Flip-flops After 50

Comfort Junk

2012-02-09T14:57:00.000-05:00

Does anyone else find this photo ironic?

Look closely...amidst the packing tape, Altoids tins and last year's Valentine's decorations, the careful observer will spy with their little eye a book my husband bought a year or so ago.

See it?

It's called Throw Out FIFTY Things by Gail Blanke.

See where it is? Under a pile of about fifty things we should have thrown out. Months ago. There are small white bags that we used at my daughter's wedding... she was married in September 2009. The book itself is perched on a paper plate...hopefully not a used one. There is a paper cup holding some solid yellow mass which I am sure was of some import to someone (my husband) at one time. Little plastic shot glasses, a package of graph-lined index cards, half a roll of raffia and a couple of bags of catnip--these are the things I still have in my possession.

Most people have a junk drawer in their kitchen--I have a junk hutch. The visible shelves hold cookbooks, veggies and file folders with Important Papers in them. (Ha! There are medical records for our cat Chloe in one of those folders...may she rest in peace.) The only reason that the junk above is visible is because the fold-down desk top that usually remains in its upright position was opened to retrieve something Urgently Necessary.

I wonder what it was.

I know that I am not the only one who has piles of old mail, an unopened package of suction hooks and a bag of foam flower stickers laying around in some hidden, yet accessible place in their home. What I wonder is why I can look at that pile, identify the object I needed, grab it and shut the door again without sweeping the whole mess into the wastebasket. No, that's not true--you know as well as I do why not: because I would have to "go through" it all to make sure I don't get rid of anything I might need at a later date. And it would take me about an hour to go through it all because I would no doubt come across a magazine article I hadn't read, a cute photo I would have to find another place for or some beautiful paper I could use to wrap something. Some day.

How could I just toss all that important stuff?

Obviously I can't. And, God help me, this is a pattern that repeats itself throughout my life. Remember the dumpster? I do. I still have old towels, stacks of English essays from classes three years ago and --and I just found this today-- a potpourri crockpot for simmering spices during the holidays. Now why didn't that go into the dumpster? What could possibly have been my rationale for hanging on to that? "It's so festive! I can use it at Christmas!"

When I was divorced, I lost most of my possessions in the separation. Not only common items that should have been evenly shared, but many of my personal belongings, too. Like my high school year book. In my early single parent days, I had so little that I think I started hanging on to things for no other reason than, "just in case." I suppose those kinds of feelings can stick around for awhile. There are other situations that drive people to hang onto things, I suppose. It's funny how those feelings can stick with you and they're as hard to get rid of as a set of keys that don't open anything, birthday cards from three years ago, a lone checker and three balls of string kept in a handy drawer or box...just in case.

Why Do Today What I Can Put Off Until Next Year?

2011-12-16T10:32:00.001-05:00

The only reason that I have sparkly, white Christmas lights hanging in my living room today is because I never took them down from last year's Christmas decorating. (I'm not kidding.) I did manage to buy a bag of Candy Cane Kisses and miniature candy canes for my English class's final exam yesterday, but as my students ate most of the treats, there really isn't much left for my family. I have not bought one Christmas present. For anyone.

If you came into my house right now you would not see my reindeer candy dish brimming with M&Ms, the Santa-covered photo book of all the Christmas card pictures I've received over the years or the cute little snowmen that I usually stick here and there to be festive.

There is no tree.

There are no stockings hung with care or otherwise and the only other decorative, Christmas-y item in view in my house is the handmade advent calendar that I managed to get out on December 1st. But as of today we do not have 16 ornaments hanging on it. The emails I get announcing "Last Minute Specials!" or "Free Shipping- Today Only!" get deleted because I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think about Christmas at all. The only thing I want to think about is this...

I'm not depressed! Far from it. I'm just too busy looking at this boy! Luca. Ever since Annie, Tony and the baby moved into my house after Thanksgiving, I've done nothing but hold the baby, change the baby, bathe the baby, hold the baby again or watch other people hold the baby. That takes a lot of time. And energy -especially for an "older" me. All my Mommy skills came back in an interesting way: I'm more confident of them, just slower at them. And my knees hurt more.

No one gets anything done. Except Tony but he has to go all the way to Manhattan to do it. I have managed to go to work when I'm expected, but I come right back and snatch up Luca from wherever he is and gaze into his face. At six weeks old, he is starting to recognize us and I think that he likes me best so far. Obviously I'm not going to tell anyone that, because I think his mommy and daddy might be put out by this information...but it's clear that I'm right. He laughs at all my jokes and hasn't peed on me at all. If that's not evidence I don't know what is.

I'm not the only one that is totally enraptured by this baby. My husband is as swept away as the rest of us and threatens to take him back to Italy - just the two of them. And that shrieking noise you hear is Nana Sue up in Buffalo going out of her mind missing him. A baby changes everything. Well, duh...we all knew that, didn't we. But I didn't know how much he would change me. Christmas -- and probably the next several holidays and possibly dusting and laundry -- will just have to wait. Unless it has to do with the baby, I don't have time. For now, the only thing I'm celebrating is Luca.

Near-Death Experience

2011-10-12T13:37:00.000-04:00

Near death experiences are pretty simple; they end one way…or the other. It’s the “near” part that one gets to live to tell and that part is what I am going to tell you about now...
Near-Death Experience

The Calm Before (and After) the Storm

2011-08-28T15:15:00.000-04:00

"Hope for the best and prepare for the worst." You hear that all the time, but no more often than the last several days here in New England. An Atlantic hurricane named Irene was gunning for us and she had the meteorological folks all a-twitter. Literally. I'm not one who is easily alarmed, but by last night, I started to get a little concerned: our house is surrounded by large, swaying trees and strings of electrical wires. We sit in the middle of a downhill bank and water streams past our house during every rainstorm. What would a full-fledged hurricane do to our basement? Also, I had a house full of people: my parents up from Florida and my 7-months pregnant daughter and her husband. Their plans were to all go together up to Maine, but Irene canceled their trip by Thursday night.

So, here we all were. By Friday night, the warnings were posted and we were stocking the larder; mini marshmallows and Teddy Grahams. I had baby shower favors to make and being stuck in the house because of a storm seemed like an opportune time to get them done - especially as I now had a small workforce trapped with me! Angelo and I still had some clients yesterday morning, but we were done by noon. Okay...Hurricane Prep time.

We took down all the hanging pots and lanterns. We secured loose cushions and gardening implements and stowed the porch furniture in the back underneath the garage. The AC unit in our bedroom was removed and shoved in the office and we didn't remember to shut the storm windows (duh....STORM windows...) until 11pm. Dinner was easy - just some simple grilling as a rehearsal for possible days without power. At bed time, Angelo passed out PELDs to each of us (that's Personal Emergency Lighting Devices to all you unfamiliar with Hurricane Prep. You know...flashlights) and we went to bed feeling pretty safe and sound.

This morning Annie got up early and manned the post on the couch watching the Weather Channel. My job was to get breakfast on the table before the power went out; scrambled eggs, bacon, apple-maple syrup chicken sausage, cheddar cheese biscuits and English muffins. Done. After a few tense moments when the microwave went out - but not because we lost power but because it's a cheap little oven that stops working when it gets too hot - we enjoyed our breakfast and discussed what the aftereffects of Irene might be. We decided to go look and survey the damage:


What a mess!

This is going to take minutes to clean up after!

Oh, no! Angelo's sculpture is down!

That tree wasn't there yesterday....Irene decided she wanted that branch right there!

The peonies seemed to actually benefit from the storm.

Now, before anyone gets mad at me because they actually do have a flooded basement (my neighbor) or a tree inside of their car (my sister), I realize that we were very lucky to have been spared some of the really aggravating and damaging problems. With my pregnant daughter and my over- and nearly-eighty parents here I am very grateful that the biggest calamity was that I didn't defrost the chicken for dinner yet tonight. There are lots of people cleaning up, picking up, making do and dealing with all manner of predicaments that I was spared. This time. On the other hand, maybe I'd better go check the basement again...

