It's an almost weekly occurrence in the office that one of my colleagues will bemoan her terrible memory and feel certain that this is the first step down that slippery slope to complete memory loss. We expect memory and recall perfection of ourselves as if we were Wikipedia on its best day. It would be really amazing to have a memory that never let anything go, although it could be quite awful in a way. But that's another essay for another day.
Our memories must be at their personal bests in our early elementary grades, or we wouldn't be taught our multiplication tables then. When was the last time you heard a seven year old say, "My memory is so bad lately. It must be old age settling in." We know our memories weren't perfect then. How about at the mid-teen years when we are learning Algebra, Geometry, Calculus (not to mention that we know it all then)? Bad memories? Pitiful recall? I don't know about you, but my academic career wasn't famous for its endless parade of A+ grades. There might have been a couple, but I can't remember.
Then we grow up. We are out of school, raising families, working, trying to keep up with whatever we're supposed to be keeping up with. We have pins for our debit cards, credit cards, social networks, computer programs, bank accounts, phones, Amazon, Kindle, Snapfish, aol, Google, yada yada yada, and they are supposed to be different from each other so they are more difficult to hack. We aren't supposed to use our children's names, pet names, our names, the square root of an isosceles triangle, anything easy, so we invent something so clever for each of them that we almost can't remember them all. But we do.
We have better memories than we know, and it's time to stop bashing ourselves and accept that we have never had a perfect memory, even at our best, so we shouldn't expect ourselves to have a perfect memory now. If we can't immediately remember the top ten movies of 1976, or all the lyrics to "Some Enchanted Evening", so what? So what if it takes us a day, or a couple of days, or we have to look them up online? This shows us that we have learned one very important thing - that we can adapt, improvise, and overcome because we are awesome. At least I think that's the word I wanted to use...
March 20, 2013
August 28, 2012
Bugs - I Hate Bugs
I have never liked bugs. Yellow and black spiders that build webs in corn fields, green worms as big around as a finger that infest tomato plants, any kind of ants or spiders or flies except maybe dragonflies, which were purportedly able to sew up a person’s lips, but they never got mine. My mother told me that August is spider month, and I have learned that it really is. Webs spring up in hours, sometimes minutes, and sometimes there isn’t even a web to give warning. I was chatting on the phone with my daughter one night when a spider, possibly the brown recluse spider whose bite is allegedly venomous enough to cause instant death (but maybe not), ran down the back of the couch and straight at me. The cat was no help. Bless whoever invented cordless phones, allowing me to run into the other room to get spouse to save me (and the cat) while describing in detail my terrifying experience to my daughter, who hates spiders even more than I. Spouse dispatched the spider and saved us all from a fate worse than - spiders. Normally I will deal with my own spiders, but not when the abdomen is the size of a dime. I still get the shivers thinking about that spider.
Fast forward to this month, still Spider Month, but we have a new insect to think about now. We have a cat, who is in permanent Time Out in the house until – you know. Imagine our surprise when after a recent long weekend away without the cat, we came home to find that she had become infested with fleas. I won’t even mention that she had scratched herself silly and was covered with scabs, too, because that is just too gross. We got her the magic neck drips, and that has helped. Helped with the cat, that is, but not with all the fleas that started hopping around the house. We tried a flea fogger in the upstairs hall, thinking it would cover the carpets and bedrooms and we’d be flea-free. Ha! I was walking around the house, dragging my feet in the hopes of seeing nothing on them. I was picking up fleas faster than a (insert your own off-color remark here), and they were all laughing at me. I dispose of the freeloaders the humane way – in the toilet. Let me say here that the water bill is going to be a bit high this year. What were we thinking? One can of flea fogger for the whole house? When I got tired of picking the fleas off, I got the lint roller, which works really well and you can actually roll as fast as a flea can jump. Sometimes. I have now taken to wearing white socks, which makes the humidity of August feel even more fantastic, but the fleas are easier to spot. The cat is hardly scratching now, so her neck drip is working, which it should, since she got two doses in two days. Spouse asked if we could use it on ourselves, and it required all my willpower to say no, it could make us really, really sick. That I briefly considered doing it is evidence of what long exposure to bugs will do to a person’s mind.
We developed a plan, and it is this. We will flea fog (bomb) every room in the house this weekend, after packing up the cat in her carrier and putting her safely outside. We are a little concerned about bombing upstairs, downstairs, and down cellar while holding our breath. We have to set off the bombs one at a time, and they hiss so loudly you can hear them outside. But first we have to cover the smoke detectors with plastic hairnets so they don’t lose their minds and alarm themselves right off the ceilings. It requires cunning, planning, agility, and speed, and could one day become an Olympic event. We then take the cat out for a two hour ride. Imagine the joy for everyone involved. Then we come back, open all the windows, and hope that only the fleas will be eradicated.
I will let you know how it goes. I hope.
Fast forward to this month, still Spider Month, but we have a new insect to think about now. We have a cat, who is in permanent Time Out in the house until – you know. Imagine our surprise when after a recent long weekend away without the cat, we came home to find that she had become infested with fleas. I won’t even mention that she had scratched herself silly and was covered with scabs, too, because that is just too gross. We got her the magic neck drips, and that has helped. Helped with the cat, that is, but not with all the fleas that started hopping around the house. We tried a flea fogger in the upstairs hall, thinking it would cover the carpets and bedrooms and we’d be flea-free. Ha! I was walking around the house, dragging my feet in the hopes of seeing nothing on them. I was picking up fleas faster than a (insert your own off-color remark here), and they were all laughing at me. I dispose of the freeloaders the humane way – in the toilet. Let me say here that the water bill is going to be a bit high this year. What were we thinking? One can of flea fogger for the whole house? When I got tired of picking the fleas off, I got the lint roller, which works really well and you can actually roll as fast as a flea can jump. Sometimes. I have now taken to wearing white socks, which makes the humidity of August feel even more fantastic, but the fleas are easier to spot. The cat is hardly scratching now, so her neck drip is working, which it should, since she got two doses in two days. Spouse asked if we could use it on ourselves, and it required all my willpower to say no, it could make us really, really sick. That I briefly considered doing it is evidence of what long exposure to bugs will do to a person’s mind.
We developed a plan, and it is this. We will flea fog (bomb) every room in the house this weekend, after packing up the cat in her carrier and putting her safely outside. We are a little concerned about bombing upstairs, downstairs, and down cellar while holding our breath. We have to set off the bombs one at a time, and they hiss so loudly you can hear them outside. But first we have to cover the smoke detectors with plastic hairnets so they don’t lose their minds and alarm themselves right off the ceilings. It requires cunning, planning, agility, and speed, and could one day become an Olympic event. We then take the cat out for a two hour ride. Imagine the joy for everyone involved. Then we come back, open all the windows, and hope that only the fleas will be eradicated.
I will let you know how it goes. I hope.
May 30, 2012
Celebrity Citings
Spouse and I have a very short list of Celebrities We Have Seen In Person. In 1976 while waiting for eight hours in the Orlando airport for our honeymoon flight home, we saw a character actor who always played bad guys in Westerns. We didn’t know his name then, and we still don’t. In 1983 at the newly opened EPCOT, we saw Lloyd Bridges, who had done a narration for the American Adventure. His outfit had upgraded from his “Sea Hunt” days, but we knew who it was. In 1986 we saw Marvin Haggler dining at Quintals’ on Cape Cod. Spouse’s brother requested and received an autograph. I waited in line for an hour once to get an autograph from Tony Stewart. In 2010 while at Disney’s Animal Kingdom Lodge, we saw that guy who is on all the Disney animation documentaries, and we don’t know his name, but he is the one who always wears the big earrings. If you’ve seen a special, you know who he is. He was carrying luggage, apparently ready to settle in for a spell. All very exciting, but they are all just people like you and me.
