Try to Stay Focused

It is so easy to lose focus during the Christmas season. I need to keep running to-do lists for each party, each food, each store, so that everything is done on time and well. I don't expect perfection, but do hope for the minimum of disasters, and try not to get aggravated when spouse maintains a normal even disposition despite the chaos within my head.

Just try to pay attention when you're doing the laundry by checking all pockets or you will realize that the 10 hour Molten Caramel lipstick by L'Oreal lasts far longer than 10 hours when the tube has gone through the washer and dryer painting everything in its path in a lovely shade of sparkly caramel. Half a bottle of Oxy Clean spray and two additional hot washes/warm rinses and spins in the dryer were surprisingly ineffectual.

For the past few years, spouse and I have not exchanged Christmas gifts, as we shop as we go through the year. This year we will be opening gifts en famille at daughter and her spouse's house, and I thought it would be nice if spouse and I had something from each other to open. Expecting spouse to trudge through store after store scratching his head, searching for the perfect gift for me seemed like cruel and unusual punishment, and not in the right spirit of the season. I suggested to spouse that we buy our own gifts, and then act surprised when we open them in front of the kids. Spouse was game. He wondered how much he should spend. I told him to buy whatever he wanted, since he was paying for it. (This was where I went wrong.) I said I was thinking of getting pajamas, and maybe a sweater. This is another example of why you need to pay attention when making a plan, because not all people think the same way. Spouse and I have always had communication issues but I forgot this in all the excitement of Christmas. I got myself those pajamas and that sweater, and I will wrap them up and put them under the tree. Spouse got himself a gift, too, but it's not going to fit under any Christmas tree. And while I am the only one that will fit into my pajamas and sweater, six people plus a baby's car seat will fit into spouse's gift to himself.

Do not get distracted by the holly jolliness of it all and be careful of what you say and what you do.

Adventures in Plumbing

Spouse and I have slowly been updating the homestead. Spouse is a whiz with carpentry, electrical, plumbing, and other things that need to be done around the house. This has saved us time and money, and also provided instant gratification. Over the years, he has finished off an upstairs, tiled multiple floors, installed toilets, sinks, and showers, painted and wallpapered, wainscoted, plastered, trimmed, and assembled toys from Santa on Christmas Eve.

This weekend we decided to replace the 26 year old dual control kitchen faucet with a single control. Spouse has set our water temperature to the hottest possible so that at 5:00 am on a freezing cold winter morning I can still have a hot shower. Spouse and I have developed a knack for avoiding being burned when using the sinks, but others have not been so lucky. So the trip to the plumbing aisle was really a mission of mercy. We chose our favorite, a Moen, and headed home. Coupled with a trip to the dump that morning, that was enough excitement for the day, and we decided to start on the project first thing the next morning.

While I emptied the cabinet of cleaning supplies and 87 dish towels, spouse gathered the tools and checked the parts against the list in the box. There was one extra part, but we figured its intended location would become clear as the operation progressed. Under the sink spouse went, and started doing his plumbing thing. He removed the old faucet and squirty hose, which was easier than it could have been since he pretreated with WD-40. I think WD must stand for Wonder Drug. The old hardware went into the trash, and spouse was ready to install the new satin-finish single control.

Spouse gave me my assignment, "hold it straight", and the talking part of him disappeared under the sink. I can do this, I told myself. I gripped the base of the faucet and prepared to hold on NO MATTER WHAT. It soon became evident that plumber's assistants should not use hand cream minutes before they start a job involving stainless steel. The faucet was turning in my hands, not staying put as ordered, and I braced myself for some serious man-talk from under the sink. Worse yet, I realized that the faucet actually had four moving parts. Was I supposed to hold all four parts at the same time? I know my hands are good sized, but I didn't think they were up for the job, particularly in their current supple and smooth state. "Hold it straight" didn't quite address the situation I was up against, but when a man is plumbing, an assistant is hesitant to disturb him with silly questions. So I didn't. It might have saved us some time if I had, but spilled milk and all that...

