I know that Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest. But, knowing me, do you think I’d ever listen to that?
I biked 52 miles….yes, again! And, a BIG THANK YOU to Steve who mentioned that I should change my blog title to “Cycling Goddess of All Things Lovely” or something like that.
Nothing says “fierce” like flowered socks.
Nothing says “fiercer” like a pedicure with flowers on your big toes.
Cycling stuff: $1800 (bike, helmet, iPod, Blackberry, pink sunglasses, pink cycling gloves, water bottles, and granola bars) Biking 52 miles: Mad to some, but I really did it because I can! Having the Schulz legs, being able to use them as I do, and loving life: Priceless
Tawanda!
After the 52 mile ride, here I am (not dead……………yet!) tired, sweaty, and salty, lying in the grass getting consoled by Rover, because at that very moment, I felt her age (97 years old, well, in cat years!).
Look, here's a handy dandy cat-years-to-people-years calculator!
Tangent Cycling Story: In May of 2007, I went to visit my friend, George, in Austin, TX. I know I said in a previous blog that I wasn’t a pee-in-the-woods kind of gal, but sometimes on very rare occasions, the bladder wins out over my mind over matter tact. :-) When I went down to visit George, it was mandatory that I ship my bike down, so we could ride every day, and so we did. I'm not a morning person really; well, I am after my first cup of coffee has kicked in. There was George, rapping on my door every morning at 7am, saying "Jean, come on. Coffee's made. Your English muffin is toasted. Let get out of here by 7:30." Eeeek. The bad thing about not being a morning person and then being expected to ride 20-30 miles at some ungodly hour in the morning is that you need at least two cups of coffee to get going; and, those two cups of coffee conveniently decide that they must egress (telecom term that I love to use!) your body after you're out on the road.
So, there we were riding this hilly section in GodKnowsWhere, TX, and I said to George, "George, I REALLY have to pee." Of course, all of these ranches are surrounded by barbed wire fences and all the trees are scrubby and low, so it's not like there's anywhere that would make good cover for a pee. After biking five MORE miles with a very full bladder, I saw a promising group of trees. I said, "George, that's it. Just a minute." I remember going behind the tree and thinking, "Jeez, the minute I bare my ass some icky green reptile or some slithery slimy snake is going to bite me on the ass, and I'm going to be dead. Sh*t! Is this how I'm going to die?!?!" Sufficed to say, it was the quickest outdoor pee I EVER HAD!
As I had my feet parked in a tub of very warm water today (err, pedicure!), I pulled out my trusty pink-pimped-out-Hello-Kitty Moleskine. I noticed once I flipped past the totally (okay, over the top!) Hello Kitty cover, that the first page was an "in case of loss, please return to" page. Of course, I had to fill that out before I could write in it! What if I wrote the Great American novel in my Moleskine, and then lost it? However would my Moleskine find its way back to me? :-)
So, here's how that page looks now in case you were going to lose sleep over it tonight, if I didn't post this picture right here and now. :-)
"In case of loss, please return to: The Goddess of All Things Lovely♥. As a reward: $1, 000, 000 OR One Slightly Used Corgi."
Speaking of Monty, here he is at Cisco Beach in Nantucket in March. He's SO not a water dog, and I won't let him forget it! :-)
Biking Note: I biked 25 miles today. I almost bit the dust when I called out to an older cyclist, "On your right!" Yes, I usually say, "On your left!", but she was biking on the left side of the trail. So, after she heard me, she moved to the RIGHT. I think she must have thought I barked, "Move to your right!" Of course, I'd NEVER bark at another cyclist unless they were doing something really stupid, like wearing white socks (especially past Labor Day) pulled up almost to their knees with cycling shoes. :-) Anyway, when she moved to the right, a really bad crash flashed before my eyes (one with me receiving most of the road rash and broken bones, of course), so I quickly said, "No, no, I'm coming up on your RIGHT", she then quickly darted back to the left, and then as I road past, I said, "Sorry!" See, I am NICE. Well, fierce but still nice. :-)
Anyway, Jeff and I used to “work” together ‘til we both got laid off. When at work, Jeff gave me constant support (because I was totally new to the telecomm biz), and then after a bit, we both discovered that we liked to write. We’d go on walks and talk about our writing aspirations. Jeff has ALWAYS been one of the biggest supporters of my writing.
At lunch today, Jeff presented me with a notebook. This might not seem like a big deal to most, but if you’re a REAL writer (or songwriter) you have tons of notebooks or scraps of paper with tons of ideas written all over them. I always carry a notebook in my purse and a bag o' pens. I am just constantly writing down conversations, thoughts, ideas, and such. Also, I'm a total office supply-lovin gal here. Plus, in a boredom pinch, paper and pen always keeps Iz amused. :-)
Here are all my notebooks:
Jeff gave me a beautiful Moleskine notebook.
Actually, it’s not ONE notebook but two notebooks in one. DoublemintMoleskine. :-)
Did you know that the Moleskine is the “legendary notebook” of Hemingway, Picasso, and Chatwin? Well, did you? http://www.moleskine.com/
On the book, it said, “The history of the Moleskine is inside.” And here it is:
Moleskine® is the heir of the legendary notebook used for the past two centuries by great artists and thinkers, including Vincent Van Gogh, Pablo Picasso, Ernest Hemingway, and Bruce Chatwin. This trusty, pocket-sized travel companion held their sketches, notes stories, and ideas before they became famous images or beloved books.
The little black notebook, with its typical rounded corners, elastic closure, and expandable inner pocket, was originally a nameless object. It was produced by a small French bookbinder that supplied Parisian stationery shops frequented by the international literary and artistic avant-garde for more than a century. In the mid-1980s, however, it no longer became available.