Imagine our delight when we recently came across the real life model for another silver screen character – Roz from “Monsters, Inc.” There she was, working as a cashier at a Burger King on the New Jersey Turnpike. Spouse and I stood waiting at the counter, still unaware of the surprise in store for us. What we saw was a woman with her priorities straight; she was arranging Burger King crowns, which is way more fun than waiting on customers. Once she had finished the crowns to her satisfaction, which took about 30 seconds, she turned on us to take our order. The total came to six dollars and change, and spouse reached a twenty dollar bill toward her. “You got anything smaller?” she growled. She had to be Roz’s voice coach or maybe her twin sister. Spouse and I were too surprised to react. Sure, we could have found something smaller, maybe even exact change, but the Rozette didn’t give us a chance. She made the change while berating us because she was running out of tens. We got our change and receipt, then quickly moved down the counter away from her. She is a Burger King treasure and her name is Margie. Stop in and see her some time.
It will be hard to top Margie/Roz in the Celebrity spotting game, but we will keep looking. We may still be lucky enough to find the elusive Large Marge from “Pee Wee’s Big Adventure.”
Imagine our delight when we recently came across the real life model for another silver screen character – Roz from “Monsters, Inc.” There she was, working as a cashier at a Burger King on the New Jersey Turnpike. Spouse and I stood waiting at the counter, still unaware of the surprise in store for us. What we saw was a woman with her priorities straight; she was arranging Burger King crowns, which is way more fun than waiting on customers. Once she had finished the crowns to her satisfaction, which took about 30 seconds, she turned on us to take our order. The total came to six dollars and change, and spouse reached a twenty dollar bill toward her. “You got anything smaller?” she growled. She had to be Roz’s voice coach or maybe her twin sister. Spouse and I were too surprised to react. Sure, we could have found something smaller, maybe even exact change, but the Rozette didn’t give us a chance. She made the change while berating us because she was running out of tens. We got our change and receipt, then quickly moved down the counter away from her. She is a Burger King treasure and her name is Margie. Stop in and see her some time.
It will be hard to top Margie/Roz in the Celebrity spotting game, but we will keep looking. We may still be lucky enough to find the elusive Large Marge from “Pee Wee’s Big Adventure.”
December 15, 2011
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.
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.
November 9, 2011
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.
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.
November 2, 2011
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 catand 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!"
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
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!"
September 14, 2011
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.
June 22, 2011
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?
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?
March 26, 2011
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!
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!
March 11, 2011
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?
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?
February 4, 2011
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?
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?
February 1, 2011
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.
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.
November 12, 2010
Does This Make Me Look Fat?
I like to cut the size tags off my new clothes. Occasionally it is because they are itchy, but that's not the only reason. What if someone saw the tag and knew what size I wear? Some numbers are not meant to be shared.
What I will never understand is why men's jeans come with exterior tags that show waist and length for all to see. Men don't seem to care that we can see that they are a 38/30, 30/38, or 36/31. The day I wear pants with my size advertised is the day the North and South Poles exchange places, which I am told will one day happen, but not in my lifetime.
Europeans have it all wrong. We refused to go metric. We just said no. What woman wants to walk into a store and say she needs a strappy little black sandal in size 38, or an evening dress in size 44? Isn't it bad enough that anything above a size 12 is considered a "plus" size?
Shopping for a wedding gown, girls? Prepare to order it two sizes bigger than your normal. This makes getting engaged the fastest weight gain you'll ever experience. Bridal gown samples all seem to be size 10, and they fit perfectly - on a size six figure. In case that leaves any of your self esteem intact, there are still the three sided mirrors watching your every move.
There is some hope for those of us who feel size-challenged. The Chico's chain has a fantastic size range - 1, 2, and 3. I can march right in there and announce with confidence that I need a size 3 with not one iota of embarassment. The fact that I have yet to find anything that fits both me and my budget is not Chico's fault. And I will keep hoping that their forward-thinking spreads far and wide. Just in case I do.
What I will never understand is why men's jeans come with exterior tags that show waist and length for all to see. Men don't seem to care that we can see that they are a 38/30, 30/38, or 36/31. The day I wear pants with my size advertised is the day the North and South Poles exchange places, which I am told will one day happen, but not in my lifetime.
Europeans have it all wrong. We refused to go metric. We just said no. What woman wants to walk into a store and say she needs a strappy little black sandal in size 38, or an evening dress in size 44? Isn't it bad enough that anything above a size 12 is considered a "plus" size?
Shopping for a wedding gown, girls? Prepare to order it two sizes bigger than your normal. This makes getting engaged the fastest weight gain you'll ever experience. Bridal gown samples all seem to be size 10, and they fit perfectly - on a size six figure. In case that leaves any of your self esteem intact, there are still the three sided mirrors watching your every move.
There is some hope for those of us who feel size-challenged. The Chico's chain has a fantastic size range - 1, 2, and 3. I can march right in there and announce with confidence that I need a size 3 with not one iota of embarassment. The fact that I have yet to find anything that fits both me and my budget is not Chico's fault. And I will keep hoping that their forward-thinking spreads far and wide. Just in case I do.
August 31, 2010
Moral Dilemmas
I am faced with choices daily, hourly, sometimes minutely. It is not always easy to make the right choice. In "The Goonies" and "Indiana Jones'" movies, making the wrong choice has dire consequences. I'm not referring to that type of choices, just the common, ordinary kind.
1. You are in the rest room of a restaurant, alone, and you find a small wad of bills. Do you -
a. scoop it up and quickly pocket it, counting it later?
b. leave it where it is?
c. pick up the money and hand it to a restaurant employee?
2. In the checkout line at the grocery store, you notice that the cashier failed to charge you for an item. Do you -
a. say nothing?
b. point out the omission to the cashier?
c. tell the store manager that the cashier is giving away the stock?
3. Your boss' boss' boss has called you by the wrong name for years. Do you -
a. continue to smile and greet him under the false name?
b. quietly take him aside and tell him that he's been making a fool of himself with your cooperation?
c. correct him loudly at the next departmental meeting?
4. You are unable to get a Walt Disney World restaurant reservation for two. You have heard that it is sometimes possible to get a reservation for three, rather than two, as there are more tables for four than two. Do you -
a. after failing to get a reservation for two, just take your chances and appear at the restaurant full of hope?
b. make the reservation for three or four and then once you appear before the hostess, say that the rest of the party could not make it?
c. decide that you don't really want to eat there after all if your money-for-two isn't good enough for them?
5. You shopped at a large-chain discount store, buying heavily, receiving many bags full of stuff. A day or two later you realize that you can't find a few of the items you purchased, although they are listed on your receipt. Do you -
a. call the store, filled with indignation, and ask what they are going to do about it?
b. blame yourself for not being more observant when the items were bagged; do you really want to drive 20 miles for a few lost items?
c. decide to tell the manager next time you go to the store, hoping you will remember the receipt to use as back-up?
5a. If you return to the store and get either a refund or free replacement of the missing items, and then, days later, you find the supposedly missing items in the car trunk, in another bag, or somewhere else among your possessions, do you -
a. immediately return the surplus items?
b. feel guilty but keep the surplus items, rationalizing that somehow, some way, they owe it to you?
c. make a pie crust promise to yourself to some day soon either return the surplus items or tell the manager and pay the store back?
6. Your favorite drive-thru has been sadly lacking in speed and accuracy lately, but they still have the best fast food. Today they gave you more food than you ordered and paid for, and you don't discover it until after you have left the pick-up window. Do you -
a. go back through the line and return the overage?
b. decide they owe it to you as compensation for the hurt feelings they have been causing you?
c. throw the extra food out the car window in small pieces for the birds and squirrels and other non-guilt feeling creatures?