Spouse got that beautiful faucet installed and in working order in about an hour and a half without breaking a sweat. Days later there are still no leaks. The man knows how to plumb. But I think I'm going to retire as a plumber's assistant. It's time to move on to something else, like chopping firewood or building a stone wall. And I'm skipping the hand cream until AFTER we're done.

Halloween Humbug

Halloween is one of the best holidays for kids. I enjoyed traipsing through the dark, tripping and falling over random items in yards or the roadway, with my siblings and friends, and once we reached 6th grade we were allowed to go to Brady Hill where mountainous piles of candy, especially the coveted full-sized candy cars, awaited all those hearty enough to scale its steep hill. It was the biggest neighborhood around, with dozens, maybe hundreds, of houses filled with candy and more candy. In my family we retired from trick-or-treating after Grade 6, but we all made that last year count. Back in the '60s injuring children for kicks by tampering with their candy had not yet been invented, so all systems were go, and we enjoyed many treats on the fly. One of my younger sisters who shall remain nameless was not as sugar-crazed as I, and would ration her candy so severely that it would last until Easter. I still remember slowly opening her chimney cupboard in the bedroom we shared to steal look at her candy bars, always amazed that she hadn't finished them yet. Those were good times.

Fast forward 25 years to the trick-or-treat careers of my own children. I would stay home and dole out the fun size candy to the neighborhood kids, and spouse would take our kids out. They would get half-way down the street before exhaustion set in. Spouse would end up carrying one or both of them. Long driveways were judged not worthy of the trek. By now Halloween candy had to be checked carefully before consumption, and could also be xrayed at the fire station. The children would arrive home and get a burst of energy as they came up the driveway, and once inside, the candy would all be dumped on the (orange and quite ugly) living room rug (it was the '70s...). Even a not yet two year old knew the drill. Dumping the candy was beneficial to all parties. The kids were astounded at all the candy that was before them, imagining eating every bit of it. Spouse and I took the opportunity to examine wrappers and toss anything suspicious, while simultaneously checking inventory of what we wanted for ourselves. Those were good times.

Fast forward another 25 years; okay, 30 years. The kids are now married, living far and even farther away. Our sweet little grandson is too little for trick-or-treating. Can't start working on the Halloween tooth decay process until there are actually teeth. So it's just spouse and me and the cat. The cat hates the doorbell and strangers stomping on the porch. And really, we do have to be kind to our animals. This year spouse and I chose the Halloween candy together. If left alone, I will buy awful non-chocolate candy, like jolly ranchers and fruity flavored candy that is easy (for me) to pass up, but appeals to kids. I know because I see them eat it up like, well, candy, in the office where I work. Anyway, this year we got Milky Way, Three Musketeers, Butterfinger, Twix, and M&Ms, all fun sizes. We got approximately 120 pieces of candy, and as we had over 110 tricksters last year, I hoped we would have enough.

Halloween night arrived, and it was dark by 6:00. This is when my "experiment" began to take shape. I peeked through the curtains and noted the houses with outside lights on; basically everyone but us. Okay, I thought, why rush into this? Let's pull the shades in the front rooms, continue watching the "Murder She Wrote" marathon, and see what happens. As soon as an intrepid child ventured to the front door and rang the bell, I would leap into action, turning on all the outside lights, whipping open the front door, and graciously dole out candy with as genuine a smile as I could force. I know how much little children look forward to getting into costumes and getting candy, and I enjoy seeing the little ones who can't yet enunciate "Trick or Treat". The things I do not enjoy about Halloween are the children who are six feet tall, possibly old enough to drive, the hay wagon that makes its appearance every year in our neighborhood carrying dozens of children, the giant SUVs that slowly cruise the neighborhood dropping the kids periodically to run up driveways, and what I especially don't like to see are kids coming from two towns away, as evidenced by the names on their football jerseys. We don't have 120 kids in this neighborhood, yet 120 kids appear once a year to terrorize the cat and make me very crabby. Back to the experiment... I was ready for the kids, the candy was in the bowl, all sorted nicely. No one rang the doorbell all night (okay, from 6:00 - 7:30 when it's pretty much over in this burg). I sat with the cat giving spouse period updates on the traffic in the neighborhood. The cat kept looking toward the front door. She knowwws what a bowl full of chocolate candy on a table pulled into the front hall means.

