Thursday, December 30, 2010

Bundle of Joy

wflowers

Last night I went to a party.  It was so much fun chatting with the girls and reconnecting with people I haven't seen in months or longer. But this wasn't just any old run of the mill holiday party, it was a baby shower.   I haven't attended a baby shower in years.  Children aside, I just don't know anyone anymore who is of baby-bearing age.  Or so I thought.

Baby showers have evolved over the years.  Everyone was drinking wine (except for Mom of course), sharing war stories about giving birth, and generally having a good time.  There weren't any silly games, everyone was relaxed and having fun (possibly the result of all that flowing wine), and honestly if it weren't for the gifts you might never guess the real purpose for the gathering.  Well maybe the fact the attendees were all women and the obvious guest of honor had a cute little baby bump would give it away, but you get my point.  It was a good time.

The truly wonderful and amazing thing about this event is the happy couple.  They met 8 or 9 years ago when he moved to the island and married soon after.  He had a high profile job in city government, she with the local elementary school.  It's a small town, everybody new them...and loved them.  They moved away 18 months ago and left a hole in the hearts of many.  When word came that they were expecting a baby, folks around these parts were ecstatic...after they recovered from the shock that is.  You see Mom is of the over 40 set and Dad, well let's just say he has seen the half century mark.

Now if this were me, I would be suicidal.  And I'm not joking.  But these two are delighted, thrilled, joyous and over the moon.  This is baby number 3 for Mom, numero uno for Papa.  I don't know when I have ever seen an expectant father so excited.  The man is positively beaming.  He is having a son.  It warmed my heart just being around these two last night.  Someone said God really does have a sense of humor.  I say he has a big heart.

Congratulations K & D.  Can't wait to meet the little man upon arrival.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

World View

wsunset

I think the world would be a better place if we all started our day with a Mimosa.  Or two.

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

A Change of Habit

wWallArt

It is 7:45 in the a.m. and I just rolled out of bed.  This isn't the first time this has happened either.  What is wrong with me?  This is not me.  I am of the wake up before the crack of dawn, sip my coffee in the dark, and savor the quiet variety.  Not the sleep in until the day has matured group.  It's not right.

There is a direct correlation between sleeping late and the "thing" I contracted on vacation.  When I was sick I didn't care.  In fact, it felt rather nice to remain in bed well into the daylight hours; hoping that someone would deliver a steaming cup of coffee to my bedside.  But now, it just doesn't make sense.  And I don't like it.  I don't like it at all.

They say if you repeat something enough times, it becomes a habit.  Do you think I was sick long enough to establish sleeping in as a habit?  If so, how do I go about undoing it?  Should I start setting my alarm if I want to rise earlier?   (That would annoy the heck out of "The Kid.")  Do I train the dog to jump on the bed at the crack of dawn?  Or maybe I should have one of my working friends call me every morning when their alarm goes off.

I could also stop taking the two Tylenol PMs I've been popping at bedtime to keep me from coughing my lungs out all night.  It might be a good place to start.

Monday, December 27, 2010

Techno Wizard, Remotely Speaking

Thanks to our elder son we are now fully ensconced in the technological era; no longer a disgrace to society or our children.  We have acquired Netflix, BlueRay, Pandora, HD TV (high def please, not to be confused with the home decorating channel), DVR, Wii, surround sound, and wireless internet on the tv.   We now posses enough remotes that if strung end to end would easily reach around the block and back again.

It began innocently enough when The Kid, decided we needed a new television.  Not just any new tv, a bigger one.  Not just a bigger one, a super-sized one.  A super sized tv with brains sitting in my living room is a frightening thing.  It arrived late last spring with a great deal of fanfare.  The Kid was a proud papa but I was less than thrilled.  The picture was no different than on our perfectly fine old one, in fact it gave me a headache to watch it.  When Chris flew in for a visit in June he was dismayed that this marvel of modern technology was permitted to exist without upgraded cable service.  What's the point he asked?  We needed high def.

Fast forward six months, Chris is due to return to the island in a matter of hours and still there is no high def cable.  (The Kid and I have been squeezing into the guest room to watch tv on our old set or enjoying a movie on our laptops.) We scurried off to Comcast and returned in the nick of time with a brand spanking new high-def, DVR, cable box.  The now not so new super-sized tv with a brain could begin to think.  Christmas morning a shiny Blue Ray disc player appeared under the tree.  Life as I knew it had forever changed.

However, there is one teeny, tiny little problem....my simple life has now been complicated by a thousand different remotes, each with a purpose and no instruction manual.

wremotes

Class was held yesterday afternoon because "Mom, there is no reason to have all of this stuff if you aren't going to use it."

I listened carefully as remotes were placed in my hand and shiny red and green buttons were pointed out to me.

"Use this one to turn it on.  Press this red triangle and scroll down to choose your setting.  Use this one to change the channel.  Press here to play a dvd.  No, not that one, this one sets up Netflix.  Panodora is for music.  Mom, pay attention I'm not going to be here forever."

