In Praise of Lake Niagara (wine that is)

So after my prolonged absence from the blogosphere, and after my last unhappy pre-election entry, suddenly I reappear with a post singing the praises of cheap wine? Well, you gotta just jump back in somewhere. And besides, I'd rather be silly than serious just now.

Anyway, the other day as I was unscrewing the cap of my most recent bottle of Lake Niagara wine, I found myself thinking rather defensively, 'Hey, what's so wrong with liking what I like?' I was thinking of a sign above the bar at a local tavern that says "Life is too short to drink cheap wine." Well what if I like cheap wine? I say life is too short to drink some fancy pants wine I hate just cause some snooty type says it's better. I come from Western New York and grew up savoring the flavor of the sweet Niagara grape in the fall. It brings to mind being at Grandma's house and checking the vines in the back yard to see if any of those big clusters of green grapes had turned yellow enough to be ripe yet. And oh when they were ripe. Nothing like it. A unique sweet flavor that dances on the tongue and stays sweet forever in the memory. (For the uninitiated, Welch's white grape juice is made from these grapes. That's the flavor I'm talking about. Of course, the wine is not nearly that sweet. Well not quite that sweet.) So anyway, Lake Niagara wine is not just a flavor I like. It's a whole experience. But mostly, I just really like it.

Oh sure, after much ribbing and teasing from my more wine-enlightened friends and certain snooty bartenders, I have learned to tolerate and even enjoy some kinds of wine with actual corks. Pinot Grigio is okay and I like saying it. Also Riesling is pretty good. That's kind of fun to say too. When I am out with high society types, the ones who actually understand what buerre blanc means, I can confidently order a Pinot Grigio and feel that I have fulfilled my duty as a dining companion who is likely not to tuck my napkin into my neck. Or slurp my soup from the bowl. I have even purchased whole bottles of wine with corks for my personal home consumption. But then I always go back. And I suppose since I'm baring all here, I should confess that I've discovered another version of the Lake Niagara-type wine (made by Taylor) called Lake Country White that I like even better. AND IT'S EVEN CHEAPER. Now we're talking.

But as with most things, if I wait long enough I'll be right in vogue. Maybe not with wine snooties, but with the population in general who are right now trying to scrimp and save on everything from mortgages to band-aids. Saving money is IN. This makes me kind of happy since I'm already an expert on bargain-hunting. Plus my taste runs on the side of the common rather than the exclusive anyway, so aren't I lucky? I say, if it tastes good, eat it. If it looks good, wear it. If it smells good, spray it on. If it appeals to you, hang it on your wall. Who cares how much anything costs? Trouble is, I guess there are people who do care a great deal, many of whom love to tell you how expensive their stuff is. I on the other hand had to be broken of the habit of blurting out "Oh you like my sweater? I bought it for 75% off clearance at Big Lots. I only paid $2.39!" I have now learned that the proper response when someone compliments something of mine is 'thank you'. It's hard.

So anyway, I guess that's about it for today. I have to go get dinner ready. I'm really anxious to try the new salad dressing I bought at Save-a-Lot. I really think it's going to go great with my Lake Niagara.

Not So Funny

Today my thoughts are not so funny. For one thing, the election is just days away and things are getting nasty. The accusations and personal attacks are flying, the pundits are having a field day, the candidates are scrambling and politics is still a dirty business. Some people are ecstatic that Obama may win, and some people are scared to death that he may win. I've heard more than one person say, "If Obama wins, what are we gonna do?!" Stupid question. We're going to go on being Americans and see what happens. Same as if McCain wins. Anyway, a president is still only one cog in the wheel.

Also, the stock market is tanking. I personally don't have any money in the stock market, so I'm not on the lookout for high places from which to jump, but I imagine there are people who are. And of course the economy in general is in peril. People are losing their homes and unable to pay their bills. I'm positive there are good and earnest Christians right now who are sure this is all more evidence of the end times. Yeah, maybe. But there have been so many other critical moments in all of history that pointed to the 'end times' that I'm a little jaded on that point. I believe that Christ is coming again, but I'm a little sick of the constant Armageddon -watch that seems to be going on. I may turn some people off by saying this, but instead of running out into our yards with arms raised watching the sky for Jesus to return on a cloud any moment, how about we get down on our knees right where we are and pray to God for this country and its people who worship Wall Street more than they worship God? Let's pray that this economic shake-out gives everyone a reality check about what's really important. The stock market is crumbling, just as all false gods eventually do. See it for what it is. A wake-up call to depend on God for our needs, not credit cards, banks or stock portfolios. The stock market is only one channel by which prosperity flows. God is the source, and He has hundreds, thousands, millions of channels to use to send us everything we need. But people always want MORE than they need. Let's try to remember the difference now. Let's use this time to pray more and get ourselves right with God. His hand is outstretched and in it is everything we need. Ask and you shall receive.