If it was Christmas, I would be a Scrooge.

You'll have to excuse me now. There is a bowl of delicious candy calling my name. "Humbug! Oh, Humbug!"

I Do and I Do, Too

I am beyond fortunate to have two amazingly fantabulous daughters. One looks like a supermodel and one a fairy princess. Our supermodel married her soul mate several years ago, and they have hatched a perfectly wonderfully perfect grandson for spouse and me. Our fairy princess became engaged a year ago, and has just married her soul mate at a destination wedding. Could it have been more wonderful? Not in any way, shape, or form.

The wedding weekend began with spouse and me packing up the car with everything we might need for five days of non-stop fun. Thanks to weather.com, we knew it was going to rain for the next five days, possibly even indoors. We bought golf umbrellas that coordinated with the bridesmaids’ gowns and the men’s tuxes in case there were outside wedding photos in the pouring rain. I decided not to think about how the ten people in the bridal party were all going to fit under two umbrellas.

And in case the sun managed to break through, we had to pack appropriate clothes for hot, dry weather. Months ago I had decided that all I would need for luggage for the big weekend was the David’s Bridal bag with my gown (from Nordstroms.com), pouffy slip, silver shoes and purse, and a few clothes that would hang in a garment bag. Maybe bring a small bag with unmentionables and a few toiletries. Somehow that morphed into my biggest suitcase and three tote bags. Plus the garment bag. Spouse managed to control his packing, only bringing enough clothes for two weeks in the sun, rain, hurricane, or typhoon.

We set off early on Thursday morning, and soon were engulfed in monsoon-type weather. Rain-X saved us from disaster yet again, and we barely needed to use the windshield wipers, as long as we maintained a speed of approximately 63.5 mph or greater. Those that weren’t using Rain-X were either wipering at top speed, slowing to 30 mph, or pulling over. We passed in and out of that, and once we reached somewhere in New Jersey, were rewarded with a rainbow of first-rate clarity. We considered it a good omen. After a 7.5 hour trip, including a stop to pick up the tux, complete with patent leather (or plastic, according to spouse) shoes, we arrived, bag and baggage, and checked into the sparkly clean and new Fairfield Inn in Kennett Square. We took some deep breaths of the fresh air, and were nearly bowled over by the fragrance. Kennett Square is the mushroom capital of the world, and you know with what they are fertilized. To top it all off, this weekend was the annual Mushroom Festival; road closures, traffic, block parties. Perhaps extra fertilizer judging by the air quality.

Daughter and her spouse to be (the Fairy Princess and her Prince Charming) took us to dinner and we discussed The Big Day extensively. It was a good time, and full-blown nerves had not yet settled in. One doesn’t have to be the bride to be a little weak-kneed. In the middle of the night (if you sleep from dusk to dawn), (supermodel) daughter, her spouse, and little Rooster arrived at the hotel. We were fortunate enough to coordinate our breakfast time with theirs and got in some precious visit time.

For spouse and me, Friday was mostly spent driving around lost, stymied by the one way streets, road closures, and just plain not knowing where the heck we were going. If we didn’t have Susie, our GPS, we’d still be driving around lost in Kennett Square. Even she was confused at times, and not because of the road closures. Twice she sent us one direction, then changed her mind after we had started out, and sent us in the reverse direction.

