Chain Reaction

What Is Camp?

2014-08-21T20:42:00.000-04:00

Every year, sometime around March or April, thousands of people (kids and adults alike) start yearning for the places they refer to as their summer homes along with their summer families. In the United States alone, there are over 2,700 of these places! Some new and some old; some are specialty camps and others are what they now refer to as Sports Camps.
For most people whose lives have been affected by them, these camps are priceless and whatever it is that makes them that way is indescribable. In fact, at one Camp in particular that's very near and dear to my heart, a song sung each summer sums it up as follows "...to describe it I would never, never try". Many have tried and never quite got there. It may end up being a feeble attempt but I'm going to join the ranks and give it a try.
Camp O-AT-KA is a sensory place. There is the smell of tall pines and clear lake water; wood smoke on cool nights and beach sand on hot days. Yankee Candle could never recreate those smells genuinely or accurately enough to give me the goose bumps I get when I smell them for the first time each summer.
In the Camp Prayer, my Great Grandfather wrote about "...all of nature's sights and sounds" but that alone doesn't project the vivid images of sailboats on the water. Nor does the prayer carry the sound of happy kids down on the waterfront the way a breeze can when you're rocking in a chair on the Bungalow porch.
Nothing can do literary justice to the feeling of dread that seems to live in every Junior unit camper who knows they'll be swimming soon after breakfast in a cold Sebago Lake. I take that back, one Junior came close in a note to Mom and Dad. "Swimming is a living hell" he wrote. "The instructors taunt me as I climb back on the dock, blue from hypothermia". A little dramatic but you get the general idea.
Any number of us who have been around for awhile can tell you what it sounded like to hear my Grandfather, singing one of the Hymns from chapel as he made his way from Camp back down to Greyledge on a Sunday afternoon but it probably wouldn't bring a tear to your eye.
You might be familiar with having heard a dinner bell but probably not like the one in the Commons that feels, simultaneously, like the most warm welcome and most solemn reproach.
Even as I sit here now, painfully lamenting the wane of summer, I can tell you with the exception of my family, nothing means more to me than this place. These people. These smells. These sounds and sights.
Each one of the 2,700 plus camps across the U.S. has veins and life blood that runs through it. They are each one unique in detail but all universal in feeling. They are each one true love. I think it's as simple as that.

Moonlight serenade...

2014-01-13T22:20:00.003-05:00

A little while ago, Budward and I were outside for his final tinkle of the evening. Though I couldn't see the moon itself, it must be nearly full tonight because everything was bathed in that indescribable blackish, blueish, purplish, grayish light. It was so serene and I really do try to enjoy those moments so I was staring up at the sky while Buddy went about his business.

The trees looked kind of like the teeth of a comb, separated by moonlight and just as I was enjoying the optical illusion............

BANG!!!!!!!!

SHHHHOOOOOOSSSSSHHHHHH, THUMP, thump-thump.....

Jesus, Mary and Joseph in the foothills!!!!!!!!! (No idea if that was internal or external monologue)

Most of the snow left on our porch roof let loose and fell to the deck/stairs about two feet from where we stood.

Clad in my leopard print flannel pj's, Sorels and 3/4 length down coat (of course the hood was up - what, do you think I'm some sort of wild animal?!?!) I found myself in a semi-crouched position, ready for action, with Budward (also in a semi-crouch) between MY feet, tail firmly tucked between his own. By unspoken consent, we agreed we were done outside and made it indoors at a brisk pace.

Thank God Buddy had taken care of business and I made a quick visit to the bathroom to ensure I HADN'T.

It's all good.

We're Full!!!

2013-12-05T12:35:00.000-05:00

Well, it's December 5th already and, what with the gradual clearing of the Thanksgiving food-coma-hangover, it's time to take stock and look ahead. After all, I DID just get my LNA and am truly looking forward to traveling down that road. So, with the power of positivity compelling me, I looked.
Sometimes, don't you just wish you'd never looked?
It all started about a week before Thanksgiving. Not for nothing but it also happened to be just as I was set to take the State Board Exams to finish up the initial education portion of my LNA. Some might say this was a stressful time...
Let me just say this: If you've never experienced it yourself, you can absolutely take my word for the fact that no good comes from hearing your husband use a plunger in the shower. Trust me, there is no incident-free road to be taken. None.
Being who I am however, and my husband being who HE is, I did not panic. I don't even think the dog flinched at the odd noise. Had it been a life or death situation, I felt sure he'd have the energy to whack the wall with the plunger as a means to get my attention. On the other hand, if he was simply learning a new form of percussion, who was I to interrupt and stop the flow of creativity?
Apparently, it was something in between the two scenarios and there was more than just the flow of creativity being stopped. If you haven't already guessed, our septic was backed up.
A short time later and, sort of 'matter of factly', my husband said he'd be going outside in the morning to check the Baffles and clean any clogs. If that didn't work, he sighed, we'd be calling our best friends at the Septic Company.
Next morning, the very same morning I was scheduled for both my written and practical exams, he went outside, cleared what he needed to and felt we were in pretty good shape so he took a shower in the basement bathroom (aka the Boys Room). I DID mention I had exams that morning, right? I'll also share my theory that it would likely be a good idea to show up for said exams clean and presentable...
Shortly after my husband showered, I headed in to take my shower in the other bathroom (the Girls Room). I had my Scrubs all laid out, my watch with the second hand was ready to go, tunes were blasting and the showering commenced.
Now, I don't know about you, but I shower from the top down. I shampoo my hair, rinse it, condition it, rinse it, wash my face, ears and neck and so on down the line.
Approximately 15 seconds after I put conditioner in my hair, my husband threw open the bathroom door and said "You have to stop showering NOW!!! THERE'S A BACKUP!!!"
Getting scared or startled while in the shower always makes me think of the movie "Psycho" and I believe that's where hijinx like that belong. They do NOT belong in my bathroom on the morning of State Exams. "SERIOUSLY???" I cried. "I HAVE CONDITIONER!!!" but it was no good, I could already hear him running back down the stairs. So, now the water is turned off and I'm standing there. I'm wet, cold, conditiony and my exams were in one hour. More than slightly miffed, I toweled off, closed the drain to the sink and rinsed as much conditioner out of my hair as was humanly possible in a 4" deep basin.
Muttering the entire way, I threw on some deodorant, brushed my teeth in to the thoroughly conditioned water which, by that time, looked like something out of a Drano commercial and I got dressed....to go to my State Board Exams. I'll spare you the stress and let you know now that I passed.
Apparently, the entire situation looked, sounded and smelled a little different in the Boys Room. This is mostly hearsay so, normally, I'd assume there had been some exaggeration but I did see the post apocalyptic damage and it was pretty severe. No longer miffed, I did feel a little bad for my husband.
He said he heard the water pump kick on, there was a brief pause and then he heard a "gurgle"....coming from HIS shower. Apparently, moments later, "up from the ground came a bubblin' crude" and we're not talking Oil. With the detail I've provided, I'm sure you can use your imagination and come to the conclusion that none of us will ever be the same. It was truly the stuff of nightmares and, I assure you, the nightmares about vile substances and the inability to get away from them continue to haunt.
As sort of an aside, I'll also tell you that we had to get our Chimney replaced two days before this happened and that our tenant's Septic had similar issues two days after Thanksgiving.
As a 'silver lining', the tradesmen we dealt with on all issues were amazing! They responded quickly, knew what to do and only one of them charged an additional Emergency fee. Not for nothing, but if cleaning up (large scale) messes like that was my vocation, I would charge an additional Emergency fee every single time. There are some things you can't un-see or un-smell for that matter.
What can YOU take away from this? My most sincere wishes for Happy Holidays and a reminder that, as you get stressed out over the next month, remember that there are people out there who are not only stressed but are also up to their eyeballs in the septic tank. It could always be worse.

Coming Around Again

2013-08-07T20:24:00.000-04:00

Warm, homemade Tapioca Pudding.
There are times when I get an urge to cook or bake something like Tapioca Pudding. I never think much of it while in the process itself but, at some point I find myself smiling for no reason and, then, when I stop to think about it, she's there.
Perennial flowers in Spring and Summer.
Living in New England through long, cold winters, there are few things that can make me smile with wonder like a kid on Christmas morning. Walking through the yard in the Spring and reacquainting myself with Perennials as they pop up from the flat, brown ground like magic is one of those things. As I stop and enjoy the moment, she's there.
My Mother passed away on May 23, 2009 from Pancreatic Cancer. Hers was pretty well advanced at diagnosis. They tried, unsuccessfully, to do a Whipple procedure to remove the Cancer and she died 18 months later. We did not have a fantastic relationship at her death but we were geographically close and, therefore, I was with her for a lot of the year and a half from diagnosis to death.
To say I was not at my best would be an understatement since my Stepmother had died, from inoperable Lung Cancer three weeks before my Mom was diagnosed. For my Stepmother, I provided roughly 75% (maybe more) of her in home care as directed by the Visiting Nurses who would come in once a week or so. She was diagnosed late in May of 2007 and died early in November of 2007. The year the Red Sox won their second World Championship in four years. My husband and I went to Game Two with friends at Fenway Park. It was the first time I'd taken off from caring for her in months. That night, she would try to get up, by herself, to go to the portable toilet in her bedroom. She fell and, in doing so, broke her hip since the Cancer had spread through her bones. She was gone roughly a week later.
At any rate, it's safe to say I was an emotional mess from May 2007 through May 2009, the time from diagnosis to death of both.
For the next year, I was angry. Very angry. Angry that my Mom was far from perfect, angry that my Father and Step-siblings did the least amount to help care for my Stepmother as was humanly possible. Angry that I missed the better part of two years of my kids growing up while I was busy taking care of these two women. Angry that my husband had to take over doing just about everything at home during that time. He did it all without question but I always felt like I was letting him, the girls and myself down.
Two years out, I started remembering good things and forgetting bad things and quietly started mourning the loss of my mother.
Now, more than four years later, things are coming around again. Things like making homemade Tapioca Pudding and watching flowers come up in Spring. These things are every bit to me a warm hug as they are food or beautiful accents to our yard. My Mom is with me.
When I feel my Mother there, whether she's in my head or actually floating around the house, it gives me solace. It is stronger and more tangible than anything any organized religion has ever been able to provide. It melts off the candy coating of a cliché and turns it in to something personal and trustworthy. Something I will keep with me always.
Finally, it makes me smile a lot more at the experiences with my own daughters. I love it because I know that some day, when they're cooking or baking or even when they're laughing at a joke together, I will be with my girls.
To me, that's religion coming around again.

There needs to be some sort of prize for being stuck on "Forever Hold"

2012-10-19T13:04:00.000-04:00

Okay, so I realize that there are people in the world with problems so horrifyingly huge that, when compared on a chart, people keep trying to dust the crumb representing my problems off because it's just a distraction. I get that. That having been said, I'm reminded of an early episode of the TV Show "Ally McBeal". Georgia asks "Ally, what makes your problems so much bigger than everyone else's?" She gives it an honest moment's thought, matter-of-factly replies "They're mine" and walks away. So, now that we know just how narcissistic I am, let's move on, shall we?

This morning, I was making some calls from our land line, and one of those calls happened to be my Doctor's office. Nothing earth shattering, just calling in to pay a bill. I'm telling the representative on the other end my credit card number. It's important to note I'm speaking slowly and clearly because everyone knows, when you say "Nine", the person at the other end will invariably hear "Five". You say "Fifty", they hear "Sixty" and so on. So I'm marveling at my model citizenship because I've made this person's job a little easier by caring enough to enunciate. After reading the card number, pausing briefly and clearly stating the expiration date, I ask if she would like the numbers on the back of my card (model citizenship - anticipating her needs - wink). There's the first moment or two of quiet when I'm thinking 'Gee, this person really takes their job seriously and is taking as great care in recording the information as I did in providing it'. By moment four or five, I just think she's just being rude. Then I start to say "Hello? Anybody there?" Next I tempt fate by saying something really embarrassing like "Yo, Dinglenut, ya' still there or were the bagels in the break room calling you?" (Someday I will dig to the bottom of that thought process but not today. I have a gut feeling that it would make a fantastic blog and I don't want to blow more than one good idea per blog - it always seems like overkill and, quite frankly, gives the reader unrealistic expectations for each subsequent blog. I crack under that kind of pressure).

Back to the call. Due to my Clouseau like detection skills, I've determined the call has been disconnected. I hang up and try dialing again only to get dead air. Like an idiot, I start saying "HELLO?!?" progressively louder, thinking the person on the other end may have just inexplicably gone deaf during our phone call. Hang up again. Try to redial and now I'm getting a busy signal. As though I'm in one of those silent educational short films they use on programs like Sesame Street, I turn to the camera with a look of surprise tap my index finger to my temple, and seem to be saying 'Hey! I know, I'll use my cell phone!!' Using said cell phone, I try to call the land line. "Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please check the number and try again". Even though this is my home phone number which has been the same damned number for 35 plus years, I second guess myself and click "Recent Calls" on my cell phone. Looking at the camera puzzled, 'Nope, not the wrong number....Hmmmmm'.

Our services are bundled so I check Cable. Nope, Cable's fine. Internet, well, I'm writing this blog, aren't I? Finally, I bite the bullet and call Customer Service where I am told by another recording that "Due to an increased call volume, wait times may exceed ten minutes". I decide I've got nothing better to do so I wait.....and wait............and take the dog outside......and wait......and have a piece of warmed up Banana Bread slathered with butter. (Yes, I deserved the extra butter because I was subjected to excessive wait times). THIRTY ONE MINUTES later, I decide I HAVE got better things to do and hang up. Why - after all of that waiting didn't I just suck it up and deal with it? I'll tell you why - Because with my luck, just as I sit down to pee, the perky Customer Service Rep would chime in with "Thank you for calling Comcast where we strive to make your life easier, my name is Jane Doe, how can I assist you today?"

After completing important matters, being the glutton for punishment that I am (AND sensing there's a blog somewhere in this experience), I call back. Now, I wait.....and wait.....and SUDDENLY there's a series of clicks, I get very excited and start doing the 'I'm the next customer in line and, therefore, the current VIP' dance in my head when another recording starts. "We apologize but due to higher than normal call volumes wait times will be extended........We are experiencing outages in your area and have technicians working to resolve the problem. Please call back at a later time".