In his book The Songlines, Bruce Chatwin tells us the whole story of his favorite notebook, which he nicknamed "Moleskine." In 1986, the original manufacturer--a family operating in Tours--closed down forever: "Le vrai moleskine n'est plus" are the lapidary words he puts into the mouth of the owner of the stationery shop in Rue de l'Ancienne Comédie--also a legendary spot where Chatwin stocked up on the notebooks. The English writer-traveler bought up all the "Moleskines" that he could find, but they were not enough.
In 1998, a small Milanese publisher brought the legendary notebook back to life under the name "Moleskine," thus restoring a solid tradition, renewing notebookism, and sensing that mobile technologies needed to be accompanied by essential self-standing analog tools.
As the reverent keeper of an extraordinary tradition, the legendary notebook once again began traveling the globe. Capturing reality on the move, preserving details, impressing the unique aspects of experience upon paper: Moleskine is a reservoir of ideas and feelings, a battery that stores discoveries and perceptions without depletion. With its various page styles, it accompanies the creative professions and has become an international symbol of contemporary nomadism. With this physical object, the art of taking notes has found new realms on the web and its communities.
Today, Moleskine is culture, travel, memory, imagination, and personal identity, both analog and digital. It is a brand identifying a family of notebooks, journals, planners, and guidebooks, with different functions, complying with a free mindstyle, both basic and emotional, and connected with the digital world through a huge network of websites, blogs, groups, virtual archives in the Internet.
The adventure of Moleskine continues to widen, and its still-blank pages will tell the rest.
After giving it to me, Jeff said, “They’re pink!” I wanted to say, “Jeez, Jeff, you’ve known me almost four years. I SO hate pink.” Yeah, not. :-)
He said that he was going to include Hello Kitty stickers with them, but he knew that I could handle that. It’s VERY good to have friends who know you so well.
Thus, I “pimped” my Moleskines, Jeff!
As a writer or a songwriter, you keep notebooks and have bits and scraps of papers that you have jotted ideas down on, or you keep things from the newspaper, a magazine, or from your own life that you think will help you write something good. A few months ago, I looked through a drawer that contained a lot of my bits and scraps, and here’s what I found.
I found some ideas for a book I was going to write called “Zippy the Wonder Cat”. It was going to be about diversity. Zippy is a polydactyl, and the other cats don’t like him.
I wrote only the first page, and then I had a few ideas jotted down on subsequent pages. Here’s the first page:
From the trees and alleys and houses of Snidely Street, Come the felines to the garden of Miss Lucinda Peet. There do meet the members of the Whiskerville Cat Club, Where their meeting comes to order under a blooming lilac shrub.
I found my “cat rap”. Note to TomB: Don’t barf just yet! :-)
Friskies, 9-Lives, and big fat rats,I'm gonna tell you 'bout some neato cats. Big ones, tall ones, black and gray, Tough if you don't like 'em, cuz they are here to stay! Now they all hang out down on the streets, Talkin' 'bout their crazy cat-like feats. Rappin' 'bout mousies and playin' with their yarn, Dancin' to their favorite music from Chaka Khan.
Friskies, 9-Lives, and big fat rats, I'm gonna tell you 'bout some neato cats. Fat ones, cutes ones, give them some applause, Tough if you don't like 'em, cuz they'll bust your paws!
These funky cats are jammin' in the street, Fluffy's on sax, Scooter's got the beat. Jerry's really bangin' away at the piano, And, Jacob's just havin' fun singin' "Meow!" Friskies, 9-Lives, and big fat rats, I'm gonna tell you 'bout some neato cats. Cool ones, Polish ones, they surely got it all, Tough if you don't like 'em, cuz you're a furball!
Along comes an emu, a big mean emu, Jerry and his friends run for his BMW. Start the car and burn some rubber, Those cats surely know how to run for cover.
Friskies, 9-Lives, and big fat rats, I'm gonna tell you 'bout some neato cats. Computer whizzes, movie stars, CEOs, Tough if you don't like 'em, cuz they got lots of dough!
Cruisin' down the highway, purrin' along, Look who's broken down in his Saab. Stop to help a furball, 1-2-3, Now he's motorin' along with us three.
Friskies, 9-Lives, chicken livers, Well, I told ya the cats really deliver. They are funky, they don't whine, And they drink Beck's beer when de are feline fine.
Friskies, 9-Lives, and tunafish, Now I've come to the end of the list. Catholic ones, Jewish ones, they even eat lox, Best to like 'em or get dumped in their litterbox!
Apparently, I even entered a yogurt jingle writing contest once upon a time…
Dannon Light, I love to bite. Peach and Lemon, a taste of heaven! Only 100 calories in each serving, guaranteed to keep my figure curving!
Then there was this gem. Err, again, TomB, don’t barf, k? :-)
Every Cat Tells a Story
I got my first kitty at seven, My sister, brother, and I were in heaven, Little did I know of the quirk that began, To never say “No” to a cat again.
Over the years, much to my parent’s fears, We always kept a cat or two, frequently termed by Mom “a zoo”, Patches, Little Red, Jerry, and Bullseye, Attendees now of that big scratching post in the sky.
Growing older and loving the feline, I acquired things which I’m proud are mine. Mugs, jewelry, books, sunglasses, a stuffed cat to pose, Even a silly rubber cat nose!
My parents warned “Don’t bring home more strays!”, I wished for the day to have my own way, Big cats, small cats, oh, what fun, Bring another cat home, and it’s eviction!
“Hallelujah!”, I screamed when I bought my house so nice, Now I need some cats to scare away those mice! Bobo the Aloof from a cat show came, Fritz the Oblivious, from Buddy Dog with his white mane, Rover’s from Connecticut, warning, she’s bitten, And Casper, the kitten, for a total of 16 mittens.