7. You are sitting in your car in a shopping center parking lot, and you watch as a driver in a car damages another car, parks in a spot nearby, and then walks into the store. Do you -
a. drive away shaking your head, dismayed at what this world has come to?
b. write down the number plate and wait for the owner of the damaged vehicle to return to the scene of the crime and share the information?
c. go let the air out of the tires of the car that did the damage?
You didn't think I was going to tell you the right answers, did you? Since we all have different consciences, then maybe we all have different right answers.
1. You are in the rest room of a restaurant, alone, and you find a small wad of bills. Do you -
a. scoop it up and quickly pocket it, counting it later?
b. leave it where it is?
c. pick up the money and hand it to a restaurant employee?
2. In the checkout line at the grocery store, you notice that the cashier failed to charge you for an item. Do you -
a. say nothing?
b. point out the omission to the cashier?
c. tell the store manager that the cashier is giving away the stock?
3. Your boss' boss' boss has called you by the wrong name for years. Do you -
a. continue to smile and greet him under the false name?
b. quietly take him aside and tell him that he's been making a fool of himself with your cooperation?
c. correct him loudly at the next departmental meeting?
4. You are unable to get a Walt Disney World restaurant reservation for two. You have heard that it is sometimes possible to get a reservation for three, rather than two, as there are more tables for four than two. Do you -
a. after failing to get a reservation for two, just take your chances and appear at the restaurant full of hope?
b. make the reservation for three or four and then once you appear before the hostess, say that the rest of the party could not make it?
c. decide that you don't really want to eat there after all if your money-for-two isn't good enough for them?
5. You shopped at a large-chain discount store, buying heavily, receiving many bags full of stuff. A day or two later you realize that you can't find a few of the items you purchased, although they are listed on your receipt. Do you -
a. call the store, filled with indignation, and ask what they are going to do about it?
b. blame yourself for not being more observant when the items were bagged; do you really want to drive 20 miles for a few lost items?
c. decide to tell the manager next time you go to the store, hoping you will remember the receipt to use as back-up?
5a. If you return to the store and get either a refund or free replacement of the missing items, and then, days later, you find the supposedly missing items in the car trunk, in another bag, or somewhere else among your possessions, do you -
a. immediately return the surplus items?
b. feel guilty but keep the surplus items, rationalizing that somehow, some way, they owe it to you?
c. make a pie crust promise to yourself to some day soon either return the surplus items or tell the manager and pay the store back?
6. Your favorite drive-thru has been sadly lacking in speed and accuracy lately, but they still have the best fast food. Today they gave you more food than you ordered and paid for, and you don't discover it until after you have left the pick-up window. Do you -
a. go back through the line and return the overage?
b. decide they owe it to you as compensation for the hurt feelings they have been causing you?
c. throw the extra food out the car window in small pieces for the birds and squirrels and other non-guilt feeling creatures?
7. You are sitting in your car in a shopping center parking lot, and you watch as a driver in a car damages another car, parks in a spot nearby, and then walks into the store. Do you -
a. drive away shaking your head, dismayed at what this world has come to?
b. write down the number plate and wait for the owner of the damaged vehicle to return to the scene of the crime and share the information?
c. go let the air out of the tires of the car that did the damage?
You didn't think I was going to tell you the right answers, did you? Since we all have different consciences, then maybe we all have different right answers.
August 7, 2010
Sail Away From Falmouth...
Cape Cod is charming, off the beaten path, and a tourist's dream destination. Maybe the miles and miles of heavy and slow/stopped traffic along the way make it that much sweeter. Not only is the Cape a great place to visit, it's a great place to live. In the summertime the traffic gets annoying, often aggravating, but we take pride in knowing and discovering shortcuts to avoid some of it. We've lived here 24 years, long enough to wonder why we see so many cars from Connecticut, Rhode Island, and New Hampshire. Don't they share the same ocean? Why is it better here? When we start thinking this way, it's time to head for Martha's Vineyard, because we still find it charming, off the beaten path, and a tourist's dream destination.
We catch the Island Queen in Falmouth, and relax for the half hour boatride. There are sailboats, fishing boats, cigarette boats, and jet skis to watch along the way. The sun is on our faces, the wind whips through our hair, and we are getting a combination wind & sunburn, and we like it. The sky is blue (at $18/pp we make sure to go on a sunny day), the water is sparkling, and we pretend we are on vacation. Once at the dock in Oak Bluffs, we stay in our orange plastic seats until the parents, children, babies, bicycles, and dogs have disembarked, then we follow. Passengers leaving the boat are greeted by happy islanders, family or friends already staying on the island, taxi and tour bus drivers, and hopeful seagulls. Spouse has told me that in the 1950s, arrivals were also greeted by young boys in the water begging for coins to be tossed into the harbor for capture.
Walking along the harborside, we look at the other people, the cars, mopeds, skooters, and bicycles for rent. $100 for a small 4 door is excessive, and if we want to get around we buy a bus pass for less than $10/pp and can ride around the island all day. It stops in Edgartown, and we have been there many times, enjoying the cobblestone streets, the deli's excellent sandwiches, and Murdick's fudge. Yum. Just riding the bus and seeing the beaches, homes, and the people is a good time. Not having to drive in the bumper-to-bumper traffic in the towns' centers is a good time.
The towns have their own particular attractions, but my favorite has always been Oak Bluffs. This is where spouse's father and grandfather were born, where he lived for ten years as a child, and where his parents are buried. Deep roots.
Spouse's family lived in a campground house, home of the Gingerbread Houses. Today the area looks like something out of a fairytale. At the very center is the Tabernacle, an opensided and airy building used for church services, community sings, and special events. It is also a good place to eat a take-out lunch. Surrounding the Tabernacle is a soft blanket of shaded green grass with benches, and a great place to sit, relax, and eat the fudge bought in Edgartown, or at the Murdick's in Oak Bluffs. As we walk throught the Campgrounds, spouse tells me the names of all the people who lived in the houses when he lived here and the mischief he used to get into. Also the mischief that he did not get into but was blamed for.
When it's time for lunch we have a lot of choices along Circuit Avenue, but usually end up at Giordano's, which has been there for decades, and meets our high standards. Pizza, sandwiches, and fried clams are the highlights of the menu for us. We visit some of the gift shops, and sometimes buy touristy things. Spouse talks about the past with store clerks, but he seldom finds anyone who knew people he knew. You can go home again, but maybe no one will know you.
Everything about Oak Bluffs lowers my blood pressure. When we go with the fam, we stay five or six hours, and we see and do it all. When it's just the two of us, three hours is enough time. As we walked back to the dock, spouse stopped to look at some rental cars? go-karts? tricycles with sides? and I wouldn't be surprised to hear that he needs to go back to MV to rent one.
This might have an adverse affect on my blood pressure...
June 19, 2010
How Far is Too Far?
I have met people who will not drive over a bridge. Since they happen to live on Cape Cod, this means they never leave the place, which is basically an island since its only connections to "off Cape" are made of steel. Others think that driving to the next town is too far to go unless there is a special reason, and they consider a 20 minute trip an event.
Spouse and I like to be in the car, and like to cover a lot of ground. We don't need a specific destination when we start out. On weekends, we want to get out of the house, see things, do things, see new sights. We stop at McD's for our 32 oz. sweet tea (still only $1.00) and head out on the open road. There is always a meal on the agenda, and often the GPS is involved. One more friendly voice in the car adds to the fun of the day.
One time we drove an hour to reach a Shoney's in Rhode Island. We had fond memories of their buffet from vacations past, and wanted to recapture come of that vacation food fun. We got all the way there and saw that Shoney's had closed and we had to eat at a Ruby Tuesday's instead. It has taken me 12 years to appreciate Ruby Tuesday's and it is solely because of the avocado turkey burger. But I digress.