Standing there, mid dance move, I'm speechless. This lasts roughly 1.8 seconds when it clicks that it's a recording that has just told me everything I already knew. A recording I waited more than a half hour for so I could hear everything I already knew. By this time I'm thankful it's a recording because I unleash a whole can of Frustration and Swearing Whoop-ass on it. "DO YA' THINK - GENIUS A**????? FOR F***'S SAKE - I KNOW I'M A LITTLE STIR CRAZY BUT I DON'T HANG OUT ON HOLD FOR *HITS AND GIGGLES YA' USELESS *OUCHEBAG!!!"

From there, I hung up the phone and just stood there, reliving the moment. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Sometimes swearing is excessive and gratuitous but other times there is just no substitute for an appropriately placed F-bomb!!

Now, if that's the worst problem of my day, I'm luckier than a whole big chunk of the world's population!!!

Have a fantastic weekend!

Stuffed French Toast

2012-07-29T14:35:00.002-04:00

Okay, so every once in awhile I get truly inspired by something to try making a new dish. It happens to all of the great Chefs in history. Julia was often inspired by a particular region and, sometimes by the Vineyards in said region...

My inspiration? Typically it comes in the form of getting a "rumbly in my tumbly". You know how some people predict weather using their various aches and pains? I rely on my stomach for inspiration as well as predicting what culinary delight I will create. It's a gift.

This morning was like the Perfect Storm in terms of cooking. It's Sunday, dreary and a cool 68 degrees on the back porch. Finally, my daughters did the grocery shopping for us yesterday. Throw in the memory of a beautiful B & B in Vermont where my husband and I married and the Chef there made us Stuffed French Toast; Hearty bread dipped in egg mixture, slathered with a sort of peach frosting and another piece of the bread. I'd never heard of anything like that before and enjoyed every bite. Culinary Karma was in the air this morning....

STUFFED FRENCH TOAST

Serves 4 - 5

Ingredients

1 - Loaf French Bread (or bread of your choice)

1 - Pint Ripe Strawberries hulled and sliced (roughly 1/8 inch slices)

4 - Ounces Cream Cheese (Half a standard block), softened

1/8 Pound of good Prosciutto, shaved

1/4 - Cup Confectioners Sugar plus extra for dusting

3 - Extra Large Eggs

2 to 3 - Cups Milk

A few shakes of Cinnamon and/or Nutmeg

Cast Iron Skillet thoroughly preheated over Medium heat

Cooking Spray

Large piece of aluminum foil

Sandwich sized Ziploc bag

Instructions

Slice French Bread on a diagonal in (roughly) 2 inch wide slices and set aside.

In a medium bowl, whisk the eggs.

Whisk in Cinnamon and/or Nutmeg.

Whisk in Milk until all are thoroughly combined.

Set aside while prepping other ingredients to give the spices time to really flavor the egg mixture.

Meanwhile, in a small bowl, using a wooden spoon (or whatever works best for you), thoroughly combine 1/4 Cup Confectioners Sugar and Cream Cheese. Set aside.

Spray skillet with cooking spray.

Dip a piece of bread in the egg mixture and place it on the skillet.

On that piece of bread, layer the following: One layer of Prosciutto, then 1 - 2 Tbls. of Sweetened Cream Cheese (we used a frosting spreader for this) and Strawberries.

Dip a second piece of bread in the egg mixture and use it as the final layer in this 'sandwich'.

Repeat with remainder of ingredients.

Cover skillet with the foil, shiny side down.

After 2 or 3 minutes, remove the foil and using a wide spatula, lift the corner of the sandwich to see if it's browned. If yes, carefully flip over the sandwiches and replace foil over skillet. If no, give it another minute.

NOTE: If you're using Cast Iron, turn the heat down to low or medium low at this point to prevent the sandwiches burning.

Flip the sandwiches a couple of times more and remove them to a serving dish.

Fill the Ziploc bag with the remaining sweetened cream cheese mixture.

Squeeze all air out of the bag and close the Ziploc.

Shake the bag until all of the mixture has settled at one of the bottom corners of the bag.

Snip open a small hole at that corner of the bag.

Use this to pipe the mixture on to the top of the sandwiches.

Stick strawberry slices in to, or around, the cream cheese mixture.

Put Confectioner's sugar in to a sifter and sprinkle it over the sandwiches and serve.

This is so tasty and it goes as nicely with a Mimosa as it does an ice cold glass of Milk. Also, it's fun to cook this with a second person since it lends itself to an 'assembly line' method of preparation.

Enjoy!!!

A Year of First Lasts...

2012-06-14T10:32:00.001-04:00

With social networking tools like Facebook readily available to all, participants get instant updates and feedback on whatever fellows are experiencing at the moment.

This year and, particularly this time of year, there are lots of parents bleeding bittersweet emotion about their eldest graduating High School on the pages of Facebook. Since I am viewing that particular milestone through the rear view mirror, I thought I'd share some thoughts on the experience. Also, I will apologize in advance for, very likely, not making you laugh.

In the 1991 movie about a rock band made up of teenage misfits, there is a scene that includes one of the band member's Dad. Though I haven't seen the movie since then, I recall a certain line in particular. It hit home with me for two reasons; First, I was born a smart ass and I'll die a smart ass so I always appreciate quick wit. Second, I lost both of my maternal grandparents to Cancer that year. Believe it or not, it made me laugh out loud when the Dad (chastising his 'no-good' son) says "And you, yeh malignant little bastard...".

Now we've come 'round to the reason this particular quote recently resurfaced in my brain. From the moment they are conceived, we witness the never ending miracle of growth in our children. As parents, we are powerless to slow or stop it. The role and responsibility we are blessed with is similar to that of riverbeds and the rocks they hold while the water changes its course causing the rocks to smooth and soften with time. We are given an opportunity to teach, direct, redirect and watch as the water passes by toward its next destination.

The first year of a child's life is filled with "Firsts". First smile, first food, first giggle and first steps. My memories of my eldest's Senior year in High School are filled with what I refer to as "First Lasts". The last first day of High School; the last football game where she played in Marching Band; the last school concert; the last Equestrian Show. It seemed everywhere I turned, I was being reminded that our kids are with us for such a short time. This realization made me feel several things, not the least of which was sad. What I also felt was pride, joy, privilege, unending and always growing love, but most of all a very pronounced feeling of Awe. Our children hold us in a state of awe for always.

High School Graduation is an emotional time for parents and their children. Roles are changing with each milestone and measure of maturity. Lots of times, I didn't recognize these changes until well after they'd swept by like the water in that river I mentioned. Sometimes I felt as though I'd cried enough bittersweet tears to feed that river for eternity. Tears spurred on, sometimes by sadness at the loss of the little girl but mostly those spawned in complete pride and adoration of the young woman she has become. What I did recognize as it happened were captured as various snapshots in my mind. I'm not big on Scrapbooking, though I wish I was, but I have enough memories of my daughter from that final year of High School to fill up an entire Scrapbook. What's difficult to see, when you see that Cap and Gown or that Diploma, is that there are many, many more Scrapbooks in the future, just waiting to be filled. For me, that realization came on the day we brought my eldest to College for the very first time and got her as settled in as possible. I kept thinking and wondering if I could possibly live there with her and continue to keep her safe and comforted....I might be able to set up a little cot under her bed...

That second feeling NEVER quite goes away but it is ALWAYS the second feeling. The first feeling is that of letting go a kite that this young adult is flying on her own and watching the beautiful colors and patterns flying on the wind. It is my most sincere wish, dream and hope that my daughters continue to grow and amaze me as they make their way in life but, more importantly, that they wish, dream and hope for themselves and whatever the future has in store for them.

So, with every eye roll, sigh of frustration, tear shed and irritated "Mooommmm..." or "Daaaadddd..." you go through this year, the only advice I can give is to do your level best not to touch or mar the delicate and colorful new wings breaking through the chrysalis for the first time. Rather, take the snapshot in your mind and keep it there always. It may only be one tiny piece of the puzzle but to leave it out would forever leave the puzzle incomplete.

To my Daughters and Stepdaughters - I love you all so much more than you will know until you have kids of your own one day......a long time from now.... You each make me more proud than I can say.

To Parents watching their children complete this year of First Lasts, recognize it all for what it is and own the bittersweet feelings that accompany it. They will always be part of who you are.

How to stare in to the eyes of a Coyote and live to tell about it

2012-03-25T12:37:00.000-04:00

Yesterday started out exactly the same as every other day over the past five months. Haul my posterior out of bed, limp upstairs, get a cup of coffee and snag a few sips before hitching the dog to his leash and taking him outside for some morning relief. At this point, we make our way from the house, across the driveway. That, as you will see, is where all similarities (to previous days) stop.

Buddy is a smallish dog. He probably weighs sixteen pounds and is a mix of Boston Terrier and another type of wire haired terrier. His physique, being what it is, gives him a bit of a Napoleonic complex. I've always said that, if he were human, Buddy would drive a large truck with a lift kit. Far more entertaining in a dog than his human counterpart. Just my humble opinion.

Our garage is not attached to the house so we walked across the driveway and around my husband's Jeep, which was parked in its usual place next to the garage so that we could get to our 'usual' path for walks.

Note: What I'm about to describe to you took all of about 30 seconds though the detail described might make it seem much longer. In my brain, it took about an hour.

As I rounded the Jeep and looked to the edge of the woods behind our garage, approximately ten or fifteen feet from me, a very large Coyote was standing perfectly still and staring at me. Since it hadn't moved up to this point, Buddy had not yet spotted it.
I screamed something really effective like "GO AWAY!!!!!" in a strangled, shrill scream that only seems to present itself when I'm in full panic mode. As I screamed, the Coyote turned its head and, in doing so, made itself known to Buddy. In the rapid fire way that they do in situations like this, two things happened. The Coyote did actually turn to lope away until Buddy started barking, growling and lunging at it. At that point, it turned back toward us as though perhaps it thought Buddy might have something interesting to say or, at the very least, could serve as breakfast. We repeated this process twice, maybe three times so that the Coyote, in his indecision, looked almost as though he was dancing.
There are parts of your brain that catalog tiny details such as sights, smells and feelings for you to relive later when you have the chance. One of these things was the absolute magnificence of this animal. It probably weighs somewhere around 70 or 80 pounds, has a beautiful coat and gorgeous eyes. Also, I recall it's movement being very graceful. All in all, a beautiful animal. Unfortunately, for both of us, not an animal I'd like hanging out in our back yard. That brings us back 'to the moment'.
Once I realized the Coyote wasn't in any hurry to leave, I did my best to "run" back to the house, literally dragging Buddy behind me. I say dragging because if Buddy had his way (along with opposable thumbs)he would have un-clipped the leash and attacked the Coyote. His hackles were so far up, it looked as though someone might have electrocuted him. Apparently, he has hackles all over the place because even the hair on his legs seemed to be standing at attention.
What with the various maladies I have, my version of "run" (at best) is a quickened limp. So there we were, Buddy scrambling to get back to the Coyote at one end of the leash and me, screaming for him to come, getting back to the house as soon as possible. I am hard pressed to think of a time when I was more frightened. By the time I made it to the stairs of the house, my husband was at the door and wondering what all of the commotion was about. "THERE'S EITHER A SMALL WOLF OR A REALLY BIG COYOTE BEHIND THE GARAGE!!!!!!!!!" I yelled. Now, this is usually the part of my stories where whatever it is I've seen has disappeared and everyone wonders (again) if I'm becoming even more crazy than I was the day before. Not this time!! My husband was out there, staring it down. My brother went out there with a Garden Hoe in hand (the tool, not someone's personality...) and my Stepfather joined in the fun as well.
For an hour or so, this Coyote could be seen all along the edge of our yard, where I usually take Buddy for his walks.
After seeing it with her own two eyes, my daughter went straight for the internet where she looked up Wolves and Coyotes. She came back in to the kitchen a little while later to tell me the following facts, I think, in an attempt to help calm me:
1) It's definitely a Coyote.
2) Coyotes tend to research the areas where they hunt and make frequent visits in that effort. 3) If the Coyote was rabid, I probably wouldn't have made it back to the house.
I can't tell you how much better I felt after hearing those things but I do know that her heart was in the right place.
In the mean time, I had also gone to the Internet to try and find a phone number for the State's Fish and Game department, thinking they might be able to advise us on what to do (if anything) and even send someone out. Honestly, I should have known better because it was a Saturday. Imagine that? A State Office being open on Saturday? What was I thinking?!?!?! Isn't it nice to know that any type of Animal Control is available from 8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., Monday through Friday? Apparently, nobody shared that schedule with this particular animal.
Well, once the excitement died down and adrenaline was no longer pumping through my body like a freight train, I realized I hadn't thought to grab the camera and get a picture. Of course, this led to a plethora of ideas on how to lure the Coyote back to the yard. Omitting the ideas my husband came up with that required using Buddy as bait, I will share a few with you. Before I start to list them, let me say that inspiration comes in all shapes and sizes. Most of ours came from other Saturday morning experiences three or four decades ago.
1) Place a black circle on the lawn. The idea being we could walk over said circle but, when the Coyote tried to chase us, he would inexplicably fall in and we could snap pictures of him there.
2) Procure a large Slingshot, place ourselves in it and wait to spot the Coyote. The idea here is that the Slingshot would project us directly at the Coyote, who would obviously get knocked over. With Wile E. unconscious, we could take all of the pictures we want.
3) From Acme Company, purchase a whole bunch of things such as giant springs for our feet that we could use to "jump" the Coyote, Large road signs directing the Coyote over a cliff where he would land in a 'pouf' of smoke but wouldn't be injured. A number of other things could be purchased as well but the key here is to get them all in a giant, wooden crate that says "ACME" on the outside. Simply by placing this crate in our yard, the Coyote would be drawn to us based on some deeply inherent instinct.
4) Finally, instead of Buddy barking and growling at the Coyote, we would put him in a Road Runner costume, train him to run incredibly fast, stop on a dime, say "Meep-meep" and run away again. This would drive the Coyote nuts and he would chase Buddy without ever being able to catch him. We would use this technique to obtain action shots with the camera.

