Looking at the Glass Half Baked

Workout Boop for gramma in a wheelchair, that sounds kind of... well, funny, to be honest. - Holly

Why does all the crazy stuff always happen to you? - Amber

Someday we'll look back on this and it will all seem funny - Bruce

Pessimists look at the glass half empty.

Optimists look at the glass half full.

I look at the glass half baked.

I've always been the kind of person to find humor in the wierdest things. I laugh a funerals. Really.

My favorite old Aunt died in May of 1988. Her sister died six weeks later. At the second funeral in 1988, I found a dime on the floor. I threw it in the casket. Now you have to know that this was an Italian funeral, complete with hired mourners. People looked at me like I was some sort of loon. My Grandfather asked me why I would do such a thing. I just said, " You know when Aunt Jo gets where she's going, she's gonna have to call Aunt Sadie"

I think it's funny that tonight on HBO, Brokeback Mountain is being followed by "The Nativity:First Look"

I find it crazy that Kate's friend was distressed because she couldn't find any "Baby's First Hanukkah" ornaments.

I love stuff that makes you say "You can't make this stuff up!"

It started out as a coping mechanism as a little kid, and just evolved into a really warped sense of humor. Funny stuff happens in our worlds every day, but usually we are too angry to see the humor in it all. Usually I keep it to myself, but sometimes I just can't.

And yesterday, I brought my warped sense of humor to the Dutchess County Department of Social Services to apply for Medicaid for my grandmother.

When got there, I had to fill out the application, wait on a Disneyland style line to hand it in, and then sit on the Group W bench with Mother Rapers, Father Stabbers, Father Rapers.....well, you get the idea. I had to sit and wait until I was called to review the application with a public service employee.

Somewhere this is where it all went south....

Behind me sat 5 twenty somethings whose conversation revealed that they were unable to work because they were depressed. I couldn't help thinking that if they got a job they would be less depressed. Now I understand depression. I have a bi-polar sister. But she feels better when she is in a manic state and she has money to spend.

I started to judge people as they walked in. I made up stories in my head about everyone that came and went in the hour and 10 minutes that I waited for my name to be called. Who was a crack whore, who was the man who heard voices, who was the welfare mom with baby #9 (that was easy...I can count)

And then it hit me.

There I sat, on the Group W bench, in a Brown Geoffrey Beene Skirt, Lime Green Geoffrey Beene sweater, London Fog Suede jacket, Nine West Shoes, Kate Spade sunglasses holding a Coach Purse, and I realized that I was the freak. I was probably making these people nervous, maybe I heard voices, carried a gun, was a crack whore...

Then I started laughing, and people moved away from me, afraid for their lives.

Lucky for them, Mr Grunch (his real name, HONEST) called me into his super secret office.

I could hear a sigh of relief as I left the room.

The week that was....

Since I have been accused of being too introspective of late, I'll try to make this more less so. It just won't be funny. Bad stuff did happen this week, and I have to touch on that, but for the most part it was an upbeat week.

On Wednesday, Mags turned 16. She got her permit, her dad let her drive. Plink, Plink...

We got a call that one of the parents we volunteer with lost his son to a heroin overdose. Been to rehab...straightening out...graduating from college...getting married...dead. Nuff said. This sucks.

Then later on, I got a call that my grandmother had tried to get from the wheelchair to the bed in the nursing home and fell. My aunt met her at the ER, and I was told she was bruised...but I never expected this. She said that the aide was helping her, and she slipped through her hands. They say that she did it on her own. We don't know what to believe since she mixes up stuff all the time.

Friday morning, Kate and I left for Orlando for the big audition weekend. We were really hungry when we got to the airport, but couldn't get soup at Quiznos because we aren't allowed to take it through security. TSA is handing out 1 quart ziploc baggies so you can put your 3 oz containers of stuff in it.

We got to Orlando at 2:30, rented a car from Enterprise and headed to Lake Buena Vista, where I had Hotwired a room for the night. I have only stayed offsite one time in the last 15 years...and unless it's Super Soap Weekend again...won't again.

We stayed at a Radisson on 192 up near the Gaylord Palms. It was adequate. When I checked in, they charged me and additonal $10 resort fee for use of the pool and fitness center and internet. I didn't swim, I didn't exercise, and I didn't log on the internet. What a frickin racket.

We went to Downtown for dinner, and ate at Wolfgang Pucks. We shared an appetizer of artichoke and cheese dip, I had a grilled chicken Caesar, and Kate had what we lovingly call Spaghetti and Meat Loaf. Make a fist. That was the size of the meatball.

We took the boat from downtown to Saratoga Springs to check out the digs for our April Trip. We were too late for the cookies in the welcome center, but were offered some ice cream which we declined being too full from dinner... The boat captain was from NJ, and since we were the only ones on the boat we were laughing the whole way...On our trip back to downtown, we had the same captain, and people on the boat looked at us wierd when we said "Honey - did you miss us" and all three of us started cracking up.

