What would Grandma do?

I keep thinking about my Lithuanian grandmother....ever since I made "the medicine" and posted that picture of us together a few entries back.

I don't have many pictures of her. My mom, as I mentioned, was not pleased with my grandmother and thought by keeping us apart....I wouldn't "favor" her. So there's not many pictures of us together.

The one I found tonight...is from my wedding day....she's hugging me before I left the church. She's wearing her formal going-out babushka (scarf) and her good black coat (which she owned for 20 years). ( By the way....I never had red hair.....all my pics are faded ..I'm sad to see this one is so washed out.)


My grandmother was....a feisty transplanted peasant from the old country.....a tough opinionated woman...with deep wrinkles around her mouth....from pursing her lips in disapproval at so many people and so many things. She worked for the parish priest for many years, keeping his house tidy and cooking dinner for him. He often complained to me she was "fattening" him up .....which she took as a great compliment. My Eastern European relatives all st rived for a bit of thickness which indicated good health, strength and stamina.

My grandmother felt the priest suffered from "paleness" too....I don't think she pinched his cheeks....but she did make medicine for him. She told me she couldn't cure his paleness....because it was from a lack of "female"...so the medicine was more like a band-aide than a cure.

My grandmother appeared to be married/involved with two men most of her life....so she never took medicine for paleness....she told me she took medicine for "vigor." I didn't have a clue what she was talking about as a kid....but I know exactly what she is talking about now. Go grandma!

Just thinking about her....seemed to revive my spirits this week. Remembering all those baby jars of medicine in her pantry, thinking about her carbo-toxic diet and the big dog she had.....who instinctively shadowed her tiny owner.....Grandma would curse at her in Lithuanian for being in the way.....the dog....totally ignored her and continued her gaurd duty.

Grandma rose every morning, at 4am, ...because she had so much living to do....so much to attend to....disapprove of.....and comment on. She had fight.....she had spirit....she lived her life her way....until she became too ill in her final years to live at home. I visited her in the nursing her with my toddler daughter before she died.....she wagged her finger at me and told me to make medicine and don't get pale.

I think it was very wise counsel.
~~~~~~~~~~

Holy Snowballs!!!

What?

.

My son is talking on his cellphone at 630am. Is there school???....why shouldn't there be school??

.

Look out window.

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What?

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It lightening and thundered last night....when and how and where did this stuff come from? Here in the south.....we haven't had a single ice or snow storm all year.

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Alas...my stupid little prized geraniums I kept in the garage all winter and watched over. I put them out last night to catch the rain.....not two inches of snow. They may be goners. How's that for ironic?

My son....a senior in high school....but still wanting to be the first one to make tracks in the snow.

Damn....I just put the pillows out on the lawn furnture.

~~~~

Conversation before The BIG Party.....

T- Minus 4 hours.....

and here's how the conversation is going between me and hub.

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"Did you know there's a rug on the kitchen table."

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"Yes.....I put it there."

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"On purpose?"

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"Uh huh....it's too beautiful to put on the floor."

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"Then why don't they sell it as a tablecloth?"

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"Because it's a rug...but it's so finely woven ....you really don't want to walk on it."

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"Then they shouldn't call it a rug."

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"If it makes you feel better..... you can walk on the table."

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"Before or after the party?"

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"Don't be snotty."

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"Okay."

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"The dining room table looks really nice."

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"Thanks."

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"The tablecloth sort of matches our bed."

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"Well it's a sheet from our bed set."

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"Have we slept on it?"

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"Oh my god....do you think I would put a sheet we slept on...on the dining room table??????"

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"Well you spray painted a pillow last year."

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"I spray painted a pillow because it was a decorative emergency and no one was going to sit on it."

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"Is there anything else I should I know about our decorations?"

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"The big candle holder in the family room is filled with split peas."

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"Really?"

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"Really."

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"Did you run out of candle sand or something?"

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"No.......some of the floral shops in Paris ....used peas and beans.....I thought it looked cool."

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"I better make sure no one spills their drink near there."

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"What?"

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"Heat, peas, water, bowl.....we could have soup on our hands"

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"That's it........I'm going to go take my shower."

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"Don't use my razor.....or ...."

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"Or what?"

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"I'll play my music for the party."

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"Okay okay........I'll wear pants then."

~~~

Seeing Antonio Again.....

My wonderful friend Sue...who went with me to Italy....read my blog about Antonio a few days ago and sent me a card.

When I opened it, this picture fell out. She had taken a photo of us (she's the shadow in the corner) and wanted me to see him again.

I had a teary-eyed laugh when I picked the picture off the floor. See those light patches on my knees? Sue, Sally and I had rented an Italian bicycle...a strange contraption that allowed you to seat two or three people side by side....instead of one behind the other.

Sue was smart and got off the bike...but Sally and I thought a ride down a nearby hill would be thrilling. The odd bike quickly tumbled forward tossing us out onto the rocky grass. My pants were shredded at the knees and the Napoleonic hand placement hid my finger which was cut and bleeding.....I still have the scar.

And Antonio......wasn't he cute?.... Look at the sweet curl in the middle of his forehead....lol....and I believe he was in his Sunday best....because he said he was going to a class......he probably resigned from Wimpy's and became the CEO of Fiat or Bank of Italy.

O Antonio, Antonio, wherefore art thou Antonio?.....lol

Thank you Sue.
~~

One of My Life Stories.......

In writing about Susan and Jack and the NY Times wedding stories last week....I couldn't help but reminiscence about my own stories.....I decided to write and share one.

~~~~~~~~~

Antonio.

Could there be a more perfect name for your first heart-crushing long distance love?

He was young and handsome and flipped burgers in a fast food restaurant in Italy.

Sally and I had spotted the Wimpy burger chain logo while walking down a quiet side street in the old section of Rome and suddenly needed a greasy American food fix. We sat down on the stools, grabbed the menu and studied it--like it had been years since we ate burgers instead of only a couple weeks.

We were in the Good Girl Group--the group allowed to explore the streets of Rome on our own for a couple hours without our chaperon, Sister Theresa. She was the lone guardian hovering over 10 girls from my all girl Catholic High School in suburban Chicago.

Sister had her hands full-- ten innocent sheltered girls drinking too much red wine and paying too much attention to dark sexy flirtatious men who swarmed around us like bees to fresh blossoms. By the time we hit the Eternal City at the end of our 18 day trip, her reserves had dwindled. On our first day in Rome, the quiet, proper bride of Christ hit two men over the head with her umbrella on a city bus for groping her (she wore civilian clothes.) Her strategy for these last few days was to divide us into The Good Girl Group and the Ones-Who-Needed-To-Be-Watched-Group so she could better protect the ones who needed it most.

