Consciousness

Posthumous/Post-Humorous P.S.

2011-12-25T21:21:00.000-05:00

Apparently, my run-in with the vultures last month inspired my friend Terry, to bestow upon me the most elaborate of Christmas gifts as follows:

This was accompanied by an ornamental raccoon with red ribbon 'round its neck to further emphasize the gravity of the entire situation.

Vultures in Venice vs Nice Nancy

2011-11-15T20:51:00.001-05:00

Driving down Shamrock Road in Venice on my way to have an early dinner with Uncle, I noticed a family in their front yard watching what appeared to be a performance of sorts. There was mom, holstering an infant on her hip, dad in a wife-beater undershirt enjoying a cigarette, two diapered barefoot, bare-chested toddlers squealing with delight, and a tri-colored Papillon yapping its fool head off. Since the speed limit is an agonizing thirty miles per hour on that road, and since there was already rubbernecking ahead, I slowed down to see what the hoopla was all about.

To my amazement, there were no less than three dozen buzzards picking the gizzards out of a raccoon laying somewhat lifelessly in the driveway of this family's next door neighbor. There were another dozen sitting rooftop waiting swoop their way into the entrails of this poor raccoon.

Now, I'm a city girl and don't know much about vultures except that they live up to their name. I drove by slowly, following the lead of the cars ahead of me and saw the raccoon's tail flip, and its leg, too. That raccoon was alive! I backed up, much to the dismay of both the car behind me and the family watching the spectacle. I rolled down my window and said.."Hey...don't you think we could move that raccoon out of the driveway and spare its little life and maybe even the life of that little dog of yours?" They looked at me stunned. I had stopped their family evening of entertainment dead in its tracks. And, apparently, I had said something pretty stupid because of the laughter that snidely escaped the mom's mouth. Again, the tail moved on the raccoon and the two foot tall vultures were attacking it with proprietary vengeance while this family just cheered them on ring-side as if watching The World Wrestling Network!

The dad said.."well, I guess if you want to, go ahead." So, figuring I'd scare the buzzards away, I'd turn my car into the driveway, run out with a box lid I had in my back seat and scurry off the battered raccoon. As I got closer to the driveway, I noticed the raccoon had already met its maker and its black stripes were colonies of black flies getting in on the vulture's evening snack. I don't know what disgusted me more, the vultures or the family substituting this for an evening episode of Sponge Bob Square Pants. In my haste and horror, I grossly misjudged the turn into the driveway and went full-speed, nose first, and deep, into the culvert. There was no backing out, no going forward, I just sat there spinning my wheels while the vultures kept picking with no fear, while the children cheered them on, and while mom and dad looked at me with "you idiot, serves you right" grins.

To the dad's credit, he came over and tried to rock, push and pull my car out of its predicament. The mom actually said.."she was stupid enough to get into it, let her get out of it" and went in and shut the door. I made two phone calls, one to Uncle and one to AAA. All Uncle said when he showed up was "How the HELL did you do that? You were chasing those damn buzzards weren't you, bird girl?" AAA basically asked the same thing, but said it was nice of me to try to save the raccoon. Three people driving by, after witnessing my stupidity, asked if they could help, one offered me her AAA and her boyfriend, and two offered to tow me. Since my car was half in the culvert and half in the street, and since Uncle didn't pull his SUV all the way over on the road, we caused quite a back up while cars paused to witness the Vulture vs Raccoon vs Car debacle.

Finally, another neighbor came to the rescue with a car jack and a few two-by-fours. He jacked up my car while Uncle shimmed the boards under my front tire and viola, I backed out and backed away from an embarrassing situation. What's more, after I had called AAA, my pocket accidentally called Jayne in Tampa and for 28 minutes she listened to garbled laughter and conversation while I swallowed my pride and tried to make light of the situation. Apparently she tried yelling, whistling, honking her car horn, calling my name making Bebe bark, all to no avail. I heard nothing, nada, zip.

Here's what I learned: when AAA says 15 minutes, they mean 115 minutes, but they were very nice when I cancelled my service call; vultures are hideous, they only go after dead animals (had I known that, I would have just kept going!!) Uncle says they're doing what they're meant to do, they clean up dead animals; I need new glasses so I don't misjudge driveways/situations anymore; people are nice, they offer help when you need it (except families who think survival of the fittest via vulture-fest is a good lesson for toddlers and infants); and the next car I buy will have all-wheel drive.

As for dinner, I ordered fish instead of chicken, and we had a good giggle musing over my naivete. I told Uncle he could tell this story at my funeral and he alluded to that fact that this would not be the only story told, for sure. Apparently, I have an army of "she did what?" stories marking my trail like breadcrumbs.

Mother's Day Memoriam

2011-05-07T22:21:00.000-04:00

STILL LIFE SYMPHONY

In the womb of my watercolor mind, a portrait of you -

eyes Wedgwood-blue in a peach wing-back chair,

skin buttermilk fair, and hair Shirley Temple curly.

Corn silk soft, your porcelain powdered face

shows no trace of age.

I am mesmerized by your eyes

and the way your cashmere-clad bosom sways

like lulling ocean waves.

Your hands dance to classical music -

The orchestra is Daddy tuning the hi-fi higher

for his hard-of-hearing ears.

I glance at him, chance a wink, and roll my caramel eyes.

You stroke the air -

a butterfly tickled by a breeze.

And in your wheezy voice, you count aloud:

“One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three…”

to the movements of Haydn’s Clock,

sonatas by Bach and Debussy’s Claire de Lune.

You paint music on your air palette -

an invisible baton, your brush.

I sit with the sun at my back,

basking in your love.

Legs crossed on the warm wooden floor,

I’m painting you a still life.

The open door lets

sea-salted breezes through jalousie slats.

I only smell you

wafting sage and Yardley English Lavender.

When you laugh you are sparkling

spring water on my parched lips.

I drink in your music.

In the womb of my watercolor mind,

a still life is there

of an empty wing-back chair

arms embracing thin air,

a dimple in the cushion worn threadbare.

When symphonies fill the air,

your still life comes alive.

Spring 2011's First Tomato & Other Morning Delights

2011-04-03T09:00:00.000-04:00

Our First Tomato of the season. I just hope we get to eat it before the garden critters have their feast.

Hopefully these tomato plants will fill out. The lettuce is ready for the salad bowl.

Hard to tell, but there's a spider amongst the dew drops with her morning fetch - busy as a bee.

The beginnings of sunflowers, four o'clocks, and mystery seedlings!

Onions, sweet potatoes, assorted herbs, blueberries, asparagus, peppers, lettuces, tomatoes, pole beans, broccoli, cantaloupe and whatever else volunteers, makes our spring garden.

A Little Excursion to Honeymoon Island

2011-03-20T15:54:00.000-04:00

We took a short ride to Honeymoon Island last night to catch the sunset and the moon rise. When we first set foot on the sand, I spotted some dolphins and got overly excited for a woman in her 50s, but, seeing dolphins always makes me feel like a kid again. We walked a bit, collected some shells, and while waiting for the sun to set, I took some shots of a few sandpipers looking for their dinner. The sunset didn't set off many fireworks, but the moon rise (which I didn't catch on film) was really spectacular and caused the same thrill as the dolphins. We finished off our little trip by having some outstanding Thai food and waddled home.

Granny's WInter Visit

2011-03-05T10:59:00.000-05:00

Out of Hibernation

2011-03-05T10:51:00.000-05:00

March Morning Cardinal

Spring's bees!

Jillian All Dressed Up

2010-12-17T09:21:00.000-05:00

What a character! Here's Jillian wearing one of the hats my sister made for her. How festive!

Four Years of the Dog

2010-08-14T21:54:00.002-04:00

Purpose:

be there when they wake up

be there with a wagging tail

be there to warm the bed

be there to snuggle

be there to blend in with the furniture

be there to make them stop and smile

be there to make them laugh out loud

be there to bring the ball

catch the ball

bring the ball, catch the ball, bring the ball, catch the ball, bring the ball
be there when there's cheese within sniffing distance

be there to bark at shadows, squirrels, opossums, dogs on TV

be there to beg pretty

sit pretty

roll over pretty

break-dance

be there always

be there the same

be there when they come home

be there constant as the constellations -
be their Bebe

Happy 4th Birthday, Bebe!

Felix Sweet Sixteen

2010-08-14T17:12:00.000-04:00

old green eyes still wise

silky soft fur ripples, purrs -

blessed cat's nine lives

Earthly Sweetness

2010-08-08T14:40:00.000-04:00

Today, I unearthed the last of the summer garden. I smell like oregano, basil, rosemary and tomatoes, all I need is a little cheese and I'd be scrumptious pizza! All the herbs but the ever-growing rosemary have been pulled, and when I removed the thick of the tomato vines I discovered four volunteer corn plants. It won't be long before the squirrels discover them, too! Aside from Bebe, a garden snake, two extraordinarily large lizards, several bees and a few doves kept me company as I uprooted long red earth worms while I tugged, grunted and finally released the last of the summer vegetables. A quarter of the garden is lush with green sweet potato vines which occasionally bloom with morning glory like purple flowers. Today, I mustered up enough courage to dig beneath the roots to see if there were any fruits of my labor. Low and behold, two sweet potatoes! I know there are plenty more, but from the looks of the ones I pulled, I think I'll wait a few more weeks to unearth the remaining 80 or so lurking below the surface.

Gifts from the Left

2010-08-02T15:59:00.000-04:00

Our summer vacations went in the same direction but to two different places this year. Jayne headed out to Santa Rosa for job training and I headed out to Phoenix to visit my sister. When we got home, we presented each other with gifts along the same theme!

While in Cave Creek, AZ, I went to the Town Dump and bought Jayne a new sunburst for our backyard fence. We have a small collection started and seem to have a fondness for sunbursts like the ones seen on Sunday Morning.

While in Sonoma, CA, Jayne bought me a print by Thomas Patrick from Red Wolf Gallery. Its theme combines two of my favorite things perfectly: coffee and sunflowers. This print is called "Coffee Sunrise".

So while my gift game from a gallery and her gift came from the town dump, the sentiment was the same:

...you are my sunshine, my only sunshine....

Sistering the Same

2010-08-01T19:37:00.001-04:00

It started when I opened the refrigerator at my sister Lynn's house in Arizona. Had it not been for the double doors, I would have thought it was my own. First, the real butter (and she uses it just like I do, thickly smeared and more so like Paula Dean does). Next, there was the same half and half, and caramel creamer (for her home-brewed coffee every morning, just like I do), and the thinly sliced bagels. Then, there was a container of feta cheese because it makes everything taste better (even though we both love goat cheese), and the naked glass pitcher of freshly brewed iced-tea just like I make at home. The fridge was organized exactly like mine, and there were lemons, lots of lemons, because she loves lemons, just like her sister! Was I in Tampa, still? The cheeses were all in one drawer, just like I like, along with deli meats, and paper towels lined the bottom of the drawers. I know what you're thinking, that you do the same things, but there were many "same things" that brought comfort to my heart that my sister is my sister. Just to name a few, we both eat standing up, we coordinate our clothing similarly, we'd play all day long watering with the hose outside given the chance, we grow herbs, love watching Castle and Alex Guarmaschelli's cooking show Alex's Day Off, and reading mysteries. We're both claustrophobic, we both can cook on a dime and clean the kitchen as we go and there's never a dirty spoon or dish in the sink, and we can clean a house like Bewitched, run 3 loads of laundry and grocery shop all before the sun rises or anyone else for that matter. Just to name a few.

Having spent very little quality time with my sister in decades, except for special occasions like weddings, this was the first time we "hung out" since probably our childhood, where she, seven years my senior, raised me. Now, here we are adult siblings who live 1300 miles apart and chat via Facebook and Skype. This is what sibling-hood has come to, the Internet. For four glorious days, I basked in the comfort of sisterhood and the discovery of our similarities like long lost twins.

Arizona Trip: Day 1 - My flight from Tampa to Phoenix was almost three hours delayed. Remind me to never schedule a flight from Florida to anywhere during the rainy season around 5:00 in the afternoon. We sat waiting for the lightning to cease crisscrossing the sky while inching our way onto the tarmac 10 minutes at a time. The woman sitting next to me was making a Japanese Temari ball which made me want to start cross-stitching again. Beautiful and intricate, she stitched and cut for hours. I wondered how security let her on the plane with needles and scissors, though. Once we finally took off, everyone switched to their electronic worlds and even the Temari ball was discarded for an ipod.

By the time I arrived in Phoenix, it was midnight EST and I still had a 45 minute drive to my sister's house via my brother-in-law Ron's 19-year old Lexus (complete with the 12-pound car phone permanently installed in the arm-rest). As I stepped out of the airport the heat hit me like pizza oven heat when you open the door and hot air reddens your face; very different from Florida heat. When we finally arrived at my sister's house, I remember my first thought was that my sister is shorter than I remembered. She's a good two inches shorter than I am, and her height immediately reminded me of our Nana who was about 4'10". While pondering that, five look-alike Pugs pondered my arrival with their big brown/black eyes. Bentley, Sydney (the king and queen), Cassie, Penny, and Pugsley (the rescue and my favorite of all). You'd think five dogs in one house would have been overwhelming, but the only thing overwhelming was their peaceful, loving natures. Bedtime awaited, but not before my sister fed me her delicious coffee cake and tempted me with her tuna salad. When I got to my room, I noticed a basket of fresh towels and soap - Lever 2000, my favorite.

