Even the Best Fall Down Sometimes

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I am not perfect. I just needed to remind myself of that today. I might venture to say that I have perfect imperfections though!

I mentioned to a few people that I had an interview a little over a week ago. Anyway, I found out yesterday that I didn’t get the job. They had found a candidate who had previous experience with products that were similar to theirs, which was perfectly understandable.

Also, while I really wanted to find a job, the job was going to be very challenging for a few different reasons; however, they were reasons I didn’t think I could handle. In a way, I wanted to work, but then again, would it have been the right fit for me, never mind them?

In the end, it probably worked out for the best, but quite honestly, I was still upset about it for some reason. I think it was more the frustration of “When will be the someday that my job will come?” I kept trying to say to myself that “It wasn’t my job,” “A different job will come along,” and “I was very fortunate to even get an interview.” But somehow, I still couldn’t shake whatever sad feelings I was having.

This morning, I got up, and quite unusually, I didn’t bother to change out of my nightgown. I threw on my favorite yellow vintage mohair sweater, put on my fuzzy heart socks, and then went into Iz’s room to roust her out of bed. I trudged down the stairs, made coffee, took Monty out, and then fed Liam, Thunderbolt, and Monty breakfast.

When Iz made it down to the kitchen still a tad sleepy-eyed, she asked, “Mommy, why do you still have your pajamas on?” I think I knew why; however, I told her, “I forgot to change.” After she left for school, I poured myself a second cup of coffee.

As I stood in the kitchen, I glanced at the sofa in the family room; it growled. (Either that or it was Liam politely warning Monty that he would appreciate it if Monty would kindly not sniff his bottom with such great frequency.) Suddenly, I felt my feet starting to move under me. I grabbed the kitchen counter to hold on, as some strong gravitational pull emanated from the family room.

The sofa growled again. It was as if I was in Carol Anne in the movie “Poltergeist” and the sofa was trying to suck me into it! Slowly, I felt my legs moving toward the couch as my fingers were pried one-by-one off the counter top. At 8:00am, my night gown, yellow mohair sweater, fuzzy socks, and me were wrapped up snuggly on the sofa in the big red cat blanket. The sofa then handed me the remote and growled, “USA Network. Law & Order is on from 9-5pm. Check it out, Jean!”

So, what could I do, but sit there for three hours and watch? I did get up once to grab Liam. He stayed for 5 minutes and then left grumbling about some sexual harassment paperwork he needed to file against Monty. It was then that I grabbed onto Iz’s lemur, Sprinkles. Yes, it wasn’t a pretty picture; there I was, a big lump on the couch with the remote and [wince] my daughter’s stuffed animal!

A friend and I agreed yesterday that it was okay to whine, cry, and feel sorry for yourself every now and then; however, we need to add to that list that it’s also okay to become a frumpy-TV-watching-lump when the mood strikes as well!

I know you can’t take any job decision personally. But, sometimes it’s hard not to. I know I’m good at what I do; it is sometimes just a bit disappointing to feel like you’re not the best person for a job, even if you know this is just the way these things go. Err, whine, whine, and whine again. Well, remember, it’s okay for me to do this as long as I don’t make a habit of it, okay?!

At 11am, the sofa force field, which held me captive for the last two hours in its pillow-padded paws, seemed to be waning. And, the episode of Law & Order that had just come on was one I had seen already, um, probably just last week! I took this as my opportunity to escape my Law & Order coma, as I knew my mourning period for this job and the maximum feel-sorry-for-myself time was about to expire.

I threw off the big red cat blanket, tossed Sprinkles on the chair, and stood up. Okay. I could get through this. No. I needed to get through this. The sofa growled a bit and said, “No, no, no! Don’t go. This episode of Law & Order ends differently than it did the last time. Stay!” It then hissed, “Trust me!”

I bolted out of the family room, ran upstairs, and went into my bedroom. I put on my running clothes and gathered up my iPod and my sneakers. I ran a brush through my hair, put on my earrings, rolled on some deodorant, and then spritzed myself with a bit of Hermes.