“Heelllo, you are Amareecan?”

I looked up from the menu. A young man in his early twenties with large liquid brown eyes, long eyelashes, symmetrical dimples in his cheeks and thick black curls stared down at me. He guessed the answer.

“You want burrrrger?” He waved his spatula and cocked his eyebrow at me.

Until that moment, I didn’t know eyebrows could be suggestively cocked. The only male eyebrows that had previously cocked at me belonged to Mr. Mazda, my small rail-thin anemic-looking Algebra teacher. His eyebrows did not suggest attraction but rather continued disappointment at my failure to grasp math word problems.

Sally elbowed me. Apparently, I had gone mute but my flaming red cheeks advertised just how busy my feelings were working inside me. Another young Italian man burst into the room via a swinging door carrying a rack of glasses. Fair, more cute than handsome, he winked at Sally.

As our two in-the-flesh Italian gods flirted with us….we had our bat-mitzvah, our quinceanera, our coming out as women moment right there on the bar stools at Wimpy’s.

I don’t remember what happened after this. Did we eat? Did we slurp our chocolate milkshakes through straws? I know we buddied-up and combined our limited Italian, modest French and urgent hand signal to communicate with these bemused men. I know we gave them our hotel address and our names and they asked us to a soccer game the next afternoon. We had no clue how we would slip away from Sister and the rest of the Good Girl Group but we agreed to meet them.

We floated back to our hotel like Mary Poppins without umbrellas. We had finally discovered a place on earth where men (not boys) recognized our beauty and sensed our vibrant inner spirits.

All those pimple-faced suburban boys at home could go to hell. They were unworldly narrow-minded immature male specimens who fell over themselves running after The Suzies ….the tall thin blond girls with thick lip gloss…. who had no substance ….no souls.

That night, in the alley next to our hotel, our Italian studs called up to us and validated our dreams.

“Hey Blond…Hey Geeeeeena…..Hey Sallll leeee”

Although Sally and I were not roommates, we found each other in the darkened pension’s hallway and grabbed on to each other.

“Oh my god…..Sister will kill us.”

We rushed back into a room and ran to the window.

“Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Stop it….Stop it!”

Sister knocked on the door. Our hearts froze as she came into the room.

“Enough of that,” she said in stern nun-speak. “get away from the window.”

She mustn’t have deciphered the names. She thought the men were calling for girls, any girls and let’s face it…you can’t miss a gaggle of 10 American teenage girls in a small hotel.

The next day, Sally and I told Sister we were going to a museum. I have no idea why she believed us. We ran to Wimpy’s were Antonio and Ceseare drew a map on a white paper place mat. After changing into their soccer uniforms they would pick us up in their car at the X and we’d head off to the game.

Sally clutched the precious map. I watched the time. We ran down the street hunting for street signs and trying to figure out where the meeting spot was.

At the appointed corner, we climbed into a small, dirt brown, dented Italian car. Sally sat up front with Ceseare. She was so excited she must have been talking a hundred words a minute. He probably understood two or three words tops. I slid into the back with Antonio. Our conversation went like this:

“Bella Geena.”

“Oh Antonio.”

“Bella Geena.”

“Antonio”

We really didn’t need to say much more.

I moved over and pressed my body next to him. His silky soccer uniform showed off his hard trim body. He was short but had huge muscular legs probably from his life long addiction to the game. I touched his smooth firm thigh with a shaking hand… just below the cuff of his shorts…and held my breath …I realized in that moment….I was touching a man…an adult man…. and not a teenage boy.

His soft lips devoured mine….his hands were knowledgeable. His flimsy uniform accentuated his arousal. Suddenly, Ceseare tapped on the window and then pointed to the field. Antonio pushed me back and muttered something in Italian. He glanced down at his shorts, shook his head and grabbed some Kleenex out of flattened dirty half-torn box.

I found Sally on the sidelines…staring at the field. I’m not sure where she and Ceseare had gone after exiting the car…but her lips were puffy and the rings in her long black hair were frayed.

I pulled her aside. “I have to go to the bathroom and then I need to talk to you.”

She nodded.

I came back from the bathroom …scared….my heart racing.

“Sally…something’s wrong with me.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Sally, I’m all wet. My panties are drenched. It’s not pee; I’m not having my period but I’ve totally and completely wet.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. Sally was clueless too--neither of us understood how a woman’s body prepares for intercourse. I had a boyfriend at home, a sweet guy named Steve, but in our modest make out sessions…nothing ever happened like this to me. Sally hugged me. Perhaps I should use a tampon till it stopped she counseled. Wait and see what happens but she looked worried.

We had to leave at half time. We kissed the boys on the cheek and ran back to the hotel. We raved about the museum. I slipped a tampon in, crossed my fingers, and checked myself every hour.

The next day, we were scheduled to leave for home. Sally and I somehow managed to sneak away from the group so we could say good-bye to Antonio and Ceseare.

We met them at Wimpy’s and exchanged addresses….promised to write….promised to return next summer… “on our own.” …..hoping the men would understand the promise of intimacy inherent in those words.

My heart felt gashed open…I could hardly speak…I began sobbing. Antonio gallantly took off his cook’s hat and offered it to me so I could wipe my tears. Snot and mascara left stains and smudges on the soft cloth. I handed the hat back to him…..he folded my hand back around it. “Go home with me.”

When I returned to the hotel, I went through the motions of packing but I schemed how to ditch the group and run back to Antonio. He asked me if I could stay longer….didn’t that mean he wanted me? Perhaps forever? I visualized my idyllic life as his American wife in Rome. If only I could get my passport….I’m sure he’d let me stay with him. But Sister swept me and my passport off to the airport with the rest of the girls. She didn’t notice I was a woman in love and contemplating my eternal union with a man who could barely communicate with me.

I was herded into the middle section of the 747. I sat next to Sally and cried on and off for twelve hours…remembering his kisses …thinking of how cute our children would look.

At home, I penned long …probably incoherent…letters in Italian to Antonio. It took me hours to look up all the words in Italian but I knew if I just got the words to him he could piece my thoughts together. Isn’t that what lovers do…read each others minds? I’d stare at the clock at school….and tried to visualize the mailman putting his letter in our mailbox. The first thing I did when I hit home was to nonchalantly ask my parents, “Any mail for me?” and then hold my breath… waiting for an answer.