We have repeatedly driven 1.5 hours to the Burlington Mall to dine at the Rainforest Cafe, one of the most fun places on the earth or at least on this hemisphere. The food is ample and excellent, the ambiance is pure squeaky-clean jungle, and the Volcano dessert is to die for. And if you ate a Volcano by yourself you probably would die. Six people could easily share this brownie/cake/ice cream/whipped cream extravaganza. There are two Rainforest locations at Disneyworld, so driving to Burlington is a much shorter ride, and brings back a little of the vacation feeling, at least until we step back out into the mall.
Kelly's Roast Beef is also worth a 1.5 hour journey. Not only is their roast beef fantastic, but their onion rings and french fries are - you guessed it - to die for. Much better to share them. We can walk off some of the excess calories strolling through Jordan's Furniture and asking the sales people "What happened to Barry?". And then, if we're still hungry, we can drive another 20 minutes to Uhlman's in Westborough for ice cream - rich, homemade, creamy ice cream.
We do have favorite restaurants that are only about 45 minutes away; Texas Roadhouse, Five Guys, Smoky Bones, Olive Garden, Outback. There are even a couple only 15 minutes away, like Red Robin, Longhorn Steakhouse, Chili's. But we can go to those any time. Running up the mileage makes a meal more special, and vice verse.
I don't have one favorite restaurant, but I have a favorite few. Starting with the closest geographically, the Family Cupboard in Bird-in-Hand, PA, is Amish and Mennonite and has both a buffet and servers if you choose to have your portions controlled, and shoo fly pie is available at all three meals. Family Cupboard is about eight hours from home, so we don't go there often. Maybe once a year, and we make the visit count.
Another special favorite is the Ville de Flora at Gaylord Palms in Kissimmee, which is 24 hours from our house. It is a buffet, naturally, and every night has a different theme, be it Spanish, French, Greek, or Italian. Italian (the only one we have tried) includes prime rib and about a thousand fantastic side dishes. I could almost become a vegetarian for a meal, but not really. Just before we reach bursting point, we head for the dessert island for the sample-sized treasures that make it deceptively easy to fill a plate before you know what is happening. I remember my father repeating what he heard so often in the army, "Take what you want but eat what you take." So that's what I always try to do. Waste is sinful, and so is gluttony, but waste seems more sinfullier. Once we stagger out of the V de F, we walk extensively around the four acre atrium lobby and gawk at the tropical paradise. This is the only resort I have visited that has alligators in the lobby which sounds scary but is not.
Another favorite restaurant is located at Disney's Animal Kingdom Lodge, also 24 hours from home. It is Boma, an African themed buffet, open for breakfast and dinner. Again, the side dishes are enough to make the meal, but the prime rib, turkey, and chicken are too tempting to resist. The desserts are the first offerings we walk by on the way to our table. I think the hosts plan their routes carefully. If we fill up on those sweets we won't have enough hard drive space for the pricier buffet items. One server we had actually brought us each a zebra pastry to eat before we even ordered beverages. Naturally we all ate that first. It is now the first thing I put on my plate when we are lucky enough to get to Boma. I just saw on bing dictionary what "Boma" means - 'enclosure: in central and eastern Africa, an enclosed camp or an enclosure for animals'. I won't take that personally.
There is one more special favorite on my list - Marie Callender's. Unfortunately these restaurants are four to five days away, and I don't know when we will be able to get to another one. The meals are good, but they are not the shining star here. You have to, have to, have to save room for dessert, which is always PIE. My favoritest pie of all, even better than the Chocolate Satin, is the Double Cream Blueberry (fruity therefore healthy). On our first visit to Marie's, spouse and I ordered different flavors (noted above) and shared. On our second visit I again got the Double Cream Blueberry and there was no sharing. It was so good that I did not even mind that spouse spilled some blueberries in his lap, stained his off-white cargo shorts, and decided to abandon them in the motel room rather than have us try to get that stain out at home even though it was first time he had worn them. Shakespeare may have thought the play's the thing, but I say the pie's the thing. If you happen to find yourself on the west coast and in a Marie Callender's and you are still hungry after your meal, have a nice piece of pie, any flavor you want. But if you can't make up your mind, have the Double Cream Blueberry.
Spouse and I like to be in the car, and like to cover a lot of ground. We don't need a specific destination when we start out. On weekends, we want to get out of the house, see things, do things, see new sights. We stop at McD's for our 32 oz. sweet tea (still only $1.00) and head out on the open road. There is always a meal on the agenda, and often the GPS is involved. One more friendly voice in the car adds to the fun of the day.
One time we drove an hour to reach a Shoney's in Rhode Island. We had fond memories of their buffet from vacations past, and wanted to recapture come of that vacation food fun. We got all the way there and saw that Shoney's had closed and we had to eat at a Ruby Tuesday's instead. It has taken me 12 years to appreciate Ruby Tuesday's and it is solely because of the avocado turkey burger. But I digress.
We have repeatedly driven 1.5 hours to the Burlington Mall to dine at the Rainforest Cafe, one of the most fun places on the earth or at least on this hemisphere. The food is ample and excellent, the ambiance is pure squeaky-clean jungle, and the Volcano dessert is to die for. And if you ate a Volcano by yourself you probably would die. Six people could easily share this brownie/cake/ice cream/whipped cream extravaganza. There are two Rainforest locations at Disneyworld, so driving to Burlington is a much shorter ride, and brings back a little of the vacation feeling, at least until we step back out into the mall.
Kelly's Roast Beef is also worth a 1.5 hour journey. Not only is their roast beef fantastic, but their onion rings and french fries are - you guessed it - to die for. Much better to share them. We can walk off some of the excess calories strolling through Jordan's Furniture and asking the sales people "What happened to Barry?". And then, if we're still hungry, we can drive another 20 minutes to Uhlman's in Westborough for ice cream - rich, homemade, creamy ice cream.
We do have favorite restaurants that are only about 45 minutes away; Texas Roadhouse, Five Guys, Smoky Bones, Olive Garden, Outback. There are even a couple only 15 minutes away, like Red Robin, Longhorn Steakhouse, Chili's. But we can go to those any time. Running up the mileage makes a meal more special, and vice verse.
I don't have one favorite restaurant, but I have a favorite few. Starting with the closest geographically, the Family Cupboard in Bird-in-Hand, PA, is Amish and Mennonite and has both a buffet and servers if you choose to have your portions controlled, and shoo fly pie is available at all three meals. Family Cupboard is about eight hours from home, so we don't go there often. Maybe once a year, and we make the visit count.
Another special favorite is the Ville de Flora at Gaylord Palms in Kissimmee, which is 24 hours from our house. It is a buffet, naturally, and every night has a different theme, be it Spanish, French, Greek, or Italian. Italian (the only one we have tried) includes prime rib and about a thousand fantastic side dishes. I could almost become a vegetarian for a meal, but not really. Just before we reach bursting point, we head for the dessert island for the sample-sized treasures that make it deceptively easy to fill a plate before you know what is happening. I remember my father repeating what he heard so often in the army, "Take what you want but eat what you take." So that's what I always try to do. Waste is sinful, and so is gluttony, but waste seems more sinfullier. Once we stagger out of the V de F, we walk extensively around the four acre atrium lobby and gawk at the tropical paradise. This is the only resort I have visited that has alligators in the lobby which sounds scary but is not.