Friday night was the rehearsal in the heart of Wilmington. Spouse and I are country mice, but we did our best to drive into the city following Susie’s directions, and park somewhere near a curb on the side street. The rehearsal went well, and I felt sure that I had memorized everything Father Joe said, would be ready to take charge on the following day, and send everyone up the aisle at the right times. We then went out for a lovely dinner of Italian deliciousness, complete with a heart-warming toast by daughter’s spouse to be, and got back to our room by 10:30 pm.

At 7:15 am on Saturday, 9/10/11, the sunniest day we could have hoped for, both daughters and I were off to have hair and makeup done at Maureen’s Spa. We emerged 90 minutes later, my daughters looking stunning. It was a very proud moment for me, another in a lifelong string of proud moments. Modesty forbids a comment on my own appearance, but a male customer in the spa told me that I looked like Bea Arthur. A young Bea Arthur. Thank. You. So. Much.

We cruised by the home that daughter and spouse to be are buying, and it was a fun time. Stopping off at the local Wal-Mart made it even more special. In we traipsed, fairy princess daughter in her radiance and tiara, supermodel daughter, and the MOB, all in full makeup and quarts of hairspray, wearing button-down tops for easy removal without mussing the ‘do. It is quite possible that the clientele has not ever seen a tiara-wearing princess shopping for lip gloss, if the glances coming daughter’s way were any indication.

Back at the hotel, all gowned, pouffy slipped, and silver sandalled, not to mention tiarad, daughter truly looked like a fairy princess bride. The bridesmaids were lovely in their apple colored gowns, each a different style, and the combined pulchritude was nearly bursting the room. Luckily the limo for the girls arrived at 1:15, and the procession to the lobby began. Into the limo the girls carried their flowers, skirts, and slight nervousness, and they set off, spouse and I following with a few tears in our eyes. The ride to the church was along beautiful country roads, and we passed the A.I. Dupont Middle School which had a grandeur to equal a Newport mansion. I wanted to live in it.

We lost sight of the limo after a few miles of back roads, but somehow managed to get in front of them, all of us arriving with 15 minutes to spare. The limo driver learned that the men’s limo had not yet arrived, so the girls all stayed in theirs. Father Joe came to the back of the church where parents and grandparent, daughter’s spouse and little Rooster, all lingered, awaiting The Men. At 2:00 the church bells pealed overhead, startling us. Late arriving guests learned to their delight that they were still in time. Eventually, at 2:10 ish, The Men arrived. Our relief was so great that no one asked why they were late. That was to come out the day after the wedding day. Boutonnières were hastily pinned on, the men walked quickly to the front of the church along the side aisle, the girls were waved in from the limo to the back of the church, and then I realized that I had forgotten everything from the rehearsal. I asked Jim, the husband of a bridesmaid, to whom I had not actually been introduced, “WHO GOES FIRST??? WHEN ARE THEY SUPPOSED TO GO???”

This was when the serious consequences of not taking my Gingko Biloba for the past two days became evident. Father Joe was at the front of the church, standing patiently by the altar, too far away to interpret frantic hand signals. Didn’t he understand that I had ADHDWD (Attention Deficit High Def Wedding Disorder) ??? We as a group somehow decided that it should be my mother, the grandmother of the bride, who should be walked down by her grandson-in-law and great-grandson. Son-in-law, husband to supermodel daughter, was looking handsome in his pin-striped suit, and little Rooster was a picture in his Fedora, with his head just peeking out of the carrier strapped to his father’s chest. I knew even if he howled his way down the aisle while escorting his great-grandmother, it would have added a wonderful element to the proceedings. Rooster behaved perfectly and did not make a peep (too bad!). Next down the aisle went the parents of the groom, and then the bridesmaids. (Or was it the other way around? I’ll have to wait for the photos to be sure.)