Love sick poems filled my journals and collages of airplanes and kissing couples and phrases like “he looked at me” were pasted in my scrapbook. My words, my pictures, my daydreams wanted to believe this man desired me and saw me as beautiful desirable young woman.

I found a “marriage manual” behind a stack of my mother’s cookbooks and figured out why my panties were wet. I took the manual’s advice and furiously put my body through it’s sexual paces so I could move from squeezy kissy sex to adult sex when we there “on our own.” I dumped Steve…I needed a real man….which I now defined as someone who could make my panties wet.

Over the next few months, three short letters on onion-skin paper arrived in white crinkly envelopes with beautiful Italian stamps. I’d retrieve them with a poker face from my parents then run to my room to absorb them. I’d call Sally and we would spend hours deciphering the significance of every comma, spot and stain on the paper. I couldn’t decipher his handwriting so usually the only words I could read were “Hello Geena” and “Amore, Antonio”…but somehow it seemed enough.

Before I headed off to college, I decided to permanently change my name from Jeannie to Gina to reflect my new desired woman status. Sally stayed behind in Chicago but we still plotted our return to Rome.

I never made it back to Italy the next summer.

My university was one of those places where every one was pre something…pre med, pre dentistry, pre law…and I began to wonder if Anotinio had a degree? Or even with to college. I also discovered a set of blue-green eyes which gradually trumped Antonio’s brown ones.

I wrote a few more letters because no one wants to lose their dream even though you know time is up. I saved the mascara-smudged hat and keep it in a music box which plays “Arriverderci Roma.” I lost his picture in the last few years…and it pains me…because looking at him….let me see myself at the tender age of 17.

Of course most of you guessed how this story would end….the story arc is familiar only the characters are unique. But there is another reason I didn’t return to Italy.... Sally died.
A broken ankle that didn’t heal, a diagnosis of cancer, a sudden fatal reaction to her first bout of chemo a few short months before our “next summer.”

Like a vine that wraps around a tree, her death wraps around this story for me. I can tell my Antonio story, it’s one of my favorite life stories, and leave Sally’s death out…but if I include her death in it….the story changes shape… when death wraps around love…it’s not such a silly story anymore…...time ….or the lack of time….always reminds us…to kiss with gusto...now...





Sally ....on the train towards Rome.
~

The End of the Week.

It' s so quiet in my house right now.... I can hear the hard drive hummmmm on my computer.

I can't remember when I've had the house to myself on a Friday night. Someone is always home especially in the evenings. But I shipped hub off to Savannah today for a 5 day conference....and my sons are either working or out.

It's a bit spooky.....but I am grateful for the quiet.

It's been a strange week....full of stress and decisions.

Last night my writing fish died. Ever since I went to the keyboard....I've kept a red Beta...a Siamese Fighting Fish....in a small aquarium near my desk. I know fish have little brains...but somehow Faulkner internalized a bit of life beyond the glass ...so that when my hand came near....he would circle and wait for his food. I watched him swim while I worked from my computer. He was small company....small comfort.....and even though he was only a couple of inches of life... my office seems empty without him.

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My old Springer Spaniel nearly died this week too. Anaphylactic shock. I took him to the vet for a routine checkup and shots... in the parking lot afterwards....he laid down on the gravel and his breathing became more and more labored. He's an anxious mealy type of dog....so at first I thought he was just over excited by the dreaded trip to the vet.

But by the time hub came out of the office....Mike's rib cage was heaving. Hub scooped him up and we went back inside. In the exam room, I took off his collar and leash ....I noticed his tongue was turning blue....He's going to die...I though.....he has only minutes.....with tears rolling down my face.....I took off his leash and collar. He stared up at me....his eyes bulging with panic and asking for help.... Dr. Bill came in and carried him off..... someone closed the door.

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God I hate sitting behind the closed door....while pet or family member or someone you care about is on the other side....in acute distress. We sat and waited to see if he would live or die. Quick injections, oxygen, and an ice bath to combat a 106 degree temp (normal in shock).....brought him back. We picked him up a couple of hours later.... he looked exhausted but fine. I was antsy and anxious for the rest of the day and had troubled dreams all night.

My outdoor work being a chigger hor doeuvres also made me realize that I'm going to have to become a housewife for a while. The house desperately needs a wife. With hub and I so busy plus teen boys.....the house is always at the bottom of the list.

There are a dozen projects waiting....a bit of dry rot....a leaky sink....weird gutter run off.....a growing crack in a window....each week I try to tackle something....the problem is when the list has 12 or 13 things on it....you fix one or two things but one or two things get added on to the list ...so you never advance.

At first, I thought I could tackle all the projects by the end of October, then Thanksgiving, now I'm thinking January 1st. It feels strange to "flip" my days. Usually I do writing, correspondence, errands and other work first then the house.....now its coffee, a quick glance at the NY times online and my email....then yard...house....yard....house.

I keep telling myself it's only for a couple of months....and holiday hours will be coming up at the bookstore plus other commitments....so I won't be locked in the house.

But still....dry rot...leaks....yardwork...for 2.5 months......that's a prison sentence.....lol.....

Just attach the ball and chain and give me my weed whacker.....

~~~

I'm just a Gina Margarita

I feel like a jellybean jar tonight.

If I stripped.....you could try and guess....how many chigger bites I have.

Honestly, I don't know....parts of me look like I have the measles. Twice today....I had to run into the house, tear off my clothes...and spray Benedryl on my body.......so I wouldn't lose my mind......cause if you scratch a chigger bite.....that's it....your toast......you might as well tear your skin off....because that's what you'll end up doing in the next few days anyways.

I should call a landscape company and ask them to send over men to trim and clean my front and back yard. Unfortunately, I have a soft spot for wild flowers and native plants. I placed many of them in between the regular shrubs and bushes .... so if the beefy boys tried to work in the yard.....I would have to play plant cop......"don't touch that"...." don't pull that"....."don't mow over that" ....because at this time of year its hard to tell the natives from the weeds.

So I'm tackling the whole dang thing by myself (note the men folks are NOT suffering because they're not out there.)

I really never heard of chiggers till I moved to the South.

Red devil no See-Ums....might be a great alternative name. If they would just bite your legs or arms and stay put......they could be tolerated. But these evil wanderers.....crawl up your legs.... and attack your butt, tummy and back as if they were gourmet treats.

They also love breasts (are they all male?)..... even if I wear a tight sports bra....these guys go up and under and snack on the softest most sensitive parts of my womanly orbs.

Ouch.

Honestly, it's so painful ....I need to repeat that.

Ouch.



Why are these Red Devil bites so bad? I googled and discovered the reason. ( Avoid the next section in bold type if you're squeamish or faint easily.)
~
Chigger larvae pierce the skin and inject into the host a salivary secretion containing powerful, digestive enzymes that break down skin cells which are then ingested (tissues become liquefied and sucked up). Also, this digestive fluid causes surrounding tissues to harden, forming a straw-like feeding tube of hardened flesh from which further, partially-digested skin cells may be sucked out.
~

In other words ....you're a human Margarita being sucked up through a straw....complete with a sweaty salty tang.

I have at least two more days of work in chiggerland.... then I can start on the backyard.

Fortunately, chiggers don't like the back yard.

But we do have ticks.

Big brown ugly blood sucking ticks.

Ouch Ouch Ouch or Wasting Away in Margaritaville....

