Quietly Ranting Out Loud

Q: How'd that whole thing work out for you?

2011-05-19T14:46:00.001-04:00

A: Not too well!

Here's to starting again. Again.

Fit by Fifty?

2010-08-30T15:48:00.001-04:00

463,680 minutes.

That's how long I have.

I'm back.

And I'm on a mission.

A Brand New Day

2008-11-05T08:11:00.004-05:00

You can turn the clock to zero, honey

I'll sell the stock, we'll spend all the money

We're starting up a brand new day

Turn the clock to zero, boss

The river's wide, we'll swim across

Started up a brand new day

(Sting – Brand New Day)

This morning starts a new day in this country.

I will admit, quite openly, that my guy did not win.

That being said, I am not totally ready to pack it in and board up the doors for the next two years.

This morning, strangely, I feel a sense of relief. A sense of change. A sense of hope.

Not because I believe that our new President will be the savior of this country, I do not.

It is because, this morning, I believe that from this day forward, there are no valid excuses. The word can’t no longer exists in our national vocabulary.

If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible, who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time, who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer…

America, we have come so far.

We have seen so much. But there is so much more to do.

So tonight, let us ask ourselves — if our children should live to see the next century; if my daughters should be so lucky to live as long as Ann Nixon Cooper, what change will they see?

What progress will we have made?
This is our chance to answer that call.

This is our moment.
This is our time, to put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth, that, out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope.

And where we are met with cynicism and doubts and those who tell us that we can't, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people: Yes, we can.
Thank you. God bless you. And may God bless the United States of America.
(Barack Obama – Accptance Speech – 11/04/2008)

Congratulations Barack Obama, you have your work cut out for you.

You have given hope to so many who see, every day, the signs of hatred all around us. Your election has given hope to millions of youth who up until this day believed that because of the color of their skin, doors would never be open to them. You have shown them that their only barrier is the barrier that they place in their own way.

Just three weeks ago, as my son and his best friend played soccer, his friend was thrown to the ground by the opposing team and had the most vile of words spit into his face. And although my son will never feel the pain of this word in the way his best friend did, he understood the pain of his friend.

This morning, I have hope. I have no choice.

So in the words of John McCain….

I urge all Americans ... I urge all Americans who supported me to join me in not just congratulating him, but offering our next president our goodwill and earnest effort to find ways to come together to find the necessary compromises to bridge our differences and help restore our prosperity, defend our security in a dangerous world, and leave our children and grandchildren a stronger, better country than we inherited. (John McCain – Concession Speech 11/04/2008)

The Power of A Moment!

2008-10-23T09:34:00.005-04:00

Well, we did it!

The race has been walked, and the bling has been blinged!

Over the last two weeks before the race, I really began to doubt my ability to finish. I was kinda hoping for some sort of injury that would get me out of what I had agreed to do. Then I thought about it. I was not doing this for anyone but myself, and I had nothing to prove to anyone but myself. I really have to thank Terry for being such a driving force. Not only in getting me to agree to do this in the first place, but being by my side throughout the entire thing.

Here is my tale...

We spent Saturday Afternoon at EPCOT, noshing our way around the world, and having Japanese Hibachi for lunch. I was scared to death about what Sunday held, but somewhere inside me there was this little voice telling me that if I could do this one thing, I could do anything. So, in the adrenaline infused excitement of my life at that moment, I did the unthinkable....I ATE SUSHI!!!

After lunch, Tom and the offspring headed back to Studios to ride Toy Story one more time with a second set of fast passes, and I headed back to the resort and started on a pre-race pasta feast for the family.

After Toy Story, everyone came back to the room, and the kids headed to the big pool while the sauce simmered. Yeah, freak me...on vacation, gravy from scratch!!! We ate dinner around 9pm, and headed to bed.

RACE MORNING!!!

We were up and out of the hotel room by 5:30 AM. We had to pack the car because housekeeping wouldn't agree to an additional hour for checkout, and we weren't entirely sure we could be back and out by 11AM.

We were all dressed, and as ready as we ever would be. I was texting terry the whole way there, and she was waiting for us by the "big thing up in the air." I had to make a potty stop first, and so did about 2500 of the 2600 people racing...it took forever at the porta potties!!!

Mags and TJ met up with Terry first, and I got there a few minutes later. Hugs and kisses around, and I reviewed what I had said to my family the night before at dinner. Everyone go out and do your personal best, and nobody wait for me. I would see everyone at the finish line.

We all headed to our time chutes, Tom & TJ going upfront, and Katie, Maggie, Terry and I heading to the walker chute. We ran into Mouseman Tom there, but he was focused, and didn't seem to want to talk so much, but I don't think anyone did. Nerves were in charge, and before we knew it, the starting gun had sounded!!!