That was our excitement yesterday neatly wrapped up with plans for the next time he visits.

Fun with Hypodermic Needles...

2012-03-07T14:55:00.001-05:00

When we last left off, I was just being called in to the day surgery area for my nerve block/steroid injection. The nurse who retrieved me took off like a shot (no pun intended. Honest) for the changing room and was halfway down the hall before she realized I was limping along behind. First indication that there could be a problem: "Oh, I see you have a limp". "Yes. I thought I'd take it out for a spin today...". She giggled nervously. Now, at this point, I'm already so nervous that there is no saliva left in my mouth which, in turn means my upper lip is stuck to my front teeth and my hands are shaking. Did I respond inappropriately by giving her the barest of fake smiles in hopes of preventing my teeth from ripping four layers of skin off my lip?

Just a side note here. Nurses always give their names and even wear a name tag on their scrubs. Do you think I can remember a single nurses name from yesterday? That'd be a big Nope. At any rate, she introduced herself, showed me where I could get changed, handed me a "ball gown", the oh-so-fashionable slipper socks and a bag to put my belongings in. I swear to you she called it a ball gown.

Two things. First, thank God those slipper socks were extra large because I haven't been able to shave in ages and they did manage to cover up some of the gap between them and the Bob Mackey billowing about my legs. Second, she told me to put my stuff in a locker and bring her the key. As God is my witness, I do not recall handing her that key so it remained an added worry until after the procedure. Why didn't I just ask? Well, I believe I've already admitted to my unreasonable and extreme fear of needles so I was down to as little conversation as possible. Plus, just as I came out of the changing room, she explained to me that they would be putting in an IV.......

"Wait...What? Are you serious? Nobody told me about an IV. Look, this isn't a surgery!" I cried. Panic was increasing rapidly and this woman was the only hope I had for getting talked off the ledge. "Oh, I know, but we put one in 'just in case'" she said. One of my least favorite phrases ever - "Just in case". In case of what?! In case I start to bleed out at the injection site? In case they want to inject something funky through an IV? In case I pass out? In case the electricity cuts in the middle of the procedure? WHAT?!?!

"They hardly ever have to do anything with it....". Hold it right there, Missy. Lesson number 85 to any health care giver whose care I am in for even a millisecond: If 95% of people don't have an issue with something, you can be sure that I will be part of the other 5%. It's just how it goes in this rock and roll show...

Now she has me back at my bed and literally tells me to "...hop up on to the bed". The situation was deteriorating faster than an ice cube in H-E-Double-Toothpicks and they had yet to do anything.

Of course I asked her if she would numb my skin before placing the IV (a standard with me and I have happily waited a half hour for someone to be pulled from another facility to do just that). I've said it before and will say it again, I. Am. A. Giant. Sissy. "Look at that tattoo" she said. "How did you manage that if you're so scared of needles?". Don't ever let anyone tell you that getting a Tatt is like getting an injection. It's like comparing a mild hangover to passing a kidney stone.
"Well, it's just a Pediatric IV so..." I interrupted her to ask "Can you numb the skin or not?"
"I can if you want but..." "I want".
As she's preparing the IV she says "Ya know, most people come out of the procedure saying 'It really wasn't that bad'. In fact, I swear he does such a good job with the procedure just so he can ask them if it was as bad as the IV.........he's not someone you'd want to live with but he's definitely someone you want performing this procedure". She is blowing me out of the water at this point and I'm silently calculating how quickly I could "hop" out of the bed, down the hall, get my stuff and get the hell out of there. Seriously, I was considering leaving in the Johnny and Slipper Socks. 'I really don't care who sees my hairy legs at this point. Get. Me. Out.' Alas, I stayed. I really hate when the wrong personality is up to bat at times like those.

Aside from that mess, everything at that point, procedurally speaking, was going great and the IV was in. Emotionally, as you may have guessed, was a sequence of very different events that were pushing me closer and closer to the edge of my bed. One nurse explained the procedure like this:

"First, he'll numb your skin a little and, then, you'll feel...well, you won't feel it but some people say they can hear a 'Pop' when he starts the actual injection". My chin dropped and I referred her to rule number 85 again. Was she really telling me this in a syrupy voice because she thought it would make me feel better? I swear I was starting to hyperventilate but they asked me if I wanted a magazine (no thanks) and left me alone with my anxiety (for which I normally take meds but that was a no-no for this procedure). Barbarians.

Somewhere around a day later, another nurse came in, asked me a bunch of questions and explained the procedure again. She used phrases like "then he has to find the source of the pain with the needle" and "the medication does hurt as its going in but that doesn't last very long..." Lady, YOU are not going to last very long unless you get this show on the road. I didn't say that out loud but she must have recognized something in my eyes and complied.

After a short ride through the halls, she backed me in to the O.R. Why the O.R.? Since the Doc uses a "live" X-Ray to help guide the needle to the right place (just typing that made me feel like hurling) as well as to see where the contrast is showing up, the procedure takes place in the O.R.

The Doctor was already in the room and asked how I was. I told him what I told the 15 people before him who asked "Petrified". He acknowledged my fear of needles and said he would explain everything as he went and would try to keep me as comfortable as possible. Inadvertently, at this point, I threw the nurse directly under the bus. "She told me you're going to numb the site first". He shot a quick glare at the nurse and said "She told you about a different way of doing this procedure. I put everything in one injection, as we discussed yesterday". 'Oopsies - sorry lady whose name I can't remember'.

He had me roll from the bed I was on, to the Operating table which had a stack of three pillows on it. Since the X Ray machine is in the shape of a "C" that goes over and under the table, I had roughly a foot of clearance to roll over and "put your belly button right in the middle of these pillows" said the nurse. 'Oh sure, I thought, and for my next trick, I'll saw myself in half and pull a rabbit out of my....' nevermind. The reason these Barnum & Bailey's Circus Folk want you to do this is so that your back is in the best position for the injection. This meant I needed to be on all fours with my backside held high... Oh, gee, why didn't I think of that - it's so cozy and I don't feel at ALL vulnerable.... Truth be told, after giving some thought to how the spine works, it did make sense to me. Not that I had a choice, mind you, but still it was an ounce of much needed reassurance.

Figuring that I should play as fair as possible, I took this moment to announce that A) I had to pee and B) there was a very good chance I was going to scream and/or swear. The Doc must have spotted my cowardice because he asked if I could "...hold it because the procedure will be over so quickly". Grudgingly, I supposed I could. As for B), he said "That's fine. The only rule we have about swearing is, if you say something we don't understand, you have to explain it to us". "Oh no" I said. "Just the standard variety of four letter words. Sometimes, there's just no equal to a well placed F-Bomb."

Now the procedure. First, let me attempt to give you the road map he was going to navigate. The joint he was aiming for is the right Sacroiliac joint which is one of two that connect your pelvis to the bottom of your spine. Close your eyes for a second and just picture where you think that would be. As it turns out, the injection site was higher up and slightly off center to the right....Got it?

He thoroughly Betadyned my backside, and talked me through that in a very soft and slow, monosyllabic voice. Imagine Mr. Rogers voice but slowed waaaay down. Sort of like a 45 being played at 33 (for those of you who recall record players). Every time the man paused, I was expecting the next words to be something about the injection starting. This meant, every time he started to speak, my blood pressure went through the roof until he said something innocuous and I would breathe again. This probably only lasted roughly one minute but, to me, it was so long that I second guessed my decision about no magazine. Probably they wouldn't have let me have one at that point anyway but, now that I think of it, maybe they should do that to help distract a neurotic freak like myself. Anyway, there were things that needed to be prepped. For each step, I pictured the blood pressure cuff busting open and flying around the room like something in a cartoon.
"...and now...(insert flying cuff here)... I'm applying more Betadyne..." Oh Jesus.
"...and now...(another flying BP cuff)...I'm going to drape the site..." 'Okay,' I thought, 'the next one has to be it'....
"...and now...(there is now BP cuff air traffic control heard over the loud speaker)...I'm going to blot it a little". My non existent patience were wearing thin.
"....okay, now I'm going to start just at the site so we can get some Novocaine in there. And here it comes". I hissed an intake of air and squeezed the poor nurses hand for all she was worth. He waited a minute to let it numb up a little. Then came the fun part....
"....okay, now I'm going to make my way down to the SI joint.."
"AAAAAHHHHHH!!!!! $HIT!!!!" (Me, not him which, in retrospect, is a good thing).
"...okay, I want you to rate your pain on a scale of one to ten. One being minimal or no pain and ten being unbearable.."
"TEN!!!! TEN!!!"
"....okay, I need you to rate the pain first, for your lower back, second for your buttock and third for your leg"
"ARE YOU #&%KING KIDDING ME?!?! IT ALL HURTS!!!"
"...okay, ten across the board"
"...now I'm going to inject some more of the medicine..."
He did this four times. Each of those four times drew multiple F-bombs and Holy S-words which, by the way, I believe count as a prayer of sorts.
"You're doing great" the Nurse said. Why do they say stuff like that when there is absolutely no way you can haul off and beat them over the head? Wait. I just answered my own question. It's okay though, because I no longer felt bad for throwing her under the bus. Nor did I worry about how I was digging my nails in to her hand with each new pain. Oh, I said I was sorry....

Eventually, it did end and I was basically pain free for the first time in five months. I'll get back to that. While the nurse wheeled me from the O.R. to the recovery area, she said "You did great. See? It wasn't that bad". My only response as I wiped tears from my face was "It sucked". This same woman who before the procedure, told me it wasn't going to be bad at all now answered me with a sympathetic "I know". Someone fire her already for God sake.

That nurse handed me off to another nurse who asked the same question and got the same answer. "It sucked". "Oh, but you're not in pain now, right?" "Nope, you're right, no pain right now".

That nurse informed me that I'd have to wait 20 minutes before I could leave. She sent my daughter back to sit with me and checked my vitals every five minutes. Everything being okay, she brought my clothes and shoes to me. I got dressed as quickly as possible, ecstatic over feeling absolutely no pain whatsoever. I was like Grampa Joe from Charlie and The Chocolate Factory, getting out of bed for the first time in 20 years. I wanted to do a jig like he did but, instead, walked (not gimped) down the hall past the Nurse's station where a hand full of nurses looked up and said "How'd it go? You look great!" "It sucked" I repeated. We all got a good chuckle out of that which was a good thing because I was still laughing when the nurse said "You get a free T-Shirt for coming in today!!" Seriously? I started looking around the room for hidden cameras but never broke stride as she handed me the t-shirt. I thanked her as my daughter and I made our way to the car where I immediately busted out the two percocet I had in a baggy in my coat pocket. "Let's go to Dunkin' Donuts so I can put food in my stomach and take these bad boys".

That's pretty much where the story ends except there will be an Epilogue to come tomorrow. I have people to thank and people to rake over the coals so stay tuned.....

And now for something completely different....

2012-03-06T16:58:00.002-05:00

If you have been lucky enough to NOT put up with my whining about various health issues over the past five years, let me catch you up: 2007, 2008, 2009 - Kidney Stone surgeries. 2010 - UPPP and Kidney Stone surgeries. 2011 - Kidney Stone surgeries. 2011/2012 - Herniated Discs and Arthritis in the Sacroiliac (SI) joints. Now you've caught up and I can begin the story.

To treat the Herniated Discs, I took oral steroids and went to five sessions of Physical Therapy. Not only did I not get the entertainment value of talking like Arnold Schwarzenegger, an explosion of muscles, nor did I experience 'Roid Rage' (Oooh, you may want to verify that last bit with my husband...) but the pain got worse and seemed to intensify in my right hip and leg.

From behind the safety of his 20 inch computer monitor (pet peeve, close the laptop when speaking to me please), the relatively recently-graduated "Doctor A" said the pain is coming from the herniated discs (even though they're herniated on the left and my pain is on the right) and he could do steroid shots in the two disc areas to see if that worked. Otherwise, he didn't seem to think it looked too bad. Dear Doctor A's Parents, You wasted a fair amount of money on med school for 'Boy Wonder'. Love, Pam.

"Doctor B" took tons of time to look at me, asked questions with the final one being "Has anyone ever X-Ray'd your hip?" When I answered "no", he shook his head and immediately took X-Rays. What they showed (Arthritis in the SI joints) made much more sense in relation to my pain. Recommendation? Novocaine and Steroid injection in the SI joint on the right side. More about Doctor B in the Epilogue next time.

"Alex, I'll take 'What Doctor B is selling' for $200"....

Fast forward a couple of weeks to yesterday when I went to the Pain Management Doctor and was sitting quietly in the waiting room. First, can I just ask - would it make anyone else nervous if you heard, say, a series of beeps that electronically unlock the door, allowing the Doctor to move from his Office to the Waiting Room? Or, is it just me?

At any rate, once in his office, he performed an extensive interview, looked at XRays, the MRI, and office notes from various other Doctors and the Physical Therapist. He spent about an hour and a half with me which ought to tell you something. He talked about the procedure he was suggesting (which was almost exactly what Doctor B prescribed). He said he would do an injection directly in to the right SI joint (If ONLY it meant Sports Illustrated. Alas, no...). The injection is a compound of three drugs: Novocaine, a Steroid and a Contrasting fluid. Since the entire procedure is done with a 'live' X-Ray of the area in question, the contrast is important so he can see exactly where the medication was going. The other two ought to be self explanatory.

Now, as a general rule, I think information is good. Information is our friend and a helpful friend at that. This having been said, my first comment after hearing about the procedure in detail was a standard speech about my unreasonably extreme fear of needles (aka Bu-Bye "helpful friend"). This prompted him to ask me a few more questions. He also told me he gives the injections on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He strongly suggested I sign up for Tuesday (today) so that the anxiety had less of a chance of hanging around long enough to give me a heart attack. Every fiber of my being was standing there, tail between its legs just begging for Thursday. Apparently, a NEW personality of mine (We'll call her Sybil for purposes of this story) is a loud mouthed so-and-so because she instantly drowned everyone else out and made me blurt out "Tuesday!!". Before I could explain to to the good Doctor that the newest member of the team spoke out of turn, the procedure was booked and I was being ushered out to the waiting area to read some paperwork before I left.

