Toasting in Boulder......

Somewhere in the back of my brain.....I thought I was going to beat the southern heat on this vacation....right now I'm in Boulder and it's 90+ degrees....that's not my definition of cool.

It's been an interesting few days......went from Santa Fe to Taos...and spent two nights there.

Big mistake....found Taos boring. But did find the answer to a interesting question....remember hippies? wonder what happened to hippies who fried their brains.....good chance they moved to Taos.....man...I saw an incredible amount of feeble looking folks both young and old....and all of them seemed to be leashed to strange looking dogs......finally figured out that a lot of the dogs must be wold-cross breeds....cause their muzzle and stature just didn't fit the normal bow bow dogs you find elsewhere.

Bored we decided to leave the city on two adventures. Both interesting but unsuccessful.

First....we found a particular Indian artist whose speciality was engraved jet black pottery. Incredible stuff.....was just wowed by her pots. We heard you could drive up to the reservation and find the artist or perhaps a small shop with more of her pieces. So off we went to two Indian reservations. Once we got there....we had to register and then we were told you just walked around and looked for houses with the sign "open" on them. This meant an artist had pottery and was home for a look. I immediately felt uncomfortable. I imagined browsing through a small shop filled with local arts.....didn't expect to be going into people's houses. So....we walked through the village.....and knocked on a few doors with signs. People invited you into their homes....where they usually had a small display of their families goods. Trouble is....how do you politely say....I don't like any of your work when you're in some one's house? I claimed in one house the pottery was too small.....I claimed in another house....the pottery was too big.....I didn't claim.....I disliked their work. Since we were way off the beaten track we decided to go to another reservation....the San Carlos pueblo ....to track down our favorite artist. After several wrong turns....we ended up discouraged.....but found ourselves in the middle of a village. By gosh I looked up and there was a sign....with the artist's name we were looking for plus "open". All excited I knocked on her door .....but .....no one was home. Discouraged we went to the little village store and with the help of one of the locals....Paul Speckle Rock...found another piece which was quite remarkable but still not one of her works. I suppose when I get home I can try and track some of her pieces down on the internet....of course....I should have bought the piece I saw in Santa Fe ...the ol' better something in the hand then dreaming of what's in the bush.

Our next adventure took us out into the desert. I just wanted to drive around. I love these wide open places....I always feel like my mind, my spirit and my heart expands to fit the landscape. So we're....enjoying big sky big desert big mountains.....when we stumble upon a little town. The map states something about a hot spring. So we amble down a road....and find ourselves in the middle of this wonderful resort.....a health springs/spa resort. Posh looking....fountains gurgling....nestled against the desert hills. We enter the lobby and discover they allow walk ins to use the facilities...immediately I spot what I want......a private scented mineral springs bath.

I shower.....put on a loaner swimsuit....and walk to the bath house....just aching to slip into scented hot water and relax for a half an hour. But it's monsoon time in the mountains....and suddenly there's a clap of thunder and a brilliant blast of lightening. The employees emerge and shut down everything....including the bath house. No bathing in the springs for 25 minutes after the last flash of lightening. 24 minutes later....I'm watching the clock smiling..... soon I'm going to be floating in my tub.....when zip bang flash.....another bolt of lightening and a loud long rumble.....I sadly head back to the registration desk....for a refund....for now it will be another 45 minutes before they open the facility. Looking on the bright side....I did get to shower free in mineral water.

My final adventure in Taos was just cute.

The Bed and Breakfast we stayed at....had a resident peacock... George....a fat plump bird who was moulting and in heat. The Inn keeper warned my hub not to go near him since he intensely disliked men during his mating period. In fact, there were spray bottles around....to convince George to stop chasing a man. George, however, in his amorous state liked women. And on our last morning in Taos.....I was rewarded for being a female....George squawked at me......turned around and vigourously shook his bird butt at me....then turned again and gave me the full fan.....complete with some extra shaking.

He was gorgeous. Gorgeous George...and I was impressed and told him so. I've seen peacocks in pictures fully extended but I've never had one standing in front of me. Amazing....thank you George.

Amorous George doing his thing for me

Crossing into Colorado

Killer garden shops

I have a weakness for big garden pots so Santa Fe is like Sin City.

Life is full of compromises though....with only so much room in the
car...I had to scale down my desires. I ended up with one gorgeous
tall pot, one small garden bench and an anitque Chinese carrying box.

I really wanted a carved post to replace the New Mexico one I
purchased years ago when my daughter and I visited Sante Fe. It took
southern termites a dozen years to eat it ( I used it as an
interesting garden sculpture). Unfortunately I've downsized cars and
the pole won't fit in or on top of my vehicle. So small
bench it is.....

Downtown Sante Fe

Touristy.... But interesting for a brief walk around. Silver
jewelry. Indian pots...Mexican wares.....I really do like some of the
artistic Indian pottery. Later today we're headed into the mountains
to visit a particular Indian peublo that specializes in jet black clay
pots. Gorgeous .

Summer flowers

The locals call this "monsoon season". Afternoons usually bring a
storm. Consequently the air us exceptionally clear and wild flowers
bloom along the road like this small sunflower.

Crossing into New Mexico

The panhandle of Texas

I can smell sagebrush.

Sagebrush

And the sun just set at 9 pm

We are flying along Interstate 40 headed West.

West

For so long my travels and vacations have taken me east.... I've
forgotten about warm dry evening breezes and yes...sagebrush

We have another 98 miles to go before we hit Amarillo, Texas but the
evening is soft..the traffic light...and the pungent scent of sage and
grass fills the car.

West .... We are headed west into a cloudless blue grey twilight.

Sent from my iPhone

You ready?

I'm ready......let's go.

My machete and me

I found dad's army issue World War II machete at the bottom of a box.

I asked hub to sharpen it.