It took three minutes for our group to get to the timing pad after that, and we were off!

To see the ocean of people ahead of us was cool, 2600 is a lot of people, I can only imagine how the races with 50,000 must look going off. Every walker started off with a run, which caught me off guard, and I found myself running hard at the start to catch up with Terry and the girls.

All of the race information came with the warning that you must be able to maintain a 15 minute mile to stay in the race. We came to the first mile marker, and the clock said 18:30ish and I was like "NO WAY". Terry looked at her newfangled heart thing and it said we were on a 15:30 pace. So did the little British woman in my ear telling me how well I was doing.

About this little British woman. She lives in my shoe and speaks to my I-pod. Sometimes Lance Armstrong comes to visit, and he talks to me too! No, I don't need to be medicated, it is the wonder of Nanotechnology. I left my new shoes in my suitcase, just to have them with me.

We walked from Wide World of Sports, down Disney roads I have no knowledge of their names and into studios. Mile two came somewhere in there, as well as the first water stop. There was a lot of time spent backstage, and then we came to the Lights Motors set...and there we were on the BIG SCREEN...yuck!!! We looked like crap! As we were heading in, I could see a group headed out, and I saw Maggie...BIG WAVES!!!

I confused Terry a little bit with my countdown of the K's we had completed...mile 3 was outside the Christmas Shoppe in Studios...5K came around in front of the "big Hat" in Studios. We headed out toward the front entrance (Detoured past the Prime Time and Hollywood and Vine)

We came out of Studios, along the walk to Boardwalk, across the bridge to the Swan/Dolphin (mile 4) and via the boardwalk in front of the Beach Club we headed into a backstage area of EPCOT.

This area came in at the international gateway behind Britain in EPCOT. They ran us behind England, and past GARBAGE DUMPSTERS that reeked beyond all imagination. We came out into the World Showcase, and were headed UP THE HILL toward France. That hill was mean, but when we got to the top we saw the mile 5 marker!!! No One had pulled us off the course...we were going to finish.

We ran through the World Showcase, commented how our fingers looked like bratwurst when we got to Germany and I really was appreciating the breeze off the lake during the last leg. As we left the park through a side door near spaceship earth, I saw the mile 6 marker and knew it was almost complete. I was working hard to keep my composure about finishing, and I looked up ahead...and saw Tom and TJ waiting for me! I just lost it. I looked at Tom and he was losing his cool...we both knew what I was about to do, and how hard the journey was, and how much it meant for me that I took the trip.

At that point, the little British Lady congratulated me I had completed 10K, but Disney had other thoughts...I still had a bit more to go. I knew Terry crossed the starting pad ahead of me, so I ran ahead to even our times. I jumped in the air and pounced on the finish mat. I then realized what I had done, and started to cry again. I cannot believe I had tears...I was mondo dehydrated!!! Terry and I finished within 4/100th of a second of each other in time. Maggie was at the finish line...Katie was up ahead getting her Powerade and watermelon. Our Cheerleader Amber was there taking our pictures and cheering us on...

We ate, we laughed, and after awhile, said our goodbyes to Terry and Amber, hoping it wouldn't be two years before I saw Terry again in person.

It was 9:45 so we hurried back to the hotel so we could shower before the 11AM checkout time. I had purposely NOT checked out early, and left my bill hanging on the door, but when we got back to the room at 10, the maid was in there cleaning, and pretty much told us that it was tough crap. It kind of ticked me off since we actually had the room until 11AM, but I didn't make a fuss. We headed to the fitness center to shower, and the girl told us there were no showers in there (which I found out later was a lie...and probably the focus of a later rant) So, we went for a swim to clean ourselves off...

But I have no guarantee of my next heartbeat

And my world’s too big to make a name for myself

And what if no one wants to read about me when I’m gone?

Seems to me that right now’s the only moment that matters

You know the number of my days

So come paint Your pictures on the canvas in my head

And come write Your wisdom on my heart

And teach me the power of a moment

The name of this entry comes from a song by Chris Rice. It was my power song, set to come on the I-pod at the 6 mile mark to let me know that I was almost there. I never heard it. I was ahead of my best pace ever.

But the words of the song came back to haunt me just a few days later. My cousin, Michael, age 27 passed away suddenly, for no apparent reason. We are still awaiting the autopsy results, but my guess...he was extremely overweight. Probably played a part.

I owe it to myself to live each moment to its fullest extent. I owe it to God to do everything I do to honor what He has given me. There is no reason that these two things cannot coincide.

The Fatty Diaries...

2008-09-12T11:48:00.004-04:00

I was thinking I was going to rename this blog.

I couldn't come up with a total new name, because it will still be the ranting of a wild woman who speaks to a select few. So, I left well enough alone.