The Call of the Loon

2011-07-19T09:21:00.001-04:00

My sister and I are at our parents' cottage on Frye Island in Sebago Lake for a few days' working vacation. Here's how we do it: one day vacation, one day work, one day vacation, one day work... Fortunately, the weather has cooperated with our agenda and our vacation days landed in the "mostly sunny" forecast and the work days in the predicted "cloudy, with some thunderstorms." Sometimes, things just work out.

Even though I'm vacationing/working, I'm still getting up around 6:45 am. I try to push it 'til 7, but this morning, as my eyes opened, there was a familiar but infrequent sound coming through the windows. A loon. Somewhere out on the lake, with its hypnotic cry. Before I knew what I was doing, I flung the sheet off of me and got out of bed. I heard it again, but inside the house, I couldn't be sure where it was coming from. The cove? Out on the lake? Without stopping to put on anything over my nightgown, I walked, as if pulled by a tether, out of the cottage and down the wooden walkway to the water and sat at the edge of the small deck with my feet on a rock and stared out across the lake. The cry came again, and although it was more faint, it sounded like it was right out in front of me. I scanned the water. Instead of a still, flat mirror, the water this morning was slightly choppy and the only thing I could see was a small boat hundreds of yard away, sitting as if anchored. Maybe they were watching for it, too.

Then, I spotted something. A bobbing dark head atop a long neck to my left. I know that loons dive deep and come up yards away from where they went in, so I had to identify it quickly before I lost it. But my eyes were still blurry from sleep and as I rubbed them to focus, I lost sight. The calls stopped, too, and I wondered if I couldn't hear it anymore because of the sound of the wind and the waves slapping up against the rocks or if I had just missed my chance.

I stood up to scan the water one more time, but the spell was broken. I turned to go back up to the cottage and noticed that two of the women renting the cottage next door had also been on their deck, watching, listening. We gave each other a little nod as we walked back up to our respective houses and I wondered if I should be embarrassed that I had rushed out of the house in nothing but my short, gray nightie. I've worn less when called down to the lake by the loons; I was actually respectable this morning.

I've never taken a decent picture of a loon here at the lake. We have pictures of them plastered on one of our kitchen walls, but they came from a Maine Loon calendar. My mother has a collection of ceramic and wooden loons on a special loon shelf and above the fireplace, too, but actual sightings and photo opportunities are few and far between. It's like this cottage, nestled among the hemlock, pine and birch trees, shored up by boulders and deep blue water. We can only come here for six months of the year. The rest of the year it's inaccessible and frozen. We come back each spring, summoned by its changing, yet unfailing beauty and peacefulness. Like the cry of the loon, we can't do anything but heed the call.

Miracle

2011-07-12T19:29:00.001-04:00

When we moved into our house almost eight years ago, it came with a garden. Not just a little side-yard, white picket-fenced patch for a couple of tomatoes and some daisies...a full-blown, professionally designed, perennial garden. It takes up the entire front yard. Or at least very nearly all of it. The problem was, the woman who had put in this masterpiece had moved away three years earlier and the family that had moved in pretty much--apparently--ignored it. Then we came along to buy the house and after we ripped up the gold shag carpet out of the dining room and hauled out the dilapidated stove out of the kitchen, we stood with wonder at what to do with this wild and unruly Eden in our front yard.

I immediately had a friend come over and diagnose the patient. She took us on a tour of our own yard and pointed out things to nurture and things to get rid of. I conscientiously took notes and made drawings so as to be able to go back the next day and go to work. But naturally, by the next day, I had forgotten just about everything she told me. Even though I still have my drawing in a handy file folder titled, "Garden". I couldn't match the drawings with the actual plants. So I weeded and watered and basically tried to keep the whole thing from dying off.

Flash forward 8 years. (You can do that in a blog.) My sister, Susan, poet extraordinaire, entered the Uconn Master Gardener program last winter. By this May, she had passed her test and begun working down her 60 hours of community service to complete the program. Susie (ok...Susan) has been taking care of her yard and the yards of others for a couple of years now and has a keen eye and deft hand at doing it, so getting validated in a program was simply a natural progression of her talents.

Meanwhile, I had been hacking away at my poor little garden trying to keep it alive and give it a little dignity. My husband can be a little crazy with the weed whacker so I consider it a personal victory that I rescued the hydrangea a couple of springs ago. It lives today.

But it was a bigger job than my husband and I were able to manage. Able mulcher that he is and ready weeder that I am, we needed help. I sent my sister an email with the subject line: Garden 911. I included pictures.

She responded to the call. And even though I offered to be the muscle and do whatever she told me to do (and who can resist an offer like that?) she did all the work. She dug, pulled, moved, wheelbarrowed, contemplated, watered, assessed and sweated. She sweated her astilbe off. And now, after a mere day and a half in my yard, my garden now looks like this:

UConn may call her a Master Gardner, but I call her a Miracle worker. She also left me with instructions and this time, I'll try to remember them. (I probably won't) And when I forget, my sister will come back. That's what sisters do.

The Day After

2011-06-27T11:40:00.000-04:00

One of my dreams over the years has been to get a dumpster parked in my driveway. No. Really. Over the years, through the various incarnations of my life, I--and those who live with me--have acquired an embarrassment of belongings. They are stored from the apex of the attic to the bottom of the basement and tucked away under every bed and in every drawer in between.

My husband, daughter, son-in-law, son and I carried, moved, evaluated, assessed, swept, emoted, and finally, tossed what we thought was a whole bunch of stuff. This is what the dumpster looked like right before they came to pick it up...

Pretty impressive, right? Son-in-law Tony was the muscle, toting cartons containing unopened checking account statements and final college course papers from years ago down to my pregnant daughter for her to finally get rid of. Tony himself had some stored stuff in the attic from when they moved East from California six years ago. My husband and I pulled out boxes and clothes and cleaned closets and drawers. We teared up over sentimental stuffed animals and popped them right into the big black garbage bag as if they were yesterday's news. We were strong and motivated. We worked straight through Memorial Day weekend without so much as a picnic or parade to divert us.

And yet, this is still what my attic still looks like:

And my garage:

And my basement:

At least this last shot shows some progress. The whole idea behind our own little Extreme Makeover - Home Edition was to start getting the basement ready to be made into an in-law apartment of sorts so that when Annie and Tony are ready to leave the city and prepare their own little nest to welcome their baby boy in October, they have a place to stay. Kind of a transition between leaving the city and moving to the country. Or, as I like to see it - a present for me. I'll get to have my new baby grandson on the premises to spoil each and every day.

But, we still have a very long way to go. The thing I learned about myself is that I needed to prepare myself more for getting rid of stuff. It's really not just a matter of throwing stuff out - it's a process that takes some planning. Especially when you are very likely going to come upon your son's third grade journal where he explained what scares him the most. (Apparently the television show I made him watch during Saturday night "family time"!) One of the boxes you drag out from the eaves of the attic will have a framed picture of your daughter as she stood for the first time on her grandmother's sofa, having pulled herself up by holding on to her great-grandmothers hand-crocheted afghan. From the closet in the spare room will be a cassette tape of your step-daughter's first solo concert from college. And even though you don't even have a cassette player anymore, you will hesitate to toss it...just in case.

Things are easy to throw out; memories are harder. It takes time to hold the memories in your hand, turning them over and over so that they will stay safely stored in your mind and in your heart. Yes, that takes some time.

So we didn't get everything done in one weekend. Well, that's shocking. On the bright side, I'll probably have to get another dumpster one of these days!

It's possible I need help...

2011-06-08T15:20:00.001-04:00

There are times when people have to deal with a stressful situation. These situations just drop in on one's everyday life and mess everything up. It could be a slight ruffling of feathers or a full-on catastrophe. I've known people to deal with these kinds of situations in different ways, from the sublime to the ridiculous and I like to think of myself as falling towards the, "Sublime/No problem" school of management. For the most part anyway. When the really big stuff comes my way, I rally. Like divorce. And single-parenthood. No problem.