Those wild vines in front of my house are going to howl.....lol.

~~~

Successful experiment.....?

I found at least 5 bottles of Bombay Sapphire Gin in my parents house.

I was puzzled...I never saw them drink gin....so why 5 bottles?

I brought the bottles back home...and they sat and sat cause I didn't know any gin drinkers.

This evening.....my hub invented a drink....a gin drink...using the Bombay Sapphire Gin.

Laughing....... my vision decreased by 50%.....I think it's a success!!

Hail Bombay Sapphire gin!

Plan B

This weekend.....I broke down and cried.

My house has been taken over by my parents' things...boxes...furniture....papers... that I still need to go through and either save, donate or sell.

Although it took me a year to sell the house from the date of their deaths.....a year is not a lot of time to deal with their 80 plus years of accumulation.....when you are dealing with two people who were organized mini-hoarders.

When you layer this with the fact that I need new carpeting...need to repair a wall....need to paint a wall or two....and I can't get at my needs because of their stuff.....it's real nerve racking.

So I decided there were only two options....move all their stuff out of my house into a storage unit where I could pluck a few boxes a week and work on them....thus clearing my house so I can clean and do maintenance or put things in the garage. My hub didn't like the idea of moving trucks and hauling things far off....so he offered to help me start loading things up in our garage. We swept and cleaned and tidied the numerous boxes there....then started hauling stuff off....only keeping photos and materials that would be sensitive to heat in the house.

I can see progress already....and when I peered into some of the boxes I was stunned with some of the stuff I saved.....a box of "good" rags??? I guess I wasn't thinking too clearly.

Today....for the rest of the day....I'm going to continue to haul out stuff....and free our house from all the boxes. When this is done....I'll do our normal cleaning and repair work....then tackle things bit by bit.

Sometimes I am confused as to whether or not I'm "wasting" my time and life on stuff.

It's a bad feeling.

I'm hoping when the "stuff" is cleared out....life will feel better and the task of editing my parent's things won't be so overwhelming.

Sometimes and some days...I just want to donate everything and be done with it....but there is a part of me....perhaps because I am an only child.....which looks upon this stuff as a responsibility.
My parents....my maternal and paternal grandparents.....all their memories and all the things that made them who they are.....rest on my shoulders. If I don't organize the pictures....if I don't write the stories.....if I don't cull the junk from the true keepsakes....no body else will. Many people...many generations of families have died without leaving a trace....I suppose that is an option too....why hold so strongly on pretending that their lives were so important in the scheme of life?

I don't know how to answer that question....they and me .....we're just ordinary folks....what does it matter if our memories and who we are .....are preserved?

Perhaps the yearning for meaning....for a sense that all of this ....the breathing in and breathing out was worth something.

All I know right now...is for the next couple of hours...I will cull, discard, and repack stuff up and move it....and I will probably have to commit to one more year of work.....to get all this generational stuff organized.

I hope it was a good use of time, of life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's always something in the South......

Oh I got turtles.....

third one in two weeks....slowly toddling up the front walkway as if they planned to knock on my door and say Howdy.

Trouble is.....this ain't the woods anymore....it's a residential neighborhood with it's share of dogs ...cats....and kids. Critters who like to chase...poke...and play with other critters.

So I picked him up....and held him away from me (turtles pee on ya when they are scared)....walked through the house.....and out the back door down the deck stairs to our backyard.....where there's lots of ivy.....lots of native plants.....and no dogs, cats or kids.

Maybe they'll all procreate down there and have some fun....turtles are territorial and usually stay in their little half mile site all their lives...which is why if you pick them up and carry them to safety ....you shouldn't move them very far....or they will become disoriented and lost.

Worse case if a bulldozer is taking out their land and you find one....well it's disorientation or death....that's an easy choice.

So I placed him on the soft wet earth....where he'd be safe and sound

he gave me a look....

and off he went....straight for my Hostas .....which should provide him with some cover and shade.

Good luck little fella.....

Next.....
~~~~~~~~~

Well......It's a Mac

My hard drive on my PC was wheezing.

I kept thinking of all the data and pictures I had tucked away in that PC's belly.....and I shuddered.

Time to buy a new computer.

I read articles touting the demise of the desktop....but I still enjoy plunking myself down in my chair at my desk and reading, writing, working on my computer in one place.

I recently purchased a net book which is a piece of dog doo doo so I really wanted a working functional and BIG (size does matter) computer.

So viola the IMac...21.5 inches. I did look at the 27 incher....but as with a lot of things that are big for no reason....I declined as I would literally have to cut my desk or buy a new one to fit the console.

My first ever emotion with my IMac was disappointment. It's already carrying an updated version of their new browser....Safari 5 and I felt like I was revisiting my early experiences with the computer....in other words.....I could hit a website.....go to the bathroom, brush my teeth...and perhaps when I came back to my office the website would be loaded. I called the Apple genius who tweeked my machine with me over the phone....but although there were some internals errors with the transfer of data.....Safari 5 even tweeked was damn slow.

So I hoped and waited and thought something might improve and it didn't....so last night I downloaded Firefox a new browser and yippy.....a bit more like a lightening bolt.

Moving to a Mac has not been that difficult....I knew my way around my PC very well....and I can do most basic functions....I'll hit the tutorials here and there over the next couple weeks...and see if there's a little magic in the machine....the touted IMac magic.

There are some absolutely frustrating aspects of Mac world...so far the only way I can figure out how to cut and paste is through the command keystroke....you can't right click the mouse. That's just dumb.....the dock is nice.....things are smooth....and most of all....I connected my wireless keyboard, mouse and printer....by myself with little trouble. You don't always have that experience with a PC.

There's something elegant about a Mac....although I can't quite put my finger on it. It's smooth...buttery....the sounds are softer....and I am sure little by little....I will become acclimated.

Right now...I'm still an explorer....figuring out how to do things I want to do with a different machine....like driving a new car.....I'm still trying to figure out where the knobs are...but the basic concepts appear to be the same.

Maybe moving to a Mac, in keeping with the car analogy, is more like moving from a Ford to a BMW. I get the feeling I've got a lot more possibilities...but the reality is day by day....I want to get from point A to point B accurately and without a accident. I think the IMac makes the journey look cooler just like you tend to look cooler hanging on to the steering wheel of a sleek BMW rather than a Ford Taurus.

Once my net book goes (or I throw it against the wall and make it "go")....I'm going to get a PC laptop because it's apparent there's always something ...a download.....a file....that works better in one system versus another.

So right now the Mac and I are sort of in foreplay mode....hello baby...what can you do for me?

Let's see if it can make me gasp....lol.

The mystery gets bigger

My grandfather was always a puzzle to me......aloof.....stoic.....not an easy man.

He came to the United States around 1916 in the great immigration wave from Eastern Europe and shorty after arriving married my grandmother who was, supposedly, some distant cousin.

My grandparents never liked to talk about the "old country" a lot......and this was especially true of my grandfather. I didn't know if he had any brothers or sisters in this country. I wasn't sure what town he came from....I never heard any childhood stories about him or from him.

My grandfather received letters from Poland from his family and relatives....but my grandmother and my mother paid me 50 cents to intercept them....to beat my grandfather to the mailbox and secret them away. They always told me his relatives wanted money from him so they "screened" his mail. They said he received all of his screened mail after they read it. The answer seemed plausible when I was kid and two quarters could buy candy or a Good Humor Ice Cream bar from the truck so I wasn't going to complain about my little job.

