have an ex-husband, I can't possibly imagine vacationing or honeymooning with him. Maybe it's me, but I find the whole idea of paling around with an ex just about the last thought I would ever entertain. Come to think of it, maybe the story on the radio WAS Nancy's story.

2004-06-08T15:09:00.000-04:00

My favorite radio station aired an interesting story last week that generated both discussions and laughter. It seems this couple had been happily married for several years and had recently had their first child. What should have been a joyous occassion immediately became the exact opposite when the husband, totally horrified, declared this child the ugliest baby he had ever seen. Since both he and his wife were reasonably nice looking, his immediate thought was that his wife must have had an affair with a most unattractive person. The husband confronted his wife but was totally unprepared for her admission that she had not had an affair.....she had hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of plastic surgery several years before they met. Hundreds of thousands of dollars of surgery ?!!! By the time she met her husband she must have been more plastic than Barbie! Although the great philosphers always say "Love is blind", this wasn't so in this husband's case. Not only did he file for divorce, he sued her for misrepresentation.
Now, one of my first thoughts after hearing this was, unless this woman landed here from some far away planet or was in the witness protection program, wouldn't it stand to reason that her husband had either met someone from her family or at least seen pictures of relatives in the years they had been together. Besides, unless she resembled Quasimoto on his worst day, how bad could she have looked? And I also wondered how far back into his own family history this man had looked. It could be possible that some of his ancestors were less than pleasing to look at.
So the discussion among the morning DJ's revolved around how obligated partners are to divulge personal information to their prospective mates. Granted, it may have come as a shock to find out how much the wife had done to change her looks but should she have told her husband before marriage? Some felt that the information was important enough to have had an effect on the man's decision to marry her or at least consider having children with her. Others thought that since beauty is a superficial thing, perhaps the man should have been able to get past her changing her appearance and still been able to love her for who she was instead of what she looked like.
One DJ seemed to have a good handle on the situation though. He compared this problem to buying a used car you fell in love with and after having it for a while, you found out it had a major problem. As he said " After all, if you still loved the car, you'd just fix the problem and keep the car anyway". Seems reasonable to me. But I guess in the material world we live in, it's as easy to trade wives in as it is cars, especially when the shine wears off and the engine starts to knock.