But now it is time to turn my attention to other things. Mainly my fat self.

I was a sickly/skinny little kid. They used to give me vitamins and milkshakes to put a few pounds on my bones. I have been fat since July 1968. I was 7 years old, and I can tell you exactly how it happened.

Some know this story already. My grandfather (on my father's side) was a three shot a day diabetic with a heart condition. He knew that his remaining time on Earth was short, so he decided he wanted to see the country. He had a daughter (my aunt) that was two days younger than me, so he took me along too so that she would have some company. We left on July 1, 1968, I sat in the back of a Chevrolet station wagon, and for the next five weeks we Griswolded our way across these United States.

I get car sick, so there was very little I could eat that wouldn't be left on the side of the road. (I have had "protein spills" in about 35 states though) We found that Orange Crush, Grape Crush, Slush Puppies, Pancakes and grilled cheese stayed in me...

By Phoenix, my grandmother had to buy me new clothes.

Since then, I have been fighting a battle against the added pounds. I come from a family whose entire being revolves around food, we live to eat. Where just about every woman is at least 50 pounds overweight, and where everyone blames everyone else for why they are the way they are.

I blame me, while I have to eat to live, what I choose to put in my mouth is solely my own doing. No one is holding me down and forcing me to swallow, no one is injecting me with Crisco as I sleep. I could blame my family. I didn't have the best family situation growing up. I learned bad eating habits as a child, and old habits are hard to break. I could blame classmates who called me fat and sent me back into a solitude with a bowl of ice cream or a whole frozen pizza. I could blame Mother Nature, who I do believe has some part in the way I am. But I won't. I blame me. I am lazy when it comes to food. I eat whatever is easiest, and tastes the best.

Where has it all gotten me? It has gotten me to 215 at my heaviest. It has gotten me a diagnosis of borderline adult onset diabetes and fatty liver syndrome. It has gotten me to a place where I don't even do my hair in the morning because looking in the mirror is too painful.

Where am I now? Three weeks ago after the "Tampa Incident" I joined the gym. I have been going faithfully, and endure 30-45 minutes of cardio daily. I haven't lost any weight since joining (I AM down 6 pounds from the high though), but I am seeing it in my clothes.

I have a dear friend, I'll call her Terry, who somehow convinced me that I could do a 10K. As far as I know, SHE doesn't work with the FBI. The race is four weeks away...I am not ready.

So tomorrow morning, I set out on my own to walk a route from my house that will take me 6.2 miles closer to glory...or 6.2 miles closer to certain death.

Here's my route:

Picture Deleted to Avoid Stalkers and Rapists...

If you don't hear from me, send out reinforcements. Either I am dead alongside the road, bear lunch or in such pain that my fingers even hurt too much to type.

You have the right to remain silent....

2008-09-09T07:56:00.002-04:00

Did you ever wonder why people confess to crimes they did not commit?

How could that be possible? I tell you, it is!

I have this friend, I'll call him Bill. He is a police investigator and works with the FBI. He has been my friend for over 15 years, and has convinced me, against my wishes, to agree to do things I never wanted to do in the first place. Mind you, these things are all good, but his methods of persuasion are so smooth, that I have now realized that he could probably get me to agree that I was the mastermind behind the Lindburgh baby kidnapping, AND was somewhere on the grassy knoll in November 1962.

Why is this important?

I have always believed that should I be arrested and tried for a crime I did not commit, I would not want my fate decided by 12 people too stupid to get out of jury duty.

Serving on a trial jury is something none of us really want to do. We do whatever possible and use whatever explaination necessary to get excused. I was only called to jury duty once, and in my week of service, never got to the trial phase. I sat through two pre-screenings, and was picked for one trial, but was "dismissed" since the attorney of the defendant accused of DWI did not want someone who had a family member killed by a drunk driver on the jury. I don't know why.

After that day, I have been jury duty free for the last 15 or so years.

Until yesterday.

I have been selected for Grand Jury duty in the county where I live.

I had a 12:30 report time, and the room was filled with about 60 potential jurors. NYS law requires that a grand jury be 23 people, so some of us were going home.

The court clerk asked if the term of service would be impossible for anyone to do, and about 30 potential jurors raised their hands. As a self-employed person, I probably could have used that excuse, but if you opt out of the county pool, you get sent to the Federal pool. Most people don't know that. Shorter term, longer drive.

I had my legitimate ticket out...or so I thought.

My brother in law works for the District Attorney.

Off I go to the courtroom with the other 30 or so in my group to await questioning much like the questioning in the DWI case..."Do you have any family members in law enforcement?" "Do you know many criminal attorneys?" blah-blah-blah. The questions never came.

All I see is this hopper with little tickets in it. The first 23 tickets win. I was number 10.

