THE COSTUME LADY. . . .Random Rants and Dressing Up

CHRISTMAS THOUGHTS. . .

2008-12-24T10:24:00.000-05:00

With thanks to Mr. Jack Swift, of the Mountain City, Tennessee "Tomahawk" newspaper, I would like to share this amazing understanding of Christmas. . .

Another year is almost gone and as I write this column Christmas is just a few days away. As I thought about what I would write about this week, I decided to just reflect on Christmas and what it means to me. This one will be my 70th Christmas and as I look back at Christmases past I remember the great times that we had as a family when I was young. I couldn’t wait till that day arrived. Perhaps I didn’t thoroughly understand the real meaning of Christmas then, but I knew that it was a time of giving as well as receiving.
Christmas was about the only time I received any toys but they were always welcome. Clothes and such were much less important in my young mind. Of all the toys I received, one stands out. It was a metal dump truck and since there was a dirt bank near our house, I put it to plenty of use.

While I enjoyed receiving gifts, even as a youngster I also enjoyed giving. I always tried to save enough money to give a gift to my mother and father and brother. As I grew older, I gradually became aware of the much deeper meaning of the Christmas season. Being raised to attend church, I had many opportunities to hear the minister preach about the birth of Christ and the Christian’s hope because of it.

While Christ’s birth came up in sermons periodically during the year, it was at Christmas that it was really emphasized. I was called upon to take part in a few Christmas plays at church over the years and I remember playing the old shoe cobbler one year. I believe his name was Nicholas. Anyway according to the play the old cobbler was told in a vision that Jesus Christ would pay him a visit before the night was past. If I remember right, as the play continued, three visitors who were in need interrupted him at different times and each time he would fulfill that need. Whether it was to give warmth by the roaring fire in his fireplace or to provide food, he gave of what he had. He was disappointed because at the end of the day Christ hadn’t visited his shop, or so he thought.

As the play ended, Nicholas found that each time he had been kind and considerate to each of his needy visitors, he had been ministering to Jesus. Jesus had been to his humble cobbler’s shop in the form of the three needy people. Of course it was only a Christmas play, but it pointed out that being kind and considerate to others is a prerequisite to knowing Jesus.

So, Christmas is not only a time of receiving but also of giving. Christians believe that the gift of Jesus, God’s only begotten Son, is the greatest gift of all.

Since becoming an adult, I have developed a much broader understanding of what the birth of Christ means to me. There is a song with a phrase that goes something like this: “Without Him I would be nothing.” I challenge my readers to see beyond the commercialism that has enveloped the Christmas season, and concentrate on the real meaning of Christmas.

Christmas was a joyous time of the year when I was young. It is no less a joyous time in my senior years. My wife and I enjoy receiving Christmas cards from our friends as well as the smiles and greetings we get as we travel about Johnson County. We also enjoy sending Christmas cards and giving gifts at Christmas time. We thank you for reading my column and may each of you have a glorious and joyful Christmas

2008-06-06T14:42:00.001-04:00

“It would be a terrific innovation if you could get your mind to stretch a little further than the next wisecrack." Katherine Hepburn

Sage advice worth pondering. . .

2008-06-06T11:31:00.001-04:00

"Stop the mindless wishing that things would be different. Rather than wasting time and emotional energy in explaining why we don't have what we want, we can start to pursue other ways to get it." Author: Greg Anderson

*** A 'hat tip' and an 'amen' to my sister, Judy, for this inspiration. ***

COUNTING DOWN THE DAYS. . . .

2008-05-29T21:58:00.002-04:00

A new baby is on the way in our family. What a supreme joy and a reason for celebration! Any moment now, this precious little girl will expand our family and enlarge our hearts!!! What a wonderful reason to be happy.

Your prayers for her health and for Valerie, Heath, and Duncan are appreciated and welcomed!

Love you all, as always.

There's no place. . . .

2008-05-11T13:49:00.001-04:00

2008-05-05T11:35:00.001-04:00

Yet again. . . . .

2008-05-01T14:03:00.003-04:00

Remember, every ending is a beginning . . .
"What the caterpillar calls the end of the world,
the master calls a butterfly."
~ Richard Bach

Good advice. . . . . .

2008-04-25T13:57:00.001-04:00

Slip Don't Fall

One of the most important things to know on your journey to success is that you will occasionally slip up. It's how you respond to these slip ups that will determine if and when you achieve your goals.

Even the most disciplined, motivated people in the world have days when they don't take action and don't follow through. The difference between those who succeed and those who fail is that successful people slip but they don't fall.

Let me explain…

Here's a graph that shows how successful people progress towards achieving a goal:

As you can see from this graph, successful people DO slip up, but they always recover quickly. Compare this with the graph of people who fail:

Instead of recovering after a slip up, an unsuccessful person allows a slip to become a Fall.

When you slip up, you always have two options:

Option 1: You can start thinking negative thoughts and criticizing yourself by saying things like, "I don't have any will power" or "I'm just hopeless - I never follow through".

This is the approach of those who fail. Self criticism leads them into a downward spiral that inevitably ends in failure.

Option 2: You can accept that you slipped up and simply say:

"OK, I slipped, but I will not fall!"

When you take this approach, you quickly overcome your slip up and get back on track towards achieving your goals.

So today, I'd like to encourage you to change your approach to dealing with slip ups. Instead of criticizing yourself, just accept the situation and make the decision that even when you slip, you will get back on track quickly and will not allow a slip to become a fall.

2008-04-25T00:53:00.001-04:00

A mother's love is instinctual, unconditional, and forever.
- unknown

According to Doyle. . . . . .

2008-04-21T04:16:00.003-04:00

"Don't be afraid to go out on a limb, 'cause that's where the fruit is."-- Doyle Brunson

Not an Endorsement, but I'm Just Sayin'. . . . .

2008-04-12T13:28:00.005-04:00

Perhaps the best campaign statement I've heard yet, from any of the candidates:

"People don't need a president who looks down on them," she said. "They need a president who stands up for them." Hillary Clinton, 04-11-08

Heart tug and lessons to learn. . . .

2008-04-09T12:33:00.001-04:00

What choice would you make?

What would you do? You make the choice. Don’t look for a punch line, there isn’t one. Read it anyway. My question is: Would you have made the same choice?

At a fund raising dinner for a school that serves learning-disabled children, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question: ‘When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does is done with perfection. Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do. Where is the natural order of things in my son?’

The audience was stilled by the query.

The father continued. ‘I believe that when a child like Shay, physically and mentally handicapped comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes in the way other people treat that child.’

Then he told the following story:

Shay and his father had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, ‘Do you think they’ll let me play?’ Shay’s father knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but the father also understood that if his son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.

Shay’s father approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could pla y. The boy looked around for guidance and said, ‘We’re losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we’ll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning.’

Shay struggled over to the team’s bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt. His Father watched with a small tear in his eye and warmth in his heart. The boys saw the father’s joy at his son being accepted. In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay’s team scored a few runs but was still behind by three. In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as his father waved to him from the stands. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay’s team scored again.. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.

At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game? Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat.Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn’t even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.

However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay’s life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact. The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay. As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher

The game would now be over. The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game.

Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman’s head, out of reach of all team mates. Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, ‘Shay, run to first! Run to first!’ Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base. He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.

Everyone yelled, ‘Run to second, run to second!’ Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base. By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball … the smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team. He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher’s intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman’s head.. Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home.

All were screaming, ‘Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay’

Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, ‘Run to third! Shay, run to third!’

As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, ‘Shay, run home! Run home!’ Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team.

‘That day’, said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, ‘the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world’.

Shay didn’t make it to another summer. He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making his father so happy, and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!

AND NOW A LITTLE FOOTNOTE TO THIS STORY: We all send thousands of jokes through the e-mail without a second thought, but when it comes to sending messages about life choices, people hesitate. The crude, vulgar, and often obscene pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion about decency is too often suppressed in our schools and workplaces.

If you’re thinking about forwarding this message, chances are that you’re probably sorting out the people in your address book who aren’t the ‘appropriate’ ones to receive this type of message. Well, the person who sent you this believes that we all can make a difference. We all have thousands of opportunities every single day to help realize the ‘natural order of things’ So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a choice: Do we pass along a little spark of love and humanity or do we pass up those opportunities and leave the world a little bit colder in the process?

A wise man once said every society is judged by how it treats it’s least fortunate amongst them.

You now have two choices:
1. Forget this post
2. Forward this post

May your day, be a Shay Day.

Sublime to Ridiculous. . . . .

2008-04-08T16:34:00.007-04:00

Noticed a 'twitter' comment on my nephew's blog (wabisabi), and thought I'd check out the article he was commenting on. It appeared in today's Chicago Sun Times. How anyone can conclude that the Sun Times is 'using' the story to create or promote further racial overtones in the current election cycle is beyond me. It appears that the Obama campaign may have over reacted and caused this to rise to the level of a newsworthy item. We are truly going from the sublime to the ridiculous and it hurts my soul to see it happening, because good people are being damaged, innocent remarks are being given ugly prominence, and we are losing sight of the big picture of where this country needs to go for our collective future.

As a white woman who was raised in completely integrated schools, etc. during the 50's and 60's, perhaps I see the charge of 'racism' a little differently. Sometimes, a 'monkey' is just a 'monkey' and has nothing to do with the color of one's skin. In fact, I called my own youngest daughter a monkey for years, 'cause she used to love to climb on people, places, and things. Was that racist -- subconscious, perhaps -- or merely a humorous reference to an animal's characteristics? If we say that someone is trying to 'ape' the gestures of another person, is that racist? I am getting soooo confused. And worried. And I feel sorry for the lady who is now in this nasty spotlight.