2004-05-30T12:04:00.000-04:00

My father-in-law bought several lots in a new, owner-run campground in a small area of West Virginia called Falling Waters many years ago. Although the original plan called for a pool, a miniature golf course and various other improvements, the campground remained largely the same for many years. At one point we had a camper on one of the lots for a few years which was only used once in a while, mainly in the winter by my son and husband when sledding weather came around. My husband and I often discussed what a foolish investment we thought his Dad had made buying these 4 lots, especially the ones on the Potomac river since it would cost a small fortune to even begin to develope the area. So, the land sat untouched and rarely visited until about 2 years after my father-in-law's death. Having received another statement of unpaid dues from the management of the campground, my husband decided to take one more trip up there before we made a decision as to what to do with this property. Well, imagine his surprise when he arrived at this previuosly sad, overgrown spot only to find that massive development had taken place. As if following the original sales pitch used to sell his Dad, the campground not only had the promised pool and mini golf course, the majority of the lots had campers, pavillions, landscaping and what looked more like houses than campers with people everywhere tending to their places and riding around this large community in golf carts. Venturing down to the river road, he found most, if not all, of the river lots had been cleared and built on, affording their owners a grand view of the Potomac River along with the waterfront privelleges any home on the water has. My husband was in love.
So, for the last several years, my husband has been transforming the river property into a quiet, comfortable get-away spot. Along with help from our son and sons-in-law, they have descended on this lot with bush hogs and chain saws. Of course the thought of four rednecks in the woods with chainsaws has been a great source of concern for the females in the family, the boys have all emerged from their weekends in West Virginia with all their fingers in tact and no more than minor cuts and scratches.
Being justifiably proud of all that's been accomplished, my husband is always encouraging me to join him on weekends in what he refers to as West ByGod Virginia. Although it's difficult for both of us to be gone at the same time with our own business to run, I have managed to get up there without incident several times. It's a beautiful, usually quiet spot, rather far removed from anything remotely resembling a mall or shopping center. I appreciate the view and the level of relaxation but, not being too adept at sitting still for long periods of time, I usually bring my laptop along with me. As I said, I had been there a few times and everything went well. However, last year something changed.
On an extremely hot July 4th weekend last year, I accompanied my husband to his retreat, naturally making sure my laptop was close by. The first evening went pleasantly in spite of the sweltering temperatures since we could always retire to our air-conditioned motorhome to cool down. The next day, we went in search of a local flea market and spent several hours wandering around looking at all manner of old glassware, used tools and toys and whatever else one could think to sell. By the middle of the day we agreed it was much too hot to continue this effort so we hightailed it back to our place for some air conditioning and a cool drink.
As my husband entertained thoughts of a long nap in our cool haven, I plugged in my laptop to while away the hot afternoon. As we each settled into our chosen pursuits, the unthinkable happened! The world stopped...What the heck ??!! No AC, no computer...oh no, the power had gone out. We checked all the breakers and turned off several appliances convinced that would solve the problem. My husband went out to check the main breaker and reappeared moments later looking dejected. According to all the neighbors, the power was out in the entire campground. Since there had been no freak thunderstorm or any other event that could have caused the problem, people were at a loss to explain this turn of events. A few even looked at me suspiciuosly knowing that it was a rare time that I came up to the area. Ok, maybe I do have a reputation because of my Cajun heritage, but only among family memebers. I mean just because a couple of times an offhand remark or a prediction came true....Ok, OK, maybe more than just a couple of times..... that doesn't mean I'm a voodoo princess, does it? It didn't take us long to realize that we were fortunate enough to have a motorhome equipped with a generator so we cranked the generator on and were instantly rewarded with lights and AC. We smiled and waved to our unlucky neighbors and smugly retreated inside. Again we settled into our chosen spots, but...you guessed it...the generator stopped with a loud THUD! Checking the breakers again and any other possible causes of this breakdown, with much cursing and coaxing, the generator coughed, sputtered and grudingly came back to life. We held our breath for what seemed an eternity and finally went back to our activities. Lulling us into a false sense of superiority, the generator kept going just long enough for my husband to doze off and me to get interested in an internet site. Once again, the world went still. No amount of effort would get this infernal machine started again and we reluctantly admitted we had become one with the rest of the hot and uncomfortable in the campground. We agreed it was unwise to venture too far outside knowing our neighbors were gleefully enjoying our situation and my husband decided it was best if he continued his nap. I, of course, had nothing left to do but stare at a blank computer screen as I had forgotten to recharge the battery.
Afternoon gave way to evening with barely a noticiable breeze or drop in temperature and still no power. As night fell we joined the parade of golf carts to the open field where the fireworks display was due to start. The ring of parked golf carts was abuzz with talk of the power outage and how this had never happened in the entire history of the campground. I sat quietly knowing it was the best option and thought longingly of the nearest hotel. Late into the evening, we wandered back to our quiet, dark campsite trying to decide if we should pack up and leave (this idea had my vote) or try and wait it out. As we got closer to the decision, we began noticing lights coming on and, yes, the blessed sound of air conditioners coming on. As they say in West Virginia...YEEHAW!! The power was back on and the rest of the weekend went by without incident. This entire episode became another of the stories that gets repeated at family gatherings....Mom made the power go out, Ha Ha.
Being somewhat adventurous and having given enough time to pass by, I decided to give West ByGod another chance. So, this past Friday, we packed up and I again went to West Virginia knowing the power couldn't possibly go out again. In fact, my husband and I were joking about it on the trip up. We pulled into the campground, my husband presented his ID card, and the guard handed him a small piece of paper. I watched as he read the notice, looked over at me, looked at the guard and demanded to know exactly what this meant. "The water's out in the entire park, Sir" muttered the guard. I sarted laughing and admitted it was my fault. Of course the guard didn't understand why I would say that and just looked blankly at me. Knowing that management was working hard to restore water, we went to our site and got on with our weekend vacation. We spent Saturday at flea markets and outlets giving the powers that be plenty of time to get the water going. No such luck. By 4:00 on Saturday, little progress had been made so along with many others, we admitted defeat and packed up to head home.
By the time we arrived home, I thought I had the whole thing figured out. I decided that, barring natural disasters, since the one time I went up the power went out and the next time, the water went out, by the third visit both the water and power should go out and the curse that follows me to West Virginia should have worn off. Otherwise I may have to look into either disguises or exorcisms before I'm banned from the state.