Day 2: My sister's day starts at 4:30 in the morning with hungry pets pestering; funny, so do mine! Once we had coffee, Greek yogurt (which I love, too!) and homemade blueberry jam, we spent the day "big-boxing" down Carefree Highway by starting out at Barnes & Noble (of course), for a little shopping spree and some more coffee. Then, off to World Market for a stroll, Joanne's Fabrics to find some non-existent book-patterned material for an apron my sister was going to make me, In and Out Burger for lunch and lastly, Best Buy for new phones (both Lynn and Ron's phones were the flip type with antennas and were way overdue for an upgrade). We had company for dinner. I grilled chicken and my sister made corn on the cob the way our mother used to, cooked in milk and a little sugar, just wonderful. Later, we all played a fun game called Kwirkle and retired to our respective computers. At one point, my sister was IMing me about something my brother-in-law did and we were right across the table from each other!

Day 3: Our goal was to see Sedona, and on the way, we took an old dirt road to a place called Arcosanti http://www.arcosanti.org/ You have to see it to appreciate the utter beauty and uniqueness of this place, and you really need an 18-wheeler to get down the dirt road, not a 19-year old car, but we made it and I'm glad we did. We were too late for breakfast and too early for lunch, but all the food is organically grown on property and served on the honor system. We didn't take the tour, but will next time in cooler weather, but we did go through the chimes gallery and I bought the smallest, most inexpensive one there just for a souvenir. The ride to Sedona was beautiful and my tour guides detailed the changing terrain along the way. We stopped and took pictures of the magnificent mountain formations, walked through the tourist town, lunched, snacked on chocolate (where I discovered my sister loves dark chocolate honey combs just like me!) and browsed the shops.

At an overlook, we spotted a family traveling with dogs and a granny in a nice-sized RV. Both my sister and I remarked at the same time how we would love to travel the states in an RV and how we've always wanted to buy one. I never knew. I thought I shared that fantasy all to myself.

Somehow, we got talking about the day I was born and my sister always tells my birth story from her 7-year old perspective. I could listen to it again and again. I love when she tells about the day I was born. Here it is in a nutshell. My mother went into labor early in the morning. On the way to the hospital, she asked my dad to stop at Pennsylvania Dutch Donuts on Atlantic Avenue in Atlantic City, because she was craving donuts. They dropped my sister off at my Nana's house and then my mother at the hospital. She gave birth to me sometime between 7am and lunchtime (there's no time on my birth certificate). My sister remembers my father picking her up from Nana's house and taking her street-side outside of the hospital, looking up into the noon sun and waving to my mother in her hospital room. Now I know why I have a passion for donuts!

Dinnertime, and I made one of my signature symmetrical salads loaded with different lettuces, peppers, cheeses and fruit and cashews. Yummy. Friends brought over Maine lobster and we feasted until the snap popped open on my shorts! My sister made tons of great appetizers and mini-desserts. Heaven.

Day 4: We spent this day more local and traveled to Cave Creek www.cavecreek.org which is an eclectic blend of cowboy country living and quaint hometown galleries. We had delicious coffee and visited a place called The Town Dump which I could have spent days rummaging through had it not been close to 100 degrees. We traveled on to see huge boulder formations in Carefree and visited the resort where Ron works and shopped in a fabulous grocery in Scottsdale called AJ's. We called it an early day and spent the rest of the night at home eating leftovers, and watching television. I love watching my sister dual task. She knits while watching old Bette Davis movies on her DVD player; never taking her eyes off of the screen, fingering the stitches like reading braille all the while. She has a house full of knitted and hand-sewn creations she's whipped up over the years to pass the time: afghans, baby sweaters, Halloween pumpkins, Christmas trees, aprons, hats, slippers, more than I can name. She's a one-woman craft show!

Last Day: Goodbyes are always hard when you know visits are few and far between. Every visit with my sister adds to my knowledge of my past. She's always telling me stories I never knew such as the fact that my father had a twin lost in childbirth, or that there was a child miscarried between me and my sister. I guess seven years does make a difference; she has a complete set of different memories from mine that I never experienced. Of course there are differences between us: she is uniquely gifted with my Nana's genes when it comes to yarn crafts. Our grandmother came right from Italy and knitted her days away. My sister is so talented with needles and hooks, I am amazed. I have none of that talent. She can sew anything and make it beautiful and she can cook anything and make it wildly scrumptious. She is also a history buff. I missed that boat big time, but listening to her zeal for history is impressive. She likes spicy food, I don't.

Our similarities from across the miles amuse me: we're both uniquely sensitive to temperature change, we both drive with the sun visors down on both sides (when allowed), we both set our clocks ahead a few minutes, we both sleep with ice-packs, we both have asthma and allergies (thanks to our mother's genes), we both love our coffee and put cinnamon in it, and both despise the smell and taste of hazelnut, neither one of us can drive well at night, and we both have sun-sensitive eyes; her eyes are caramel colored, too, only lighter than mine.

So here we are, me in Tampa, Lynn in Phoenix. She's sixty years old and still seems in her 30's to me. I picture ourselves in a big RV one day, both in our 80's traveling down Carefree Highway with our coffee cups and dogs just taking in the scenery on our way to Route 66 for that long awaited trip. She'll be knitting and watching old Bette Davis movies and I'll be tapping away on my blog about me and my sister. Oh..and who will be driving? Ron and Jayne will have to figure that one out!

A June Strawberry Moon

2010-06-27T18:06:00.000-04:00

coal sky -

june's moon rides high

behind a cloak of smoke

birds sigh, lakes still, trees breathe under

moon's eye

Sunday Morning

2010-06-13T10:29:00.001-04:00

When I awake from peaceful dreams,

and shuffle from my slumber,

I wander through the garden greens,

and praise all nature's wonder.

Do sunflowers sleep at night,

or bow their heads in prayer?

Do dragonflies enhance their flight,

or use petals as their lair?

When I lay down to peaceful dreams,

I never need to wonder.

My garden is as stunning as it seems

in morning as in my slumber.

What Evening Brings in Our Garden

2010-06-07T21:07:00.000-04:00

Reflections on a June Morning Walk

2010-06-05T12:52:00.000-04:00

Summer -

blue bay's lighthouse;

a Cooper's Hawk watching

wading White Ibis reflections.

Morning.

May's-End Bounty

2010-05-29T16:16:00.001-04:00

blush earth's ripened gifts
hidden deep 'neath dewy leaves -
a still-life whence picked

Bee's Breakfast

2010-05-23T11:16:00.000-04:00

Happy are the carpenter bees

who swarm around the sun.

They buzz with every breath they breathe,

a summer morning's hum.

Leap Frog

2010-05-08T08:08:00.012-04:00

When darkness holds an empty moon,
chirping crickets polka dot the night.
When lovebugs fly to mate and swoon,
a tree frog leaps and takes flight.

Alphabet Bean Soup

2010-05-05T07:47:00.001-04:00

ALPHABET BEAN SOUP

green beans

in a snap

shimmy

out

of their white blossom

umbrellas

and

dangle

like earrings

from their stems.

Some beans -

long,

slender

shapely

like a woman's

leg

silk stockings

with a seam

running

up the back.

Others -

inpatient for pickers

drop

silently

from their strap-hangers

spelling

S O S

in the sandy soil.

grammar police gather

errant

commas

question marks

lower-case e’s

half-fast c’s

and toss them into

boiling chicken stock

with potatoes -

homegrown alphabet soup.

Feline's Fool Moon

2010-04-26T23:39:00.005-04:00

full moon
fools felines' eyes -
why is the black velvet
midnight sky serving a saucer
of milk?

Thank You, Earth

2010-04-21T20:26:00.002-04:00

beneath earth day eve
roses bleed atop green stems
bending sunset's way

Cardinal Red

2010-04-11T17:49:00.002-04:00

sunset's red roses
reflect cardinals' flight
blooming feather light

Arm Chair Psychology

2010-04-11T16:57:00.004-04:00

FELIX: Bebe, stare at the black line. You are feeling very sleepy. Ticktock gray squirrels, ticktock tennis balls, ticktock red birds, ticktock kitty-cat.

BEBE: Does he really think I'm going to fall for the black line trick again?
:: zzzzzzzz:: squirrels, balls, birds, warm furry cat ::zzzzzzzzz::

FELIX: You are very sleepy. Ticktock kitty-cat, ticktock purring cat, ticktock snuggle cat.

BEBE: ::zzzzzzz:: purr purr.

FELIX: ::zzzzzzz:: Gotcha, dog breath!

Sun Catcher

2010-04-03T12:58:00.002-04:00

origami rose
unfolding white buttercups
holding springtime sun

Another Couch, Another Conversation

2010-03-29T14:32:00.004-04:00

Bebe: Hey, blanket hog! Do you have to take up so much room? I'm squished into this corner as tight as I can get!

Felix: Not my problem.

Bebe: You know this is my couch. You don't even come close to matching it. Look how well I blend in! You can hardly see me.

Felix: In your dreams.

Bebe: Fine. Be that way. Just keep your hairy butt away from mine.

Conversation on a Couch

2010-03-21T13:56:00.008-04:00

Felix: Bebe! You're in my spot.
Bebe: Tough! I'm comfy and I'm not moving. Go find a sunny spot some place else.
Felix: Fine, then don't blame me when you have to shake a ton of cat hair off your coat.
Bebe: Yuck.
Felix: Look at the dent you're putting in the cushion.
Bebe: What is it you're really trying to say?
Felix: You're fat, not fluffy.
Bebe: Scat, cat!
Felix: ::purr::
Bebe: ::grrr::

Spring Weekend

2010-03-07T15:40:00.014-05:00

Finally, Florida's winter has broken. Saturday and Sunday were stellar spring days and we took advantage of Mother Nature's grace.

Saturday took us to the northern tip of Clearwater to an estate sale where we purchased a sweet little credenza and a stool needle pointed by some one's grandmother. We ate grouper sandwiches at Frenchy's Original Cafe and shopped around. The day was cool, breezy and Florida's sun, set in a pool of blue, gave us some much needed vitamin D.

Sunday we walked up the road to Sweetwater Organic Community Farm (Sweetwater Organic Community Farm | An urban, organic farm providing healthy food, educational programs and community-building opportunities since 1995) for some hot-out-of-the-brick-oven pizza, but the pizza guy wasn't there, so we picked up some sweet potatoes for me to plant next weekend when it will be time to plant our Spring veggie garden.

Bebe enjoyed herself too. She had a great little walk and was able to sniff and play with some vegan doggies.

Later, we went to the Buddha Center where the Jade Buddha of Universal Peace was on display at a huge festival.

"The Jade Buddha for Universal Peace is the largest Buddha carved from gemstone quality jade in the world. The Jade Buddha is 2.7 metres high and sits on an alabaster throne of 1.4 high. The Jade Buddha itself weighs around 4 tons and has been valued at $5 million. Its size and beauty make it a wonder of the world. The Buddha inside the Mahabodhi Stupa in Bodh Gaya (India) is the model for the Great Jade Buddha. This Buddha was chosen because it is universally recognized by all Buddhists.

The purpose of exhibiting the Jade Buddha around the world is for everyone, irrespective of their religion, to take a moment to reflect upon peace; peace for the world; peace in their relationships; peace for their families and friends; peace at work; peace in their mind."

We were two of but a handful of non-Asian attendees and mostly everything was written in characters we didn't understand. When Jayne asked one of the Asian-looking vendors what something meant, the gal said.."I don't know, I'm not Chinese."

Welcome Spring! Welcome peace!

Winter Roses Rise

2010-03-04T07:28:00.003-05:00

march winter persists

winds bend the thorny thin stems

roses' heads held high

February Remembers

2010-02-25T21:48:00.002-05:00

Not one
February,
but two Februaries.
First one, then another passes;

parents.

Some months
go unnoticed

until February's
heavy heart sinks soft behind mine;

pounding.

Valentine Robin

2010-02-14T20:49:00.002-05:00

robins polka-dot

wintery ice cold blue skies

one breast rests alone

Frozen Lemonade

2010-02-11T11:00:00.003-05:00

Not one

bitter, bitting

Florida frost - but three deep

freezing nights took lemon after

lemon

Produce Shopping Before the Frost (in my own backyard)

2010-01-08T11:52:00.002-05:00

Lemons,

'maters green-red,

dill, parsley, sage, peppers

plucked before plunging temperatures

bite hard.

Little Monkey Business

2009-12-18T22:17:00.003-05:00

Jillian with the sock monkey my sister Lynn made for her.

2009-11-12T10:26:00.002-05:00

Yellow -

not banana,

butter, or Crayola.

Sunflower yellow, bursting bright

with seeds.

Sunflower Rising

2009-11-08T09:57:00.003-05:00

Sunshine starburst peeks

between green broccoli leaves;

rising and shining.

Fall Fruits of Labor

2009-11-07T14:36:00.004-05:00

Finally, the first lemons fell from the tree today! The green beans are so bountiful, I've spent the past two days picking them by the fist-fulls. Yesterday, I flash-froze three 1- gallon bags and there are still more to pick.

This year, I'm drying most of the herbs and so far have jars and jars of rosemary, basil, lemon basil, parsley and sage.
Next up is broccoli, peppers, red-leaf lettuce and tomatoes. I just love this time of year!

Holly Goes Over Rainbow's Bridge

2009-10-11T00:09:00.005-04:00

Uncle Jim's sweet Boxer, Holly, will forever be in our hearts and at our heels. Her nightly nudging, with her graying muzzle will always awaken Uncle on time when the alarm clock isn't enough. To know Holly was to know her playful eyes while begging and bending sideways for treats; a memory that will always make us smile.