Then it was time to listen for the Wedding March, our cue to escort our beautiful daughter to her waiting husband. There it was, and there we went. Every smiling face was turned toward the vision in ivory floating down the aisle, and spouse and I did our best to smile at everyone and not to step on the bride’s train. Spouse was more successful. Once we reached the smiling groom, spouse and I each gave our daughter a kiss on the cheek, spouse shook the groom’s hand, I kissed the groom, and spouse and I sat down, our parts finished. There was singing, laughing, smiling, hand-holding, and a few moist eyes. Once I glanced at spouse, who appeared to be teary-eyed, and I quickly looked away. Waterproof mascara or not, I didn’t want to give it a test run and everyone knows how contagious wedding tears are. After a beautiful ceremony, Mr. and Mrs. Happily Ever After were applauded and then walked back up the aisle, ready for anything now that the hard part was over. Rooster slept through most of the wedding, woken by the final musical crescendo and not really sure if he was happy about it.

After the guests (with the exception of our family members greeting Rooster) had walked out into the sunshine, it was time for church photos of the bridal party. Then it was limo time, and off to Valley Garden Park for some outdoor photos. The day could not have been prettier, the photographers clicked hundreds of shots, maybe millions, and soon it was time to head to the reception. Rooster reached his point of quite enough, and daughter and spouse and the little guy got an early start back.

At the reception, the guests were waiting patiently at their tables for the bridal party, and the extraordinary staff at the Red Clay Room coached us on where and when to walk in. We got through that without tripping and falling, and then the party was on. Dinner, dancing, photos, cake, meeting and greeting, laughing and talking, fun, fun, fun, and all of a sudden it was over.

Now spouse and I wait for another indescribably wonderful grandchild. No pressure. But stay tuned.

Battles on the Homefront

It's bad when possessions turn on one. Our cat has possessions scattered about the house; stuffed mice, catnip pillows, purloined jewelry. Normally they don't cause any trouble. However, recently when daughter and her spouse-to-be were spending the weekend, everyone had gone to bed except cat and I. The downstairs was quiet, the TVs were off, and I was turning off lights. The cat was helping. Then I heard a peeping/chirping noise in the cat's corner of the living room. A few years ago we had been visited by mice, and we believe we won that battle. I really, really hoped that the mice hadn't heard about the peanut butter we baited the traps with and were back for a snack, but I was too cowardly to make a thorough check of the suspicious noises. I hurried up the stairs to bed with the cat on my heels.

The following morning, after daughter and her spouse-to-be had left, I was again in the living room, which was fortunately chirp-free. Whew! I thought, as I sat on the couch. Then suddenly the chirp/peep was back with a vengeance. It was nonstop, and it was loud. I went outside in the rain to see if the noise, which sounded like a nest of baby birds, really hungry ones, was coming from the dryer vent. No such luck. Back inside, I called spouse from the man cave to back me up. We checked, and the cat corner was mouse-free. Then we pulled the couch away from the wall, and the noise followed. Using the trusty yardstick, I scooped out all the treasures from underneath, and found the dreaded mouse. It was gray with a pink nose and tail, and Yumyum immediately exclaimed, "I wondered what happened to my favorite toy!" or something like that. This squeaky mouse is years old, and is only supposed to squeak when it is shaken. Obviously the toy is possessed. It went right into the trash. Where it finally stopped its endless squeaking after it received a severe shaking. Spouse brought the trash bag to the barrel outside immediately. Why take a chance?

Spouse had his own battle the other night when I was out with the girls. On my way home through the neighborhood, I saw a couple of young men with clipboards walking the streets. Clipboards in the neighborhood are never a good sign. Spouse gave me the low-down when I got home. One of the young men had come to the door and asked if spouse remembered him from last year. (???) Spouse asked if the young man wanted money. Ignoring the question, the young man said he was part of an organization to abolish sippy-cups. Now spouse and I both have ears that aren't as sharp as they once were (unless it involves mouse noises) so I am not convinced that sippy-cups are what the young man actually said. Spouse's refusal to open his wallet finally penetrated to the young man's ears (eyes?), and he took his business elsewhere. But if sippy-cup is actually what the young man said, I want to lodge an official protest here and now that sippy-cups had better be here to stay. Now that spouse and I are the proud grandparents of the most beautiful little boy in the universe, nobody is going to take away anything that sweet baby will need. What will that young man be protesting next summer? Pampers? Baby burps?