Today, I've got a couple of family issues on my mind plus my husband woke up acting like he'd been sleeping in a bed of pollen all night. He got up sneezing and dripping and tearing and hasn't stopped since. He needs organic tea and leftover pulled pork sandwiches - and he needs me to make them. I might have to go to NYC to help out my daughter (one of the family issues) and I have a couple of appointments at work to either cancel or be on time for. All quite manageable situations, but for me, it's the low-level stress that knocks me for a loop. To demonstrate just how badly I handle these things, I give you exhibit A:

This is a plate of candied lemon peel. Just part of one lemon, though. After polishing off a half a bag of Stacy's Simply Naked Pita chips, because I tend to snack through the stress, I made some iced tea for my husband, adding a slice of fresh lemon for his glass. He ended up slicing up the rest of the lemon because it tasted so good with the sugar he had sprinkled on it, but he left all the rinds on the counter. ("He's sick" is what I kept repeating to myself as I wiped up the spilled sugar and wiped down the cutting board and TWO knives.) I eyed the thinly sliced rinds and thought to myself, "Hey- I could make candied lemon rinds!"

Now, this is where I need help. Why does this occur to me as a good idea? I've never made candied lemon rinds before - or orange or grapefruit or any kind of candied anything. I am a firm believer in supporting all those wonderful people who work so hard to make candy for me. In easy to open packages.

Low-level stress tends to make me feel disorganized and distracted and the skills that serve me so well in major disasters are nowhere to be found. Hence the fire. Oh, wait...let me back up.

So, I think to myself, "I'm sure candied lemon rinds are a snap! Where's a recipe?" and I hunt one down online. It's simple, really, because it's just sugar and water and the leftover lemon rinds. I boiled the water, added the rinds, removed the rinds, stirred in the sugar, put back the rinds and kept boiling. All the while I was waiting to hear from Annie for updates. Her husband had a medical emergency and I wasn't sure if I was going to go down to NYC or just stay home - she didn't know yet. So, while watching the phone, I wasn't watching the pot. I ended up catching it just as it boiled over...and the drippy syrup landed on the burner and caught fire. But, see - fire is a MAJOR situation. I can do fire. I calmly smothered it with a damp towel without even so much as breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, for the lemon peel I am working like a longshoreman with the pots and the cooking and the draining and the hauling...and all for what ended up to be a little over a half a dozen strips of tough - yet sweet - tart lemon peels. And a little bottle of lemon flavored simple syrup. Which I probably will never use.

One of these days I'll learn this lesson: When stress comes knocking, tell it to keep walking. Don't invite it in and let it make you suddenly decide to become Martha Stewart. Mostly I should just stay out of the kitchen and maybe take a walk or keep looking up random things online and drinking. Wait, no...drinking doesn't help either. So just the walking or surfing the internet then. Because really, what good are 71/2 candied lemon peels to anyone? I need help...

New Uses for Annoying Things

2011-02-18T13:58:00.000-05:00

The magazine Real Simple has a feature that they call New Uses for Old Things and they take something like a paper coffee filter, put glitter around the edges and call it Christmas Decorations! I know, I sound snide, and in reality, I often really appreciate their innovation. I think I'll start a feature that I'll call New Uses for Annoying Things. Here's the first one: The tax bill I keep getting every year for a defunct business I had with my daughter for about 20 minutes in 2007. Instead of wasting half of my afternoon calling up, waiting, and then explaining once again how I don't have that business anymore, that it didn't make any money and I've ended up talking to more people at the state about it then I ever did potential customers, I'll take those nice paper invoices and use them for a quick and efficient fire starter.

The next annoying thing that needs to be re-purposed is Lindsay Lohan. I admit that writing about her just perpetuates the insanity, but please. She is a train wreck. She needs another cuff...attached to a five foot chain secured in the center of her house. The Today Show spent over 15 minutes on her latest trials and tribulations last week, complete with expert commentators. Here's my suggestion: Let's start appreciating her for what she does best - being a disaster. Let her do society some good by being the poster girl for how not to dress for court, how not to ru(i)n a career and how not to start having work done on your face before you're 25 years old. She clearly wants to be out of control in the public eye...let's put that to good use by making sure is teaching our youth how not to behave.

Since it appears that I am kind of crabby today, I'll end with my final New Use for an Annoying Thing. Snow. If you live in the Northeast - or any of the 49 states that have had snow this season, you're probably sick of it. Sick of the cold, sick of the 10 foot drifts, sick of the sand and salt tracked into your house. Let's re-purpose snow:

Enough said? Cheers!

The picture of happiness

2011-02-10T10:36:00.000-05:00

I feel funny putting a picture of myself into my blog. But here's why I did it: This picture was taken of me on my 50th birthday three years ago. It's also the picture my husband and I chose to put into the ad we're using for our business. He has tons of respectable pictures of himself, finding a good one of him was easy. For me, not so easy..."no, that makes me look too mean; no, that one makes me look fat; ick, who took that one?" We finally agreed on the above photo and sent off the ad.

But back to me...tomorrow is my 53rd birthday and I'm feeling...ambivalent. I don't feel bad about aging, although after having recently spent a week in Florida, aging is something I've considered with great apprehension. We spent a week with my parents and a couple of other friends and relatives who are well past the senior discount age and all of them are wonderfully healthy and vigorous. There are a few limitations that some of them experience; diminished eyesight, food restrictions and decreased hearing, but for the most part all of them participated in our celebration with a hearty appreciation for having a good time. No, it's not my family that gives me pause when I consider the next thirty years or so. It's those other ones. The white-haired lady who darted out in traffic and then slowed to a dangerous 20 miles per hour or the bent and wrinkled man who stopped his cart at the entrance to Publix to peruse the weekly specials flyer and blocked the entrance to anyone running in for milk and eggs. That kind of aging worries me a little.

But, again, back to me. My birthday is tomorrow and I feel neither anxious nor depressed. My husband keeps asking me what I want to do and keeps hinting at "errands". I don't want an expensive dinner out or a bunch of presents that I have to return. I had the big surprise party three years ago (which is why I look so happy in the picture above). I think I've reached the age where all the expectations have fallen away. Societal imposed ones anyway. I am living the life that I want to live - for the most part - and there isn't anything that an upcoming birthday is signaling that I need; a license to drive, the right to vote, the ability to buy my own wine, the obligatory surprise party or some other random accomplishment. Once you're past 50, the expectations let up a little and you get to just have a good time. What ever that means. For me that means that I am perfectly happy with a fire in the fireplace, a bottle of wine and a pizza at home and getting a few nice cards from my kids. (Yes, that was a hint.)

And maybe I wish I could find a good picture.

Gotta/Wanta

2011-02-05T12:37:00.000-05:00

This is my laundry basket. In fact, it is only one of my laundry baskets as the one with my husband's clothes is down by the laundry chute in the kitchen and the one with towels and sheets is in the office. It's possible that I've scattered them around the house so they're not so threatening, but more than likely it's caused by an episode of MB (menopause brain). Another reason is that doing laundry lately is not just a matter of finding, then hauling, the scattered baskets down to the washing machine. It requires my taking the baskets, the detergent and the softener into the car and driving down to the local laundromat. And that, my friends, is not fun.

Here's one reason that it's not fun:

There is way too much snow out there. On my car, in my car, in my driveway, on the roads, in the parking lots...everywhere. Which means it's cold. And possibly icy. I barely have enough coordination to traverse the driveway and get into the car without mishap. I'm supposed to juggle loads of laundry and laundry accessories as well? And a book? Because I'm certainly not going to the laundromat without a book.

No, this is not an acceptable activity for a woman in her (early) 50s. I have a fireplace that works and a perfectly acceptable sofa right in front of it upon which I can sit and read. Why would I want to lug two weeks of laundry out my door into a grayish, ill-lit establishment with plastic chairs? That's easy. I don't. As I get older I am finding that making the decisions about what I gotta do and what I wanta do is coming much more easily. There is no doubt that I gotta do the laundry. But do I wanta? Nope. Not if it means the machinations described above. I still have a couple of sets of sheets, my husband has a few more clean shirts and my black tights never show the dirt. And laundry only becomes dire when there is clean underwear at stake, and happily, it's not dire yet.