Perhaps the situation could have been handled better. . .particularly in light of Sen. Obama's recent eloquence on the issue of race and it's impact on our society. Perhaps his campaign officials could have contacted both parties to the dispute and arranged for the Senator to speak with them (by phone or in person, with or without press, etc.) to heal the wound, correct any misunderstanding, and unite these neighbors. By asking that she resign, Sen. Obama has -- whether intentionally or not -- painted this woman as a racist. What an unfortunate mantle for her to be burdened with, if her remark was indeed harmless. What an unfortunate missed opportunity for the Senator to have acted upon the beliefs he so recently spoke about.

What a world. We should do better.

BY ABDON M. PALLASCH Political Reporter/apallasch@suntimes.com

Moving to nip in the bud some potential bad press, White House hopeful Barack Obama's campaign persuaded a delegate to step down after she was ticketed for calling her neighbor's African-American children "monkeys."

Linda Ramirez-Sliwinski, a Carpentersville village trustee, was elected as an Obama delegate to the Democratic National Convention. She sports an Obama sign in her front yard.

On Saturday, two neighbor children were playing in the tree next-door to her house.

Ramirez-Sliwinski "came outside and told the children to quit playing in the tree like monkeys. The tree was not on Ramirez-Sliwinski's property," Carpentersville Police Commander Michael Kilbourne said.

Ramirez-Sliwinski admitted she used the word "monkeys," but said she did not intend racism. She said she was only trying to protect them from falling out of the tree.

"Linda Ramirez-Sliwinski said she saw the kids playing in the tree and didn't want them falling out of the tree and getting hurt. She said she calls her own grandchildren 'monkeys,' " Kilbourne said. The mother of one of the children did not see it that way, noting she and Ramirez-Sliwinski have clashed before.

"She felt it was racist because of the fact the children were African-American," Kilbourne said.

Told of the incident Monday by the Sun-Times, Obama's campaign called Ramirez-Sliwinski and persuaded her to step aside as a delegate because the campaign felt her remarks were "divisive and unacceptable."

"Given the incident, she is stepping down as a delegate and will be replaced," said campaign spokesman Ben Labolt.

Ramirez-Sliwinski did not return messages seeking comment Monday. She told the Daily Herald she meant no racism with her comment but that "after this incident, I will not run again" for trustee.

The only Hispanic on the board, Ramirez-Sliwinski has been a strong voice for Carpentersville's 40 percent Hispanic population. She and Village President Bill Sarto opposed an English-only proposition and an ordinance to crack down on illegal immigrants.

Opposition leader Judy Sigwalt said, "We are elected officials. We are in a position where people look to us for leadership and professionalism. We have to be diplomatic at all times."

"Frankly, I don't see a law that was broken here," Sarto said. "I think this entire thing has been blown out of proportion. She's a good neighor. She went over to caution the children to be careful not to fall out of a tree.

She has never indicated to me any prejudice whatsoever. We have a trustee who has been convicted on four counts of domestic battery and refuses to resign from the board. He beat his wife with a baseball bat. This seems far less egregious to me."

Ramirez-Sliwinski's $75 ticket was for "disorderly conduct," which Kilbourne defined as, "when a person does something that alarms or disturbs another.

A Message for the Donutbuzz Crowd. . . . .

2008-04-07T14:59:00.002-04:00

THOUGHTS ON THE BATTLE OF VANILLA vs. PEANUT BUTTER CHOCOLATE ICE CREAM. . . . . . .

A complaint was received by the Pontiac Division of General Motors:

"This is the second time I have written you, and I don't blame you for not answering me, because I kind of sounded crazy, but it is a fact that we have a tradition in our family of ice cream for dessert after dinner each night. But the kind of ice cream varies so, every night, after we've eaten, the whole family votes on which kind of ice cream we should have and I drive down to the store to get it. It's also a fact that I recently purchased a new Pontiac and since then my trips to the store have created a problem.

You see, every time I buy vanilla ice cream, when I start back from the store my car won't start. If I get any other kind of ice cream, the car starts just fine. I want you to know I'm serious about this question, no matter how silly it sounds: 'What is there about a Pontiac that makes it not start when I get vanilla ice cream, and easy to start whenever I get any other kind?'"

The Pontiac President was understandably skeptical about the letter, but sent an engineer to check it out anyway. The latter was surprised to be greeted by a successful, obviously well educated man in a fine neighborhood. He had arranged to meet the man just after dinner time, so the two hopped into the car and drove to the ice cream store. It was vanilla ice cream that night and, sure enough, after they came back to the car, it wouldn't start.

The engineer returned for three more nights. The first night, the man got peanut butter chocolate ice cream. The car started. The second night, he got strawberry. The car started. The third night he ordered vanilla ice cream. The car failed to start.

Now the engineer, being a logical man, refused to believe that this man's car was allergic to vanilla ice cream. He arranged, therefore, to continue his visits for as long as it took to solve the problem. And toward this end he began to take notes: he jotted down all sorts of data, time of day, type of gas used, time to drive back and forth, etc. In a short time, he had a clue: the man took less time to buy vanilla ice cream than any other flavor. Why? The answer was in the layout of the store.

Vanilla ice cream, being the most popular flavor, was in a separate case at the front of the store for quick pickup. All the other flavors were kept in the back of the store at a different counter where it took considerably longer to find the flavor and get checked out.
Now the question for the engineer was why the car wouldn't start when it took less time. Once time became the problem -- not the vanilla ice cream -- the engineer quickly came up with the answer: vapor lock. It was happening every night, but the extra time taken to get the other flavors allowed the engine to cool down sufficiently to start. When the man got vanilla ice cream, the engine was still too hot for the vapor lock to dissipate.

Moral of the story: even insane looking problems are sometimes real.
(A better moral: peanut butter chocolate ice cream cures vapor lock!)

Happy April Fool's Day. . . . . .

2008-04-01T14:46:00.002-04:00

What the hic is going on?. . . . . .

2008-03-31T04:18:00.008-04:00

Just for everyone's information, the folklore 'fixes' detailed herein do NOT work!!

Good. . .hiccup. . .night all!

Good night, sweet Duncan. . . . .

2008-03-30T02:54:00.004-04:00

It's late at night and I can't sleep, so I keep myself happy by thinking of you, my precious little grandson! I hope that you are all snuggled down in your bed with Mr. Teddy Bear in your arms, having happy dreams about your Mommy, Daddy, and that special little sister who's on her way to join your family!!

If I were there, I would sing you a chorus of "Ten Dirty Little Fingers" and kiss your forehead.

I love you, Duncan!

Fear and Wondering at the Crack of Dawn. . . .

2008-03-29T09:43:00.005-04:00

Don't be afraid that your life will end; be afraid that it will never begin.

As we grow up, we learn that even the one person that wasn't supposed to ever let you down probably will. You will have your heart broken -- probably more than once -- and it's harder every time. You'll break hearts too, so remember how it felt when yours was broken. You'll fight with your best friend. You'll blame a new love for things an old one did. You'll cry because time is passing too fast, and you'll eventually lose someone you love.

So take too many pictures, laugh too much, and love like you've never been hurt, because every sixty seconds you spend upset is a minute of happiness you'll never get back.

Enough Already!!!

2008-03-24T15:08:00.005-04:00

If the Democratic candidates don't put a stop to the infighting, it'll be a smooth ride to the white house for McCain! These schoolyard antics are hurting everyone!

Obama backer sorry for 'blue dress' comment

The war of words between surrogates for the Democratic presidential hopefuls descends further into the muck.

The campaigns sniped at each other over the weekend after retired Air Force General Merrill A. McPeak, an adviser to Barack Obama, accused former President Bill Clinton of McCarthyism for, in McPeak's view, questioning Obama's patriotism. Hillary Clinton's campaign said her husband's remarks to veterans in North Carolina had been misconstrued.

Today, another Obama supporter, former Iowa Democratic Party chairman Gordon Fischer, complained that Bill Clinton was hurting the Democratic Party and leaving "a stain on his legacy much worse, much deeper, than the one on Monica's blue dress." That, of course, is a blunt reference to the former president's affair with intern Monica Lewinsky that led to impeachment hearings.

Fischer has already apologized for that comment, which he posted on his own blog, Iowa True Blue. Calling it "stupid" and "tasteless and gratuitous," Fischer said, "It was unnecessary and wrong."

But the Clinton camp is not letting bygones be bygones, calling it the most personal attack yet in the increasingly bitter nomination fight.

The Icky Eye Revisited. . . . .

2008-03-24T02:45:00.005-04:00

Just a quick update on the mysterious icky eye problem. . . .

The lump (engorged gland) continues to grow larger in diameter, but softer in texture, so this is apparently a good sign. . . .or so I am told. The antibiotic clouds my vision even worse than the swelling and watering, but that's to be expected.

Hopefully, I'll be able to wear my glasses again soon and get back to a more 'normal' routine. Until then, I'll keep peering at life through the squint of my one good eye and hope for the best!!!!

Here's looking at you, kid!!

Happy Easter One and All. . . . .

2008-03-22T22:15:00.003-04:00

Chocolate Rabbit

I got a chocolate rabbit
For an Easter treat,
A great big chocolate rabbit
Good enough to eat.

So I ate his ears on Sunday,
His nose I finished Monday.
Tuesday I nibbled on his feet.
I ate his tail on Wednesday
Thursday I kept on,
By Friday he was going,
Saturday he was gone.

Oh, I loved my chocolate rabbit
From the moment that he came,
And if I get another one,
I'll love him just the same

My Reaction to A MySpace Declaration . . . .

2008-03-22T11:56:00.003-04:00

The Grass is Getting Greener! . . . . .

2008-03-18T11:47:00.015-04:00

Spring is just about here! Thank goodness for longer days and milder temperatures and the new bloom of life all around us!!!