After a tough day of living, some find space At a gym, at a bar, or some other place. It’s tough to find some comfort and a place to hang your hat, I go home and have a cat.
My lap is never empty with a cat for every mood, I can go home and be happy, or they let me brood. A catless home, how bizarre, I believe “Home is where the cats are.”
Tonight, at my doorstep, if I should encounter a stray, I would have to say, “Come in, stay and play!” Because I know my cat quirk will never mend, Allowing me never to say “No” to the cat, my beloved friend.
I have bits of overheard conversations that I jotted down:
"So, I was sitting in the bar in my pajamas drinking a Brandy...."
"She's pregnant..................by him?"
"But, if you say it like that then you're kind of admitting that you were wrong."
I have titles for stories never written:
Picking up the Lipsticks of my Life Much Love, Anne My Eyes are Greeen and Other Things I Never Really Noticed about Myself Lost Lake Drive The Birthday Stories** **One year, I was going to write a story for every friend for his/her birthday.
I have quotes:
"iams mens praetrepidans avet vagari." ~Catullus
...now the mind impatiently desires to wander.
"To be nobody but myself -- in a world which is doing its best to make you everybody else." ~e.e. cummings
"Of all the people who love me, none of them is you." ~err, um, me
"You learn. You grow, and you know." ~err, ah, me, again, I think
I have random thoughts/overheard converations written down on one scrap of paper like these gems:
"Tommy, you're the typical Italian male." "I'm afraid of the kids; they don't like me! As soon as she leaves, they freak out on me!" Dogs -- "My Tommy" "Stick with the goldfish. You really don't want to bring anything home that has to be fed. Al Pacino. Olympia Dukakis.
I guess this might have been a movie idea since I did some casting at the end. :-)
What that was ever supposed to mean, well, your guess is as good as mine! It sounds like it could be a Coen brothers movie, no?! :-)
AND, this must have been one for the “Keep Things That You Think Will Be Good for Stories” category. I broke up with someone. I wrote him a letter. He came by my house when I wasn’t there; he had a key. He proceeded to write a 6 page “Let’s reconsider this break up” note on post-its and left it at my house, which I kept. The funny thing was, and probably why I kept it, that after 6 pages of post-it note seriousness, page 7 said, “P.S. Rover ate + Kim called.”
I guess the most important thing is to keep writing, even if most of the ideas never make it beyond the scrap of paper that they are written on. I think that's why I'm trying to write here every day. I need to keep writing, and it keeps me going.
After my Dad died, I found his notebook. See, it’s says “Writer’s Notebook” in the corner. :-) It's his writing notebook from when he was an undergrad at Northeastern. He started NU, left to serve in Korea, then came back and finished, and got his degree in English.
And here are its words.
Its stories are “The Third Time”, “Too Little”, “The Little Boy”, “The Wake”, “Mrs. Robak”, and the “The Worker and the Corner”.
Anyway, I love my notebooks, Jeff. They are wonderful. And, I will see you next Friday for lunch again when we will sit in the grass under the trees and talk about life, writing, and anything else that happens to come our way.
P.S. I rode 25 miles on the rail trail today. Update to Cycling Fashion Snobbery: This is so not a cool look either. White socks pulled up to almost your knees totally cancel out the fact that you have cycling shoes on, okay? :-)
Congratulations on winning an Apex Award for your piece, "The Conshohocken Women's Club."
Since you are a technical writer, this should help you in getting jobs and advancement in your field. We will be ordering a certificate for you soon.
Please send us your address and phone number so that we can contact you and send you your certificate when it arrives.
Very best wishes.
Whoa! I guess the web magazine it was published in submitted it. At least, I think that's what happened. :-) It's an Apex Award of Excellence for Magazine & Journal Writing. AND, now I can display this cool little logo on my blog, too!
I know most of you have read this story, but I'm including here, because you know it only gets better the second and third time you read it. :-)
Lastly, again, thanks to all of you for your very kind and always supportive words in regard to my writing, especially to my Dad, who gave me this creative gift, Jeff, Harry, Tom, and Brenda.
Story soundtrack: Actually, I LOVE the Andrews Sisters. I think it's partially due to all those Abbott and Costello movies my Dad made us watch as kids. This is my favorite song. Come on, they're so vintage, too! :-)
♫ You're a sweet heart in a million Oh oh oh oooh (be mine oh oh) Aurora ♪
The Conshohocken Woman’s Club
As I sat fuming and overwhelmed at my desk yesterday, because the engineer in India needed his release notes written in one day, the translation coordinator, Maria, needed to know if Maggie, the Chinese translator, had to reproduce the exact data in the screen captures or could just use similar data, and another engineer changed the software two days after the books were final, making the books and the software out of sync, I had an epiphany, which came in the form of a 5'2", 57-year-old woman.
My friend and co-worker, Peg came into my office and said, "Hey, Jean. I noticed that you're not your usual positive self. [Post-It® Note to self: Remove dart board with picture of engineering team plastered to it from my office wall to help fake a positive outlook at work.] I'm taking tomorrow off, because I cooking lasagna for the Conshohocken Woman's Club of which I'm a member. Why don't you come as my guest? It's a bunch of little old retired ladies, but we have a good time, although you might think that some of the stuff we do is weird."
Weird, I thought? Do they wear funny hats? Do they chant around knitting needles and balls of yarn? How weird could a bunch of little old retired ladies be?
I told Peg that at that very moment I was contemplating a career change, and it sounded like "little old retired lady" might be something that I could handle.
Peg told me that the agenda was lunch, a meeting, and then a program. She said that in the past programs had been floral arranging, singing with the high school chorus, and laundering (you know, how to get those pesky lipstick stains out of hubby's shirt, not how to hide money from the government). Okay, I made that last one up, but I was starting to get a real "Leave-It-To-Beaver" feeling about these programs.