This morning, my eldest daughter was kind enough to pick me up at 7:15 but not before I was able to read a Facebook post regarding the size of the needle I could expect during this procedure. In her defense, this person thought I was already at the Doctor's office so it wasn't maliciously intended. I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say I was, at that point, a woman on the edge. 'Sybil???' I thought. 'Are you there Sybil?'. Apparently Sybil had the day off. I used to work for someone like Sybil. Start a fire and then drop out of sight and go MIA.

We arrived at the Clinic on-time, I filled out a little bit of paperwork and a few minutes later, someone swung open the Stainless Steel kick-plated doors and called my name.....

To Be Continued.....

Things My Mom would have loved or hated....

2012-02-28T14:04:00.000-05:00

My Mom passed away almost three years ago and she had been sick for a year and a half before that. While I think of her every single day, there are certain things that make me think "Mom would have LOVED that" or, conversely "Mom would have HATED that".

The more these things have been piling up in my brain, the more I've been thinking I should really write them down. Why? No idea, it just feels like I should.

Let's start with 'worst first'.

Mom would have HATED:
- The political ~~battle~~ campaign for the 2012 Presidential Election. My Mom always had plenty to say about politics. You know those annoying calls we all get from candidates? When they show up on my caller ID, I have started to refuse answering the phone. Nevermind the fact that they typically call during dinner or a good TV program, I just think there's something fundamentally wrong with someone calling and putting me on the spot like that. It always feels like some twisted guilt trip. 'You ARE going to vote, right?' Well, of course I am but when they ask it like that, it makes me want to say 'No', just to irritate them.
Anyway, my Mom would look forward to those calls and turn them in to a half hour bitch session about what was wrong with whatever candidate or political party had happened to call.
Well, Mom, if you happen to be watching, you already know that this campaign year is a doozie.

- The amount of Red Tape I currently have to go through while on an extended Medical Leave from work. Every time I get off the phone with someone who needs, yet, another piece of information from an entity they could have called directly (instead of calling me), I think about how much she would have hated this entire process.

- The ongoing construction on North State Street. I say ongoing because it was around when she was alive and well and it doesn't look as though it's going to end any time soon. She'd have hated that.

- That my eldest brother has lost touch with his family since she passed. Each of us has reached out to him at one time or another but it seems he has made a decision to be done with us. She really would have hated that.

- Seeing our dog, JoJo, put to sleep last Spring. Dogs know when something is wrong and, from the time of My Mom's diagnosis to the last time JoJo saw her, she would come in the house and go straight to Mom's bedside and curl up there. Mom used to call her the "Therapy Dog" and just loved JoJo. It would have been as hard on her as it was on us when we had to put JoJo down last Spring. She'd have hated that.

- Brett Favre. No explanation necessary.

- The Red Sox 2011 Season. Chicken, Beer, Snot-nosed, Self Righteous, overpaid little boys.

Mom would have LOVED:
- The fact that Jason Varitek retired at the right time and did not become traitorous in the name of a plumped up paycheck. She would have said that he's going out the way he should and she'd have loved that.

- Seeing her eldest Granddaughter graduate High School and start College.
- Seeing her youngest Granddaughter thrive in music and school.
She would have loved BOTH of their personalities and senses of humor.

- Our other dog, Buddy. Buddy is a lap dog who loves most women and likes nothing better than to curl up in your lap for snuggles. I feel confident Buddy would have loved Mom and it would have given her a real kick to know that she was a member of the inner circle that, in Buddy's eyes, can do no wrong. She'd have loved him.

- Facebook. Mom would have loved the connection with people through Facebook. She also would have loved the games available there. I think her favorite would have been the "I'm from Concord...." page. The travels down memory lane, the old pictures, the general conversations.

- The British TV Series "Downton Abbey". She'd have absolutely loved that.

- Keurig Coffee.

- The Musical "Wicked". It was popular when she was sick so she never really had a chance to get in to it. She'd have loved it.

Anyone who knew my Mom can feel free to add anything that falls in to one or the other category by way of a comment. I'd love to see them.

Potty Humor, beware......

2012-02-26T11:23:00.000-05:00

As is sometimes the case in our family, a conversation this morning came back around to Potty Humor. To me, Potty Humor is one of those topics that never ceases to amuse. Why is that, do you suppose? Everything from a person standing up from their chair, causing it to make a farting noise to potty 'accidents' and the stories leading up to them.

A couple of years ago, I had one such incident and it came up during this morning's Potty Humor conversation so I thought I'd share.

It starts out with me driving to a horse farm about 45 minutes from our home so that I could attend my daughter's Equestrian Event (aka Horse Show). Never having been to this particular farm before, and after being told it was way out in the "sticks", I used a navigator app on my phone. The information I received regarding the location was spot on. This farm seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. There were residential neighborhoods peppered throughout the drive but other than that, the final eight or ten miles had nothing but woodlands and wide open spaces. As I got nearer to the farm, I did notice that it couldn't be far from where my Dad was living at the time and made a mental note.

The events my daughter was competing in were being held at something like 9:00 am, 1:00 and 2:00 pm. Anyone who has ever been to one of these events knows that they rarely start on time and each event's start time can be impacted by a number of things such as weather, course set up and how long it takes to get through the preceding event. On this day, my daughter's first event started and finished in a timely manner so I found myself with three-plus hours to kill before the next event. I sent a text to my Dad to say I was in the neighborhood and would be coming by for a visit between events.

Approximately five minutes after heading to my Dad's, it hit me. My stomach gurgled, grumbled and cramped. Immediately, I cursed the Large Dunkin' Donuts coffee and donut I'd had earlier. 'I should have known better' I thought. Things quieted down for a minute and I started trying to recall where I may have passed a restaurant or store on my way to the show. I couldn't come up with anything but, since things were quiet, I didn't worry too much.

Maybe two or three minutes later, another cramp and gurgle, only this time it was accompanied by a, albeit brief, cold sweat. I started to worry and take a mental inventory of what I had in the car that might 'assist me' should I have to pull over to the side of the road.
Now, usually, my car has a little bit of everything in it; Gum, Tissues, CDs, a map, a roll of paper towels and maybe a couple of pair of shoes. On this particular day, Murphy's Law was in hot pursuit because I had not a single tissue or paper towel.

Another bout of cramping, sweating and gurgling. They were coming more frequently now and I remember wondering, having had a hysterectomy a few years before, what the hell I was going to give birth to when this was over. As I was starting my Lamaze breathing while simultaneously clenching every single muscle from the waist down, I noticed I was in one of the residential areas. I thought 'If I don't find some place quick, my left leg (which was firmly planted on the slant of the floor under the gas/brake pedals) is going through the floor of this car.

'Can't pull over there' I thought, 'there are cars in that driveway'; and, 'nope, not there, there are people in the yard on the other side of the road'. By now, the cramping was not subsiding and I had all I could do to keep things clenched while trying to drive the car. I mopped my brow with the sleeve of my jacket and started weighing the pros and cons of stopping at someone's house and asking to use their bathroom. 'Oh God, what if I clog their toilet or, worse, get halfway from the car to their house when everything lets loose'. Every scenario I envisioned was horrifying for a variety of reasons. I tried to start praying but realized, not being a very religious person, A) it might be a little hypocritical of me to call on God for help now and, B) I didn't know any prayers that would fit the situation.

I tried threatening my bowels. 'Look, I said, my mind is pretty darned strong and I can just put this whole thing to rest with a little mind-over-matter and don't think I won't.......YIKES!!! Okay, okay.... 'God is great, God is good, let us thank him for this food.....' YOUCH!!!!! With no thought for where I was or who might see me, I pulled over and tried to ease my way out of the car without un-clenching. After putting on the "hazard" lights, I shuffled around the back of the car to the passenger side with a gait that made it look as though my legs were actually connected from hip to foot like some bizarre version of conjoined twins. Once there, I afforded myself a brief look at my surroundings. There was a little patch of shrubs next to me that seemed to mark the land line for the house I had clear vision of. Though I can't tell you what program they were watching, I knew the people inside were watching TV. Hopefully that gives you an indication of my proximity to said house.

By way of opening both the front and rear passenger doors, I made as much of a shelter from prying eyes as I could, slid down the appropriate articles of clothing, held on to the lower front-passenger door jamb and let nature take its course. All the while chanting "Please don't let any cars go by, please don't let any cars go by...". As the pain in my stomach eased, I started looking for something, anything I could use to clean up. Looking at the rubble on the floor, I spotted two little squares of fabric that had been fashioned in to little pouches. The kind you might see filled with dried lavender as a sachet or something. One of my kids had made these at the after-school daycare she attended at the time. I looked some more....wasn't there anything resembling toilet paper to be had in the car? Not a thing. I commenced un-making the little pouches and, after making a silent apology to the child, used them as best I could. I pulled up my pants and walked, like a regular bi-ped, back to the driver's side and got in. Now, during that entire experience, not a single car went by in either direction. The minute I was seated back in the car, a car came from the opposite direction and three came from behind me. I looked to the sky to thank whoever had heard me (saying "Grace") and intervened.

When I got to my Dads' house, I made a beeline for the bathroom to do damage control and, while the details don't need to be shared, let's just say it wasn't pretty. Managing to clean up as best I could, I emerged from the bathroom and visited with my Dad as though nothing had happened. The day finished without further incident and the drive back to the farm was quiet enough that I actually took some time to notice what a pretty area it was. The trees and fields were beautiful and there wasn't even any garbage on the side of the road with one exception. There were two small splotches of colorful fabric I saw out of the corner of my eye as I passed. I imagined that, after a rain storm or ten, some bird might actually like to use that fabric as part of its nest. Reuse, Reduce and Recycle, right?

I got a package in the mail yesterday...

2012-02-24T13:03:00.000-05:00

As a general rule, like most people my mail is limited to two things: Bills and envelopes addressed to "Current Resident". Yesterday was different. My Stepdad, who typically retrieves the mail, approached me with a padded manila envelope addressed specifically to me and it was from the immediate family of my Great Aunt who, sadly, passed away this past Christmas Eve.

Auntie Sue's passing wasn't sad because she was too young or because she had been sick for a long time. She was 90 years old, had lived a long and full life, raised her sons and watched her grandchildren grow up. Auntie Sue's death was sad because she was one of the best people I have ever known and I will truly, truly miss seeing and visiting with her.

What's interesting about that is I typically only saw her a few times each summer. Her Father, my Great Grandfather, founded a Boys Camp in Sebago Lake, Maine back in 1906. Each of Ernest J. Dennen's children built a summer home adjacent to the Boys Camp which means they were adjacent to one another for roughly three months out of every year of their adult lives. I'll bet that not many families out there can make claim to that sort of tradition. Kids grow up, and in one way or another apart. Sometimes growing apart geographically and sometimes by way of other choices. I'm going to guess it was a period of about 40 years that my Grandmother, Great Uncle and Auntie Sue stayed together in this way. Incredible.

In our family, Auntie Sue was the last of her generation to pass. It probably should be noted that she was significantly younger than her siblings. Also of note was that her parents died when Auntie Sue was still a teenager so my Grandparents assumed responsibility for her for a time.

There is a foot path that runs along the shore of Sebago Lake. It travels from my Grandparents house to one of my cousins house, on to Auntie Sue's house and the final section of the path ends up at another cousins house. That always seemed to me to be a sort of metaphor for how close they were. As though it was a common thread that bound them together because in a way, it was.

Each of the homes has different strengths in terms of design and placement along the lake. My Grandparents summer home has the best screened in porch that sits atop a ledge overlooking the lake. A wonderful place to grab a cup of coffee and tiptoe out to before the sun rises. The lake is usually very still at that time of day and the only sounds you hear are that of fishing boats trolling along the shore and the morning conversations of the fishermen and women aboard. It's not so much like eavesdropping because you can't really hear what they're saying but there is a quiet comfort and peace about it.

At the far end, my cousin's house boasts the most remote location. It's set back in a little cove, protected from weather and a lot of the boat traffic.

The other cousin's house is the newest of the four and is winterized unlike the others. It's a year round home. When it comes time to leave at the end of the summer, it's always sad to leave and am envious of their full-time home.

The piece de resistance of the houses is Auntie Sue's. It sits on a prominent point of land, looking out first on a yard with beautiful perennial flower gardens. Beyond that are the stairs leading down to the dock system that's right on the water. The house itself is actually two structures, somewhat perpendicular to one another and attached in the middle by an overhang that protects a stone footpath to the aforementioned yard and lake.
One half of the house is made of the common living areas which are open to one another and, on the lake side, boasts window after window offering a beautiful view of the water. Also in this half are bedrooms and a bathroom.
The other half of the house we always referred to as the "Guest Suites". It is comprised of Bedrooms and another bathroom.

The location and layout of the house is enough to make you fall in love with it but Auntie Sue made it even better. She had a unique and ever appealing style whether it be the decor of a room, her car or her outfits which were never anything showy. They were always just a classic look that turned in to the epitome of what she was from her curtains to her jewelry: Put together.

If I had to put a label on Auntie Sue, I would say that she was always "Put Together" from her personality and the open love she shared so easily, to the things she surrounded herself with, including her jewelry and now we are back to my receipt of a small package in yesterday's mail.

When I saw the return address on the package I was a little confused. As my mind started churning, I actually wondered if perhaps I'd left something of mine at her summer home last year when I visited her there. What I got made me cry in the best way possible. Inside the package was a small jewelry box wrapped neatly with a ribbon and a short message. It reads "We have chosen this small remembrance from Susie's collection for you. Please feel free to regift if the style is not yours. We just ask that you tell the recipient a little about Susan...".

Inside the box is a simple necklace with various beads and stones in hues of green, purple and blue. Very earthy, very classic, very Auntie Sue. I couldn't be more pleased and, although I'm not a jewelry person, I've already thought of three different tops I can wear it with. I will be more than happy to explain its history and importance to anyone who remarks on it. I'm so proud and pleased that her family thought enough of me to pass along a remembrance. Also, I've never seen this method of gifting before but I think it's just about the best and most thoughtful that I've ever been privileged to be a part of.