I already felt much better, and within a minute of the Hermes application, I was melting!!!! Yes, the frumpy-TV-watching-lump had fizzled up, and this was all that was left behind on the bedroom floor!



I had transformed myself into a “gym rat!” in under 5 minutes. This was no easy feat. Remember, I was battling a talking couch that used Jack McCoy and Lennie Briscoe as weapons!

Once I got to the gym, started the treadmill, and cranked up my iPod, I could tell I was definitely in zone, a good one. I started to run faster and harder than I had in ages; however, I do think that was due in part to the fact that I needed to work out a few feelings on that treadmill. Some of it was anger, which was entirely directed at myself.

At the end of my run (30 minutes), I had logged 3.5 miles, probably close to a personal best. I ran the last 2 minutes at 7.5 m.p.h. When I got off the treadmill, a voice from the stair stepper said, “You were really cranking.” I responded, “I have a slight anger management issue today. Fortunately, no people were harmed and only the treadmill took a beating!”

I liked to think I always remain positive; however, today I felt like I let myself down a bit. When you hit a bump in the road, it will rattle you, but keep on driving…and/or beat the sh*t out of the treadmill nearest to you! Most importantly, never deny how brilliant you are even if it seems like someone is telling you that you’re not (especially when you know they’re not). ♥

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★ ☆Twinkle, Twinkle, Inner Star ☆ ★

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Today, I headed off to the Natick Mall in search of the American Girl doll, Julie. This was at the top of Iz’s Xmas list, and with less than 2 weeks remaining, I knew I needed to kick the present shopping up a notch or even two and kick my own tush in the process.

Upon arrival, I saw an intimidating two-story building. “All of this is just for dolls?” I asked myself. I didn’t realize what a doll Mecca the store was until I walked through its security-guard monitored doors.

It was as if I left Adulthood and entered Childhood at the door. It was a childhood that I certainly wished had existed when I was 6 years old. The store was wall-to-wall dolls. I was drawn to each and every one; and I wanted all of them! Well, I really liked Ruthie, most likely because that was my Mom’s name, and she was friends with Kit, and I loved Kit’s movie (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0846308/).

I found Julie (circa 1974). It was interesting that Iz was attracted to the “vintage” doll, especially one from my childhood era. Julie, like all the other dolls, came with outfits and accessories galore!

I never would have gone to the store, if I didn't happen to speak to Tunabreath this morning. I was on the American Girl website first thing this morning. I saw that they charged $20 for shipping, and I feared I might not get Julie by Christmas. Tunabreath strongly recommended I go to the store. I had nothing better to do, so I thought, “Why not?”

Whenever Melissa and I have talked about American Girl dolls, she always mentions Chrissy. Chrissy (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crissy_Doll) was a doll that was popular when we were young. Melissa said she had asked for a “Beautiful Chrissy” one Christmas; unfortunately, she didn’t get her.

And to add insult to injury, she spelled “Beautiful Chrissy” as “Buttful Chrissy” on her list. Her older brother teased her about that thereafter. Older brothers! Who needs them? Well, we do, but we didn't need them when we’re younger!

After a search, I found the “Julie” doll. She was just lovely, and she reminded me of my sister, Julie.



Here’s Julie’s bio: Julie Albright is a fun-loving San Francisco girl who faces big changes—she’s moving away from her best friend, Ivy Ling, and starting over at a new house and school. But soon enough, Julie learns how to create a few changes of her own.

Iz had also requested her dogs. The dogs comprised a mutt, a poodle, and a Chihuahua, complete with leashes! Cuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuttttttttttttteeeeeeeeeee!



After being there only 15 minutes, I bought Iz Julie’s scarf and hat and an additional outfit. Yes, $200 later, I left the store. BUT, gosh, it was so much fun, and I realized then how much I had loved my Chrissy doll way back when. I only hoped Iz would love Julie as much.

Julie also had these cool, albeit expensive, accessories -- A banana bike…just like my sister, Julie, had.

And, she had a table with a fondue set.