Another favorite restaurant is located at Disney's Animal Kingdom Lodge, also 24 hours from home. It is Boma, an African themed buffet, open for breakfast and dinner. Again, the side dishes are enough to make the meal, but the prime rib, turkey, and chicken are too tempting to resist. The desserts are the first offerings we walk by on the way to our table. I think the hosts plan their routes carefully. If we fill up on those sweets we won't have enough hard drive space for the pricier buffet items. One server we had actually brought us each a zebra pastry to eat before we even ordered beverages. Naturally we all ate that first. It is now the first thing I put on my plate when we are lucky enough to get to Boma. I just saw on bing dictionary what "Boma" means - 'enclosure: in central and eastern Africa, an enclosed camp or an enclosure for animals'. I won't take that personally.
There is one more special favorite on my list - Marie Callender's. Unfortunately these restaurants are four to five days away, and I don't know when we will be able to get to another one. The meals are good, but they are not the shining star here. You have to, have to, have to save room for dessert, which is always PIE. My favoritest pie of all, even better than the Chocolate Satin, is the Double Cream Blueberry (fruity therefore healthy). On our first visit to Marie's, spouse and I ordered different flavors (noted above) and shared. On our second visit I again got the Double Cream Blueberry and there was no sharing. It was so good that I did not even mind that spouse spilled some blueberries in his lap, stained his off-white cargo shorts, and decided to abandon them in the motel room rather than have us try to get that stain out at home even though it was first time he had worn them. Shakespeare may have thought the play's the thing, but I say the pie's the thing. If you happen to find yourself on the west coast and in a Marie Callender's and you are still hungry after your meal, have a nice piece of pie, any flavor you want. But if you can't make up your mind, have the Double Cream Blueberry.
June 4, 2010
Do My Eyes Deceive Me?
I've been told not to sweat the small stuff. I prefer "don't forget the small stuff." The small stuff is where I find the quirky, puzzling, funny, ridiculous, and entertaining. I see some of the best stuff while I'm in the car, and today seemed to be extra stuffish, beginning with my commute along Route 3A, normally scenic and a favorite of wildlife. There were five different potentially fatal (for the chipmunks) incidents. Squirrel, turkey, and deer crossings are easy to deal with; a) proceed with caution and hope for signs of intelligence, b) swerve, c) blow the horn, d) slam on the brakes. Chipmunks, however, only have one speed, they never look both ways or even one way, and unless you time it just right - well, you know what happens. How have chipmunks survived for 76,000 years with not much more than a cute face going for them?
In the Wendy's parking lot at lunch time, I saw a truck with a cherry picker (boom lift, man lift, basket crane) parked about 50 feet away. The middle-aged truck driver was strolling around the outside of the truck, looking things over, and he was wearing a safety harness and a hard hat. This could be entertaining, I thought. He carefully climbed up into the bucket and I heard the whine of the hydraulic motor, and saw him slowly moving the bucket from side to side and then up and down. What I found strange was there wasn't a pole, tree, sign, or building within reach of the bucket. The man was just playing. Then I saw the sign on the truck door with the words "equipment rental". I'm eating lunch on my lunch hour, and he's riding in a bucket. And why at Wendy's? Why not at Burger King? Why not at the mall? And why did he do exactly the same thing yesterday?
I see limos/livery/transport vehicles all the time. Who doesn't? They are all basically taxis of different degrees of fancy-shmanciness. I've seen Hummer stretch limos, Cadillac limos, Lincoln limos, buses, and plenty of cabs of every size and color. Driving home along Route 44 today, I saw a "Victoria's Transport" cab and then I tried to imagine that it's our vacation day; I call Victoria's for the ride to the airport. Spouse and I gather our luggage together by the front door; his 26" rolly bag, my two smaller rolly bags, the toiletries, the shoe bag, the laptop bag, the camera bag. The taxi arrives, the doorbell rings, we open the door and see... a Toyota Prius. Really???
Today was sunny and hot, a perfect spring day. A thirsty kind of day. And then I saw The Soda Machine as I was cruising home on scenic Route 58, through the woods. Standing proud and tall against the side of someone's garage in a nice neighborhood, not far from Edaville Railroad (to which Thomas the Train will be coming on June 21st), and even less far from where King Richard's Faire is held every year, was a Pepsi machine. It wasn't an old, abandoned, wreck of a machine, it had the latest Pepsi logo and was lit up. I could see that from the road. So the question is, can passersby pull into the driveway, take a few steps to the side of the garage, and drop some coins? The homeowner could have put the machine around the back of the garage, out of sight of thirsty passersby. But he didn't. This is out in the middle of rurality with not a convenience store in sight. And there are other people along this same road selling armloads of campfire wood for $1.00. Entrepreneurial awesomeness!
When I was 18, before I had bought my first car, I wanted a Ford F-150. Not for any special reason, I just liked them. Over the years my dream car has changed many times, and has included a Lotus, a white bullet-proof Chevy Suburban with tinted windows, a yellow Toyota FJ Cruiser, a Ford Flex, and an Audi R8 GT3. Lately I've gone from frivolous to practical, and have a new favoritest car that I will never own. I have had my eye on a Ford F650 for its versatility and stylishness and was able to drive by the local Ford dealer to check out my black beauty from time to time. But today on the way home from work, my eye was caught by another, and I now have a new favorite. It's a Ford F750. Who needs the F650, when the F750 is around? The one I saw was doing duty as a dump truck, but from the looks of it, I could tow a house with that power. I could sit in the cab and be at eye-level with tractor trailer drivers. In short, I could fear nothing and no one in this beast. Could driving get any better than that?
Keep your eyes open. Watch for the small stuff.
In the Wendy's parking lot at lunch time, I saw a truck with a cherry picker (boom lift, man lift, basket crane) parked about 50 feet away. The middle-aged truck driver was strolling around the outside of the truck, looking things over, and he was wearing a safety harness and a hard hat. This could be entertaining, I thought. He carefully climbed up into the bucket and I heard the whine of the hydraulic motor, and saw him slowly moving the bucket from side to side and then up and down. What I found strange was there wasn't a pole, tree, sign, or building within reach of the bucket. The man was just playing. Then I saw the sign on the truck door with the words "equipment rental". I'm eating lunch on my lunch hour, and he's riding in a bucket. And why at Wendy's? Why not at Burger King? Why not at the mall? And why did he do exactly the same thing yesterday?
I see limos/livery/transport vehicles all the time. Who doesn't? They are all basically taxis of different degrees of fancy-shmanciness. I've seen Hummer stretch limos, Cadillac limos, Lincoln limos, buses, and plenty of cabs of every size and color. Driving home along Route 44 today, I saw a "Victoria's Transport" cab and then I tried to imagine that it's our vacation day; I call Victoria's for the ride to the airport. Spouse and I gather our luggage together by the front door; his 26" rolly bag, my two smaller rolly bags, the toiletries, the shoe bag, the laptop bag, the camera bag. The taxi arrives, the doorbell rings, we open the door and see... a Toyota Prius. Really???
Today was sunny and hot, a perfect spring day. A thirsty kind of day. And then I saw The Soda Machine as I was cruising home on scenic Route 58, through the woods. Standing proud and tall against the side of someone's garage in a nice neighborhood, not far from Edaville Railroad (to which Thomas the Train will be coming on June 21st), and even less far from where King Richard's Faire is held every year, was a Pepsi machine. It wasn't an old, abandoned, wreck of a machine, it had the latest Pepsi logo and was lit up. I could see that from the road. So the question is, can passersby pull into the driveway, take a few steps to the side of the garage, and drop some coins? The homeowner could have put the machine around the back of the garage, out of sight of thirsty passersby. But he didn't. This is out in the middle of rurality with not a convenience store in sight. And there are other people along this same road selling armloads of campfire wood for $1.00. Entrepreneurial awesomeness!