My New Favorite Word

Yes ladies and gentlemen, as I make my way through post-menopause and my mind grows ever feebler, I seem to have a new favorite word. The word is....THING. That's right, this generic all-purpose word finds its way into my conversations several times each day. It seems I have trouble remembering simple words these days, simple names of everyday objects so I find myself saying stuff like "The scotch tape? It's right over there right next to the...the..THING." Or, "Honey, would you hand me that...that...oh you know, that THING." Fortunately, after being with me oh these many years, my husband seems to know what I'm talking about most of the time so it has not been a major obstacle in our marriage. We tend to read each other's minds a lot anyhow, so things could be worse.

Oddly enough, this very habit of calling things "THINGS" is something that used to irritate the heck out of me when my mother or mother-in-law used to do it. I would think "Come on, surely you know the name of that thing. Just say it. This is so irritating." I am SO glad that I never gave voice to these thoughts because I'd be feeling terrible about it right now. Here I am perpetrating the very same offense, and now I understand completely what they were going through. They didn't enjoy being THING-speaking women any more than I do, but it couldn't be helped.

I'm noticing other traits I've developed that also used to irritate me about other people. Older people. I wham my shoulder into doorways and stub my toe on large obvious objects, and whack my knuckles on drawers. How clumsy! Why don't I watch what I'm doing? The thing is, I used to have grace, I used to be nimble, I used to NOT have to watch my hands every second while performing mundane tasks to make sure they didn't suddenly fly helter skelter into a sharp-edged object. And to add insult to injury, when I do get scrapes, bruises and scabs from these little moments of uncontrollable clumsiness, my skin doesn't heal as quickly as it used to. In fact, it sometimes takes WEEKS for a bruise to go away, and I STILL have a red spot on my shin from three months ago when I banged it on the shower door track simply stepping over the edge of the tub to get into the shower. That scar is there to stay I know it. I even put Aloe on it and everything. Nothing helps. I was thinking of getting some of that stuff they advertise that's supposed to get rid of scars. You know that stuff. What the heck is it called?

So I'm bruised and battered and stupid. So what? Who cares? What's the difference? What was I talking about?

Scary News

Proving once again that journalists give good headlines, I just ran across a good one. In the local section of my paper where they list the various goings-on and things to do, I was startled to see this header:

Give Blood.

Get Gas Card

Yikes! Gas already costs an arm and a leg. Now they want BLOOD.

How I Spent My Summer Staycation

With the high cost of gasoline and thus the high cost of every other thing in the universe, there is apparently a new trend in vacationing. Instead of taking a costly traditional vacation. we are now being urged to take a "staycation", which means you pretend to be on vacation without actually leaving your home. So I thought I'd try it.

I'm still waiting for room service and the maid hasn't shown up yet either. This is a sucky vacation.

But seriously, I guess people are actually doing this. I recently read two different articles about this new concept, the stay-home vacation, actually dubbed the "staycation". I wasn't kidding about that. Some people are taking advantage of their local attractions and seeing the sights in their own hometown, being pretend tourists. Others (and I actually read this) are setting up tents in their livingrooms and having camp-ins with their kids. Why not at least use the yard, you ask. Apparently this one family didn't have a yard. So they pitched a tent right in the livingroom, placed a floor lamp outside the tent to look like moonlight, and roasted marshmallows over a candle. Could I make this up?

I guess the staycation idea is okay. A lot of people have never taken full advantage of all the good things their hometown has to offer. I come from a town that's about an hour away from Niagara Falls and I bet half the population has never been there. However, for people in certain geographic locations, which shall remain nameless, it's probably a lot harder to pull off the staycation concept. "Hey Beufort, you been in the sun long enough. Better git yourself back under the car port."