~~~~

My High School Reunion or Why I need to take Ginko Supplements

I attended my first high school reunion this weekend.

I missed previous get together because I was either popping out babies, moving around the country or involved in some intense family/work situation.

I went to an all girl Catholic High School in the suburbs of Chicago. It was a radical choice....since I lived in the City and needed to hop on a commuter train every day..... plus it was run by "radical nuns"--spiritual women who didn't wear habits, lived in apartments and expected their young charges to head off to college. In contrast, the all girl Catholic high school closest to my neighborhood was considered a four year pause before marriage and babies.

Saturday was the main event day for the reunion. I spent the morning pointing at women (with a tinge of embarrassment) and saying, "Oh my god I recognize your face but can't think of you're name." I also spent a fair amount of time nudging my friend Sue or someone else I had comfortably identified and whispering...."Who is SHE?"....when core face recognition failed.

Of course after you identify everyone.....it's time to play ....let's reminisce. I would have earned a D.....if it was a graded exam. In fact, I was so bad at remembering my high school days....I considered asking people ( who seemed to remember a lot about me) to write their recollections about my high school life and email it to me.

"You were always writing. Don't you remember you were the copy editor for yearbook and the feature editor for the newspaper?"

I was ?

"We all thought you were going to run off to Italy after graduation. I remember you sitting down on the floor in one of the classrooms and sobbing over that Italian guy you met on the school trip."

Really?

"If anyone was going to travel the world, I'd figure it would be you.....you always seemed like the type."

I did?

I felt like an amnesia victim being counseled by people in her past. Was it normal to forget so much? Some women remembered everything--the elastic on the pant legs of their gym suits, the lunch menu in the cafeteria, where their locker was located....even the combination to their locks!

But I had selective memory....recalling only bits and pieces.....like my high school gym teacher, Mrs. Reynolds, who looked, talked and acted like a female marine. She was a no no sense woman with a rectangular body (curves were not allowed). She wore stark white anklets and white Ked tennis shoes and modest Bermuda shorts. A big silver whistle hung round her neck and she stood akimbo....hands on her hips.... for most of the day....barking orders at her "soft" girlie girls.

She taught me how to shoot free throws....how to move my body--bending those knees, pushing the basketball up and out with my hand and fingertips... focusing on the rim....so the ball dropped effortlessly into the net. Every time I stood in the driveway with my sons and sunk a shot ...I thought of Mrs. Reynolds...and her quick nod of approval when someone actually did something right.

The memory of the dark haired voluptuous speech teacher who threw chalk at me from the back of the room...also returned.

It's the.....t ...h...t....h....the...not dah!

She shouted at me after the chalk pinged the blackboard.

I stood at the podium, red-faced with a nuclear bomb of shame mushrooming inside me .....facing suburban girls with perfect articulation. I never knew until I was in her class that I had a Chicago accent....or even that such an accent existed. Every time I have a public speaking engagement, I highlight the th words in my notes and the words ending in s.......so the chalk doesn't fly again.

~~~~~~

Saturday evening was the grand dinner at a wonderful Italian restaurant. I found my senior yearbook on a table. I stood in a corner, pink Cosmo in hand, reading prose I had written when I was 17 years old. I was genuinely surprised by it....it was thoughtful....it had "slant"...a creative bent to it....but mostly it had feeling.

Since I've returned to writing, emotions are the hardest thing for me to capture. I can be logical, I can be descriptive.....I can be funny.....but I dodge my feelings. I have become a master of avoidance. But this young me wore her heart on her sleeve....blatantly trying to connect to her readers. I felt sad. The passage of time on the faces of my classmates and on their bodies didn't effect me as much as seeing my own words...so unprotected and brave.

By the time dinner arrived, I felt I needed Ginko supplements and a referral to a psychologist.

But perhaps in the long run this is the beauty of a reunion.....to see how much we remain the same.....and to see how much we have changed. If most of my classmates thought I would end up a writer.....that's hopeful....I've returned to the original path....if I could write on a slant and with feelings then.....perhaps with work....that too can return.

My high school yearbook pic and a snippet of copy.

We live like snails too often,

letting the world see

only our hard shells.

How sensitive, soft and vibrant we are

once we allow the shell

to be lifted.

~~~

The Nautical life on "The Island"