When I was 18, before I had bought my first car, I wanted a Ford F-150. Not for any special reason, I just liked them. Over the years my dream car has changed many times, and has included a Lotus, a white bullet-proof Chevy Suburban with tinted windows, a yellow Toyota FJ Cruiser, a Ford Flex, and an Audi R8 GT3. Lately I've gone from frivolous to practical, and have a new favoritest car that I will never own. I have had my eye on a Ford F650 for its versatility and stylishness and was able to drive by the local Ford dealer to check out my black beauty from time to time. But today on the way home from work, my eye was caught by another, and I now have a new favorite. It's a Ford F750. Who needs the F650, when the F750 is around? The one I saw was doing duty as a dump truck, but from the looks of it, I could tow a house with that power. I could sit in the cab and be at eye-level with tractor trailer drivers. In short, I could fear nothing and no one in this beast. Could driving get any better than that?
Keep your eyes open. Watch for the small stuff.
May 19, 2010
The Deliciousness of it All
My parents have always been of the "eat to live, don't live to eat" philosophy. And they have both remained slender into their eighties. I have always loved and enjoyed my food, and there is no need to discuss my weight.
Buffets are of paramount interest to me because of the unbeatable combination of variety and quantity, and this extends to nearly all types of food. So far I have been to Italian, French, Mexican, American, and Chinese buffets, and breakfast, lunch, and dinner buffets. Doesn't it make your mouth water to think of all that food?
Tonight we chose Chinese. This buffet is especially fantastic because of its crab rangoon. Plus it has desserts. After a heaping plate of my favorites, it was time to consider the last all-important course. Bananas in raspberry sauce, pineapple, orange slices, tapioca and chocolate puddings, cake and pastries... or the crowning glory, soft serve ice cream in three flavors. You remember the old adage, "Ice cream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream"; of course the ice cream won, and it was further improved by adding the bananas and pineapple. I was headed for the hot fudge sauce bucket when I was loudly redirected by our server. I had been inches from dousing my dessert with Moo Shi Sauce. I celebrated the near tragedy by heaping whipped cream over the hot fudge sauce, etc.
While spouse and I dined, we observed our fellow diners and the restaurant staff. The staff bring their children to work every day, or at least every day that we're there, and they are entertaining to watch and overhear. What I find especially nice is that the staff and their family members take plates from the same stack we do, and serve themselves from the same buffet food as we do.
We got moderately interesting fortunes. "Be willing to believe in anything that is good," and "Most people, once they graduate from the School of Hard Knocks, automatically enroll." We didn't really grasp that second one. Maybe we're slow learners.
Afterwards, I had only one question, which is destined to go forever unanswered. Why, with all that scrumptiousness at hand, was our server walking around with a Cup Noodles?
Buffets are of paramount interest to me because of the unbeatable combination of variety and quantity, and this extends to nearly all types of food. So far I have been to Italian, French, Mexican, American, and Chinese buffets, and breakfast, lunch, and dinner buffets. Doesn't it make your mouth water to think of all that food?
Tonight we chose Chinese. This buffet is especially fantastic because of its crab rangoon. Plus it has desserts. After a heaping plate of my favorites, it was time to consider the last all-important course. Bananas in raspberry sauce, pineapple, orange slices, tapioca and chocolate puddings, cake and pastries... or the crowning glory, soft serve ice cream in three flavors. You remember the old adage, "Ice cream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream"; of course the ice cream won, and it was further improved by adding the bananas and pineapple. I was headed for the hot fudge sauce bucket when I was loudly redirected by our server. I had been inches from dousing my dessert with Moo Shi Sauce. I celebrated the near tragedy by heaping whipped cream over the hot fudge sauce, etc.
While spouse and I dined, we observed our fellow diners and the restaurant staff. The staff bring their children to work every day, or at least every day that we're there, and they are entertaining to watch and overhear. What I find especially nice is that the staff and their family members take plates from the same stack we do, and serve themselves from the same buffet food as we do.
We got moderately interesting fortunes. "Be willing to believe in anything that is good," and "Most people, once they graduate from the School of Hard Knocks, automatically enroll." We didn't really grasp that second one. Maybe we're slow learners.
Afterwards, I had only one question, which is destined to go forever unanswered. Why, with all that scrumptiousness at hand, was our server walking around with a Cup Noodles?
May 15, 2010
Dental Despair
In my early school years, I walked a mile or four to see Dr. Koswan (phonetic spelling), the family dentist. I needed about seventeen fillings because in the 1960s it was neither fashionable nor financially possible to have biannual cleanings. Probably I brushed my teeth as a child, but I don't have any memories of it. What I remember from Dr. Koswan's appointments are wads of cotton and, once, a droplet of mercury on the floor that Dr. K. was trying to pick up with a curled up piece of paper. Maybe he should have used the wad of cotton to soak it up.
Then we moved out of Danvers, and I took my shiny silver fillings away from Dr. Koswan. It would be years before I returned to a dentist's office, and then it was like an instant replay; more cavities, more fillings. If I hadn't had the good fortune to abscess a tooth, it would have been an even longer vacation from that chair that goes up and down.
I reached adulthood with lots of fillings and a serious fear of dentistry, but now I had dental insurance, so there was no financial reason not to go every six months. Which I did. I lied about flossing daily, and didn't realize until years later when I actually started flossing daily that they knew I was lying. I had my wisdom teeth out while I was pregnant with child number two, and healed in record time. It went well, and hearing the impacted tooth crunch and crumble as the dentist wrestled with it didn't faze me. I was gradually losing my fear, and came to look forward to the cleanings.
Once we had children, we started them on the biannual cleaning routine at age three. Meanwhile, water had become fluoridated. As a result, our girls got through their childhoods with only one cavity between them. One day when they both had cleanings, I was told that they both had two cavities, but I refused to believe it. I took the girls for a second opinion, and neither one had a cavity, but they both had a new dentist.
The girls had no cavities, I had no more cavities, I was flossing, things were going well. Isn't dental insurance a wonderful thing? My new adult dentist complained that my mouth was so healthy that he wasn't making any money. The hygienists would tell me that I had a couple of cracked teeth, but it was easy enough to chew on the other side. They mentioned that I ground my teeth and should order a mouth guard, from them, for about $100, not covered by insurance. But there was no pain, and that was the important thing, so I got my own mouth guard from the store, tried it a few nights, and couldn't stand it any more.
Then as I slid out of the forties and into the fifties, things slowly took a turn for the worse. I lost half a molar flossing, and needed a crown, my first. But first the dentist had to laser off the gum that had moved into the spot vacated by the broken tooth. The nitrous oxide put my hands to sleep which would have been perfect if that was where the suffering was. The chair was tilted back so far I was nearly doing a headstand. But I told myself I would have a brand new gold tooth after all this - or at least in a few weeks when they had finished making it from the mold. It was a blast from beginning to end, made even better because insurance covered only half of it.
I had to increase the cleanings to three a year, one of which was not covered by insurance, because I had the beginnings of periodontal disease. I bought an electric toothbrush from the dentist's office, used it faithfully, flossed daily, and hoped for the best. Then for my 52nd birthday, I got an abscessed tooth. This required Advil every four hours until I was able to snag an appointment at the dentist's about six days after the pain and swelling started. Maybe the tooth can be saved, said the dentist, who sent me to a root canal specialist. A root canal! Just what I've always wanted. The specialist took a digital xray and gave me the good news - this tooth cannot be saved. I had reached this conclusion myself. Any time a tooth lifts itself up out of the gum there has to be a serious consequence. It was a back tooth and difficult to hygienisize, anyway.