Click on the link below. You will get a black page. Click your mouse anywhere (& everywhere) on the page & see what happens! Better yet, click & drag your mouse over the black page... Enjoy!!

http://www.procreo.jp/labo/flower_garden.swf

Good News Through My One Good Eye. . . . .

2008-03-18T00:24:00.004-04:00

It's been a l-o-n-g day, but a productive one. Though I am still fighting the infection in my left eye, which seems to have also invaded my sinus cavity (ugh!), I was able to read a happy e-mail, telling me that I've had one of my stories accepted by Reader's Digest!! Hooray! Evidently, it won't be published until sometime in the fall, but I will post the issue information as soon as I know. (It's not a whole lot of money, but enough to make a dent in some needs, and it certainly gives me confidence to keep on keepin' on!)

Other good news: Dancing With The Stars returned to tv tonight. Didn't get to see the whole show, but I'm excited that it's back. Love watching the progress everyone makes and it's just a good, entertaining way to spend an hour or so! Was pleasantly surprised to see how well the men did tonight.

Hopefully, more good news will start flowing. . . . .and I'll be able to see it coming!!

Happy St. Patrick's Day to all. . . . .

2008-03-16T21:53:00.003-04:00

The Eye of the Beholder. . . .

2008-03-16T02:03:00.007-04:00

What a week this has been! Among other things, I managed to get a small piece of glass (or other sharp foreign object) lodged in my left eye, resulting in a small puncture and/or scratch. Got the offending object out and rinsed my eye well, so I really believed that there would be no more complication. Ha! Couldn't have been more wrong!

Evidently, a raging infection has taken hold and turned my otherwise average looking eye into something that resembles Jabba The Hut, from "Star Wars"! My best guess is that I may have picked up a staph infection in the ER, last week, or one of the many house animals here may have given me a little transfer infection of some kind. Either way, it ain't pretty!

My first clue that something was amiss came at about 4:00 a.m., when I went to the restroom and realized that all I was seeing out of my left eye was my left cheek! Hmmmm. In the glare of the bathroom light, I looked in the mirror to find an ugly, red, swollen eye socket and horrifically bloodshot eyeball staring back at me. Ewww and ouch!

At this point, I am rinsing the offending eye with boric acid solution once an hour and keeping a cold compress on it (for the only comfort I can get), and it continues to grow! Guess it will be another unscheduled doctor visit on Monday, if things don't dramatically improve. . . . ugh!

Meanwhile, here's looking at you. . . .from my one good eye!

Tribute to a great man. . . . .

2008-03-13T10:12:00.024-04:00

Twenty-two years ago today, our family lost it's guidepost; it's role model; it's captain. Twenty-two years ago today, my father passed from this life into his eternal rest. And I still miss him, every single day. I'm certain that we all do.

My earliest memories of my father center around our visits to his parents (Nana and Alfred), who lived in the Parkchester Apartments, in New York city. My dad would take me for walks around the neighborhood and show me where my grandfather once had his livery stables and to the newsstand/tobacco shop, where we would get the papers and penny candy! Those were formative times that 'introduced' me to the man who would so influence the rest of my life.

After he left the air force (then, the army air corps), he and my mom spent a few precious civilian years in New York and New Jersey, adding both my older sister and myself to the family. Then, the government came calling again, needing his special talents on some secret level, and we all moved to Arlington, Virginia, as dad began yet a new career, at the Pentagon. It being the height of the cold war, the nature of his work was something he could never discuss with us, but we knew that he traveled to faraway places, like Germany and France, and I was intrigued! (He even brought back authentic French bikini bathing suits for my mom, my sister, and I, and we were 'scandalous' as we sunbathed in our own backyard!!)

I remember the hours dad would spend, making sure that every branch of our Christmas trees were perfectly symmetrical -- and to mom's liking! He would even cut whole branches off one side and drill a hole to re-insert a branch in another side, skillfully filling an 'unsightly' bare spot. He was a patient man. And a perfectionist!

I remember, too, the many stories my father would tell us. . . .often about some famous people he knew! He was college buddies with none other than Kirk Douglas (and even gets a nod in the actor's autobiography "The Ragman's Son"), at St. Lawrence University. He bowled with the fabulous Bette Davis, while she was on a USO tour, in England. And Winston Churchill's daughter, Sarah, had a mad crush on him during his WWII tour of duty outside of London! What a fun and full like my father had!

He was a man of passionate commitments, too, and taught us all that
dignity was far more important than any bank account or new car. He was a life-long Mason, and was understandably proud of his association
with that group.
Things I remember most about my father: His love of 'Dagwood' style sandwiches (sardines, tomato, onion, and mustard with orange marmalade on top!) and the fun he had sharing them with unsuspecting grandchildren! The go-kart he bought for my brother, which we all learned to 'drive' with. . . .and learned how to steer out of a skid with! Bowling! From the time when we were just little kids, until just before his death, my dad loved to bowl. (One of the best laughs I ever had was when he somehow didn't get his fingers out of the ball and he followed it, head-first, right down the lane. . . .pocket change flying all the way down to the pins!!) His guiding words (by Abe Lincoln): "I cried because I had no shoes until I met a man who had no feet." Having the courage to start a new business, while raising a family with four kids, from a basement hobby to a respected manufacturing corporation known as RAM Industries. He and my mother (and, occasionally, the kids and/or grandkids) taking off on adventures in his huge Pace Arrow motor home!

Things I miss most about my father: His hugs. His stern expectations, tempered by his strong confidence in himself, his loving wife, his rag-tag kids, his beloved grandchildren, and the world in general. Hearing his voice calling me 'kiddo'. Everything.

Twenty-two years ago today, my father passed from this life. In the twenty-two years ever since, he has never left my heart.

Thoughts. . . .

2008-03-13T02:51:00.002-04:00

Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them.

-- Oscar Wilde

Ever have one of those days. . . . . .????

2008-03-12T13:29:00.002-04:00

Good night, Dawn. . . .

2008-03-12T03:20:00.008-04:00

It's been 32 days since I last heard your voice. . . .and much, much longer since your laughter filled my heart with joy. It's been many, many weeks since I last saw your blue eyes look towards mine. . . . .and much, much longer since those eyes sparkled with a shared happiness or memory.

I play your voice back, on my cell phone, just so I can hear you say "I love you, Mom" one more time.

I miss my friend.

[Note to those who assume to know it all: No 'anonymous' comments will be allowed on this blog, hereafter. Thank you.]

Perceptions. . . .

2008-03-11T01:05:00.003-04:00

Things aren't always as they seem. . . . .sometimes up is down and front is back. It's up to us to decide which way our path is headed.

Special day. . . .

2008-03-07T04:39:00.004-05:00

Sending the very best birthday wishes out to the very best son-in-law a woman could ask for!! Hope your day -- and the year ahead -- is full of happiness, love, success, and contentment. You are loved!!

Keeping fit. . . .

2008-03-06T03:32:00.003-05:00

Local Mystery. . . . . .Solved??

2008-03-05T22:22:00.010-05:00

Way, way back in 1968, I made my first trip from Washington, D.C. to Erwin, Tennessee, to view the beautiful valley my parents had chosen for relocating their business. On that very first trip, I couldn't help but notice a beautiful, large, stately home -- right on what was then the main highway heading north and south, 11E/19W -- which was completely boarded up. In such a lovely neighborhood (across the street from the university president's home, in fact), it seemed quite out of place and odd. The grounds were meticulously groomed, yet the house was sealed like a tomb!

For the 40 years since, that house has remained the same. . . .boarded up yet obviously cared for. In all these decades of passing the house (sometimes 4 times a day), I have never once seen anyone on the property, either mowing the lawn or otherwise showing signs of life. For the 40 years since, I have asked countless people what the story was behind this apparently abandoned jewel, but got little in the way of answers. I would only be told that "it used to be a hospital."

Finally, I seem to have stumbled upon some answers to this mystery. Chilling though this account may be, it is the first -- and only -- history I have ever been able to find. Read it, and decide for yourself. . . . .

Swingle Hospital was the first hospital in Johnson City. The hospital is located near Science Hill High School and Heritage Manor. It is said that back in the 1920's, Dr. Swingle performed simple surgeries in this privately owned estate. Dr. Swingle was a sloppy surgeon and all of his patients would die on the operating table. If you slowly walk up the front walkway, between the row of hedges, leading to the main entrance you can hear the voices of the insane doctor and his staff, and if you walk around to the back of the house you can hear the screams of the dead patients, who are buried in the backyard. You cannot get in to the old hospital due to boarded windows and doors. If you decide to visit the hospital, park on the street next to it and walk over, but stay away from the road. If caught on Swingle property, you can be charged with breaking and entering. Be careful, cops watch that place very heavily.

Update: My daughter, Dawn, has located a much more detailed -- and far less 'dramatic' -- story about the old Swingle house. It even appears to have a direct connection to a very good friend of my brother. . . .! Read it, and see more photos at the following website. Fascinating!! www.hauntmastersclub.com/places/washington_county_jc_swingle.

Sleep deprivation. . . .revisited

2008-03-04T01:44:00.005-05:00

What is it about the nights that make them so very long and restless? It can't be the accommodations. . . .'cause I have a beautiful, comfortable, warm canopy bed at my disposal.

It can't be the environment. . . .'cause I am in a warm home, with compassionate people to surround me.

It can't be for lack of activity or busy waking hours. . . .'cause I am keeping busy with all the tasks at hand, from morning until late evening.

Yet. . . .as the clock ticks past midnight and beyond, my mind starts to race and I cannot sleep. All the what-if's and if-only's creep into my head. I worry about people who I care about but no longer see. I pace around, trying to figure out solutions to problems my children are facing, or that the world is confronted with, or that simply invade my psyche and will not give me peace!

How do you turn off your brain, for just a few blissful hours? How do you shut off your heart from aching? How do you sleep. . . . . .????