Now, for the next TWO MONTHS, I am on the county grand jury. Deciding if the evidence presented is enough to bring indictment to the accused.

MY ticket out? The DA seemed to address that as if he was looking right at me. If my BIL is a witness in any particular case, then I am excused from that case. I'll be right back in there for the next one.

The hardest part of all of this is not going to be the two days of service per week for the next two months. It is not going to be the hours of testimony and deliberation. I believe in the jury system, and I believe it is my duty as an American to serve.

The hardest part of all of this is that I am not able to discuss any aspect, of any case, with ANYONE, EVER in my lifetime, without the possibility of FELONY prosecution!

So, I can't tell you about the cases, but there are 22 other jurors, a ton of attorneys and others who I am sure I will be ready to mock all too soon.

I must be strong....and carry on....

2008-05-02T16:10:00.003-04:00

I realized today that so many of my posts here are depressing. There are only a handful of people who know about this place, and well, it is sort of my refuge, the place where I can bare my soul.

Beyond the door
There's peace I'm sure.
And I know there'll be no more...
Tears in heaven

Over the last few years, I have buried many people that I love deeply. A constant procession of death and dying, and I have been comforted by the thought that my faith tells me that we will all be together again someday.

But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them

On Monday, we received the call that Tom's Uncle Joe had passed away. Uncle Joe was 84, and had leukemia. He was my father-in-law's youngest brother. He was the polar opposite of the man my father-in-law is. Joe was a rebel. He was a hippie when hippies were not cool. For every straight laced, uptight position Grandpa holds, Uncle Joe was there to be different. Grandpa's mother died giving birth to Joe. At least that is what everyone thought for nearly 75 years. Tom, while doing some genealogy work, discovered that wasn't the case, and that she died some two weeks later of pneumonia. For 75 years, Grandpa lived with a chip on his shoulder, and Uncle Joe lived with guilt. The two were never close. I was instrumental in bringing them together. In the end, I am glad I stuck my nose in where it wasn't wanted.

I’ll be a sunbeam for Jesus;
I can if I but try;
Serving Him moment by moment,
Then live with Him on high.

In losing loved ones, I thought I understood loss and pain. That was until Tuesday morning.

Kathy and I were neighbors back in 1986. She was tattooed and fun loving. Her husband Sal was a rebel with a pony tail. Tom and I were Republican and uptight. We met each other while walking. We were both pregnant, and well, could use the exercise. We became fast friends.

We did things with two other friends from the neighborhood. Becky, tall, thin and also pregnant, and the other Kathy...fun loving, and a penchant for "christening" new cars she and her husband got all too often.

Life was perfect. As perfect as it could be for four twenty-somethings with homes and cars and mortgages.

Becky gave birth to a boy in January 10 1987. Kathy gave birth to a girl, Kara-Lynn on March 23rd. Katie was born on May 10th. The four couples enjoyed each others company and when the second round of babies came along three years later, we became like a family.

Monday night, in a pounding rainstorm, the car Kara-Lynn was riding in hydroplaned, went off the interstate, and into a grove of trees. Kara was alive when the police got there, and was rushed to the local hospital. The storm was too severe for the helicopters to fly, so as she was being transported to the local trauma center, she deteriorated on the way. She died in a hospital halfway from here to the trauma center.

You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort there

While I have been acquainted with those who have lost children before, none have touched me as deeply as this one death has. This was a little girl I held shortly after her first breath, as I had my own daughter. She was a daily part of my life for the first five years of her and Katie's life. As the girls got older, they went to separate elementary schools and grew apart. We moved away from the old neighborhood. In High School the girls hung in different groups. Any time I would see Kara, she always had a big smile...even when putting extra pickles on my BMT with a wink.

Shout to the Lord, all the earth, let us sing
Power and Majesty, praise to the King;
Mountains bow down and the seas will roar
At the sound of Your name.

I sing for joy at the work of your hands,
Forever I'll love You, forever I'll stand
Nothing compares to the promise I have in You.

For the last four days I have been in a fog. I have alternating between total despair and thanks to God, knowing that in a heartbeat it could be my child. My question is, as a parent, how do you go on? How do you find the strength to face the day? Kathy and Sal have showed such incredible strength throughout it all. They had all Kara's organs harvested. Yesterday at the funeral home, they embraced the young lady who was driving the car, and had her sitting with them near the casket. They consoled others who should have been consoling them.

Today, under cloudy skies and a light rain, we buried this little girl. Only 21 years old and so much life to live. Three of us, who had shared the births of our children stood together, arms around each other, grieving for the life lost, and for her mother who will never be the same.

Please God, don't make me do this again.