Moving Pictures

Spouse and I bought our first movie camera in the 1970s. It was a Bell & Howell model with a light attachment that was so blinding to its subjects that it may have been visible from outer space. The movie reels lasted only three minutes. Nonetheless, we were excited to be on the cutting edge of technology. Spouse preferred to let me be the photographer.

In the 1980s, we got a camcorder that recorded small cassettes, and didn't require a light attachment. None of the full sized VHS tape stuff for us. We wanted the latest technology. The cassettes fit into a VHS-sized adapter, which then fit into the VCR. One of our offspring was a bit camera shy, and the other was not (by a long shot). This made for some fantastic and memorable vacation video still talked about today. Spouse still preferred to let me be the photographer. Our offspring would occasionally use the camera, with increasing talent, and some of the results were even used as school projects.

In the 2000s, the latest thing in camcorders was the mini DVD burner, and we had to have one. This camera was smaller, lighter, and easier to use than ever before. I still found myself playing family photographer, but, on a coast to coast road trip, decided to assign spouse the job of shooting the Grand Canyon, as I was busy with the digital camera. My training was more sketchy than I realized. I have several photos of spouse with the camera held in filming position.
However, spouse apparently confused "on" with "off", and we got barely any footage of the Grand Canyon, and all kinds of footage of spouse's feet and lap in the car. On a different day, there was also some interesting upside down footage of the Hoover Dam. To this day I am not sure if these blatant examples of filming incompetence were deliberate. Also to this day I have not handed the camcorder back to spouse.


The new latest thing in camcorders is digital uploadable to Youtube. This is something we must have. Our DVD camcorder still works fine, but I can't upload the video. Our offspring and her spouse got a Flip a couple of years ago, and proclaimed it foolproof. Perfect for us (me)! This same offspring and spouse will soon be presenting us with a grandchild, and now that we have our very own Flip, we will be ready to record and upload every little thing that precious baby does. Great-grandparents, great-aunts and -uncles, first cousins once removed (or is that second cousins?) will all want to watch that sweet baby grow and change. And we will be set to go, as soon as we (I) perfect filming techniques on the cat.

Smile for the camera, Rooster!

Technology Triumphs

Yesterday I revived the kitchen clock with a new AA, and the pendulum started swinging, and all was well. Additional kitchen timepieces are the stove clock, the microwave clock, our watches, and our phones. Beyond those, there are the VCR clocks, which look festive with their blinking lights, and once we figure out how to reset them they will be useful, too.

My alarm clock is a duplicate of one we had in a Best Western in 2006 that was so cool that it made it worth discarding the 20 year old Panasonic classic. The newer one has a CD player and even better than that, it knows about Daylight Savings, and it reacts. The unfortunate part is that it only knows about the old DST, not the more recent March/November changes. This has resulted in Sunday morning surprises of either gains or losses at the wrong times, but fortunately I have caught on before we reached Monday and corrected it. The time change buttons are kind of hard to adjust, and I am thankful that there are only two changes a year. The station buttons at the top make it really hard to replace the cover after those corrections, so over time they have been removed and thrown out. The cover really does not fit all that well, and I never screw it back into position because it is too labor intensive.