2004-05-24T17:32:00.000-04:00

Well, the big birthday party was a rousing success. Needless to say, my husband received the usual old age gag gifts of Preparation H, Fixodent and Grecian formula. My favorite was a little bottle of senior moment memory pills. The label reads: Ginko Thinko cause your memory stinkos. Dosage is based on what particular senior moment you're having ranging from forgetting a family member's name (2 pills) to driving with your blinker on (5 pills). Looks like the blinker thing is more serious than I thought. Although the term "senior moment" may be a more graphic explanation of this condition that afflicts us all at some point in time, my personal favorite is "brain vacumn". This at least gives you a small edge on the age thing and just indicates a momentary lapse in your cerebral functioning.
I have had to make some concessions to age like wearing glasses to read. This wouldn't be so bad except when I'm using the computer, I have one pair of glasses that I wear, and when I read I have a totally different pair. Most of the time this doesn't create a problem, unless I'm doing something on the computer that also requires reading an instruction book or some other annoying page with ridiculoussly small print. Anyone who's ever juggled 2 pairs of glasses to accomplish one task knows just how frustrating it can be. And it never seems to fail that you forget which glasses you have on and wind up not being able to see much of anything at all, which can be the best solution to the whole ordeal.
In my continuous quest to stay abreast of all the latest age delaying techniques, I recently ran across something known as "Frownies". These are small patches that one applies to the offending wrinkled area, such as the forehead or the corners of the mouth, that supposedly retrain the facial muscles to assume a more youthful relaxed appearance. Now, just picture how these things are supposed to work. First you cleanse the skin, then massage the area to help circulation. Then you moisten the patch with water or their special rose hydrating spray, and using 2 fingers, you spread the offending wrinkle and stick the patch on. The patch stays in place for at least 3 to 4 hours, preferably overnight, and this sequence is repeated nightly for 30 days. We've all seen the comedies with the wife going to bed with a head full of rollers and a face full of moisturizing cream. Just imagine the reaction your spouse would have to patches stuck on various parts of your face every night for a month! And how in the heck would you kiss your husband goodnight if your mouth can't pucker? I just may have to try these Frownies, in the scientific exploration of aging of course, but I can't help but wonder if maybe duct tape would accomplish the same result.