Over time you’ve healed so much in me
And I am living proof
That although my darkest hour had come
Your light could still shine through
And though at times it’s just enough to castA shadow on the wall
Well, I am grateful that you shine your light on me at all

Who am I that you would love me so gently?
Who am I that you would recognize my name?
Lord, who am I that you would speak to me so softly
Conversation with the love most high
Who am I?

Merry Christmas to All and to All....

2007-12-24T11:33:00.000-05:00

December 24th.

Remember when you were little, Christmas Eve was the most exciting day of the year?

You could barely move with the anticipation of Christmas.

The weeks leading up to Christmas were beautiful music, leading up to a crescendo of magic and memories that only Christmas morning could bring.

Today, every Christmas Carol makes me cry. I teach a religion class where not ONE of 12 seventh graders could tell me the real Christmas Story.

When I was a little girl, Christmas eve was the wildest time you could ever see. Family from all over the globe (which then covered about 35 square miles I figure) came for dinner and through the smoke and spilled beer I learned a lot about dysfunction and love. I miss those Christmases.

Now, they don't sell Rheingold beer any more, and almost every person in every Christmas memory of my youth are celebrating at a table that I have not yet been asked to join. The adult table in heaven I guess you would call it.

So, I try to make memories for my family. Traditions that hopefully they will carry on with their children, and that day, I will sit back and smile...a little.

For the day that the Lord calls me to join his table, joy will fill my heart. And the ones still here will remember me at Christmas.

Do you remember me?
I sat upon your knee
I wrote to you with childhood fantasies.

Well, I'm all grown-up now,
And still need help somehow.
I'm not a child,
But my heart still can dream.

So here's my lifelong wish,
My grown-up Christmas list.
Not for myself, but for a world in need.

No more lives torn apart,
That wars would never start,
And time would heal all hearts.

And everyone would have a friend,
And right would always win,
And love would never end.
This is my grown-up Christmas list.

As children we believed
The grandest sight to see
Was something lovely wrapped beneath our tree.
Well heaven surely knows
That packages and bows
Can never heal a hurting human soul.

What is this illusion called the innocence of youth?
Maybe only in our blind belief can we ever find the truth.

TV for Everybody

2007-10-11T08:56:00.000-04:00

If you know me, you know my love of the wierd...the quirky...the outright stupid.

I love the stuff you can't make up.

I love stuff that just makes you shake your head.

I love put downs like this:

"Good luck with your suitcases not catching on fire!" (whatever the hell that meant Emmy!)

And it is with that deep love that I share with you my joy with the new television season....

I am in love with the new show "Pushing Daisies"

That being said - it made me throw up in my mouth just a little bit...

You see, Pushing Daisies made me think of the short lived series "Wonderfalls" which was a little show about a girl in a Niagara Falls gift shop who the souveniers talked to.

That made me think of a number between five and seven.

That made me think of novel ways to make money if you don't want a job.

That made me think of online live porn.

That made me throw up a little.

But back to the show...

If you haven't watched already, you must start. But before you do, you must go to ABC.com and watch the two you have missed. Both the Pie-lette and the second show lay the groundwork for what you are watching.

Basically, Ned touches people, brings them back to life for one minute, finds out who killed them, then touches them again and they stay dead. But it is much more than that.

It is what Lemony Snicket would be like if his characters ever had a good day.

It is Willy Wonka without that freakish boat scene.

It it Tim Burton, and Danny Elfman without Jack and Sally.

It is the best show of the new fall season...

Watch it. Or Else. It's on in 1 Day, 8 hours and 53 minutes!

Oh yeah, I will be dedicating this blog to television for the next few posts. Unless I see something stupid in the meantime.

Literary Masterpieces (or when McGraw/Hill meant quality)

2007-10-11T08:26:00.001-04:00

I'm an eclectic sort of music lover.

My (nameless)I-pod has music from all genrés. From Willie Nelson to Led Zeppelin from Jimmy Dorsey to Nickelback.

Remember the days when you could quote a love song and make it yours? Lyrics were like poetry. I loved listening to music, and the words were as good as any Emily Bronté novel. Listening to music could take me away from the place I was. It is through this love of music lyrics that my new XM radio has brought me to new heights of literary disaster.

T-Pain says:
"Oooo she made us drinks, to drink We drunk 'em, (Got drunk)

Tim McGraw and Faith Hill tell me:
So I need you...Like a needle needs a vein...
Like the father and the son need the Holy Ghost

Yep, nothing says love to me like a guy who needs a shot of whiskey, a cigarette and a hit of smack before he loves me. I won't even go into the religion lesson about how the Father and Son ARE the Holy Ghost...

Now I just can't let McGraw & Hill off the hook that easily...they have also brought us this literary masterpiece: If I could grant you one wish I’d wish you could see the way you kiss...Sorry, that is just freakish! (sort of like Kerri's avatar)

Of course, bad songs are nothing new...remember this one?
I've been alive forever...And I wrote the very first song....I put the words and the melodies together...I am music, and I write the songs.