She added that the program that day involved bringing in any collectibles you might own and talk about them in front of the group. It sounded interesting but Peg was right, in a weird way. Peg said to arrive at the Congregational Church in Conshohocken at 11:30. And, I didn't have to bring any collectibles, but the donation for lunch was $2. I'm sorry, but that just too cute, a donation for lunch!
That morning, I pondered my outfit choices. Should I wear a polyester pantsuit to fit in or just go with in my normal suit, which was jeans and sweater? But, maybe I could stuff a Kleenex up the sleeve of my sweater like my grandmother used to, or I could add a rhinestone brooch to my sweater, because after all, I was over 40.
At 11:25, I pulled up in front of the church and parked. I knew I had found the right place when I saw a slow stream of little old retired ladies entering the front door of the church. Well, they were all bundled up, so it was difficult to tell, but the canes and plastic shopping bags definitely gave them away.
I walked in and went to the kitchen, where Peg told me she'd be. She greeted me enthusiastically, as I could tell she thought I might not show, especially after she added the "weird" element to her description of the afternoon's events. She brought me into the meeting hall, where I was greeted by a little old retired lady in her late 70s, wearing a blue sweater vest, and her name, I kid you not, was Myrtle, Myrtle Anderson.
She was quick to brand me with a name tag. I got one of those peel and stick ones. If, and when, you are lucky enough to become a full-fledged member, you get a plastic tag that hangs around your neck by a piece of yarn. (Hmmm, were my suspicions about the chanting 'round the yarn and the needles almost confirmed?)
Peg said she had to go back to the kitchen and went off, leaving me amid the sea of little old retired ladies that had begun to pool by the lunch tables.
I watched as they brought their collectibles to the designated "program" tables and unpack them. Myrtle was laying out her collection of, ehem, mugs. I'm jumping ahead here, but Myrtle's presentation went something like, "These are my four Currier and Ives mugs. These are my mugs from the bicentennial. Well, I've got over 70 mugs at home, and they're all getting' a little dusty. Perhaps when you all come over to see them; you can help me dust them."
[Post-It® Note to self: Remember to have a good excuse when Peg tells you that the next meeting's field trip is to Myrtle's house to see all 70 of her mugs. "Um, Peg, I'd love to, but I'm having my hip replacement and gall bladder surgery that day. Shucks. Too bad I can't make it."] I turned around, and when I saw the thimble collection, I was ready to bolt, but I kept thinking about the lasagna. All the lasagna you can eat for $2; my stomach told me I could not leave.
Anyway, while I was trying to look like I was engaged and socially involved, which is pretty hard to do when you're standing in the middle of a room all by your self, the President of the club came over to greet me. Her name was Bertha, and she kind of reminded me of a shorter and stockier version of "Maude" (a.k.a. Bea Arthur), but without the long flowing sweater vest that Maude used to wear.
Bertha said excitedly, "Hi. You're new!"
(This also confirmed another suspicion I had that this Conshohocken Woman's Club just might be Conshohocken's answer to the Stepford Wives. That is, when I left the building, I might very well be wearing orthopedic pumps, carrying a plastic shopping bag, and have an urge to start a mug collection. Although, I shouldn't be so critical of the shoes, because most of their shoes looked a heck of a lot more comfortable than the Italian pointy-toe kitten-heel pumps that I had crammed my feet into that very morning.)
I said, "Yes. I'm Peg's friend, Jean."
And Bertha said, "Well, we so glad to have you, Jean. Since you're new, I'll have Mary Van Dam escort you through the luncheon line."
Wow, an escort through the lunch line! I hadn't been so celebrated since my son took me to the Mother-Son pancake breakfast at his elementary school cafeteria when he was in fourth grade.
Mary, who was at that moment unpacking what looked to be like some age-old sampler, glanced at me and eked out a tolerant smile. Bertha walked away, probably to do something very Presidential like to check and see if lunch was ready.
In an effort to acquaint myself with my escort, I commented on how lovely her sampler was, and she proceeded to tell me that it was a family heirloom, and her great, great, great, [oh, heck, maybe one or two more greats than that] grandfather was Captain Samuel Wilkins to which she added, "You know, the Captain Wilkins who bought Conshohocken from the Indians."
I smiled and said, "Oh, really", although I wanted to say, "Gee, I must have been absent from U.S. History class the day we learned that." I sensed she was somewhat of a genealogy snob, and thinking it was good to chat up my luncheon escort, I said, "In what year did he arrive in America?" She went on to say that he must have come on the something-something boat in 1638, and then she told me all about the Wilkins family, who married who, how this one had moved there, and so on.
When she finished, she said, "What about your ancestry?" I said, "Well, I think my relatives came on a boat steerage class in the late 1800s from Poland." She responded with "Oh." Of course, it was an "Oh" accompanied by that "Oh, damn. I just stepped in dog excrement" look. And I began to think, "Uh-oh, have I blown my chance to become a member, because I'm a mutt, and she's a Pekingese?" As always, I think of the good retort minutes later.
The correct response should have been "Well, do you remember the ships, the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria? Well, my relatives came over on the Santa Maria. You see my full name is Jean Columbus Khattar. Unfortunately, I had to marry beneath me, because my betrothed, Prince Fernando of Mallorca, was killed in a most tragic bullfighting accident."
Anyway, lunch was ready; either that or an angel got its wings, because a little bell was rung by Myrtle. Mary escorted me through the line, and I was invited to sit at a table with Mary and a gaggle of other women. Lunchtime chat was typical, although things got a little unpalatable when Mary began to discuss something about "blisters" that have developed behind her eyeballs and how they ooze, which made me question Mary's pedigree, well, at least, her judgment about acceptable lunchtime discussions.