I remember making fondue with my Girl Scout troop. Fondue is back in style, you know! Note to Self: Get a fondue set!

When I got home, I put all of Iz’s presents up in the attic, and while up there, I searched for my Chrissy dolls. I had my doll and the one that belonged to my sister, Julie. When my Dad moved out of our family home, he told me to come one Saturday and take anything out of the attic that I wanted. I took my Barbie dolls and the Chrissy dolls.

It’s funny, but I knew exactly where my Chrissy dolls were in my attic. In the far left corner, I found them, exactly where I knew I left them. I brought them downstairs, and the attic steps brought me back to childhood, my childhood.

I remember that my Mom had knitted things for them, and my Aunt had made clothes for them. Of course, it was the 70s; thus, these were indeed vintage girls. Here they are.



And, they had accessories. Whoa, just looked at those Granny boots. And, hair rollers! Do they even make those anymore?



I even had the carrying case! Or Julie did. I can’t remember which.



And here are the things my Mom knitted.



Somewhere, I have a picture of me in a sweater vest like that, probably made with the same yarn.
Will you see it?
No. Never!!!

This Christmas, I knew Santa wasn’t going to bring me a job; however, playing Santa made me feel like I was a young girl again, and who could ask for anymore than that? ♥

I’m Glad My Mind is Still Keen Note: I didn’t get the job I interviewed for a week or so ago; however, I saw this sign at the Natick Mall today.



And, I know I’ve had misspellings and grammatical mistakes on my blog for sure; however, when you’re making a sign for the fancyschmacy section of the mall, you should make sure you’ve got the store name right! It’s ANTHROPOLOGIE!

Puck, Stick, Skates, Ice, and Marcel Dionne…voila, Hockey Mom!

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Once upon each December, the smell of dried sweat and the feel of my numb feet means only one thing to me – the beginning of the hockey season! Today was Nate’s first high school game. They lost 7-1, but who cares. Okay, Nate and his teammates care, but I’m his Mom. I just love seeing him play, even if shortly after the first period my feet lose all consciousness.

By the way, I had no idea who Marcel Dionne (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marcel_Dionne) was until about 5 minutes ago. I needed something to rhyme with Mom. And, did you know that the only words that rhyme with “Mom” are totally ridiculous? Here are some: bohm, bom, bomb, brahm, brom, bromm, crom, dohm, dom, flom, fraum, fromm, fromme, glomb, grom, guam, and halm.

Why don’t any of these words rhyme with Mom? Caring, understanding, warm, patient, loving, happy, helpful, sacrificing, wonderful, hard-working, imaginative, lovely, sweet, tender, and finally, Superwoman?!? Yes, I do know why these words don’t rhyme from an English major perspective; however, that still doesn’t mean I can’t wonder about it anyway!

Nathan started playing hockey when he was just 4. They didn’t use sticks in the beginning; instead, they just had to get used to being on skates. And, as they skated, they pushed plastic milk crates around the ice. His early games seemed to be nothing more than a bunch of little kids with sticks chasing a puck around the rink. When they finally got their sticks to meet the puck, they’d fiercely whack at it; however, the puck seemed to go everywhere except into the goal!

Here’s Nathan when he was 10.



On the back of the card, his height is listed as 5 feet. He’s now 6’3”. Eeeeek!

Of all the sports Nathan has ever played (lacrosse and soccer included), I have always loved hockey the best. To be honest, in the earlier years (before the normalcy of the high school schedule), I disliked the 7am practices at Lawrence Academy. Well, I disliked 7am practices at any rink.

Lawrence Academy was the worst because the hockey rink had four walls; however, one of the walls was nothing more than a chain link fence with a tarp over it. You can imagine how cold it was there in the Winter months. On those mornings, a hot Styrofoam cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee was my best friend, and some mornings, I didn’t know whether to drink it or pour it down the front of my shirt.