Teamwork. . . . .

2008-03-03T17:19:00.006-05:00

A salesman is driving on a two-lane country road in a rainstorm and gets stuck in a ditch. He asks a nearby farmer for help.

The farmer hitches up Elmo, his blind mule, to the salesman's car and hollers, "Pull Sam, pull!" Nothing happens.

He again yells, "Pull Bessie, pull!" Still nothing.

"Pull Jackson, pull!" Still nothing.

Finally he hollers, "Pull Elmo, pull!" and Elmo pulls the car right out of the ditch.

The driver is confused and says, "I don't understand. Why did you have to call out all those names?"

"Look, if he didn't think he had any help, he wouldn't even try!"

WONDERFUL NEWS!

2008-03-01T04:13:00.005-05:00

Just thought I would take a moment to update those who may want to know. . . . .our family will be growing again very soon!!! Valerie, Heath, and my absolutely adorable grandson, Duncan, will be welcoming a sweet baby girl, due around June 6th!!

Though this revelation came as quite a surprise to one and all, it is a remarkable blessing that we are all sooooooo excited over! In spite of all the troubles life may bring our way, and all the bumps in the road we have to hurdle, babies are truly God's way of telling us that the world is a wonderful place, and there is always room for another miracle to love!!! Congratulations to Mom, Dad, and Big Brother!!

The Name Game and Other Foolishness. . . .

2008-02-29T10:50:00.006-05:00

From the outset, let me state clearly that I have no political agenda with this blog. It's just my format for getting "random rants" out of my head and occasionally sharing a smile or a thought. In the upcoming presidential election, I have no idea who I will cast my vote for. . . . whether Hillary 'Can-She-Win-It' Clinton, John 'McNasty' McCain, Barak 'Oprah's-Latest-Project' Obama, or someone else altogether. This 2008 campaign gets curiouser and curiouser every day.

In recent days, it seems that Obama's middle name (Hussein) has become a political issue, both for him, for his opponents, and for the media. Why? Presumably, it is a name he has been proud of for his entire life. It is the name his parents gave him. Is it something to be ashamed of or afraid of now, because he/they/someone perceive it as a liability, given our country's fascination with all-things-Muslim and the simmering war in Iraq? Some pundits have even equated the use of Obama's middle name as being on a par with using the infamous n-word. [For the record, that is a word I abhor, on a par with the vulgar f-word!]

All in all, I kind of like the following take on this whole non-issue. . . .

The real problem is that if the right wants to start a whispering campaign about the name Hussein, Obama is only helping them. By cutting short the discussion, Obama is banishing his name to the voters' subconscious, where the dark opposites of hope - bigotry and fear - can turn the word over and over again in their minds until November. The same day that Cunningham was dropping H-bombs on Cincinnati, Obama was at the Democratic debate in Cleveland, hastily accepting Hillary Clinton's assertion that she didn't order the leak of a picture of Obama wearing a turban in Kenya. "I think that's something we can set aside," he said.

It was a missed opportunity. He could have explained that he has nothing to hide. Explained why there's nothing wrong with him dressing in ceremonial clothes on official visits - like batik Bill in Indonesia in 1994 or headscarf Hillary in Eritrea in 1997. Maybe even explained why his middle name is Hussein - what his heritage means, and what it doesn't mean. In short, to reintroduce himself to those general election voters who are just starting to pay closer attention.

No matter what his advisers say, Obama wins nothing by shying away from his differences. After all, Obama is the candidate of change. He should take a cue from McCain's courage on Iraq. Say what you will about McCain, but he knows he's the war candidate. And though may have regretted saying it out loud, McCain clearly accepts that if voters don't buy his vision for the war, he'll lose. It's not too much risk for Obama to stake his campaign on voters' ability to rationally understand the difference between a Hawaii-born Christian and Saddam Hussein, the butcher of Baghdad. (View the entire article on Time.com)

Letting go. . . . .

2008-02-28T02:47:00.007-05:00

Several years ago, when money was tight and transportation lacking, I considered buying a much older car with 'only' a hundred thousand miles on it and a body that looked fairly new. I reasoned that with all the money I would save on a new car payment, I would still be ahead, even if I had to make a few repairs. All I knew is that I could afford it, so I sprang for it.

Before long, friends and acquaintances who had any mechanical expertise at all had their heads permanently housed underneath the hood of my 'bargain'. The hoses sprang leaks like they'd had an encounter with Al Capone over a spaghetti dinner in Little Italy! The heat went out. The transmission had a mind of it's own. And the air conditioning had long-sense died, leaving us to rely upon the 4/55 system of keeping cool during the oppressive dog days of summer. (i.e. 4 windows open at 55 miles per hour.) Ultimately, the car simply stopped one day, right smack in the middle of a crowded parking lot.

Calling upon one more friend, in the hopes of finding a mechanical miracle cure, I tried to keep faith in the little blue four-door that we'd even spray painted with a fresh coat of shine ourselves! Sadly, the prognosis was not good and I accepted the inevitable. The car had turned out to be a good deal. . . . . . a good deal of trouble and expense! I sold it for 'junk parts' and earned all of $200.00, but I learned some lessons from that old clunker, too.

At one time or another, most of us have possessions that turn into 'money-pits'. We dole the money out, hoping against hope that one more repair will do the trick. Too often, we find ourselves singing "Nearer My God To Thee" while sinking on the Titanic of runaway costs when what we should do is simply let go.

Other things can be like that old car that we just need to stop trying to revive. The time may come with a project, possession, or even a relationship, when we just need to let go. Perhaps God will resurrect it later, or give us something better, but if we don't want to find ourselves in the poor house -- or the nut house -- we might be better off to leave the decision to Him.

The time has come for me to let go. It is harder than I ever imagined anything could be, but if letting go will bring peace and resolution where there has been chaos and strife, then I'm willing to trust God's plan for me. It's a little scary, but I think it might just be exhilarating as well.

Beginning. . . . again

2008-02-15T19:35:00.005-05:00

Just settled in at my new 'home' and ready to take a long, deep breath and start. . . . again. No drama from family or well-meaning friends. No she said/she said. No judgments or misunderstandings. Just one day at a time. On my own.

When it's all said and done. . . .settled and resolved. . . .then, maybe, people will become part of my life again. Maybe.

Here I go. . . . .!!!

2008-02-09T15:43:00.001-05:00

Don't forget to find joy in the little things. . . .they may turn out to be the big things. ("Thanks" to Shirley Lane)

2008-02-09T14:22:00.002-05:00

YOU CAN'T TELL WHICH WAY THE TRAIN WAS GOING JUST BY LOOKING AT THE TRACKS.

2008-02-01T20:47:00.002-05:00

2008-01-28T16:14:00.002-05:00

New Year's Resulutions. . . .Revisited

2007-12-29T18:29:00.001-05:00

Oh, how foolish we can be sometimes. . .believing in things that really aren't there and daring to dream ridiculous visions. I thought I had the courage and the hope to make some resolutions this year. I thought I would dare to make a plan. I thought that looking forward wouldn't be so scary anymore. I thought wrong.

There will be no resolutions. I will take life day by day. . . .maybe hour by hour. I will be grateful for each one of those hours and days, but I will expect nothing beyond that. I learned that lesson again, today. I will try to remember it and not step out of what "I" have become.

There will be no more posts here, I suppose. . . .at least for a while. No computer to use as an outlet to the great wherever or whatever that is out there.

It has been fun and uplifting and cathartic, while it lasted.

In Memory of a Remarkable Friend. . . .

2007-12-29T13:56:00.001-05:00

Sad news greeted me today, as I learned that my daughter and son-in-law had made the agonizing decision to have their beloved pet, Samantha, put to sleep. It was not just agonizing, but caring, compassionate, and courageous. . .but oh, so very hard.

It feels somehow wrong to call Sammy a pet -- even a beloved one. She was so very much more than that. For fourteen years, she has been a member of the family. She was my grand-doggy. She was their four-legged child who taught them about love, commitment, patience, reward, and loyalty. She was an awesome dog, but her health had failed and she was in terrible suffering for these past several months. When she could no longer hold herself up to eat from her dish or to take care of her needs, you could see the agony and humiliation she felt. She was beautiful and loving and loyal. And she will be forever missed.

I found the following poem, while searching for words to express the loss of Samantha, and I think it would have been her prayer. I hope these words give comfort to Valerie, Heath, and Duncan, and will keep Samantha in our hearts. She was a good and loyal companion. . .and so very much more.

A Dog's Prayer
Treat me kindly, my beloved master, for no heart in all the world is more grateful for kindness than the loving heart of me.
Do not break my spirit with a stick, for though I should lick your hand between the blows, your patience and understanding will more quickly teach me the things you would have me do.
Speak to me often, for your voice is the world's sweetest music, as you must know by the fierce wagging of my tail when your footstep falls upon my waiting ear.
When it is cold and wet, please take me inside... for I am now a domesticated animal, no longer used to bitter elements... and I ask no greater glory than the privilege of sitting at your feet beside the hearth... though had you no home, I would rather follow you through ice and snow than rest upon the softest pillow in the warmest home in all the land... for you are my god... and I am your devoted worshiper.
Keep my pan filled with fresh water, for although I should not reproach you were it dry, I cannot tell you when I suffer thirst. Feed me clean food, that I may stay well, to romp and play and do your bidding, to walk by your side, and stand ready, willing and able to protect you with my life, should your life be in danger.
And, beloved master, should the Great Master see fit to deprive me of my health or sight, do not turn me away from you. Rather hold me gently in your arms as skilled hands grant me the merciful boon of eternal rest...and I will leave you knowing with the last breath I drew, my fate was ever safest in your hands.

NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS. . . .