Last night before I turned out the light, the alarm clock said 8:49. Hmm, later than my usual winter bedtime, but it was Thursday, so close to Friday. And of course the clock is ten minutes fast, just in case. This morning the alarm went off, and it was a struggle to stay awake for the customary three songs, but I managed, and then staggered up to start the day. Yadda yadda, and down to the kitchen for the usual breakfast, and a quick check at the newly batteried clock, and it was an hour behind what it should have been. What is this? A bad battery? I checked the stove clock, then the microwave clock, then my watch. They were all in sync at 4:21, just an hour ahead of what I thought they should be. Back to the alarm clock with the loose top and the missing buttons and the arrogant attitude, and sure enough, that appliance from hell decided to Spring Ahead on a Thursday. It's close to the correct day, but I know that the clock doesn't know that. I will still have to watch for another Spring Ahead in April, the traditional time for DST to begin. And apparently at random times before and after that. Guess it's time to start using my phone as an alarm.

I am going to keep a close eye on that pesky alarm clock. Who knows what it's planning to do next?

Winter Wonderland

Snowy scenes look so pretty in photos. There are millions of people who have never seen snow and many who imagine that snow is magical. Years of shoveling and scraping have cured me, and this past week has only confirmed my feelings for the dreaded white stuff. Plus, now I know how much snow hurts.

What is there to do when spouse and I are stuck in the house due to inclement weather? Let's paint some bedrooms. After the first, my leg muscles were screaming something about deep knee bends that my ears couldn't quite hear. At least I didn't fall down. Spouse painted circles around me. What's up with that?

A week ago we had a mix of snow and rain that was as heavy as cement to shovel, although it was perfect for making snowmen and igloos. Since I neglected to coat the shovel with Pam, half of every shovelful stuck on. Exercise reminds me of all the muscles I don't use, and this particular exercise pulled muscles that not only haven't been used recently, but have already retired. At least I didn't fall down.

Four days later, spouse threw out his back getting off the couch. Pain was so bad he had to fall back on it and stay there for hours. Heavy duty analgesics helped, and each day he felt a little better.

Then we had another winter storm. There is a particular spot where our walk meets the driveway that always gets icy, and it behooves us to watch our step. We can climb around it using the snowbanks, or tough it out on the walk. I knew there would be ice, but the thin layer of new snow made it hard to spot. Baby step after baby step, I slowly approached the danger zone, knowing I could fall and being more careful than I have ever been. It was a splendid five point landing; two hands, two knees, one purse. The first thing you do when you fall is to get up before someone sees you. Then you determine if there is damage. I was lucky on both scores.

Three days later, spouse's back was coming along nicely. So were the icy patches on the driveway. Although we've been getting a lot of rain, not snow, we know what happens to puddles overnight in the winter. Walking down the driveway to get the mail can be hazardous, so spouse was taking safe, small steps. He made it almost to the bottom of the driveway, then after his feet flew into the air, made a perfect one point landing, right on his seat. He was not concerned about being seen. He was concerned about breaking a hip, which did not happen. His twisting maneuver, which would have earned him a 10 in a gymnastics' event, succeeded in reinjuring his back.

It is now two days later, and we are facing another winter storm tomorrow. Spouse's back is feeling a little better, but his sit-upon is sore. My back is better, and my knees are feeling almost normal. The bruise on my leg from the run-in with a bookcase is the size of a dessert plate, just as colorful, and is not nearly as swollen as it was. But we have 1.25 gallons of paint and a brand new paint roller extender... And we have two rolls of masking tape, and drop cloths aplenty...We are going to paint another bedroom.

What's the worst thing that can happen?

Traveling - Isn't it the Best?

Everything about vacations is exciting - planning the routes, finding the best hotel rates, deciding what to pack, and, of course, buying the snacks. January was very travelicious for spouse and me, thanks to invitations from the kids.

First there was a long weekend in NYC, formed principally around a victory dinner at Daisy May's BBQ for the NASCAR Fantasy Picks winner, at which everyone felt like a winner. Where else can six people share four dinners and sweet tea from a Mason jar (not the same jar)?