We tried to go shopping, but in addition to being super soap, it was Festival of the Masters, and everything was packed. I was going to pick up my AP at guest services, but learned that if I picked it up at 9PM 11/10 it would expire 11/10 even thought it was too late to go to a park. So, I decided to wait until the next day. I wonder if that was such a good idea......

Saturday Morning up with the Lark....

I don't think I slept a wink Friday night. I was too nervous we'd get up late and Kate would miss the audition. We had scouted out where we needed to be on Friday night (make a mental image of me driving the wrong way out of the Animal Kingdom entrance) and were ready to go by 8:15. We drove around for about 20 minutes trying to find a Dunkin Donuts without a 35 person line, and ended up in a grocery buying grapes and Evian for breakfast.

Disney had told the applicants to arrive 1 hour before the 10AM audition, and we got there at 8:45 and there were already 20 people ahead of her. After I checked she had everything she needed, I headed to the Animal Kingdom (in the right driving direction) and wanted to play. I paid $10 for parking, and immediately regretted not picking up my AP Friday night. I got to the ticket booth to pick up the AP and lo and behold..they cannot find me in the computer. A supervisor walks off with my Amex card, drivers license and DVC card, and comes back 15 minutes later AP in hand. Some sort of glitch. Next time I better ask for Amber....

I rode Dinosaurs, Everest, and window shopped since Kate should have been done around 11. At 11 I went to the AK rehearsal facility, Kate called at 11:10 to say she was done, but they needed to talk to her, and I waited, and waited...in the hot sun...for what seemed like an eternity. I found another parent (a grandmother) to hang with, and we watched the proceedings from the outside...

You know how in American Idol they come out of the room...crying, happy, carrying yellow papers. It was just like that. Only the papers were orange. The first group that came out was about 15, and pardon me saying so, did not look like individuals Disney would hire in entertainment. Then, over the course of the next HOUR, they came out the door...one, two, three at a time, some happy, some sad, some with orange papers.

At about 12:30, Kate came out, and I could see on her face she was happy. She was offered a position as a Show and Parade performer, and they were pleased to tell her she was in the "Mouse" height catagory. I guess that is like at Hershey Park where you have to be a Twizzler to ride the best rides.

We headed over and parked at the TTC with grand plans of Food and Wine and Pirates. Only one problem...when I got to the gate with the one day hopper I have been carrying around for TWO YEARS, they said it didn't work and sent me to guest services, where the line was 35 people long (just like Dunkin!)

Flamingo Tom rescued us though, and offered a front gate from his work pass. So, after waiting on line to get in (again), gettting our bags checked (again) Tom put his ticket in, and IT WOULDN'T WORK!!! We waited for a supervisor for about 15 minutes, and then the lady at the front gate said...Just go. So, since we didn't use a front gate from Tom's ticket, we didn't head to MK.

Food and wine was OK, but not as good as I remember it from the convention. We ate Spanikopita from Greece, Salmon and Cheddar soup from Canada, Trifle from Ireland, Some eggplant thing from Italy that burned our throats, some chicken from China and quesadillas and tortillas from Mexico. Tom chose the desserts which luckily did not put those 40 pounds he had lost back on...he looks good by the way, and only smoked two cigarettes the whole day...

We rode Nemo (which was cute) and went to see Alice at GF because she had to work a double. At 6:30, Kate hit the wall, and we headed to the hotel.

Our flight was 8:30 Sunday morning, and TSA made Kate throw away her Cliniqué lip gloss because it wasn't in a ziploc bag. Now I see the purpose of limiting liquids, but I don't know why the ziploc bag makes it safer than just putting it in a little dish. Of course the lady next to us was allowed to keep her nail clippers.

The flight home was choppy, and my grandmother's therapist sat right behind us, so I was able to show him a picture of her on my cell phone....

Lord! Make me the person my dog thinks I am.

I've learned a lot in the last month.

I've learned how to turn out a really cool Blogger page.
I've learned that someone in China can make anything you want.

I've learned that people are kind and generous.

In the month since Tyler's accident, I have been deeply involved with a tireless group of individuals. Our mission, to give love and support to Tyler and his family for as long as they need it. Meals are cooked, bills are covertly paid, fuel tanks filled...whatever it takes for as long as it takes.

We sent out an appeal for money. A mailing to the members of the community whose lives we know Tyler has touched. I must admit, I was skeptical and did not really think that we would receive much. I have been overwhelmed.

The local newspaper ran a short article about Tyler and his accident. From just that one article, in the sports pages we have received hundreds, if not thousands of dollars. One woman with small children, whose husband was killed not one month before in the same type of accident, gave $500. People who never met Tyler are sending notes with crisp $20 bills enclosed. One man, who has a severe developmental disability gave us $6. I know it was all he had. All summer at the basketball program. I let him "help" me clean up the returnable soda cans, and he can return them for the deposits.