The part that made me cry when I opened it (in addition to the undeniable fact that I'm a sap) was that with one glance, it made me think of Auntie Sue. It's style, the colors, the love with which it was given and a million other things. I will always think of her happily when I wear it.

I love and miss you Auntie Sue. I was so fortunate to have had you in my life! Peace.

What does Pinterest have to do with Lemon Meringue Cake?

2012-02-22T14:09:00.001-05:00

Alright, so in a medicinal haze, I must have signed up for "Pinterest". I say it must have been a medicinal haze because, while I don't remember doing it,there are now people following me and apparently, I'm following people I don't even know. For the most part, I'm not good at being followed or following and that's what Pinterest is all about. I think it kind of falls in to the category of being told what to do and, I'm pretty sure in that class, I got a "D". In fact, just driving behind one of those big construction trucks with the sign saying "CONSTRUCTION VEHICLE - DO NOT FOLLOW" at once increases my anxiety and makes me feel like a rebel. Seriously, I'll be driving along, minding my own business and, next thing I know, I'm staring at the backside of one of those trucks. What am I supposed to do? Pull over and wait until the truck is out of sight? Go around it, with no regard for oncoming traffic? Typically, I won't do either of those things so my brain switches gears. I start thinking about how I'm disobeying the sign and I immediately start to feel smug and rebellious. A stupid sign on a truck isn't going to tell ME what to do. After a few minutes, worry sets in; 'What if the truck pulls off the main road on to some road under construction. Will I follow it right in there? Then EVERYONE will know about me and think that either I can't read or that I'm some kind of rebel who just follows things because she can. It may have taken some time to get there but now we're back to the following bit and Pinterest.
After receiving several notifications that either I was being followed or I was following someone, I looked in to it and polled several people to find out what the big deal is about Pinterest. What was the big draw that had people turning in to Lemmings without even knowing it?
From the ten (or so) people asked, I received two different answers. First, they love Pinterest because 'you can put all of your internet "favorites" in one place'. Second, they had heard of it but hadn't signed up yet because they too could not figure out the draw.
Now, as far as putting all of your internet favorites in one place, isn't that what your "Internet Favorites" list is for? Yet even with that compelling argument, the believers would not be dissuaded. They love Pinterest and that's that.
Being who I am, I couldn't drop it. I needed to find out how and why this new phenomena had taken hold of so many people. Then, like the parting of the Red Sea, someone told me that I could somehow tie my blog in to Pinterest if I posted pictures with the entries. DING, DING, DING!!!!! WE HAVE A WINNER!!
My blog is usually some silly reflection on an ordinary, every day happening. Recently, I threw in a couple of recipes just for kicks. I love to cook and am really good at coming up with a new dish that typically gets rave reviews. Unfortunately, I never write any of them down so I never make the same dish twice. Blogging seemed the perfect solution to that problem. And, if I toss in a couple of pictures here and there, it becomes Pinterest worthy!! I just love it when stuff like this comes together.
So I thought I would start with a recipe I made last night for Lemon Meringue Cake (pictured above) and now you know what Pinterest has to do with Lemon Meringue Cake!!

LEMON MERINGUE CAKE

LEMON FILLING
4 Tbls. Cornstarch
4 Tbls. All Purpose Flour
1/4 tsp. Salt
1 1/4 C. Sugar
1 1/2 C. Water
4 Egg yolks, slightly beaten (Keep the whites for the meringue frosting)
1/3 C. lemon juice
Grated peel from Lemons used to get the juice
2 Tbls. Butter (if Butter is salted, omit salt from the ingredient list)

Note: Make this part a few hours before you make the rest. The mixture will need to be refrigerated for at least an hour before it can be used.

In the top part of a double boiler, whisk together the Cornstarch, Flour, Salt, Sugar and Water. Cook over low heat, stirring constantly until it thickens. Then cook and stir for another 10 - 15 minutes. It should be very thick and sort of clear.
To temper the eggs, take a half cup of the hot mixture and slowly add to the egg yolks while continuously stirring. Take the egg mixture and add it back to the pan, again, continuously stirring. This is important so that the eggs don't 'scramble' in the hot mixture.
Continue to cook and stir for a few more minutes, remove from the heat and add the lemon juice and rind as well as the butter. Stir until the butter is completely melted/incorporated. Lay plastic wrap directly on top of the mixture to prevent a skin from forming on it while it cools. Refrigerate for at least an hour.
I started with a simple yellow cake recipe (Good Housekeeping cookbook), shown here, but you could use either a yellow or lemon cake mix and it would be just as good.

CAKE -
Preheat Oven: 375 F
Grease & Flour two 9" cake rounds

In a large bowl with a hand or stand mixer, add the following ingredients in order, making sure to fully incorporate after each addition:

2 1/4 C Cake Flour
1 1/2 C Sugar
3/4 C Shortening or Butter
3/4 C Milk at Room Temp (Skim, 1%, 2% or Whole work equally well)
3 Eggs at Room Temp
2 1/2 tsp. baking powder
1 teaspoon salt (if you use shortening ONLY)
1 tsp. Vanilla Extract

Beat on low until all ingredients are incorporated. Next, switch to medium speed and let it go for 4 or 5 minutes, occasionally stopping to scrape down the sides of the bowl with a rubber spatula. Pour half of the batter in to each prepared cake round and bake for 25-ish minutes, dependent on how your oven runs. If a toothpick stuck in the middle comes back clean, it's done. Leave the cakes, in the pans, on a cooling rack for about 10 or 15 minutes, then turn them out and let them cool completely.

Note: If you want additional flavor in the cake itself, add a 1/2 tsp of lemon extract or 1 tsp of finely grated lemon peel. I chose to leave the cake plain and found the buttery cake a nice complement to both the filling and the meringue frosting.

ASSEMBLY - PART 1

Place one of the cooled cakes on an oven-safe cake plate and, using a pencil or tiny dowel, poke about 15 or so holes in to the top of the cake, being careful to only go about 1/2 to 2/3 of the way in to the cake.

Scoop about half of the Lemon Filling on to the cake, making sure that the poked holes are filled. Place the second cake on top of that and repeat the process. Put the cake in the fridge.

MERINGUE FROSTING:

Note: For meringues, I get much better results if I use a stainless steel bowl that has been washed, rinsed and dried thoroughly right before using it.

4 Egg Whites
Pinch of salt
1 C of Sugar
1 tsp. Vanilla
1/2 C. Water

Combine egg whites and salt in a bowl. Beat on a fairly high speed just until the whites are stiff (meaning if you draw a spoon or knife through it, it leaves a well defined peak). Set that aside.
Pour Sugar and Water in to a heavy bottomed, small saucepan. DO NOT STIR. Over Medium-High heat, let the mixture come to a boil. While continuing to boil, cover the pan with a tight fitting lid for 3 minutes (the evaporation process in the pan will wash away any sugar crystals that might be forming). Remove the lid and let it boil for another 10 or 15 minutes until it reaches about 232 F.

Note: You can use a candy thermometer for this or you can take a clear glass filled with cold water and drizzle a little of the syrup in to it. If the syrup creates a silky thread on its way to the bottom of the glass, it's ready.

Turn the mixer with the egg whites back on a relatively high speed and VERY slowly, pour a fine stream in to the egg whites until all of the syrup has been added. The hot syrup, essentially, is cooking the egg whites without turning them solid. Continue to let the mixer go until the outside of the bowl is just about room temperature (this takes about 10 minutes).
Add the Vanilla and mix to fully incorporate.

TURN ON THE OVEN'S BROILER.

ASSEMBLY PART 2

Retrieve the cake from the refrigerator immediately and scoop a LOT of the meringue frosting on to it. Spread the frosting to cover the entire cake, making sure to leave no gaps anywhere from the plate all the way to the top of the cake on all sides. Using the back of a large spoon, gently pull across the meringue and up. This should form peaks that will look really pretty once you're done. Make as many or as few peaks as you like - I love that part.

Once frosted, place the cake plate on a cookie sheet or other flat pan and gently slide it in to the oven. This takes somewhere around 1 or 2 minutes to do so you can not walk away from it. I've burned many a meringue this way. Just remember, whatever the distraction, if it's not worthy of a "911" call, it's not worthy of abandoning the meringue!

As soon as the peaks start to brown, turn off the broiler and remove the cake to a cool (not cold) place.

Note: Particularly if this is a cake made from scratch but in all instances, this cake should be eaten on the same day you make it.

A couple of recipes....just to shake things up

2012-02-15T07:08:00.000-05:00

One of the things I love to do is to cook and those I've cooked for say I do it pretty well. So I thought I might share with you a soup recipe I made up a couple of nights ago. I've also put in a pretty basic recipe for making Roasted Garlic Bread to go along with it. As with any recipe, change it up to suit your likes/needs:

Sausage & Mushroom Soup
INGREDIENTS:
2 lbs. Sweet Italian Sausage (loose, not in casings)
1 lb. Fresh mushrooms, wiped with a damp towel to remove any dirt (any kind you like, I happened to use Button because that's what I had and suspect it would be even better with Bellas)
2 Onions (Peeled and coarsely diced)
2 cloves Garlic (smashed with the flat end of a knife and chopped up a little)
2 Tbls. Olive Oil
2 Cans Red Kidney Beans - drained and rinsed
2 Cups (or more if you like) cooked rice (I used Jasmine but I bet Wild Grain would be FAB)
6 Cups reduced-sodium Chicken Broth
1 Large Can of diced tomatoes

EQUIPMENT:
Big ole heavy bottomed stew pot with a lid
Cutting Board
Good Sharp Knife (preferably with a wide blade)
Dampened paper towels
Rice Cooker or a good 2-quart, heavy bottomed pan with a tight fitting lid
Can Opener

PREP TIME: 15 Minutes
COOK TIME: One Hour but that hour is made up of segments where you need to do something so it's not a 'set the timer for an hour and go away' type of soup.

In heavy bottomed stew pot, heat Olive Oil over medium heat until just before it starts to smoke. Add onion, saute for 3 - 5 minutes. Add garlic and saute just until you can smell the garlic cooking. Remove pot from the heat temporarily so the garlic doesn't burn.

Add Sausage and return to heat but turn it down a little. Stir onions, garlic and sausage together occasionally until the sausage is lightly/moderately browned.

While the sausage is browning, in the 2 quart pan, cook the rice according to directions on the package. The entire process for the rice should take no more than 20 or 25 minutes and you'll want it to finish at (basically) the same time the sausage is browned.

Once browned, drain the fat from the sausage/onion/garlic mix and return to the heat. Add in the kidney beans and let them heat through over medium low heat, stirring once in awhile.

In the meantime, coarsely slice the mushrooms (coarsely, to me, is roughly half inch thick slices - you want them to stand up to the sausage, not disappear) and add them to the Sausage and bean mixture. Give it all a good stir, cover and leave it for 3 or 4 minutes on medium low heat. This lets all of the flavors get to know each other.

Add in the Chicken Broth and Diced Tomatoes. Give it all a good stir, cover it and set a timer for about 15 minutes.

This makes a pretty solid ten servings.

I served it with Roasted Garlic Sticks(recipe below):

INGREDIENTS:
1 head of garlic (A good head of garlic should have several firm cloves and no green growth showing at the top)
16 Dinner Rolls of your choice (I used the Italian sticks that come 8 to a package)
1 stick (1/2 cup) Salted Butter, softened.
2 Tbls. Olive Oil

EQUIPMENT:
Heavy Duty Aluminum Foil
Cookie Sheet or Jelly Roll Pan
Small Bowl
Cutting Board
Fork
Sharp knife

Prep Time - 30 minutes
Bake Time - 10 minutes

ROASTING THE GARLIC (You can do this part as much as several days ahead of time):
Preheat Oven to 425 F
Peel as much of the loose, dried outer skin off the Garlic as you can easily but there shouldn't be any 'naked' cloves. Then, with sharp knife, holding the head of garlic firmly on its side on the cutting board, slice off the very top of as many of the upper cloves as you can (don't worry about getting all of them). Using about a 9" square of aluminum foil, form it in to a cup that the head of garlic will fit in to. Put the garlic in, pulling the sides of foil up and drizzle the olive oil over the tops of the garlic cloves. Pull the foil together over the top of the garlic and smush/twist it closed. Place directly on the oven rack and bake for 15 minutes. Remove from oven to a heat proof surface where it can sweat for a few minutes (I just let it sit on the potholder I used to take it out of the oven). If you're going to make the bread sticks immediately, after removing the garlic, just lower the oven heat to 375.

MAKING THE ROASTED GARLIC BUTTER:
Open the foil packet and remove the garlic. Once it's cooled a little bit, you should be able to squeeze the roasted cloves of garlic right out of the skins and in to the small bowl without burning your fingers. They should be somewhere between a medium and light brown and sort of squishy. Using the back of the fork, smash the all of the garlic until it's sort of a lumpy, very thick paste. Add the softened butter and, again using the fork, mix it thoroughly. Set aside for immediate use or, cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate. It'll keep for several days that way.

MAKING THE ROASTED GARLIC BREAD:
Preheat to 375 F. Using a butter knife, spread the softened Roasted Garlic Butter evenly over the tops of the bread sticks. Place them, butter side up on the cookie sheet and bake for about 10 minutes or until they're golden on top.

How am I celebrating Valentine's Day???

2012-02-14T13:17:00.001-05:00

Valentine's Day. It's one of those God awful holidays, isn't it. The only people who benefit fall in to four categories. First, little girls who are "Daddy's little girl". Next up are women who are in a new romance and their beau is still trying to.....how can I put this delicately.... find the right 'road map'. Third, we have women whose significant other not only found the map but knows exactly how to get from point A to point B. Those are kind of my favorite because, as anyone with a GPS can tell you, the path from A to B can, and frequently does, change without warning. Finally, there are the kids in Grade School who are guaranteed to get between 15 and 25 valentine's day cards (dependent on their class size). For everyone else, it's a sure fire way to make you feel somehow inadequate. Either you don't have a significant other or you don't have the money or you lack imagination or you are over the age of ten.