Once or twice I caught my grandmother burning letters in a steel bowl in the backyard....but she told me she was burning her letters from her family....although in retrospect..... it was probably my grandfather's "screened" letters that were turned to ashes.

When my parents died...and I went through their papers and house, I expected to find something about my grandparents...and I actually hoped I would find something about my mysterious grandfather. But the steel box that kept my parents' important papers contained nothing about my grandparents or my grandfather. The only other boxes that contained papers...... were my mother's "tax boxes." I thought of throwing the tax boxes away but decided to bring them back home with me and go through them in case there was something I might need to settle their taxes or estate.

My mother was compulsive about keeping her receipts organized in the tax box.

Each box has a year scrawled on it....and each box contains every cancelled check my mother wrote for the year, every utility and phone bill, every bill.....and once charge cards became popular....my mother would staple every receipt to match the charges onto the bill...and then fold the bill in half and staple again...sort of like a little paper dumpling with bills inside.

If there was ever a question on a bill or she wanted to check something like a credit card receipt from 4 years ago....all she had to do was pull out the appropriate tax box and viola the original receipt and the charge statement would all be there.

I will not even discuss what I do in contrast....except to say it's more like "ha ha good luck" or something akin to the lottery.

Despite this uber organization......my mother and sometimes my father..... would throw something very personal in a tax box.....sometimes unrelated to the year of the box and the event.

For example, I looked through a 1995 box and discovered amid all the perfect stacks of rubber banded receipts....a lone 5x7 white envelope....I looked inside and there was my parent's wedding invitation...an invitation I have never seen.

Because of these odd strange personal items in the boxes.....I decided not to toss the tax year boxes away......and carted about 35 boxes home.....35 tax years. I've been trying to tackle one a week....just going through them.....placing some paper in recycling and the rest through the shredder.

Yesterday.....I opened a box from the 70's and right up on top was a very yellowed piece of paper. I held my breath.....it was in Polish......and had official stamps on it.

My grandfather's birth certificate. HOLY SHIT.

Finally....finally I was going to find out where he is from and at the very least who were his parents. I carefully ....oh so carefully opened....the fragile thin paper and then looked back into the box...something was missing.....a quarter of the paper.

I carefully laid the delicate paper out on my kitchen counter and realized someone had cut....a nice clean straight edge across the certificate....and removed my grandfather's father name and where he came from.

The upper corner lists my grandfather's province, municipality and parish (all government business in the 1800's was anchored by which parish served a community).

It appears his mother's name was listed....which may be Anita? The year he was born is clearly listed......but for some reason.....his father's name was removed.

My first cousin told me...... her parents, (my aunt and uncle) actually visited Poland and visited my grandfather's town. But they wouldn't talk about it, took no pictures and gave no records to her.

She told me....my grandfather was Jewish....or probably was Jewish....but it remains a mystery....he certainly married into a Catholic family.....and he avoided church like the plague.... but men from the old country especially..,,, older men...often didn't attend church....since religion was considered "women's business."

Last night I was thrilled....and spent a couple hours trying decipher the letters then put the words into an online translator.

Today....I am scratching my head....why did my mom want to hide this info? Why was my great grandfather's name such a secret?.....even if the man was a notorious horse thief or bank robber....looking at a birth certificate and seeing the name John Bar....k....isn't going to tell you much about his old country history when you're standing in America.

And if this was really such a big secret....why cut out a portion of the birth certificate ? Why not just throw it away?

With the municipality, parish, and local government listed on the document.... there is a reasonable chance I can get another copy or trace it.....I may not...but the three things you need to do a search of Polish records is the governmental logistics..... which is in the corner of the document.

What an interesting and strange little mystery this is......who was my great grandfather....who were my grandfather's relatives?.....and why would you want to cover the information up?

Guess I better get onto to one of those family ancestry websites......and find a Polish translator. This might be fun and interesting.........

What?

On a quick shopping expedition last weekend to find my son a shirt......we dashed into one of those huge Chicago malls. There was a row of bright red plastic strollers waiting for little ones.

As I passed by.....I did a double take......what?

Do Not Put Child In Bag

Is it possible there are some parents who are so dumb....they would try and stuff their child in the carry all bag on the back of the stroller instead of in the front molded seat?

Really?

At Rest

I am home and so are my parents.

I took their ashes back to Chicago.

My whole family plus some friends were there.....to say good-bye.

I hope I did the right things.

I hope my parents would be pleased.

The containers, the ashes....they didn't give me any signals so all I could do is create something that the survivors, the people who knew and loved them, would feel good about.

In a couple of months.....I will head back one more time to Chicago and check their headstones and carvings.

In the Lithuanian cemetery, where my father is buried, I will plant some Hostas and day lilies. Hostas my dad dug up from his own garden and transported down here to the south. Hostas that will now make the return journey back north to stay with him.

My mother's austere cemetery won't allow plantings or flowers.....so I will only bring shears to cute the grass away from her family's headstones.....and a small stone to lay on the granite so she knows I was there.

On the drive back south, I wondered if I should have kept my parents' ashes with me.....as I already felt an emptiness....a lack of them....as I headed back home. But Chicago is where they lived and loved and made their life so I guessed that would be the best place for them.

Still....today....I wondered.....the house ...my house is filled with their stuff but not them....and I'm not completely sure that is right.

Startled to see a deer and fawn so close to us....it was a very unambiguous message though.

One absolutely completely terrible moment.

I have been sick for the last day and a half.

I tossed so hard in my bed last night my hips still hurt.

I thought I lost my mother.

Soon I will be returning my parents' ashes to Chicago.

I decided on Saturday to check everything. Make sure I have all the forms and papers I need. Cemeteries have a lot of rules and I would hate to discover some last minute glitch.

Each box of ashes came with a certificate verifying who was in the urn.

I knew I had the certificates but for about 10 minutes I forgot where I put them for safekeeping.

My hub checked the urn and found in each container a tag with a number that matches the certificate.

To help me.....he wrote down my mom and dad's number so when I was sifting through the papers I could easily spot the forms.

I found my mom's certificate but my husband blanched when I showed him the papers.....my mom's numbers didn't match.

Either I had some one's ashes or the certificate was wrong.

I crumpled over.

Oh God what if there has been a mix up? A year later...my mother's ashes could be anywhere....scattered over a farm.....in a grave.....under some one's couch.

There was absolutely nothing to do but wait till Monday morning when the offices of the funeral home opened....either there was a typo or my mother's remains had been mixed up.