"Can't I just call you when I need to watch a movie,"  I asked?  "You could talk me through it."

Frustration was hovering under the surface, waiting anxiously for an opportunity to bubble over and ruin a perfectly fine Christmas day.  I don't know when it happened but it seems my elder child has acquired patience in adulthood.  He checked his frustration and began anew, "press this red triangle and scroll down to choose your setting."

The Kid was no help what-so-ever.  "She's just going to screw it up," he wheezed.

"Can I," I asked?  "screw it up?"

"No Mom, it's okay.  You can't screw it up."

"She will," more from the wheezer,  "and when she does I'm not going to fix it."    Now that hurt.  Cut me to the core. Surely it's the fever talking.

Additional remotes were unearthed, buttons explained.  It was exhausting.  It must have been my eyes rolling uncontrollably in their sockets that caused Chris to proclaim class was over.  Apparently I passed.  I have acquired enough knowledge to successfully turn on the tv, change channels, and watch a movie on Netflix.  I am a techno wizard.

My biggest fear is that one miscue on my part, one out of sequence push of a button might prematurely launch the space shuttle or worse yet cause the New York City metro system to malfunction setting off a chain of events more terrifying than 9/11.  I'm not certain I can shoulder the burdon of such responsibility. Maybe I'll just watch tv in the spare room.  It's safer that way.

Sunday, December 26, 2010

Metamorphisizing

There is a strange phenomena that occurs during the hours betwixt and between bedtime on Christmas night and day break of December 26th, a metamorphosis of the psyche.  The December doldrums vanish, replaced with the contentment and satisfaction that only 80 degree weather in January can provide.  It is as if a fairy godmother waves her magic wand over my slumbering head and proclaims,  "you live in paradise freak, live it, love it, and get over it."

wsunsetsailboats

And so I do.

Saturday, December 25, 2010

& All that Jazz


Merry Christmas 

SantaHat

& all that jazz!

Friday, December 24, 2010

Merry Christmas Eve

It appears Christmas is going to arrive on schedule in spite of me.  Despite my less than enthusiastic welcome this year.  I have vowed to do better next year.  Change my attitude. Embrace the spirit.  I may even start this evening; after all, it is Christmas Eve.

Looking back, Christmas Eve has always been the best part of Christmas.  There are so many family traditions woven into the fabric of the day.  In the past it was shopping day number one for The Kid.  He would rise early that morning, sneak out the door for breakfast and then hit the mall.  All, and I mean ALL of his shopping was done on Christmas Eve morning.  It used to drive me crazy, until one day it dawned on me that this is part of what makes Christmas, Christmas for him.

For me, Christmas Eve day was spent in the kitchen baking pies and whipping up salads, anything that could be prepared in advance so I too could relax and enjoy Christmas morning.  The boys were always beyond excited.  Bouncing from room to room, yelling at the top of their lungs....please tell me why it is that I miss that?  A light dinner was followed by a traditional Christmas Eve church service.  Silent Night in a candle lit sanctuary never fails to bring tears to my eyes.

When I was a child we would return home after church and I would wait, patiently (yeah, right) for my grandparents to arrive and the first round of gift giving to begin.  Refreshments and tasty treats adorned a brightly decorated table and helped pass the time until the festivities (present opening) would commence.  This tradition evolved somewhat with my own family as we were usually far from loved ones.  In addition to snack time, a viewing of  A Christmas Story, or Christmas Vacation (when the boys got a little older) was on the agenda.  To this day I usually watch Christmas Vacation on Christmas Eve, nothing like a little Clark Griswold to get one in the spirit.

The moral to this story is:  Enjoy your Christmas Eve; embrace your traditions; love one another; and laugh like crazy when cousin Eddie shows up in his RV.

wdogornament

Merry Christmas Eve everyone.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

The Phone Call

She picked up the phone completely unprepared for the conversation that followed.

He said:  Grandma?

She said: Who is this?

He said: Your grandson.

She said: Which one?

He said: Your favorite.

She said: Sam is that you?

He said:  Yeah, yeah, it's Sam.  Listen Grandma, I'm in trouble and I need some help.  I need you to wire me $4,000 so I can get out of jail.

She said:  What did you say?

He said:  I'm in Houston, TX and I got into a little trouble.  I'm going to give you a western union account number and I need you to send $4,000 to this bail bondsman...name given.  And please Grandma, don't tell my parents.  I just want to get home for Christmas.

A few more instructions were exchanged and Grandma grabbed her coat, heading out the door to the bank.  If one of her grandchildren needed her she couldn't say no, or could she?  Was that really Sam?  It was what he always said when he called her, that he was her favorite grandson, but it didn't sound like him.  And why wouldn't he call his parents if he was in trouble?  The doubts began to mount and this sharp Grandma decided to make a phone call.  One phone call that changed everything.  She called Sam's father.