There was a time in my life when I would have felt guilty making the decision to NOT do the laundry. And not only NOT do the laundry, but stay home and read in front of the fire. Horrors!! Who does that? I guess I do, now. Now that I've reached an age where I have a little more confidence in prioritizing and a little more wisdom about what's important in life. Reading a good book in front of the fire...important. Risking life and limb for clean towels? Not important. Now...I've got to see about that fire...

Flipflops Forever

2011-02-02T12:02:00.001-05:00

Ahh...flip-flops. I've only been home for two days and I miss my fuzzy flips that were on my feet for most of my trip to Florida. We gathered as a family in Sarasota at the House of Ringling for four days to celebrate some milestone birthdays...my father's 80th, my daughters' 30th, my sister's 50th and assorted others: a 25th, a 21st, a 45th, a 75th and a 55th anniversary. Most of the combined family was there - 14 in all. The house was at the end of the runway of the Sarasota-Bradenton Airport, but the planes taking off and landing didn't bother us. The weather was mostly cooperative and hovered near the 70 mark for most of the time. There were a couple of field trips to St. Armand's Circle, Siesta Key Beach and the Columbia Restaurant, but many of us (at least me) stayed poolside at the house. We ate, drank, sunned, partied, played games and laughed. Fourteen people sharing a home together in the bright, warm Florida sun.
Then it was time to go home. Twelve of us flew away, two went West and the rest of us went North, only to be greeted by monstrous winter storms carrying snow and ice. Today, as I sit in my living room by the fire, because all of our oil was used up while we were gone to keep the pipes from freezing, I miss my flip-flops and Florida sun. But not just because of the weather (although I really miss that weather right now!) but also because of the easy way our families came together as one. I know that it can happen anywhere - it's happened right here in my own home - but the warmth of the setting settled down onto our temporary home and we all had such a good time. I miss our Florida home and family and I'm so grateful that we had that opportunity to weave it into the fabric of our lives.

Virtual Fitness

2010-12-28T07:38:00.001-05:00

So. Exercise. Who knew?
Virtual Fitness

Losing it

2010-11-14T14:22:00.002-05:00

I’m dieting. Again. Both my husband and I are, but I’m clearly the expert. He’s only had to start watching his weight in recent years, as he grew up thin and lanky, never to be bothered by the number of calories or the latest diet. (The Ice Cream diet was one of my early favorites.) It’s only aging that has him keeping an eye on his intake—damned aging—otherwise he’d be scarfing down pasta unregulated by those pesky portion sizes or calorie counts. I, however, have been dieting since I was about two. Adolescence was not my friend and even during my first pregnancy, my doctor put me on an 1800 calorie a day diet. There was no eating for two for me and I had to say good-bye to the Snickers bars that I had thought I’d be able to munch on to my heart’s content.
Read More here...

Idiot

2010-08-20T14:59:00.001-04:00

Main Entry: id·i·ot
Function: noun
Date: 14th century
usually offensive; a foolish or stupid person

Often, when I was doing a workshop or class on technology, I would open with a joke. I would tell the assembled technology novices that, “Most all computer problems are caused by an I-D-ten-tee error.” Some of the rapt class would nod and murmur knowingly. Then I would write it out on the whiteboard - “I-D-10-T”. And I would turn and smile…and hopefully there would be a round of chuckling in response. Then I would self-deprecate: Most of the problems people have with computers are caused by the user - even the problems that I have. Even though I was lumping us all together in one I-D-1-0-T pile, I never really thought of my students as idiots. But it was an icebreaker that usually made them laugh and there are not usually a lot of laughs during a technology integration workshop. At least I could start out with one.

Keep Reading...

Polibrity? Celetician?

2010-07-24T12:04:00.000-04:00

Politician - a leader engaged in civil administration
Celebrity - a widely known person; “he was a baseball celebrity”

I’ve never claimed to be in the know about politics. I can identify most of the current players by sight on TV, but I leave most of the complaining and analysis to my high school list serv and Cokie Roberts. (Also, sadly, Daniel Schorr, but not anymore. RIP.) I tend to vote with my heart – with the other Democrats – and I’m usually pretty satisfied with the results. I listen to NPR when I’m in the car, so I’m hearing about politics all the time, I’m just not retaining the ability to make sense of it all. Like math.
Read more...

Destined to Fail

2010-05-16T11:09:00.000-04:00

I was looking at a portrait the other day that my grandmother, Helen Russell Cogger, painted. It is a painting of a young, dark-haired girl playing a cello. The portrait captures the smooth wooden grain of the instrument, the crispness of the girl’s white blouse and the seriousness with which the girl was playing her music. Helen was a talented artist and, besides amusing us grandchildren with her doodles of roses and poodles and clever drawings in the margins of short letters to us, she also used to paint portraits on the side. As an artist and single parent in New York City in the 40s, she made her living with her skill – in a studio with a stable of other commercial artists such as herself. She used to draw the little cherubic toddlers modeling frilly smocks in the Montgomery Ward catalogs before photography came along and made her job obsolete.

It occurred to me that my life as an artist – a writer – is mirroring my grandmother’s life as an artist.
Read More...

Ahhh....Maine

2010-04-27T10:49:00.000-04:00

This is a picture of Mt Washington...way, way in the distance as we left the island on Sunday afternoon. Although I sat in the sun and read for most of the day on Saturday - and even got a little color on my face - Mt. Washington still has snow at its peak. The picture was taken out of the car window as the ferry started up and cleared the mooring. It's hard to leave. We always like a little cloudy-drizzle when we leave the island - it makes it easier to go. But Sunday lived up to its name - clear, blue skies; still, cool water. Frye Island is open as of Friday. We have about six months to go back up and clean and repair and enjoy until the island shuts down for another winter.We are so lucky to have this place to go and relax and recharge. It's not fancy, it's not huge - but it's a little piece of heaven plunked right down in the middle of Sebago Lake.

The Most Important Day of My Life

2010-04-06T12:10:00.000-04:00

The day that I walked into my new apartment, I clutched the keys in my hand, creating small red ridges on my fingers, as if releasing them might make my new home disappear. My Volvo station wagon was still packed to the gills in the driveway, but I had no desire to start hauling my meager possessions up to the second floor - yet. First, I had to go inside and look around. It had only been a few days earlier that I had found it, briefly spending minutes inside before rushing back to the real estate agent’s office to sign the lease. It hadn’t mattered what it looked like at the time. It was affordable and vacant - my top two criteria. Now, as I opened the door at the top of the stairs and walked into the empty kitchen, I felt a strange sensation inside my chest. It was relief.
Read more...

How I Spent My Spring Break

2010-03-23T16:28:00.000-04:00

Ahhh...Arizona. Although not my first trip west, it was my first trip to the last of the contiguous states to be admitted to the union; usually, I just fly over it on my way to more glamorous states. Well, California. Angelo and I went a week ago last Friday to visit his daughter who is both in school and teaching school there. Arizona's public school schedule coincided with my community college schedule so we were both on spring break at the same time. We had about four days to pack in our sightseeing, but since we were limiting it to the Phoenix area (where she lives) we were pretty confident that we would see everything we wanted to see and spend some quality time with Justine, too. That is, until Monday morning. Monday morning is when Justine's Jack Russell Terrier, Lilly, decided she didn't want me out in the backyard with her and snapped her sharp little teeth into my forearm.

In my defense, I didn't provoke her. I thought I was helping to keep dirt clods out of her little throat by reaching down to grab one out of her mouth. But when she snarled at me and clenched harder, I decided that it wasn't my job and moved away from her. But not fast enough - she sprung - as Jack Russells are wont to do - and took a small chunk out of my arm. Ouch.
So, instead of spending the morning here...

We spent half the day here....at the Urgent Care facility conveniently around the corner. (Corners aren't like here in Connecticut - it was still about a mile and a half away...that's close in Arizona.)

Unfortunately, it was neither Urgent nor was there much Care. They weren't bad - obviously they had to take care of the little girl with a scorpion sting first. But still...I was in pain. I spent most of my time in the waiting room. The doctor spent about 5 minutes in the exam room with me - and most of the time he was talking with Angelo, impressed because he knew what "anaerobic" meant. We were talking anaerobic because the tetanus shot topic came up. I declined. I also declined the antibiotics because they caused photosensitivity. I was in Arizona...it wasn't likely I was going to take drugs that would make me break out in hives if I went out in the sun. Instead I slathered a topical antibiotic cream on my wound. And that made me break out in hives. And swelled my arm. And itched. There was only one thing left to do....