Saw Barry on TV the other night - he IS as old as dirt! Might actually have written the first song.

I could go on forever...but I would like to leave you all with these ditties

Hip Hop Marmalade...spic And span...met you one summer and it all began...
This is why I’m hot...Catch me on the block...Every other day... Another bitch another drop
I Got Your Slippers,Your Dinner,Your Dessert,And So Much More..Anything You Want,I Want To Cater to you

Have to Admit I like this one though...

We got along until you did that...Now all I want is just my stuff back...Do you get that?

So, what are your worst song lyrics of all time? Let me know, it will tell me soooooooooo much about you (hee hee)

Next Time - how one quirky new TV show made me throw up in my mouth (a little bit)

Password Protected and ready to rumble

2007-08-12T08:52:00.000-04:00

9 AM on a Sunday morning, and I am looking at life with a set of eyes that I haven't used in a very long time.

I think about the last time I updated this thing. My life was in turmoil. I was dealing with a lot of things, and handling none of them well. Looking back, I have to say it was one of my darkest winters.

I have learned not to say that things cannot get worse, because they can and do. I have to thank God that they have not.

During the period that my grandmother was dying, I was having a tough time with my mother. For 45 years, I have been the rope in a tug of war battle between two weak women. One who loved out of necessity, the other who loved out of convenience. Each one, needing to be the center of attention, one for the love labor that she took on, the other for the love that she gave up, albeit willingly.

An argument ensued that really should have never happened. When my Grandfather died in 2003, the obituary was written that said he had 4 children, including the grandaughter he raised. It was ok, that is what he wanted. Here we were, four years later, and now it became a problem. Same wording. I made a decision that this was a situation that I did not create, therefore I would not attempt to fix. I knew the love that my grandparents had for me, and that love meant more than whatever would be printed in some newspaper.

As my grandmother took her last breaths, I realized that my life has been shaped by a battle that no one can win. I have been molded by a situation that was not in my control, yet I am the one who has survived. Way more normal than I have any right to be.

For the last 6 weeks I have been going at a pace that would make most women weary. In the last 30 days I have slept in my own bed a grand total of 8 days. And I have thought a lot about my life.

I am married to a man who through it all has loved me with all his heart. To say we don't have our moments would be an understatement, but he is the first one who I want to tell anything, and the last one who I want to talk to before I go to sleep. He loves his children, and is 1000 times more involved in the lives of his children than his father before him.

I have three children who have a love for each other that I don't see in a lot of families I know. They want to celebrate each other's successes, and they want to be there for each other in a time of crisis.

I have friends who I may not see every day, but I believe would come to my rescue in times of trouble.

When my father left, his mother stayed very involved in my life. One of her last good days before she died I asked her how she was that day. Her answer is the life I choose to live.

"I woke up this morning and saw the sun. God has blessed me. It is a great day."

Now it is off to Church for the first full weekend of our new pastor. He's 41 and looks exactly like Steve Carrell. Yes, the 40 year old virgin jokes have already been made.

I still remember the password for this crazy blog, and I am back. And ready to rumble....

March comes in like a lion

2007-03-03T08:15:00.002-05:00

I know, I know...

It has been forever since I last updated this blasted thing, I know, but time flies when you are having fun. Actually not much is happening, and I don't feel very funny, so I just didn't update.

December was crazy with preparations for Christmas, and vacation, and working to get my Grandmother's Medicaid application complete and approved.

For Christmas, I made a video for the family out of all of the old pictures I found in my Grandmother's apartment when I cleaned it out. Added music, special effects, and had the premiere at my house Christmas Eve. Not a dry eye I tell you, and it was neat that my Grandmother, who doesn't communicate much anymore, looked at the screen and told us the story of one picture when someone asked where the shot was taken. An Ellis Grey moment of lucidity.

Remember I told you she fell BEFORE THANKSGIVING - look at her face - still all bruised.

This is the full size Boop quilt the kids made her for Christmas. She loves how toasty it makes her feel - she has it on her bed in the nursing home.

December ended with fun and merriment and vacation at Vero Beach.

January started off with a bang. We returned from Vacation on the 1st (really the 2nd by the time we got back in the house), and Katie and I left again on the 5th for her job at Disney. Tax Season started in earnest as soon as I got home, and FINALLY on the 26th, I found out that the Medicaid application had been approved. Baseball registrations, tryouts, basketball games and cheerleading competitions...leave little time for much else.