I, on the other hand, live on the west coast of Florida and this staycation idea should work pretty well for me. The beach is less than five miles away, there are concerts and plays galore, enough festivals to clutter the entire landscape of the moon with arts and crafts, and marvelous fine dining restaurants all within the distance of a gallon of gas, which by the time I post this should be about $12.95.

But I have a confession to make. I don't like the beach. (Eeww, all that sand) I don't do well sitting through concerts and plays; arts and crafts festivals make me barf, and my idea of fine dining is any restaurant that doesn't use a roll of paper towels for napkins.

The truth is, I don't need to pack a pretend suitcase, and put a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door of my condo to feel like I'm on vacation. Trust me, I know how lucky I am. Every morning when we put on the coffee, put on our morning music, and take our stack of inspirational books out onto the lanai for our morning reading time, I thank God for the life we have. It already is the perfect staycation.

What Not To Wear

I like that show "What Not To Wear" on TLC. You know the one, where the two fashion experts help someone learn how to dress. That's an oversimplification of course. Here's how it works; well-meaning friends and family of someone who is a walking fashion disaster secretly blow her in to the show, then secretly videotape her going about her business dressed badly. Then Stacy and Clinton (the aforementioned fashion experts) surprise the victim and confront her with all the incriminating videotape and offer her a $5000 credit card to buy all new clothes in New York City under the condition that she give up her old clothes and follow their "rules". Although the first quarter of the show is pure gratuitous humiliation, it's all in good fun (tell that to her) and the rest is actually pretty uplifting. In the end, the slovenly "before" morphs into a dazzling "after" and gains tons of self esteem and grace. Seriously, by the time you get to the big "reveal" at the end, you're really rooting for her.

I'm fascinated with this show because they actually give great advice. I always learn something. But there's a predictable side effect to watching this show. Every time I watch it I get the urge to purge. No, not throw up. Purge my closet. I watch Stacy and Clinton hold up some article of the victim's old clothing like a decaying carcass and I think, "I have that in my closet." Now I don't think the contents of my closet are embarrassing really, but there are always a few things that just stay in there a little too long. I have a time-frame deficiency that prevents me from remembering when I bought something. When I think "that's probably a couple of years old", in reality it's apt to be more like six or seven. I confess, I have found a few choice articles in there that are twenty years old. I started taking advantage of a visual cue to help me out recently. If it has shoulder pads the size of throw pillows, it might not be as new as I thought.

So the other day after watching Stacy and Clinton humiliate - I mean educate -yet another victim, I got that urge to purge and made a nice big pile of clothes to give to Goodwill. Then I got right into it and dug a little deeper, and made another pile of perfectly good and rarely worn clothes to take to a consignment shop for resale. You know, these are the things I hate to just give away because they're really nice, I just haven't worn them much for some reason. Probably because I didn't know the "rules" when I bought them. Like if you're 5'6" you don't buy "petite" pants. Sorry, I mean trousers. (See how much I've learned?) A permanent wedgie is no fun. So I asked around to find out which local consignment store was a good one, since I've never done this before, and got an enthusiastic endorsement for one in particular. I called.

"Have you ever consigned with us before?"
"No, I haven't. How does it work?"
"Well, we only accept the better labels, and only things that are in season. What do you have?"
I took the phone into my closet and started reading off some labels, which didn't actually mean anything to me, but I remember buying them in a good store so thought they might mean something to her.
She said "Mmm hmm. Well the main thing is that they are less than three years old. Are they?"

Uh oh. The old deficiency. I had no idea. They could be. Or they could be twelve years old. A quick glance told me they all passed the shoulder pad test. That was encouraging. So I hemmed and hawed and said well maybe I'd just bring them in and have her take a look. NOT LIKELY. I don't think I could take the beat-down that would surely ensue. The pitying look, the decaying carcass two-finger pick up, the inevitable thanks-for-stopping-by rejection. So guess what....my Goodwill pile just got bigger.

Name These Plants

These little guys appeared in my potted palm yesterday. I'm conducting a "Name That Plant" contest. Anybody care to submit an entry? (Oh hush up, it's funny and you know it.)

Billboards I'd Like To See Part 1

My Mom, the Original Recycler

First of all, HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY! I don't really have a big theme thing going on for my 4th of July entry. I just felt like writing today and it happens to be the 4th of July. So I guess I'm happy for the freedom to not write about the 4th of July. Okee dokee then.