We had cups, but I didn't see any pitchers of soft drinks, water, or milk on the table. What were we drinking with lunch, I wondered? Then, Myrtle appeared at my side with a coffee pot.
"Would you like some coffee? It's all decaf!"
Why is it that all little old retired women drink coffee with everything?
"Have a slice of this beef Wellington. And, you know, what would go good with that, dear?"
"Um, a glass of Chateau Margaux '59?"
"Heavens, no! A cup of decaf coffee, sweetie!"
And decaf? I guess when you're a little old retired lady, you get to enjoy life at a slower pace, hence, no caffeine required. Unlike me, a full-time working Mom whose daily motivation is the caffeine in her caramel latte that she drinks every morning on her way to work.
When lunch was over, well, I could tell, because the bell rang again, the tables were cleared, and Bertha headed up to the podium to call the meeting to order. After a few brief taps on the microphone, she greeted everyone, and then without warning, everyone started to rise. (I said to myself, "Hey, wait a minute, the bell didn't ring!")
I heard Bertha say, "And now the pledge...." Everyone put their hands over their hearts and started to say the Pledge of Allegiance. Jeepers. I hadn't said that since the sixth grade! (Of course, when I told my husband this he asked, "Did you even remember the words?") Shhh, honey! I'll never get into the Conshohocken Woman's Club if they know about my brief stint in the Communist Party, not to mention the fact that I voted for Perot that one time.)
After the pledge, everyone started to sing…"My Country 'Tis of Thee"! (Again, an event occurred without warning! Why isn't Myrtle ringing the bell so I know when something's going to happen? She must be over there dusting her mugs!)
After singing, everyone reseated themselves. The woman sitting across from me, got up, and walked up to the podium. She then proceeded to recant every thing said and done at the last meeting. Aha, she must be the "secretary"! And the secretary's speech went something like this...
"President Bertha greeted the group and said that she'd be going to Florida in February; therefore, Mary will preside over the next month's meeting. Treasurer Mary gave the financial statistics for the club's account and stated that we have $534.64 in said account." Every last little detail was mentioned; I was just waiting for her to say, "And then, Alice sneezed, and Bertha handed her a Kleenex and said "God bless you, Alice!"
After she was through, Treasurer Mary got up, and read every bank statement deposit by deposit. After that, she announce that the basket for the arts would be passed around for our spare change. Spare change for the basket for the arts? This was pretty cute. The basket went around from table to table, and everyone dumped all of the spare change from their wallets into the basket. The woman across from me told me that the money from this fund was given to the local schools to buy art supplies.
Then, the bell rang. No. I wish it did, because, as you can see, I had no idea what would happen next. Instead, President Bertha got back up and basically said, "Let the games begin." It was time for the collectibles!
First up was Myrtle with her mugs. She was cute I have to say. When she presented her bicentennial mugs and stated the date on them, which was 1776, someone in the audience murmured, "Hey, why that's the year we were all born!"
Next was a woman who collected music boxes.
Someone in the crowd said, "And, how many music boxes do you have?"
And she responded, "Well, only two." And, does two really qualify as a collection I asked myself?
Her music box was cute. It was from San Francisco. You pulled the trolley, and "I Left My Heart in San Francisco" played while the trolley traveled up a steep hill.
Next up was another lady, who collected thimbles at one time. She belonged to a thimble collector's club, and each month she was sent a thimble. All of the thimbles were displayed in a little wooden box, which look liked it would have hung on the wall; it was attractive, even though there were two tins of canned beets holding it up so it wouldn't fall over. But, I must say, they did not detract from its beauty.
During the course of her discussion, she divulged that most of the thimbles were made in China, were not worth much, and that she quit the thimble-of-the-month club when they sent her a particular thimble. She grabbed that thimble from the table and held it up so everyone could see. It was a thimble that resembled a Dutch windmill, complete with working windmill. She said, "It's not like this is a real thimble. I mean, you could never use this. And, it doesn't even fit in the box, so I have to put it on top like this."
And, she placed the thimble on top of the box and then was quick to point out that the tins of canned beets were in no way related to said thimble collection; that is, in addition to thimbles, she did not collect tins of canned beets. I was thinking, "Geez. Never mind it's a windmill, who uses thimbles anymore?! She'd be better off collecting tins of canned beets."
The ancestor-snob was up, and I'm not going to say much more about her, because, well, I just didn't dig her, and I was especially peeved that I didn't get to refer to my fake Columbus lineage.
Then came a really lovely woman, Lili Tott (I remember her, because I liked her name; my husband worked with a woman called Virginia Pynn. I liked that name so much I wrote it down to save, well, in case I ever needed to change my identity. Dear me, I do collect something; I collect names!) Lili prefaced her collection of antique kitchen utensils by saying, "My husband likes to collect stuff. So, I decided I could be all alone on the weekend or start collecting something, so I could go out collecting with him on the weekends. I decided to collect old kitchen utensils and that I wouldn't pay more than $10 for any one of them." She held up an egg picker-upper-thingie, which she said was probably used when "people used to pickle eggs", she had a pie crust tool, a pair of tongs, and after describing each item, she added, "And, this would look good hanging on the kitchen wall." I don't know about you, but I have a strong suspicion that her kitchen wall is covered with old kitchen utensils.
She was followed by a woman with an interesting long gray ponytail with thick black-rimmed glasses (kind of that 50s-60s beatnik look), who had brought her copy of Flaubert's Madam Bovary, which she purchased at a second-hand bookstore when she attended N.Y.U in 1947. Inside the book, the original owner had pasted a copy of an article by Emile Zola, who had written about Flaubert. (This collectible prompted the first "oohs" and "aaahs" from the audience.)