Her spirit will always be waiting at the door for Uncle to come home, while wiggling her stubby little tail. Even in her absence, Uncle's forehead will always be a little damp from Holly "giving Daddy kisses". And, her chair will never really be empty of her big Boxer body curling up like a cat. In our dreams, she is still splashing and running circles in the Gulf of Mexico, just on the other side of Rainbow's Bridge. Holly was rescued by Uncle via Florida Boxer Rescue in 2002. She showed her gratitude everyday by being the most delightful, loyal and constant companion a human could wish for until cancer took her life. She is at peace now and we miss her terribly.

Vacationing a la Left Coast

2009-08-10T20:17:00.021-04:00

Our end of summer vacation took us from the left coast of Florida to the left coast of the United States where beautiful northern California was its stellar self . Our hosts, Cathy and Feather, helped us eat our way through the grape-dappled countryside, and guided us through the steep hills and colorful culture that only San Francisco has to offer.

Every morning, our Santa Rosa alarm clocks rang with the sounds of gaggles of geese flapping across foggy morning skies. At dusk, the living room picture-window brought us the novel view of deer nibbling their dinner across neighborhood lawns.

Getting used to the time change was a breeze, especially when our first dinner (midnight EST) was at Skates on the Bay, in Berkeley. I have never had a more divine tomato soup, and would have gladly licked the bowl had there not been tables full of other diners to witness my gastronomical gluttony. Cathy and Feather treated us to delectable delights found only in California from crab sandwiches to Thai to tapas and the most incredible macaroni and cheese I have ever had. Even New York Style pizza tasted better in California!

We spent one day driving from Santa Rosa to Calistoga, through Oakville, Yountville and Napa Valley, and Sonoma. On the way to Calistoga, we stopped at the Petrified Forest and walked the mile loop in awe of trees 10-feet in diameter.
Most people might drink their way around the Napa Valley, but we noshed our way through with stops for coffee, lunch and treats from Dean and DeLuca. The drive through wine country was scenically stunning with mountains divided by rows upon rows of glistening vineyards.

We met a dear old friend of Jayne's in San Francisco, and with Feather as our tour guide, we hit the hilly streets. Who better than a native San Franciscan could guide us through the best San Fran has to offer. We ate lunch at an Italian restaurant where I'm sure, my father's spirit was in the kitchen cooking! We walked China Town, ate hot (and flat) fortune cookies and drank espresso in a side-walk cafe. Visiting the fantastic Palace of Fine Arts was one of the day's highlights.

Golden Gate Bridge in morning fog.

Chinese Fortune Cookie baker, and Chinese Laundry.

We spent our last day touring the Pacific by driving through sleepy little sea-side towns. We stopped to scavenge for sea glass and take in the salty, chilly air of the Pacific. Even though we've been home for a week, it's still taking a while to finally adjust to Florida time. I feel like I'm getting up way too early (to the sounds of cardinals, not geese), and dinnertime cravings start to kick in about 9:00 pm for California food. Until next year, I'll be California dreamin'.

2009-07-17T23:17:00.001-04:00

Last week, our friend Terry, spotted this Flordia Bob Cat and snapped a great picture. Terry had first seen the Bob Cat scurry through his front yard, and later found him lazing in the shade just outside of his pool cage. Talk about an exotic guest!

Lemon Abstract Art

2009-07-17T20:18:00.009-04:00

Inside
lime-green lemon
sprouts star burst shooting stars -
eggplant tears dollop a citrus
canvas

What's Going On "Down There?"

2009-06-17T21:45:00.005-04:00

One of our regular customers is a homeless man. I know if I were homeless, a bookstore would be the first place I'd call home away from the streets. This man usually wears nasty old green scrubs and carries a winter coat with him and a few bags of newspapers. His shoes are the kind of slippers with Velcro that you would wear if you'd broken your foot, and his socks have run out of toes. He's always polite and makes light conversation. He generally sits in the same chair in the Community Room everyday, but on Tuesdays and Fridays, story-time leaves him to use another part of the store to read his pile of meticulously folded newspapers and snooze. Yesterday, he rushed into the store and I almost didn't recognize him. He bounded towards me in a bit of a hurry. He had on a "new" dirty t-shirt and fleece sweat pants instead of his regular "uniform", and was carrying a faux leather computer bag instead of his ratty old shopping bag. As he rushed by me, the stench of urine and sweat wafted after him, as did my shocked eyes. His pants were completely split and ripped up the rear, flapping in the wind and leaving nothing to the imagination. Not only was I horrified, but it was 10-minutes before story-time was about to start and pretty soon there would be a store full of toddlers eye-level with "Look, mommy! No Fruit of the Looms!"

We fortunately found him a longer shirt to wear, which barely covered the scene of the crime. He gratefully took the shirt and then settled down into the cushy chair and cracked open his new case full of papers. Remind me to never, ever sit in those chairs again.

On a more fragrant note, tonight, while shopping at Publix, I made a quick stop by the pharmacy to check my blood pressure (112/69 in case you're interested). While waiting for my arm-cuff to exhale, I noticed a woman-of-weight in one of those motorized shopping carts beep-beep-beeping backwards down the aisle towards me as she tried to parallel park next to the feminine hygiene display. I wouldn't have given her a second glance except that she was rather loudly ordering her 20-something-year-old son to hand her can after can of Summer's Eve aerosol. Each canister he diligently offered her, she opened, sprayed liberally into the air several times and then sniffed, stating..."No, that's not the one I like! Give me another." And he did. After about the fifth one, she exuberantly exclaimed..."Yes, that's it! That's the one I like!" Now that she'd found her fruit of the loom, she threw the winner in her basket. She then revved her engines and rolled away leaving the air behind her sneezing with an odoriferous blend of "Baby Powder Fresh", "Intimate Whisper", "Island Splash", and "Tropical Rain". I think my blood pressure shot up a few points after witnessing this absolute disregard for the store's inventory. Not to mention the poor woman who unknowingly buys one of the pre-spritzed cans. Hopefully she won't get caught with her pants down expecting a month's worth of deodorant protection only to fall short by the weekend.

Aerosol-Chick-on-Wheels was spotted a few minutes later on yet another mission. This time, with her son on the floor rummaging through a display of beans, looking for the kind she likes. I sure hope he didn't have a can opener handy. As they were headed for the paper products aisle, I conveniently made my exit; I just didn't want to know.

Tuesday's Roses

2009-06-16T08:39:00.003-04:00

sunshine, peppermint -

cotton candy white and pink

red rose's neighbors

A Week of Wounds

2009-06-14T11:24:00.007-04:00

Traveling always seems to upset my sense of balance. I feel like a snail toting all of my daily necessities on my back. And, although I always enjoy my time away, coming home sweet home and re-centering is a real treat; it makes me appreciate home and all its creature comforts all the more.

After a pleasant trip up north to visit Granny, Jilli, and company, I returned home to a garden full of weeds, grass six-inches tall and email/voicemail/snail-mail/junk-mail/interoffice mail all piled high, not to mention errands to be run and literally thousands of books to be sorted at the store. I got right to work.

Monday - I pulled creeping weeds and ailing old tomato plants before work. As I was walking from my yard to a neighbor's yard, I rammed the top of my big toe into a precariously misplaced pointy piece of driftwood. Ouch. Band-Aid #1.

Tuesday - While restocking a table at the store, a paperback decided to leave its impression on me by slicing a good-sized paper-cut between my thumb and index finger. Ouch. Band-Aid #2, only to be followed by Band-Aid #3 when yet another book sliced and probably redesigned my fingerprint on the opposite hand's middle finger.

Wednesday - I'll save the best for last. Read on.

Thursday - Accidental wounds are bad enough, but self-inflicted wounds really ire me. While opening my car door, the same car door I've opened for the past 10 years, I pinched the top of the finger with a paper-cut leaving a huge red welt the size of a bee-sting. Band-Aid #4 not necessary; I should just wear steel-plated gloves at this point (I wonder how that would work teaching sign language??). Thursday night, I burnt the roof of my mouth while eating dinner. Great, now I can't talk, sign or apply Band-Aid #5.

Friday - I need to start scratching things off of my errand list. After work I planned to go to the laundromat to use one of those quadruple loaders to clean a very pricey king-sized comforter that Felix used as a cat bed and Bebe used as soft place to throw up on. Jayne splurged on this comforter and ever since we've placed it on the bed, it's been a catch-all for all things pets can do to destroy something nice. Then, off to the pool supply store for a million different chemicals to balance the pool (where are my chemicals to balance me??), then to the health food store to restock for the week, and finally to the farmer's market and home. Things didn't quite happen in that order, and half of my errands never got done. I went to the pool place first. The charming multi-pierced teen who assisted me, insisted on carrying out the jugs of chlorine to my car, so I gave him the keys and told him to put them in the back seat on the floor. I left there and decided to hit up the farmer's market next, and while turning onto the farm's bumpy road, the chlorine bottles tipped. When I looked back to see the damage, there were no canisters in the backseat! He put them in the back with, oh my God, the comforter! I slammed on the breaks, popped the hatch and sure enough, chlorine was bubbling out of the container and all over the deep-blue, now white, comforter. I am in big trouble. Oh..did I mention I was driving Jayne's precious Envoy that looks as new as the day she bought it 4 years ago? There isn't a Band-Aid #6 big enough for this "ouch". Big trouble doesn't even cover it, and neither will the comforter ever cover the bed again.

I should have prefaced all this by explaining that this horrid string of self-inflicted wounds started in Michigan when, while trying to light the grill, I discovered the starter was broken. So, plan B dictates manually igniting it with a match, which I did. In so doing, I managed to manually ignite my entire right arm as well - singeing off every last little strand of hair from my wrist to the crook in my elbow. Think that was a signal of my week to come?

Back to Wednesday - The lawn service comes every-other-week. In between, I mow if needed. Well, it needed mowing. Our mower is fairly new and gets more use by a neighbor than by me. To his credit, he always refills the gas, oil and leaves its fire-engine red coat sparkling. I primed the mower, bent down to pull the cord and on the way up, it snapped out of my paper-cut fingers, half-pull, slapping the handle smartly on my left breast. If I were a man, I'd be bent over in pain grasping my cojones and gasping for air. I took a quick peek, saw a reddish welt rising like a second nipple, cursed and went on. Round two: re-prime, pull the cord gently and then let it rip. Again, the cord violently sprung from my fingers and again, slapped me right there on the same breast as it recoiled with a satisfied click to its position. My welt now had a partner and my now already throbbing breast was budding yet another. My pain was beyond words that even the most creative cursing couldn't quell. Third time's a charm, right? Indeed. I situated my body as far from the pull-cord as possible while still being able to get some leverage. I leaned in, pulled with all my might, and up it comes like it should, all the way to the top and then WHAM, it caught once again, only this time spun itself around the handle of the mower and slapped me silly one, two, three more times with the speed of light. I cannot write here the words that escaped my lips, nor can I possibly explain the searing pain my punching bag of breast felt. Totally inexplicable. I was defiled, defeated and deflated. I now have what looks like a purple/yellow/green/red tie-dye star burst splotch the size of a tennis ball tattooed on my left boob with a very clear indentation of the pull-cord's handle as its center. I swear if I look closely, I can almost make out the "TORO" outline.

If only there were video of this, I'd be $100, 000 richer today. I'd send it to America's Funniest Home Videos and call it "Titty-Titty Bang-Bang." (Leave it to Kim T, the queen of books and music, for her so very appropriate and creative title suggestion!)

Sign Me A Book

2009-06-12T21:14:00.003-04:00

This is 18-month old Jilli being a squiggle-butt. We spent a few days reading every book she could get her hands on and learning signs. She knows how to sign MORE (or her version of it), FINISH and PLEASE, and she recognizes quite a few signs! This week she learned to sign SHOES, CHEESE, and AIRPLANE and was exposed to about 50 other signs like COOKIE, CRACKER, WATER, MILK, STARS, SOCKS, HORSE, CAT, DOG, BABY BIRD, TRAIN, CAR, TRUCK, EAT and tons more. She's fascinated with a deck of sign language cards and loves to point to them and have someone sign them to her. Oh, and she also said "NaNa" (her version of Nancy). As for spoken vocabulary, she's great at "mine" and "nite-nite" as well as "shhh", "mama", "knock-knock", and "what's that?" among others.

I think she got tired of me signing. At one point she came up to me and just flailed her hands wildly in the air pretending to sign for about 15 seconds. It was hysterical! At least she had some elements of the signs I taught her and had great facial expressions!!

She's our little whirling-dervish!

Colorful Summer

2009-06-07T20:54:00.014-04:00

Summer comes alive -

hummingbirds buzz, blackbirds sing

Jilli takes it all in!

Airplanes, baby birds -

summer's here, no time to sleep

peonies bloom, frogs leap!

Outside, play all day -

blue skies end with moonlit nights

Summer comes alive.

(double click on the Michigan Colors slideshow on the right sidebar to see more pictures)

Gypsy Queens

2009-06-03T21:05:00.004-04:00

Finally, Steph (right), Nan (center) and Amie get to meet! After communicating on-line on my-calorie-counter.com together for two years, we met face-to-face today in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Nan flew in from Tampa and Amie and Steph drove from Ohio. Amie, the twin Queen, Steph, the Gypsy Queen and Nan, the Las Flacas Queen, shown above share drinks at the Barnes & Noble Cafe. We chatted about our pets and partners, saw twins-to-be baby pictures and browsed B&N. After book shopping we went to Whole Foods and had a very healthy meal (not sure the dessert was low-cal, but it came with an folding spork which intrigued us all). We sampled super salty cheese, Steph bought fig yogurt (ewwww) and some healthy cereal (let us know how the cardboard tastes)! A great time was had by all! It so nice to put faces to names and avatars!