What's on my mind today is the idea of "recycle, re-use". Everything's all about being green these days, and that's a good thing. Don't want to leave a great big old carbon footprint behind. I've got a pretty big foot and this idea of the carbon footprint freaks me out a little. There are reams of newspaper and magazine articles all extolling the virtues of going green. Hmmm. That's ironic, isn't it? Anyway, this is wonderful fodder for journalists, freelance writers, and editors of every ilk who desperately need to fill their publications or news casts with meaningful and relevant content. "Come on everyone, let's all think of some great ways to conserve our natural resources! Put on those thinking caps and fill those pages!"


Well, if they had known my mother, they'd have enough material for the next fiscal year. Before recycling was hip, or even thought of, my mother was way ahead of the curve. She was brilliant at conserving and re-using. Back then it was more a matter of "a penny saved is a penny earned", or as I used to like to call it, "being cheap". Of course I realize now that the "cheap" label was a cheap shot. My parents lived through the great Depression and never quite came out the other side, mentally. Besides, while not dirt poor, we weren't exactly rich either, and saving pennies here and there was not really a matter of choice. So my mother became quite expert at conserving, recycling, and re-using, having learned many of her skills from her own mother. Okay, here's a for instance; I learned at the age of two how to open a Christmas gift without making a single tiny tear in the wrapping paper. Every home movie of Christmas past has at least one shot of my mother sitting in a chair, carefully smoothing and re-folding the wrapping paper for use at a later date while we kids meticulously opened our gifts like we were defusing a bomb. The art of this careful gift opening was made easier by the fact that the attached bow was only loosely stuck on there with a small loop of scotch tape, since it too had been preserved from years past, possibly including the scotch tape and was not likely to do much damage to the aforementioned wrapping paper. I was 15 years old before I realized that bows were actually three dimensional, and not in fact supposed to be flat. (By the way, this careful unwrapping is a skill I have had to unlearn in my adulthood. It makes most people crazy when they watch you do it.)

Oh, and here's another thing. When I finally outgrew the lunchbox stage of my childhood and started brown-bagging it to school, that bag had to last a week or two. Or until my banana finally dropped out the bottom.

Then there were the note pads. This is the one I know she got from Grandma, because Grandma's house was full of these things. Okay, try to follow me now. In the old days greeting cards were large pieces of paper folded twice so that when you opened the card, it was double thick on both sides. If you own a computer and make your own greeting cards, you probably know what I'm talking about. Anyway, if you unfolded these greeting cards back into a large piece of paper, there would be all white space inside. You with me so far? Okay. Now all this pristine white space was naturally divided into four rectangles or squares because of the fold lines. So you took your big old shears (pinking shears if you wanted to be really artistic) and cut that paper into its four pieces. Voila. Four beautiful pieces of note paper. Now it gets better. Grandma used to dissect all her Christmas and birthday cards, then stack them into little piles, punch a hole in the top of each pile, and tie a ribbon through the hole to hold the pile together. (The ribbon was, of course, left over from what? That's right class, from a previously opened gift!) Nothing was wasted. My mother learned this craft from her mother and I myself would probably still be carrying on the tradition if modern greeting cards had not changed to their current configuation. Also because my husband would divorce me.

Well, I can tell that I could write a book about this. There's just so much more. I mean so far I've only touched on paper products. But that's enough for now. You know, what I thought was cheap and embarrassing back then is now the subject of high level discussions and suggestions for all of us. She would have liked that, being on the cutting edge, ahead of her time. Way to go Mom.

My Birthday

It's my birthday. I cannot think of any greater gift than that which I already have: the love of God, the love of my husband, the love of family and friends, and the knowledge that each day holds a thousand gifts hidden within it. The trick is to seek them out like treasure. Thank you God for my life. Thank you for Life.

Dad's Day

It's Father's Day again. Last year I wrote a lot of really good stuff about my dad. Not hard to do. Every day is Father's Day when it comes to how I feel about my dad.

I called him today and as usual, enjoyed catching up on what's going on with him. At 89 you'd think it might be boring to hear about his life. But somehow I continue to be fascinated by him. He's been "awful busy" this week. He had cleared some land just east of the house that has been nothing but tall weeds for years. This spring he cut it all down, disked it, and put in part of his garden there. I guess he's been planting grass seed on the rest. Now you have to understand that in order to do a lot of this work, he had to remove the giant snow blower attachment and the cab from his garden tractor, and attach God-knows-what else in order to work on the garden. This is not child's play. Attaching and detaching a snowblower from your garden tractor, and then attaching a set of disks is pretty strenuous work. (He is quick to remind me that my brother and his son helped him get the snowblower on at the beginning of the winter. But I'm pretty sure he took it off himself.)