I called the dentist's office and discussed the pros and cons of having the dentist vs. an oral surgeon. The oral surgeon is much more expensive, said the receptionist, and you would have to wait until the next blue moon. The dentist could do the extraction in a few days. All things considered, I chose the dentist. How bad can it be? I had my wisdom teeth out two at a time, and I walked out of the office with a mouth full of gauze, but I could still walk.
On the big day, I had Novocaine and nitrous oxide, and my head was strapped to the chair. It was not an auspicious beginning. Spouse was in the waiting room and would hear me if I screamed. Which I did not, but there may have been some whimpering, especially when she was digging into the gum for stray pieces of broken tooth. It was a frightful, horrendous experience and it went on for an hour and a half. I did manage to walk out of there, and would have run if I wasn't still light-headed from chemical ingestion. Then I got to experience day-after face swelling so amazing that co-workers told me I looked awful and should go home. Speaking was difficult as my lips no longer met and my words were slurred so I took their advice, and then stayed home another day.
A week after the extraction I went back so the stitches could be ripped out. Tiny food particles had gotten lodged into the new vacancy and I had had some shooting pain in my jaw because of it. The dentist got her vacuum cleaner and took care of that little problem while I tried very hard not to cry. She then applied some plaster of paris-like stuff to the wound and said that it should help to keep more food out. We didn't want the gum healing over food particles which would get infected, did we? Speaking for myself, that would be a resounding NO. One of my favorite moments that day was when I was in the chair, tilted way back once again into that oh-so-familiar position, and heard the dentist tell her assistant to schedule a crown for the tooth next to the extraction. No, thank you. Thank you. No.
In the next month, I had an appointment for a cleaning. Cleanings were done on the "other" side of the office, and the hygienist has always been gentle, so in I went. I overheard the receptionist saying farewells to the hygienist, and learned that it was her last day there, and that she was moving to another office in town. That was all I needed to hear.
My new dentist, who has a great, familiar hygienist wink wink, does not use nitrous oxide. If a tooth needs to be extracted, the patient is sent to an oral surgeon who presumably anesthetizes the patient to unconsciousness or close to it. Isn't that the way surgery should be?
During my second cleaning appointment at the new office, my new dentist strongly suggested scaling my teeth because of the deep pockets my gums have developed which seek and hold bacteria, leading to serious gum problems. These scalings are done in four quadrants, and are only 50% covered by insurance, and they sound 100% painful and unpleasant. If left untreated, there will probably be a need for gum surgery which removes the gum where the pockets have gotten too large. Maybe with a laser, maybe a chain saw, I'm not sure. I elected to heal myself by flossing and brushing three times a day and using both a plaque and a fluoride rinse to postpone the possibly inevitable.
Part of me is convinced that dentists will do anything to us that our insurance will cover, especially in this economy. But there is another part that is gearing up for what comes next, because "just say no" isn't always enough to chase away the low-down, mean-old, dreaded dental blues.
Then we moved out of Danvers, and I took my shiny silver fillings away from Dr. Koswan. It would be years before I returned to a dentist's office, and then it was like an instant replay; more cavities, more fillings. If I hadn't had the good fortune to abscess a tooth, it would have been an even longer vacation from that chair that goes up and down.
I reached adulthood with lots of fillings and a serious fear of dentistry, but now I had dental insurance, so there was no financial reason not to go every six months. Which I did. I lied about flossing daily, and didn't realize until years later when I actually started flossing daily that they knew I was lying. I had my wisdom teeth out while I was pregnant with child number two, and healed in record time. It went well, and hearing the impacted tooth crunch and crumble as the dentist wrestled with it didn't faze me. I was gradually losing my fear, and came to look forward to the cleanings.
Once we had children, we started them on the biannual cleaning routine at age three. Meanwhile, water had become fluoridated. As a result, our girls got through their childhoods with only one cavity between them. One day when they both had cleanings, I was told that they both had two cavities, but I refused to believe it. I took the girls for a second opinion, and neither one had a cavity, but they both had a new dentist.
The girls had no cavities, I had no more cavities, I was flossing, things were going well. Isn't dental insurance a wonderful thing? My new adult dentist complained that my mouth was so healthy that he wasn't making any money. The hygienists would tell me that I had a couple of cracked teeth, but it was easy enough to chew on the other side. They mentioned that I ground my teeth and should order a mouth guard, from them, for about $100, not covered by insurance. But there was no pain, and that was the important thing, so I got my own mouth guard from the store, tried it a few nights, and couldn't stand it any more.
Then as I slid out of the forties and into the fifties, things slowly took a turn for the worse. I lost half a molar flossing, and needed a crown, my first. But first the dentist had to laser off the gum that had moved into the spot vacated by the broken tooth. The nitrous oxide put my hands to sleep which would have been perfect if that was where the suffering was. The chair was tilted back so far I was nearly doing a headstand. But I told myself I would have a brand new gold tooth after all this - or at least in a few weeks when they had finished making it from the mold. It was a blast from beginning to end, made even better because insurance covered only half of it.
I had to increase the cleanings to three a year, one of which was not covered by insurance, because I had the beginnings of periodontal disease. I bought an electric toothbrush from the dentist's office, used it faithfully, flossed daily, and hoped for the best. Then for my 52nd birthday, I got an abscessed tooth. This required Advil every four hours until I was able to snag an appointment at the dentist's about six days after the pain and swelling started. Maybe the tooth can be saved, said the dentist, who sent me to a root canal specialist. A root canal! Just what I've always wanted. The specialist took a digital xray and gave me the good news - this tooth cannot be saved. I had reached this conclusion myself. Any time a tooth lifts itself up out of the gum there has to be a serious consequence. It was a back tooth and difficult to hygienisize, anyway.
I called the dentist's office and discussed the pros and cons of having the dentist vs. an oral surgeon. The oral surgeon is much more expensive, said the receptionist, and you would have to wait until the next blue moon. The dentist could do the extraction in a few days. All things considered, I chose the dentist. How bad can it be? I had my wisdom teeth out two at a time, and I walked out of the office with a mouth full of gauze, but I could still walk.
On the big day, I had Novocaine and nitrous oxide, and my head was strapped to the chair. It was not an auspicious beginning. Spouse was in the waiting room and would hear me if I screamed. Which I did not, but there may have been some whimpering, especially when she was digging into the gum for stray pieces of broken tooth. It was a frightful, horrendous experience and it went on for an hour and a half. I did manage to walk out of there, and would have run if I wasn't still light-headed from chemical ingestion. Then I got to experience day-after face swelling so amazing that co-workers told me I looked awful and should go home. Speaking was difficult as my lips no longer met and my words were slurred so I took their advice, and then stayed home another day.
A week after the extraction I went back so the stitches could be ripped out. Tiny food particles had gotten lodged into the new vacancy and I had had some shooting pain in my jaw because of it. The dentist got her vacuum cleaner and took care of that little problem while I tried very hard not to cry. She then applied some plaster of paris-like stuff to the wound and said that it should help to keep more food out. We didn't want the gum healing over food particles which would get infected, did we? Speaking for myself, that would be a resounding NO. One of my favorite moments that day was when I was in the chair, tilted way back once again into that oh-so-familiar position, and heard the dentist tell her assistant to schedule a crown for the tooth next to the extraction. No, thank you. Thank you. No.
In the next month, I had an appointment for a cleaning. Cleanings were done on the "other" side of the office, and the hygienist has always been gentle, so in I went. I overheard the receptionist saying farewells to the hygienist, and learned that it was her last day there, and that she was moving to another office in town. That was all I needed to hear.
My new dentist, who has a great, familiar hygienist wink wink, does not use nitrous oxide. If a tooth needs to be extracted, the patient is sent to an oral surgeon who presumably anesthetizes the patient to unconsciousness or close to it. Isn't that the way surgery should be?