I love Spring Break.

Pets as Children

2010-03-09T11:16:00.000-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, we were invited over to have a glass of wine with some new friends. After a quick tour of their home, we settled in on the sun porch with several platters of tasty cheese, veggies and bread and several glasses of wine. Our hostess took the wicker loveseat - by herself - because one of the two cats they own was asleep, taking up half the cushion. That's okay - there was plenty of seating. Naturally, after we took the obligatory toll of who has how many kids and where they all are, we got to the more important discussion - how cute is our cat? We talked about other stuff, too; travel, work, family, etc. But clearly, the cats - because eventually cat #2 showed up to say hello to company - were the center of attention.

I am not quite sure when this happened, this pets-as-children thing. It's not like we carry pictures of our cat around with us, but do we earnestly join the funny-things-our-cat-does conversation? We most certainly do. I think it might have happened slowly and insidiously over the last couple of years. For the most part, all of our kids have gone their separate ways. They all come back and visit - and sometimes take up residence briefly - but the separation of needing us as parents has occurred in all three. And there we were...in an empty nest with no more parental duties save the occasional distress call, which actually allowed us to continue to feel needed. And then we got Maia, who, as a cat, is pretty independent. She no more needs us than she needs a little yellow kitty slicker to go out in the rain, but she tolerates us because of our ability to buy food and open it for her. But it's starting to look like we might need her. My husband will call me insistently into the living room from the kitchen - and when I get in there he'll say, "Look how she's sleeping - isn't she something?" Like she was a baby three days home from the hospital. Ridiculous.

But even more ridiculous is the recent behavior I found myself guilty of. Since our cat is so much smarter than the other cats on the block (shhhh...the neighbors think theirs is!) I thought I'd try a little training experiment. I put all her toys in a little basket on the floor to see if she would return them when she was done playing with them. She is so cute because she will bring one of her toys upstairs when she comes up to bed with us and leaves it on the floor - as if to have it available when she wakes up. Adorable. So I thought I'd give her a place for her things, you know, to keep things in order. When I'd see the stuffed fish or fake leopard-skin mouse, I'd pick them up and put them back in the basket. Sometimes, when we are watching TV at night, she'll meander over to the basket. I'll shush my husband, pause the show and we'll watch her stare at the basket and make her choice. So discriminating.

This morning when I came downstairs, I found the fish and the leopard-skin mouse on the stairs and in the dining room, the new purple mouse was under the table. I gathered all three and headed towards the living room to put them back. And it hit me: Someone was being trained to put all the toys back in the basket, but it wasn't the cat. She was leaving her toys around more frequently and in new and different places - for me to find and return! How funny is she?

Wait til I tell the neighbors...

Maia (in my chair)

Another one from the vaults

2010-03-05T14:00:00.000-05:00

Okay, I really don't have a vault with shelves of essays and writings carefully categorized into topics and sections. It would be cool if I did - but I don't. I have a brand new office space (see below) and the closest thing I have to a vault is an opague plastic crate with a snap-on blue lid. It'll do.

On my other website, I post my longer essays. I started almost five years ago and the idea was to post weekly to keep my writing chops in shape. In my defense - sometimes it is weekly - but realistically it has dwindled to about once or twice a month. One way I've found to keep up with my own (sometimes unreasonable) demands is to pull out some old columns I wrote over ten years ago for the Waterbury Observer and here is another one. I wish I had thought to post it last month - say, around the 14th, but I was not that forward thinking. But it's about love and who says you only get to read about love in February? Certainly not me....

So, here... for your reading pleasure is On Love and Other Related Illnesses.
Thanks.

My Bad (day)

2010-03-02T18:28:00.000-05:00

My new discipline is to post every Tuesday and Thursday. This morning I had to run out to get some bloodwork done - early, because if I can get in and get out before 7:30 it's a 15 minute ordeal. One minute later and - - no offense but if I get there after 7:30 the waiting room is filled with um, older people. And it could be an hour. So, I was up early.

I came home ready for my morning at home. No classes, no visits or appointments. Just time for me, me, me. I made a quick bowl of oatmeal and had a neat shot of espresso (I know - you thought I was going to say scotch...) and headed upstairs. I had a post to write. But first I had to reduce to at least one, the four piles of - I'll just say it - crap that obscured any open space on my desk. I've written about my home office before, but the last time was when it was planted in the middle of our living room. Which worked just fine until we had company or wanted to use our table or any number of small and large distractions that keep one from working at home. Like its proximity to the kitchen. Now I've got a whole desk - with drawers and everything. It became my desk a week ago when my husband and I decided that he had all the office space he needed in the building where our Mom and Pop Therapy business is. The room at home, which he used to use, was now declared mine. He moved out most of his books and paperwork, I shifted my books and paperwork upstairs from the living room. All I had to do was clear it off and begin working.

You'd think I was handed a shovel and told to muck out the Aegean stables in a day by the way I was acting this morning. The piles I had to clear contained textbooks, old calendars, worksheets, lesson plans, pictures and cards from my 50th birthday. (Everyone keeps all their cards from their 50th, right? I'm not weird to do that, am I? Please say no...) I had a new and spacious place for everything, due to hearing over and over in my head one of my Dad's mantras as I was growing up: "A place for everything and everything thing in its place." But I whined at every turn. And then it got worse...

The bag I had been tossing old papers in split and erupted its contents as if powered by a volcanic plume. The books I placed on the shelves crashed over and spilled to the floor - not in alphabetical order. The post I started this morning about annoying people in the medical field wasn't working out because my vocabulary would not come when summoned. The station I had playing on Pandora was irritating - who told Mary J. Blige she could sing? I banged my fists, I stomped my feet. I yelled out bad words. The cat fled the room. Why was life so unfair?

And then, to distract myself, I visited my daughter's blog. Her last few posts are about cheese, snow days and happiness. Oh, so cheery, blah blah blah. Wishing everyone a happy Friday and an inspired March. Oh, please. How could she write about such wonderfulness? What made her so perky? Why isn't she writing about her stupid subway ride home or how hard it is to start her own business in a shaky economy?

Finally, finally, dear reader, a big cosmic hand came through the haze of my self pity and smacked me on the forehead. What the hell is wrong with me, anyway? What am I complaining about? Of course she's perky - she's an energetic and enterprising young woman who is doing what she wants to do. And I am clearing a place in my very own home so I can have a private place to work; a move suggested by my supportive husband so that I wouldn't have to work in the middle of the living room. And, oh, yeah...wah... I can spend all morning doing this because I don't have to go into a 9 to 5 job where I'm working my tail off for someone else, but have the luxury of time to follow my dreams. Is that what I'm complaining about?

Well, yes, I suppose it was. Yes, it was pitiful, but thankfully, I'm better now. I'm fortunate to have people in my life who remind me how lucky I am without even saying a word. No one yelled at me, no one scolded me. They're just there...being themselves. And you, dear readers, totally dodged a bullet as now you won't be subjected to my tirade on irritating medical personnel. (Well, you might, but not today!) And even though some hippies with a dog have already memorialized this on T-shirts and other 100% cotton accessories - Life is good. Shame on me for forgetting that.

Snow Day

2010-02-23T18:52:00.000-05:00

Brrr.... it's snowing again.

But that doesn't stop me. I live in Connecticut - I'm used to dealing with the snow. Besides half the time the forecast isn't - shall we say - accurate. I had a doctor's appointment early and then a date for morning tea with my friend Elisa in Torrington - about 20 miles away. Snow? Pshaw... where are my boots? After Elisa and I caught up and we headed outside to our cars, we noticed that the snow had picked up. It was coming down in big, fluffy puffs - like a snowglobe. I decided to take the backroads home and enjoy all the Christmas card-like scenery. Unfortunately, I ended up behind a skittish driver for half the trip home - the plow driving behind me was bold enough to pass us and kicked the speed up to 25 mph. After the turnoff in Litchfield to Route 63, I was ready to pick up my own speed up to 25 mph and enjoy the rest of my drive - but it was not to be. I caught up to two cars early on and followed them at 10 mph all the way home. It was not the tranquil drive home I anticipated.