The story I'm about to share will, hopefully, cheer up anyone who thinks Hallmark should stick it where the sun doesn't shine.

If you have read my previous posts, you are aware that I have Platinum status at the local Urologists office because of the kidney stones I create with a freakish frequency (say that ten times fast). Their Annual Fee to maintain Platinum status is a 24-hour Urine Collection which I, genius that I am, decided to do yesterday and today.....I did mention that today is Valentine's Day right? So just keep that in mind as I ramble on about my experience.

For those who don't know how this works, I'll give you an overview. First, you retrieve a large, sterile, brown jug from your Urologist office. Seriously, it's a brown jug. Now, with the history of "The Little Brown Jug", one would be correct in guessing that Urologists have a twisted sense of humor. Can you blame them? Anyway, in case what you are up to isn't obvious enough to the casual observer, the outside of the box containing said jug is cryptically labeled "24 Hour Urine Collection". Next, you pick a 24 hour period when you are going to be at home. Perhaps you can venture out for a quick errand but do NOT push your luck. Trust me, there is nothing worse on "Collection Day" than getting halfway through Grocery Shopping when you realize you have to pee. Not only do you have about a half hour left in the store and groceries to put in and take out of the car but, in my case, there's a relatively bumpy car ride thrown in for good measure. NOT GOOD.

Okay, so you've got your jug, you have picked the 24 hour period and opened the jug to commence with the collection. First, you are accosted with a very strong odor coming from a dry sponge inside the jug. The sponge is treated with chemicals to prevent the pee from going 'bad' before you can get it to the lab. The very final 'donation' has to be the first time you pee the morning after you begin the collection. For example, I started at 8:45 am yesterday and finished at 8:30 this morning. Here's an important part of the process: Once the collection is complete, you must do two things. 1) Shake the jug for "one timed minute". Trust me when I tell you that tightening the lid is imperative. 2) You have to get the jug back to the lab within two hours, otherwise they can not use it and you have to start all over again.

Did I mention that, for a few months now, I've been dealing with a herniated disc in my back? One of the ways I deal with the pain is to limp when I walk. That way, I'm keeping as much weight off my right leg and hip as possible.

Having finished the collection at 8:30 this morning, I was ready to head in to the Lab and drop off the jug by about 9:00. This would have me dropping it off well within the 2-hour time limit. No worries. I start my car and notice the little yellow gas station symbol winking at me. Sure enough, I look over and see the needle is on "E". This is still okay since stopping to get gas is only going to add about ten minutes on to my route. After filling the tank and splurging with both time and money by going in to the store and purchasing a Vitamin Water, I'm still in pretty good shape since it's now 9:30 and I still have an hour to go.

I pull in to the parking lot, troll around for a parking space and find one right near the Lab entrance which is located on the Hospital Campus but in a separate building. Sitting in the parked car, I give the jug and myself a little pep talk that goes something like this 'Okay, everyone is here for their own reason. They're not even going to look twice at you or me. Just act casual. Nobody knows you are a jug full of pee. I could be carrying anything in that box labeled "24 Hour Urine Collection". Act casual.....nobody knows what I'm carrying'.

After stepping out of and locking the car, with an audible 'slosh', I hoist the box up on to my hip and proceed to limp slowly towards the Lab. Once in the building, as I approach the entrance to the Lab, visitors are presented with a standing sign (the kind you might see at a Hotel Conference Center that tells you where your Office Holiday Party is being held). Except this sign reads "PLEASE WAIT HERE WITH YOUR GIANT JUG OF PEE". Alright, it may not say that exactly but it is a big sign which directs you to stand in the hallway that is the Hospital equivalent of Main Street U.S.A..

It's around 10:00. Are you doing the math? I am and, at this point, I'm feeling a little like Dorothy when she's locked away in the Castle staring at that HUGE hourglass). Finally, I'm next in line and a woman behind the counter waves me in. She sees me limping, looks at the box, then at me and I can already tell this is not going to be good.

As I'm hoisting the box from my hip to the counter (slosh) she says "Oh, I hate to do this to you because I can see you're limping...." "Why?" I ask "What's wrong?" She breaks eye contact and tells me that I now have to carry the box to the Hospital's internal Lab which is at the other end of the hospital, four billion miles away. She kept apologizing and I finally interrupted her and said "Look, it's okay, can you just tell me how to get where I need to be?" She proceeded to give me directions to the Information Desk just inside the main entrance to the hospital and said that person would direct me from there. With a resigned sigh and slosh, I hoist the box back on to my hip and turn to leave but I couldn't resist at least saying something so I left with a loud comment for her and everyone in the waiting room; "That's alright, don't you worry about me, I'm just limping through the hospital grounds with my giant jug of pee. Nobody will even notice me.....It's fun". The people in the waiting room giggled and I imagined her suddenly realizing her cruelty. Right now, I thought, she's running to find a wheelchair so that she can wheel me to the Hospital Lab. She'd offer me a cup of coffee and, since it was chilly out, ask me if I wanted a warm blanket. By the time I was halfway to the Information Desk, I'd looked over my shoulder three or four times and resigned myself to the fact that she wasn't coming. What with my limp, the sloshing was starting to sound more like that of a washing machine or an overcrowded pool but I didn't care anymore. I got to the Information Desk, took my down coat off, wiped the sweat from my forehead and asked the nice older gentleman for directions to the Lab. Since I was no longer making any pretenses about what I was transporting, I gave the box I'd placed on the Information Desk a quick shake and said "I have to drop this giant jug of pee off at the Lab, can you tell me where that is?" The man's lip actually curled and he wheeled over, opened a desk drawer and pulled out a container of Lysol wipes. "Down the hall, past the gift shop, Elevator B to the first floor and you can't miss it". I thanked him as, once again, the jug was returned to the upright and hip position.
Slosh, bump, slosh, bump, slosh, bump was the sound you could hear as, head held high, I made my way down the hall.

Finally I got to the lab and the time was approximately 10:15. I dropped off the jug, turned heel and gimped my way back to the elevator, back down the hall, waved to the people in HAZMAT suits who were scrubbing the Information Desk, got back outside and all the way to my car. PHEW! There really isn't much more to the story but, as Valentine's Days go, it doesn't get much better than that, does it?

So if you're finding yourself down in the dumps this Valentine's Day, just count your lucky stars that you don't have a "24 hour urine collection" jug as your dance partner. Also, go get your favorite treat, and watch a good movie. Before you know it, it'll all be over and we'll move on to St. Patrick's Day which is a much more reasonable holiday whose focus is simply drinking green beer and eating a nice Corned Beef & Cabbage dinner.

I love my husband...

2012-02-03T11:13:00.003-05:00

Last night, I looked up from what I was doing to see my husband. He was sitting in his chair, eyes closed and hands together on his chest.
"Honey, why are you praying?" I asked. "I'm not praying" was his answer. After waiting a moment "Honey, what are you doing?"
His answer will come later but, first, you should have some background. We will be married eight years this Spring and have been together for something like 13 or 14 years. Every time I feel like I couldn't possibly love him more, I do. The human heart is amazing that way; or maybe it's just him. He is exceptional in so many ways. He has a caring heart, is protective of those he loves, is an incredibly devoted Dad and Husband, will give you the shirt off his back, takes good care of himself, can find almost any lost item, is passionate about what he loves and is incredibly smart.

It's those last two items that prompted me to share this story.

My husband is a computer geek, and I say that lovingly. He knows databases and how they work inside out, upside down, front, back and any other way you can imagine. He's like the "Wonkavator" of Computer Databases. He is made even more valuable to his employer because once he sets his sights on a problem or issue, he won't let go of it until it's resolved. This can lead to some lengthy work hours but the satisfaction he gets from completing a task is a very fulfilling part of his life. He is also pretty self aware. He will tell you that A) He's a problem solver and B) He's very good at what he does. Both statements are, without exception, absolutely true.

All of that having been said, if there is a problem or issue whose resolution is temporarily eluding him, he can get pretty grumpy. Typically, all that means is that he gets quiet. He will obsess internally until the problem gives way. Even that isn't too bad - seriously, even on my best PMS day, I was grumpier than he is at his very worst.

Now that you've got that information, let's get back to last night, shall we? I had just asked, if he wasn't praying, what was he doing? After a long pause, the answer went like this (I captured it on Facebook last night so I'd be sure to remember it correctly since there's a LOT of technical jargon within) I just ask that you picture me like a toddler who is exhausted but resisting bedtime, and listening to the fifth book s/he has asked Mommy or Daddy to read:

"I'm trying to build a complex algorithm...blah, blah, blah (blink, blink).....problem at work.....blah, blah, blah (maybe if I just close my eyes for a second).......if an exhaustive search for best matches....blah, blah, blah (This chair is soooooo comfy)....and I may have started drooling at that point.......unlikely time stamps will match exactly......blah, blah, (Yes, Of course I told the goats not to swim in the pool)...blah, yada, yada, value,blah, PC, blah...blah, noon, blah, fuzzy matches....." ....blah and...IIIIIIIII.....ammmmmm.....out.

A half hour later, I opened my eyes and he was still going strong. I stood up and, as I passed by, patted his head and said "I love you. I'm goin' to bed". I woke about an hour or so later because I had the unmistakable feeling that I had left something unresolved.......

Where was my husband? Right next to me, snoring peacefully........Great.

If the world was perfect....

2012-02-01T12:13:00.000-05:00

Disclaimer time: Before anyone gives me a hard time about there being so many more important things to worry about, I say this: I'm very aware of what a horrible state the world is in now. Famine, Disease, Natural Disasters; I could go on and on. The reason I write these blogs is to, hopefully, make folks smile or laugh because laughter is one of the best survival tools EVER. So please take what I write with a grain of salt and if, when reading these posts, your cares are eased even slightly - well, that's about as gratifying to me as it gets.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled program.

If the world was a perfect place, following are a few medications that would be in existence without creating any subsequent dependencies.

Emotionalreasonepherine - Take one tablet to relieve hasty decisions, words of regret (including those of anger, arrogance, jealousy or unfairness). Possible side effects are clearer communication, conscience and healthier relationships. Case Studies have proven this to be an effective medication. It does not cause drowsiness, vomiting, diarrhea or heart attacks.

In the absence of the above referenced medication, the following can be taken:

Slapthemsillicodone - Take one tablet 'as needed' for relief of discomfort or anger brought on by one or more of the following: Unspeakable people who commit crimes against children or animals. Politicians, Uncaring, Offensive, Pompous, Unyielding or Idiotic people. When taken, the offending party is immediately dropped through a trap door where they will sit in 'time out', listening to one of the following until they are rendered harmless: Dr. Phil, Oprah Winfrey, Sarah Palin, Rachel Ray or Mike Tyson.

Abusilax - Available only in suppository form, it comes with the well known Actor "The Rock" as an applicator. If you are a living creature (2 legged, 4 legged, finned, etc.) who is being abused verbally, emotionally or physically, simply snap open the blister pack. The Rock will appear with this in his rubber gloved hands and will administer it to the offending party. From that point forward the offending party, when trying to inflict any type of pain on anyone, will only inflict pain on him/herself. This has potential to ease a LOT of troubles in our society. I see less divorces, less prison overcrowding, and most important, less people and animals crying or striking out instead of just enjoying their lives.

Now, maybe you have problems in your life that require a miracle pill promising a miracle cure that doesn't quite fit in the above categories, but that's kind of the point. We've all got different struggles and problems and, usually, we know the solution. The trouble usually comes in the application of said solution. That, my friends, is what the professionals are for. If you present the right professional with a problem and your miracle solution, they may not be able to make it come true but they're trained to show how YOU CAN GET THROUGH IT.

Finally, if all else fails, I've heard some really good things about Voodoo dolls. Just sayin'.

Kids say the funniest things...

2012-01-30T14:57:00.000-05:00

My daughters and stepdaughters have found various ways to make me laugh over the years. Sometimes it's on purpose and sometimes not. Unfortunately for them, the "not" moments are usually the times my husband and I laugh the most. Some people may say it's some sort of 'Parental Sin' to behave in this manner. I prefer to think of it as "Sanity Maintenance" which is a HUGE chapter in "Parenting - 101". Anyway, I have a ton of gems to share but will just start with one. My hope is that they make others chuckle as well and, let's face it, help relieve a little of the guilt I feel about laughing 'at' my kids.

This particular instance took place when we had invited my Father and Brother over to dinner one evening. Our house at the time had an open concept where the Dining Room and Living Room were two distinct sections of a large space. My youngest daughter (who was perhaps seven or eight at the time) wasn't feeling well and, rather than have her infect everyone at the dinner table, I set her up with a comfy spot on the couch in the Living Room. That way, she could still participate in conversation and not feel as isolated as she would have in her bedroom.
In our home and family, there is no subject safe from dinner conversation. We discuss health issues and bodily functions on a regular basis and in great detail. It matters not if you are eating Spaghetti when we decide it's a good time to discuss the dog's roundworm issues. Just as no subject is safe, no species is safe either. On this particular evening, we were discussing the Praying Mantis we had seen in the back yard. We talked about how rare it is to have a sighting and how they're a little creepy if you look at them up close.
To add to the conversation, I said something about their mating rituals being a bit extreme. Somewhere I had heard that the female bites the head off of the male with whom she has just mated. Now, I'm sure there are marriages out there where at least one member of the couple thinks they may have been better off as a Praying Mantis but I would like to state, very thankfully, that is not the case for my husband and me. Moving on...
My youngest daughter had been participating in the conversation but upon hearing that little tidbit, she grew uncharacteristically quiet. Now, I don't know if any of your kids are like this but when this child grows quiet, one of two things is happening. One - she has fallen asleep or Two - she's processing. I like to think that it's because I'm her Mom that I can actually feel it when she's considering a bit of information. I love that feeling because I also know that a pointed and relevant question is forthcoming. This is not something I outwardly acknowledge when it happens because the question may come then, or it may show up six months later but make no mistake, it comes without fail.
She hadn't been quiet for very long after discussing the Praying Mantis and it's mating habits when the question came...... "What if they're Lesbians?"
Now, I'm sure there are parents out there who would take the high road and just answer the question as best they could. Maybe something along the lines of Lesbians being technically unable to reproduce. Well, I'm not one of those parents and neither is my husband. Don't get me wrong, we get back around to answering questions eventually but, in our home, humor comes first and I wouldn't change that for anything!
So what did we do? We laughed. We laughed loud and long. My Dad had taken his glasses off, wheezing to catch his breath while he wiped the tears from his eyes. My husband, quite literally, fell on the floor while I had to make a mad dash to the bathroom or I'd have peed my pants.
No doubt about it, dinner time at our house is scary territory if you don't have a good sense of humor!