I think of the woman in the bible. You know the one who could only give two cents...

And all of this has made me wonder.

I look at the list of those who have given, and wonder how many times my name was not on lists like that.

I ask myself if I have been the kind of friend who, if this was one of my children, would I receive the same treatment.

I understand the power of friendship. I know my true friends (internet or not ;) ) are not just friends, they are family. I would go to the ends of the earth for them, I would raise their children if need be, I might even give them a kidney if they asked nice.

A faithful friend is a sturdy shelter; he who finds one finds a treasure.
A faithful friend is beyond price, no sum can balance his worth.
A faithful friend is the medicine of life; and they that fear the Lord shall find him.

Taking a minute to remember what is important

So, I was feeling guilty about not updating, but looking around me, I was not alone.

I probably shouldn't have updated anyway, because the rant would have turned into a whine and by then I would have turned off anyone who was reading this anyway.

And when I was finished, I probably would have ended up singing verses of "You're so vain" and then Mick Jagger and Warren Beatty could argue over who I was talking about.

So, I was thinking about the person who got me so worked up that I was about to spit...and updating my blog...

And then the phone rang, and in an instant, I remembered what was important.

Jay and Lori have been our friends for 15 years. Maybe longer. Jay and Tom went to elementary school together. Jay's twin brother John was Tom's roomate in college. Jay and Tom coached little league together. Jay is one of the dads who we run the summer basketball program with.

Jay and Lori's oldest son, Justin, and Katie went to school together. Justin was born on my birthday.

On Monday, Justin was riding his motor bike and crashed it. His parents rushed him to the hospital. He broke his collar bone.

While at the hospital with Justin, they got a phone call. Their middle son Tyler crashed his motor bike too. He was being airlifted to the nearest Trauma Center.

Now Tyler lies in the hospital, punctured lung, broken back, spinal damage and no feeling below his waist. He's in a drug induced coma, and on a ventilator. He's an accomplished musician (google Skawaiian Punch) He's a senior in high school. And he's the kind of boy everyone likes. He's a nice boy. No one can tell them how extensive the damage is. No one can tell them that he will walk again. No one can tell them that he is going to live.

And I am thinking about what really is important.

I can't have time for people who are so wrapped up in their own self importance that they forget who their friends were in the first place.

I only have time for prayer for the little boy with the bright smile.

I only have time to pray that he will grow up to be the man we all expected he would be.

The rest is unimportant.

Funeral for a Friend

Today, I buried my friend.

He had only been my friend for a few years, but I miss him more than I thought I would.

Fred came into my world at a time I really needed a friend.

He was always happy, never really asked for much, and never complained.

He had been sick for the last year, and even in his last days when he couldn't see, and had trouble eating, I would sit for as long as it took to hand feed him.

His funeral was simple, yet dignified. Just like he would have wanted.

We've already cleaned out his house, and it is presently available to rent.

I miss you Freddy.

You were a good Betta.

Just Some Pictures

Just a few pictures...no reason. Just to see if they can work.

I love comics. Pearls before Swine is probably my favorite, even though we don't get it in our local paper. Here is one for yesterday...you have to click on it to make it big enough to read.

I just liked this one...used without permission of course :) When we were on vacation, this Tur-duck-en thing flew up on the railing and went after TJ's lunch. Scared the crap put of him.

Where were you....

Yes. I know what the date is.

How could anyone not know what the date is.

The sky is just as blue as it was that day.

There is a touch of crisp of the fall to come in the air, but it is still the kind of day that you could live with all year.

Yes I know what the date is.

And I know exactly where I was when it happened.

Growing up, I was always amused when the old folks around me would talk about knowing where they were when Pearl Harbor was attacked, or when Kennedy was shot. They would speak of the day with such deep feeling, that I would found it odd that they would be able to remember such minute details.

We mark time by memories of tragedy in our lives.

I remember where I was, the summer between second and third grade, I learned that my best friend Lisa and much of her family had been killed in an automobile accident on her way to the Jersey shore for a weeks vacation. I remember where I was when in fourth grade I learned my beloved grandfather had died. I remember every detail of coming home from school and seeing my great-grandfather's house burning to the ground.

But we do not only remember the details of the tragedy we face.

We remember the details of the joyous times that we celebrate.

I remember my first day of Kindergarten, heading off in that same great-grandfathers 1955 Green Chevy Pickup. I remember where I was when Bucky Dent hit that ball to the green monster. I remember the day I met my husband, and the day he asked me to marry him. I remember where I was when Bill Buckner let that ball go through his legs. I remember every detail of every day each of my children were born.


I remember where I was on September 11, 2001.

The date is only a date.

The reminders are with me every day.

And so are the memories.

So how do I plan to spend this day?

I plan to think again today, like I do every day, about those who were lost and those who were left behind. I plan to think about how our lives have been changed forever. I plan to think about how my children's lives have been changed in ways they will never understand, just by the things that to them are normal daily activities. I plan to call my friend Becky, who is starting out her newly single life, and who is worried about her little boy, celebrating his 20th birthday in Bagdhad.