Me strolling down a deserted Zillion dollar beach in the Hamptons

~~~~~

I've been living the nautical life for the last few days on Long Island...strolling on beaches (who would believe in late September it would be 80+degrees outside) visiting towns next to the Sound or the Ocean.

It's fascinating yet a tinge uncomfortable.

Boats, fish nets, ferries...fisherman.....I'm a Midwestern girl living in the South....I don't know the difference between a clam and a mussel ....and what the hell is a scallop anyways?

Sometimes while strolling on the beach....I would ask a fisherman what he was trying to catch with his long poles stuck in the beach sand...hmmmm.....sea bass? and blue fins? Not only did I not know the fish....I often couldn't decipher what the guys were saying because of their Long Island accents.

And let's face it....putting a car on a boat is damn unnatural. I squeaked when I had to drive the rented Gangsta car onto a ferry. You want me to drive this car on this bobbing boat and park it here...right next to the rail? Are you sure about this?

A large part of the Island is also dominated by quaintness......little villages with cute little awnings and cute little shops with cute little women wearing the Long Island Uniform for Females Living Next to the Water: capri's....with a black v-neck top (often sleeveless)...sandals and hefty diamond ring. (I had a black top but no capri's so I knew I would be recognized as a alien.)

There's also lots of farm stands with Norman Rockwell-Life Magazine type displays.....fat crimson tomatoes in bushel baskets, pumpkins, yellow gourds and green and red apples. The produce looked so fresh and so perfect....even I.....the ultimate non-cook.....felt an almost irresistible urge to find a recipe book and a stove. (Thank god neither one was available.)

We succumbed to LI quaintness and stayed in a cute little cottage in a cute little hamlet.

We visited the very tips of island because we're thinking about renting a house next summer on the water and bringing our kids together for a family vacation ( 2 out of 3 are living at home right now but they will be scattering soon....at least we are hoping they will scatter soon)

Both houses we looked at were beautiful....one home was built at the turn of the last century....a craftsman cottage with its own private beach (it even has its own name).....and the other one was on the ocean side in a busy resort town.

At one point I turned to hub and said....."Can we handle this?" The house with its own name was so idyllic and calm and serene....life there would consist of reading...bird watching....and beach combing.....the other house would also require a laid back life style.... a drive into town for ice cream (apparently this is a mandatory daily task) might be the climax of the day......more beach sitting.....more relaxing.

Okay....maybe the real question is....can Gina handle this?

Fishy-ness....quaintness.....quiet....black v-neck sleeveless tops?

I even proposed to hub that we consider Florida....the infamous Destin Beach which all good Southerns make a pilgrimage to in the summer...the town specializes in wave runner rentals, miniature golf, go-carts and movie theaters......these are things I know and recognize as a parent of teens.

But this morning I woke up and said to myself...what the hell?....it's wonderful to travel to the familiar ...to places that make you happy....but why not try and live someplace different and understand a different type of life?

I can buy carpi's...I can even Google mussels and scallops and find out what they are....I can relax....(okay.... I'm not absolutely sure of this) and maybe the fishy watery quaint life has goodness and beauty in it.....I will never understand unless I slip into it.

Of course....I can also consider the option my daughter suggested......can we rent something for a few days in New York City too?

I think that's what you would call vacation insurance.

No need to fear the nautical life mates.....if you don't like ice cream there's always a can of spinach at the deli.

~~~

Bean town is Brain town

Boston. Incredible. More like "Braintown" versus "Beantown." There's so many universities, colleges and students around....here in Copley square near downtown Boston, I feel like I'm part of a big extended campus.

Yesterday, couldn't resist, went up to Harvard and walked around. First thing we did was hit the bookstore. Hub and I had to use our cell phones to find each other....since we both wandered off into our own little niches and could have stayed there for days.

Harvard is beautiful but much smaller than I envisioned it. Walking through the center of campus.... I expected the students to look really smart....but they just looked like students on any other campus (I did notice a lot of Armani jeans on students though and BMW's parked on the side streets)

We did have some interactions with students in the art museums which we visited on campus . I don't know if they were representative of the student body.....but they could hardly stand being asked such mediocre questions as if there might be a book available on early Chinese bronzes or if their early Egyptian paintings were part of the exhibition now closed. Oh how could we be so pedestrian not to know these things and have to ask......lol.

Decided since my children didn't go to Harvard, I would have to buy my own Harvard t-shirt so hit the Insignia store....where they promptly rejected our credit card. It's always embarrassing to stand there while everyone is looking at you like you are a scum puppy.

The manager called our credit card company and then hub had to get on the phone. Seems like someone had hocked our credit card number and was trying to put big charges through in Amsterdam. Fortunately, the company cut off our account but did allow us this last purchase......so I could come home with my t-shirt. My sons report there's been two calls on our home phone caller ID since then labeled "United States Government." Great.....

The weather is gorgeous....absolute blue skies, cool, but warm in the sun. Often throughout the day.....I would plunk myself on a park bench and just pretend I was a cat....purring, eyes half open....enjoying the warmth.

Went to a wonderful Thai restaurant last night....a little place down in the basement of one of these old brick apartment buildings which form the neighborhoods around here...the food was fresh, hot and spicy....and such a treat after so much walking and subwaying around the city.

Also making regular trips to the interesting funky grocery store not far from the hotel. As I mentioned before, I just love seeing what locals eat and what food preferences they have in a grocery store. My current favorite find.....a strange local grapefruit soda called Polar Bear....which is tart and tastes like Squirt.

One strange event of the evening....we took a walk down the street and passed what looked like a small exclusive French restaurant with tall black iron gates at the entrance. Suspiciously, there were about 5 men ...all in black business suits, white shirts, silk ties ....carrying laptop briefcases. They were not congregated together like a clump of business men might be....but where spread out....as if forming a line.

Something felt very odd about the situation....and when a limousine pulled up and one of the "business guys" called out to the driver....in a Boston/Italian accent...."hey you wanna smoke some pot?".....hub and I decided to cross the street and vacate the neighborhood. I had a strange feeling.... I was in a scene from the Sopranos......and didn't want to find out if there were really laptops in those briefcases.

Here's some photos from the day:

Now this is what you call a proper entrance........this beautiful foyer is part of the Public Library..... you get the feel that people value education and books in this town....so it's fitting to have the central place of knowledge for the community so adorned.

Me.....at Harvard.......in one of the art museums....they had some wonderful Buddhas here... I sat and had some conversations with them....nice fellows......and as always.....very enlightening.

Oh I loved this ad on the subway....click on it to enlarge it. You'll notice t all the wiggly lines emanating from the dollar sign are sperm heads. Yep....if you're a Ivy League students.....the sperm bank can help you finance those Armani Jeans.

``````````

Edgy but Home.....

It's one of those homecomings.....instead feeling joyful that I survived four short flights on Southwest Airlines and 10 days on the road.....I'm edgy and don't want to get back to my normal routine.

I've pecked at the bills today but didn't complete them, tossed out the rotten watermelon hiding in the crisper but ignored the soggy tomatoes....and named my new wash machine (It's so big it deserves a name.....hmmm...I think a man told me the same thing once.)

Maybe I've been on too many college campuses lately....and the idea of a small room filled with lots of books, interesting classes, food-to-go and group chats or parties most nights.....seems idyllic. I could live like that....I think I did once....maybe I want a chance to do it all over again.

My trip to Ohio already seems like weeks ago. I left a happy daughter in a cute apartment with a new cat to keep her company. The Firemen movers turned out to be amazing even though they weren't exactly calender boys.

Actually one of the movers was buff and cute....almost Chippendale material . He was the fireman ( and checked my daughter's smoke alarm before he left) and this was his off-duty business.

His three coworkers though.....were definitely NOT from the brotherhood. One was short and looked like Popeye. Another was skinny with missing front teeth and the last one was pasty with a long blond ponytail and a dirty towel draped around his neck.

What they lacked in looks they made up for in moving experience and stamina.....they whipped couches, dressers and chairs out the door so quickly and with such ease......my daughter and I stood back in awe....and when they moved a massive oak table through a narrow doorway and up two flights of stairs ....we clapped.

Well I should unpack my suitcases or at least attempt to....for some reason the TSA has found one of them to be very interesting....I have a shiny sticker on my flight tag and a brochure stuffed in the outside pocket of my bag telling me the bag been searched and cleared.....wonder if that garter belt I bought from Victoria's secret was momentarily considered a threat to national security...

Here's a couple of nice visuals from the trip:

My daughter and her amazing neon pink mortarboard (at ground level you could not tell the top was colored)

Jack...aka Jumpin' Jack Flash....newly adopted cat from the humane society.... on his way to a pampered life.....with my daughter.