But once I got home - I realized that my husband had left to go to his own appointments. I didn't have anything on my calendar, except to return a few emails and do a little planning for school. Suddenly I realized what I had on my hands. A full on snow day! The first thing I did was to build a fire. Ahhh.... The next step, of course, was to pop some popcorn. I got my comfies on and made a cup of hot cocoa. I nestled into my spot on the couch, set up my laptop on the footstool, made sure all the necessary appliances were within reach: cell phone, TV remote, house phone. After awhile, I even made some oatmeal-chocolate chip cookies. It was official...Snow Day!

Here's the thing about having a snow day when you're over 50: it's all yours. There's no way that I regret one minute of wet scarves dripping in front of the stove, wet noses dripping in front of the fire or the countless snow angels and snowmen I built with my kids on snow days of years past. Those days also involved popcorn, hot cocoa, homemade cookies and videos. (Oh, right - I watched 17 Again. Yes, I watched a movie with Zac Efron - what can I say? It's a perfect snow day movie.) I suppose I should feel a little badly that my husband didn't get a snow day for himself, but that's what he gets for having an office within spitting distance of our home. I wasn't a complete couch potato - I went out and shoveled a little bit to keep the walks clear and to prove that I wasn't a complete couch potato when my husband came home. But all in all - I had a day to myself; I didn't feel compelled to go out and run an errand or drop the mail at the post office. I caught up on the things that I wanted to and didn't touch the things I didn't want to do. That's the beauty of a snow day. It's a free pass, I don't even think calories count on a snow day. I'm sure I'll get tired of the relentless precipitation soon enough, but for now - today - it was just what I needed.

Square Peg/Round Hole

2010-02-20T13:39:00.000-05:00

From time to time, I will publish a relic of my long and nontraditional writing career. This essay was the first for my new column, "Enough Rope" which debuted in March 1997 in the Waterbury Observer. Unfortunately, my career as a newspaper columnist ended about six months later when I received the infamous "Don't call us - we'll call you" message in a handwritten note in the mail.
But I have copies of all of them, so you, dear reader, will be able to relive - with me - my short-lived career. Lucky you.
Click here to read: A Square Peg Living in a Round Hole World.
And thanks.

The Dangers of Self-timers...

2010-02-19T13:49:00.000-05:00

One would think that two relatively smart and technology-savvy adults well past their 40s would be able to easily take a snapshot commemorating their weekend away together. Well, it's not as easy as it looks...

"Did I remember to set the timer?"

Now that's an attractive candid shot....

"Stop fooling around - it's about to go off!"

"Really? Now you're tired?"

Almost there, except it looks like we've both just gotten a whiff of low tide.

Closer...

Finally, one we both like.

(Whew...glad that's over! Next trip the camera just may conveniently get forgotten!)

Dinner for Two

2010-02-11T12:13:00.000-05:00

I think it might have been several years ago, right about the time when our nest emptied out, that my husband and I started eating dinner in the living room, in front of the TV. There were several factors, really. One of them had to do with the fact that we didn't have a kitchen table anymore. We had just moved into our new home and along with all of its wonderful features, it also had a - well, challenging - kitchen. We never did figure out how to put a kitchen table in it although we've had several variations. We even pulled down the dish cabinets suspended above the L-shaped counter - but that's a whole other bottle of wine as they say.

(Or do just I say that...?) Anyway - over the years the dining room has been the go-to room for holidays and bigger family-type dinners, but when it was just me and him - we defaulted to the living room - and the TV.

A couple of weeks ago, I moved all the Christmas wrap that I got for 50% off at Target off of the dining room table and put on a tablecloth. I polished the two pewter candlesticks that were stashed in the china cabinet and blew the dust off of the candles. I pulled out two of the Lenox china plates that my husband had salvaged from his divorce (seriously...that's what he had to have? Not the better car or the house...the Lenox china set? Oh, well....) and two of the nice wineglasses from the set of four that belongs to my daughter, but that she stores at home. Hers came from Crate and Barrel - mine come from Ikea.

When my husband came home, he was shocked. Not because I had also made dinner, but that the table was set and we were finally going to do what we had been saying we were going to do for years -- eat in the dining room. The easiest thing to do when you come home exhausted from a long day is to fix a meal, put it on plates (or "plate it" since plate is now a verb) and head out to the sofa and the TV tray with your condiments and utensils in hand. To his credit, my husband always put a cloth napkin down under his plate - even on the TV tray or the coffee table (Ah, I guess now that Lenox china thing makes sense...) but our focus was on the TV and rarely did we have a converstation that lasted more than your average commercial break.

Now, since we've been doing this pretty regularly since we started, we have long conversations about our day, what's going on with our family or just interesting stuff we heard on the radio or saw online. We share in the cooking and the cleaning (mostly he cooks, mostly I clean) and we linger when we're done, because the candles are still lit and the conversation is still going. Eating in the dining room has carved out a place in the day where there isn't something else going on that we have to pay attention to. Actually, we seem to be paying attention to each other. And isn't that nice?

Mid-winter getaway

2010-02-09T18:25:00.000-05:00

This is what we saw when we checked in to Room 211 at the Water's Edge Resort and Spa this past weekend. My husband booked the night away for my birthday on Thursday - February 11th - so how appropriate was that room?

And this is what we did immediately after checking in to that oh-so fitting accomodation...

Yes, of course that's a bottle of champagne. Just the one, because we also had reservations in the dining room for a three-course dinner later in the evening. The Water's Edge is famous for its Sunday Brunch, but we were happy to have dinner instead. Even though we felt really badly for our neighbors and relatives to the south getting pounded by a winter snowstorm, we were able to put it aside for the evening and enjoy a quick but much needed break. I recommend it - birthday or not!

Oh, here are a couple more pictures...I can't resist sharing. It was too cold to go play outside, but we did sit on the balcony (I'm posting pictures of that soon!) and we did take pictures of the gorgeous day - calm wind, sunny skies, blue ocean. Nice, isn't it? I was one happy birthday girl! (Thanks, Ange!)

One more look off of the balcony before going down to dinner

Red sky at night, birthday girl's delight!

And then a perfect morning!

Almost makes you want to go dive right in!...but we didn't.

Recession Nation

2009-10-22T15:38:00.000-04:00

I have an essay included in this collection.
It's called "Where There's Hope"
Have a look!
The Recession Nation Project

Memory Issues

2009-10-22T15:32:00.000-04:00

No, not my computer - although I do have some major issues with the speed and ram of my "new" computer...
No, I'm talking about me and my aging brain. Like the ABC Wednesday thing I was so obediently posting to - until last May it seems. I guess I let that go by the wayside.
So, now I am going to use this blog for the reason I intended it for in the first place- to promote my work. Flip-flops After Fifty is the title to the collection of essays I am hoping to be publishing soon. To be honest - work on it has stalled since last June, but I'm up the the challenge of getting it ready to go. If you'd like to read an essay or two, head right over here dear reader and have a blast. And tell me what you think. Feedback is (almost) always good!

ABC Wednesday - S is for Spectacular!

2009-05-27T16:48:00.000-04:00

I'm out of town again - it's so hard to keep up when one is not in one's usual routine! It's another picture from where I am - Niagara Falls, Ontario. This is the view from our window.
Our third window, by the way. My husband, Goldilocks, wasn't happy until we were given a room on the 18th floor! Perseverance pays off....spectacular views were the reward. I haven't been here in years and years and it's amazing to see the power of water.
Horseshoe Falls - Canadian side

American Falls - States side

For more ABC Wednesday posts go here!

ABC Wednesday - R is for Resplendent

2009-05-20T12:06:00.000-04:00

I am away this week at a conference, and I didn't think I'd get a chance to post an entry for this week, but I couldn't resist... There is a peacock strolling around the grounds of the conference center where I am staying and he is delighting most (and irritating some) of us with his shrieks and calls - throughout the night! These are the best pictures I could get at this time. (I didn't know they roosted in trees!)