2004-05-19T09:06:00.000-04:00

Being in the midst of planning a birthday party for my beloved husband, thoughts of aging are dominating my mind this week. The love of my life is turning 60 this Saturday...SIXTY!!!...when did that happen? It's a really hard concept to wrap your mind around when it seems like only yesterday we were struggling newlyweds with 2 children between us and a mortgage that scared us to death. I've always believed that age is a state of mind and the state I'm in is about 30-35 and I have no plans to move to an older state any time in the near future. So shouldn't we have the ability to look like the state we're in? I mean take a look at old age and tell me you want to go there. What's with the flap under your upper arm that continues to wave long after you've stopped? Not to mention the gray hair, the joints that stiffen up like the tin man on a rainy day and, worst of all.....WRINKLES. Now wrinkles may look cute on a Sharpai dog but on humans it's anything but cute. It's amazing the body parts that can develop these folds and creases. Who would have thought that knees had enough skin to fold. I remember several years ago seeing a young, well-built girl in our neighborhood that had an elaborate tattoo all across her abodomen and midrift. Although she was very proud of both her tattoo and her firm body, being older and wiser, I knew that eventually this whole area would deteriorate into a mass of confusing creases and colors, winding up looking much like some of the modern art I've seen.
I admit to having more than a healthy dose of vanity. In fact, my bathroom looks like the alchemy shops you read about in stories of witches and voodoo queens. I have an assortment of gels, creams, lotions and patches that would rival any drugstore or cosmetic counter. I think I've tried everything short of Crazy glue to keep things where they're supposed to be with only marginal results. It seems that gravity and time tend to be stronger than the latest wrinkle earsing cream. The phrase "growing old gracefully" must be another of those old wives tales ( by the way, who ARE these old wives?). If growing old were graceful, there wouldn't be much of a market for geriatric aids and elastic waistbands. Personally, I intend to fight it every step of the way! After all, in this modern age of technology and the latest in laser surgeries, who needs to just give in to Father Time.
Whoever came up with the timetable for aging should rethink the concepts. When you're young and bright and agile, you spend most of your time having fun and assuming life will always be the way it is then. Imagine the horror of looking into a mirror one morning and being absolutely certain that someone has switched your mirror for one of those funhouse ones that totally distort your image. It's got to be the mirror or the lighting or maybe your eyes just aren't focused yet.
The most ironic part of getting older is that you spend your life learning how to live it, and once you finally get the hang of it, the eyes start to go, you get aches in places you didn't even know you had, and your mind develops these black holes that swallow up things you used to know. Oh sure, there are warning signs,like forgetting what you went all the way upstairs for or stooping down to get something out of the bottom cabinet and practically needing a crane or at least six boyscouts to get up again, but nobody pays attention to those things. I mean, we're not getting older, it's those other people that are. You know, the blue-haired ladies with their carts in the middle of the isle at the grocery store, or the stooped over little old man that takes a day and a half to cross the street. That surely isn't where any of us are going to wind up.
Even as we gather around my husband this Saturday, cracking jokes about his age and all the afflictions besetting him, I'll be planning my next visit to the plastic surgeon, popping vitamins and plotting my escape from this trail to old age. After all, Father Time isn't exactly the fastest old codger so maybe I can outrun him for a while yet. Wish me luck.

2004-05-16T17:47:00.000-04:00

As I have mentioned before, I have a wonderful younger sister (along with her great husband) living in Florida. My sister Nancy has a marvellous blog called The Garden's Gift (see links at right) that I read on a regular basis. I was especially intrigued by the one titled "The Zen of Gardening". Although I've spent many an hour in gardens, I haven't managed to find the kind of Nirvana she has, so this past weekend I gave it the old college try again. My husband and I started Saturday morning, went well into the afternoon, and picked up again on Sunday, just to get our gardens to where we could actually see the plants. I went at this task with zeal, waiting for the calm, insightful pleasure it gives my sister. By the end of the Saturday gardening event, all I had manged to do was become sore, tired and extremely sweaty ( forget glow, women actually sweat). As Sunday dawned I thought that maybe I wasn't approaching the task with the right attitude or possibly I just hadn't inherited the "zen" gene. Now, I love a beautiful garden as much as anyone, but it's the getting there I have trouble enjoying. I tried letting my husband be the gardener in the family, but after several years of pansies and geraniums, I felt compelled to add a little more life to our gardens. I love pampas grass and tall, unusual plants that flower and have spent much time at our favorite nursery perusing the latest selections. I enjoy planting the flowers and watching them grow. It's the first weeding of Spring that truly makes me wonder if maybe rocks and concrete would be easier. It seems that no matter how bad the winter is in Maryland, the weeds are the first thing to pop up and they grow as if someone actually encouraged them. Despite weed-whackers and weed killers, we have this "thing" that reappears every year in our waterfall garden and it multiplies over and over again. We've cut it, pulled it, sprayed it and done everything short of dynamiting it and it continues to reappear every spring, getting larger and larger each year. So today was spent again pulling dozens of offshoots of this weed or plant or whatever the heck it is, wishing the Zen would kick in. I tried meditating and cursing but the only thing that worked was sheer brute force. At the end of the day, there were still several shoots that resisted all efforts to dislodge them so being rather practical I finally decided that a cool drink and a hasty retreat from the area was probably my best option. I'm still looking for the "zen" gene my sister inherited but I'm beginning to think it was a one time shot destined to become part of the youngest child. So, as my sister communes with her gardens, you'll find me on the pool deck with my feet up...by the way, could I have some more ice please? Cheers!