She said: Do you know where Sam is?
He said:  He's home, in Chicago, packing his car.
She said: Are you sure?
He said: Yes, I just talked to him.  What's wrong?

And the story unfolded.  Grandma was almost scammed out of $4,000 of her savings by a cold, calculating stranger playing on the love and affection a grandparent has for her grandchildren.

What is even more scary, at least to me, is that this story is true.  The call was made yesterday afternoon to my Mother-in-law.  She was going to the the bank to come to the aid of her grandson, my son.  Yet something didn't ring true.  For one thing, her grandchildren never call her Grandma, she is and always will be Bubba.  There was also the fact that the caller would not give her a phone number where she could reach him, only instructions for how and where to wire the money.  And the voice, it didn't sound like any of her grandsons, not really. There were enough doubts to lead her to make the call to her son.  That phone call saved everyone a lot of heart ache, and her $4,000.

The police were called but there was little they could do.  They explained that most of these scammers use pay as you go cell phones that are disposed of at the end of each day making them virtually full proof.  In fact they may be calling from out of the country.

We should all take note of Bubba's story.  These things happen to real people, every day.  Senior citizens are the typical targets.  Scammers play on their devotion to family and the sentiments of the holiday season.  It's a scary world we live in.

snowonline

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

A Long Winter's Night

I'm late this morning.  I don't like being late, but it was a long night.

Usually I do my best writing early in the morning when the house is dark and quiet.  For some unknown reason during this time of day I can take a nugget of an idea and run with it.  If I don't have a thought to roll with then things get dicey.  I fret and fuss about it all day long.  Eventually I get down to business and come up with something.  It takes me three times as long to get words on paper (or monitor if you will). Edits can take even longer.  But eventually something is written and ready to post early the next morning.  This process allows me a good night's sleep.  I hate going to bed knowing I am going to disappoint the masses in the AM.

wlights

For some reason it didn't happen that way yesterday.  There was a date with the VW dealership that had me in the shower during my scheduled blogging time.  And it went downhill from there.  A second trip back to the "big city" to obtain a power chord the clerk neglected to include with the new cable box, a stop at Wally World for groceries, the pet store for dog food and last minute Christmas shopping for Henna.  (You can't forget the dog at Christmas, they remember it all year long.)  Besides, no nuggets of blogging humor or wisdom were dancing in my head. And of course there was the anticipated arrival of my first born son.

C had gotten off to a late start (no surprise there), pushing his arrival time into the wee hours of the morning.   I fell asleep on the couch where I remained until roughly midnight.  Eventually I trudged off to bed assured that Henna would raise a ruckus when the front door was opened, I would give C a proper hug and return to my bed for the second half of a good night's sleep.  Not so fast.  The Kid (who has now contracted the "thing") was coughing, and sneezing and snorting up a storm.  Sleep was slow to come.  Finally at 3 AM I gave up.  Awake and fidgety with one ear tuned to the front door I decided to get out of bed.  He should be close.  I tried his cell phone.  There was no answer.  His phone went to voice mail.  I figured he was just around the corner and messing with me so I waited.  At 3:15 I hit redial.  Still no answer.  Maybe he had stopped for gas.  3:30 AM ....silence.  I knew his phone wasn't dead because it rang several times before going to voice mail. 3:45 AM.  4:00 AM.  4:15 AM.  Still now answer.  By this time I was beside myself with worry.  I was certain he had fallen asleep at the wheel and was crushed in his vehicle or scattered somewhere along I75; convinced that the next knock on my door would be that of a State Trooper bearing the tragic news.  At 4:30 I was making funeral arrangements in my head. It was then that I heard the faint sound of a car door closing.  The tall figure looming in the shadow of my front door was not wearing the hat of a state trooper.  In fact it was eerily familiar and the best sight I had seen in a long time.  I couldn't decide whether to hug him to death or kill him for ignoring his phone.  Turns out his phone malfunctioned somewhere around Gainsville and wasn't working properly. He was exhausted and headed straight for bed.  As for me, it was awhile before sleep would come.

And there you have it.  That's why I'm late and I don't have a thing to say.

The End.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Bah Humbug

There are officially three shopping days remaining until Christmas.  Would someone please show me where the previous 20 shopping days are being held?  I need to get a few back.  Not that I have much shopping to do because that at least is done....almost.  What I need is a few days injected with a healthy dose of Christmas to get me in the mood.

Yesterday, The Kid encouraged me, at gun point, to put up the Christmas tree.  He even offered to put the lights on for me.  (Nice try Kid, this one came equipped with lights.)  He insisted I would feel better if I decorated the tree. "Bah Humbug," I said.  "Who's going to put this stuff away next week?"  And then he had the nerve to ask for lights...outside....on the bushes.  "You've got to be kidding," I croaked.  "Lights?  Outside?  For one week?   I'm thinking a wreath on the door is good enough.  If not, well, knock yourself out and have fun."  And so it went.