I caught him through my window this morning...

I haven't seen him show off his tailfeathers yet, but I'll keep my camera ready - just in case.

UPDATE: I got him! He came back to the courtyard and fussed and ruffled and finally gave us all a peek at his full regalia! (Oh, I could have used that word today!)

He twirled and twirled for us...and then closed up his feathers and walked away.

Find more ABC Wednesday posts here.

ABC Wednesday - Q is for Queen for a Day!

2009-05-13T10:35:00.000-04:00

This is a birthday card I received this year and this is the post I wrote to go along with it.

I felt much the same this past Sunday on Mother's Day, with my (grown up) kids around me and a glass of rose champagne in my hand. It's good to be the Queen.

Find more ABC Wednesday posts here.

ABC Wednesday - P is for Plastic

2009-05-05T15:29:00.000-04:00

I have my "green" hat on today. Right in the middle of my ruminations about what to post for the letter P I came across an interesting YouTube video called "Plastic Plague". From National Geographic it is a short report on the damaging effects of plastic on our oceans and wildlife.
I know we all know this, but after viewing it, I suddenly wondered what I should do about this...

I could try my hand at "artificial" flowers...but I'm thinking that I would not be so good at it...

Any other ideas? If I can recycle my plastic bags and keep that part of my impact on the earth to a minimum maybe I can come up with some others, too. I've been carrying my own shopping bags for awhile now, so once this supply is gone - then my work will be done - for plastic bags anyway....
Happy Earth Day - every day.

Look for more interesting ideas and photos here at ABC Wednesday.

ABC Wednesday - O is for Olive Oil

2009-04-28T15:06:00.000-04:00

And olives outdoors on the porch on one of the first beautiful days of Spring! We had other things, too...prosciutto and sundried tomatoes....

Bread from a heavenly bakery up the road, Bantam Bread. We chose a French baguette and Olive bread for the occasion. And of course -

A bottle of our new favorite wine - an Argentinian Malbec. This one was an Agua de Piedra Malbec Reserva - delicious! We're looking forward to many more meals al fresco as the weather warms up and the light lingers longer.
Buon appetito!

Find more ABC Wednesday posts here!

ABC Wednesday - N is for New York City

2009-04-21T16:17:00.000-04:00

I love New York! Fortunately for me, my daughter lives there so I can go visit anytime I want to! It's not the shopping or the restaurants that I love. I love the people, the energy and the enormous-ness of it all.

Annie lives in Chelsea and that allows us to go East side, West side, all around the town with relative ease. And there's always something interesting to do and see...

I can't wait til the next time...

Find more ABC Wednesday posts here!

ABC Wednesday - M is for Maia

2009-04-14T17:07:00.000-04:00

This is Maia, our mostly new cat. I've written about her before because she's just so darn fun to have around. We suspect that she is part Maine Coon Cat and not because we adopted her from a shelter in Maine, but because she has many of that breed's characteristics. Except for being huge - she's not big at all.
We named her for the patron saint of my husband's town in Italy, Muro Lucano. The patron saint is St. Gerard and his feast day is October 16th - and that's the day we spent an hour and a half in the shelter trying to find the perfect match in a cat for us. We did. She's been the best cat ever - except when she pulls the stunt above: sleeping in the flower box hanging over the railing two stories up from the ground!

Find more ABC Wednesday posts here!

ABC Wednesday - L is for Launch

2009-04-07T13:58:00.000-04:00

My sister Susan ( I call her Susie) had her book launch on Sunday April 6th. She is a poet and her inaugural book is a slim volume of poems called Down by the Riverside Ways. A small gathering of friends and family listened as she read some of her "old favorites" and she performed, as always, with humor and panache. Her voice has always been best expressed through her poetry and it was wonderful and amazing to see her in the spotlight.

The launch was held at The Buttonwood Tree, the arts center that grew out of Susie's first business venture - Ibis Books. For twenty years Susie and her husband Stephan have fiercely fought for and supported the arts in Middletown, Conn. Sunday's launch was a dollop of icing on the cake for her work, an acknowledgment of not only her advocacy but her own supreme talent.

And afterwards, as always - because the term "starving artist" isn't just a dramatic bohemian pose - there was food. Brie and wine, pretzels and juice boxes, chips and beer. The only thing more abundant than the food was praise for Susie's work. It was a proud day for our whole family. This is the place to find out more about Susie's work.

And here is the place to find more ABC Wednesday posts!

ABC Wednesday - K is for Knowing

2009-04-01T08:43:00.000-04:00

This is a picture of the shells on the beach at Venice, Florida's Nokomis Beach in January. If everyone takes a pocketfull of shells when they visit the beach, will all the shells disappear? I don't know that they will, but just in case, I took a picture, instead. If you "know better" how does that impact the rest of your decisions? Usually I just post a picture and a little description - and it's usually about my home or my family! - but this week's post is actually a link to my other web site Writing Out Loud and my current essay on "Knowing". There are always a lot of sites to visit on ABC Wednesday, but I hope you get a chance to read it. And then, let me know what you think!

Find more ABC Wednesday posts here!

ABC Wednesday - J is for John, Justine, Justin, (Annie, Christopher & Victoria)

2009-03-24T20:08:00.000-04:00

And the family/home references continue!

This is a picture of all my kids - my daughter, my son, my stepdaughter, my nephews and my niece. Since half of them are "J"s I thought it was a fitting entry for this week. This picture was taken at a family birthday party last November. It was one of the few times we had them all together because they are as far away as Florida and Arizona. They are in college - just starting or all the way to grad school or they are working - trying to make their way. We are as proud as punch of all of them and that day, realized how grateful we all are to have such beautiful, talented children. (Why do I still call them children? One, because they always will be our children and Two because it still takes over ten shots to get one good picture!)

Find more ABC Wednesday posts here!

ABC Wednesday - I is for Inbox

2009-03-18T20:58:00.000-04:00

The Internet is great, isn't it? Access to the world - as evidenced by this very activity, ABC Wednesday. Possibly one of the reasons that I am so late in posting this week is due to the Internet and one of its insidious time-sappers - the email Inbox. Over 4,000 emails are in my Inbox and they date back over 2 years. Really? Is there some reason that I have to keep emails over 2 years? I think not - but because my Inbox fills up daily, I have yet to spend the day or so required to clean the darn thing out.
So here I sit...under the ABC Wednesday wire...trying to go online while being beckoned by my Inbox siren's call to just check in. And maybe answer one or two...

Find more ABC Wednesday posts here.

ABC Wednesday H is for Homebody

2009-03-11T12:18:00.000-04:00

Main Entry: home·body
Pronunciation: \hōm-bä-dē\
Function: noun
Date: 1821
: one whose life centers on home

I am a homebody. I could stay home all the time, all day, all night. I love my home and everything and everyone in it.

I am finding that, since starting the ABC Wednesday blog, I seem to be drifting to topics that have to do with home and hearth. When trying to think of topics to post, I am inevitably drawn to those things that are close to my heart. I tried - really - to think of something artsy or clever or profound, but there you go. I am a homebody and that's what I am writing about.

This is my porch. If I'm not in my home, I'm on my porch. It's not just me, either. Everyone who comes to visit loves to sit on my porch, too. It's not huge, but it's big enough for whoever is out there. It's like the Room of Requirements at Hogwarts. (Oh - I could have done Harry Potter!).

Find more ABC Wednesday posts here.