~~~

Turning into a Kid at Your Parent's house.

Some things never change when you visit your parents.

I flew into Chicago a mere 10 hours ago....and I'm the kid again.

An hour ago....my mom looked up at the clock and decided I was starving. Here's part of our conversation.

Have a cheese stick.
No thanks mom.
You want a sandwich?
No... I'm not hungry.
I have ice cream.
No ...No...
I have that chocolate you like.
Ma ( I slip into my south side Chicago accent)...I'm fine.
I have crackers. What about crackers?
Nah.
You don't like the crackers I bought?
They're fine...I'm just not hungry.
What about an egg?
Now?
No for breakfast.
Okay. I'll have an egg.
I have bacon.
No...I don't want bacon.
I have ham.
No. Just an egg on toast.
I bought those nice muffins with the holes.
English muffins?
Yes, you want an English muffin?
Sure.
Maybe you'd rather have a bagel.
Sure. I'll have an egg and a bagel.
I don't have any bagels. I'll send you father out to get some now.
No No.....really I'll have an English muffin.
Peter....why don't you run to the Jewel. She wants some bagels for breakfast.
No No....don't send dad out now...it's late. I tell you what.....why don't you make me an egg with bacon and some toast. Ok?
Good. You want butter on your toast?
Sure.
We don't have butter. I just have margarine.
Margarine is okay.
Peter....why don't you run to Jewel. She wants butter for breakfast.
Ma...give me the keys to the car. I'll go to the grocery store.
Now? It's so late. Who knows who's at that store at this hour.
You were going to send dad.
That's different.
There's odd people there at night. Someone might take you.
Take me? Take me where?
YOU KNOW.
Ma.....you got any bourbon left over from Thanksgiving?
Yes.
Great.
Why you taking such a small glass?
You're right Ma....hand me the BIG glass...I think I need a big drink.
Since when did you start drinking so much?
~~~~~~~~

Cycles ..........

I knew something was missing. I looked out into my back yard and realized our New Mexico totem pole was no longer standing.
~
Termites discovered the pole a couple years ago and attacked it with a vengeance.
~
My daughter and I bought this totem in Albuquerque ....8 years ago. She had graduated from 8th grade and was heading into high school.
~
To celebrate this life transition, I surprised her with a road trip to New Mexico. Since kindergarten, she was a fan of Georgia O'Keeffe...so I could think of no better gift than to show her the art and landscape of her favorite artist.
~
I remember her surprise as I announced we were heading to New Mexico. I also remembered her eyes widen when I tossed a couple of maps into her lap and told her she was totally responsible for navigation for the entire trip.
~
At that time in my daughter's life, I wanted her to learn to be independent....and strong...and to find her way in the world without having to depend on others.
~
We had a great trip. At the Texas border, my muffler came apart and we sparked our way down the expressway for a couple of miles...I was absolutely certain my 40 gallon gas tank would ignite and explode. We didn't ( a few guys cinched it up at a gas station) and we took pictures of ourselves to celebrate our intact-ness on top of the Suburban in the middle of the desert.
~
We ate lots of Mexican food....stayed in a beautiful bed and breakfast and bought art books. We found the totem pole heading out of Albuquerque and thought>>>> great backyard art. Coming home, we listened to Maya Angelou on tape ...I remember looking at her at one point and saying..."Honey...where the hell are we?"....Maya's voice was so mesmerizing...we missed our exit by 20 miles.
~
Now the totem pole has fallen...exactly 8 summers since we put it in its place.....and my daughter faces her next transition in life.....she's graduating from college next weekend.
~
She is a strong and resourceful woman......on the dean's list....and hopefully heading off in a year to graduate school in psychology. She's patient and kind and has this ease in loving and being generous to others.....that I greatly admire in her.
~
I was supposed to fly home after graduation ....but she asked if I would be willing to stay for a few days........she works evenings in a bookstore....and she needs some help during the day to pack and move.
~
Of course I will stay....and in the quiet of the hotel room in the evenings....I'm sure the magnitude of this transition will catch me.....she begins her big adventure now....and I am glad I will be there to see her off.
~~~~~

Cornfield Road Trip

Well I'm on my way home from a road trip through the cornfields ....my son is looking over a few colleges up north here...it's been a good trip....and we're only about 6 hours from home right now.

Our trip started out a few days ago on a scary note.....I thought I was ill.

~

I never sleep too well before leaving on a trip....often waking up a couple of times...to check the clock......this time I woke up in the middle of the night and felt a strange sensation. My head was hot....I was actually sweating. I laid there....in my sleepy daze.....trying to figure out what was wrong.....I instinctively touched my head.

~

Meow.

~

What?

~

Meow.

~

What the hell.

~

Get off!

~

Meow.

~

My cat has become very aware of the significance of suitcases......I guess this was her new technique to stop me from leaving.

~

Once the cat was removed from my head and we headed out the door....my son and I have had a good trip......we are good traveling buddies.....our stomachs' growl at the same time....and our pits stops are pretty well coordinated.....he's very easy going....and his new i-phone....which i tisked at and tried to convince him not to buy with his hard-earned money.....has turned out to be fun and super cool....we have googled and mapquested along the road...found restaurants....got ourselves un-lost in a couple of places.....we've checked everything from the weather to what's at the next exit on the interstate.....we're driving along...and i say...google this or google that....dang....it's one little fun piece of technology......

~

I have a few more stories...I'll save for my next entry.

My New Baby.....and She says....Vroom.