2007-12-29T01:07:00.001-05:00

Traditionally, this is the time of year when people take a few moments to reflect back on the path they've traveled for the last 12 months, take stock of where they are in their lives, and set goals for where they would like to be. Traditionally, this is the time of year for making "New Year's Resolutions". Traditionally, I don't participate in that ritual. Never have, for some reason.

This year, I think I will break with my tradition and set out a few specific goals that I hope to achieve during 2008. Nothing major or world-changing. Just things that I want or need to do for myself. . . for my life. Some people may laugh at the thought of this. Others may scoff. Still, some may recognize that it's an act of courage for me to look forward and make a plan. It's a demonstration of 'hope' for my life. Something I have been afraid to hope for or think of in a very, very long time.

So, I will spend the next couple of days reflecting upon where I am (literally and figuratively) and where I want to be. When I have come up with a plan -- whether made up of baby steps or leaps of faith -- I will share those 'resolutions' here.

Wish me luck. . . .and stay tuned!

4,883 Days And Counting. . . .

2007-12-28T00:48:00.001-05:00

Today was/is my Mother's birthday. I miss her. I have missed her for each of the 4,883 days since she passed away. At her funeral service, a dear friend of hers came up to me and said that "As long as you're alive, your Mother will never be gone. You're the image of her." What a compliment that was. Not because I looked like my Mother -- who I think was beautiful and graceful and elegant, which I am not -- but because she was a remarkable woman, and I admired her.

She made the most delicious spaghetti I've ever eaten. Try as I might, I've never been able to duplicate that taste. Everyone who had the pleasure to sit at her table when she made this signature dish remembers it fondly!She told me once that it was because she stuck her finger in the pot, and I'd never get my sauce to taste the same! She was right, though I still try.

When we were young children, our Mother made most of our clothes. She was a gifted seamstress and I can only dream of having her talent with a needle and thread! When a special occasion arose, she would literally make a new dress overnight, and it was always something special and charming and amazing. I don't know how she did it. I wish I knew.

And, she was a highly taltented craftswoman, as well, making intricately detailed dollhouses, which she furnished with lovingly handmade furniture, accessories, and decor. She created little fantasy worlds within those balsa-wood walls!

When it came to sports or games, my Mother was nearly obsessed! She loved her Atlanta Braves, the Dallas Cowboys (back when Roger Staubach -- a good family friend -- led the team), Olympic events of all descriptions, board games, card games, and Scrabble. We played Scrabble on the night she died. Even then, she not only beat us all, but she corrected the score along the way!

In the springtime, my Mother would grow the most magnificent flowers. She always had something colorful in bloom! And she decorated our home for every holiday, in the most spectacular ways! Even snowmen were special for my Mother. . .taking the form of the Incredible Hulk or some other unique design.

"Chocoholic" would be an apt description of my Mother, as well! Whether it was chocolate covered cherries, bridge mix, Tasty Cake cupcakes, brownies, or any other form of chocolate, she would enjoy it with gusto!!! The grandchildren all learned about fudgesicles-before-dinner from their Grandma. That, and jumping in puddles with their new Easter shoes! She loved having fun!

Water fights that ran throughout the house; food fights with mashed potatoes and orange marmalade; dancing on the coffee table to "Your Mama Don't Dance and Your Daddy Don't Rock 'n Roll"; driving endlessly, going on a 'lost' just to spend some time together; watching "Jeopardy"; camping; summers at Beverly Beach; wrecking our 1957 Ford stationwagon on the George Washington Parkway; hunting for the perfect Christmas tree; hearing her sing; holding her hand as she passed from this life. These are the things I remember.

She was a remarkable woman. . . .way ahead of her time. She was part Lucy Ricardo and part Lauren Bacall. She could make you laugh until your heart felt free, and she could stop you cold in your tracks with a single glare! And she was in her happiest element when being a Grandma! Oh, how she adored her grandchildren. . . .each and every one in a special and loving way! She wanted to live to see her first great-grandchild born. She missed it by such a short while. That generation will be cheated, somehow. They will only know her through their parents and the stories and the pictures and the love that passes to them.
I miss my Mother today, and wish that I could bake her a chocolate cake and sing "Happy Birthday" just one more time. I'd gladly lose at Scrabble. I'd like to hear her laugh.
I miss my Mother, but I remember her so dearly that I know she will always be with me, somehow. As long as I am living, my Mother won't be far.

Life Lessons. . . .

2007-12-27T22:38:00.001-05:00

Thanks to a dear friend, who keeps in touch through emails, I was reminded of a lot of wisdom spoken by our mutual 'hero', Maya Angelou. Thought I would pass these nuggets along for all who might be inspired by them.

"I've learned that no matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow."

"I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights."

"I've learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you'll miss them when they're gone from your life."

"I've learned that making a "living" is not the same thing as "making a life."

"I've learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance."

"I've learned that you shouldn't go through life with a catcher's mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw some things back."

"I've learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision."

"I've learned that even when I have pains, I don't have to be one."

"I've learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone. People love a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back."

"I've learned that I still have a lot to learn."

"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."

Princess Reality Check. . . . .

2007-12-27T21:33:00.002-05:00

Two-by-Two. . . . .

2007-12-26T21:44:00.001-05:00

Everything I need to know about life, I learned from Noah 's Ark

One : Don't miss the boat.

Two : Remember that we are all in the same boat.

Three : Plan ahead. It wasn't raining when Noah built the Ark.

Four : Stay fit. When you're 600 years old, someone may ask you to do something really big.

Five : Don't listen to critics; just get on with the job that needs to be done.

Six : Build your future on high ground.

Seven : For safety's sake, travel in pairs.

Eight : Speed isn't always an advantage. The snails were on board with the cheetahs.

Nine : When you're stressed, float a while.

Ten : Remember, the Ark was built by amateurs; the Titanic by professionals.

I BELIEVE. . . .

2007-12-24T22:11:00.002-05:00

Here it is, Christmas eve, when all the world's children should be heading to bed with happy thoughts and hope in their hearts, because Santa will be coming tonight! Why, you can even track his progress on any one of a dozen websites, from http://www.noradsanta.org/ to http://www.santaclaus.net/ to http://www.liftoff.msfc.nasa.gov/, among others. Clearly, today's children must require proof that he exists. If it's on the internet -- supported by huge government agencies and major network news organizations -- then it must, indeed, be true.

How very sad for today's children. For me, I will continue to believe in Santa because my heart tells me to. Because my great Uncle Carl was one of his 'helpers', at Macy's. Because long, long ago, a little girl wrote a letter and received the best answer I've ever known for that eternal question. . . ."Is there really a Santa Claus?"

I will leave it up to you to decide. Merry Christmas to all!

Click here to seethe newspaper clipping

"DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old. "Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. "Papa says, 'If you see it in THE SUN it's so.' "Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?"VIRGINIA O'HANLON."115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET.

"VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding. No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

If only in my dreams. . . .

2007-12-24T03:53:00.001-05:00

PUTTNG THE HO HO HO BACK IN MY HOLIDAYS. . .

2007-12-21T22:01:00.001-05:00

Given the way the first half of my day went, this posting could have been about yet another discouraging diagnosis, or a disappointing turn of events, or my depressing lack of the traditional holiday trimmings, but -- thanks to a very special surprise -- I am delighted to say that I received a giant booster-shot of Christmas spirit and a full dose of 'happy'!!!

Evidently, Santa is taking a little R & R on the Gulf coast of Florida, this week, in preparation for his big night. Through the miracle of kindness (and a little help from the post office), he enlisted my sister Judy, and her significant other/lifelong friend/guardian angel David, and they sent me the most wonderful box of goodies and smiles! There were some heat-and-serve turkey dinners, cranberry sauce, lots of exciting snacking treats, a special little Christmas tree, an adorable stuffed buddy, a puzzle book, some personal items, and LOTS OF CHOCOLATE!!! It was like a Christmas stocking in a box!!!

"Thank you" won't cover what I feel in my heart, but they are the only words I can say. "Thank you" to Judy, to David, and to my daughter's, to my family, and to my friends. I have much to feel grateful for. . . .and a spoonful of 'happy' to enjoy!!!

Amen. . . .

2007-12-21T01:13:00.001-05:00

Disclaimer: The following post is not meant to offend anyone, of any faith or following. Having been married to a non-practicing Catholic (twice, actually), I simply found this funny. Hope you can appreciate the humor in it, too!

This information is for Catholics only. It must not be divulged to non-Catholics. The less they know about our rituals and code words, the better off they are.
AMEN: The only part of a prayer that everyone knows.
BULLETIN: Your receipt for attending Mass.
CHOIR: A group of people whose singing allows the rest of the Parish to lip-sync.
HOLY WATER: A liquid whose chemical formula is H2OLY.
HYMN: A song of praise usually sung in a key three octaves higher than that of the congregation's range.
RECESSIONAL HYMN: The last song at Mass often sung a little more quietly, since most of the people have already left.
INCENSE: Holy Smoke!
JESUITS: An order of priests known for their ability to find colleges with good basketball teams.
JONAH: The original "Jaws" story.
JUSTICE: When kids have kids of their own.
KYRIE ELEISON: The only Greek words most Catholics can recognize besides gyros & baklava.
MAGI: The most famous trio to attend a baby shower.
MANGER: Where Mary gave birth to Jesus because Joseph wasn't covered by an HMO. (The Bible's way of showing us that holiday travel has always been rough.)
PEW: A medieval torture device still found in Catholic churches.
PROCESSION: The ceremonial formation at the beginning of Mass, consisting of altar servers, the celebrant, and late parishioners looking for seats.
RECESSIONAL: The ceremonial procession at the conclusion of Mass led by parishioners trying to beat the crowd to the parking lot.
RELICS: People who've gone to Mass for so long, they actually know when to sit, kneel, and stand.
TEN COMMANDMENTS: The most important Top Ten list not given by David Letterman.
USHERS: The only people in the parish who don't know the seating capacity of a pew.