He was very happy to report that his strawberries are coming on real good. I asked him if the robins were bothering them. "Oh no, I put a net over them." Now these robins, (known by their scientific name, "damn robins") as you may remember are the arch nemesis of my father. Year after year they've been eating every last cherry on his one and only cherry tree before they're ripe enough for Dad to even taste one. And sure enough, the "damn robins" are already feasting on the few barely pink fruit on that tree. But he did buy a whole bunch more netting at Wal Mart and this week he's really going to do the tee-pee thing over that tree. This should be good. I'm really rooting for him. If he wins the battle of the birds this year it will be a victory long in coming.

THIS JUST IN!!
I just did a little research to find out more about the robin and cherry thing, and found this bit of information in a web article called, "Little Friends In Feathers":

"Thus, from March to June, the robin lives on ground beetles, larva, angle worms, spiders, snails and dry berries left over on winter on bushes He helps himself to orchard cherries in June. Late cherries he does not touch, ...... "

I have to let Dad know about this right away! If he can just get past June, he might have a fighting chance. I'll tell you one thing, he refuses to take this lying down. He's only just begun to fight. I really think the tee-pee is going to work. Go Dad!!

I don't think I'll share this next bit of the article with Dad. He might not agree with it:

"Birds are our little brothers of the air who help us keep the earth green and fruitful. They alone are able to keep the unseen armies of insect enemies in check. We need their help, and how willingly they work for us. Of all our little animal brothers they alone can sing and fly. They take up no useful room, and they earn their own living." (HA) "At the same time they make the world a more beautiful place to live in."

Yeah right. Tell that to Dad after the damn robins have eaten all his cherries, then deposited the after-effects in little polka dots all over his nice black driveway.

Hang In There!

I caught this little lizard fella hanging on the plant outside our front door. Not sure what he was up to, but he sure was tenacious!

The Reunion

I spent last weekend at my Alma Mater experiencing a reunion weekend that was so beyond my greatest expectations that I have to keep looking at the photos to make sure it was real. This was an amazing reunion of Geneseo Chamber Singers alumni, anyone who had belonged to this choir since its inception at SUNY Geneseo 50 years ago. Chamber Singers was the bright shiny spot in my otherwise less than stellar college career, over thirty years ago. This was a choir for whom "good enough'" was never good enough. Only excellence was acceptable. Back then we rehearsed together several days a week, toured Europe twice together, performed together in Lincoln Center. We stood shoulder to shoulder with each other and (to quote our beloved director, Dr. Isgro) "felt the power of music and the joy of making one voice out of many, submerged in a single unified entity lost in the emotional, psychological, and musical essence of the notes and words we are singing." Powerful stuff. Serious bonds. Priceless memories. My Chamber Singers experience is what I have reached back to and grasped tightly when I have felt that my youth was ill spent. There was always this one redeeming thing.

Given all this, it's easy to imagine that the friendships formed there were not quite like any other. What we shared was unique to us, and it was impossible for anyone outside the group to ever really understand it. We all had other friends, probably best friends, but within this little society of ours there was a bond all our own. And now I was going back to campus to revisit the Chamber Singers experience, complete with social gatherings, rehearsals and a CONCERT. I was beside myself with anticipation. There have been four previous reunions over the years but I was never able to go. This time the planets aligned, God smiled and I was on my way. Literally the dream of a lifetime.

Now here's the thing about my expectations. This was a reunion covering 50 years worth of alumni. That's a lot of years and of course they wouldn't all be coming, so I really didn't have high hopes of running into close friends from my four years there, from 1970 to 1974. What I ached to experience was rehearsing in the practice room of my memories, under the direction of Dr. Isgro once again, with other Chamber Singers, no matter what their age, and even if I didn't know them. Then to stand on stage with them and actually be part of a Chamber Singers concert once again. (My eyes teared up just then as I wrote that sentence. I'm telling you, this is emotional stuff for me.) So I was just thrilled to be going, and as I said, I didn't have high expectations of seeing close friends. But that's exactly what sets the stage for a really great surprise.