During my second cleaning appointment at the new office, my new dentist strongly suggested scaling my teeth because of the deep pockets my gums have developed which seek and hold bacteria, leading to serious gum problems. These scalings are done in four quadrants, and are only 50% covered by insurance, and they sound 100% painful and unpleasant. If left untreated, there will probably be a need for gum surgery which removes the gum where the pockets have gotten too large. Maybe with a laser, maybe a chain saw, I'm not sure. I elected to heal myself by flossing and brushing three times a day and using both a plaque and a fluoride rinse to postpone the possibly inevitable.
Part of me is convinced that dentists will do anything to us that our insurance will cover, especially in this economy. But there is another part that is gearing up for what comes next, because "just say no" isn't always enough to chase away the low-down, mean-old, dreaded dental blues.
January 31, 2010
Mister Rogers to MTV
When I was growing up, our family always had one television, and it was always black and white. There were 3 - 5 channels; 4, 5, 7, and sometimes 2 and 10. I liked to get up early on weekend days, before everyone else in the family, just to watch The Three Stooges, Davey and Goliath, or anything that was on. I was mesmerised by Mister Rogers and I always wished that Miss Jean would look into her Romper Room magic mirror and see me. Despite never hearing my name, I knew that television was magic and scary because of something that happened one morning.
I was sitting on the couch watching Jack Lalanne, alone as usual, when he said TO ME, "Put down that candy and get up off that couch." I was terrorized because he could see me through that TV screen, right down to the candy I was holding. I jumped off the couch and used evasive maneuvers to sneak over and turn off that evil TV. My little heart was pounding, but I knew I was safe once he couldn't see me. I didn't give up watching early morning TV, but I did give up watching Jack Lalanne.
We children really didn't watch TV during the day. We were told to "go out and play," as were all the kids in the neighborhood. There were shows that we were never allowed to watch, and those were soap operas and Twilight Zone. I didn't watch either until I was married, and then I understood my mother's rules.
As teenagers, we took serious interest in TV, and I appreciated the excitement of September. As unpleasant as it was to go back to school, at least we had the new TV shows to watch. Laugh In was a favorite in our house, and although I didn't always know why my father would laugh uproariously at some of the skits, I did get some of them, and enjoyed the show. On Monday nights we would have a conflict because The Monkees and Gilligan's Island were on opposite each other. My mother solved that squabble by having us take turns on Mondays. Saturday nights our parents would sometimes go out, and the eldest of the kids would stay up late and watch Hogan's Heroes. The stress of babysitting the younger kids required snacks, so we would have ice cream when we were lucky. There was never any temptation to watch the forbidden shows as, living in a creaky old house, we had enough fodder for nightmares if we were looking for some.
Once spouse and I were married, we got our own TV, a Magnavox console, color, of course. It was big and beautiful, and the roomy, flat top could hold all kinds of stuff. Then we had our first child, and I stayed home with her full time. This is when I started checking out The Soaps, but when I realized that the televised emotional turmoil was affecting me I had to give them up. When our little one was almost two, spouse discovered some new technology, a new toy, a VCR. He had to be the first on his block to get one, and he handed over $800 for the privilege. This was 1979. We began wearing a path to the store to rent their VHS tapes. What a concept, to be able to watch a movie, pause it, then resume watching.
I didn't have a "forbidden" TV show list for our girls, but I never got them started on Sesame Street. Mister Rogers was a favorite, and when I told my mother that my daughter answered Mister Rogers' questions, she told me that I had done the same thing. Once I got a part time job, spouse would watch TV with the girls at night, and their favorites were the Muppets and Hee Haw. Hee Haw, according to our elder daughter, had to be watched from the floor, not the couch. Spouse never learned why, but he went along with it. Once MTV was born, some may have felt that video killed the radio star, but I loved my MTV. The girls weren't into it much, but they did like to watch some of the videos. "Thriller" was a favorite of only one of the girls; our younger daughter was always afraid of it. It was a creep fest, although very well done.
We did try to prevent nightmares, for the girls and for us, and when "Pee Wee's Big Adventure" was on, I would tell the girls to close their eyes for the 'Large Marge' segment. To this day, our older daughter has not seen Marge's face, but not because she is afraid, only because of lack of opportunity. When we do watch TV together, it is shows like CSI and Bones. Our younger daughter prefers less graphic TV, but likes action/adventures and romantic comedy. With over 900 channels on the cable box, there are plenty of choices for all of us. But it's good to have the VCR and On Demand ready at a moment's notice. Just In Case there's nothing on TV. We have all come a long way since Mister Rogers.
I was sitting on the couch watching Jack Lalanne, alone as usual, when he said TO ME, "Put down that candy and get up off that couch." I was terrorized because he could see me through that TV screen, right down to the candy I was holding. I jumped off the couch and used evasive maneuvers to sneak over and turn off that evil TV. My little heart was pounding, but I knew I was safe once he couldn't see me. I didn't give up watching early morning TV, but I did give up watching Jack Lalanne.
We children really didn't watch TV during the day. We were told to "go out and play," as were all the kids in the neighborhood. There were shows that we were never allowed to watch, and those were soap operas and Twilight Zone. I didn't watch either until I was married, and then I understood my mother's rules.
As teenagers, we took serious interest in TV, and I appreciated the excitement of September. As unpleasant as it was to go back to school, at least we had the new TV shows to watch. Laugh In was a favorite in our house, and although I didn't always know why my father would laugh uproariously at some of the skits, I did get some of them, and enjoyed the show. On Monday nights we would have a conflict because The Monkees and Gilligan's Island were on opposite each other. My mother solved that squabble by having us take turns on Mondays. Saturday nights our parents would sometimes go out, and the eldest of the kids would stay up late and watch Hogan's Heroes. The stress of babysitting the younger kids required snacks, so we would have ice cream when we were lucky. There was never any temptation to watch the forbidden shows as, living in a creaky old house, we had enough fodder for nightmares if we were looking for some.
Once spouse and I were married, we got our own TV, a Magnavox console, color, of course. It was big and beautiful, and the roomy, flat top could hold all kinds of stuff. Then we had our first child, and I stayed home with her full time. This is when I started checking out The Soaps, but when I realized that the televised emotional turmoil was affecting me I had to give them up. When our little one was almost two, spouse discovered some new technology, a new toy, a VCR. He had to be the first on his block to get one, and he handed over $800 for the privilege. This was 1979. We began wearing a path to the store to rent their VHS tapes. What a concept, to be able to watch a movie, pause it, then resume watching.
I didn't have a "forbidden" TV show list for our girls, but I never got them started on Sesame Street. Mister Rogers was a favorite, and when I told my mother that my daughter answered Mister Rogers' questions, she told me that I had done the same thing. Once I got a part time job, spouse would watch TV with the girls at night, and their favorites were the Muppets and Hee Haw. Hee Haw, according to our elder daughter, had to be watched from the floor, not the couch. Spouse never learned why, but he went along with it. Once MTV was born, some may have felt that video killed the radio star, but I loved my MTV. The girls weren't into it much, but they did like to watch some of the videos. "Thriller" was a favorite of only one of the girls; our younger daughter was always afraid of it. It was a creep fest, although very well done.
We did try to prevent nightmares, for the girls and for us, and when "Pee Wee's Big Adventure" was on, I would tell the girls to close their eyes for the 'Large Marge' segment. To this day, our older daughter has not seen Marge's face, but not because she is afraid, only because of lack of opportunity. When we do watch TV together, it is shows like CSI and Bones. Our younger daughter prefers less graphic TV, but likes action/adventures and romantic comedy. With over 900 channels on the cable box, there are plenty of choices for all of us. But it's good to have the VCR and On Demand ready at a moment's notice. Just In Case there's nothing on TV. We have all come a long way since Mister Rogers.
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