On Being A Captive Audience. . . .

2007-12-20T20:08:00.001-05:00

Sometimes, it is difficult to describe a person with just a single word. Today, I met someone for whom a one-word definition seemed most appropriate: motormouth. As in "Noun 1. motormouth - someone who talks incessantly."

While waiting for a friend to finish a business appointment in town, I found myself stuck in the car with a young man of some remarkable talent. Ought to be in the "Guinness Book of World Records" really, since he never came up for air for nearly two hours!! Nearly two hours of his chattering stream-of-consciousness which ran the gamut from his doctor's appointment (which was why he was with us), to his home life (which was more than I ever needed to know), to his experiences with a bully in elementary school (which was decades ago and bore no relevance to any other part of the monologue), to his many appearances on television (???), and on and on and on. There was actually never a pause long enough for me to even attempt to speak. . . .or to escape!

He must have sensed that my mind was starting to wander occasionally, because there were amazingly well-timed pats on the shoulder or exaggerated gestures at those very moments, bringing me back into his verbal world. When I saw our friend emerge from the office building, I have to confess to a small rush of relief and joy, knowing that we would soon be on the road with nothing more than the roar of an untuned engine to fill my ears! Something unexpected happened, though. . .

During the half-hour drive 'home', I actually had time to reflect a little on all that I had just heard. Maybe I had been too hasty in my judgment of this fellow passenger. Was he feeling so comfortable in my company that he wanted me to know him better and be a part of his world? Was he just very lonely, and glad to have another person to talk to about the things that make up his history and dreams? Did I mistake enthusiasm for boastfulness? Was he asking for a friend and not just a listening post? Had I assumed all the cliche things and missed the fun of those two hours?

When we arrived at our destination, I gave him a hug and said that I hoped I'd see him again sometime. He smiled a real smile. He was just a young man who probably missed his mother.

Christmas Rocks. . . .

2007-12-19T17:43:00.001-05:00

With a "hat tip" to fellow blogger Donutbuzz, I'd like to offer up some things about Christmas that really rock. . . .

1. Egg nog rocks.
2. Chugging egg nog straight out of the carton really rocks.
3. Pepperidge Farm™ Gingerman cookies rock. (Eating an entire package in one sitting rocks more than chugging egg nog straight out of the carton--unless you’re chugging your egg nog out of the carton while you’re eating your Pepperidge Farm™ Gingerman.)
4. The old-fashioned street decorations that used to hang on the lights in downtown, in the 1970s, still rock even though they’re probably in some land fill in New Jersey by now.
5. The Snow Miser and his song rock. The Heat Miser doesn’t rock, nor does his song, because it’s too depressing.

6. Watching your child (or grandchild) perform in their first Christmas pageant rocks.
7. The bigger the Christmas decorations, the more they rock.
8. Oh, I almost forgot: The Abominable Snowman from the Rudolph cartoon rocks until Hermie takes out all his teeth.
9. Charlie Brown’s Christmas rocks. Of course.
10. Twenty-four hours of "A Christmas Story" rocks.

11. Stockings filled with "Archie" comic books, green olives, and new toothbrushes really rock!
12. Fresh-baked cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning (or any other morning) rock.
13. Having the Christmas spirit all year long, whether you celebrate Christmas or not, ROCKS!

So what 'rocks' your Christmas?

Pocket Aces and a Royal Flush!

2007-12-19T03:01:00.002-05:00

Sleep has become a precious, rare commodity in my present situation, so I pass the hours writing, researching on the web for no particular purpose, and playing on-line poker (for 'play money', of course)! Texas Hold 'Em, to be exact. Now, I had never even seen a complete game of hold 'em until a few months ago, and clearly had no concept of all the strategy and mathematical calculation required to really progress in the game. Luck plays a part, too -- and, Lord knows, I have none of that -- but I pretty much depend upon figuring up the odds and trying to key into the style of the other players at the table. Not that I've become some kind of a poker whiz or anything. . . .far from it. . . .but tonight was different. Tonight, the planets must have been aligned or there was an angel on my shoulder or maybe my brain was just firing on all cylinders for a change because tonight was incredible!!!

Against all reason, I played in two 90-person tournaments tonight and WON BOTH TIMES!! Generally, if I can make it to the final table, with the last 9 players standing, I'll do my little mental 'happy dance' and consider the game a success, so this was a real memorable night for me! And, to top it off, I got the first royal flush that I've ever had. . . .ten, jack, queen, king, and ace of hearts. . . .and won a pot that held almost 15,000 chips!! What a tickle that gave me!

Isn't it strange, what becomes important in our lives, when other things are no longer there? Never would I have imagined myself writing a blog, caring about whether Wickipedia got an entry right, or playing poker on a computer, but here I am. . . .three o'clock in the morning, and I'm so excited over that win that I can't sleep. . . .even if I could.

Wishing I Could Hug My Grandson. . .

2007-12-18T15:29:00.000-05:00

It's the week before Christmas, and things should be in a happy whirl for my older daughter, her husband, and their precious little son. It's his very first Christmas, and he'll be celebrating his first birthday on New Year's eve, so there should be joy abounding. Unfortunately, that's not exactly the case.

Like most young couples who have recently relocated to a new city, new jobs, a new home, and welcomed a new baby, they've been doing a lot of belt-tightening and penny-counting over the past two years. Like most young couples, they would love to indulge their most adorable child with all of the toys, books, clothes, and other goodies that seem to define 'Merry Christmas' in today's world. Like most young couples, that can't be so, and they have worked diligently at taking what extra few dollars they could and spending them wisely, so that their child could have a happy and memorable first Christmas and birthday.

Unfortunately, it is also the time of year when colds are circulating; the flu is rearing it's ugly head; and germs are thriving on every surface imaginable. Since my daughter has to take her son to work with her every day, he is often exposed to a lot more germs, weather extremes, etc., and it was just a matter of time before they were hit by some random bacteria or another. And, hit they have been. . .with not one but two ear infections! Oh, how I wish that I was there to hug my grandson and soothe his suffering. How I wish that I was there to help my daughter and give her rest. But I am not, and cannot be.

Christmas toys will go back to the store now, so that doctor's visits and prescriptions can be paid for. He's only one year old, so he really won't remember those parts of Christmas and his birthday that he 'missed'. He will have mommy and daddy and his two happy dogs, and he'll feel better soon. My daughter and son-in-law will miss something, though, and that makes me sad. Until you are a parent yourself, you really can't understand how important it becomes to you that certain milestone moments live up to your expectations and hopes. While they both know that presents don't define an occasion nor measure love, there is a special, magical feeling they'll miss out on this year. God willing, they will have many, many years of magic yet to come, but I still ache for them this year.

I hope it snows for Christmas. It makes things brighter and happier and gives us all an excuse to act like a kid again. With healthy ears and his fever gone, my grandson could celebrate a super-special Christmas with his mom, his dad, and his 'gogs', making snow angels! I will wish for that.

Taking Care of Santa . . . .

2007-12-18T01:47:00.000-05:00

The week before Christmas was always a remarkably busy time in our costume shop (second only to Halloween week), with church pageants, school productions, community parades, holiday parties, and the big guy himself: Santa, with a cadre of assorted elves to accompany him. We would have rental Santa costumes, beards, and wigs coming and going from morning until night. . . .and it was great fun! Keeping all that red velvet or plush, white fur, and beard/wig hair clean and in perfect condition was an enormous challenge!

For any of you readers who may work in costumes -- or who are fortunate enough to have your own Santa ensemble -- I though I'd offer a few tried and true tips for keeping things looking like new, no matter how many tykes climbed upon your knee this year!

If the jacket, pants and hat are washable (as most well-made ones are nowadays), you will get excellent results if you follow these simple instructions: Turn the suit inside out and machine wash, in cold water, on gentle cycle, using 1/2 cup of Suave shampoo with built-in conditioner mixed with 1/2 cup of ground black pepper. (Now, I realize that this sounds a bit crazy, but I have experimented with more solutions than I care to remember, and this really works! The shampoo/conditioner will keep the velvet/plush and fur trim from matting up and will leave the suit as soft as a child's favorite stuffed toy. The pepper will keep any of the red from 'bleeding' onto the white fur.) While still inside out, place the suit into the dryer, with 3-4 fabric softener sheets, and dry on medium setting for 20 minutes. Remove suit from dryer and hang to finish air drying. If necessary, use a hairbrush to give the white fur a little extra 'fluff' after completely dry. Never, never, never store your suit in a plastic bag! If you need to keep it hidden, just cover it with a clean sheet and keep it at the back of your closet.

To clean and restyle the traditional white beard and wig, fill a large dishpan or sink with hot tap water and add a good squirt of Santa's best-kept-secret: Suave shampoo with built-in conditioner. Place the beard and wig into the shampoo bath and swish them around well, but don't really agitate them or you'll get awful tangles! If there are candycane stains or other trouble spots, just put a few drops of the shampoo on the area and work in well with your fingertips. Let them soak for at least 30 minutes. Rinse under a running faucet (the bathtub faucet works best, since it has a stronger flow) until water runs clear. But, you're not done just yet! Fill your clean dishpan or sink with warm water and add 1 teaspoon of bluing, making sure not to get any on your hands or clothing. (Bluing can be found in most grocery store detergent aisles, but you may have to ask someone to help you find it.) After the bluing is fully dispersed in the water, give the beard and wig a good 10 minute soak, then rinse again under a running faucet. Gently squeeze excess water from the beard and wig, but do not wring or twist, as you'll break the fibers and end up with frizzy hair! Hang overnight, to dry. To re-style and put the shine back in your Santa hair, use a wide bristle vent brush and gently brush out the wig and the beard, then give a light spray of Oil Sheen. (This product can be found in most discount stores, beauty supply stores, etc. and is used to spray on hair that is particularly brittle or lacking in shine. A little goes a long way, so be frugal with it.) You will be amazed at how lustrous your Santa hair will be! Again, never, never, never store your wig and beard in plastic! Place in a paper bag to keep fresh until next year!