On Friday night, the first night of the planned weekend, there was a reception in the lobby of the student union. Wine, cheese, nibbles and stuff. It was a chance to register for the weekend, and to meet and greet. My husband had wisely stayed behind in Florida, knowing full well there would little for him to do at Geneseo while I was rehearsing and trapsing all over campus. So here I was walking into the midst of mingling alumni, scanning the room and at first seeing only strangers. No matter. That's what I expected. Then I found Dr. and Mrs. Isgro, who pointed me in the direction of a table where a few of the singers from "my years" were gathered. Sure enough, there were Ray and Dave, who were upper classmen when I first joined the choir. They had also both been on the first European Tour and we enjoyed seeing each other and catching up a bit. This was nice. I hung pretty close to the "early 70's " table for an hour or so, and then, feeling the weariness of my day's journey, I said goodnight and headed over to find my coat. Before I got very far, a crazy lady approached me, grabbed my name badge, the one we would all be wearing on a ribbon around our necks all weekend, and said "Marcy? Marcy?? Not MARCIA??!!" (Yes indeed, "Marcia", my given name which I used back then. ) I said yes and took a closer look at my assailant. There before me stood my old friends Laura and Maria. Oh my word, I couldn't believe it. I forgot about my exit and we quickly found a place to sit and have a glass of wine. Unbelievable. Lovable Laura, looking the same, as funny and genuine as ever. And Maria with her angelic smile, the warmth and comfort of her presence wrapping itself around me like a soft blanket. Things were getting good. We talked for another hour.

The next morning, as everyone gathered in yet another lobby for coffee and pastries before the first rehearsal, I looked around for my new old friends. Soon they arrived, as did everyone from the night before, and even more people who were just now joining the weekend's festivities. "Oh look, there's Scott!" etc etc. Then I turned and there stood Ernie, his smile even more magnificent than I remembered. Ernie Ernie Ernie! My joy was complete. I hadn't known he was coming. But there had been rumours. Our little band of comrades solidified right then and there.

The weekend was perfect. I could write a book about each little segment. The rehearsals, then going to lunch with the gang at Tom Wahls in the afternoon, then the dinner before the concert, the concert itself, then gathering at the Big Tree Inn afterwards, just like the old days, and the farewell breakfast on Sunday. I've made notes of each episode to keep inside my concert program to help me remember all of it.

Here are just a few mental snapshots:

- Sitting in the rehearsal room, all of us adults talking and laughing before practice, and Dr. Kucaba taking his place before us and whistling for silence. He sternly admonishes us that there is no reason for chit chat. ("Chit chat"? I haven't heard that in 30 years. I love it. I eat it up. And we all shut up.)

- All 185 of us on stage at rehearsal, shoulder to shoulder, sweating and squeezed onto the inadequate risers barely able to breathe under stage lights hotter than the sun, and someone wisely asking that no one wear perfume or aftershave during the concert later. And Laura , not missing a beat, answering, "But deodorant is good."

- Six of us at a table in the center of Tom Wahls eating hamburgs, hot dogs, french fries and onion rings, all whooping and laughing, taking pictures, talking loudly and generally scaring every other customer in the place. Of course. How else could it possibly be?

- My dear friend Maria patiently listening to my guilty ramblings about what a bad person I was back in college, and her gently pointing out to me that we were kids. It was the 70's, and we were seeking, searching, finding our way. Her gentleness finally convincing me to be gentler with myself. What a relief.

- Sitting with my new old friends in the back of Wadsworth Auditorium listening to the current crop of Chamber Singers performing the first half of the evening's concert. During one piece involving a set of chimes being played on stage, the distant notes of the campus bell tower's carillon filter through the walls and mingle with the chimes on stage, making a new kind of music. One sweeter than the composer intended. For me, a poignant duet of past and present.

This is getting long, but I have to say a little more. Here it is in a nutshell: for me, the weekend was a microcosm of our whole college career. Our four years of college in a one act play. "Meet you at the student union." "If you get there first, save us a table." "See you at the Big Tree Inn." "Rehearsal in five minutes." So much of the same dialogue as way back then. I never felt like a geezer the whole time. I felt like a 19 year old, but a better one than I was. One without the irresponsibility and the angst. It was a re-write of the original script, a chance for a do-over with only the best stuff in play. Permission to jettison the guilt.