This was our second trip to The City (and Daisy May's) and this time we did more tourist things, like seeing the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. Security was tight. Before boarding the ferry, all the January clothes had to come off and take a ride through the xray machine. The temps were in the 30s; hat weather. Wearing a hat is a commitment because of what happens to the 'do. It is a testament to my family's fondness that they still associate with me. Spouse kept setting off the alarm, which tends to happen with titanium body parts, so he got the wand and was eventually allowed to pass. Then we all climbed back into boots, belts, coats, and hats, and made room for the others behind us. After a short boat ride, we were allowed to do the whole security dance again before seeing Lady Liberty. She is worth the price of admission, of course.
Half of our party took the steps, the other half the elevator, and we all arrived at the same time. After our visit, we were off to Ellis Island, and another ferry ride. We shared the ferry with pigeons who wouldn't have been an inconvenience to anyone if that little boy had not tried to catch them. Hats can be convenient inside as well as out. We walked around and read all the plaques and viewed the photos at Ellis Island, and the kids researched some ancestors. I looked around and hoped I wouldn't have to remove my hat again.

We squeezed a lot of fun into that weekend; walking, eating, sightseeing, touring, shopping, cab rides. We split into two groups for the cab rides. We girls had some very nice drivers, friendly and chatty, and I mostly understood what they were saying, although I feel I should be excused for thinking one driver said "footyball" because that night was the big game between the Patriots and the Jets, and the subject was on many lips. The guys had a memorable ride that involved a dent, much shouting, rough language, and fortunately no weapons. After four days and three nights, we made our long way home, six or seven hours of cab, train, and car rides, with a camera full of memories.

Two weeks later we were ready to travel again, this time to the DE/PA area for the Philly Car Show and to check out wedding venues. It was my first trip into Philly. We drove through China Town, a pretty quiet place at 6:45 am. Snow was everywhere, but we got to park close to the convention center in a garage. Then it was time for a select few to check out all the newest wheels on the planet. It was four hours of stationery test drives, and I had a blast. When would I ever get to sit in a $280,000 Bentley??? Well, not at this car show, but I did see one, almost close enough to touch, but that man was keeping a pretty close eye on things behind the ropes. The Jaguars, Porsches, Rolls Royces, cars like that were off limits, but we all sat in plenty of others; Camaros, Escalades, Mini Coopers, Suburbans, Flexes, FJ Cruisers, Acuras, Infinitis, Lotuses... it was hard to choose a favorite. This car is all airbrushed, and quite the work of art.

We enjoyed some fine dining with fine company, checked out the church and reception location, chose hotels, and all too soon it was time to leave for home. We waved goodbye, and got into the car. This trip was strictly by car, although we did see some cabs and trains. We hooked up Susie, our GPS, and off we went. Susie likes to suggest Rte. 95 through New York, and since 1977 when we took that route and did not especially care for it, we have not driven that way. Instead we swing wide along 287 and use the Tappan Zee Bridge. We have Tolly, our EZ Pass, so we get to breeze through toll booths, of which there were plenty on this trip.

We were half-heartedly watching for the Garden State Parkway exit, enjoying the sunny day, much nicer than the snowy day for the ride down, when all of a sudden we were driving by a big airport and refineries. In my glass-is-half-full way, I said I thought I remembered seeing the airport, but spouse was certain we had not seen refineries. This meant one thing and one thing only. We were headed for the Bronx. Spouse became crew chief and navigator (I was driving) and things started out fine and calm. I remembered spouse's parents ending up where they didn't want to be back in the 70s while traveling this road, and really did not want to end up at Yankee Stadium myself. (They missed their chance with us two weeks ago when their tours were sold out.) We were driving along in the light/medium traffic, and I saw a sign that said "Welcome to Manhattan", which would have been quite upsetting to me had we not just been to NYC and I knew that Manhattan was not actually a scary place, even though I am much more comfortable in the country than in the city. Deep breaths help out in so many situations, as they did until we were out of New York and following along the Metro North line through all the towns our express train had stopped at two weeks ago. Nearly felt like home. Spouse and I decided we could do the 95 way again, and save an hour of travel. We are such sophisticates.