2004-05-13T17:56:00.000-04:00

In the middle of my shower this morning, an odd expression I heard in childhood came rushing back into my mind. I grew up in Dundalk, a blue-collar suburb of Baltimore. Warm summer evenings were spent outside, the kids chasing fireflies to put in a jar, and the adults talking over the fence, although as close as the houses were you didn't even need to go outside to talk over the fence. The men seemed to perpetually discuss cars which didn't interest me at the time so I tended to pay more attention to the ladies' conversations. They would cover the usual husband and kids topics and eventually get around to various unfinished projects in and around the house. Everyone seemed to have a room that sorely needed painting, a bedroom in the midst of remodeling for more time than anyone could remember or maybe a plumbing issue that threatened to end the marriage in the near future. Somewhere in the middle of these complaints someone would utter "The cobbler's children have no shoes". Having read all the latest children's books of the day I knew a cobbler was a shoemaker. It seemed that most, if not all, of our various small shopping centers had a shoe shop with a large window so you could watch the shoemaker replace soles and heels on shoes. Having heard this expression on a regular basis, every time I saw a kid in the neighborhood playing barefoot in the grass, I just knew it was one of the cobbler's kids although I hoped he got around to making them some shoes before the first snows came. Now that I'm considerably more worldly I realize that this expression just means that if someone works at a particular occupation every day, chances are they won't perform the same tasks at home. Since both my daughters are married to carpenters and I married a plumber, I've developed a more modern theory to explain this phenomenon to my daughters. After all, when was the last time you met a cobbler? I think what happens at the end of a long work day for these tradesmen is that the moment their feet hit the driveway at home they suffer an attack of spontaneous amnesia. This particular state manifests itself by blank looks when asked if they plan on working on a particular project that evening or weekend, followed closely by pushing random numbers on the tv remote while staring at the screen with a contented smile. I've found that even if you hand a carpenter a hammer or a plumber a wrench, they gaze at it as if some mutant animal has suddenly taken root at the end of their arm and there is absolutely no comprehension of what this thing is or why it's even there. Miraculously though, by the time they arrive at the job the next time, the amnesia has left, the fog has lifted and the tools become an extension of who they are!! All of these thoughts passed thru my barely awake mind this morning as I stood in my combination tub and shower trying to revive myself. Now you may think that most everyone has a combination tub and shower, and they might....but not like mine. In mine, you get to take both a bath and a shower at the same time.....probaly due to the fact that it takes the better part of the week to get the tub to drain! Having been married to a plumber for almost 26 years, I've gotten very friendly with my wrench and plunger. I'm thinking that tub drain may be my next victim, I mean, project. By the way, I wonder if the long hair craze of the 60's was started by the barber's kids......hmmmmm

2004-05-10T15:37:00.000-04:00

And the answer is....Buddy Hackett!!! I knew the answer would come to me. He's the comedian I mentioned last time. It's funny how names and ordinary, every day words can elude all conscious effort to retrieve them from the recesses of your mind but then pop up in an unguarded moment,interupting all rational thought and making you wonder "Where did that come from?" By the time this "Eureka! I've found it" moment occurs you've completely forgotten why you needed the answer in the first place. However, there are times when, days later, an answer comes to you, you blurt it out to anyone close by, and someone knows exactly what you're talking about.
I recently visited my sister Nancy, editor of the gardens gift , and her husband Harlan, editor of the green cutting board, in Palm Harbor Florida. As is our usual custom, we chatted late into the evening, jumping from topic to topic and back again with no discernable pattern. Conversation and laughter flowed easily and we eventually reached the topic of famous actors or actresses. Many names were mentioned along with our favorite movies starring these people. Late into the night my sister Nancy pointed out that when I tilted my head a certain way, I resembled the famous actress....what the heck is her name....you know, the one from way back with the long hair that waved over one eye. Guesses ranged from Marilyn Monroe to Jane Russell and on and on but the right answer kept dancing just out of reach of any of our usually sharp minds. We decided to drop that particular subject and move on to other thoughts. I enjoyed five wonderful, relaxing days with Nancy and Harlan, constantly talking about a miriade of subjects. On the morning of my departure, we were stting around drinking coffee and spending the last moments of a great vacation together talking as usual. Suddenly...Eureka!!! I blurted out "Veronica Lake"! My brother-in-law stopped in mid-sentence giving me a totally bewildered look. Granted my announcement had absolutely nothing to do with the conversation at hand, but Nancy immediately understood what I was talking about. We finally had the answer to the question from the first night of my visit so we could put the matter to rest. Although we had to remind Harlan of the initial conversation, he finally just smiled knowingly and gently shook his....yep, we're sisters and we do tend to think alike (scarey huh). At least I was able to return home free of the burden of searching for an answer.