I had the occasional screw up with hockey. A few times, I drove all the way to practice, and I forgot the damn sticks! That’s another thing that makes hockey even more fascinating for me. You have to think about so much when you’re playing. You’ve got the puck, you’re on skates, and then you’ve got to carry this stick around. I like to consider myself a natural athlete, but if someone asked me to do all that and then chew gum, I’d certainly be lost.

I went to a Bruins game once. The tickets were so expensive and the seats were so far away. Later on, I went to a Lowell Devil’s (http://lowelldevilshockey.com/indexb.html) game. And, I have to tell you, it was so much better than the Bruins game. I was a lot closer, and I think the players played better and even tried harder than the Bruins.

I didn’t like the fights though. I don’t like the violence in any sport. Ironically, the thing I liked was how gracefully athletic the players were. They could manage skates, a stick, and following that little puck up and down ice all at once. Their motions were so fluid as they passed the puck back and forth. It’s funny, but I think hockey is one of the most graceful sports, well, when they don’t beat the crap out of each other.

As I watched the game today, I saw a pony tail skate by. I wasn’t sure if it was a girl at first, but I confirmed it later with Nathan. I love it when girls play hockey. It’s a tough sport athletically, but then I think it’s tougher because of the level of physical contact involved. But, that being said, the first year Nathan was allowed to check, I was beside myself with worry.

A few years ago, and of course, it was one of the few games I didn’t go to, he was checked illegally and knocked down. He didn’t have a concussion; however, he did get the wind knocked out of him, so he couldn’t play the rest of the game.

The player who checked him was thrown out of the game, and the coach of the other team sent an email of apology to Nathan’s hockey coach. That was the only day, I doubted hockey. Okay, on the days my feet were numb at Lawrence Academy, I didn’t doubt hockey, I just wished my feet were buried in the warm sands of Cancun instead of in my clogs that were resting on the bleachers in a frigid Massachusetts hockey rink.

Nathan didn’t make the Varsity team this year; he was really disappointed about it. I need to tell him the story about my high school volleyball experience. I never made Varsity volleyball; however, I was on the Varsity team at Brandeis and the captain my senior year. I only played in one game my freshman year, which really disappointed me; however, each year, I got better. I didn’t give up. I loved volleyball, and I just tried to always do my best. In the end, it paid off.

After college, I played with a league where you had to be rated to play, and at one point, I contacted my college coach and asked her if they’d like to scrimmage with us. After playing them, my coach said, “Why didn’t you play like that in college?” Ah, I had just gotten that much better. I guess the important thing is that some of us don't peak in high school and to always keep doing what you love.

After Nate’s game ended, I left the bleachers and I went down to watch him get off the ice. I love it when the players come off the ice. You can see a million and one different emotions in their faces.

When I saw Nathan go by, I didn’t care that he was on JV. I didn’t care that he wasn’t a straight A student, I only thought, “What a good and handsome boy I have. I am so lucky.”

While waiting for him to change, I bumped into his Dad in the entrance to the rink. I said to him, “He’s so handsome, isn’t he?” His Dad tossed his head back and laughed. I didn’t know if he thought I was crazy or if it was too difficult for him to say, “He is.” I think the latter.

When Nate finally came out from the locker room, I told him that I was taking him for lunch at our favorite greasy spoon restaurant; thus, he could drown his 7-1 loss sorrows in his usual two grilled cheese sandwiches with fries and a Sprite.

Indeed, I am lucky that I have such a good man in my life; and I’m even more fortunate that that good man is my son, #16. ♥

Does Santa Get Sick?

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Thanks for the soundtrack, Jeff. ♥

In a mild panic about shopping for Xmas, I asked Iz to make out her Xmas list today. She told me that she needed help spelling the words, so we sat down after lunch to write it. She not only had a piece of paper and a pen, but she had found an envelope in which to mail it, too.