ABC Wednesday - G is for Grandparents

2009-03-03T18:23:00.000-05:00

Grand parents, that's what they are. All my childhood memories are warm, sweet, magical moments of being loved and fed by the most amazing and curious people I'd ever known. For my own children, my parents became these wonderful beings as they guided them, cherished them and acted as role models while I was busy trying to figure out single-parenting. God bless Grandparents.
This is all three of my grandparents, but we'll get to Nana in a second. Oscar (middle) and Agnes (right) Eastman were my dad's parents. I don't think I ever saw Grandma without her arms wrapped tightly to her waist. She was probably holding in laughter at her grandkids because we always seemed to confound her. But that didn't stop her from making sure we all had something good to eat and a clean bed to sleep in. Papa was always in the background, but not so much that we didn't know that he couldn't fix anything that popped a spring or lost a wheel. He was a Fuller Brush man and even though we didn't have a clue what that was, we knew he was part of some legendary team who brought people essential potions for daily living. Half of them were in their bathroom closet.
Here's Nana - Helen Russell, in an early studio photo. She was something - the world's first single mom. At least that's what I always thought of her. She lived in an apartment with a French poodle named Gigi, rumored to be the sister of the dog belonging to the Queen of Romania. I never once doubted it. Nana used to make us colored milk when we went to visit - she was an artist, you know. That's how artists drink their milk - blue, pink, orange. Everyone knows that. When we used to go visit her in New York, we thought we were the coolest kids ever, "my grandmother lives in an apartment in New York City. Where did you say your grandmother lived?" She let us have every single version of her life that we imagined without spoiling it with the reality that she was really just a commercial artist who worked in a small office with a view of the Empire State Building. How cool is that?
These hip folks are my kids grandparents - Warren and Pattie - aka Grandma and Papa. They live in Florida part-time and Maine part-time and drive back and forth in between. I'm lucky that they still come and spend a week or so with us at each end of the trip. They are as interested and involved in my kids lives as they always were, and, even if my kids don't know it yet, were an integral part in their growing up. But they'll realize it one day. Maybe they'll even write a blog about it.

Find more ABC Wednesday posts here.

The "Short Hair" picture

2009-03-02T16:20:00.001-05:00

In the essay below, I write about my "new" short hair - and how that makes me a grown up. A couple of days later came a comment about how I had neglected to show my new hair, as my profile picture clearly shows that it is quite long. That's because, in an effort to get this blog up and running, I chose an essay that I wrote a couple of years ago. Could I have written a brand, spanking new one - about - say - long hair? Yes, I could have. Did I? No.

In the interest of truth in publishing, here now is a picture of when I cut my hair short. It took some time to find a picture that I would post, because it wasn't the most flattering look for me. Here with me is the provocateur, the author of the comment, the reason I am doing this - my brother. This was taken - a few years ago - at the Lake Shrine in Los Angeles. A beautiful place where we spent part of a picture-perfect California day. Thanks for the opportunity to remember that day, Rich! (That's funny - you don't look anything like this anymore either!)

F is for Freedom

2009-02-27T08:32:00.000-05:00

I just can't get "ABC Wednesday" out of my head! Today I have the freedom to head over to my sister's house and do some work there. This is because I quit my job in August. No - not "retired" - quit. I thought I'd have oh-so much time on my hands but I've been busier than a mother of 14 - without the family and welfare. Susie and I decided we needed to stay in better touch with each other since we only live 25 miles away and this is one of those days. It's not snowing, we are both working on books, and well - it's fun! (Oh, look another F! Wait...it's supposed to be in the fifties today!! Somebody stop me before I flip!!)
OK, I'll stop now....
Have a good weekend! (You know...'cause it's Friday...)

ABC Wednesday - Frye Island

2009-02-25T12:03:00.001-05:00

Frye Island, Maine is a little piece of heaven nestled near the eastern shore of Sebago Lake. It has been a haven for my family for the last 23 years. Only available for about six months of the year and only accessible by ferry, it is the sweetest and most peaceful place I've ever been.
(F is also for FIRST - as in this is my FIRST ABC Wednesday post!)

For more fun F entries visit ABC Wednesday, click here!

A Real Grown-up

2009-02-24T15:43:00.000-05:00

When I was 12 years old, I got my haircut. I don’t remember if it was for a party, for example or school pictures or some other important event. But I have in my head a picture of my round little face smiling out at the camera with my once long hair stopping abruptly at my shoulders. It’s always been a pretty color – mostly blondish with golden highlights. The sun lightened it in the summer and it became a darker caramel blonde in the winter but it always fit loosely into the “Blonde” category. So the color was nice, and the length age appropriate. But I have always been on the, hmmm, how shall I put this? The “pleasingly plump” side and I ended up looking like a thick chunk of a girl in a neighborhood of skinny little sorts who ran barefoot in short shorts and tank tops. I hated that haircut. I needed something on my body to be long and thin and that was my hair. When it finally started growing out, it never touched my shoulders again. Well, there was that one time around the mid 70’s when I got that Farrah-cut. You know…the Gypsy shag, which thankfully there are no pictures of. But when you are pleasingly plump (my Swedish grandmother’s description, God bless her) you don’t want too much else to be short and chunky hanging around your body, so I kept growing it longer and longer.

So on I went through high school, college and into adulthood with my short chunky body and my long, thin hair. Still mostly blonde, sometimes with bangs – ugh, I never learned the bangs lesson. My role model was my grandmother on my mother’s side. She was the worlds’ first single parent, I think. She was an artist in New York City in the early 40’s and 50’s. Not the Bohemian, absinthe sipping hang out with DeKooning kind, but the family portraits on the side while drawing for Montgomery Ward catalog kind. As the world’s first single parent, she had my mother to raise, so she had responsibilities. But she also had long hair which she wound simply into a bun and wrapped with a black velvet ribbon. As a child I never saw it hanging down around her shoulders, but I imagined it did. Then, the unthinkable happened. She cut it all off. Right after she turned 65. I remember the photograph she had taken when she cut her hair. The shocking thing wasn’t the way she looked, because since she always had it up in that black velvet ribbon, it looked short anyway, but that she had done it. Wow. She must be a grown up now. Which was wonderful news for me, because I knew I had years to go before I needed to think about cutting my hair. Although I thought about it occasionally, I didn’t really have to consider it because I had more than 40 years to go before that terrifying event!

So, what did I do yesterday, well before the 65 year mark for hair cutting and growing up? I cut my damn hair. Not a trim or even a bold “take 3 inches off!” for me. I gave my hairstylist complete authorization to cut it all off. She said, “Do you want to cut it to your shoulders?” Sudden images of female East German athletes bounded in front of my eyes. “NO!” I think I screamed a little. “I walked in here brave – you might as well take advantage of it”, I replied. “Do you want to try bangs?”, she asked. “Don’t ask me any more questions – just do it!” I shrieked. Clearly in my apprehension I had again forgotten the bangs lesson. Then I closed my eyes, she turned the chair away from the mirror and started cutting.

Now, an important codicil here…my body is NOT any less short or chunky. This is where the crazy part comes. I am not taller or thinner. So what in God’s name was I thinking? I suspect it was the growing up part. I keep trying to make my hair look decent as it lays in lengths below my shoulders, but I just can’t shake the idea that 40-somethings should have a “hairstyle”. Plus there is that graying thing happening too. Gray hair is definitively not long or thin. It is short and annoying. It pokes up from my scalp like so many broken bed springs and the whole effect is just ridiculous. Then of course there is that bad evil influence…the Internet! I found a website called Makeover-O-Matic. Sounds bad, right? Evil? Temptation incarnate. One can upload a picture of themselves and straight away being the makeover. I tried short hair, curly hair, even Beyoncé hair. (I did a little blush, eye shadow and lipstick too, but that’s a whole other dilemma.) With the false confidence of a virtual Before/After shot, I called and made the appointment. And the rest, as they say, is history.

So, now my hair is short. Really short. And not the short that it was when I left the salon yesterday, because we all know that they have some scary magic there that only allows your hair to look that way once. No, I have the short hair of today. The one side goes this way and the other side goes that way short. No amount of headbands, barrettes or black velvet ribbons will help me. I made my choice and now I have to live with it. If that isn’t growing up, I don’t know what is.

When you're 50...

2009-02-24T15:27:00.000-05:00

...you start doing all sorts of strange things you might not have done at - say - 49. It's wonderfully liberating. For instance - I'm going to publish a book. Yep. That's right. A book.

There will be a few of the selections from my web site that I am including in my first collection of essays to be published…oh, I don’t know - as soon as I find someone who will do it! Meanwhile, please enjoy the following. Then go back and read some more!

And let me know what you think....