I tried not to think about it.......I kept busy.....I forced myself to do small necessary tasks that would keep my mind off my worries. But all the time inside.....I kept thinking to myself.....oh please God let it be a typo. What would we do if it wasn't? What if she was scattered some place? How could I possibly make this right?

Monday morning my hub immediately placed the phone call.

He had them repeat the number to us.....so there couldn't be any possibility of them covering up the mistake if there was one.

He called.

"It's okay.....everything is fine."

I sank into the couch and I could feel my heart beat....as if it was still on an adrenalin high.

The possibilities were so horrible.....I still have mini flashbacks.....as if my mind still can't purge the bad data......

This evening......I checked the urn in it's pretty blue velvet covering. She was there...Mom was there....and soon she and dad would be going home....together.

The Holy Card

I'm returning my parents' ashes to Chicago soon.....finally, a year after their death....I can take them back home to their final resting place.

I don't know how people make funeral arrangements in the grip of grief....even save....I have found it frustrating and difficult too make all the necessary phone calls and jump through all the hoops one must go through to bury a person--Christian burial permits, memorial service arrangements, purchasing vaults and urns that meet the specifications of two different cemeteries.

A couple days ago I remembered how much my mother liked Holy Cards and decided to make arrangements for a card for them. Holy cards, now called Prayer cards, are part of the Catholic burial ceremony. They are miniature portraits or scenes with Jesus, Mary or the Saints printed on a small card. The portrait/scene is on front of the card whereas the back listed the name, birthday and death of the person plus a prayer. They are handed out by family members either at mass or the funeral home or tucked into a card for friends and relatives who can not attend the service.

As a child, I was fascinated with these small intricate artistic cards.

The scenes could be delightful....St. Frances walking through a forest with little furry animals gazing up at him....Disney-gone-Catholic.......or Mary, young and sweet, listening to a tall winged angel whispering her fate.

But many of the cards were gory....saints burning at the stake, pierced by arrows, or bleeding from stigmata....replicas of the crucifixion wounds of Jesus. These cards turned me into a detective searching the faces and the bodies of these saints ... looking for signs of humaneness... a hint of pain or doubt or worry. I never found any...their small hands always rested with grace and satisfaction on their wounds....their glazed eyes always gazed unwavering towards heaven.

Apparently, you can now go online and print a sheet of holy cards and then cut or tear them apart for distribution. I saw a few of these cards in the office of the funeral home and disliked them. The poor picture quality and the rough edges from imperfect perforation made some of them look cheap. So I decided to go online and purchase professionally printed cards.

I flipped from one website to another....searching searching for a picture but after scanning hundreds of cards....I felt uneasy and anxious. The beatific faces without emotions now bothered me....anything with blood or swords or wounds made me cringe. I wanted welcoming faces not dispassionate faces....I wanted peace from suffering not bleeding hearts....I was looking for a saint or angel or a god who smiled...who seemed welcoming of my parents ... not indifferent.

Ozzie the Wonder Dog came into my study and poked his scabby nose at me....I didn't know if he wanted to go out or he was just being "emo" and sensing my feelings. We headed out to the back porch and I rocked in the humid heat for a while. I recently added a mezuzah on to the door frame of my backdoor....the little capsule that contains the "Shema" the central prayer of the Jewish faith. I absentmindedly stared at the mezuzah for awhile....when I realized that since this is where my heart and identity is now....perhaps I would find some guidance here.

I took out my prayerbook and read over the prayers until I found one that I really liked....peaceful......respectful......I tinkered with it ...added.... subtracted...and finally created something I felt my parent's would like and be proud of.

I went back to the computer and now tried to match the prayer to an image.

I found a sturdy broad shouldered Jesus. He looked like he might smile. He had a small lamb slung around his shoulders...a sign of gentleness and protectiveness....and although he had two wounds in his hands....I did not feel the wounds...the suffering...was the central theme of this image.....but a nod to reality.

My parent died peacefully.... but they had their wounds too....my dad's paralyzed leg and arm....my mom's body swollen from her failing heart.

I hit the "order button" and felt satisfied.

A day or two ago I would have never ever considered posting this Holy Card on my blog.....but I woke up today....and realized it was a prayer....and it is truly from my heart.....and reflects my hopes for my parents......and in the land of blogs and face book and a zillion words on the net....maybe being brave and posting something personal and honest is not something to be afraid of....

Is Oklahoma really OK with this?

I"m not looking to be misunderstood this week.....although I did tangle with my IPhone a couple of days ago about having Lupus or going to St. Louis in July.

Now this ad catches my eye....

Is it just me or do you find a little subliminal messaging here?

Wide open-spaces and jam-packed places....while looking at the long legs and derriere of a woman??

Really?

Does everyone immediately think of the state of Oklahoma when you read that line....or are you inclined to wonder about the state of that woman?

Uh-huh........

boots and heels....

yippie ...i ...o....ki ...ay.....I"m sure thinking about something and it ain't Oklahoma.

I really didn't mean that......

Okay.....texting is a normal part of my life....but I still can't stop sending bizarre text messages thanks to my IPhone.

I just sent a message to my hub:

" Kenny invited us to St. Louis in July."

All fine and well right?

Well....if you own an IPhone you know ..... the device corrects your spelling.....sometimes with rather interesting results.

My hub texted me back?

"WHAT?????"

So I scrolled down and reread the text message I just sent.....it said:

"Kenny invited us to have Lupus in July."

Ahhh.....not quite.

Besides....Lupus in July is the pits.

Together

My friend Krista and I spent a little time together today....and the hours seemed like minutes.

Krista reminded me we met ten years ago.....this fall.....in an introductory rhetoric class at our local university.

The essay I wrote for that class was the first piece of my writing that was ever published....
.
I remembered writing that essay on graph paper with a scratchy old pencil while I sat in the middle of my bedroom closet....trying to find peace and quiet in a house full of three busy kids........Krista was starting her journey towards a master's and then a doctorate degree....and like a lot of people and events in my life.....ended up in New York.

Although I knew there was an age difference between us....it never mattered...she was and is a wise woman with a great deal of interests and smarts and I immediately found her fascinating.

Krista is now teaching at Syracuse University.....and I'm already contemplating travel ideas on how to get from here to there.....right now I'm intrigued by the thought of snuggling up for a couple of days on a train with an armload of books....or maybe I should bring along some graph paper and a scratchy old pencil....and see if there's any magic left.......

Home

Although I don't often like to fly.....sometimes the view is amazing....I flew from the center of Long Island....to Baltimore....to home the other day.