I admit it.  I am Scrooge.  Scrooge with an elephant sitting on his chest, who can't talk, and has no heart. The ghost of Christmas past has retired and moved to Boca and the Ghost of Christmas present is cruising around the Caribbean.  I think I'm screwed.

However, I believe there is still hope.  There are three days remaining and my first born child is scheduled to arrive tonight. I shall attempt to get the old VCR working.  I know there is a tape of White Christmas around here somewhere.  Perhaps a little Bing will do the trick because  I need a little Christmas, NOW!


wsilverblulb

Monday, December 20, 2010

Life on the High Seas

Our recent vacation on the high seas began with such promise.  The temperature on departure was cool by south Florida standards but pleasant non-the less.  There was a sense of excitement, even expectation in the air.

wLauderdaledock_2


It was palpable when the ship's horn bellowed our good-bye and we slipped away from the dock.  The Kid & I assumed our usual position on one of the upper decks and watched Florida's east coast disappear over the horizon along with the setting sun.


wLauderdaledock

We were on our way. Glasses were lifted in a toast to our good fortune and the four us sat back to savor the evening.

wTheToast

That is how it began, this little vacation of ours.  You already know it ended badly, at least for me.  But wedged in between the hectic days in port and the relaxing days at sea was an adventure.

wdeckwalkers

Time was spent exploring the many nooks and crannies of our home away from home.  And always, always there were people to watch.

wjogger

On day two a crisis of major proportions was averted when the electronic bingo machine went down.  From somewhere deep within the bowels of our state of the art vessel an old fashioned ball turner and Bingo board was produced.  The day was saved but there were many disgruntled passengers who were forced to hand in their electronic monitors and go it alone with a tear sheet and hand held blotter.  There was tension in the air and mutany on the minds of some.

wShipFlag

Life on the high seas is rife with tribulation.

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Seinfeld & Susan, The Movie

Yesterday, while lying around recuperating from this "thing" I have contracted,  I watched the movie Julie and Julia.  Have you seen it?  I admit I was a bit underwhelmed when I saw it at the theater last summer.  But sitting in the comfort of home (on my death bed) I was able to savor it and digest it slowly as if it were one of Julia Child's fancy French dishes.  It may have been the fever, but I found it quite enjoyable the second the time around.  In a tangle of story lines we find a biography of Julia Child during her Paris years; and the true story of another young woman, Julie Powell,  at a crisis point in her life.

wBougs

It was the second story line that really piqued my interest.  The Julie side of the coin.  Here we have a frustrated young woman, a writer, trapped in a government job with no place to go.  She discovers an outlet and a joy in cooking. Armed with the support and encouragement of her husband she decides to write a blog.  A cooking blog.  Julie spends 365 days, one full year, cooking her way through Julia Child's "Mastering the Art of French Cooking"  and blogs about it.  Her blog becomes a smashing success.  It is read by thousands and at the end of her tenure Julia is rewarded with several offers from publishers and publicists to turn that little blog of hers into a novel.

Do you see the parallels?  Julie and I are both bloggers.  She blogged about cooking.  I blog about...nothing.  She blogged for one year.  I have been blogging for 2 and 1/2 years.  She had a following of thousands.  I have a following of eleven, twelve if I count the dog.  What I want to know is why isn't my phone ringing off the hook?  Where are all of the calls from publishers and publicists?   Screen writers?  Where is the demand for more me?

I'm really quite puzzled by this lack of interest.   But I am prepared just the same.  I haven't decided who should play me in the movie but I'm thinking Pierce Brosnan would make an excellent "Kid."  I have even come up with a title for the project,  "Seinfeld & Susan, Much Ado About Nothing." It has a nice ring to it, don't you agree?

Saturday, December 18, 2010

Home Sweet Home

Anybody out there?  It seems like light years since I was last here.  In reality it has only been 12 days.  Eleven of those 12 days were spent at sea, on a giant floating hotel.   I don't have to tell you how I feel about that.  I love being at sea.  Love everything about it. Love the gentle rolling motion of the ship; the way salt condenses on the railings after a long day on the water; the lapis blue of the ocean and the turquoise waters closer to shore.

wLauderdaleTug

I also love that my room is cleaned every day, my towels changed and my bed made.  I love that all of my meals are prepared for me and are available for consumption when I feel the urge to partake.  I love the variety of music and entertainment that is at my fingertips and I love that my bed is turned down at the end of every day, with chocolate on my pillow.

What I don't like about cruising?  When I contract the flu and spend the last four days of my vacation virtually confined to my room.  When I feel so bad that the flashing lights and ringing bells of the casino offer little in the way of temptation.  When I am content, alone in my bed with a game of solitaire and a bad movie streaming through my stateroom television.  Not fun people.  Not fun at all.