And I plan to hold my children a little bit closer when they get home from school.

Is this Heaven? No, this is Cooperstown.

This is my corn. You people are guests in my corn!

You know we just don't recognize the most significant moments of our lives while they're happening. Back then I thought, well, there'll be other days. I didn't realize that that was the only day.


Okay...Okay...Okay... I now return to your previously scheduled update.

I have friends who LOVE football, I have friends who LOVE Basketball, I have friends who LOVE Nascar.

Me, I love baseball.

I love to play. Growing up in the sticks, we didn't have enough kids for a real game, but with the help of ghost runners, we played from when the sun came up until it became too dark to see the ball.

I love to watch. One of my fondest memories of my pregnancy with Kate? Watching Bill Buckner let the ball go through his legs to allow Mookie Wilson on base and the Mets win the 1986 World Series.

I love to watch kids play baseball.

In the era of big salaried major league players, there is something special about sitting on the bleachers watching eighteen, twelve year old boys out in the field playing ball solely for their love of the game.

What more could a baseball fan ask than a week of Little League baseball in Cooperstown. That is what I got for my summer vacation.

Cooperstown Dreams Park is a private summer camp for twelve year old baseball players. While the boys stay there and eat there and play baseball there just like regular summer camp, the difference is the camp is an organized baseball tournament, and parents can go watch.

Here are a few pictures:



These are my babies enjoying the closing ceremonies at Dreams park. Red just seemed to be the color of the day. There was no memo.










Holy Cow! At the Hall of Fame











I have a bizillion other pictures, but I can not get Blogger to let me post them. GRRRR

And now I've lost my train of thought.

I am Rhodium - Hear me roar

You know you're old when you go to an antiques auction, and people bid - on YOU!

I've been thinking a lot about this birthday.

45 seems so much older than 40 ever did. It is the number of age.

45 is the number of books in the OLD testament. Every 45 seconds, someone in America has a stroke. If you're shot by a Colt 45, you probaby will die. 45 is the speed of the records that I played in my youth.

When I think about 45, I think about things that make me realize how old I really am.

When My mother was 45, I had been married 5 years. When my grandmother was 45, I was 7 years old. I have been married to my husband more than half my life.

I think about people who say that this is middle age. No one in my family has ever lived to age 90, so with each passing day, I am closer to death than the day before.

You may think that all this talk of 45 means that I am saddened by this birthday, but I'm not.

I think of those before me, who allowed 45 to be the beginning of the end, and allowed age to creep in and make them old.

I refuse to do that. The child in me has not given up.

You don't stop playing because you get old, you get old because you stop playing.

Embarassing things you may not know

OK...enough with the emotional and on with the fun.

The only crying I want around here is the laughing type.

Here are some things about me (in no particular order)

1. As a kid, I used to swim with my shorts on so my bathing suit wouldn't get wet.
2. My grandfather once let me sip his beer so much I got drunk and closed my hair in my bedroom window (I was about 12)
3. In college, I got so drunk I took the garbage out in my underwear.
4. I met my husband in a toll booth, he was a toll collector, I was a green Camaro.
5. Almost all of my ex boyfriends are dead, or have had a life threatening disease.
6. I am so far sighted that I can't see my meal when I eat if I don't wear my glasses.
7. I grow hairs on my chin and lip faster than the speed of sound. If I tweeze or wax, there are new ones before I leave the salon.
8. I am a pack rat.
9. Folk Singer Pete Seeger was my next door neighbor growing up. He saved my great grandfather from a fire in his house when I was 8.
10. The man who owns the single largest collection of Mickey Mouse memoriabilia in the world is a close friend of the family. I blame him for my addiction.
11. I've always found men with very short beards very sexy. My husband refuses to grow one.
12. I am a reality TV show addict.
13. I have a very short attention span.
14. I had arthritis as a child and was never expected to walk.
15. A rattlesnake once slithered across my foot.
16. I would starve to death before I ate a banana.

There you have it...exciting, huh.

The Psychology of Cleaning

I am not a clean freak.

Clean for me comes in levels.

As long as the floors are not sticky, there are no dust bunnies rolling along the floor like tumbleweeds, and I'm not embarassed to have a surprise visitor into my house, I am happy. I live in a world of clean, organized, clutter.

Sometimes cleaning makes me happy.

Other times it makes me sad.

When someone dies, and you do the final cleaning out, it becomes part of the process of closing the final chapter. You marvel over every little item as you hold it in your hands, and you treat everything as a gift from the beyond.

The memories that this type of cleaning invokes are powerful, gut wrenching and cathartic.

When you have to go through that process for someone who is still living, well, the emotions are quite different.

This week, it was determined that my grandmother will never be able to live alone. Because everyone still living here has to work during the day, she will have to stay in the nursing home she has been in since they found her unconscious in her apartment in April.