Thanks to Jason, a Barnes and Noble friend and artist, I was nudged into putting some photo apps on my IPhone.....so I had something to do during the longer leg of the journey.

I liked this picture because the sky looked like a steamy bowl of soup with dumpling clouds floating in it. As the plane headed further south.....the thunderheads were so thick and the clouds below were so gray and ominous.....I was grateful to be on top of the weather rather than underneath it.

I'm always amazed when I travel....how quickly the vacation....vanishes once you start heading home. For a whole week I looked at rental houses for my daughter's wedding and pretty spots....then spent a part of each day on the beach....Fire Island, Cooper's Beach, Montauk, Ditch Plains....and the "Tip"......and yet....as I sat on the plane and looked out the window....snacking on my Southwest Airlines orange cheese crackers.....it seemed like all the sand and wind and sun I felt happened a thousand years ago.

As the turbulence kicked in closer to home, I realized I had a drink coupon. I have a whole stack of them from Southwest....and because I often fly during the day...never even consider using them. But at 4pm....with the plane bouncing around ....it didn't seem like a bad idea....so I pulled an old coupon out of my wallet and asked the cabin attendant if she had bourbon.

"Of course," she said, in a way that made me feel like I was pretty naive about the drink cart on planes.

Soon my bourbon and soda sparkled in the sunlight streaming in from the window.

And guess what???? Drink a nice stiff drink....and the turbulence doesn't seem so bad after all.

.

I drifted relaxed and calm to my home city.....riding the bumps.....without a care in the world.

.

Just before I disembarked.....I adjusted my sandal strap.....and a tiny pool of sand spilled out from my shoe from my morning walk on Fire Island.

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I smiled down at the little puddle of sand....grabbed my purse...my little briefcase....and left behind Long Island and my week.....ready and willing to go home.

Long Island/Lon Gisland

This is a funny place......an island split by economics and a freeway and even shorelines.....rocky versus sandy.

I felt tepid about being here.....yes, my daughter is looking to get married in a rental house on the Hamptons....but it is still Long Island....and sometimes I have mixed feelings about the place....the crowds....the snake of a freeway that binds you in continuous traffic jams down the center of the island and the feeling of claustrophobia I get in the middle of the island as the congestion, roads and closeness of the place presses in on a traveler......

but the place has a certain weird magic at times too.......when I boarded the plane from Baltimore to Islip.....I sat in a row of white starched shirt executives with Nooks and Kindles all pressed inwards and outwards.....the row ahead of me carried a couple of short sleeve knit shirt guys.....laughing and downing two Bloody Mary's in the short 45 minute flight....they south Lon Gisland accent obvious.

Looking at wedding spots.....we drove from the center of the island towards the North Shore where like magic the houses and the yards expanded suddenly as if we had crossed some type of invisible line. Here was Long Island....properly stated by the educated probably holding a blackberry in one hand and a bottle of coconut water in the other.

I've moved from the center of island to the Hamptons right now....I've always rolled my eyes at the place...but visiting the rental houses we have been forced off the main road onto the side roads and the actually houses of the place which are enchanting with their lush gardens. Although we are looking at a big house....we're not looking at the BIG houses the huge estates closer to the beach which rent for 100,000 to 250,000 for the summer season. No.....we're not in that category.....just a week......and perhaps a mile to the ocean.....is what is in our category.

My daughter best friend joined us yesterday.....so now we are three traveling women and after the serious hard work of house looking we ended up on beautiful Cooper Beach last evening......As of this weekend..... when summer arrives....the municipality charges 40.00 to park your car in the lot to access the beach.....supposedly the high prices keeps out the riff raft....lol....and keeps the beach exclusive. Ah the Hamptons.....

This morning the young women are already up and getting ready..... we're headed up to Montauk....the tip of the North Fork to stroll on the beaches for the day. The traffic has been bumper to bumper at times but lighter than I envisioned in my nightmares of driving on the island on Memorial Day weekend.

They're lightly knocking on my door....which means I best shake my boody out of bed....and get ready for breakfast and the beach......it's a funny place......this long island.

Ahhhh Long Island

Ogling Breasts can make you live longer?

I was going to blog about my legs.

How they felt better....how I'm walking strong and what a great feeling that is...to feel all your muscles working right after they have been hurt, injured and punished.

So I went, as usual, to Google images to hunt for a picture for my blog.

I entered the words..."fast walking" ....in the search engine.

Immediately my eyes fell on a picture of a nurse with her breasts hanging out. As a former nurse, it's my duty to check these types of images out....I expected the addy to lead me to a porn site. Instead I landed on a blog which touted the secrets of longevity.

According to this blog these things helped you live longer:


1) Walking fast.

2) Relaxing, sleeping and fasting for two days a month.

3) Reading

And number #4 was "Enjoying women's breasts." The sentence structure made me believe the blog was translated and not originally in English. The advice was so interesting I copied it here.....

4) Enjoying women's breast. Scientists found that enjoying women's breast for ten minutes is beneficial to the health. This can at least reduce the risk of suffering from myocardial infarction. The medical expert Karen Weatherbee believes it is especially suitable for a 40 year old man.

Of course it doesn't say whether a woman who has her breast played with for ten minutes a day also enjoys "health benefits" but certainly men 40 and over do receive benefits.


I wondered why they picked the breasts falling out of the uniformed nurse to demonstrate the idea.? Still curious about the advice, I decided to google Dr. Weatherbee who turned out to be Dr. Weatherby, a scientist from Germany.

She conducted studies where 200 males who were followed for 5 years. Half were told to ogle a women's breast daily ( There were no details on how the ogling was conducted. Were these live ogling session or something as simple as looking as Victoria secret ads?)

After 5 years, ( and yes....I know several men who would have volunteered for ten years or more given the chance), the men who ogled had lower blood pressure, slower resting pulses and less coronary artery disease. She further commented that ogling daily could prolong a man's life by 4-5 years.

Wow.....I immediately realized .....being a busty woman.....that I was now a medical device!

This was mind boggling....ogling me..... could make a man could live longer.

It's too bad my husband's already asleep....otherwise I would wake him up and tell him he was going to live to an extraordinary ripe old age....with me around.

Of course, the study was very lopsided. Did women benefit from being ogled? Did they live longer if someone ogled their breasts daily?? I sure hope Dr. Weatherby is studying the other side of this question.

Another wow....I just realized every time I wear a blouse with cleavage I'm like Mother Theresa....giving out good karma, health, and longevity.

This puts a whole new emphasis on my wardrobe......I mean should I toss my turtlenecks out since they're a hazard to men's health everywhere?