I am home now, sleeping in my own bed, drinking ginger ale that costs less than the national debt and being cared for by my private and very handsome steward.  For the past five days there has been an elephant of enormous proportions residing on my chest. This afternoon he decided to go for a walk and I was able to breathe easily for a few hours.  He's back now, but I think he may have dropped a few pounds while he was away.   Things are looking up.  I just might live to see tomorrow.

Friday, December 17, 2010

Moose Quest (aka In Search Bullwinkle II)

Originally posted September, 2009.

As you know I am on a mission. I am searching high and low for moose, a moose, any moose. After all they are supposed to be plentiful in the north woods. Why just the other day one of the locals claimed he saw Bullwinkle hanging around the corner grocery store waiting for the morning delivery of Krispy Kremes.
But THIS is what I see:
Does he not look majestic in all of his winged glory?

When I saw this sign I thought maybe I was on to something.
I was convinced it was a summons calling all good moose in the vicinity to attend some sort of moose convention. You know, Attention Moose, the convention is now convening under the big Hemlock tree on the north side of the pond.
But I was mistaken. There was no convention, but I did find this:
He kind of looks like a giant Christmas yard ornament run amuck don’t cha think?
I really got excited when I spotted this on the side of the road:
It was living and breathing. It had four legs.

Ok so maybe it’s a bit small, but I think it was the runt of the litter. Yea, that’s it the runt of the litter.
However, in my eyes he looked like this:
Standing tall and proud on the side of the road. The biggest baddest dude in the great north woods.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Life Lessons

Originally posted July, 2009.

Life is a journey.  When you start out on this wonder filled adventure it is often good to have a friend ride along with you.

They may come in handy on those up-hill climbs.

And sometimes it is ok to let someone push you around for awhile.

Just smile and enjoy the ride.

Because sooner or later you are going to run into an obstacle.

During these times you might find it helpful to switch drivers.

And of course there are moments when everyone has to push.

Should tension arise and you find yourself being squeezed out of the driver's seat...

Don't give up hope.  Just look around, you might find an open window.

Besides, there is always more than one way to view every situation.

The road is long and bumpy.  When you run out of gas or face mechanical difficulties don't ever forget that two heads are better than one and,

 a helping hand is always welcome.

Wherever life leads you always remember that the road is easier when shared with a friend.


Back yard wisdom provided by Allie and Gabers.

Monday, December 13, 2010

The Dancing Queen

7milebridge


She arrived last Saturday, legs a little wobbly from the flight (fear of flying), and more than happy to be earthbound once again. Her suitcase was small, carry-on size and I marveled that she was able to pack all of the female necessities for an entire week in that pint sized bag.  So you can imagine my surprise when she emerged from the bedroom with software in hand and a large “blanket” tucked under one arm.

I sat spellbound, mesmerized by the scene that unfolded.  She worked quickly, loading her software into the Wii and unrolling her bundle, which turned out to be a 4 x 4 foot pad marked with bold arrows and letters.  She turned, smiled at me and stated matter of factly, “it’s time to dance.”  And dance she did.

With music blaring at decibel levels not heard at our house since the boys left home, she began to bounce, slowly at first, picking up speed as she caught the beat. Moving at times with the speed of light, feet flying, jumping and spinning, tapping left, then right, up, down and around until I became dizzy just watching.  It was a sight to behold, this fifty something woman moving with the speed and the agility of a teen.  It was down-right depressing to this overweight and out of shape grammy!  The dancing continued for hours that turned into days. It was an endless stream of manic activity.  The woman never tires.  She is a virtual perpetual motion machine fueled only by Miller 64s. When she needed a break she grabbed an all natural, calorie free, Boca Burger and headed out for a 3-mile jog on the beach.  Try and live with that for a week.

But I have to admit my interest was piqued.  After all, I’m not much older than she.  I could do this, couldn’t I?  It looked like fun, not a work-out at all. A late night run to the local Wally World, scored my very own dancing machine.  And there we were, side- by-side, movin and groovin the hours away. She was graceful and quick.  I was clumsy and slow. But I wasn’t giving up.  Stubbornness and stupidity rule when faced with a challenge such as this.

D & J were around some place.  I think.  Someone must have fed them.  Perhaps it was the neighbors.  I’m just not certain; it was difficult to focus on anything but the dance.  For six glorious days I had rhythm.

She’s gone now.  Left this morning.  There are no more Miller 64s in the frig. The music has died.  My back aches, my ankles are swollen and I can barely stand upright but it was great fun while it lasted.

Originally posted 03/20/09

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Happy Birthday Mom

She is 90 years young today.  I don't think she minds me sharing that with the internet.  In fact I believe she is quite proud that she has reached this milestone in life.

wFlos

In retrospect she has done it her way.  Trust me, I know these things.  She is a strong willed individual with a good heart.  Loving and kind with a soft spot for her grandchildren the size of Canada.  After 90 short years she has earned the right to sit back and relax.  I hope she does just that today.

Happy Birthday Mom, I love you.

Friday, December 10, 2010

The Glory Day

Originally posted on 04/26/09.