Although we have been paying her rent faithfully since then, we now understand that we have been fooling ourselves about her ever going back to her apartment. And now, we have determined that it is time to clean out.

We spent a few hours in there yesterday, going through things, and realizing where the pack rat nature in all of us came from.

In preparation for her death, she has been spending the time putting together scrapbooks for all of us. She has kept everything. She has the letter from the local school district giving her permission to enroll me in the school where she lived, and not the one where my mother lived. She has the card I left on her dresser the morning I got married. She has every mother's day card I ever gave her. Invitiations, pictures, report cards. All there, in a book in her closet.

She has a box for my young niece in FL, a child who should have died, and didn't. In this box are
mementos of her and my grandfather, notes attached to each one. And in this box is the stub of a holy candle that was lit every night by Alicia's picture, until one day, an ultrasound showed that the holes in her heart were closed. My grandmother believes it was a miracle.

There is an envelope that says "DO NOT OPEN UNTIL ?" (It was empty)

We have found things that will need to be carefully preserved for future generations, so that they will always know that this incredibly annoying, overbearing, insecure, crazy woman loved all of us with every ounce of her being.

If she does make a full recovery, she is going to be really pissed at us for going through her things.

But then again, if she makes a full recovery, she'll get over it.

Amber said I have to Update...

I haven't updated in a while, but Amber says I have to, and well, you never get on the bad side of your ticket into PC ;)

Nothing incredibly new here to report, well, maybe a little...

Since my last post, Tom and I celebrated 23 years of wedded bliss. Well, maybe 22 1/2 years of bliss, and 1/2 year of grrrr (if you add all the grrr up all together). We really don't fight, we get ticked, but usually it's over in a few hours, and very rarely, a few days.

23 years ago, we realized that in marriage, there is compromise, and sometimes there is no compromising. We each had our own interests when we met 28 YEARS AGO, and we agreed that we would keep those interests. We each had our own friends, and we agreed that we would keep those friends. I go places without him, he goes places without me. We have always been free to live our own lives, and at the end of the day, remember where we belong.

Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I had forgotten about those friends I had before we met. If I moved on to new friends, and left the old behind. I'm glad I didn't. These ladies are the ones who know me best, and even when the big picture of life gets in the way, I know I can count on them.

Kate is home for good (for awhile). She has decided to take her career path in another direction. She just hasn't completely figured out what direction that is. She is going to go to the local community college in the fall. I explained to her that it's ok to be 19 and not know what you want to do. And I also explained that she could go to the local school for 8 years and take a bunch of stuff for what I was paying for one year at Bentley.

She registered late, so that most of the good courses were full. Good is relative though, and I have to remember I'm looking at it from a parent's point of view. So she is taking Anatomy & Physiology 1, Chemistry 1, TV production, Stage makeup and 3 - 1/2 credit gym classes (Jazz, Ballet and Ballroom)

She also would like to do the Disney College program in the spring, so this semester is sort of like a refresher course before the presentation and audition dates come out.

She made Dean's list for her second semester at Bentley, showing me and everyone else that the first semester was just an adjustment issue. I don't think she knows how really proud of her I am.

Oh yeah, and as of today, she and the butthead have been broken up for a week and a half. They still talk every day.

Maggie is headed to almost Rhode Island next week for a week of Lacrosse goalie camp.

Now, if I were picking a summer camp, I doubt it would be one where they were hurling hard rubber balls at me in speeds exceeding 50 MPH, but well, Maggie has always been a little different.

TJ has made the 12 yo all-star team although his age is actually LL 11. He is the sub guy, meaning he will be the one that plays 3 outs and 1 at bat. He knows his job is to be there if someone gets hurt or doesn't show up. And he is ok with that. He'll be back next year.

And that is about it.

Nothing new. Nothing Exciting.

But I have done my job of keeping you informed.

Show me a sign.....

I'm kind of freakish when it comes to spiritual things.

I believe the dead are always with us, in cardinals, in baby deer, in the wind.

I believe that God does speak to us in ways most of us don't even understand.

I believe in signs.

If you're following my rantings, you know about Kate and her quest to decide the path of her future. Should she go back to Boston in the fall, should she stay here and take some courses, should she shuck it all and take her 5' 0" frame and head to Disney World and be a friend to the world's most famous mouse.

The biggest question is "Should she go back to Boston in the fall"

I think she got her sign.

She went up to work graduation. A $100 gig, and a chance to see some friends one more time. On the way, she got a speeding ticket. 68 in a 55 - work zone. She's gonna take a loss on that one.

This past week, she went back to the school to work orientation. She had been contracted to do this in the spring, and she was happy to help. She also wanted to pass go, and collect $1,100. More than that, she wanted to help.

After being there 4 days, she slipped and fell up, then immediately down some stairs, severely spraining her ankle in the process. Her biggest complaint is not from the pain, but from the lack of compassion and assistance her fellow orientation leaders have offered.