Next was the woman who collected horse figurines. She said her toy horse collection took up a good part of her basement and that her mother said her first word was "horse". She also added at how peeved her husband was that her horse collection took up a good part of their home. "Honey, can you move a few of these horses, so I can install the flat screen TV on the wall?" I could definitely relate, because I realized how peeved my own husband must be, because our closets overflowed with my endless supply of vintage clothes.
Then was the woman who had several trinkets from her grandmother; there was a watch, a watch fob, a hair pin (she recalled being six, sitting on her grandmother's bed, watching her brush her long hair, which was so long that her grandmother could actually sit on her own hair), a painting (this was done by her grandmother who was an artist), a piece of mourning jewelry (actually, I found mourning jewelry really intriguing; this was a pin with locks of hair from several deceased people), and so on. Even though they were "collectibles", she had a nice story to tell about her grandmother with each object. It was touching.
Finally, the President showed her collection of stuffed rabbits. She prefaced her rabbit discussion by saying, "I don't collect rabbits; they collect me." She then went to say that this whole rabbit thing started way back when she was a Kindergarten teacher at the tender age of 22. Her principal insisted that she have a pet in her classroom, so the principal brought her some kind of exotic rabbit. Unfortunately, the rabbit died shortly thereafter, and all the children were devastated.
So, she called "the guy from the humane society", and he suggested a duck. By the by, her name was Bertha Slate, and when she said talked about the "guy from the humane society" she said, and his name was John Slate. Get it? This was her future husband.
She went on to say that the duck ended up dying tragically. As it turned out, they had radiant heat in the floors, and the duck, being a duck, couldn't handle the heat on his webbed feet. The principal was concerned about the dead duck and disease, so they shipped the duck off for an autopsy to make sure he died of natural causes.
The report said that the heat had shriveled up the duck's lungs. Yuk! So, she needed another pet; thus, what was she to do but contact the "guy from the humane society" again. So, 1+1=2, and 44 years later, she's still married to the guy from the humane society. Cute, huh? I think so.
After that, the meeting ended. No. No bell. No pomp and circumstance. No closing ceremonies.
Peg came up to me, and I thanked her for inviting me. But, as all good things must come to an end, I asked Peg if I might join (yes, I know; I'm crazy), and she said, "Oh, well, to join, you have to live or work in Conshohocken." So, as quickly as it started, it all ended, which was I guess Fate's way of telling me I am not yet meant to be a little old retired lady. Humph. But, but, but, I'm related to Christopher Columbus, won't you reconsider? And, I so want to have the excuse of being a little old retired lady if just so I can wear the sensible shoes!
Although, some of it was, as Peg said, "weird" and just plain corny, it renewed my faith in, well, life, and my life. So, by day, I'm a stressed out full-time working Mom, but by night, I will strive to remember to live my life like I'm a little old retired lady…recite the Pledge of Allegiance more often, drink decaf coffee, collect mugs and kitchen utensils just because, try to love all things, especially rabbits, horses, thimbles, ducks, grandmothers, and life as it is, have good stories to tell, and especially to strive for and cherish the simpler life.
One of my friends asked me why no one comments on my blog. I told him that most of my friends comment to me in email, due to the fact that they are all in the witness protection program. :-)
Anyway, I’ve kept a list of all these comments, and I am going to post them here. I am hoping no one minds; they’re all pretty anonymous. They are all very lovely, AND, I want to thank you all for each and every one of them. In a way, this blog has really kept me going during these, um, challenging times. And it’s given me a level of self-confidence, well, which I previously only experienced while in the Terry cycling seat. :-)
Rumors Of My Demise Have Been Greatly Exaggerated Note: I know two people who check my blog to see if I’m still alive! So, when I get in a funk, I go quiet, which is rather ironic given that I’m always babbling. There was a VERY good reason why my Mom got me a “Chatty Cathy” doll when I was 3!
I guess two of the nicest compliments, both of which were the same, were passed on to me by word of mouth. This was that my “talents” (whoa!) were wasted on the release notes at work. That was truly wonderful to hear.
And, not that I didn’t love working on the release notes and especially LOVE working with all of you (and you all know who you are). Losing all of you 5 days a week was much worse than losing the job. But yes, writing about my cycling, my cats, my kids, or how I dress my dog up is WAY more fun than trying to explain to a customer why all calls failed. Though, the release notes did come with a nice paycheck; the blog doesn’t!
And, Miss Jeannie Long Legs, puuuuhhhllleeeeeese. It’s Miss Jeannie Shulz Legs! :-)
All Comments Lovely
And I love your blog post!
OMG.. You are sooooooo funny… I love it!! I love you!!!!! Can I share it with the other girls!!!!!! ?????
Good stuff. PS…I did have one issue with your blog…too much about cats!!!
What a wonderful blog post about Iz's birthday! I had to read it a few times just to enjoy it again. You've really found your voice, with all the love and amusement and insight and two-fisted participation that's in you. Thank you!!!!!
Loving your blog entries! You writing maniac you!
I do like the blog :-)
...And to think that you wrote that great piece after such a long crazy day! That's amazing, like a perpetual motion machine whose motion powers itself. I'm so glad you are writing the blog. I love to see the distilled real you so clearly.
nice blog!!
I visited your blog. You really are a good writer. You tell real life stories with humor and these days humor is what we all need. You should write a book about or at least apply for an editorial in the Boston Globe. You could write about whatever goes through that head of yours :).
And videos, too!! Keep it up girl…I love it!
I read your Scooter blog this morning! You are a born story teller -- it flowed very nicely, I kept waiting for what happened next (the videos took a while to load) and I love the whole little-snippets-of-real-life tone. You are as delightful on video as in person (maybe you ought to try some community theater) And I liked the meta-theme of you having the time to savor such simple things for the first time in half your life!
OMG. THANK you for making me laugh!!!! You are awesome! I hadn’t read Sunday’s “10 things” post, either. Totally hilarious!!! You are a special person, Miss Jeannie long-legs!