The day dawned bright and sunny, the air charged with excitement.  It was the first day of softball practice for the Senior (over 55) Softball league and the first practice for him after a very long absence (20+ years).  It’s an active league.  The players arrive brattered and bandaged.  The teams sponsored by local pharmacies and chiropractors with an occasional pub thrown in the mix.

SoftballandGlove

For several weeks leading up to the big day the internet had been scoured in search of the perfect 14", outfielder, slow-pitch softball glove (his original lost in one of our many moves).  Finally a decision was made and an order placed.  So keyed up over the new purchase he had it shipped to Nashville where we were visiting over Easter.  Upon arrival, the box was opened in the driveway and the new glove examined by its owner and the UPS man.  Both awarded it two thumbs up.  Several games of “catch” were scheduled in a bizarre turn of events that had the sons warming up the old man and giving him pointers.  He was pronounced…rusty.

In addition to the glove, new cleats were purchased.  In an effort to cover-up the lack of athletic activity in the past twenty years the shoes were worn in advance, dirt kicked onto the shiny toes.

At the prescribed time on this beautiful April morning he headed to the ball-park, new scuffed to perfection shoes on his feet and the soft feel of leather on his hand.  He was ready, but was he worthy? 

The story becomes a bit hazy from here but I will try my best to relay it to you as it happened.  The first trip to the outfield energized him.  He was twenty again, playing the game he loved so much in his younger years.  With the crack of a bat a high-flying ball was heading his direction.  Could he get it?  He knew that he could.  Waving off the center fielder he took off in a sprint and as the ball began its descent he knew what he had to do.  After all, he was one of the youngsters on the team, and had everything to prove.  Stretching those long Jimmy Stewart legs to their limit he reached out, invisioning the catch in his mind.  And with his arm extended beyond normal limits he made the catch.  When he dared look, the ball was cradled safely in the soft leather; the batter was out and the crowd was cheering. 

But wait, what was that horrible searing pain tearing through his left thigh?  Could it be?  I’m afraid so.  A torn hamstring.

The rookie has been benched.  Confined to his recliner, with ice and an ace bandage.  Wreathing in pain, all the while oiling his new glove.  Reliving the glory of one perfect, career ending catch.


Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Dog Training 101

Originally poste June, 2009




She is the sweetest dog we have ever owned.  (No disrespect meant Rosco.  You were sweet too, and definitely had one of most distinct personalities ever; but in the sweetness department Henna is the winner.)  She loves people, she loves kids, she doesn't get into things, she rarely barks, and she has never had an accident in the house.  What could be the problem you say?  (Here is where I wish I had a picture to illustrate.)  All you would see was her tail moving away from me as fast as those legs could carry her, dragging her leash behind.  When given the opportunity she bolts, she dashes, she runs, she flys.  It's a game for her.  But one that scares me to death because we live so close to a busy road and she has run away when we are out of town.  That makes her a stranger in a strange land and I'm not certain that cute little nose could find it's way home.  Add to that the fact that she just doesn't listen and you know why doggie obedience school is the order of the day.

How does she feel about it you ask?  I'll show you:

She wasn't too excited about the prospect.  

But it doesn't matter.  We called for an evaluation which took place a couple of weeks ago and it  went something along these lines:

Trainer:  What seems to be the issue with Henna?

Loyal Pet Owners:  She runs away, she jumps on people and while she is a very good dog, she doesn't listen.

Trainer:  I understand.  Hand me her leash and we'll see how she does.

Loyal Pet Owners:  Sitting back with smug looks on their faces, knowing that our Miss Henna would hang herself with her independence.

Trainer:  Tempting her with dog treats, puts her through her paces.  Henna  sits on command, lays down; she sits again, she stays.  She stays when the door is opened.  She stays while the door is open and the trainer takes a 3 mile hike.  She stays until trainer returns and rewards her with one of th0se tempting treats. She performs like an obedience school star.

Loyal Pet Owners: Stunned.

Trainer:  Sits down and in a quiet voice states the obvious.  "Henna seems to understand.  I think her owners are the ones who have the problem."

Loyal Pet Owners:  Humiliated  and speachless.

Trainer:  You're just not important enough to her.  I think all you need to do is sign up for some basic obedience group classes and you'll get the hang of it.

Not important enough?  How can that be? We feed her, take her for walks, talk to her, lover her, care for her and treat her like the princess she is.  

And so after signing up for Dog Training 101 we slunk out of the evaluation,  our egos deflated but firm in our conviction to become the most important things in her life.  How's that working out you ask?  We just completed week three and we're making progress.  We have hope. 


I am secure in the knowledge that as long as one of those savory dog treats is in my hand I am the most important thing in her life.