Perhaps, tonight, I'll poll the family to see what their favorite funny moments have been and I'll be back with another story. Here's hoping you enjoyed this one!

Medical Lessons Learned, Continued

2012-01-29T11:45:00.000-05:00

Lesson Three - Modesty has no place in the Doctor's Office.

Doctors have plenty of tools at their disposal to determine the severity of a patient's condition. Everything from X-Rays and Lab Tests right down to the thermometer and blood pressure cuff. Well, I'm here to tell you that, for American women between the ages of 16 and 35, they have another gauge to use and I like to call it "Leg Hair Status". It's easy. Are the legs and armpits newly shaved? If yes, the patient is not doing too badly. If no, they should prepare for the worst. One day's worth of growth falls somewhere in between the two. And, yes, I'm speaking from experience.

It wasn't until two or three years ago, while dealing with a malady that required me to see the Doctor and climb in to the stirrups, that I learned a very important lesson. Those stirrups are something else aren't they? When not in use, they're tucked away, inside the exam table, with just the very ends visible to the patient. It's as though they're mocking you, saying "Not this time, but don't ever forget that I'm here....maybe not tomorrow, maybe not for a year, but one of these times you will be required to use me....".

When they ARE in the open and ready position, they speak volumes and are frightening in their mere presence. The worst is that Doctor's offices feel it's important to humanize them by slipping a pair of cheerful, fuzzy socks over them. To me, this makes them that much more frightening; like something out of a Stephen King novel.

You may think I'm digressing once again but you would be wrong. For it was here, in the world's most vulnerable position that my Doctor taught me a lesson that made me laugh out loud.

For reasons to do with my malady, I had not shaved my legs in ages and I had been dreading this moment more and more as the visit grew close. So I'm lying there, alone in the exam room, staring up at the mobile hanging from the ceiling. It's a mobile I have stared at more times than I can count but, to this day I can not tell you what kind of mobile it is. That should tell you something about just how traumatizing this sequence of events can be to a woman.

My Doctor entered the room, walked over near my head and patted me on the shoulder.

"So, you're not doing too well, huh?"

"No" I answered as the tears started to stream down my face. My Doctor has that gift. The gift to make you feel understood. The gift of sympathy or empathy. The gift of validation. Only, at this point, I wasn't crying because of what was going on physically, I was just mortified that I had hairy legs. So, as she made her way back around the table to her tray of tools, I couldn't stay quiet any more. "I haven't shaved my legs in ages" I blurted out. "I'm sorry but my legs are really hairy".

It was here that my Doctor made every single copay I'd ever paid, and every single blood draw and lab test worthwhile. With her next words, I understood why Doctors, good Doctors, get paid so damned much money. She looked at me, smiled kindly and said "Oh, don't worry. It's not like this is a date". I burst out laughing, tears still streaming and got through the appointment in tact.

Since that day, for the most part, I've stopped worrying about what I look like when I go to the Doctor. Honestly, short of offending them with an odor, I'm sure Doctors could care less and have seen much worse. There is a time and place for modesty, and it is not at the Doctor's office. That's the place you should focus on higher priorities.....such as inventing another solution to replace those stirrups and their fuzzy socks.

Medical Lessons Learned.....

2012-01-28T13:35:00.000-05:00

Given the fact that, over the past five years, I'm averaging 1.3 Surgeries per year, you had to know I'd make my way back around to that subject sooner or later. What I have decided to do is provide some of the medical lessons I've learned throughout my life. At the very least, I hope you find them amusing. After all, laughter is the best medicine....unless you've got a broken rib or something like that. In those cases, laughter just sucks.

Now, I will put a disclaimer in right here and now. I am NOT a Doctor, Nurse, Medical Assistant, Lab or X-Ray Technician or any other medical professional. These "Lessons" come from my own experiences as a patient and nothing more. Take or leave them for what they're worth!

Lesson One - If you think something is horribly wrong, chances are you are probably perfectly fine.

During my lifetime, I have watched five close relatives die from one form of Cancer or another. You might say my cards are marked. This has provided me with a general sense of dread whenever I have a Doctor Appointment. Once, I went to the ER because I had been having some pretty severe stomach pain for a week or so and, given my family history, was convinced it was the big C. I was ready for the worst when, after a set of X-Rays, the Doctor came back in and informed me that I was full of.....well....poop. Said he'd never seen someone so jam packed with it. He asked some general questions and determined I just needed a LOT of water and and a healthy dose (or ten) of Miralax. As I thought back on the previous week, I supposed I should have guessed the diagnosis for a number of reasons not the least of which was an obvious lack of reason number two...

Lesson Two - If your Doctor or Nurse is having a bad day, and as they are human it happens, you should turn heel and run as fast as you can.

Two weeks after my first surgery to remove a Kidney Stone, I returned to the Urologist to have a Stent removed. I should have known something was up when I got called in from the waiting room by Nurse Cratchett but I was inexperienced so I followed her and her specimen cup back in to the office where she stood by the bathroom and said "I suppose you know what to do with this?". Thinking she was making a joke, I chuckled and made some smart aleck comment back. Not only did she not crack a smile or acknowledge I'd said anything, she just opened the bathroom door and held the cup out. Yup, I should have known right then and there that I did not want this person going anywhere near the Stent currently residing in my Ureter. Ahhh, to be so naive and carefree. I miss those days....
Okay, so I'd done what was needed in the bathroom and moved in to the actual office. Nurse Cratchett came in and, waving a folded up sheet in the general direction of an exam table, said "Remove everything from the waist down, have a seat there, cover up with this and I'll be right back in".
"Ummm.....okay then" I said to the closed door "I'll just wait here." Where the hell was Jack Nicholson when I needed him?
What felt like a week later, she came back in to the room with a stainless steel tray draped with paper and she was wearing rubber gloves. Two things occurred to me here. First, it's never a good sign when they don't let you actually see what's on that tray and, Second, I will go to the grave swearing that she now had a gleam in her eye and was wearing something that closely resembled a smile.
"Is this going to hurt?" I asked nervously. "Oh no," she said "It'll be a little uncomfortable but that's it". Oh boy...
The procedure itself was over in about eight seconds flat but in those eight seconds, not only did I see my life flash before my eyes but I saw it with such clarity that I could tell you what my Kindergarten teacher wore on MY first day of school. I screamed, said a very bad word and immediately began to sob. As she snapped off her rubber gloves, Cratchett said something to the effect of 'It's all over now, you'll be fine' as I curled in to the fetal position and sobbed "A LITTLE UNCOMFORTABLE?!?!?!?!"
Two or three days later, I was still having horrible pain and knew I had a fever so I went back to the Urologist office where I sat in the waiting room for TWO HOURS while my Doctor was in surgery. My favorite nurse there (Cratchett was nowhere to be seen at this point, thank God), came out to the waiting room to tell me that the Doctor would be delayed a little longer but, after taking one look at me, she rushed me in back, gave me warm towels, took my vitals and left the room. She reappeared minutes later with a wheelchair and my Doctor who informed me they would be checking me in to the hospital then and there. As it turned out, I had a very scary infection accompanied by an equally scary fever. There are only two things I recall from that moment to the moment I woke up after surgery. One - as we were leaving the office, I looked up from the wheelchair to see Nurse Cratchett looking down at me in horror. "I'm so sorry" she said. While I have no idea if I actually responded, I'm sure you can imagine what I would like to have said. Two - I remember there was construction going on at the hospital at the time and it took the Doctor and my fav Nurse to wheel me through the manufactured, outdoor walkway maze that wound from their office to the Emergency Room.
So, with probably more detail than you needed to know, I learned that oh-so-important lesson number two: If your Doctor or Nurse is having a bad day, and as they are human it does happen, you should turn heel and run as fast as you can.

Hopefully, you've enjoyed this little foray in to the fun and excitement of my life. Next time, perhaps we'll discuss Lessons three and four...

The lines are becoming a bit blurred.....

2012-01-26T13:11:00.000-05:00

There are areas of all of our lives where lines which, while once very distinct, have blurred, faded or perhaps even shifted a bit. Since I can't think of a part of my life in which this has not happened, I'll share a few just to see if the resonate with anyone else.

There are the obvious lines such as Health. While I have worn glasses since I was about eight years old, I never had a problem seeing to read. At 25 or even 35, the words in books and newspapers were clear and crisp and I enjoyed not having to wear my glasses for such a wonderful and important part of my life. Let's click Fast Forward 10 years and see where we land....

Now I have two choices when it comes to reading: One, remove my glasses and hold the book, or iPad in some cases, right up to my face so that I can see the words clearly. Two, I can leave my glasses on but hold my iPad at an arm's length and hope I get most of what I'm reading right.

The worst of it, to me, is reading a label for ingredients. My husband has an allergy to a certain type of preservative which is used commonly in a variety of foods. Since, until very recently, I did all of the grocery shopping and cooking, it was, and is, important that I be able to check an ingredient label prior to purchasing or cooking certain items. For the better part of 20 years, Grocery shopping was one of the household duties I took great pride in and I had it down to a science. One of the keys to that science is NOT bringing anyone with me when I shop, but that's another story. Anyway, I could make it from my door, to the Grocery store, complete the shopping and pull back in the driveway in an hour and a half. Now, given the extra steps needed to actually read a label, it takes much more time. Horrifyingly enough, I have turned in to one of those people who stops every few feet, product in hand, glasses slid to the end of my nose, completely oblivious to the world around me while I read labels. It doesn't sound that bad but when you realize that world just happens to include a backup of about seven shopping carts in whatever aisle you've taken up residence, it starts to make you wonder if you've crossed some sort of line in life.

Being a "Cool" Mom. Those lines are getting blurrier by the second. I have a daughter in college and one in Junior High who I, of course, stalk on Facebook. Sometimes I even write a message or respond to one of the posts between each girl and her friends. I even do that to my Stepdaughters, poor things, and they're both in High School.
At the time I'm doing it, I think it's a small way for me to remain close with my daughter(s) as she makes her way to adulthood. Once I'm done and hit "Enter", it takes a few seconds but I almost feel embarrassed. How can I explain - remember what it was like to "drunk dial" someone? Don't say you haven't, we all have.....haven't we? Anyway, while it seems like a perfectly good idea at the time (in fact at times it's the best idea you ever had), when you wake up the next morning, reality kicks in.....right between the eyes where that headache is pounding what feels like drums of war. Oh, you may have a few seconds of blissful ignorance as you attempt to run your tongue over your teeth where it simply adheres because all saliva has been rerouted to the "Vomit Waiting Area". Once those few seconds pass, you remember what you've done and determine it was not a nightmare, there is regret. That's kind of like the regret I feel after one of those Facebook posts. The kids are very nice and are happy to have the odd comment exchange here and there but that's where the line gets blurry. It's starting to become difficult to see the line between 'My Mom is so great' and 'How do you restrict someone from your Facebook account?'

There are also less obvious lines that begin to blur in your forties such as clothing. At 45, which department do I shop in for clothes that don't make me A) look like my Grandmother or B) look like a mid-life crisis and car crash hybrid? When I was 35, I could still shop in the "Misses" departments and be comfortable in what I was wearing. I didn't feel like I had to head over to "Womens" to pick something up that would make me look like an Alfred Dunner model. There were limitations, of course but I consoled myself that, even at age 20, I wouldn't have paid for or worn a shirt that had literally been cut to shreds. Seriously, what is the point of those shirts? If you buy one, you just have to buy another to wear under the one that is missing half of it's original fabric. What does it all mean?
Also, I do a lot of shopping online where clothing sizes vary from company to company. I try to use the size charts but about five years ago I stopped looking at the waist as a point of measure. If I can get hips and chest right, I'm in pretty good shape. Gone are the days when my waist was significantly smaller than my hips. The days where my top half was a size 10 and my bottom half a size 4 or 6. Those were the good old days - back when I was one of those obnoxious people who took two bathing suits to try on in stores. I would bring two bikinis in to the dressing room where I would methodically mix and match the size 10 top to the size 4 bottom. I used to feel bad about it for a minute or two but now I look back on those days with a strange envy. It's one of those 'I wish I knew then what I know now' moments. I mean, those numbers look pretty impressive to me now but maybe I'm just not seeing them clearly......does that line look blurry to you?

Jackson, Mississippi - Who'd Have Thunk It - Part 2....

2012-01-25T19:17:00.000-05:00

The end of March and/or beginning of April are a fantastic time to be in Mississippi as far as the weather is concerned. It's not too hot or muggy, flowers are blooming, days are longer, etc., etc.. The perfect time to plan a visit from up North where things are still cold and there's probably even snow still on the ground.

What with settling in to the hotel and the travel debacle of the day before, I was too wound up to sleep and am guessing I got about an hour or so of shut-eye. Anyone who knows me understands that this is NOT a good thing. I wouldn't say that I'm purposefully mean or crabby but there's a sort of 'aura' around me. How can I describe it......hmmm....Okay, I've got it. Are you familiar with the movie "Jaws" starring Richard Dreyfus? Do you recall hearing the music as the shark would approach its next victim? Do you remember how that music made you feel? That's my aura when I'm operating on little or no sleep. So, not only did I have the 'first day jitters' but I had my psycho tired brain to deal with as well...this just didn't bode well for anyone.

My savior (who is one of the nicest people on the planet, by the way) and I walked out to her rental car, which I can still remember. It was a gold Ford Taurus sedan and it was brand spanking new. The odometer read "8" and it was just oozing that new car smell. It's funny the things you remember...