What amazing implications.......lol....

Where o' where can my little house on Long Island be?

From blintzes and kugel to houses.

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A few days ago I was sweating in the Food festival booth.....now I'm sweating over my keyboard looking for a house on the Internet. A house for my daughter to get married in.

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Through some weird process of selection....she and her finance decided they wanted to wed in the Hamptons on Long Island. We all liked this one house near Southampton, an estate with 14 bedrooms and the capacity to hold 28 people...which my daughter tells me is the perfect number of guests.

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The owner of the house told me they would be staying at the house on Memorial Day weekend so come on down and check it out.

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So my daughter and I made arrangements and are heading out to Long Island next weekend....where only idiots would fly into....because who the hell is willingly going to face the Memorial Weekend crowds on a long thin island with only a handful of major highways.

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Trouble is....I've emailed and called the owners and they're not answering. Maybe they changed their minds about showing the house...maybe someone is sick....maybe ...maybe...maybe...who knows??? But now we are stuck with tickets to Long Island and a need to find a house for a wedding if we don't hear from the estate people.

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So all morning I was looking and looking and I'm not thrilled....although there are one or two possibilities.

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By afternoon I was asking myself what weird karma has fallen on me that my daughter would want to get married on Long Island.....I mean really....there's a whole coast line from Maine to Florida and she picks the most difficult....most expensive ....most troublesome spot on the coast.

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Of course I'm not going to say this to her.....it's her dream....and my job as mom is to help make that dream come true....but by late afternoon..... I wanted to pound my head against the wall... Long Island? the Hamptons? Where am I going to find a house for 28 people that doesn't cost three Rolls Royces if these owners don't' recontact me???

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So I went shopping tonight and bought two new bras and panties...because I always buy new underwear when I go to New York.....and decided I would spend part of Saturday and a good chunk of Sunday....calming thinking my way through this need and rescanning the rental ads.

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I'm clever....there must be something I can arrange/do....but even with new underwear I don't feel very hopeful.

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Patience patience.....deep breath....this is only the beginning.

Blintzes, kugel, crowds and aching feet.

Amazing.

One of the leads for the fest told me the police estimated the crowd around 15,000-18,000.

It felt like most of those people wanted blintzes or some kugel.

I sold out on 650 servings of blintzes (two blintzes apiece which means we cooked 1300 blintzes) and got through most of the kugel (30 mega tubs). That's a lot of food.....

The forecast was for rain and when I headed out to downtown early in the morning with my car filled with defrosted blintzes and kugel....it was drizzling. I felt bad....so much work....and even with a covered pavilion ...who would come in the rain to eat and listen to music?

But by 9am....when the booths started opening...the clouds parted....there was blue sky and in a couple of hours even sunshine.

I didn't see any of it....I was collecting tickets and calling out orders "One blintz ....blintz to go.....blintz and kugel on the side.....kugel but make it warm" and other assorted instructions....true to my nature I didn't cook the blintzes or even get near to the fry pans....I left that job to the "fry cooks"....who I noticed immediately had calm patient personalities...which is a necessary precondition to work with blintzes since the crepe-like outer covering can tear easily if rushed....and you can't rush a blintz.

The fryers kept frying .....the kugel lady kept rotating the tubs in the warmer so the thick slices would stay warm....and I dished out plate after plate after plate.

The sky started to darken just a bit at 2:30pm......around 3:30pm....someone at the info booth blew a shofar.....a long long horn with a haunting sound.....5 minutes later....there was a flash of lightening and gust of wind so strong it nearly blew some tables over. The crowds started to scatter while we tried to hold down the side wall tarps. We were supposed to shut down at 4pm....but it was too scary to stay open and I just sold my last blintz. So we quickly unplugged the skillets....ran after garbage and plates and napkins that started swirling around in the wind...and called it a day.

I wish I could tell you there were tons of funny stories.....but nothing really bizarre happened except everyone in the world wanted an order of blintzes....and it was just hard hard work.

By the time we packed everything into the car....I was so exhausted I could barely move....and hub and I both reeked of butter. As soon as I hit our house, I slipped off my clothes and poured a huge amount of epson salt into a hot bath and sank in.

Ohhhhhhhhhh....that felt good.

I hadn't eaten for a long time.....and when hub asked what I wanted for dinner....I had very strong suggestions....NO BLINTZES NO KUGEL, nothing that taste too butter...nothing with cheese...nothing greasy....nothing that smells too strong....and nothing that even remotely reminds me of the smells, tastes or food of the blintz and kugel booth.

At the end a couple of people shook my hand....."We give the kugel/blintz booth to the newbies......if you work a second year at the festival.....you're smart enough to stay a mile away from this baby."

Yes indeedy.....a mile away sounds about right.

Food fest jitters

I'm a mess of nerves right now.

I have to be up at 5:45 am to prep for the food fest and my little kugel/blintz booth.

I have pounds and pounds of kugel and dozens of blintzes to transport downtown plus all those darn cups of sour cream and jam.

I have the capacity tomorrow to dish up 650 servings of blintzes....and so for the last two days.....the menfolks and I have filled 650 mini cups of sour cream and 650 mini cups of strawberry preserves to accompany the cheesy crepes. Phew....

I also have 720 slices of kugel. The kugel first travels to warming bins off site ....then wonderful folks pre-slice them and bring them down to our booth to replenish our booth supply.

For a woman who doesn't like to cook and doesn't like to be in the kitchen....this is a lot of FOOD to be in charge of.....I wish I had volunteered to chat up the health inspector or man the volunteer booth....places where your chief responsibility is to chat....which I'm good at....but food...dishing out food....supervising the proper temp of the food....looking after the folks browning the blintzes in skillets filled with butter....I could swoon ....I'm SO NOT in my element.

But it's for a good cause....and how many things could possible go wrong serving up a noodle pudding and a cheesy crepe?

I guess I'll find that out tomorrow.

Jam Jam and Jam for the blintzes

Is that Pus in your Twinkie?

I was rolling down the grocery store aisle with my cart and did a double take.....

What the hell is coming out of that Twinkie?

Pus? Avocado filling?

Yeah....it's "Orge Green" alright.

All I can say is......"YUCK."

What I did over the weekend....

Mmmmmmmm.....miles of kugel....a sweet noodle pudding make with eggs and cream cheese and butter and...of course noodles.

I admit....I didn't actually cook them....I'm really the kugel kitchen assistant to my hub and a wonderous cook named Rita.

We're getting ready for the Food Festival next weekend.....and as I mentioned before I'm managing the kugel and blintze booth.