Monday, December 6, 2010

Getting My Cruise On

There must be something in the south Florida air that sets my mind to wandering.  Seriously, I haven't given much thought to the Caribbean during the past three or four months.  Whiling away the days a few hundred miles to the north had my head clearly wrapped around fall foliage and lake living.  Cruising the Caribbean was but a distant memory.  Yet here I am, five short days upon returning to the island, about to board a ship for 11 fun-filled days at sea.

wSt.Thomas

This trip was booked months ago, long before that fateful July morning.  In all probability if we had known then what we know now the ship would most likely be sailing without us.  But don't look for me to give up my berth anytime soon.  In fact I have done a complete mental turn around in the past five days.  Winter coats and boots were left behind in PA.  Sweatshirts and jeans have been laundered and tucked into the far corners of my closet.  Shorts and sandals were located and are now packed and ready to go.  My feet are tapping to the steel drums beating a rhythm in my head and my heart races at the  thought of penny slots sitting idle in the casino.  I have even concocted a plan of attack to counteract all of that food.  I would say I am ready to go.

The off-spring have been pretty quiet thus far.  No ugly phone calls and soliloquies about addiction and rehab. I'm almost certain they thought us cured when we purchased the cottage.  It appears they were wrong.  We are cruise-aholics and proud of it.

Now you will have to excuse me while I grab my Pina Colada, it's time to get my cruise on and sail away.  Bon Voyage.

Sunday, December 5, 2010

The More Things Change

Where are the Thanksgiving pictures?  I've been asked that question in recent days and the truth is there aren't any or there aren't many.  How did that happen?  It was easy to sit back and let B assume the role of family photographer this year. Perhaps I was so consumed with the logistics of Thanksgiving 2010 that I failed to actively participate in the day.

We all agreed it was a Thanksgiving of change.   It permeated the air, drifting from family member to family member tickling each of us with a sense of holiday reshaping and melancholy.  Thanksgiving as it has been for the past 12 years would be no more.  It was the end of an era.

But endings are really just beginnings.   The location will change and the faces will shift as family members are added and subtracted over the course of time but there will always be the constants.

wwineglasses

The turkey will be carved and the potatoes mashed.  The family will gather around the table; the blessing will be offered.  Stories will be repeated; a game of Uno will be initiated.  Someone will cheat.  Football will be watched; the turkey bowl played.  Left-overs will be consumed and someone will complain about something, anything just to complain.  The old folks will tell the younger generation they are going a cruise next year...alone.  And everyone will laugh.

I guess it's true.  The more things change, the more they remain the same.

Saturday, December 4, 2010

Snugnutter

The G-man is a blanket guy.  In fact he's a two fisted blanket man.  (When he showed an affinity for one particular blanket his wise mom made certain it had a twin.  That way if one were lost there would be a back-up.)  Several months ago he came up with his own terminology for his beloved blankets.  Snugnuts they became and I'm afraid snugnuts they will be forever and all eternity.

Did you know big kids have snugnuts too?  When C arrived at the cottage for Thanksgiving his very own fleecy, gold snugnut arrived with him.  It accompanied him to bed every night and wrapped up with him on the couch by day.  There would be no sharing either.  It mattered not that another family member was spending her nights on the cold, drafty porch and could use an extra shot of warmth.  He wrapped himself up a little tighter and held on, daring anyone to just try and take it away.



IMG_4874 copy, originally uploaded by loganbs1515
Photo courtasy of B.  Hijacked from here.


It's a rather disgusting looking thing and has somewhat of a dubious past.  This gold, shedding monstrosity looks like a reject from a 1980's water bed or perhaps an Austin Powers' movie .  It first surfaced during S's college years.  He doesn't know where it came from, only that someone left it behind at the "shack."  (The "shack" was S's home for two years at Auburn.  There were holes in the floor and daylight came streaming through the walls.  I don't even want to think about what took place there while he was getting an education.)  christened his new friend Fozzy and it became a fixture in his life.  It followed him to Nashville after college and would still be gracing his home if B hadn't intervened.  When they married, Fozzy had to go.  And it went, willingly, into C's open arms.  Fozzy and C became one. They saw the world together, or at least the southeastern U.S.

Fozzy has been MIA for several years now, or he was until a few weeks ago.  C found him stuffed in a box in the basement and the love affair was rekindled.  So much so that C was willing to risk the abuse and humiliation he knew would befall him when he pulled that thing out of the car.  He procalimed himself a "snugnutter," forever bonded with the G-man, and settled into the fleecy warmth, shielded from the slings and arrows of family abuse that were hurled his direction.

He had better keep a close watch over ole Fozzy.  I saw S gazing longingly in his direction.  Perhaps he was merely remembering the good old days or perhaps he was plotting a heist.  I just hope he is smart enough to know better than to come between a man and his snugnut.  









Friday, December 3, 2010

Readjusting

wBeachBuzzed

A precisely 5:55 a.m. I was awakened by the sound of trash cans rolling to the curb.  This was followed soon after by the earth shaking rumbling of the trash man on his bi-weekly run.  We are not in Kansas anymore Dorothy.  And while I wouldn't call our postage stamp in paradise an urban jungle it most definitely is not the country.  There is street noise, construction noise and boat noise.  I never noticed that before.  At the lake there is the occasional crunch of tires on gravel and the honking of geese announcing their arrival in the cove.