No one offers to hold doors, no one offers to carry her meal tray, no one offers anything.

I'm not surprised though. She picked this particular university because of the high caliber business education it has to offer. She has certainly received an education. She has learned life's most difficult lesson. Most people are in it for themselves, not what they can do for others.

Throughout her entire life she has been the one to bring home stray animals and misfit toys.

I wonder if she has seen the sign.

Failure to Sleep

“Remember it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.” That was the only time I ever heard Atticus say it was a sin to do something, and I asked Miss Maudie about it. “Your father’s right,” she said. “Mockingbirds don’t do one thing but make music for us to enjoy . . . but sing their hearts out for us. That’s why it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.”

(Harper Lee)

If you've seen the movie "Failure to Launch" you know what I mean.

It's only a bird, one solitary bird.

One freakin' solitary bird.

One freakin' solitary bird that can imitate every other bird in the neighborhood, and the dog and the neighbor's cat.

And it sits right outside my bedroom window.

It must be a she. I think it is in love with Tom.

A few months ago, we had a Landsacpe Architect come and draw up a planting plan for our house. One little bone of contention in the plan was the removal of the 16-20 ft Blue Spruce that sits on the corner of my house. I know it has to go, as it grows, it's encroaching my front porch, and damage to the house is a real possibility.

But I love that tree. I can sit on my porch and turn a chair around and hide from everyone that drives by. I have pictures of the kids standing in front of that tree for all the special occasions since I've moved in there.

You know I'm a pack rat and an emotional fool. I just hated the thought of parting with that tree. Last night that all changed. Thanks to the mockingbird.

She started at 10PM, the minute she saw the light in the bedroom go on. She went on all night, in her Obsessive Compulsive three count repertoire. I had all I could do not to go outside with the chainsaw right then and there.

I still haven't resolved myself to the loss of the tree. But today, inbetween raindrops, I am going to climb out my bedroom window, and if there are no babies in the nest, the nest will be gone. The mockingbird will be homeless.

If that doesn't work, I could buy a shotgun.

Next time...buy me dinner first!

Wow. You know, it says here that by the time the average American is fifty, he has five pounds of undigested red meat in his bowels.

(Billy Rosewood - Beverly Hills Cop)

Thanks...now I know everything I need to know.

WARNING: THE SUBJECT OF THIS RANT IS A BIT SQUICKY...READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

This week, in the midst of the rest of the chaos and clutter that has become my life, I got to share in a ritual. A ritual so steeped in mystery, that the Masons don't discuss it. You don't normally share the details of the ritual with your friends, but deep down, you know that someday, they will all share in this ritual too.

This ritual you ask...the colonoscopy.

Imagine it, if you dare. An eight foot rubber hose placed up into your rear while a camera takes pictures of everything inside.

My first question? At what point in medical school do you decide you want to do this for a living?

The preparation for the test starts the day before. A total liquid diet. No red food. Jello, Ice Pops, broth. Did you ever count the number of food commerials in prime time? I was so hungry I would have killed for some Dharma ranch dressing.

At 3PM the night before the test, you start your prep with two Dulcolax tablets.

At six PM, you mix a bottle of some white powder and a 64 ounce bottle of Gatorade. Dring 8 ounces every 15 minutes until gone.

At 9 PM two more Dulcolax and a glass of water.

Begin the cleanse process.

At about 9:30 PM, I began to wonder..."What if you go through this entire process, and you just don't go?" You walk into the Doctor, telling her that you didn't go, and she tells you you are full of it. You agree, and she soon finds out that you are full of it, and were not lying. Fortunately for both of us that was not a problem. Soon, I am clean and 5 pounds lighter.

I get up the next morning, and head to the office of my Gastroenterologist. My Doctors have this big mega complex that makes the local hospitals sad. Instead of having to do these tests in the hospital, you do them in the very swanky, very well decorated Gastroenterology Suite.

They check you in, ask you all sorts of questions, start an IV and wheel you into this little room. I swear..they were playing Enya music. They gave me some Valium to calm me. but I think it was an attempt to put me in the mood. The lights were dimmed, it was really beautiful...sniff, tear.

I'd like to tell you more about the procedure, but I can't. Apprently, this drug named Verced (Now why is it all the good medicines I've gotten lately start with the letter V?) causes a temporary amnesia and you remember nothing. I just only hope she didn't ask me questions while I was under.

All I can tell you is when it's your time...

Get them to buy you dinner first. Just don't make it steak.

May 19th

I hate May 19th.

I know it's not possible to hate a date, but I do.

May 19th took two of the most influential men in my life away from me.

May 19, 1970, my grandfather Henry Harrington died. He was a quiet man, family man. Although I was only shy of 9 when he died, I remember him clearly.