May Does Away with the Garden

2009-05-31T13:31:00.005-04:00

With mixed joy and sadness, I pulled up our vegetable garden today. The now skinny tomato bushes were struggling to hold on to the last few red bursts of fruit and the onions were splitting at their seams. The peppers were so long, they were standing on their tippy-toes while tethered to their stems. And although pretty, the yellow flowers sprouting from the broccoli only made great places for snails to nest like earring posts.

For now, all that's left growing are fragrant white flowers on the lemon tree soon to be huge yellow orbs. I couldn't help but to plant a few pumpkin and squash seeds today, just to have something to watch sprout over the summer. And, of course, the roses are doing a fine job of keeping the cacophony of colors going as long as the rain keeps coming. Here's a little silly "thank you" ditty I wrote to commemorate the past nine months of the garden fresh food we've enjoyed.

Thank you broccoli, thank you peas,

ugly tomatoes - fill my plate, please!

Thank you onions, peppers, too.

When I slice your skins, I cry boo-hoo!

Squirrels say thank you to the corn.

Where once there were ears they're now all shorn.

Thank you green beans sleek and long.

We ate our fill 'til your rows were gone.

Thank you herbs, oh basil tall.

Mint, dill and chives, I ate you raw.

Rosemary, sage and parsley,

You garnished our platters so nicely.

On this, the last day of May,

I pulled out deep roots and turned the clay.

No more rows of sprouting green,

just pumpkin seeds for next Halloween.

Destination: St. Barts

2009-05-23T10:48:00.023-04:00

The Newlyweds

Miss a family wedding? Never! So, when my niece decided to get married on the beach in St. Barts, I of course, said "yes!" St. Where? And, how do I get there? Apparently, if I lived up north like most of my family, I could have easily taken a plane non-stop from Newark to St. Maarten and then caught the ferry to St. Barts. But instead, from Tampa, I had to fly to San Juan, and then to St. Maarten and then hop the ferry to paradise island (or should I say the roller-coaster boat from Hell. But, I'll get to that later after ample Dramamine, Xanax and some liquid pink stuff).

I generally travel everywhere by car, so I must have had "international travel-newbie" written all over me when some nice guy showed me how to swipe my passport to get my boarding pass. I'm sure my lovely mug is now in some government data base for the rest of my life.

While waiting for my flight, I splurged on a bran muffin and latte from Starbucks and read the New York Times, all the while looking like a seasoned traveler, but feeling like the road before me was never-ending. Once aboard, the guy sitting next to me, Pablo, said a prayer in Spanish before we took off and I somehow, felt comforted. I noticed out of the corner of my eye, another woman crossing herself when we got above the clouds. The first leg of this flight from Tampa to San Juan, I lucked out by not having to sit next to a super squirmy pre-ADHD two-year-old who didn't understand "no", "stop it" or "sit" in any of her native languages. She was two seats down from me so that when she had an "accident" and later tossed up a gazillion undigested Cheerios, my lap was spared. Too bad for the poor guy sitting next to her.

When I got to San Juan, I was making a mad dash to the multi-lingual, multi-symbol labeled, gender-neutral, shower-available-for-$12 lavatory when I noticed a flight boarding to St. Maarten. My flight wasn't for another four hours, so in Spanish, I asked if I could get on. Si! They let me! It boarded outside and one of the flight attendants took my baggage and loaded it in the nose of the plane so I could get up the wobbly, narrow set of steps barely suspended from the exit door to the ground. The flight was ear-numbingly loud and only about 10,000 feet in the air. When we landed, we all waited outside for our baggage, in the pouring-side-ways, spit-ball rain. My baggage was no where to be found. The attendant told me to go to baggage claim. I told him that I had seen my suitcase being loaded into the nose. He looked and said they must have given it to someone else. I stood my pudd;e-forming ground and said it had to be there. So much for my quad-lingual talents. No amount of English, Spanish, Sign Language or Greek would help me. I was at a grave linguistic disadvantage since he spoke mostly French and smiled through his apologetic English. They looked until I was saturated with fear and soaked with pelting rain. Finally, the captain looked and found it. Apparently, they thought it was the crew's baggage since it was small, black and had American embroidered into the cloth. Relieved, I took my soaking self into the airport where a long line snaked from one end to the other with people waiting to go through Immigration. I stood there dripping and thought I heard my sister's unmistakable voice. Sure enough, about 50 people in front of me was my sister Lynn, brother-in-law Ron, nephew Justin, and his wife Cheryl. Reunion! We got through Immigration, ate lunch and waited for four more members of our party (the Bannisters) to arrive before catching a taxi to the ferry to St. Barts (not knowing what was in-store).

Henri, our Taxi driver gave us a bumpy, whirling-dervish, stop and go tour in his French sing-song cadence while negotiating the narrow streets of poverty-stricken St. Maarten. He speaks Dutch, French, Spanish and English. St. Maarten reminded me of Cancun where the sea-side scenery is spectacular with lush resorts and the outskirts of the country were thread-bare poor. He was such a happy guy; friendly and welcoming and explained the history of the island with pride.

The Ferry: We met Francesco's sister, Christina and the photographer, Shiloh at the ferry dock. Then we ate. Big mistake. After having our passports checked for the 5th time, we boarded the ferry. It was stormy and the seas were rough. Cheryl doled out Dramamine to everyone an hour earlier, so we were prepared for the ups and downs of a 40 minute boat ride. I'm lucky enough to be alive to tell you that an entire bottle of Dramamine could not have prepared us for this ride. Most of our party went outside. I stayed below with my sister and Mr. Bannister. Bad idea. He faced front and would preface an upcoming dip by saying things like "holy shit" or "oh my god". My sister and I sat with our backs to the waves. Not five minutes into the ride, Lynn started saying "I'm going to throw up". Great. I tried to comfort her by making her talk about Tammy's dress or her grandchildren, to no avail. And what did I do? I closed my eyes, put my head down with my chin nuzzled deep in my cleavage, hummed some song I made up and rocked the entire time. My inner autism had surfaced big time. At some point, I did look up to see my sister grab a white plastic garbage bag out of one of the attendants' hands just in time to save her outfit. Why they offer white, transparent garbage bags for churning stomachs on churning seas, I have no idea. Forty minutes later, we all said our prayers of thanks and stumbled off the boat. My sister looked like she'd died and come back to life, only barely. She was sweating and cold, shaking and crying, ashen and green - almost. A total mess. We all vowed to take a plane back. I finally stopped humming and rocking but kept wondering how I was ever going to get back home.

Once we found our land-legs and our stomachs, and showed our passports yet one more time, we were greeted by the rest of our party. Tammy and Francesco (the wedding couple), Jason, Aschley and Aiden (my nephew and his family), best man John, Francesco's mom and his aunt Teresa. Hail, hail, the gang's all here with the exception of Evan, my other nephew, who would arrive tomorrow via the same ferry. Poor thing. I would have texted him, but once in St. Barts, I had no Internet or cell service. I do think someone warned him, though. He arrived in much better condition than we did. So, let the wedding begin!

After a hair-raising drive above daringly high cliffs on what seemed like one-way-only roads, we found our stunning villa, dipped in the pool, watched the sunset and readied ourselves for another spin on the crazy French blacktop. Dinner started at 7 and lasted until 11. Euros were converted to dollars and at the end of the night, 18 of us had dinner for $1400. I was too tired to wrap my brain around my $100 dinner, but giant shrimp on steroids, grilled to perfection may have been a good bang for my hundred bucks. As I discovered, six pounds later, meals are late, long and luscious on St. Barts.

Christina and I were the first up and the first to find coffee and pastries on our first morning there. We spent most of the day on the beach and driving around the island. While floating in the Caribbean, we saw a complete rainbow circled around the sun; we were awestruck. In town, I bought little bottles of vanilla, spiced and coconut rum at a great little "rhum" shop only to have customs confiscate it in St. Maarten. I was not a happy camper, but I am sure the customs agents had a great happy hour on my dime (or my 87 Euros).

The wedding was sweet, simple and classy. Tammy's dress was entirely vintage lace and entirely stunning. The happy couple was married against nature's backdrop of blue skies and a peach sun dipping into the Caribbean. The wedding dinner was an eight course feast that seemed never-ending with delicious blends of island flavors, laced with lots of love and laughter.

The last day was spent traveling. We all were dreading the ferry ride back, but it was a beautiful morning and the waves were calm. We said our good-byes and skimmed across the sea without incident. This time, we all went up top and thoroughly enjoyed the ride.

At the airport, everyone scattered off to their respective flights home and I felt a little orphaned as I watched my sister fade into the airport crowd. Family is a nice place to visit. I got to meet my nephew's son, Aiden for the first time, I saw the last of my sister's children get married and I even learned that my father had a twin who died when they were two years old; a tidbit of family history that escaped my knowledge for all this time. I also learned that no matter how exotic a destination, there is no place like destination: home.

Think we're sisters?? We drove way too fast past this place in St. Maarten.

Most of the gang (Ron, Aiden, Jason, Aschley, Jason and Aiden
Aschley, Nicole, Jason, Tammy, Mr. B.,
Cheryl, Justin, Christina.

An everyday view. A critter on the path.

Heading into a storm on the ferry. They call this a road?

Ron, Tammy and Francesco, Lynn. At last!

Sunset view from our villa. Justin & Aunt Nancy

White Flight

2009-04-27T19:53:00.004-04:00

flutter, flutter, flap

wings-on-white take graceful flight -

spring's brightest color

Homing Pigeon's Rest Stop

2009-04-11T12:21:00.005-04:00

white bird

rests feather-light

after soaring blue skies

leading a lost spirit toward home -

peace dove

This albino homing pigeon seems to have found a new home between our neighbor's backyard and ours. It's quite large and has bright pink feet and a lighter pink beak. It seems to be traveling by itself and I'm guessing it may have lost its way. Click on the picture to enlarge its image. I know, it's just a pigeon, but it's unusual and has caught my attention.

P.S.

This Easter morning, white pigeon #1 was sitting on a wire with white pigeon #2.

Going Green

2009-04-05T21:56:00.004-04:00

The first harvest of 2009 is sprouting Spring happiness, making for luscious salads, veggies, garnishments and spices. This spring there's a cornucopia of culinary herbs including basil, chives, dill, oregano, lavender, mint, parsley, rosemary and sage. The rhubarb is huge! Its leaves are four-hands big and the stems are thick as a pre-schooler's crayon. Green tomatoes are on the vine now, but will soon turn to ripe redness. Two varieties of peppers are sporting shiny green jackets, and the green beans are slender slivers hanging side-by-side. The peas are just peeking through the soil, along with the lettuce, beans and broccoli and are greener than green. At the end of the row of lettuce, there's one volunteer head of red-leaf lettuce in the bunch. Bringing up the rear are cucumbers and corn competing for space with the black beans. Lastly, and most impressive are the two rows of onions, one row of white and the other sweet yellow with stems two feet long. Bring it on, Spring time, we're ready to fill our plates green with envy!

Summerizing the Pool

2009-04-04T15:19:00.007-04:00

In under a week, our 25-year old pool got a complete face-lift. Bebe entertained the contractors by dropping her tennis ball into the waterless well and watching it roll to the deep-end's empty belly. One guy finally had to hide her ball in his back pocket so he could get his work done without having to fetch her ball for her every two minutes. Now that the pool has been resurfaced and refilled, summer can begin! Although, I heard a cold front will be making winter's last visit by Tuesday.

Springing Red

2009-03-25T12:25:00.003-04:00

ruby
red velvet rose
blooms while cardinals break fast
under the new moon's pale shadow -
springtime

Caption Needed

2009-03-11T11:49:00.004-04:00

Jilli and Carmen enjoying a rare 60 degree winter day in Michigan. Anyone want to take a guess as to what Jilli is doing? Your guess is as good as mine. Click on the photo to get the full effect. Go ahead, caption this one for me! I'll put up the most creative captions on the right.

A Round of Applause for Love

2009-02-12T14:29:00.011-05:00

I have this funny cartoon that goes on in my head and pops up like Garfield's bubble, especially around Valentine's Day. It goes like this. First frame: Everyone is walking around wearing their hearts inside-out. Second frame: From each person's heart hangs a retractable extension cord, and it seems everyone is searching desperately to plug their extension cord into another person's heart. Third Frame: With trepidation, they approach others and try to plug in to that person's heart, only each time they plug in, the cord snaps right back. Last frame: after walking around and around and unsuccessfully plugging in to other people, they finally get the picture, and pull their plug out just a little bit and plug it right back into their own hearts. Moral of the cartoon: You are your own power source. Your love comes from within. I learned this lesson early on, when I was perhaps six or seven years old.

When I was a child, we lived in a small beach community where the houses were built fairly close to each other. The man who owned the house behind us, Mr. Woodman, lived alone. He was well over six feet tall. He had a lone curly sprig of hair that jutted straight out of the top-center of his shiny, bald and misshapen head, and on the sides were indentations where forceps had made their marks. His ears were disproportionately large and his nose was bulbous red, and off-center. To make matters worse, one eye looked directly at you while the other wandered off somewhere to the left. I never knew which eye to follow. People shunned Mr. Woodman because of his presence. His gait was lopsided and his smile was one-sided due to a long-lasting case of Bell's Palsy. He was the only loan officer in our one-bank town, thus, people had to be nice to him. I was always nice to him. I was too young to understand his role in the community, but I knew I adored him. Every morning, our paths would cross as he walked to the bank and I walked to school. He would always stoop down to my level and ask me how I was and what I thought I'd learn in school that day. If I'd see him later on, he'd ask "What did you like about school today?" or "What didn't you like about school today?" or "What would you change about school today?" To this day, I find myself asking those three questions and can tailor them to just about most things.