My Grandmother's health continues to fail, and the nursing home was sold to the outfit that owns the one Tom's dad is in. Hopefully a move for the better. A new doctor came in, and took her off some of her medications. One was an antidepressant, which caused her to sleep all the time. What replaced the sleep is a dementia related paranoia. She is a mess, and we began fighting to get her back on the medication.

What is happening to my grandmother is incredibly sad. She is lost in a world where we can't reach her. When we visit, she tells us she has to tell us something, but just cant, and begins to cry. It happens every visit. I can no longer bring the children, it's too frightening for them to hear her. Something happened to her a long time ago. Something that she would never discuss, and when you suggested it, she would become furious. It happened to her sisters, it happened to her nieces, and we all know what it is. She refuses to admit it to us or her psychologist (who is a childhood friend of mine and who has full authority to tell me what she says).

Or else it never did happen, and she is dealing with some sort of issue where, in a warped way, she wonders why she wasn't good enough for him.

February was a blur with work and work and basketball and baseball and cheerleading and more work. I missed Katie more than I imagined I would, and although she is having a great time, and living large, I haven't reached the place in my life where I am used to the chicks being out of the nest. I figure I have 5 1/2 years to get my shit together.

I ended the month with a visit to Katie. And waited for March.

So March is here, and yes, it came in like a lion. Not the weather mind you, but the storm is brewing.

In a 24 hour period starting March 1, the following things happened:

The nursing home called and let me know that my grandmother has lost her ability to swallow. I know what this means, I went through this with Tom's mom. Some appointments next week will let us know if this is something medical, or a progression in her deterioration. I am working to make sure all her directives are carried out.

Katie's car died. She called me, we called a tow, and it is at Gateway Ford in Kissimmee and hopefully they can look at it on Monday. She has all breakfast shifts scheduled, and she has to be to work before the first bus runs.

Maggie missed making the Honor society by .o32. Yup - you need a 92 average, and she got 91.968. No rounding.

Katie got hurt at work. Some big guy wrapped his arm around Mickey, and BAM, got it caught on his ear, and pulled him down, and the little person inside ended up with a wrenched shoulder. She is out of costume for a week, so at least the breakfast shift/car issue is gone. Busy work for the next week.

And you wonder why I don't update...but I will post some pics :)

Looking at the Glass Half Baked

2006-11-27T09:26:00.000-05:00

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....

2006-11-13T13:09:00.000-05:00

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.

2006-11-06T16:37:00.000-05:00

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

2006-10-09T12:56:00.000-04:00

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

2006-09-24T20:35:00.000-04:00

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

2006-09-15T16:10:00.000-04:00

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....

2006-09-11T09:46:00.000-04:00

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.

2006-08-24T13:32:00.000-04:00

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

2006-07-18T11:15:00.000-04:00

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

2006-07-12T11:45:00.000-04:00

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

2006-07-10T08:34:00.000-04:00

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...

2006-07-05T08:03:00.000-04:00

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.....

2006-06-15T11:01:00.000-04:00

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

2006-06-07T08:36:00.000-04:00

“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!

2006-05-22T13:23:00.000-04:00

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

2006-05-19T09:25:00.001-04:00

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

2006-05-16T10:19:00.000-04:00

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

2006-04-27T10:31:00.000-04:00

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!

2006-04-09T14:54:00.000-04:00

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!

2006-04-06T20:59:00.000-04:00

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

2006-01-11T17:05:00.000-05:00

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!!!

I Hate Chain E-mails

2005-10-18T09:36:00.000-04:00

Of course, every once in a while you get one that just cracks you up:

You are my Friend

When you are sad,

I will get you drunk and help you plot revenge against the sorry bastard/bitch

who made you sad.

When you are blue,

I'll try to dislodge whatever is choking you.

When you smile,

I'll know you finally got laid.

When you are scared,

I will rag you about it every chance I get.

When you are worried,

I will tell you horrible stories about how much worse it could be and to quit whining.

When you are confused,

I will use little words to explain it to your dumb ass.

When you are sick,

stay away from me until you're well again.

I don't want whatever you have.

When you fall,

I will point and laugh at your clumsy ass.

This is my oath

I pledge 'till the end.

Why you ask?

Because you're my friend!

Send this poem to ten of your closest friends

(or else you will have bad luck )

and get depressed because you realize

you only have two friends

2005-09-12T08:16:00.000-04:00

Friends are quiet angels who lift us to our feet when our wings have trouble remembering how to fly.

Thank You!

The End of my Rainbow.

2005-09-11T22:09:00.000-04:00

My grandmother died in 1996. The mother of the man who is my biological father.

My Grandmother was like Auntie Em. Remember the line, "For twenty-three years I've been dying to tell you what I thought of you! And now, well, being a Christian woman, I can't say it!" She lived the golden rule.

Her favorite Hymn was How Great thou Art. It took me years after she died to be able to hear it and not cry.