He kept me involved in my father's family, when my father walked away. When I was 8, he piled me and my aunt (two days younger) in the back of the family wagon, and we Griswolded our way across the USA in the back of a Chevrolet station wagon. He took me to Disneyland for the first time. He took me to the beach on vacation every year. He loved my grandmother and she loved him. He allowed his very influential family to cut him off when he married someone beneath his station. Gram was only 52 when he died, but no other man could ever take his place. She died 26 years later, never remarrying, never dating, still loving him.

On May 19, 2003, my grandfather Michael Lepore died. He was a quiet man, family man.

He was the Italian version of Henry. Except he hated to travel.

His mother died when he was 6. The same day as his sister Carmella. He was raised by his older sister after his father showed an inablity to be a widower with 5 children - 12 and under.

He and my grandmother eloped because my grandmother was marrying beneath her by loving an Italian. He loved her for 62 years, and at his funeral we realized that in every single picture of the two of them, he is looking at her with a love in his eyes that most women only dream about.

When my mother and father realized that they were to young to raise a child, he and my grandmother took me in. He taught me to love both the Mets and the Yankees, to love football, and to like only college basketball. Hockey was a Canadian sport, and therefore, something foreign, and not to be liked. I was the son his own son never was. He made me listen to Country music. He made me not snap my gum. He made me never feed the dog off of a people dish. He let me taste his wine, got me drunk and laughed when I closed my hair in my bedroom window and couldn't get it open.

He walked me down the aisle, and placed my hand into that of another quiet, family man.

The night he died, I sat by his side and held his hand. He had been in intensive care for about a week, and wasn't getting any better. Everyone else left about 8 PM, and I insisted I had to stay to watch something on TV. Truth is, I couldn't leave him. At 9 PM, I kissed him on the head, told him that everything would be OK, and that I would see that the "tough old bird" would be taken care of. I drove the 20 minute drive home, and as I walked in the door, received the call that he was gone.

I hate May 19th. But I love it too.

May 19th makes me remember the two men who showed me that that love is not something you do, love is something you are.

Thought for Today

Some People are like Slinkys
They really don't have a purpose,
But they still bring a smile to your face
When you push them down the stairs :)

You know the cops finally busted Madame Marie

Feeling guilty over depressing everyone with the petty crap going on in my world, I have determined that it is time to brighten up the room with stories of Lola in her prime. Pre kids, pre husband, pre just about everything that makes Lola the Lola you all know and tolerate.

Imagine if you will, a February weekend...much like any other February weekend in the Hudson Valley. Cold, miserable and absolutely nothing to do. Lola, (who was getting married in 4 months) with her friends Cindy and Karen were looking for something to do. Anything at all. Nothing was working. Nothing for three 21 year old girls with too much money and too much time on their hands. (cue music do do do do...do do do do)

We pick up our story with Lola (that's me) deciding that it would be a great idea to drive two hours to see my childhood friend Cheri. Cheri and I have been friends since we were eight. You know the movie Beaches? That's us, without the smoking and the Music career or the money. Maybe, just maybe, Cheri would have some idea of some exciting thing we could do. So Cindy and Karen & I hopped into my 1980 Red Chevy Monza hatchback coupe, and drove to the swamps of Jersey .

When we arrived at Cheri's house, to our dismay she had no ideas either of what we could possibly do to get out of our winter doldrums. Suddenly, and I really don't remember whose idea it was, we decided a little impromptu bachelorette party was in the cards. We summonned Anne, and off we headed to Asbury Park, NJ. Home of the Stone Pony and Bruce Springsteen.

Now before he got all liberal and Al Gore supporting, Bruce was one hot tamale. Not as hot as the tamale I have now (pun intended) but I think if he had just asked me, I would have abandoned my life and run away with him. But who am I kidding, he'd never go for a plain girl like me, oh...wait, he did...

Anyway, I digress.

The five of us drove another 45 minutes from Cheri's apartment to the Stone Pony and began our little party. We were singing, and dancing and generally having a good time...and then it happened...HE walked in the door.

Now Cindy, who was always a little, ditzy, is standing at the bar, ordering the next round. HE is standing next to her, ordering his first drink, and she is oblivious.

We spend the rest of the night staring...and staring...and staring, but not willing to say hello like every other patron in the place. We stared until our eyes fell out of our heads and rolled across the floor.

Closing time came around, and we piled out of the place. My car was parked on the street in front of The Pony, and parked behind me...in all its glory was a 1983 Black Corvette. HIS corvette. Behind MY car. If I told you the the thought of hitting his car as a way to meet him didn't cross my mind, I'd be lying. And you all know about me and lying. We sat there...5 of us in a car the smaller than a test track vehicle. And eventually drove away. Realizing the fantasy of what could have been would always be better than the reality of what was.

No Strings. No Wings. Just Freedom. Oh Brother!

Last night, as I wandered through the Feminine Protection aisle of my local Target store, I came upon what I think must be the product of the century.

Ladies...may I introduce...