Mr. Woodman had a secret that I'm guessing only a few knew. Since our homes were so close together, I could hear him get ready for work in the morning; the squeaky closet doors, the click-creak-click of the medicine cabinet, and the rush of water in the bathroom sink. Every morning his routine would be the same. Squeak, click, water rush, then these words would belt out of his crooked mouth "Bob, I love you!" and applause. Yep, applause like clap-clap. I felt bad for him knowing he had to tell himself that he loved himself because no one else loved him. Then, I got to wondering if all adults did this? Was this something I should be doing? One morning, I went into my own bathroom, climbed up on the toilet seat, open and closed the medicine cabinet, turned on the water and then said "Nancy, I love you!" and I stood there and applauded myself! My mother rushed in asking me what I was doing. She had heard Mr. Woodman's words every morning as well and thought I was being a clown. I had tears streaming down my face because I loved Mr. Woodman and would never make fun of him. She assured me that Bob had found a way to feel love for himself since he didn't have other people to tell him. The "applause" my mother told me, - the clap-clap I heard, was him splashing after-shave on his face. I'm certain it took years for me to process Mr. Woodman's message, but I secretly went into the bathroom every morning after that, ran the water and whispered "Nancy, I love you." And, still do so to this day, applause and all. Guess I'm pretty well plugged in thanks to Mr. Woodman.

A Brooklyn Sunday Memory

2009-02-08T15:42:00.010-05:00

The old Brooklyn Brownstone where I used to live, keeps a Sunday morning secret tucked deep in the corner of its massive master bedroom. I sometimes wonder if the person who lives there now does what I used to do every Sunday morning. This memory trickled through my brain like warm honey today, as I caught the chorus of a church choir drifting on the wind's tail.

It is February. My mother died three days ago and the cold is etched on my bedroom window like fine French Pineapple lace. I ease it open enough to hear the branches shiver. I see my Jewish reflection; I am the blood of my mother and now, I am orphaned and left to my father, a Roman Catholic. I am the blood of my father; I have his thick hair and olive skin. I have her wisdom and wit, and no one's caramel eyes. I have his unconditional love and memories of her.

This morning, I am going to church before I follow my mother’s body down the New Jersey Turnpike. No one knows, but I go to church every Sunday. In my bedroom.

My friends go to real church on Sundays, but I don’t go with them. I am the Jewish friend left behind to cook brunch for when they return. Knishes, kugels, bagels, lox, onions and tomatoes; latke recipes from my mother’s side. Fresh eggs cracked over sweet onion-fried potatoes and shredded Parmesan cheese, toasted Italian bread, salted butter and rich percolated black coffee, from my father’s side.

Little do my friends know that I have been to church and back. In my bedroom.

The table is set, the kugel baked. Eggs sweating, are waiting for their one-handed crack. The New York Times waits to be divided and read by my peers. I get the obits. I always get the obits first, no questions asked, but from the corner of my eye, I see perplexed second-glances peering at my unusual interest in strangers' obituaries. It's their stories, I tell my friends; little memoirs. I want to read the how, and who is left to cope and remember.

Ten bells echo from the rear of the Brownstone, beckoning me to retreat to my bedroom. The windows have tear drops now and I open them like wide mouths ready to inhale. The sounds of the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir fill my room; my backyard, their sanctuary.

I swing with the bosom of the soloist.

I tremble with the fear of the sopranos.

I clap with the Amen corner.

I belt it out with the altos.

For one glorious hour I am Black.

I am saved.

I am not Jewish.

I am gospel music.

I am mourning.

I rejoice.

By the time my friends arrive, I am revived. With mouthfuls of kugel, there is no talk with their Jewish friend about church. Dare I tell them I've been there and back? Instead, we celebrate my mother’s cooking, her quiet, disturbed life, the memoir her daughter may one day write. The dishes are cleared, the paper neatly stacked with the puzzle on top for when I return. My friends send me across the Brooklyn Bridge to the New Jersey Turnpike alone.

The only music I heard at my mother’s funeral was the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir playing in my head accompanied by my father’s wailing.

Amen.

Cold and Rainy Served Up With a Smile

2009-01-30T18:57:00.003-05:00

Rain drops

like skipping-stones

dimple the lake's green face

skimming across its reflection

of clouds

Bebe smiles rain or shine.

Frost Bites The Garden

2009-01-24T13:58:00.010-05:00

Just one heirloom tomato survived the past week of record breaking low temperatures in Tampa. One. Of twenty tomato plants, assorted herbs, onions, peppers, green beans, broccoli, turnip greens and rhubarb, the winner is a precious heirloom tomato which grew from seed from a tomato brought back from Granny's garden in Michigan. Figures a Michigan tomato would survive a hard frost in Florida. I'll savor every bite of this tomato, minus the seeds, which I'll dry and plant next week. Sure, some of the herbs will bounce back, the onions were planted deep enough to possibly survive, and the rhubarb is showing some promise, but, by and large, the garden is kaput. For now, I'll be pulling frost-bitten remainders from a garden which has fed me, my neighbors and friends since before Halloween.

I look forward to new beginnings: the smell of fresh rich soil, the anticipation of watching seedlings peek out to greet and tease the sun, the early starting of my days by picking beans under moonlit mornings and the careful watch of cardinals, the satisfying ache in my lower-back and calves from working hard, and the potential of delicious, home grown food on my plate.

The frost is gone and life goes on.

Patching My Soul

2009-01-17T11:22:00.012-05:00

Main Entry:

soul patch

Function: noun

Date:1991

a small growth of beard under a man's lower lip

Today, I am reminded of the power of "beauty parlors" and the time when I used to go to an upscale hair boutique in a ritzy neighborhood. Upon entering the salon, I was always greeted by a human Barbie Doll concierge who seated me in a foliage-lush waiting area and offered me exotic blends of coffee in Limoges tea-cups served with bakery-rich cookies. While I waited for my stylist's escort to prep me, bottled water and the most current gossip and style magazines were laid at my fingertips. The escort would find me and lay a silky cover-up on my lap and lead me to the bathroom to change out of my shirt. There was something almost unsettling about getting my hair cut with the feel of faux silk laying against my bra-clad breasts. The "changing room" was a model-home bathroom, equip with satin-soft hangers to hold my Target-bought t-shirt. Once I emerged from the garden-shed sized powder-room, she would quickly wash my hair three times, ending in a frigid water-rinse and would tightly wrap my head in a plush terry towel smelling Downy fresh. I clearly stood out from the rest of the ladies at the salon, but I liked my stylist who migrated there from another less posh shop.

I had the same stylist for 10 years until she retired. Hannah was an Amazon woman with a thick German accent whose fingers were yellowed from a half-century of smoking non-filtered cigarettes. Once she quit cold-turkey, she was never quite the same. Her routine that was once ruled by cigarette breaks, was no more, and she became blind to the hands of time. I would often wait longer than it would take my hair to be done. Most times, I would schedule a wax session before my cut to make the time pass more quickly, if not more painfully. For $35, the French-trained estheticologist would slather-on uncomfortably hot wax upon my upper and lower lip as well as my eyebrows, then she'd cut and place strips of cloth on each area, all the while, the wax was hardening. Then zip, rip and tear in a nano-second. Why I paid for this torture, I have no idea. But I do know that I love the feeling of having a smooth face where bristles once took over.

The last time Hanna cut my hair, she used the wrong number on the clippers. In order to compensate for her mistake, she just kept going with the same number, leaving me with a crew-cut in the back and an Alpaca-looking poof up top. I drove around for hours before going home to show off my new doo, which was met with sobbing laughter. When Hanna retired, my head was handed over to the owner of the shop on a silver platter for inspection, where she declared she'd take me on after careful evaluation of my scalp, follicles, color and texture. I lasted about two years with the owner. I don't really know why I stayed. It was just a habit and I was used to shelling out $50-$75 bi-monthly for a trip to the salon.

When I moved to the other side of town, the salon became an inconvenience, and I guess I finally realized that I really wasn't the salon type. The more I went there, the more I loathed the element it represented. My new neighborhood has nothing upscale. Strip malls are cluttered with Super Cuts and Pizza Huts. There are Latin coffee shops and bodegas on every corner. Family owned jewelry stores are speckled here and there and mom & pop eateries are peppered all around. Then, there's the sign advertising $8 haircuts, and I took the bait.

No concierge needed. Instead, I walked into a seating area with black folding chairs lined up in three small rows and took a number from a deli-style red ticket dispenser. A Vietnamese woman in a loud, high-pitched, nasal sing-song voice yelled to me.."Hello friend, welcome to Kimmy Hair! You want coffee, missy? Free! Pot is ovah there by door. Help self and take ticket." There were five stations, and a good portion of the clients were men getting fades. The waiting area was full with families and kids sitting on the floor playing with trucks and race cars. I took my number, stood by the door since it was standing room only, and got an eye-full. The greeter, was Kimmy herself, the owner. She smiled and chortled in Vietnamese non-stop to her employees, and welcomed everyone by saying things like "Hello my friend! I glad you come back see me! How your wife? Where your dog today? Or, "How come you no see me in long time? Your hair too long now, you look like hippie." It seemed like everyone knew the routine. Come in, get a ticket, watch and wait. Even if the seats were all full, they had a system. Kimmy had the main chair, her two daughters had their own stations along the wall and there were two others who alternated between cutting, washing and sweeping the floors with a 2-foot homemade broom and a make-shift dust-pan. Hair was not just cut here. Heads were slowly massaged with conditioners and gels, eyebrows were neatly trimmed, cowlicks were laughed at and cut out, questions were asked and answers were carefully listened to, so much so, that I realized that it wasn't the $8 haircuts that brought people back cut after cut after cut, it was the culture of Kimmy's. This was my new "salon".

I've been going to Kimmy's for about 6 years now and every time I go, I come home with more than just shorter hair; I come home with a story. One time, I went in and Kimmy said.."You need color, missy! I can make you look 20 year younger. Too bad I can't make you look 20 pound thinner!" And then she laughed and laughed her long song-like "hehe he heeeeeee" and smiled kindly at me. I didn't take offense and laughed along with her because I knew she wasn't being intentionally rude. That would never have happened in my old salon!! And, I really didn't care. Kimmy was honest. Kimmy never fails to ask how you're doing..."How teaching? You still go there every night? You busy, my friend, you vedy busy. Sit down, relax and have coffee."

Yesterday, I looked in the mirror and knew it was time to visit Kimmy. Suddenly, my hair was growing width-wise, and I don't know who I resembled more, Elvis for my thick side-burns or Omar Sharif for the thin shadow of a mustache I had growing. I also had a dire case of mono-brow and a small blonde soul patch neatly positioned under my bottom lip. I've always had this little tuft of fuzz there. It's like my personal worry stone. I stroke it unconsciously when I'm thinking, reading, or playing at the computer. I'd never get it waxed because it's always been a part of my Jewish-Italian uniqueness. My plan at Kimmy's was just to get a cut, since it was 6pm and closing time.

Kimmy greeted me..."My old friend here again! You need color to get rid of ugly gray hair! You want me for to color you today, missy?" I told her not today, that I was beginning to like my gray hair. I took a ticket and sat down. She was finishing up a man's cut by rubbing cream into his scalp. If he were a cat, he would have purred. Since it was closing time, there was only one other man in the store who came in just after I arrived. Kimmy asked.."You sure, my friend? I stay late just for you - make your face look younger!" I thanked her and said maybe next week. Kimmy finished up her client and then disappeared into the back. One of the other stylists came out and called the man instead of me. I figured Kimmy would be out in a minute to do my hair, when I heard a sudden outburst of what sounded like angry Vietnamese coming from the back. Kimmy apparently told the stylist to take me instead of the man. I felt stung and realized I should not have protested the color and that I probably hurt Kimmy's feelings. She didn't come out of the back until my hair was almost finished. It turns out she was finishing up a color for a very old Vietnamese woman, and wasn't mad at me at all. Momentarily, I felt better.

She approached me with another one of her employees, Tammy, who usually waxes my eyebrows. The two were chirping away in Vietnamese. Kimmy said to me..."Missy, you need wax today! I can't see wrinkle on forehead because you have one brow! You have long blonde hair coming from eyebrows, and you have one long black hair here on cheek! Tammi get rid of that for you today. And mustache, too. You have dark mustache one side, blond mustache the other side. You get wax one time a year not good enough!" Then she reached out to my face and grabbed my soul patch between her thumb and index finger and tugged on it while wagging it back and forth saying....."And what this growing here? I can grab it, it so long! Tammy wax off!" My tongue slipped out of my mouth and the tip of it caressed the soft little bushiness under my lip. I reached up to see if I too, could grab it between my thumb and index finger, and I could, but just barely.

The next thing I know, I was whisked off into the back room with a hand in the small of my back steering me in the right direction. Before I knew it, Tammy had warm, lightly scented wax painted over my eyebrows and around my lips. She expertly positioned my head like a chiropractor and ripped off the strips of cotton in four carefully choreographed moves. She slathered wax under my chin from jaw-to-jaw, pressed a cotton sheet against my throat and tore from left to right. She tapped me and said, "See, see?!?" It looked like she had just waxed the back of Wolfman Jack. Then she tilted back my head to the light, dabbed the soft warm wax on my soul patch and removed my worry stone with one swift rip. "Done." Tammy said..."Oh miss, you look beautiful! So clean. You must take care of yourself more than once a year! You're a college professor - people stare at you all day!" She smoothed the sweetest smelling cucumber-coconut cream on my naked soul patch and then massaged my face until I almost fell asleep. At that point, I had no worries and no stone to rub.