It's bad...real bad....to open your garage door and smile at your car. Worse...to whip out a rag and wipe a bit o'dust that has dared collect on your dash board....but that's what I'm doing with my new baby.

~

I got her on Friday (and yes...it's a she....I had a male car once....a big strapping white Suburban which I visualized as a white stallion. We galloped down thousands of miles of interstate highways together and I was quite attached to it.....of course that was pre-gas hike....let's just say he was put out to stud a couple of years ago.)

~

I had been test driving cars for a week....and wasn't happy...and then I looked at this Mazda Miata X5 .....it seemed a little small... I had reservations about a two seater.....but I turned the key and she said, "Vroom."

~

"Did you hear that?" I asked my bemused hub.

~

"Hear what?"

~

"Listen."

~

"Vroom vroom."

~

That was it. Everyone knows a blond needs a car that goes Vroom...especially Vroom Vroom.

~

The men folks will now have two cars to meet their work and school obligations. I won't have to share a car anymore with them......won't have to gaze at dead withered french fries on the passenger floor, cups of stale soda and all kinds of male debris from road eating and transporting.

~

I also won't have the pleasure of turning on the music and finding Satan howling at me through my car speakers. Trust me... if Satan howled....he would sound just like a couple of heavy metal bands my son favors.

~

Which reminds me.....I'm going to collect my Cd's and put them in the car.....chic music...lots and lots of chic music.

~

Vroom vroom.

~

Pre-Trip Anxiety......

I fingered the German phrase book I bought this afternoon at the bookstore and could feel my heart beat harder.....on Thursday I'll be leaving for Zurich....

I feel disjointed .....how could my trip to Zurich and Slovenia be here already? I don't have a thing packed....I had no worries about packing till I called Swiss Airlines today. I'm flying over on American but my brief hour flight from Zurich to Slovenia will be with Swiss Air.

Talk about tough restrictions.....I'm allowed one bag not to exceed 44 lbs. That's it....except for a modest carry-on. I called Swiss and told them I was planning to travel with two small suitcases from the States. In a jaunty cheerful manner, the Swiss Airlines representative told me a second suitcase weighing...let's say 40lbs....would cost me an additional $245.00 to check!!!

"Excuse me....are you joking?"

"Oh no," she said in a chipper manner....that's how economy tickets are structured......but if I was a "privileged customer"....(i.e. first class or business) I would be allowed two suitcases.

Oh......the privileged customer syndrome again....well perhaps if I had known the restriction ahead of time.....I might have offered them more of my dollars so they would recognize my inherent worthiness as a passenger. But I'm stuck with an economy ticket...and a luggage/weight restriction....and for some reason ....my travel cleverness hasn't kicked in yet. I am quite ferklempted..

I have the jitters about Zurich. My pig French can get me a cup of coffee, a croissant with butter and directions to the bathroom in several countries. But outside of a "nien" and "yah"....I am German-clueless. Will I be able to navigate about town..... solo....without being able to read or speak German?

I did Google Earth Zurich and was happy to discover it was hilly....if you're lost all you have to do is head downwards.......and you will hit the river or lake and from there... then you can find yourself on the map...but still....Can I do this??????

I mentioned my anxiety to my co-workers today...and everyone dismisses my worries....."You've been to Africa!!! Switzerland is nothing!!!" Even hub said the same thing.

I guess after Africa I am a hardened world traveler ready for anything. But I have never faced Switzerland.....and the unknown is challenging....even if you have been successful at previous challenges.

I've studied the picture of my little bed and breakfast in Zurich. I've tried to sense if it feels safe and happy and homey. It used to be a theater and is close to the train station (a good thing) and also close to the old section of the city....(a very good thing)....the rooms are Euro-modern (one should always try something new).......but still.....will I be okay here?

Well....like I always tell people.... when they ask me how can you travel alone....how can you be so brave.......I say....you get out of the plane or the taxi or the bus....and you put one foot in front of the other and just go.....

I guess I need to heed my own advice....and just go.

My little bed and breakfast ...the Hotel du Theatre....in Zurich....does it look like a happy place?

~~

The Beauty of the Broken Cup

I write in a very small room that I believe was destined to be a storage closet. At the last minute, I asked the builder to put a window in the room and also a phone line...just in case I needed an office....that was a few years before I started writing and when I did begin working....this little room with its natural light, the huge oak tree outside of the window and the tight womb-like surrounding was the perfect place to work.

~

All writers have quirks about their work spaces. Some need silence, other need the bare bones of an almost empty place...and some of us......write in clutter...with objects that remind us of events and memories and things we feel are important.

~

I'm a clutter writer..... my little room holds everything from my writing fish (an old happy red fish named Faulkner) to a bottle of home made "medicine" ...a concoction my grandmother taught me how to make to cure anything....(it's about 90% whiskey...so what you can't cure....you're likely to forget after a couple of glasses).

~

One of my treasures that sits next to my screen....is my "broken cup."

~

Hub turns wood as a hobby to relieve stress...and one day I sat down with him and a request...I had read a story in a Buddhist book about the Japanese tea ceremony. Tea cups are prized for their plain lines and spiritual qualities they inherit with time and use. If a treasured cup is broken, it is not thrown away......the crack is sometimes filled with gold....and the cup is brought back into the ceremony after it is mended.

~

The lesson: the cup although broken now returns more beautiful......tragedy adding a new dimension...a new texture to the cup.

~

When hub handed me the cup...I was delighted....he allowed the wood to crack...he filled it with turquoise....and then I noticed he added something I had not asked for...the carvings in the wood ....which looked like twine had been wound around the cup.

~

It's the twine that makes me ponder...for I am already a believer that tragedy and misfortune also carries opportunity.......... when I'm stuck with words or a story or feel font pressure...I look at the cup....and wonder what holds my life together?

~

Like you....I've been broken ....and unlike this cup....in more than one place.....but even when I rise to the challenge and fill disappointment with opportunity and new resolve .......what ultimately holds me together? Family? Love? Friends? Inner Resolve? Tough genetics?

~

I have my guesses....I have preferences for what I believe and hope holds me together....but on a day to day basis....what keeps everything in alignment?.....what keeps me moving forward....despite the cracks?