It appears I have some readjusting to do.  And a lot of work.  The shrubs around our house have multiplied beyond belief.  The bougainvillea in the back will soon be crawling up the neighbor's house and in their back door.  The remaining shrubbery is unruly and disheveled.  It is all the result of warm tropical rain and no one minding the store.  I thought we had a yard man?  He was one of the team.  He was the point guard.  I am thinking he may be riding the bench soon.

The house is relatively clean and dust free.  For that I am eternally grateful.  I can spend my day unpacking, catching up on laundry and reacquainting myself with the sights and sounds of home, my southern home.  I'm glad to be here.  I am privileged and honored to call two beautiful places home.  But I'm afraid I left my heart behind, with the honking geese, in the peace and quiet of the country.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

This and That

After spending 22 of the past 48 hours in the car I look and feel a lot like the little Missy.

Henna_sleep

I am tired.  I am heading to bed.  Soon.  Very soon.  Even though I did not sit behind the wheel for one single mile of the two day drive.  (I think it's a guy thing.)

I read a book.  An entire book. Today.  I drove The Kid crazy listening to college sports talk radio.  (At our house this is not a guy thing.)  I won millions playing the slots.  And I drank a lot of coffee.

Yesterday I was productive.  It rained all day allowing me to process wedding pictures.  (Yes, A & E, they are coming.)  I can't do that when the sun is shining.  It is too difficult to accurately see the monitor.

We are expecting a low of 47 tonight.  The view out my back door says Florida; the cold north wind says something else.

For the first time in 3 1/2 months I can take a shower and move my arms.

I can also go to bed and sleep soundly all night without bumping into The Kid.  Is that too much information?

The house tripled in size while we were away.  Is it an optical illusion or a figment of my imagination?

It was really good to see our neighbors.  I guess you know you are good friends when you can run across the street and visit in your pajamas.

Do all houses smell musty when they are closed up and not used for three months?

The Kid wants to turn the heat on.  I may have to hurt him.

On that note I better say good-night.  I'll be back tomorrow.  Hopefully in the light of day the fog will clear from my brain and I will be able to write something that makes sense.

Hopefully, but don't hold your breath.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Rescue Me

Originally posted 08/24/08

I think most people know that I am a dog person.  Having a dog in the house is essential for my mental well being, especially in these empty nest years.  One four legged, furry creature somehow manages to fill up all of the empty spaces in my heart.  The ones caused by relocating away from friends and family, the ones that were drilled when the boys grew up and left home, and the huge one that slipped in when I lost my Dad.  That's why, when Rosco succumbed to cancer 18 months ago at the ripe old age of 13, I just could not keep the promise I made to D.  The one that said we would wait at least one year before even thinking about another dog.  I lasted 6 weeks.

wCatnap

I first saw her mug shot on PetFinder.com.  I wasn't looking for a dog.  She was in the wrong section. I had made a promise.  But there was something in that face, those eyes, that had me pausing to take a closer look.  She was the product of abuse and neglect, a Golden Retriever mix, a beautiful little girl who needed someone to love her.  I knew that someone was me. 

D was easy.  He caved without even putting up a fight.  (He won't admit it, but I think his heart was broken too.)  She was offered for adoption by Golden Retriever Rescue of Naples (GRIN) and it took a few weeks to get through the process.  (GRIN is a wonderful rescue organization.  They do an outstanding job of screening potential owners because they want permanent homes for their dogs.)  There were phone calls, interviews, home visits, more phone calls, visits with the dog in her foster home, and still more phone calls. (I told you it was process.)  Finally we were pronounced worthy and Henna entered our lives. 

Henna is her own person (dog?).  She is a gentle spirit.  She carries a lot of Golden Retriever genes; the ones that make her sweet and playful and gentle (you can take food out of her mouth).  Allie drags her around by her fur and rides her like a horse.  But I think she has a few cat chromosomes in the mix.  She's a princess.  She does not like to be wet, avoids water at all cost.  (I've tried to tell her she's a retriever but she won't listen.)  It's rather comical to observe her prancing around puddles.  And, she's aloof.  When she has had enough of being scratched and petted she turns around, sticks her feather duster tail in the air and sashays away.  Ignoring all pleas to come back for more.  She is then content to hang on the fringe of things.  But always keeping one eye on the action lest she miss something fun.

I love her.  This four legged ball of fur.  She brings sunshine on a rainy day.  She sheds worse than any creature I have ever owned.  She greets me with the same enthusiasm whether I've been gone all day or just stepped out to get the mail.  She sheds worse than any creature I have ever owned.  (Oh, did I already mention that?)  And although nothing can replace the losses in my life, the empty spaces in my heart are once again filled with the unconditional love of a dog.