2004-05-08T11:12:00.000-04:00

There was a comedian years ago ( unfortunately his name eludes me at this point......fodder for a late night mind worm I'm sure) who said he got his best material dressing up as a waiter and working in a restaurant. He would sit with his customers and engage them in conversation all the while storing their humorous tales in his mind for use in a later appearance on the Tonight Show or any other platform he performed on. Although I'm not a professional performer, I love hearing other people's take on everyday situations especially when it comes to adolesents. Anyone who has raised a teenager knows how easily they can strike panic in the heart of even the most wordly parent. Sitting in our favorite little neighborhood watering hole last night relaxing away the strains of a busy week, I began a conversation with the wife of a friend. Both being mothers we naturally fell into the topic of our children. I admit to now being in the perfect part of parenthood......three grown children, none of whom live at home. Oh, the freedom that brings! I was immediately sympathetic as she discussed her 16 year old son and his apparent belief that she and her husband were the absolute dumbest people on the face of the earth. I assured her this would all change in time, especially when he became a parent, and she & her husband would become the bright, insightful people they've always known they were. She then mentioned the 16 year old's sister...his 16 year old twin, soliciting from me an immediate "Do you need a hug?" moment. Teenagers tend to believe the world revolves around them and our only duty as parents is to ensure their complete happiness at all times. They also believe our only joy in life comes from thwarting their dreams and denying them what "everyone else" has or gets to do. To this day I still don't know who this "everyone else" is and how they came to be a part of every family. Well, this darling little 16 year old girl expressed her desire to dye her hair red like other girls she knows. Being a first time mother of a teenager, this naive soul naturally thought she meant a pleasant auburn. Having a little more experience in this arena I knew she really meant Crayola fire engine red. Which was exactly what the child had in mind. I listened as this mother lamented the woes of parenting using the well-known arguments of mothers the world over...Are you out of your mind?...What would people think?....Have your friends looked in the mirror recently?.....All of these attempts to make her see the errors of her thinking were useless because, after all, "everyone else" does it. As our coversation continued, the mother admitted that her daughter was a good kid who wasn't doing drugs or having sex and got reasonably good grades. She finally asked me if I had ever faced this dilema and how I handled it. As I said, I have 3 grown children, 2 of whom are girls, and yes, this subject had come up at least once or twice in both their teenage lives. Eager to have another mother agree that dying hair red was ridiculous and would never happen while living in "her" home, she waited for my agreement to her stance. Unfortunately, much to her immediate dismay, I presented a totally opposite side of the disagreement. I pointed out her assurance of the good points her daughter exhibits and the fact that there are worse things the child could be doing. After all, aren't tatoos and piercings still in vogue among young people? As the light dawned in this mother's eyes, she finally realized that red hair wasn't so terrible after all. It's easily dyed again and would have no permanent effect on the child's life. As she said goodnight, I knew that come tomorrow there would be another 16 year old girl with fire engine red hair walking around the mall with her rainbow-haired friends. Oh, it's wonderful to have grown children.

2004-05-06T18:49:00.000-04:00

Have you ever woken from a sound sleep with a song playing over and over in your head? Having had this afflication for years I only recently found out that it actually has a name....it's called an ear worm. This caused me to wonder what those errant thoughts that crop up in your mind from time to time, and at the most inopportune moments, might be called. I spent the better part of last evening with this question playing in my mind and lo and behold the answer came to me...it must be a mind worm! This classification is certainly broad enough to cover all those lists, problems, conversations etc that take over concious thought and refuse to let you think of anything remotely relevant to where you may be or what you may be doing at that moment. The great thing about mind worms is you never know when they may pop up or what the subject matter may be. They can be anything from a funny story to a search for answers to a problem or anything in between. Thus begins my journey into the chronicling of my mind worms and of those any of you may wish to share.