Anyway, we arrived at the office where she brought me to the appropriate folks and headed off to do her own thing. The amount of information thrown at me that morning was staggering and, what with my aura, I knew enough to take copious notes and was doing just fine. The trouble started when I had to use the ladies room (If I had a dime for every time I've said THAT....). Oh, it probably sounds harmless enough just laid out like that but, somehow, I found a way to be traumatized....

Perhaps I've led a sheltered life or perhaps, until that moment, I'd just been lucky but, until then, I had never heard someone have a cell phone conversation while using the facilities.

It started off much the same way as any office bathroom visit. I walked in, chose a stall, checked for TP availability as well as the cleanliness and stability of the seat. Next I locked the door, perched precariously and went about my business. It is worth noting here that men are fascinated by the "perch" or "hover" as some refer to it. Aside from ensuring that you grab the appropriate amount of TP PRIOR to perching, there's really nothing to it. Since, however, men can't seem fathom how women do it, it's one of the few things, aside from giving birth to a child, that make me feel superior.

Okay, so back to Jackson; I was in the ladies room and, not only was there a woman in the next stall (which is nerve wracking enough - really, I'm not a shoe cobbler. I don't want to be able to count the stitches on someone else's shoe or, given the venue, see something far worse), but seconds after I perched, she started talking in a normal, conversational manner:

Adjacent Stall Occupant (ASO): "Hey, how you doin'?".........

Now, at this point, I'm thinking that I should have paid attention to all of the talk about how warm and welcoming Southern folks can be. While it's uncomfortable for me, being a New Englander, I start to respond and it takes a few more questions before I realize that she is on the phone....in the bathroom.

Don't get me wrong, I have friends and have had many phone conversations with these friends. While out at a restaurant or bar, I've even gone to the ladies room at the same time as them. There is only one friend, however, who I will 'take to the bathroom' with me while we talk on the phone. I always warn her before I head in...

"Hey, just so you know, you're coming to the bathroom with me". Of course, I'll still mute the phone if I have enough warning that an unmistakable noise is about to happen. Seriously, what happens in the bathroom should stay in the bathroom. This business of cell phone conversations while in the bathroom made absolutely no sense to me but hey, I was in Mississippi, maybe it was just part of the culture there. For the record, there has only been one time since then where I observed that same behavior and it was in New Jersey so I'm not sure if it counts.

Just before noon, my savior appeared and asked if I was hungry and did I like Bar-B-Q. As the answer to both questions was 'Yes', we drove out to a little hole-in-the-wall place that came highly recommended by some of the local folks from the office. 'Good Southern food' they'd said. It was located on a gravel road that sloped down on either side forming two identical ditches. What was serving as a parking lot looked more like someone had just widened the road on both sides to indicate that cars could park there if they felt like stopping just then. There were two faded picnic tables in one corner of the parking lot, under the shade of a tree.

We went inside and ordered lunch, just listed as "BBQ" on the chalkboard, and brought it back out to the picnic tables. Once I sat down, I examined the contents of my Chinet plate. There was definitely BBQ pork on a roll as well as some Cole Slaw and a pickle but there was also a little puddle of something white-ish. The puddle had a pat of butter on top. Trying not to make myself look any more out of place, rather than ask, I opted to wait and see what my savior did with her puddle. She caught me looking, smiled and said something like 'Haven't you ever seen Grits?' Since she was also from north of the Mason Dixon lined, I wondered if this was some sort of trick question. "Well, yeah, but not in person". She chuckled, salt and peppered hers and said "They're good when they're cooked right. Sort of like Cream of Wheat". CREAM OF WHEAT??? But that's a breakfast food. Oh God, first the cell phone in the bathroom and now Cream of Wheat for lunch? 'What's next?' I wondered. Well, you know the saying "Be careful what you ask"?

As it turned out, those Grits must have been cooked right because I truly enjoyed them along with the rest of the food. We chit chatted, trying to get to know each other since we'd be working together quite a bit. It was just a lovely lunch and I was in a much improved mood as we got back in to the rental car to head for the office. We were still chatting when my savior put the car in reverse and started to back up.....and up....and up. Right out of the parking lot and part way in to the roadside ditch. It wasn't a long way down, nor was it even remotely dangerous and neither of us was hurt. The problem, it seemed, was that she had backed that brand new Taurus over a sort of big bump on the embankment where the frame of the car now rested. Both the front and back tires were in the air. Just barely in the air but that was enough. We got out of the car to take a look and I just started to laugh. Ya know, when you're tired and giddy and something just strikes you so funny that you can't stop laughing? Yeah, that was me along with everyone else who it seemed, until that moment, was in the restaurant. Whether they watched it happen or heard it, they all came out to look. Even the Cook came out to take a gander.

Well, there was absolutely nothing we could do on our own and as I started to look around for someone who might be able to help, there was a truck I hadn't noticed before. A truck with the Union Jack flying from it and a gun rack in it. At the same time I was noticing this, a man started to make his way from the crowd gathered in the parking lot over to said truck. A man wearing overalls and a baseball cap. It wasn't exactly how I'd envisioned it but it was close enough to make a cold shiver run down my spine. 'Think of the lady in the bathroom' I thought. 'Southerners are a warm and friendly people.....Oh God, does anyone else hear those banjos?' This thought process seemed to go on forever but it couldn't have been more than 15 or 20 seconds when I snapped out of it. The man started up the truck and maneuvered it over to the embankment where he tied one end of a rope to the back end of the truck and the other to the front of the Taurus. He climbed back in, put it in drive and tried to pull the car out but it was no good. Each time he'd try to move forward, the back tires of the truck would just spin. Even I could see it needed more weight in the back; so the cook and a couple of other guys hopped in the truck bed to weigh it down and that still wasn't enough.

You will likely find this as hard to believe as I did when it happened but I swear to God that this is true.

They asked me to jump in to the truck bed to help weigh it down. In heels. Wearing a brand new suit I bought special for my first day with the new company. Aside from the logistics, there were so many reasons that this terrified me, a woman in her 30's, not the least of which was that the damned plan worked. No, prior to that, several thoughts crossed my mind. Thoughts like 'Are they just going to get me in the back of the truck and take off?' and 'Would my savior follow in hot pursuit or would she just wash her hands of me and think that I deserved it for waking her up at 2:30 that morning? and finally, 'Why did I leave my cell phone in my purse.....which is in the Taurus?'

Maybe, if I took my phone with me everywhere I go (like that ASO from the bathroom), I'd have it on me and could actually dial 911 but, even if I did, what would I tell them?
'Hi, I'm being kidnapped by a man wearing overalls and a baseball cap and I'm in the back of a dark blue pickup truck' to which the Operator would giggle and reply:
'Do you know the make of the truck?'
'Well, no'
'Do you know the license plate number?'
'Not without climbing out of the moving truck to look'
'Can you tell me anything about the truck?'
'Yes. It's flying the Union Jack.' Upon hearing this, the Operator would likely pause, there'd be more giggling, and she'd say something like 'You talk kinda funny, you're not from around here, are you...?' and that would be the end of me.

Well, the 911 call never happened because, as mentioned previously, I apparently weighed enough to make the difference and the truck stopped immediately after successfully hauling the 8-mile-old Taurus out of the ditch. I climbed down out of the truck in my heels, dusting my suit off as I made my way back to the car. When I looked up toward the car, I saw my savior in the driver's seat with her head resting on the steering wheel. 'Oh God' I thought, 'She's really shaken up by all of this and must feel terrible about it happening on my very first day with the company'. I got in and looked over, prepared to console her and that's when I noticed that she was not distraught, nor was she crying or feeling bad at all. She was laughing. Laughing so hard, she wasn't making any noise at all. When she looked back at me, the tears were streaming down her face and she simply could not stop laughing. Well, I'm sure you know that laughter is a wonderfully contagious condition so the two of us spent the return trip to the office laughing, saying how we couldn't wait to share the story and that it had to rank right up there as one of the weirdest 'First Day with the Company' stories ever.

Jackson, Mississippi - Who'd Have Thunk It.....

2012-01-18T14:37:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time, there was a woman who was starting a new job at a new company (Guess who?). I had just left a secure position (of five years) with a small, local company, that provided moderate pay and great benefits. While the new position and company provided an extremely healthy increase in pay, moderate benefits and a management position, it all hinged on a project that had been bid, but not yet won by the new, much larger Company. Nobody can ever say I didn't take the occasional risk.

If you have ever worked for a large company, you know that their rolls of 'Red Tape' are so big that they are stored in Warehouses. Once 'hired', actually getting in the door requires countless phone calls with faceless representatives of various facets of the company. There's Security for a background check, Technology to get the appropriate equipment up and running for your first day, Payroll, Benefits and, of course your friendly HR Rep. I'm sure there are others I have left out and hope they will accept my heartfelt apology in advance.

Where was I? Ah yes, the phone calls. On one of these calls, I learned that my very first day with this company would take place in Jackson, Mississippi at an office similar to the project I was bid on. I was speechless.....after all, I was born and raised in New England. The only trip 'South' I'd ever taken outside of Disneyworld was to Louisiana once...in July. Hotter than a snake's ass in a wagon rut and so humid I don't think my sweat ever knew if it was on the inside or outside of my body. Anyway, it's just as well I was speechless because I was referred to "Travel" where I would work with someone to make my flight and hotel reservations.

Before speaking with "Travel", I decided to go to the map.....O...M...G.....Jackson Mississippi is EIGHT. BILLION. MILES. AWAY. Aren't there a lot of swamps there? People who wear nothing but overalls and straw hats? Don't they have Red Clay Roads? Banjo music? People who fly the Union Jack from their truck antenna and hate Northerners? Of course, it wasn't reasonable for me to worry about any of these things. Yeah, "reasonable" had suddenly been in touch with "Travel" and booked a flight to Moscow.

Fast forward a bit to my big trip to Jackson. Initially, I was slated to arrive around 6:00 pm but, of course, my second flight got delayed. Alot. I landed somewhere between 11 pm and midnight to find there was a problem with my rental car. A problem as in, I couldn't get one because of a mix up with "Travel". It was about this time I was convinced a single look from me could sear holes in objects and people so I decided to head to the ladies room, splash some cold water on my face and regroup. HOLY CRAP! They have "Sharps" containers in the bathrooms!!! Even in the "Family Station" (yes, I checked). Let's do an inventory, shall we? I am a smallish woman, alone, no weaponry aside from my eyes and a rolling carry on suitcase in Jackson Mississippi at midnight. I can't get a rental car and have only one person's name from the office where I will be heading in about 7 hours.

GREAT! There are probably drug addicts lurking around, (carrying around babies in need of a diaper change) who are just looking for someone like me. Okay, Pam. Calm down. Deep breaths....breathe iiiiinnnnn pink.........and out bluuuuuue...... Alright, find a phone, call the hotel and ask for this one person whose name you have.

Pam: Hi, could I please speak to Jane Doe (see how I'm protecting her identity?)
Hotel Chick: What room number is she at?
Pam: Oh, I don't know.
Hotel Chick: Ah'm sorry Ma'am but Ah cain't connect you if you don't have her room number.

(Insert here, the noise of something snapping)

Pam: Alright. I have been in and out of airports all day. Tomorrow, I mean today, is my first day with a new company; my flights were delayed; they didn't have a rental car for me; I don't know a soul and, for God sake, I'm from New Hampshire. I. Need. To. Talk. To. Jane. Doe. Now...................Please.
Hotel Chick: Well, Ah'll trah her room and ask if it's okay to put you through.
Pam(through gritted teeth): That would be lovely. Thank you.

As you can imagine, Jane Doe accepted the call, ordered a taxi and I arrived at the hotel around 2:30 am. Now I had, roughly, 4 1/2 hours to get settled in, sleep, shower and get ready, have breakfast, and get to work. As I fell on the bed, I recall having clear visions of "Reasonable" with a furry hat and bad teeth, laughing it's ass off in a Russian accent while drinking really expensive vodka that was being charged to my hotel room.

To Be Continued with "My First Day, what else can go wrong".........

What if we won Megabucks...

2011-04-02T08:52:00.000-04:00

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to win Megabucks? Actually dreamed and planned of what you would do with all of that money? It's a game we play, on occasion, at our house. It usually follows a rough day at work or at school. Typically, it starts out very noble and rational but quickly devolves in to infectious silliness. Either way, it's better than a board game and most of us can't resist joining in eventually.
For example, the other night we had just such a conversation. It, of course, started out with things like making sure everyone in the family is taken care of financially. Next up were the luxury items - a house in Hawaii, a private plane, an outdoor jacuzzi that seats 20 people, a Canine Rescue Preserve and the old standby of investing in land. My personal favorite from one of my kids that night went like this:
"We should buy the Lays company" she said, completely serious. The rest of us eyed each other warily. "What did you say?" we asked.
"We should buy the Lays company". Again, we glance at each other as I proceeded with caution...
"Do you mean you want to buy the Lays potato chip company?"
"Yeah" she said and I waited for a beat or two because I am reaching the age where, sometimes, things just don't make sense when they first hit the gray matter.......nope, nothing.
Okay, I'll try "Why?" for 500 Alex...
"I'm serious. Have you ever noticed how they always sell out of those things every day? We could make a MINT!"
Now, this was one of those parental moments where I could take the high road or the low road. The high road, of course, is to help cultivate the idea of investing money, rather than just spending it. The low road, on the other hand, was to blow it apart like one of those green pigs on the Angry Birds game.
Angry Birds Piggies Why T-Shirt Size : Large
I'd like you to consider, for a moment, which path I took...
And here we go:
'Oh my God! We could totally use the chips to feed the dogs at the rescue preserve!! Dogs like chips, right? And if we invest in land, we should plant potatoes on it so we don't have to buy any potatoes! THIS IS GONNA BE GREAT! Not only will our family have lots of money, they'll also have plenty of chips and never be subject to a Lays potato chip drought again!!'
Does that make me a bad parent? I don't think so. I think it makes my kids 'well rounded'. Unfortunately, my kids tend to disagree and, by this time, not only had I received the 'death glare' but everyone else had left the room and I was left talking to do the dogs who wanted to hear more about getting potato chips added to their diet.
Well, we haven't yet won Megabucks but when we do, there are going to be a LOT of happy dogs in our corner of the world.