Beautiful blogging, Goddess! Dear MomCat, Driving Miss Crazy was funny and delightful and warm. You drew Nathan and Connor and Ellen, and your relationships, perfectly in a few well-chosen words, and you had a lovely beginning and end. The richness of your life was there all along, but you didn't have the time to savor it so well as now.
I loved your last Nathan Drives blog! It has such a you-are-there feeling to it. Again I read it several times just for enjoyment. You have a very rich and loving relationship with N, and you portray it so touchingly.
I really enjoy your blog.
I did check your blog..and I still think you should write a newspaper column about your everyday experiences
That was a really lovely post about honoring the tiger cat with the same respect that you'd want someone to give Thundie, and working out some of your feelings through the ritual.
Brilliant !!! Love the blog :-)
Nice blog!!
I love your blog!
I was just reading your blog to make sure you were still alive. I would have sent mail in about another 10 minutes.
Love the blog!! You do know that your dog is plotting revenge - although the pictures are really cute!!
LOL! Thank you so much for that!!! I’ll never mix up any of them again. A good laugh is a great way to start the morning!
Hey, you need to update your blog...I need my "Jean fix" :- )
OMG. You are too funny. And yes, I’ll still talk to you. Wacko. ;-)
I read the blog and proceeded to...cry. I'm humbled. Thank you for everything you said. You're a good friend too.
From someone’s Mom who read one of my blog postings: You know, if you have only one friend in this world and it's someone like Jean you can consider yourself truly blessed.
I loved your blogs on your mom and Suze.
OMG... these tear jerker blogs! I can’t take it anymore… :^(
Thank you for including me in your Birthday Blog. Pure good feelings and fun and love for your friends. 8^)
So I hadn’t read your blog in a while, and I wanted to say, You’re Welcome! You are so sweet! Love you too!
I also loved the Mother’s day entry.. You’re Mom was certainly a sweetheart, just like you.
nice blog...I was expecting you to write something nice about your father so I checked back frequently : - )
You have helped me notice more things around me and appreciate the little things more then sometimes just rushing through life with your blog...you sure you want to go back to work? :-)
You bring out the best in everyone you touch....We're all better for knowing you...
May I say, Once again,That I loved your latest post! Not only to go on a bike ride with you, but to enjoy it through your eyes, with all your senses and thoughts and feelings and memories. Thank you for a most enjoyable outing!
You may not write much but when you write, man, do you write : - )
Rumors of Me Going to the Beach After Running at “Work” are NOT Exaggerated: Please note that those are vintage Cool-Ray Polaroid sunglasses. And that vintage dress I’m wearing in the picture will be the subject of a blog this week called “Death of a Vintage Dress”. :-)
And also, if it makes you employed cube dwellers any happier, it was pretty much like this the whole time I was at the beach!
After I got Iz off to camp this morning, I wondered what to do with myself, well, besides looking for a job, doing laundry, or cleaning the house! It was another beautiful day, and I thought, “Hmmm, I could go to the beach ALL BY MYSELF today!” Shortly thereafter, the running email came from “work”. I then remembered that I had to sign up for the Cigna 5K race next month. Hey, I came in 12th in the "Old Lady" division last year! K, Brenda, it's really the "Women Who are Over 45 but Look Like They're 35" division. :-)
Then I pinged Brenda and Amrit, cuz we ran together last year. One told me (and she shall remain nameless, but I will have her in something pink by the end of the year, I swear!) in jest how she felt jealous when I responded to the running email saying I couldn’t run, because I was going to the beach when she was there working. I guess I could understand, because when I wasn’t going to the beach, I was in Nantucket, or flying to Paris to buy shoes. Um, not! But, it totally sounds like fun, doesn’t it?!
So, I thought it over – beach day or bike day. I decided that in order to make everyone at work feel better about me spending time at the beach that I would have a brutally tough day, um, to make them all feel better. It was decided then. I would bike 50 miles! Okay, so biking 50 miles (52 if you count the mileage from home to the rail trail and back) may not seem so painful to me……..and George. But, I figured to all the non-biking mortals, it sounded pretty brutal. So, 50 miles is the rail trail up to Nashua, NH and back again TWICE!
Cyclist Shout Out to George: George informed me yesterday that he has biked 1500 miles so far this year. Of course, he lives in Austin, TX where they don’t have to deal with snow or rain. Okay, I don’t know how he ever bikes in those blazing temps, but whoa, Georgie, way to go! BTW: George send me some lovely soap last week. It’s made by a company called “Just Soap” (http://www.justsoap.com/), and the interesting thing about it is that the guy has a pedal (as in bicycle) stirrer!
After I mentally committed myself to the 50-mile ride, I figured it would be good to tell a friend what I was doing. So, I emailed Brenda. “If you don’t see a blog about it tomorrow morning, please contact the local authorities…Sephora, http://www.zappos.com/, and Bath & Bodyworks to tell them I won’t be shopping there any longer, as I’m probably in a ditch on the side of the rail trail!” Brenda responded with “The “Maillot Jaune” will be yours today!” Woo-hoo! Way to be all “Tour de France”, Brenda!
Okay, so once I had notified next-of-running-kin, I changed into my unitard (pretty flowers on it by Danskin). Oh, here I am, and nothing says fierce cycling chick like a Hello Kitty hat and pearl earrings, right?
And, again, nothing says “fiercer” than teddy bear cycling socks!
Then, I gathered my cycling supplies.
Two water bottles (Hey, whose HK bottle? That’s SO not mine!) Two granola bars Helmet (Does anyone make a HK helmet? If so, I want one for Xmas.) Sunglasses Cycling gloves (They’re turned inside out, but yes, they are pink!) PINK blackberry iPod (Because everything is better with music!)