I hope this helps some of you and that all of Santa's helpers will have a very, very Merry Christmas this year!

Memories. . . .

2007-12-17T02:25:00.000-05:00

When I was a child -- many, many decades ago -- my grandparents lived in New York City, and we would

visit them a couple of times each year. Of course, some of the happiest visits were over the Christmas holidays! Not just because my Grandfather, Alfred, called me his 'secret pal' and hid treasures for me in his grand, elaborately carved desk. Not because of the presents and the sweets to eat or even because we'd sometimes get to miss a few days of school. Mostly, my happy New York holiday memories are of seeing the city virtually ablaze with the most beautiful, colorful, sparkling lights! They reflected off of the snow (or in the wet pavement), and made the whole city seem like a fairyland to me!

Here in my old age, I sometimes can't remember what I did two hours ago, but I can intimately recall our visits to Nana and Alfred's home in New York. Oddly, I can even remember the address. . . .99 Metropolitan Oval. I can close my eyes and smell the slightly acrid air that hung in the downstairs hallway of their high-rise apartment building, emanating from the incinerators which were so common back then. I can taste the ice cream bar we'd always get when we walked to the Good Humor store, and I can somehow feel the weight of the Sunday papers we would buy at the corner newsstand. Nana used real butter. I remember that, too, so fondly.

It's strange, the things we store in our mind's memory bank. Sometimes I can't remember what I had for lunch today, but those happy times at Christmas are with me forever.

Mystery. . . .

2007-12-16T08:28:00.001-05:00

Been trying to access my blog since last night, but just keep getting 'error' messages. Hmmmmm. (Finally got to it through a link with another friendly blogger.) It wouldn't concern me so much, except that my yahoo email account was recently hacked into, so I'm just a little suspicious that there may be someone with unsavory motives trying to alter or block my words.

What a shame it is that privacy has become such a difficult commodity to protect. Someone happens upon your drivers license and, boom, your identity can be compromised. Just knowing your mother's maiden name or your father's place of birth can give unscrupulous characters access to all phases of your life. Even your birth date needs to be guarded anymore.

What a shame it is that people lead little lives with nothing more to do than to make sport out of complicating the lives of others.

Hopefully, I'll be back on-line soon. . . .randomly ranting.

*** UPDATE *** It is now 3:15 in the afternoon, and still no resolution to the mystery. The only way to access my blog, at this point, is directly through a link. Hopefully, those who really want/need to take a peek at it will be able to. It's not crucial -- because my thoughts and wonderings are certainly not vital to any segment of the world besides myself -- but it sure is disappointing to know that there are people out there who would do something like this. Happy holidays y'all!!!

***UPDATE*** It is now 10:08 p.m., and still no resolution to the mystery. Haven't heard back from Google/Blogspot either. Hmmmmmm.

********UPDATE******* MYSTERY SOLVED!!!!! Thanks to a very nice young man, named Dave, I am up and running again. Thank you for your persistence and insight, Dave! Don't know who/how certain settings were altered, but we're back and I'm happy!!!

A Little Chuckle About Political Correctness. . . .

2007-12-15T18:33:00.001-05:00

FROM: Patty Lewis, Human Resources Director

TO: ALL EMPLOYEES

DATE: December 2

RE: Christmas Party
I'm happy to inform you that the company Christmas Party will take place on December 23, starting at noon in the private function room at the Grill House. There will be a cash bar and plenty of drinks! We'll have a small band playing traditional carols... Feel free to sing along.And don't be surprised if our CEO shows up dressed as Santa Claus! A Christmas tree will be lit at 1:00 pm. Exchange of gifts among employees can be done at that time, However, no gift should be over $10.00 to make the giving of gifts easy for everyone's pockets. This gathering is only for employees!
A special announcement will be made by our CEO at that time!
Merry Christmas to you and your family.

Patty
______________________________________________________________

FROM: Patty Lewis, Human Resources Director

TO: All Employees

DATE: December 3

RE: Holiday Party
In no way was yesterday's memo intended to exclude our Jewish employees. We recognize that Chanukah is an important holiday, which often coincides with Christmas, though unfortunately not this year.
However, from now on we're calling it our "Holiday Party". The same policy applies to any other employees who are not Christians or those still celebrating Reconciliation Day. There will be no Christmas tree present.No Christmas carols sung. We will have other types of music for your enjoyment. Happy now?
Happy Holidays to you and your family.

Patty
______________________________________________________________

FROM: Patty Lewis, Human Resources Director

TO: All Employees

DATE: December 4

RE: Holiday Party

Regarding the note I received from a member of Alcoholics Anonymous requesting a non-drinking table ... you didn't sign your name. I'm happy to accommodate this request, but if I put a sign on a table that reads, "AA Only", you wouldn't be anonymous anymore. How am I supposed to handle this? Somebody?
Forget about the gifts exchange, no gifts exchange are allowed since the union members feel that $10.00 is too much money and executives believe 10.00 is a little chintzy. NO GIFT EXCHANGE WILL BE ALLOWED.

Patty
______________________________________________________________

FROM: Patty Lewis, Human Resources Director

To: All Employees

DATE: December 7

RE: Holiday Party
What a diverse group we are! I had no idea that December 20 begins the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, which forbids eating and drinking during daylight hours. There goes the party! Seriously, we can appreciate how a luncheon at this time of year does not accommodate our Muslim employees' beliefs. Perhaps the Grill House can hold off on serving your meal until the end of the party- or else package everything for you to take it home in a little foil doggy baggy. Will that work?
Meanwhile, I've arranged for members of Weight Watchers to sit farthest from the dessert buffet and pregnant women will get the table closest to the restrooms.
Gays are allowed to sit with each other. Lesbians do not have to sit with Gay men, each will have their own table. Yes, there will be flower arrangements for the Gay men's table. To the person asking permission to cross dress, no cross dressing allowed though.
We will have booster seats for short people. Low-fat food will be available for those on a diet. We cannot control the salt used in the food we urge those of you with high blood pressure to taste first. There will be fresh fruits as dessert for diabetics; the restaurant cannot supply "No Sugar" desserts. Sorry!
Did I miss anything?!?!?

Patty
______________________________________________________________

FROM: Patty Lewis, Human Resources Director

TO: All #%&$ing Employees

DATE: December 10

RE: The #$%*!@% Holiday Party
Vegetarians?!?!?!? I've had it with you people!!! We're going to keep this party at the Grill House whether you like it or not, so you can sit quietly at the table furthest from the "grill of death," as you so quaintly put it, and you'll get your #$%^&*! salad bar, including organic tomatoes. But you know, tomatoes have feelings, too. They scream when you slice them. I've heard them scream. I'm hearing them scream right NOW! Have a rotten holiday! Drive drunk and die, you hear me!?!?!?!?!?!?!!!!!

The Bitch from HELL!!!!!!!!
______________________________________________________________

FROM: Joan Bishop, Acting Human Resources Director

DATE: December 14

RE: Patty Lewis and Holiday Party

I'm sure I speak for all of us in wishing Patty Lewis a speedy recovery and I'll continue to forward your cards to her. In the meantime, management has decided to cancel our Holiday Party and give everyone the afternoon of the 23rd off with full pay.
Happy Holidays!

Wisdom. . . .

2007-12-15T14:40:00.000-05:00

"KEEP YOUR FACE TO THE SUNSHINE AND YOU CANNOT SEE THE SHADOW.". . .Helen Keller

Sibling Rivalry

2007-12-15T01:19:00.000-05:00

They say that "sisters are different flowers from the same garden," and I believe that is probably the most apt definition that I have ever heard. While they share so many, many traits (sometimes to their consternation!), my daughter's are frequently as different as night and day. . . .as a rose is to a lilac. Both are beautiful and add a special dimension and charm to the garden, but they are distinct and unique as well.

Perhaps their eight year age difference has exacerbated the sibling rivalry between them as they have gotten older. That very thing was what made them so close and bonded when they were young. My youngest seemed to idolize her big sister and wanted to do everything just the way "Sissy" did. And you couldn't have found a better older sister. . .always willing to sit and play with dolls or Candyland, when MTV might have been more to her liking. She passed her love of reading on to my youngest, and for a lot of years that was something that they treasured together.

Then, the dreaded day came when, at the age of 17, my older daughter went away to college. Not just 'away', but 500 miles away. There would be no weekends at home; only holidays and summer break. There would be no more tickle fights and cuddling up on the sofa to read every night. Things changed. At eight years old, my youngest took this as abandonment, and no amount of explaining or cajoling would make her think otherwise. Today, at the age of 25, she still holds onto that bitter feeling and resents her sister for it. It breaks my heart.

Some kind of 'scorekeeper-demon' took hold of my youngest at that time, too, and became her measuring stick for determining whether she was loved 'as much', or spoiled 'as much', or given 'as much' as her older sister. That is a scale which will never be balanced, merely because of the eight years between them. All of the opportunities and benefits and rewards that have been there for the oldest have also been there for the youngest, but it's all been eight years apart. Eight years of "It's not fair that she gets to go to England for a semester," when that same study-abroad opportunity would present itself when the youngest made it to her sophomore year in college, too. Eight years of "It's not fair that she got married and moved a thousand miles away. . .that she has a house. . .that she has two cars. . .that she. . . . .whatever and everything." Rather than enjoying the perks and possibilities of her own life's journey, my dearest younger daughter has lost so much by spending her energies worrying about what her sister has/is/can do. It breaks my heart.