When I left Kimmy's everyone said how beautiful I looked. Kimmy came out from behind her chair and hugged me, then said..."You come back next week, my friend. I color for you and you look even more younger and more pretty." Then she laughed her shrill happy song which stuck in my head all the way home until I looked in the mirror. There, I laughed at myself for no longer having a worry wart on my chin.

Face-to-Face with Winter and Alpacas

2009-01-10T19:06:00.014-05:00

December treated Florida to a roller-coaster of temperatures this winter. The last week of December, Florida was drenched with sunshine and 80 degree temperatures. The days seemed bi-polar; mornings were crisp and sweatshirts covered the goose-bumps on my arms. By mid-day, though, I could wear shorts and t-shirts, only to be replaced in a few hours by that morning's same sweatshirt.

But the last few days of December, I wore quadruple layers of sweatshirts, covered by a fleece-lined jacket. On my head, I wore a headband that covered my forehead and ears and a hat. A wool scarf covered my chest and doubled as a face-mask, and on my hands, I wore fleece-lined gloves. I also wore two pair of socks and insulated, waterproof boots up to my ankles.

Not in Florida, silly! I spent the last few days of December in Michigan.

The first day there, even though there was still some snow left on the ground, the temperature was comfortably in the 50's. I felt cocky and didn't even zipper my jacket. The mercury went down hill from there. Day 2 was windy and bitter cold; 25 degrees at the most. It's been decades since I've felt this kind of cold. My ears stung through and through until I discovered the joy of a fleecy headband underneath my hat. Day 3 was even more bitter. Bitter enough that we went to JoAnn's Fabrics and bought flannel and fleece material to make pajama bottoms. Then, that night it snowed. Now, I was giddy as a child and stood outside in the unforgiving wind catching snowflakes on my tongue. My knee caps were frozen by the time I came inside. Oddly enough, the next day, after a few inches of snow, the wind abated and it was tolerable enough to walk in for a while, providing I was completely bundled up. Everyone laughed at me, stiffly walking in layers of clothing like a robot. Michigan folk are used to this. My Florida blood is way too thin for this kind of cold. The last two days there were unnervingly bitter. It was 9 degrees on New Year's Day when we awoke and it only reached 18 by the time we were driving to the airport.

One of the highlights of the trip, besides getting to see Jayne, was going to Rochester to see the town ablaze in Christmas lights. The entire town had lights strung rooftop to sidewalk with dazzling strands of Christmas lights. It was unlike anything I'd ever seen.

The other fun adventure was going to buy Alpaca socks.

Don't you just love the faces on these Alpacas? They're strangely human looking! We visited an Alpaca farm in Attica, Michigan called Funny Face Alpacas. The owner, Darrell, gave us a tour of his farm and opened the gates to let his Alpacas and two Llamas come face-to-face with us. Jilli kept saying, "ooooou, ooooou," and wasn't afraid of them nuzzling her nose. One Alpaca tried to eat my camera! We spent about 40 minutes in freezing temperatures totally fascinated by these gentle, friendly creatures. We each bought a pair of Alpaca socks, which I desperately needed since my little-piggies were popsicle-toes.

Each Alpaca had a name and story, none of which I remember because by then, I was just too numb. Talk about a brain-freeze. I really want to name the couple above something like Aunt Ida and Uncle Ike.

White Michigan

2008-12-31T20:57:00.005-05:00

angels
are always near
when new soft snow covers
churches' earth to welcome winter's
new year

Lemony Christmas

2008-12-13T13:04:00.003-05:00

Lemons -

orbed ornaments

glisten winter's sunshine

under peppermint-striped cactus -

Christmas

Is That a BaNANa bread in Your Pocket?

2008-12-06T11:33:00.008-05:00

I have three first names. My birth name is Nancy Jane Barbara. I was named after my mother's best friend Nancy Jane. My last name, Barbara, is really pronounced Bar-bear-a, but over the years, much to my father's dismay, its rich Italian pronunciation evolved to Bar-bra as in Barbra Streisand. I don't know when it happened or how, it just did. And it's a nuisance especially when people ask me my last name and I say "Bar-bra." They react by stating, "No, your last name." So, I say "Bar-bra" again, and they get exasperated and say something condescending like, "No, honey, I mean your LAST name." I'm now so accustomed to saying Bar-bra that when I try saying Bar-bear-a, that extra syllable makes me feel like another person. I tried it for an entire day once and it was truly an odd feeling; but no one ever asked me to repeat my last name.

When I was a child, I knew I was in trouble if my mother called me 'Nancy Jane!" And, strangely enough, my cousins always called me Nancy Jane whether I was in trouble or not. Everyone had a middle name on the Bar-bear-a side of the family and used it; they also used the correct pronunciation of Bar-bear-a. I think my mother "Americanized" our last name, but the story, as with all of my family's stories, is convoluted.

Before I was enrolled in kindergarten, if I ever did get in trouble, which was rare, my punishment led to a nick name I still carry from time to time, and that's Nancy-Pantsie. You see, my mother would make me sit out on the back stoop in just my underpants. The punishment was not only humiliating, but it stopped me in my tracks. I was an active kid, always running, biking and playing shink-ball all over the neighborhood. Often times, I'd go past the two-block limit that was set for me, so sitting me down in my underwear thwarted me from going anywhere far from home.

All through grammar school and high school, I was just plain Nancy (guess I never got in trouble). When I went to college on a tennis scholarship, my nick-name was Ace due to my clever ability to ace my opponents on the first serve. I wasn't ever really sure if anyone knew my real name because by the time I was a sophomore everyone referred to me simply as Ace. When I went to graduate school, I ended up being called Nance by most people, which I didn't mind. It's always been interesting to me how people juggle my name.

My moniker at my day job, for at least the last twelve years or so, is Nan. A former manager at Barnes & Noble just started calling me Nan and it stuck. There have been several variations on Nan, such as Nanners, Nanager (blending Nan and Manager), and Banana Nan. Outside of work, my friends still call me Nancy, although some have jumped on the Nan band-wagon, and now and then, a Nance escapes the lips of others.

In case you're wondering where Banana Nan comes from, well, 'tis the season for Nan's annual baNANa bread bake-a-thon. I started this tradition about ten years ago by making 45 or so mini-loaves of banana bread to give to the staff at B&N during the holidays. Sometime before Christmas, I pick a time when, from sunrise to well past midnight, I can spend flouring up the kitchen and spattering the walls with thick, rich banana bread dough. It's quite an ordeal orchestrating what's now come to baking about 100 little loaves of banana bliss. I pull out the 20-pound cobalt-blue mixer, line up all the ingredients in the order that my recipe calls for them and I start the assembly line from spraying each tin with cooking spray, to filling them just the right depth with smooth banana goodness to wrapping them in festive plastic wrap. The mixer spins non-stop for hours and the house smells like vanilla-baked bananas with buttery cinnamon drizzled on top.

These days, there must be some kind of banana bread button that gets subliminally pushed right around Halloween, because lately, starting in early November, people begin asking me when the baNANa breads are coming . Those initial 45 loaves have now doubled, at least. No longer do I bake just for the staff at B&N. Friends and neighbors who hear of my 16 hour banana marathon ask when their mini-loaves are coming. And, now, it's not just one loaf per person! Lamenting friends and colleagues drop hints such as, "Oh my husband ate all of mine! Can I have two next year?" or "I'm going to eat this one for breakfast, too bad I won't have another to eat later on at home!" Despite the constant pleas, I still make the loaves mid-December and deliver them slightly warm from the oven around breakfast time at the store.

For the holidays, we hang bright red stockings trimmed in white in our break room; each tagged with a bookseller's name. I stuff each little pocket with one or two loaves, depending on the order. The break room quickly attracts hungry booksellers sniffing and smiling at the wafting banana breath exhaling from the room.

It looks like the time has come to get shopping for this year's baNANa bread boNANza.. Let's see, one-hundred mini-loaves? Here's what I'll need:

12 pounds of butter

10 pounds of sugar

24 pounds of unbleached flour

72 eggs

24 tablespoons of baking soda

24 tablespoons of salt

24 tablespoons of cinnamon

150 bananas

9 quarts of sour cream

24 oz of pure vanilla extract

100 mini pans

1 can of Pam with Flour for Baking

2 rolls of festive plastic wrap

comfortable shoes

Christmas music

Imagine what that shopping cart looks like, not to mention the looks I get while standing in line with my very own banana boat.

In case you want to make just one banana bread like a normal person, here's a pared down recipe:

1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, at room temperature
1 cup granulated sugar
2 large eggs
1 1/2 cups unbleached flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup mashed very ripe bananas
1/2 cup sour cream
1 teaspoon vanilla

1/2 teaspoon of cinnamon

Preheat oven to 350, spray or butter your loaf pan (9x5x3), cream the butter and sugar with an electric mixer. Add eggs and beat well. Sift (important) dry ingredients together and combine with the butter mixture. Blend well and add bananas (very ripes ones), sour cream and vanilla (use the real stuff, not the imitation kind). If you want, you can add nuts. My breads, however, are all female. Stir well. Fill pan almost to the top and bake 1 hour.

And, that's why it's called BaNANa Bread. If you want one in your pocket, place your order now!

Bebe Rolls Over

2008-12-02T20:30:00.003-05:00

Ten weeks of puppy school and one year later, Bebe rolls over, at last!

Thanksgiving and other Endings

2008-11-29T09:58:00.012-05:00

Wednesday, Thanksgiving "eve", the pies and muffins were baked and the pilgrim-themed table had been set all by the time I'd finished my third cup of coffee. Between the sweet drippings of the apple pie and the spice of the pumpkin, the kitchen smelled like a gingerbread house with a fireplace ablaze. Before noon, the chill of the morning turned into an almost tropical warmth. The sun was turning the lime green lemons corn yellow and the six heads of broccoli were proudly awaiting their inevitable decapitation for the upcoming feast. Then Tony died.

Tony was a war veteran, a good neighbor, and an animal lover. He hung a tattered American flag from a tree outside his bedroom window. He once cried over an ill and orphaned baby squirrel whom he adopted and then had to take to the Humane Society. A gruff New Yorker with a tough exterior and a soft heart, Tony was a character. He ambled side-to-side due to multiple hip operations; walking caused him great pain. He had no family; his neighbors were his only friends, especially Mary Ann, who lives next-door. From our backyard, you could hear Tony's cigarette-aged voice laughing, animated and playful when he visited Mary Ann for their morning smoke and coffee chat. His dog Reggie, a gentle Pit Bull mix, was always by his side. He had a black and white tuxedo cat he called Felix who would sit on a ledge lording over Reggie as if to pounce on anyone who would dare disturb the stocky white would-be beast with a splash of caramel across his rump.

For two days, Reggie sat vigil at Tony's feet until a friend discovered Tony had quietly slipped from here to there. When the sheriff arrived, Reggie gave up his watch and paced outside with his tail set south. By the time the medical examiner drove up in her hearse-black car followed by a sheet-white van, our neighbor George invited Reggie into his home where he could mourn the loss of the man who rescued him two years ago. He'd have the company of another dog and and a few other cats for the rest of his days. And of course, George took in Felix as well.

When Tony was wheeled from his front door down the path to the van, he was clad in a blanket of black vinyl. Our neighbors stood side-by-side saying their silent goodbyes; this would be his only funeral. I took down his flag and waved him well, thanking him for his service to our country and strew petals from his Bougainvillea in his path. As they drove off, we could hear Reggie howling his version of Taps.

That night I went to Red Lobster for dinner with Kim and Kim. We discovered the best time to go there is the night before Thanksgiving as it was practically empty. We spent our entire dinner conversation going around the table stating what we're thankful for. It started with our friendship, the roofs over our heads, food in our cupboards, our significant others, to our parents, each others' parents, good neighbors, the election results, our jobs, our bosses and even the little boy whose dying last wish was to feed the homeless. Dinner was satisfying.

Thanksgiving morning, I made the stuffing, stuffed the bird and started roasting well before noon. Two more guests were added to the list, thus, two more place-settings. I decided I still had time to make bread. I mixed the dough and yeast and added water. As I was transferring the canister of rising dough from the counter to the bread machine, it slipped from my hands, sunk straight down to the Terrazzo floor hitting it with a sickening crack. The mixture sucked in a deep breath, looking like a belly button. Then, it catapulted thick rising dough straight up like a rocket directly onto my mouth-agape, aghast face with a resounding "whoosh". I was covered with fast-acting, yeast-activated dough. Quarter-sized droplets doubled in size by the seconds as flour puddles spread on the tablecloth, on the rims of water goblets, silverware, plates, Saran-wrapped pies. The little pilgrim people had blobs of dough obliterating their smiling faces and I had yeast dripping from my chin, earlobes, eyelashes, hair. I could see a dinner roll starting to rise on my nose. The chairs looked like black cows with white spots and the floor looked like one big cookie sheet. All I could do was laugh. From the tips of my hair to my slippers, I was the Pillsbury Dough Boy's twin. I had two hours to get rolling (no pun intended). I stripped, ran for the mop and some rags and started cleaning from the counter tops on down. The dough started to harden on the floor, mopping only spread the mess. I found an industrial scraper in the closet and started scraping the newly waxed floor. I cleared the table, washed every dish, glass, knife, fork, spoon and pilgrim while the table cloth was in the washer. The dough was hanging like icicles from my ears and when I had chance to glance in the hall mirror, I should have taken a picture, but I'll let your imagination do the talking. In an hour, all was clean. I took the once-starched tablecloth out of the dryer and draped it over the table. It was one huge wrinkle, so I ironed it right on the table!