Apparently, Instead is a "12 Hour Feminine Protection Cup" apparently "A proven alternative to pads and tampons that you can wear up to 12 hours"

Directions:
To insert, squeeze the opposite side of the rim together.
Insert Instead completely into the vagina.
Instead molds itself to your unique internal shape for a personal fit.
To remove Instead, simply hook your finger under the rim and slowly pull.


Can anyone explain to me why we need this product? Have any of you used it?

Who thought this up? Some American Inventor reject who enjoys seeing women suffer?

And when you hook your finger under the rim and slowly pull...I shudder to think of what will happen. Apparently, the best place to do this is in the shower...for obvious reasons.

Now you can't use Instead if you have an IUD, ever have had Toxic Shock or leave it in 12 hours and one minute...or you may die...or something. Oh yeah..it's also not a condom or diaphragm...don't mix up the two.

There are five star product reviews for this thing all over the internet, and apparently they have been around for years.

I just don't get it.
I just find it wierd.

Stupid is as Stupid Does!

Days like today make me more believe in the adage that life is tough, tougher when you're stupid.

A client let me read an e-mail he received from one of his employees. Now I tend to fly off the handle sometimes, but I learned a long time ago, never put things in writing that you can say in person. That way, it's your word against theirs.

In this e-mail, the employee said (I've corrected the spelling and grammar) "Just because you are the owner of this company, you have no right to take days off whenever you please"

There is so much wrong with that thought, I don't even know where to begin.

Why is it that someone who would never think about walking into Target and stealing $150 of DVDs thinks nothing about goosing up their deductions on their tax returns to get back an extra $150.

Why don't teachers proofread the notes they send home? Are we supposed to feel secure in the fact that they can't spell or write a legible sentence?

Why is it a college educated woman can't learn how to enter a stupid picture in a stupid blog?

These and many other questions never to be answered in our next installment.

Time flies when your legs are in the stirrups

It is amazing how long it has been since I've posted something here. That means one of two things. Either everything is going so well I just haven't had the time, or everything is going so crappy that I haven't had the time. Either way, thanks to those friends of mine who refuse to comment here, but are so intent in sending me e-mail telling me I haven't updated them in a while.

October was a blur. Kate's roomate quit college over Columbus Day break.

In November, we went to Disneyland for Maggie's 15th birthday. We met up with a slew of my freakish friends and some normal family and all in all had a fantastic time.

Thanksgiving found us hosting Kate's boyfriend for the weekend. Interesting time, but he got to meet the cast of characters that make up the Rainbow Coalition...we'll see how it all plays out in South Carolina.

I took my Grandmother to Florida in December to visit family. I dropped her off. I went to Disney World.

Christmas was quiet. My sister Gina and my aunt, uncle, Grandmother and Tom's dad came over on Christmas Eve. It's not the same now. My mother and Michele are in Florida, My Grandfather, who lived for Christmas Eve is gone, and somewhere inside, I long for Aunt Sadie to be singing a chorus of "I'll be Home for Christmas" after one too many Reingolds. Christmas Day, it was just the five of us. We played all the new games and just enjoyed being the five of us. I spent a lot of time that day wondering if someday, when the kids are grown and the grandchildren come, if we will have those big family Christmases again. Maybe I'm just being silly.

Middle November also began what has been a wild ride of medical professionals. I feel like crap. I've gained 30 pounds in the last year with no significant change in my eating habits, I feel like I have morning sickenss every day and I have a constant dull ache in my stomach.

And as of last week, (in the TMI department) there is not one opening in my body that has not been violated by something rubber or plastic.

I've had my feet in the air.

I've had and ENT doctor tell me that I feel crappy and my ears ring because of allergies.

After 50 pinpricks by an allergist he tells me I am not allergic to anything.

A hearing evaluation by an audiologist tells me that my ears ring, and well, get over it...too much Twisted Sister or something.

The gastroenterologist got to stick a camera down my throat, stretch things out with a balloon and cut out some rings on the inside. She sends me for an abdominal ultrasound because she thinks I have gall stones, but we find some issues with my liver, and apparently, that is causing the pain.

The endocrinologist sends me for a thyroid ultrasound because it appears there is another nodule, and my personal favorite test, a Glucose tolerence test. Apparently the liver issues are a symptom of impared glucose tolerence.

It was at this point that I decided I hate my family. 3 out of 4 grandparents with diabetes. Auto immune deficiencies galore. Mental Illness runs rampant. And on that subject, after an 8 year hiatus, my father showed up at Christmas. Did I tell you mental illness runs rampant?

Friday, Tom and his Dad leave for a week in Ireland. This will probably be their last trip together. His Dad will be 88 in May. It will be good for both of them. They will be there for the 3rd anniversary of Tom's Mom's death. I can't believe she's been gone that long. I still miss her.

And of course, tax season is upon us. Get those W-2's together, and don't wait until the last minute (you know who you are). FAFSA's are due 2/15!!!