When she finished, she had compiled this list:

Computer
Swim to me puppy (A whaaaat?!?!?!)
American Girl doll (Rebecca or Julie)
Plume the kitty (for Nathan, always thinking of her brother)
Holly Moose (http://www.buildabear.com/shop/productdetail.aspx?CallingPage=Shop/SearchResults.aspx&ProductSKU=13867) – The company that does Build-A-Bear’s advertising should be lauded heavily. When I went to get a pedicure last week, the owner told me that her son, who was also Iz’s age, had asked for Hal Moose. I then wondered if the commercials played background music that masked a subliminal “Ask Santa for Holly and Hal Moose this Xmas!” message!

After Iz made her list, she was “bored,” and I didn’t really feel like running on the treadmill at the gym. And, we did have two Sephora gift cards that were burning holes, flaming holes, in the pockets of our jeans. So, when the going gets boring, the gift-card bearing girls go shopping! We had a plan; we were off to the Burlington Mall!

Before we left, I saw Iz grab her letter to Santa off of the kitchen table. I said, “We can mail that on the way to the mall.” She said, “Mom, we can bring it to Macy’s!” Again, the power of the TV commercial is amazing!

When we got to the mall, she said she was hungry. There’s a great restaurant there called the Rainforest Café (http://www.rainforestcafe.com/). So, it was decided that the game plan was food, Sephora, and Macy's.

Over her macaroni and cheese, she grilled me once again about Santa.

“Does Santa get sick?”
“Probably.”
“If he does, who delivers the presents? The elves or Fred Claus.”
“Fred Claus.”
“Is Fred Claus Santa’s cousin or brother?”
“Um, second cousin on his mother’s side but two times removed.”
“What’s removed?”
“Hey, look at that this dessert, Iz! Chocolate pudding, crumbled Oreos, and gummy worms!”

Upon leaving, we, or rather Iz, got sucked in by the toy shop on the way out of the cafe. Iz became fixated on the huge selection of stuffed animals. I looked at her and said, “No more stuffed animals, Iz.”

As I looked longer at the stuffed animals, a black and white furry animal caught my eye. I picked it up off the shelf. Iz looked at me, and I could see, even if she wasn’t saying it out loud, she was saying, “Oh, Mom so loves that stuffed animal and so do I!”

I said, “This lemur is cute, Iz.” And, I hadn’t known what a lemur was until that moment. Of course, in real life, the lemur probably reeked of musk, had sharp teeth, and bit so hard that digits could be removed in an instant! Sufficed to say, we left the Rainforest Café with a stuffed lemur named, um, Sprinkles.

After we left the café, we headed to Sephora. Iz is a wild woman when unleashed there. Okay, so am I! The first thing she does is go right to the nail polish. The first thing I always do is go right to the perfume. We both had different agendas; however, after a two-minute huddle, we had a game plan.

Iz decided she didn’t want the blue nail polish she picked out upon immediately entering the store. Instead, she wanted lip gloss. I knew exactly what I wanted. I had known for months!

We put the blue nail polish back, and then I picked up my Hermes perfume, Un Jardin En Mediterranee to be exact. Iz is a lip gloss girl, and when she saw a compact sporting five different colors, one of which was gold glitter, she said, “I want this!”

We headed to the register. She looked in our basket. She got a lip gloss compact for $10, and I got the $90 Hermes perfume. Um, yes, there was a definite disparity between my purchase and Iz’s, considering we had $100 to spend between the two of us; however, as far as she's concerned, and until she starts asking prices, we're even because as she said, "You got one, and I got one, right?" Don’t tell Iz. This is just between you and me!

After that, we headed to Macy’s to put Iz’s letter to Santa in the mailbox. Macy’s was wall-to-wall with people, and I had no idea where to go. As we walked through the Cosmetics department, I asked one sales associate, “Where is the mailbox for Santa?” She said, “Oh, follow me.” We followed her to a corner not far from the cosmetics area, and she said, “Here!”

There was a table set up next to the mailbox, and two children sat at the table writing their letters. I gave Iz her letter, and she hesitated. I said, “Here. Go put it in the box.” She didn’t want to leave my side for some reason. I said, “Go on. It’s okay. Put your letter in the box.”

She ran over and put her letter in quicker than I could say, well, pretty much anything! It was like she was one of “The Incredibles!” And here’s the picture to prove it.