The whole thing wasn't just wonderful. It transcended wonderful into the realm of magical. And the re-connect with old friends wasn't just great, it wasn't just fun, it was healing. Whatever past guilts I had suffered, these people seemed to love me still. If I had done wrong, they seemed to have forgiven me. They made it easy to forgive myself. This is huge.

When it was finally over, I was so filled to the brim, I could not have stood any more. I wanted to go home. Home to my life that I love, home to my husband whom I love more than life. I wanted to go home now, but carrying with me this incredible gift. A gift so huge and blessed that it has changed me. Maybe not in any discernible way, but somehow I am better. I must be.

Thank you God for this gift. Thank you Dr. Isgro for giving me the Chamber Singers experience, both then and now. Thank you dear friends for, well, everything.

About Love

There are lots of women who still think that love should be fireworks. And that the fireworks should not fizzle out. They keep looking for Mr. Right, who will keep the fireworks hot.


But true love, the kind that lasts and brings real joy may be something a bit softer. Like cloud formations and rainbows, wonderful in their quiet beauty. But thrilling and fantastic when the thunder and the lightning does come.

No one should "settle" for anything. That's not what I'm talking about. A relationship with no spark at all is called "friendship" and that is not necessarily grounds for a lifetime commitment. But if what you're seeking is an unending supernova, then instead of finding Mr. Right, all you'll ever find is Mr. Right Now.

By all means be passionate. But understand that passion comes in many forms. Thank God for a lasting relationship that grows and expands to include joy in the details of everyday life; what Oswald Chambers calls "the unaffected loveliness of the commonplace".

Everyone hopes that when love comes along it will hit you on the head and loudly shout "THIS IS IT. YOU DON'T HAVE TO WONDER." But most often it treads more softly and allows you time to explore it in greater depth. This is okay. I've often heard the expression, "life is not a dress rehearsal". Maybe not, but it is a long-running play. And if you screw up your lines one night, you get to try again tomorrow.

Above all, remember to love God and love each other. When you get into the love habit, you attract great things. Maybe even Mr. Right.

Is Spring Here?

Since I live in Florida, it's hard to tell when spring has sprung. It all looks the same around here and other than the temperature beginning to rise a fair bit higher, it's pretty much all the same to me. Oh, there is one sure sign: spring break-ers. Students and families enjoying school vacation, all smelling of coconut oil, and carrying pool noodles. Seeing toddlers and teenagers around here is as obvious a sign of spring as seeing robins and grass up North. "Well Burt, it must be spring, I just spotted a polka-dotted whippersnapper."

I spoke to my Dad up in New York the other day. He's gearing up for spring too. He's also getting ready for the annual Battle with the Birds again. As you may know, every year there's a gang of Robins marauding about Dad's yard gunning for his cherry tree. Dad has yet to eat a ripe cherry off that tree. (see my blog June 27, 2006 for a refresher course.) I asked him if he'd seen the robins yet this year. "Oh yeah. It's only 41 degrees out, but they're out there walking around the yard in little overcoats." They're just biding their time. Of course Dad has his battle plan ready. He intends to tent the whole tree this year. Don't ask me for the exact details, but it involves two long poles, with a length of netting attached between them. I think he plans to kind of tee-pee the tree. Sounds reasonable to me. Rest assured he'll have it figured out logically and scientifically. It may take awhile to prepare the pole/netting thingy, but he'll get 'er done. He's tenacious that way. One year some idiot kids drove down our section of road bashing all the mailboxes, including ours. Bashed but good. Most of the rest of the world would have grumbled and said some bad words and gone into town and bought a new one for about six bucks. Not Dad. It was in the worst heat of July, and I caught him out in the garage, down on the cement floor pounding that stupid mailbox back into shape with a mallet. Do not think this was an easy task. He was at it for most of the afternoon. Sweating and swearing. (I think he may have only been 85 at the time. Still young.) I went out there and said what the heck are you doing? Why are you killing yourself trying to bang out this old mailbox when you could just go out and get a new one? And he looked at me through the sweat and tears and said "What fun would that be? Besides, what else have I got to do?" I turned around and left him alone. I really had no argument. He once told me, "It's not that I'm cheap. Well I am cheap, but it's just that I get so much satisfaction out of fixing something that's broken. I like it."