Sadly, things worked out badly for my youngest when I became ill. She had been working with me -- partners with me, really -- in our little costume shop. That was her source of income and a large part of her identity, too, as she truly flourised in all aspects of the business. When I ultimately had to close the business, it not only took away my livelihood and income, but hers as well. With belt-tightening in order, I asked whether she wanted to move back home, because I could no longer help her with rent, food, an income, etc. Understandably, she wanted to keep her independence and chose not to come home. The alternative -- which we thoroughly discussed at the time -- would be for me to put all I owned into storage and go to stay with her, temporarily, until I recovered. Well, she has been our sole support and my personal hero for all these many, many months (which have grown into three years now). She has made me more proud than I could ever express in words; and more grateful than I'll ever be able to show her. That 'scorekeeper-demon' rears it's ugly head every now and again, though, and she can say some pretty hurtful, selfish, uncaring things. . . .most often to her sister. She resents that her big sister hasn't been able to contribute more, financially, and that I've had to complicate only her living situation. It breaks my heart.

It was never meant for me to be a burden to my children. . . . .either of them. That's not the natural order of things. While I probably could go to stay with my older daughter, the reality is that my medical care is here, my lawyers and lawsuit are here, my need is to be here. . .at least for now. Is it fair for my youngest daughter to shoulder the load? No. [Which is, for the most part, why I am no longer living with either of my daughter's.] Is it fair for her to blame and resent her sister because I cannot stay a thousand miles away, with her? No. It breaks my heart more than either of them will ever know.

There are eight years -- and a million light-years of misunderstanding and hurt feelings -- between my two daughter's. If I had died when I probably should have, would they be better friends now? Would they be closer? Would they remember how much they love each other? I don't know, and it breaks my heart.

Sleep Deprivation

2007-12-14T02:43:00.000-05:00

I will apologize, in advance, for the way this post may read. There is no guarantee that I will be able to form complete sentences nor complete thoughts. It is nearly 3:00 a.m., and I've been awake since about 6:00 a.m. yesterday.

Lack of sleep. It can do strange things to you. Makes you percieve things in a totally different way. Causes you to feel like your head is floating about 18" above where it's supposed to be. Gives you a blinding headache, dry eyes, and an overall ache that makes you feel like you've been beaten down with a baseball bat.

For the past 9 days, I have averaged about 2 hours of sleep per 24 hour cycle. Back in the 'olden days' (when I had my health and my vitality), I could function at full capacity on such a routine. Not anymore. Can't even think straight.

What's the line from "Hamlet"??? "To sleep, perchance to dream. . . " Well, I don't want to dream. I just want to be in a coma for a while!

******* It is now 5:36 a.m. and still no sleep. . . . . . .Y A W N!!!!!!

Smiles

2007-12-14T00:35:00.000-05:00

It's that most wonderful time when all of the great holiday specials show up all over the television! Which Christmas show is your favorite. . . .either animated or live action?

For me, it's Garfield. When he brings the stack of love letters to Grandma, it gets me every time!!!

A Not So Ho Ho Holiday. . . .

2007-12-13T11:07:00.000-05:00

Growing up, the weeks leading from Thanksgiving all the way through New Year's Day were filled with excitement, anticipation, decorating, baking, family, friends, and tons of warm memories! As an adult, with a growing family of my own, I always tried to keep those traditions going, hoping to make memories for my children which would be as joyful for them as those I hold so dear.

There have been some 'difficult' holiday seasons, over the years, but most have been wonderful times to remember. Most of those wonderful memories are of the time we spent together. I cherish those times.

This year, however, there will be no special memories I'll want to call upon. There will be no time with my children nor my precious new grandson. There will be no decorations nor home-baked goodies. There will be no wreath or tree. There will be no gifts, cards, visits from neighbors, laughter, songs, nor stockings full of surprises.

This year, I will be alone. . . .living in a faraway place, in a rickety old house trailer, with 'cup-o-noodles' for dinner, and no smiles to share. This year, it'll be hard -- if not impossible -- to look towards Christmas with anything more than dread.

Guess I could crawl under the blanket and cry myelf through the holiday. . . .but that would only make things worse. Instead, I will try my darndest to recall every warm, happy, funny, loving, generous, sparkling memory I have, of all the blessed Christmases I've been so fortunate to have. I will feast on that, and be happy.

My very best wishes to all, for a happy and heartfelt holiday!

Rock Piles 'n Scar Tissue

2007-12-12T14:02:00.000-05:00

Back before my 'infirmity', I used to love to go hiking with my children. . .with friends. . .and sometimes alone with my thoughts. This photo reminds me of a rock formation atop Roan Mountain, near where I would often hike. It fascinates me how the earth seems to constantly shift, creating new landscapes and pushing what was once level ground into amazing shapes and forms. That is a beautiful act of nature, which I appreciate and enjoy.

Until my 'infirmity', I hadn't realized that scar tissue can grow in much the same way. . . .but it isn't so beautiful and is clearly not appreciated nor enjoyed. The short story version of my 'infirmity' goes something like this. . . .Went into the hospital for what was supposed to be a routine gallbladder removal. Having already been told that the gallbladder was so enlarged and calloused that it would need to be removed by conventional 'open' surgery, I was prepared for a four to six week recovery period. Not so. The selected surgeon repeatedly assured me that he could remove the offending organ by laser/laporascopic surgery instead, resulting in a mere three to four days of down-time. Hmmmm. He proceeded. Things did not go well. A metal clip was inadvertantly left inside, to play havoc with my abdominal region in the weeks to come. My liver was cut, by mistake, further complicating things. My lifelong low blood pressure suddenly became a raging, out of control case of hypertension. And the scar tissue began to grow. . .from the incision sites upward. From the liver to the base of my lung. From the lung to my aorta. And so on and so on and so on.

Now, I carry my own pile of rocks around with me, growing and suffocating all in it's path. Look like the world's oldest pregnant woman. Feel like I have 4 or 5 broken ribs. Can't function. And they can't treat it. The oldest scar tissue cells have surrounded parts of my heart and caused it to calcify. Not a pretty sight, nor a happy prognosis.

There are lawyers now, of course, and a painfully slow legal system which grinds at a snails pace, unconcerned that people's lives lie in the balance.

And, so it goes. I have my own private rock pile to climb. I'm trying.

My Lifelong Inspiration. . . .

2007-12-11T23:33:00.000-05:00

Many, many years ago, I ran across a tattered piece of paper, while vising my Grandmother's house, in Pennsylvania. On it, in her carefully elegant handwriting, was the following poem. . .

When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple

With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired

And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

And run my stick along public railings

And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

And pick the flowers in other peoples' gardens

And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat

And eat three pounds of sausages at a go

Or only bread and pickles for a week

And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry

And pay our rent and not swear in the street

And set a good example for the children.

We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

. . . . . . . .

For years, I believed that my Grandmother had written that poem. . . .because it speaks of just how I remember her living her life. She was a free spirit; could make me laugh convulsively; was independent, stubborn, and strong; and lived life aways on her own terms. She was who I wanted to be when I grew up.

Of course, I have since come to know that the poem was written by one Jenny Joseph, and not by my dear Grandmother. I still love it. And I still love her, too, some 40+ years after her passing.

I want to be the Grandmother who wears purple and teaches the wonders of mud puddles and chocolate ice cream before dinner. God willing, there are adventures that lie ahead. . . . .!

Grand Children

2007-12-11T16:30:00.000-05:00

I've heard it said that "God gives us children so that death doesn't come as such as disappointment," and, I do have to admit that -- from time to time -- over the past 30+ years, I have understood the truth to that saying. For the most part, though, I have found parenting to be the single most fulfilling, inspiring, uplifting, frustrating, and satisfying task of any I've ever pursued! Even when we're disappointed by our children, or when they are disappointed in us, there is always room for the love and the pride and the unconditional acceptance of this person to whom you gave life.

While my daughters are clearly the most blessed aspects of my time here on earth, I do have to confess that there is someone else who has entered our realm and stolen the light in my eyes. . . . .my first grandchild! Never could I have imagined the love and joy this tiny little boy would bring with his birth! He is the reassurance that the world will be a wonderful place and that all of the tomorrow's are worth fighting for! He is a miracle!

I think that's what I've survived all of this for. . . . .to be a Grandmother. What a blessed journey this will be!

My Story. . . . .

2007-12-11T14:38:00.000-05:00

I'm an old lady. I've spent a lifetime working hard and trying to 'play by the rules.' I've had at least my share of bumps in the road, yet always managed to keep moving. . . .somehow. Until now. Until my world changed yet again, and I find myself caught in a quagmire of physical infirmity (which limits what I can do) and lawsuit turmoil (which limits what I can do) and emotional drama (which limits what I can do. . .and what I can think or feel). It is a bizarre life that is frustrating, draining, disappointing, and even occasionally inspiring, but all-too-often depressing.

I'm an old lady. The world of computers, emails, and blogs is both new and mystifying to me, yet here I am. I've enjoyed keeping up with a few blogs recently (mostly family members), and thought that this might be a good vehicle for me to put my thoughts out into the universe. Not to vent, because there's no use moaning over things one cannot change. Not to whine, because having a pity party only serves to increase the depression. But to express some of the things that go through my mind and perhaps help clear my head just a little.

So. . . .if there is anyone out there reading this, let me apologize from the outset. Among many other things, I seem to suffer from 'popcorn brain' and random thoughts come and go with no discernable link between them, so this will not likely be an easy, interesting, nor fun blog to keep up with. If you check in once in a while, though, you might find a nugget of wisdom or a musing which could give a lift to your day or open your mind to something new. Who knows? Not me.

I'm an old lady. And I'm putting my thoughts out there. . . . .