I found it funny that she was so afraid. It was not a terrified fear; it was the fear of something unknown and magical. Today, I felt myself very fortunate, because I got to feel that, albeit second hand. And, the best thing was that I knew I'd get to feel that way for at least a few more years. ♥

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Guest Columnist - Richard S. Szymczak

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I’ve slowly been trying to clean out the attic. Well, I cleaned out one corner a few months ago. And as Fall turned almost to Winter, I needed to make my way up to exchange short-sleeved t-shirts for sweaters. I love my sweaters, especially the vintage ones.



While searching the far corners of the attic, I always bump into all of the things I’m not looking for first. That must be the Murphy’s Law for attic searching. On this occasion, I bumped into a huge box of old family photos. It was a box I had taken from my Dad’s house when cleaning it out.

In it were all sorts of treasures from the past.

Here’s my paternal grandmother, Helen, loitering with her friends in 1923!

She’s the one in the middle. You’ve got to love those hats; I do! And, I do believe that loitering is hereditary!

Here's Nathan one Halloween.



Yes, he would probably kill me if I posted this on Facebook, so I won't!

Here’s an adorable mutt we owned named Rico.



My brother moved home; however, when he moved out, his dog, Rico, stayed. It’s funny how that happens.

There were many pictures of birthdays past. This is Julie’s birthday.



I’m the one with the braids; it was my Swiss Miss-Pippi Longstocking hair period, okay?!

This was one of the bands my Dad was in. Chet's Polka Kings!



He’s second from the left.

Then there were all the embarrassing school photos. Here I am in first grade.



Iz saw this picture and said, “Who’s that?!?!?!” Can you tell my Mom cut my bangs? And, yes, I am wearing an exact replica of the dress the young girl wore in the movie, “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.” You do have an eye for fashion, don't you?!

Then there were the photos that made you wonder how your parents ever got a hold of them, like this one.



Can you say underage drinking the night of high school graduation?! This must have been one they were saving for blackmail purposes during my college years. And, your keen eye for fashion is correct again. I am wearing Calvin Klein jeans; however, unlike Brooke Shields, something always came between me and my Calvins, my underwear, which I hadn't started wearing inside out yet!

Anyway, it’s just amazing how one box can make your whole life flash across the attic in 20 minutes. ♥

While pawing through the box, I found another one of my Dad’s stories. He was an English major in college like me. This story shouted out at me, because of its title, “Essence of Love.” He wrote it in 1956, and I thought I’d share it with you.

Essence of Love

Pi Delta was sponsoring a dinner-culture night in the basement of Falcon’s Hall. Pi Delta was an independent sorority composed of all the women worth anything, better yet, those women who had or were planning to marry men with money.

The few men who attended, with or without money – this fact depending on the acting ability of the girls enhanced by many culture periods they subjected themselves – tried to hide in the dark corners of the basement. The brave few, accompanied by their wives, or by their girls, pleaded for a location that was away from or out of sight of the main table.

Jack failed miserably in his attempt. He ended up sitting in the fourth row. He never would have gone except that his mother needed a chauffeur, and his father could well afford to buy him off with five dollars.

Jack hoped, at least, that the lectures would be better than the dinner. He put his hand in his coat pocket and pulled out the menu. The young man was not quite sure what he had eaten, but there it was – Reste de boeuf aux choux sprinkled with Cervelles d’agneau, which Mrs. Jerome P. Henshaw said was better than beef brains because it had a more delicate flavor; also listed were Beignet de pommes and café. He wondered where the beef and cabbage that he had eaten came in.

Turning over the paper he had in his hand, he saw the names of the speakers printed on the other side. Mrs. Jerome P. Henshaw, scheduled for a talk on basket weaving, and Ann Jane Mason, listed to give a speech on the “Essence of Love.”

His lips formed a half-smile. Ann Jane Mason! Well, I’ll be damned, he thought. She was his steady for five months before he joined the Air Force. Nice, but sort of skinny…

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” bellowed a woman. “It is time for the cultural part of the night – I would like to introduce our first speaker for the evening, Mrs. Jerome P. Henshaw, her topic – basketry.” The group applauded.