At this point, you are thinking, “Crazy girl, how does she ever think she will ride 50 miles?”, well, no fear, people! I have been a cyclist since 1986. I have done century rides (100 miles plus in one day), and I raced at the citizen level in my late 20s and early 30s. That was about 5 years ago by the way!
Oh, look, here’s me when I raced for the Nashua Velo club.
This was at the Haverhill Criterium. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Criterium And, here’s what the NVC newsletter had to say about me at that race. I would have told you myself, but I don’t remember! “Jean destroyed the field at the Haverhill Criterium. Escaping with two laps to go, Jean simply road away from the competition. The previous day, Jean also took second at the Marlboro Road Race.” See, I was a “contenda” once upon a time ago!
I won the “B Division” of the Tour de Lowell (30 mile road race) one year. I beat the winner of the “A Division”, too. The “A Division” was the younger age category. The next week I saw said winner of the “A Division” in a full page ad for a local bank in the TV Guide edition of the Lowell Sun, which touted her as the “Winner of the Tour de Lowell”. Jeez, it figures. My 15 minutes of fame was lost due to age discrimination!
Anyway, at 12:30, I set off on my ride. Few of you probably know this about me, but 1) I hate competition, BUT 2) When I get into that Terry bike seat, I’m the biggest competitor around.
Usually, on the rail trail, I bike by myself. And, I don’t mean this in a conceited way, because this is ONE of the few areas where I have a lot of self-confidence, because I’m way faster than anyone out there.
On the first 12.5 mile leg, I passed a guy riding at a so-so speed. He had a helmet on, a decent bike, cycling gloves, but when I looked down at his feet as I passed him, I saw… -gasp!- He was wearing sneakers with black socks. When I passed the next person, I looked to the left to see if anyone was behind me before passing, and I noticed that sneakers-with-black-socks guy was trying to stay up with me. Oh, no. No, no, no, no! While I give him credit for trying to keep up with me, 1) No man will ride with me, AND 2) No man wearing sneakers with black socks will get within 15 feet of me purely from a fashion standpoint! Needless to say, I dusted him.
My legs are probably the strongest part of my body, and I think probably stronger than most. My Mom used to call them the Schulz legs, because supposedly, I got them from her Mom, Othielie Louise (Shulz) Smith. I wanted to shout back at him and say, “Do you know what you’re messin’ with here? The Schulz legs, Baby!” What? Are you serious? You people have not heard about the Schulz legs? Gawd, I so need to create a wiki page for that!
It was funny because last week, I dusted a guy who had all the right cycling stuff on. Okay, so I’m not generally a snob, but don’t try to keep up with me when you’re not wearing the right cycling stuff! I dusted this guy, and when I passed him on my way back, he totally ignored me. Today, when I passed sneakers-with-black-socks guy on my way back, he looked right and me and said, “Wow!” I had AC/DC’s “Back in Black” blasting in my ears, but I’m pretty sure that’s what he said. Okay, maybe I was too hard on him. While he was cycling fashion challenged, he was certainly most complimentary.
When I hit 37.5 in Nashua, I stopped to drink some water and, um, check my email and send some email. I saw a woman in the parking lot with all the right cycling stuff on, and then she took off. I thought, “I’ll get you, my pretty!” Sure enough, I caught her a mile out of Pepperell center, and she didn’t even put up a fight.
At this point, I also had to go to the bathroom. Yes, I guess I could have found a heavily wooded area, but I’m so not a pee-in-the-woods kinda chick. As I told a friend last week, I practice mind over matter. If I don’t mind that I have to go, it don’t matta!
Another thing about cycling and cycling at a good clip is the bug factor. Yeah, I know you all see those contestants on reruns of “Fear Factor” and on “Survivor” eating bugs, but when you cycle fast, eating bugs is a given.
There are three different types of bug consumption when cycling.
1. The bug flies right in and goes down the hatch. Nothing you can do about it but say, “Yuk, but it’s protein!” 2. The bug flies in, you spit it out (or so you think), and then moments later, you feel something in your mouth, knowing full well you brushed and flossed your teeth before you left. You reach your fingers to your mouth and then expel the bit of discomfort. Then when you look at it, and you see one half of a bug carcass! Ick! You toss it away, and then immediately gargle with water from your Hello Kitty water bottle. 3. The bug goes in, and because it is so large, you are able to immediately spit it out. But however lucky you feel you are to have spit said bug out, once it’s gone, it leaves this incredibly bitter taste in your mouth. No matter how much gargling you do from your Hello Kitty water bottle, the taste of that bug lingers. Note to self: Carry breath mints for such a bug eating occasion.
After cycling the 51, I had another mile to go to get to “home”. Unfortunately, I have to go up this hill.
Yeah, I know it’s nothing like what Lance Armstrong has had to deal with, but then again, I’m not Lance Armstrong. And, if I were in France now, I’d be shopping for shoes, as previously mentioned, and not cycling!
So, I have to go up this hill in my easiest gear and ride pretty much the whole way up and then some “out of the saddle”. And then, if I’m really lucky, once I get up that hill, I pass Mark’s house, and his dog, Jeff, chases me the half mile home! I got home at 3:15...yes, cycling rock star, k?! :-)
Speaking of bugs, when I peeled off my unitard, well, it always amazes me what gets stuck to my chest. Human windshield. And when I was in the shower, it was apparent that some small green worm had been in my hair for the last four hours!
Anyway, Brenda was right. The yellow shirt was mine today! Tawanda! See!
Of course, it’s a Hello Kitty! Would you expect anything less from me?
I am a devoted mother of two wonderful children, a writer (technical by day and creative by night), an avid baker and crock pot goddess (♥ Sucra), a runner and a cyclist, a rescuer of pets, a vintage fashionista, and a dispenser of social glue.