One more batch to make on Monday and we'll have 40 trays of kugel and 125 dozen blintzes ready for sale....with the proceeds going to charity.

Getting nervous....I've been chairman of a literary festival....but manager of a kugel and blintze booth? It involves cooking and things I'm not ordinarily associated with.....like food.

Well, I guess it's good to expand one's horizons...lol.

Pure Joy...or the annual touch up of the patio furniture

So simple.

Yet so wonderful.

Today was the annual touch-up-the-patio-furniture-with-spray-paint-day.

It was gorgeous....blue blue sky....soft warm breeze....all the leaves out and fresh and creating a dappled sun screen overhead.

I was so happy.....just to walk around....turn the chairs over....spritz a bit o' paint here and there.

I didn't rush ...we have two decks because our home is on a hillside...so I stretched the touch up job for the first deck through the morning.......tomorrow another beautiful day is forecast....and I will relish the small but satisfying task of planting flowers and getting the furniture arranged.

Granted as summer moves closer we don't do much sitting outside....the bugs and humidity....will see to that...but still the scene is nice to look at from the house....the clay pots with white flowers spilling over....the soft murmur of the fountain....the chairs ready should you be brave enough to sit a spell despite ravenous insects and the heavy wet blanket we call air down here.


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Fate. Providence. Kismet. Kismat.

Intuition?

Sixth Sense?

Fate?

My father's spirit?

I don't know what to call it or what it was.

All I know is what I felt and what happened.

Tuesday was the anniversary of my father's death.

Monday night I went to sleep on the living room couch in my parent's home in Chicago. I had driven up there to supervise some electrical work which might seal the deal on the sale of their home.

I tossed and turned....I woke up a hundred times....knowing I had to do something....eventually sensing I had to go to my grandparent's cemetery to check something. But why?

After my parent's died, I wanted to visit the cemetery to take pictures of the gravestones and gather information because I plan to research my family history in the future. I knew I wouldn't be making frequent trips to Chicago after I sold my parent's house ,but I felt no urgency towards the visit....it was just something to be done ....until Monday night.

I awoke Tuesday morning....puffy eyed and tired but the sense....almost the physical sense of being pushed to go there....increased.

I planned to return a dress I bought online to a store and do a little shopping before the electrician arrived. I drove quite a distance to the store.....returned the item....but couldn't stay an extra minute....in that store. The sense, the urgency to go to the cemetery kept tugging at me.

I tried to be logical....I'm sure I feel this tug....because...it's the anniversary of my father's death.....and although he is not buried yet.....perhaps in my psyche I just needed to connect to my family....to my grandparents and some of the relatives. Surely this is why I'm feeling this push.

So I drove to the cemetery. It's been years since I've been there.. I went to the office to get lot information.

I pulled up the information for my grandparents, the burial site of the "babies", my grandmother's stillborn children, and then I pulled up Mike's burial information. The family rumor was that Mike was not only my grandparent's best friend but also my dad's true father.

I wanted to go Mike's grave site first....but I felt it was disrespectful....why visit "Uncle Mike's" grave first....who was not related to us...over my grandparents?

So I wandered through the cemetery and found them....my grandparents....the still born babies.

The sky was crystal blue and it was cold and windy but sunny. So windy I literally did feel pushed around.

While I walked around...trying to find their plots....I marveled at all the lavish, decorative monuments. I liked that in this cemetery (versus the cemetery my maternal ancestors are buried at) people could plant small bushes and plants next to the monuments. It made things green and messy...hostas...tulips... bushes...... all brushed...and covered...and swamped the stones...but it also made it feel personal.

The non-uniform plantings, the overgrown bushes, and the freedom given to families to choose ornate or simple or tall or stout monuments...made the cemetery feel comfortable...non-rigid...approachable. I found myself smiling....I liked the natural feel...I thought my father would like it here too.

But my plans were to bury both my mother and father in my mom's lot in the other cemetery....the one with the manicured lawns...and a thousand restrictions on what you could or could not place near the mandated flat marker stones. Besides...my parents had been married over 60 years...I couldn't separate them.

But I disliked how they treated my request to have my father buried with my mother.....even though it only means the cremation box to hold their ashes would be slightly larger.....they made me feel like my father was an alien. I had to get permission from my living relatives to "allow" my father's remains to be placed with my mother....as if somehow being her husband for 60 years wasn't enough. Technically, if a relative objected...they both could not be buried in the plot. The headstone would also have my father's name listed underneath instead of next to my mother's. The cemetery personel made me feel as if my father was some parasite that was being attached to my mom...instead of her devoted husband.

Because the cemetery personnel made me so uncomfortable.........because they were so annoyed at my questions....I couldn't face burying my parent's ashes yet. Something stopped me....I couldn't proceed with the arrangements....I didn't know why....but it felt wrong/disagreeable.

But I also felt guilty.....surely a year after their deaths I should make arrangements.....what was wrong with me?

I finally decided it was time to visit Uncle Mike's grave. I sensed he was what I was here for ....but part of me fought how illogical this thought was. Why would I feel pushed to visit Uncle Mike over my grandparents?

I saw his reddish colored granite monument in the distance. Walked to it and froze.

Mike and his brother were buried there....and there was a third empty space.

I started crying. I knew ....I knew ...somehow this was for my father....but how could it be?

No one ever mentioned this....my father....my mother...my mother's best friend who knew all our family business....no papers....no records ...no information...no directions/instructions from anyone.

I went back to the office ....I tried to control my sobs. How would I ask the secretary about the empty grave site ? Both Mike and his brother were bachelors.....they had no descendants in the Chicago area. Who was it for?

A lie.

"My father died and he told me there was a plot for him next to Mike X."

"Names again please?"

"Yes, Mike indicated the plot is for his nephew, Peter."

I cried. My body shook. The secretary stuffed my hand with kleenex. I turned away from her.

I knew this was why I was here.

My father is not Mike's nephew.... my father is probably Mike's son.

You don't buy a plot for your nephew....especially if your nephew is married and most likely would make other arrangements to be next to his wife. My father could be buried in many places....Mike hoped he would be buried next to him.

I left the building and stood in the grass close to where I parked the car. I let the wind blow me around for a while. The icy blue sky and sun gave such a sense of clarity to the day....it made you feel there were no ifs and buts in the universe.... only yes and no.

I had found yes.

My body relaxed....peace wrapped around me.

Whatever it was that pushed me in my dreams ...that pushed me all day to come here....was now satisfied.

I had discovered what needed to be found.