Mrs. Jerome P. Henshaw stood up and began, “Basketry. Basketry is one of the most ancient crafts in the world and probably the origin of all the textile arts in the world…”

Jack’s eyes checked all the members sitting at the head table. He did not see any skinny woman there. They were all plump, except one who was about right. “Well, I’ll be damned!” he whispered. She certainly had changed since their last date two years ago.

“The purpose of interweaving twigs, seeds, and leaves is practiced around the world in the crudest nations of the world and is therefore one of the world’s most ancient arts.”

Ann was going to go to the New England School of Accounting. Let’s see – she was 18 then. Twenty now and all there. She had grown proportionally all over. He wondered how the other girls he had known changed in the interim.

“A thorough and steady training of twelve months is needed to become proficient. Train yourselves to imitate in form the simple things and find your true inspiration in nature.”

The loud applause, and the bellowing voice of the president introducing the next speaker, brought Jack’s drifting mind back to the hall. “Miss Ann Mary Mason and the Essence of Love,” said the President.

She was radiant standing beside the other withered women. She had left the loose, flabby fitting clothes she had worn when she was slim and probably wore, as she did tonight, tight-fitting azure-blue knit dresses. She had sacrificed the pounds of commercial make-up that had covered her face for a light touch of rouge and lipstick here and there that brought out her natural rosy complexion. Her waist was as slim as before but her top and bottom bulged out with a mathematical correctness that gave her body a proper sine curve.

She spoke.

“My topic is the ‘Essence of Love.’ I can only speak on this matter with the experience that my twenty years of age has given me, not having lived the full life of love and friendship that many of you have.”

The women and girls giggled.

“But I can tell you the path upon which a single girl can travel to find a friend or companion of the opposite sex to fulfill the soul’s desire for a natural kinship without reverting to the scandalous conduct of the present day juveniles to satiate their sexual needs.”

“Holy hell!” mumbled Jack.
The woman were sitting on the edge of their seats, listening intently to every word. Jack looked at his mother as she nervously bit on a Kleenex. He looked back at Ann, then to his mother, then at the crowd, and once again back to Ann.

“It is an old love, I believe, that has been lost. I would bring it back as a new love. This new love is a natural attraction of man and woman to each other for the continuance of the human race as opposed to the pseudo-love of today, which has not been directed for the continuance of the human race, but has sprung from a sense of loneliness. It is the pining for sexual pleasure which is to release us from this torrent of solitude. I said I cannot speak with the experience that many of my sorority sisters have.”

A series of giggles, with very little effort to cover them up, escaped from the mouth of Pi Delta. Jacked looked at Ann and smiled a strange smile. Two years ago, all she wanted to do was dance, go to the movies, and listen to records. He had nicknamed her “Cheezhahuh.” That’s all her vocabulary consisted of – “Cheez!” and “Hah?” and “Huh?” But now…

“A soul before whose warmth our own lets fall the covering that the world’s coldness has imposed upon it and shows its secrets and glories without shame.” There is a saying for it.” Anne spluttered, “Liebe ist die Freiheit der Gestalt, Vom Wahm der Welt, Vom Bann der eignen Seele.”

Jack wondered if the New England School of Accounting had a German professor. He did not know what she said, and if he did, she probably never said anything like it when they had smooched in his car at Second Island.

“Such a law must, for the sake of a woman’s liberty, deprive a man of certain of his present rights. But all these limitations will all be to the final profit of love.”

The young airman applauded fervently along with the rest of the audience. His mother cut his applause short as she grabbed one of his swinging arms and said, “If we leave now, we can beat the crowd out.”

He got up, followed his mother out of the row, and waited by the door as she said a last farewell to a neighbor. Leaning against the hall entrance, he said aloud, “Things certainly changed in two years.”

Ann came out of the crowd, tall and beautiful, rushing for the door he guarded. Jack caught her eyes for a moment’s stare. They were cold and impersonal.