By mid-afternoon, my guests arrived and everything was Martha Stewart perfect (in my dreams). Uncle and Mike, Nile, Kaye and Evan and I enjoyed string beans and broccoli picked fresh from the garden, turkey, stuffing, muffins, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, pies and Mike's homemade candy. Before dessert, we even stopped to take a plate to a homeless man up the road. By the time everyone left, and the dishes were done, I was full and satisfied. As I was turning out the light, I noticed a big blob of hardened dough defiantly hanging from the shade in the kitchen.

This morning while picking green beans, I noticed the absence of Tony's New York bravado echoing between the yards, and two other miracles of nature. First, the squirrels had had their own Thanksgiving feast. All the ears of corn were neatly chomped down to the stems, leaving not a trace of silk behind. And, it seems the time has come to prepare for the next holiday; the Christmas Cactus is getting ready to bloom. One thing for sure, though, there will be no dinner rolls on the menu (just memories of them rising from the flour, uh, I mean...floor).

My Ode to Thanksgiving (written when I was 14 years old)

2008-11-26T12:18:00.007-05:00

Preparing for Thanksgiving, I remembered a poem I wrote when I was in grade school. Luckily, I had a copy of the original; it was in an old blank book I'd filled with childhood ditties which I had given my parents as a gift. I remember reciting this at the dinner table one Thanksgiving.

"A Thanksgiving Prayer"

And now I sit me down to eat.

To consume what's in front of me,

I call a big feat.

I pray from my soul that I will not gain weight,

and promise myself

not to refill my plate.

I tried not to think how that bird must have felt,

to be baked at a temperature

even God couldn't help,

The turkey all shiny and dripping and stuffed.

It's all so delicious, on to seconds,

the first is not enough!

The cranberry sauce, the potatoes, so good!

The pumpkin pie!

Oh, I ate all I could!

Remember that turkey, how luscious and fat?

Well, the next time you see me,

I'll look just like that!

As for today, I made pumpkin pie with a little less sugar than what Betty Crocker called for in the old red-plaid cookbook, and the apples in the apple pie are organic. The veggies and herbs will come mostly from the garden this year, and the turkey is all natural. It will be stuffed with Jayne's sage dressing recipe, and garnished with rosemary, both herbs snipped fresh from the garden as well. It will still be luscious and fat. Hopefully, the next time you see me though, I won't look just like that!

Grateful

picking green beans -

broccoli dew drops glisten

I snip herbs to rosemary's scent -

Thank you

Look What Just Rolled In

2008-11-23T10:29:00.009-05:00

Sometimes, the smallest of things are the most irksome; such as the small pee-puddles of pinkish fluid my car leaves behind to mark every place I've parked like an alpha-cat. As if my car were named Hansel or Gretel, it now leaves a trail of breadcrumbs. I can trace back a day's worth of errands by the slowly spreading spots left between the yellow lines of a parking slot or worse, on our driveway or in the garage.

This morning, I decided to lay my woes on the mechanic at Tire Kingdom. I loaded Bebe in the backseat and arrived at the storefront at 8:35, a mere 25 minutes before they opened. I was the first car in line. The next vehicle, whose front tire was gasping for air, parked lopsided next to mine. The manager was inside sipping coffee and when I glanced inside, he raised his Styrofoam cup to me in a gesture of cheer. He recognized me, which is the beauty of being a frequent-flyer in a neighborhood establishment; it gives you the feeling that everything will be alright, no matter how irksome the problem.

At 8:45 he came out and quasi-diagnosed my problem with the smell of cheap coffee on his breath. I presented him with the saturated newspaper which acted as an overnight puppy-pad, capturing the errant fluid escaping the underside of my car and he mumbled "tranny fluid, not good." He moved on to the deflated tire and said when he opened at 9:00, he'd get us both in right away. He led us inside and started the paperwork. In the waiting room, a tele-preacher was reminding us to thank God for little things, and by thanking people, who are messengers from God, we're actually thanking God himself. I half-listened, but got distracted.

While he was typing our information into the computer, Bebe, still in the car, started doing her begging routine while barking her shrill, ear-piercing protests at being left alone. As I went to get her, a pencil-green, cheaply re-painted KIA-looking car screeched into the lot and parked directly in front of the door, not in a slot. Out stepped a flannel pajama-clad woman in a bath robe, with pink plastic curlers piled Carmen Miranda-style high atop her head. She was wearing gold flip-flops and had freshly painted cherry-red toe nails. I know this because there was still cotton stuffed between each toe. She was screaming Spanish into a cell phone while waving frantically to someone in a car which was apparently her ride home. She slammed the car door and oblivious to Bebe's tip-toe pleading dance, she stepped over the leash and barreled into Tire Kingdom. You can tell a lot about a person by the way they treat animals; this person was either entirely self-absorbed or hated animals. More than likely both.

With no greeting or introduction, she stepped to the front of the counter and said "You said there was only one other person in line! I'm in a hurry and have to be in Orlando by noon. I don't have anything done yet. I still need to get showered, put on my make-up and get dressed."

The manager smiled and asked what she needed. "I need my old rims replaced with the custom rims! How long will it take?" He explained that the shop didn't open until 9:00 and he'd get to it by 9:15 or so. It would take a little under two hours to complete. She blew a fit. Bebe laid flat to the floor and if she could, would have covered her ears with her paws. Curlers danced as she ranted half in English and half in Spanish. Her head bobbled so, that one of the rollers started to disentangle from her over-dyed hair and dangled like an earring. Then, the printer wouldn't print. Try as he might, the manager, who, by the way, did not understand Spanish, could not encourage the printer to spit out a sheet of paper before 9:00. He tried to calm her down to no avail. She said she'd fix the printer herself and tried to get behind the counter. Bebe barked right on cue. The woman turned her head so fast that the curler hanging by a thread, flew off her head and Bebe went for it! The woman screamed, "DON'T TOUCH THAT!" At this point, I had a giggle-fit. I had already envisioned Bebe with the pink curler in her mouth, but I snapped on her leash and she stopped barely an inch from the run-away roller.

By 9:00, the printer still was not cooperating. Curler-head was verbally abusing the manager. When her cell phone rang, she snapped at the caller and said "I do NOT have an attitude!" I snorted back a laugh too late and she looked at me and said "What are YOU laughing at, bitch?"

I said, "Watch it, lady..don't upset my Pit Bull." The manager cracked up and the woman took a double-take, gave me that "whatever" look and continued complaining to the caller about how she'd been here an hour already and the loser behind the counter can't even work a printer. She hung up and said she was going to leave her keys here and come back in an hour and her car better be done when she gets back. The manager said to just leave her keys on the counter and he'd get to it. She said "I ain't leaving keys to a Jaguar sitting on a counter! One of these people might steal it!" Did she say Jaguar?? I glanced outside, and sure enough, that miserable looking car was indeed a Jaguar! Ugly, dented, filthy inside and out. She left in a flash of pink and we all took a breath. The manager said, "What a piece of work! And, that Jaguar is nothing but a Ford with a cat on the hood."

Turns out my fluid leak was the result of a loose oil pan plug. I said "thank you" just like the tele-preacher advised and said a little prayer for the miserable witch with a faux entitlement complex just because she drives a fake foreign car. As I walked out the door, the manager said, "Nice Pit Bull, by the way!"

P.S. I later found out from the manager, that the rims "roller-babe" wanted put on her car were the wrong size. Guess what goes around, comes around and bites you in the butt. Gotta love karma.

Flash-Freezing Green Beans a la Granny

2008-11-02T10:59:00.005-05:00

The beans just couldn't wait until Thanksgiving to shimmy out of their white blossoms and dangle like earrings from their stems. Each bean is long, slender and shapely like a woman's leg in silk stockings with a seam up its back. I pick them by fistfuls; sometimes twice a day I'll go out and see if there are any I've missed, and sure enough, there are. Last night, I called Granny and asked her how she freezes her beans which she explained in three simple steps.

Here's what I did this daylight savings morning a la Granny's instructions:

Wash the beans thoroughly, place them in a pot on the burner with warm water and let them simmer just until the bubbles come up through the beans. Remove from the burner, rinse them in cold water and place in a freezer bag. Squeeze out all the air (apparently, this is important). In order to get all the air out, use a straw and suck out all the air from the bag. (Somehow, I can't imagine Granny with straw in her mouth, attached to a bag, sucking the living daylights out of it; the thought of it made me giggle).

I followed her instructions step-by-step. What she didn't tell me was to make sure once I took the pot off the stove, to be careful not to place the gallon freezer bag on the hot burner, which shriveled up like the Wicked Witch of the West in nano-second in a gust of putrid steam, then, ignited the fire alarm, which in-turn sent Bebe into a frantic barking fit and Felix into the bathroom tub (that's where he hides when he's a scaredy-cat).

Once the histrionics were over, I placed the freshly flash-frozen fruits of my labor into our new deep-freeze and closed the lid with an odd sense of satisfaction.

The Cats' Hallowed Eve

2008-10-31T18:55:00.002-04:00

Cats chat -

Sit statuesque.

Some fat, one with a hat;

mews heard only by a toothless

pumpkin

October Fest

2008-10-23T20:00:00.012-04:00

Roses are white....

String beans are green...

Corn's growing silk!

Bebe's ready for Halloween!

Good Morning, Moon.

2008-10-17T09:25:00.004-04:00

morning moon reflects

sunshine on the cardinal's breast -

resting between nests

(click on photo to enlarge)

Fall Garden Update

2008-10-16T10:18:00.012-04:00

Luckily, there aren't any rabbits in the neighborhood, otherwise this lettuce would be history.

Some people compare apples to oranges. I think comparing this lemon to a cherry tomato plucked straight off the vine is more dramatic!

The broccoli is getting off to a slow start, but as soon as the temperatures start to drop more at night, we'll be having broccoli every night with dinner.

By Thanksgiving, there will be enough green beans for a giant string bean casserole!

Morning Snapshot

2008-10-12T19:19:00.003-04:00

buzzing bumble bee

slides inside petunia's lips

sipping sweet nectar

Is That a Lemon in Your Pocket?

2008-10-11T11:31:00.012-04:00

No...just in our backyard! Seems our dwarf-like Ponderosa lemon tree is celebrating Fall. The huge grapefruit-sized lemons are slowly going from lime-green to lemon-yellow. I can't wait for Granny to come in January to make her lemon pie. In the mean time, I'll pluck the first one so I can start making lemon ice cubes. They're great for floating in a tall glass of water or melting into a cup of hot tea. I also toss them into a chicken soup base, or in the frying pan with a piece of chicken or fish! Yummy. Thank you, Mother Nature!

Falling for Fall in Michigan

2008-10-02T17:27:00.015-04:00

Summer's
lush green trees bend
with autumn's breeze - blowing
golden, crimson red, floating leaves
up north

Geese honk
the morning's horn
playing a symphonic
cacophony - wings beating to
go south

Crackle
the fallen leaves -
naked the outstretched limbs
span blue skies touching sun's last warmth
it's Fall

Falling Back Into Old Habits

2008-09-21T15:47:00.010-04:00

Sleepily stepping out on to the damp pool deck this morning, I was greeted by a lemon-pale sun trying to rise past purple clouds. Bebe tore past me in a flash of fur, her nails scraping the concrete as she rushed to race with the squirrels who were feasting from the bird feeders. They tantalize her by swinging from the branches of the orange trees to the palm tree, then they leap to the power lines and onto the feeders. Once Bebe starts her chase, they spring from the ledge of the feeders, spraying seed like rain and dance across the edge of the fence. Bebe chases them relentlessly barking her 7am alarm. The two red-tailed hawks who have taken up residence in a neighbor's yard, circle and watch the chase from above contemplating either Bebe or the squirrels for their babies' breakfast. Cardinals take the opportunity to sneak in a few pieces of seed while the squirrels are being herded away, and the scrub jays sip from the birdbath.

Suddenly, Autumn escaped the lips of Summer in a breath of cool air which I inhaled like a long-awaited drink. The breeze was brief, but long enough to make an impression. Long enough to blow the wisps of hair on Bebe's ears straight back, to make the scrub jays look up from their drinking pool and swallow just a bit longer, to encourage the hawks to circle one more time on the dime of Mother Nature and to make me breathe a sigh of relief that Autumn is back. I knew it was close. The Ponderosa lemon tree's pendulous orbs of fruit are starting to strain the already bent limbs. There have been juvenile Ibis lurking at dawn and dusk plunging their long beaks deep between grass blades for a juicy snack. And, just the other day, I caught sight of two Love Bugs flitting by - a tell-tale sign that the seasons are about to pass the baton.

In anticipation of Fall, I consulted the Old Farmer's Almanac to make sure I planted my winter garden right with the moon's good mood. I tilled and turned the parched grey sand from last year's garden into espresso rich black soil moistened with beads of sweat dripping from my chin. I imported over 200 pounds of coffee grounds from the local Starbuck's where the barisita now knows me by name. Then came the 8 bags of cow manure and the dozens of cracked egg-shells I've been saving for half the summer. Lastly, the layers of rich compost from a local horse farm where Bebe is deathly afraid of the horses. With the soil ready, now comes the plotting and planting. There are 15 tomato plants along the fence, an herb garden to the south, 8 corn plants to the north and in between, broccoli sprouts two rows. Two kinds of lettuce, Romaine and Red Leaf hold center ground and are surrounded by thin lines of ground cinnamon to deter pests. Peppers, red, green and yellow lead the way to 40 or so bush bean seedlings. Every foot or so all along the border of the garden, Elephant Ear garlic cloves have been sunk the depth of a pencil-length to ward off evil aphids. I've left enough room for onions, peas and a few more herbs once the weather really begins to promise Fall and not just tease those of us who live for that first breath of fresh air.