So I guess he'll have his hands full this spring with the cherry tree tee-pee. Oh, and he also has one more problem. He also has strawberries this year. He's afraid those "damn robins" are gonna get to those too. It's happened before. He told me how one year the dirty sons 'o guns were pecking away at his strawberries soon as they came out, so he rigged up stakes at either end of the patch, and ran string the whole length, then spent a lot of time cutting up strips of aluminum foil and tying them to the string all along the way. That aluminum flapped in the breeze and reflected and shined and there were those robins right in the middle of it having a feast just the same. Dad says, "They liked it! They thought it was a carnival!" So I don't know what he'll do about the strawberries, but I can't wait to find out. Life is always interesting at Dad's.

Another Visit To Remember

Another Christmas has come and gone. This year we were able to spend Christmas eve, Christmas day, and the next day with our kids and grandkids. What a blessing. What a great time.

Last year we made the visit early, before Christmas, and had our celebration then. You may remember the story about our granddaughter, then two years old, and the guitar we gave her. Well this year she wanted a doll house (among other things of course) so that's what we got her. But not just any doll house. The Fisher-Price Loving Family Twin Time doll house. It's huge, and comes with a mommy, a daddy and twin babies. It also comes with a couch and chair, cradles for the babies, a cat with cat bed, and patio set. You'd think that would be enough. We didn't think so. We decided she also needed some extra furniture, so we bought two more "rooms" of furniture (kitchen and dining room) and an SUV, complete with radio, horn, twin car seats and bag of groceries. It was hard not to keep going, but we managed to pull ourselves and our dangerously overloaded shopping cart away from the toy aisle nevertheless. We couldn't wait to give it to her.


Well, by the time we reached her house Christmas morning to give her our much anticipated gift, she had already opened several other gifts, including THE PLAY KITCHEN. Now let me explain here that when I was a kid, my absolutely all-time highest dream was a play kitchen set. I mean, the just-my-size kind, not dollhouse size. I remember seeing it in a catalog, probably Sears. I would have fainted dead away if I had found one under the tree. So when I walked into the house and saw hers, (pink fridge, stove and sink, and all retro like the 50's) I lost my breath. After all these years, my little-kid brain is apparently still alive and functioning. I couldn't stop looking at it, examining it, PLAYING WITH IT. I lost all interest in the doll house and would not have blamed Nicki if she had opened it and yawned.


So she opened it and basically yawned. Well, not exactly but after all, it was still in the box, unassembled, and she had to get all the excitement she was going to get by looking at the picture on the outside of the box. But not to worry. We had it all planned that we would spend the next day, that post-Christmas, 'what-are-we-going-to-do-today' day, putting it together with her and putting all the new furniture inside. Good plan. And it was a good plan. I have cute pictures of my husband sitting at the kitchen table with her, instruction booklet visible, and the great mansion of a doll house in the middle of the table, assembly in progress. Cute as can be. It was fun putting it together. It started with Nicki with Grandpa at the table pulling out the sides, and raising the roof (it's Fisher-Price, so it didn't require actual tools or anything. Just a series of unfolding and locking procedures.) Then after I had taken the requisite photos, I joined in and helped figure out how the awnings went on. Then her other Grandma joined in and we all discussed how the flower boxes locked in place and which window got the window treatments that were included, and which room do you think is actually supposed to be the living room. At some point I said, "What do you think, Nicki? Nicki?" And that's when I noticed her sitting in front of the TV watching Barney and Friends. If there had been a thought bubble over her head it would have read, "Let me know when it's finished."

But when it was finished she loved it. She and I played with it for quite a while, she being the mommy doll and me being the daddy. We had a terrific time. It's amazing though how little kids get stuck in a groove of repeating the same things over and over. After about the fifth time of 'let's go to the store in the car', and carefully positioning the mommy and daddy in their SUV seats (with seatbelts of course), and securely fastening the babies into their car seats and then vrooming around the room several times, I was about done. Hey, let's see if Barney's still on TV!

A great visit it was. There are several other brain snapshots that come to mind. Me tugging at the waistband of my brand new jeans that turned out to be a lot lower rise then I first thought, and my oldest step-daughter saying, "yeah, those would drive me nuts too. That waist is so high." And Nicki playing hide and seek, always hiding in the same spot. One of my favorite mental images is when she demanded that Grandpa go hide. We counted to ten, then went into her room to find him and there he was, just standing in the middle of the room with a blanket over him.

Lots of warm memories to keep me company for a long while. I am so grateful for our family, and so blessed to have them all take up residence in my heart.