As she swiftly walked by, he reached out and grabbed her by the right arm.

“Ann, would you care to go out with me?” he asked. All she did was stare at the hand that held her.

He quickly though of something that would be nice to say. His mind ran over her speech.

“Ann, didn’t I give you enough experience?”

In an icy voice Ann said, “Go to hell, you uncultured bum!” and she promptly left the hall.

Okay, I’m still trying to figure out what that was all about!

Anyway, it’s interesting how I went through life thinking I was so much like my mother, and it wasn’t until 10 years ago how much I realized that I’m more like my father in so many ways, and that’s a good thing; it really is. I just wish I could have told him that. ♥

Today’s Burning Questions: Does anyone ever eat those little onions in the Sweet Mixed Pickles? And, when did rouge become blush? Anyone? Anyone?

I Really Got a Lame Excuse

Blog soundtrack:



I remember my sister, Julie, telling me once about her freshman high school experience. She said that many people told her their horror stories about freshman year (9th grade) while she was still in 8th grade; however, when she finally made it to the ninth grade, she said to me, “It was nothing like they said it would be. It was totally okay.”

Today, I had an experience in which I felt the same way. Someone told me that their experience would be mine. I didn’t believe them, and I thought less of them for thinking that their experience would be mine. I rarely say I hat…err, dislike things, but today, I felt the cat adoption process had gotten a bit out of control.

Currently, I have two male cats, Liam and Thunderbolt. (It was Thundie and CZ when it wasn’t Thundie and Liam.) Over the years, I introduced two male cats into the mix. These cats were Redley and Black Cat.

Redley (whose really name was Brody) was my neighbor’s cat. Brody was their daughter’s cat, but she moved out, and then they made Brody an “outdoor” cat. And, as any person knows, domestic cats are not outdoor cats.

It would be snowing and freezing out, and there was Redley at the backdoor. I’d let him in. Thundie and CZ would hiss and complain a bit, but then Redley would make his way upstairs, settle himself at the end of my bed, and sleep. He had the annoying habit of waking at 2am, and then I would bring him downstairs to the litter box. He would go, and then he’d find a comfy place in the house and fall back to sleep.

Unfortunately, one morning, I called him, and he didn’t come. I think the coyotes got him. And, I never saw him again.

Then, Black Cat happened to be on my porch one day. He was a beautiful long haired domestic. He reeked of cigarette smoke, and he would not leave the porch.

It was as if, he had run away from one place, and he knew my house was the first step in the Cat Witness Protection Program. I finally figured out that he must belong to the obnoxious tenants who rented the house behind mine. It was just that Black Cat moved out long before the obnoxious tenants were legally required to.

Black Cat lived in the bushes around my house for a week; however, it was apparent after that week that he should become a part of the tribe. He then moved indoors. Thundie and CZ greeted him with a few hisses at first, but then they treated him very kindly, like he was one of the Band of Brothers. And a few weeks later, I had found him a home with our pet sitter.

Today, I received an email from Nestle’s foster mom. She said, “Thanks for submitting an application for Nestle. I didn't realize when I spoke with you that both of your other cats were males. Our experience has been that ‘two's company, three's a crowd’ when it comes to integrating male cats. Even though Nestle hasn't been bad with the other cats that he has met, we really feel he'll do better with only one other cat. It's just our opinion, but we think it might be better for you to consider adding a female cat to your crew.”

It’s one thing to have an opinion; it’s another to make that opinion apply across the board. Nathan I and were both upset. We thought this double-pawed handsome man might potentially be ours.

I thought it very good that they checked my references (my vet) throughly; however, in a time where shelters are overflowing, I thought it particularly sad that Nestle would lose a home with us, because they decided, before he ever even made it into our home, what his Fate would be.

Anyway, here's to Nestle finding a good home soon. As one friend reminded me (♥Thanks, Tomas!♥), it stinks; however, I am glad there are people who care so deeply (no matter if I disagree) rather than the alternative. Certainly, the world would be better a better place if there were more people like that in it. ♥