I am a pack rat. Worse than that, I am a sentimental pack rat. Put any little dohickey in my hands, and I can tell you who gave it to me, why I got it, where I got it...and unfortunately, the kids follow in my footsteps.

One of the local churches got a tractor trailer this week, and the goal was to fill it with goods to send to LA and Mississippi for Hurricane Katrina relief. One of the things being collected was bed linens. They were to be used in shelters, and to donate to people who could eventually return home.

I went through my linen closet, and pulled out over 15 sets of sheets that we could manage to give away. One of these sets was my Wamsutta Rainbow sheets.

These sheets were special. These were the first set of sheets I bought when we got married. I have to tell you, after 22 years...they still looked good......

We haven't used them in about 7 years, since we got the 16" deep matress. They just didn't fit. I saved them to use on the queen sleeper we used to have, but that was gone too. There really was no reason to keep this particular set anymore. None at all. No reason, except that I couldn't bear to part with them.

As I packed the bags to take to the church, I'd put the rainbows in, and take the rainbows out. All day. At 7PM, I kicked myself senseless, and put the sheets in the bag. Here I was waxing sentimental over a stupid set of sheets, and there are a million people who have lost everything. I headed for the church with the satisfaction that someone in a shelter would hopefully sleep in their high thread count luxury, and maybe sleep more restfully than they have for weeks.

Bear with me, this will all make sense in a minute!

As I walked up to the church, there was an evening service going on. Music filled the parking lot.

I've never heard How Great Thou Art sung with so much joy.

I love you too Gram!

2005-09-09T08:34:00.000-04:00

I know, I know....

I know I promised to fill you in with all the exciting details of my life...well, that's why this stupid thing has been empty for a week. That is all the excitement I can handle...

First day of school, first day of school again (stupid Archdiocese teachers without a contract) a happy dance and a cold...that is it.

Kate's English Prof (Comparative religions) is apparently hot (but old) graduated college in 2000.
Maggie's English teacher is AWOL..
TJ's English teacher is pregnant...

Do I sense a pattern here?

Nothing witty to say...except this...

Beware of surfing the internet...you can find some very scary things on there if you are not careful

2005-08-31T14:15:00.000-04:00

Imagine for a moment, baking a cake.

Almost every other person you know has baked this kind of cake. Measured the ingredients ever so carefully, agonized over just the right pan and baked...taking care to not let the middle droop or let the edges get too brown.

I baked my cake for 18 years, and yesterday, I left her in the rain.

If anyone had told me that sunny Mother's Day in 1987 that someday, as tenderly as she was handed to me that first time, I would be letting her leave, I couldn't have imagined it. But yesterday, I took my baby girl to college.

Now, I know what you are thinking. Everyone (hopefully) sends their children off to college. It's no big deal. Yeah, Right!

Obviously, you have never done it.

Yesterday morning, I awoke at the same time I have every school day for the last 13 years.

It was the first day of school. We had our normal first day of school breakfast. You know the kind, the kind that you plan to cook all morning. The kind of breakfast that ends up being rushed, and eaten over the sink so that no one misses the bus or gets caught in traffic and misses the first bell.

We drove to the college in total silence, nothing said but a hand, reaching over the back seat to my shoulder, and after a traffic jam (we missed the first bell) we arrived at her hall.

The rooms were smaller and more dismal than I remember my first college day. But those days were different. Our parents dropped us at the door, if they took us to school at all. We brought everything in, and thanks to Space Bags, had more clothing than one college freshman needs in a college career, well enough one semester.

We had lunch, and a trip to the bookstore to buy that sticky stuff you use to hang posters. Then it was time for the moment I have been dreading...time to say goodbye.

Having lived near West Point my entire life, I know about R-day. The day the cadets report for duty and say goodbye to the family they love. Yesterday was my R-day. Without the haircut, and the marching.

Bentley College in Waltham, MA has a highly dignified, convocation ceremony. We were told ahead of time to say our goodbyes before the ceremony started, and I took full advantage of that. She sat near us until the last possible minute, and as The Class of 2009 was seated together, she left with a hug.

Many in her class looked like the "Deer in the Headlights" as they sat there. I didn't see where she went, and at that point was unsure if I wanted to know. It was easier for me to imagine her blending into the crowd of 900, then to look her way one more time. I bonded with the women around me. Almost every one with a tear just under the surface. The rest, the levee had broken.

Part way through the ceremony though, her brother spotted her, and I had to look. Our eyes met, and she signed "I Love You". She rose from her seat, and left the tent, and walked in the rain with the rest of her class, ready to meet the world.

I'd say that I don't know if I can take it,
Cause it took so long to bake it,
And I'll never have that recipe again....

But I have two more cakes slowly baking...and for now they need my attention.