~

It is a very good cup.....it gives me much to think about.....what is the twine of my life?....what is the twine of your life? Is it there everyday in some form or another? Or only there when the cracks appear?

~~~

More Things I Learned about Traveling on My Hellish Journey

1) Always carry Kleenex. Let's face it ....you're on your own...if you're miserable you're going to have to dab your own tears.......and even if the airlines don't give a shit about who you are and your particular situation....it doesn't mean YOU don't have to care.....you'd be surprised how much mileage a small package of Kleenex can have.....

~

I gave a few tissues to a woman who was standing near me pleading with the rebooking agent on her cell phone to find a plane to Baltimore. Her two small children were in the hands of a babysitter who could not spend another night at her home to take care of them.

~

Then there was the woman who was crying because she had a big job interview on the West Coast...a dream opportunity....that she was going to miss by a whole day.....and a key player in the interview process could not reschedule.

One man was calling several buddies to see if someone would go over and check on his cats. (He was not crying but sweating profusely.)

~

I gave my last few sheets to a woman...who was supposed to meet her lover in Vegas....and would be delayed a day....out of a two day rendezvous. Her pain so visible on her face....I wanted to hug her....which I know was a poor substitute but might have been better than nothing.

~

I was lucky to get a hotel room.

~

2) Remember airline crews and personnel are like politicians in training. Nobody knows anything and nobody can remember anything.

"What will happen if I miss my connecting flight?"

"I don't know."

"Will they supply a room or a discount?"

"I don't know."

"Can I rebook or will I be on stand-by?"

"I don't know."

"Was there a weather problem or a scheduling problem?"

"I'm don't know. "

~

3) If you're a woman...always carry a tampon in your purse. Of course it's not that time of the month...of course...you're not scheduled for days....of course you WILL get your period at 11PM in the airport terminal when the stores are closed....(another good reason to always travel with Kleenex.)

~

4) Keep a firm grip on reality no matter how long you sit in the terminal. Thoughts like....isn't that cute....they put bunnies on the walls....demonstrate dangerous thought patterns. No, they did not but bunnies on the wall to entertain you while you wait....they're just crossbeams and bolts.

Bunnies ? or artistic crossbeams?

5) Never visit Brookstone in the airport. In your fatigued state, you may actually think a 35.00 personal hair trimmer is a good idea for the men folks at home or a photo ball that lights up when you touch it.... will be a smashing Christmas gift.

6) Watch food combinations. If you've had bran flakes at the free breakfast bar in your hotel, it's not a good idea to eat M&M's in the airport...even though you're bored and the chocolate might help your psyche. You may discover another reason OJ jumped over those suitcases and ran through the airport in those old commercials...and it has nothing to do with car rentals and everything to do with getting to certain parts of the airport quickly.

7) Talk to everyone and listen to all the cell phone conversations around you. You might get a stock tip or stock idea, you'll relearn business speak if you've been away for it for a while.....you'll learn buzz words and positive slants...for example there are no problems in the corporate world... just "challenges" and " opportunities." You'll hear how other people talk to their mothers and husbands and kids and you can learn fascinating things....like there is an anatomy and physiology teacher's convention, there's a shuttle that leaves from Chicago to Bloomington, Illinois at 10:05PM sharp, there's an interesting movie out about bestiality based on a true story, and some people feel the best cure for jet lag is to go against the advice and actually sleep when you land instead of staying awake. Fascinating.

Long rebooking lines are perfect places to talk to everyone about everything.

8) Volunteer to skip your flight....If you're two days late...what's a few more hours?....you can get a voucher.... at least you can get something out of this bad deal....unless of course.........they call your name and tell you...thanks but no thanks....You can board the plane there is room.....they'll open the cabin door just for you.....ah geez thanks.

At least my bag made it home...listing....and crooked and bent....but still intact.
~~~

The Year (obviously) of the Snake.....

Sometimes you begin to love what you fear......you begin to see the beauty in what frightens you.

Copperheads are gorgeous: the tan camouflage.... rhythmic and intricate. They're aggressive. You can find a baby on your driveway....a creature no longer than a pencil ....and it will rear up and hiss at you. It doesn't care about the disparity of size......your smell, your heat, your presence....that's all it takes to activate it.

I scream when I see snakes. In Chicago, where I grew up, the only time I saw a snake was at the zoo or some special pet shop display. Snakes in California and Maryland were certainly worthy of a scream because of their size....but they were harmless.

The first Copperhead I met here in the South attacked me. I was in the backyard in the summer....popping weeds with a shovel. I heard a noise...a russling of leaves...then saw a big snake....I screamed and jumped back....the shovel swung in front of me....and there was a ping...a tight metal sound and I realized the snake had lunged for me.

I was so stunned an animal would attack me....that it didn't care what my intentions were....that I sickened and almost fainted. For an instant, I felt the vulnerability of prey. No wonder people aggressively beat back any animal which dares puts them in that position. Isn't that why we have tried to wipe out....bears, gators, wolves......anything that reminds us of that feeling?

The logical thing to do, of course, would be to clear the yard of brush and bush and do what most of my neighbors have done....plant grass, mow lawns, create the picture book suburban yard. But the things that attracted me to this neighborhood were the trees, the wild flowers, the blooming shrubs....the scent of wild honeysuckle. So my front yard conforms to the standard but I've left the backyard wild....leaving the elements which invite all kinds of wildlife ...even ones that attack you....intact.

The other night we found the first Copperhead of the summer on the driveway. My son ran in the house to get me. "Don't kill it,"" I shouted to the men folks.....we all stood back and gave it room. It coiled....protecting itself.

My hub fetched a grabber....a stick....with tongs at the end. I let out obligatory but muffled screams as he grabbed the snake's midsection. My son found a tall plastic laundry bucket. Hub released the snake into the bucket.


It was beautiful. It didn't panic....it was ready to strike. I peered down and felt myself smiling.....you have to admire a feisty animal like this.....ready to defend itself ....even though we were armed with saws and shovels and all kinds of tools that could kill it in an instant.

I convinced my hub to put a board over the bucket. I convinced him to sit in the back seat of our car with the bucket and the board and the snake. The snake didn't deserve to die simply because people have changed its habitat.

I drove a couple of miles down the road till we hit an area of brush. I kicked the bucket over....the snake slithered out...turned and reared its head at me. I was far enough away to laugh......and take a picture...the one mean dude picture up above.

I don't want Copperheads in my yard or neighborhood. It's too dangerous with kids and dogs and cats. But I admit I have this growing grudging admiration for them.....this growing respect...for something that so aggressively defends itself.....it's good to be frightened....it's good to be reminded that not everywhere and not every time....you win.

I'm hoping this Copperhead will be the first and the last of the season....but if it's not....I hope I can at least round the next one up and take it someplace....where it can just be what it was meant to be.

~~