I will bury my father's ashes next to Mike. Dad will not be an alien or parasite....he will take his place among the menfolks of Mike's family. My father will have his dignity. My father will have his place. Whether or not they are truly father and son...I may never know...and maybe they didn't know for sure either....but somehow they felt it might be

I will also blend my father's ashes with my mother and bury them together at the other cemetery.

My mother hated being alone....I will make sure they are together. My father and mother would have wanted that too.

My father moved from his childhood neighborhood to live with my mother's relatives when they married....so too now....the circle will be complete.....and he will be with them again.

But he will have his own spot too....and I will transplant some of the hostas he gave me... which are lush and thick in my yard to his monument....and I will plant daffodils...his favorite spring flower. He loved to garden...he loved his hostas.

Everything is in it's place now.

Give me a break.

1am....and freaking out.....it ain't pretty.

I feel like a voodoo doll...with 100 pins (aka known as life's problems) sticking me.

Pins for failing real estate deals, my son losing his health insurance, over budget on a project, and blah blah blah blah blah.

I was so desperate I surfed the web for articles on how to change your luck....oh people have systems and for a copy of their newsletter for 24.95....they tell you what it is.

I just need to pull a few pins out and I can handle all the rest...but I'm sporting a full load and soon I'm gonna spring a leak......

there she blows....lol....

Well how about that.....

I was sitting on the bed.....strapping my sandals when I heard this boom.

"What the hell?"

I looked out the window.

Ozzie the Wonder Dog galloped into the bedroom obviously concerned.

Maybe something happened at a construction site down the road.

My son scanned the Internet and rushed in with an explanation.

The space shuttle had passed directly over us on the way to its landing site in Florida.

Very very cool.

One of those weeks....

It's really hard to write anything this week.

Crummy week.

Looks like the bid on my parent's house is falling through....second bid...second falling.

Will probably have to drive up to Chicago next weekend and take care of some minor repairs on the house....get someone to cut the grass.... someone to fix a window.

Just hate the thought of driving up north...and being in my parent's house again. Sleeping on the couch and having all those memories crowd me in the empty living room.

This week is the first anniversary of their deaths.

I had flashbacks of my mom's last hours....all weekend. The way her mouth was open and the particular way her jaw jutted forward as her breathing became labored.

My dad....I miss him.

I wish I could talk to him...tell him a few things.

How his DNA results came back just a day after his death and showed he has a strong Mongolian/Siberian background. Oh ....he would have found that fascinating.

How I solved the mystery of the basement leak. Here's my dad...wondering for years why there was a water problem there....and I found a spot under the outdoor rug.....where an unscrupulous worker ...didn't re-cement a work area after the cable was fixed.

And then there's my house still looking like a warehouse and me....not having the energy or desire to even peer inside those boxes.

"Change your thoughts and you change your world."

Yeah ...I'll try that tomorrow.

planted and potted

It was so simple and yet such a joyous thing to do.

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I planted a tree in a pot and placed it near my front door.

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I planted it as the day was ending, the light fading into pink, the damp from the lawn beginning to rise.....the yellow of the porch light taking over.

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I didn't plant anything last year....when my parents were ill and dying.

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So it felt magical....and sensual....the mulchy smell, the softness of potting soil, the pricks from the holly leaves.

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Life finally returns to our house.

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Pico Iyer blurred

It's not the best picture I have from the literary festival....but it's the one I like the most.

I like the blurriness.....the edges shifty and not tidy. Sometimes when you read some one's book or listen to them speak for an hour...you think you know them or understand them....when in reality, you probably understand just a tiny fragment of the person standing in front of you with the rest in a blur. Hence Pico and I ....are truthfully and wonderfully blurred to each other.

I have loved many of Pico Iyer's essays. He's a travel writer and commentator and the author of several books. His language is beautiful, slow, thoughtful. His thoughts on "Why we travel" are so often quoted it's hard to believe they originated from a real person who uniquely formed the idea for the first time.

Here's a passage from his oft quoted essay:

We travel, initially, to lose ourselves; and we travel, next, to find ourselves. We travel to open our hearts and eyes and learn more about the world than our newspapers will accommodate. We travel to bring what little we can, in our ignorance and knowledge, to those parts of the globe whose riches are differently dispersed. And we travel, in essence, to become young fools again -- to slow time down and get taken in, and fall in love once more.


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I bought a gallon of milk today

I bought a gallon of milk today and I was thrilled.

I parked the car, walked into the store, walked to the dairy case plopped my gallon of milk into my shopping cart and headed for the check out lane.

Halfway through the store I felt a rush of euphoria. I had walked from the car....into the store....and was on my way out....walking.

After an entire month of couching after my foot surgery...sitting on the couch with my feet up ....I was walking again.

My steel pins were removed on Friday. A horrible adventure.

I knew the procedure was not going to be pleasant when the Doctor instructed me to close my eyes. I had a sock in my hand from my affected foot and placed it over my eyes like a blindfold.

"Don't worry you won't feel this."

The first pin slid out like butter.

The second pin.....was stuck.

I opened my eyes.....I almost fainted. The doctor was holding a huge stainless steel plyer in his hand and look flustered. He took a deep breath and attacked my second toe. It felt like he was trying to pull a 100 lb marlin out of it. Just went I started to feel woozy....a massive burning sensation engulfed my foot. "No problem....it's out."

No problem? My foot looked like it had been stung by a thousand bees.

So I couched all weekend.....and finally took my first step on Monday. Not bad...not bad....and today....Wednesday....I put on an old wide sandal.....and took my first stroll.

I was shocked how jello-like and wobbly my legs felt. I looked and swayed like the proverbial drunk sailor....except I was very sober.

My steps were tentative when I entered the store and I had to remind myself how to walk normally....because if you hobble around for a month....your body wants to continue to hobble even though there is no reason to continue walking that way.

So when I reached mid-store and I hit an almost normal gait....I was happy.....so very happy to feel and experience movement.

You probably took 5,000 steps today (the average steps a person takes in a day) but it seems you only appreciate that magnificent feat when you barely hit 50 a day.

How amazing to walk into a grocery store and buy a gallon of milk and then walk out.
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An Easter Lamb with a new outfit.

In our home, Easter has always meant a delicious lunch topped off by the Easter Lamb.

A golden pound cake baked in a lamb mold with a coat of coconut with jelly bean or M&M eyes.

The tradition is so ingrained....when one of the children can't make it home for Easter.....a pictures of the Easter lamb is dutifully forwarded to a far away computer just before the lamb is sliced.

This year....presented a challenge....not only is our daughter not here....but we're now a multi -faith family.

So what happened to the Easter lamb? He wore a yamaka to the table!