Going UP?

2008-09-21T13:19:00.009-04:00

Summer, in other than Florida is a treat. This summer, I've had plenty of treats away from home with numerous trips to both California and Michigan thanks to Jayne's ingenious, ace-up-her-sleeve planning. My last trip to Michigan, we went to the U.P or the Upper Peninsula. On the way, we stopped at Higgins Lake and stayed in our friends Kim and Marvonne's log cabin (it sleeps 17, so if you're thinking about a little cabin, think again). What a fantastic retreat this property affords. Lake-front living, tucked away on a cul-de-sac and bordered by raspberry bushes; divinely delicious in every aspect from the quaint downtown antique shop to the ice cream shoppes which speckled the town on every side of the street. Thanks, Kim and Marvonne, for the great get-away.

The main reason for this trip, was to host a Welcoming Ceremony for Jillian. The mini-vacation to the UP was a perk! Jillian's Welcoming Ceremony was a spirited, intimate gathering of family and friends with a promise to mother and child of unconditional, eternal love and support. If you click on the link (below on the right) to Gen's Blog, you'll see some photos of that special day.

After spending a relaxing night on Higgins Lake, we spent the entire next day, sunrise to midnight traveling the UP. Having never been, I was wide-eyed and smiling from the ferry ride across to Mackinac Island to the full moon who followed us back to the lake that night. On Macinac Island, we walked and shopped, collected sea glass, walked some more, took a horse and carriage ride when walking wore us out, and even climbed the Fort which was well worth the view from the top. We left when thunder rang its bell and dark clouds threatened to put a damper on our day. I almost got on the wrong ferry coming back, by the way. Luckily, I had my personal GPS by my side who guided me on to the right boat!

After a day at the island, Jayne drove us up to White Fish Point where we walked the beach on Lake Superior, looked for sea glass and collected pocketfuls of rocks. On the way home, we found a fish joint and got some white fish to go to eat lake-side in the car. Jayne asked for Tums a little while later; fish has never really been her cup o'tea. We capped-off the night by laying dock-side on Higgins Lake, counting the billions of glistening stars shimmering on the indigo back-drop of midnight. I even caught a shooting star out of the corner of my eye and giggled with glee. Check out the slide show for pictures of our trip going UP.

Rubies Everywhere

2008-07-21T10:55:00.018-04:00

Usually, our road trips to Michigan entail a straight shot from Tampa to Attica with a stray pit-stop here and there. We're always in a hurry to get to see family and there's always a full agenda once we get there. This time, Jayne had a few surprises up her sleeve. I should have known something was up when we didn't leave Tampa at the crack of dawn and didn't rush through Atlanta. All of the sudden, this was a leisurely trip and the stops along the way were terrific fun. Our first day, we only drove as far as Georgia and stayed over night in an Atlanta Hampton Inn. We stopped at a local mom & pop restaurant for dinner, bought Georgia lottery, and simply enjoyed not being rushed. The next day, we drove an hour to Cleveland, Georgia to a little spot called Gold n' Gem Grubin' and mined for gemstones! It was really exciting to sit and sift through buckets of dirt and find gems. We had seen a show on the Travel Channel where Becky Worley found all sorts of great gems...and so did we. We found rubies, sapphires, tiger's eye, garnet, emeralds and fool's gold, just to name a few. There were families and couples from all over sitting and chatting. One old guy kept us laughing by keeping a running commentary on what he found in his sifter. A pebble! A cigarette butt! Fool's Gold! I countered him once and said I'd found a kidney stone. That got a chuckle as well. It was a great way to spend the morning and we have bags of gemstones to polish and maybe turn into some great jewelry eventually.

After grubbing for gems, we took the long and winding way around the Blue Ridge Mountains, stopped at great farm markets and made our way to Chattanooga, Tennessee, where Jayne had yet another ace up her sleeve. This time, we stopped at Ruby Falls and took the underground tour to see the falls. What an awesome sight! It was worth the long walk through the underground shaft to stand under the mist and hear the roar of these magnificent falls.

Between our gemstone stop and Ruby Falls, we found ourselves in a little town called Dahlonega. It's a quaint little mountain village just at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains through which we had just spent an hour or so winding our way up and over. For about five miles, from one end of Dahlonega to the other, about every 25-feet, on both sides of the road, there were American flags planted on top of white crosses. Each cross had inscribed the name of a local fallen hero going down the cross, and the name of the war they served in going across the cross - from wars dating back as far as World War I including World War II, Korean War, the Gulf War, and Vietnam War.
Hundreds and hundreds of these flags on crosses decorated a parade route for Memorial Day. If you looked carefully, you'd also see that several streets were named after these same heroes as well. One of the main streets, Morrison Moore Parkway, was also named after a fallen soldier who has his memorial flag-cross planted near his street. The white crosses go up long before July 4th, around the week before Memorial Day, and stay up through July. Then, they emerge, again, in early November, just before Veterans' Day. We were both awestruck and proud. What a gem of a find that was, on top of all the other rubies of the day.

Yet another gem awaited us at the end of the day when we stopped in Caryville, Tennessee, at a Hampton Inn tucked into the side of a mountain. This was not just any Hampton Inn. It had llamas grazing on its property (which I didn't notice until the next morning; I actually thought they were statues until they started moving)! Quaint and historic is how I would describe this museum of a hotel! The owner, Hack Ayers, was on-site when we went down to breakfast and his pride just about busted out of his chest when he talked about the history of Caryville, his family's connection to the town and the way he's maintained that history in his hotel. The walls are decorated with war photos and family photos. Framed in the hallway by the elevator, was his late father's leather jacket with a bullet hole in it; there it proudly stands as a testament Johnny Ayers' bravery. Hack owns the llamas, by the way; a little fact he told me while he was busing tables, serving tea and chatting up his customers. This is one hotel we'll certainly stay in again.

Ode to Granny's Garden

2008-06-13T10:52:00.009-04:00

Granny's garden springs alive;
its square now marked by rows.
The soil rich will sprout and thrive.
No longer stunned by winter's snow.

Its square now marked by perfect rows,
Granny's down on her hands and knees.
No longer stunned by winter's snow,
one-by-one she plants her seeds.

Granny's down on her hands and knees,
ignoring her ninety-one years.
One-by-one she plants her seeds,
through all her blood and sweat and tears.

Ignoring her ninety-one years,
the soil rich will sprout and thrive.
Through all her blood and sweat and tears,
Granny's garden springs alive!

**click on pictures to enlarge**

Chasing Mangos and other Sweetness Enroute to Michigan - Part I

2008-06-11T09:15:00.007-04:00

It was time, once again, to load the SUV to the hilt, and skim the black-top 1200 miles or more on our semi-annual road-trip to Michigan. It took me three hours to pack the car so that the five boxes of empty jars wouldn't rattle or break and that the coolers and overnight bags were accessible. Not to mention, I had to make sure the pillows weren't in our line of vision and the clothing, suitcases and various boxes of goodies were ingeniously arranged to make the long-haul to Michigan without incident. With Jayne at the wheel and with just enough room left to tilt the passenger seat back a bit, we hit the road. I'm mostly the traveling window-shopper, while Jayne battles the big-rigs along I-75. I do my fair share of driving, much to Jayne's chagrin since I drive her SUV like I drive my little VW. My only request is that it's not my turn to drive when it comes to Spaghetti Junction in Atlanta. That's not my idea of a road-trip; Spaghetti Junction tangles my brain.

Window-shopping on these jaunts to Michigan usually entails a running commentary on interesting or not so interesting sights as we try to maintain the speed limit along the highway. We even have a little book called Along I-75 that highlights points of interest for almost every exit. It also alerts us to speed-traps and restaurants not to pass up. I'll narrate the drive with Outlet mall sightings and give a verbal run-down of all the stores that are lined-up cookie-cutter style. An occasional "moo" will escape my lips as we pass farms, or "ewww" when the road-kill is too much to bear (or should I say deer...we must have encountered 3-dozen dead dear, most of which were in Michigan). My focus this year was to find the cheapest gas. Just when we think we've found it, pull off, fill-up and take off again, the next gas sign boasts cheaper prices. This only happened a few times, however, but each time it does, we felt gypped.

Usually we stop at the Russell Stover candy outlet, but this time, we were "good". Instead, we stopped for Georgia peaches, Vidalia onions and watermelon at one roadside stand. When we first started along I-75, we noticed several tattered and torn pickups loaded to the nines with musk melon and mangoes. One truck we kept passing all through Florida and Georgia. I commented that we needed to follow that truck because when he gets off I wanted to buy some mangoes from him. Sure enough, we coincidentally found ourselves fueling up at the same gas station as one of these pickups and sure enough, I bought a delicious mango from him. Jayne dispises cantaloupes. Even the smell of them disgust her, so I spared her the agony of driving all the way to Michigan with the musky scent of a melon in the back seat. After we bought the Georgia peaches, every time we stopped, I would down one or two, allowing the sweet juices to liberally run down my chin and arms as I stood stooped over by the rear of the truck in absolute peach bliss.

One time, before we found the peach stand, I was looking for a snack and remembered I had a pear in the cooler. When it was my turn to drive, I thought I'd munch on it. Little did I realize how juicy this pear was going to be. The first few bits were just divine and then, I knew I was headed for trouble when the juices started to gush by just the fourth or fifth bite. Trying not to draw attention to myself by slurping too loudly; I didn't want to tick-off Jayne by dual-tasking - eating and driving along I-75 is not the brightest of ideas, let alone trying to navigate eating an outrageously juicy pear. By the time half of the pear was gone and the core was about to snap, so was Jayne, who was eyeing me from the passenger's seat, trying not to laugh. At that point, I started to giggle uncontrollably as the pear was getting messier and messier and the steering wheel was getting stickier and stickier. I mumbled, with a mouthful of pear, for a napkin while trying not to drip too much spittle from my giggle-filled face. Too late. I was in a tearful, giggle-fit, full throttle with a limp, dripping pear dangling from my sticky fingers on Jayne's recently detailed steering wheel. The white-lines on the highway were blurry from tears of laughter, and there was pear juice now dripping down my thighs; the giggles became uncontrollable, choking laughter. I'm thinking Jayne was amused..but just didn't show it. So much for a mid-day snack. I thought it was a better choice than Russell Stover, but apparently not. Our next stop was a real gem..but, I'll save that for another post. Stay-tuned.

Just In Passing: In Memory of Melissa Riggio

2008-04-08T14:34:00.005-04:00

Have you ever met someone who's made a profound impression on you just by the way they embrace life, even in the midst of all adversity? If not, I'm sure you know of people whom, after you've read or heard about their lives, you were left thinking about how extra-ordinary they've created their existence. They are truly awe-some individuals.

I've met only a handful of extraordinary people, and know of only a few more. I'd like to know more because they inspire me.

Above: Melissa Riggio shares her thoughts about Down syndrome. Photograph by Annie Griffiths Belt

I've never "met" Melissa Riggio (pictured above). She is the daughter of Steve and Laura Riggio. Steve is the CEO of Barnes & Noble, the company for which I work. Last year, Steve asked all Community Relations Managers to do an event to raise awareness about Down Syndrome since Melissa has Down Syndrome. She had just recently published an article in National Geographic: Kids and he sent us copies of it to read (see below). After I read the article, I felt like I knew Melissa and I admired her outlook on life.

The event at my store was one of the best children's events I've ever held. I networked Karen Dearolff ,the founder of a local group called "Up with Downs". She has a son, David, with Down Syndrome. The day of the event, about 35 families showed up for the program. The children read their poetry, talked about their participation in the Special Olympics, danced, played instruments and shared with us their dreams. The youngest was just an infant and the oldest looked too young to be the oldest! I was left awestruck; inspired by their humor, their positive out look on life, and to this day, I still talk about how wonderful the event was.

Steve had also sent each one of us a CD of Melissa's music, which softly played in the background during the event. As participants listened to her poetry and her music and read her article, they, too, were touched by her way of being.

Melissa passed away yesterday morning from leukemia. She was 20 years old. I'm glad I got to know her, if only in passing.

Meet Melissa:

I Have Down Syndrome—Know Me Before You Judge Me
Text by Melissa Riggio as told to Rachel Buchholz

When I first started to work on this story, I thought maybe I shouldn’t do it. I thought you might see that I have Down syndrome, and that you wouldn’t like me.

My mom thinks that’s silly. “Have you ever met anyone who didn’t like you because you have Down syndrome?” she asks me. She’s right, of course. (She usually is!)

When people ask me what Down syndrome is, I tell them it’s an extra chromosome. A doctor would tell you the extra chromosome causes an intellectual disability that makes it harder for me to learn things. (For instance, some of my classes are in a “resource room,” where kids with many kinds of learning disabilities are taught at a different pace.)

When my mom first told me I had Down syndrome, I worried that people might think I wasn’t as smart as they were, or that I talked or looked different.

I just want to be like everyone else, so sometimes I wish I could give back the extra chromosome. But having Down syndrome is what makes me “me.” And I’m proud of who I am. I’m a hard worker, a good person, and I care about my friends.

A Lot Like You
Even though I have Down syndrome, my life is a lot like yours. I read books and watch TV. I listen to music with my friends. I’m on the swim team and in chorus at school. I think about the future, like who I’ll marry. And I get along with my sisters—except when they take my CDs without asking!

Some of my classes are with typical kids, and some are with kids with learning disabilities. I have an aide who goes with me to my harder classes, like math and biology. She helps me take notes and gives me tips on how I should study for tests. It really helps, but I also challenge myself to do well. For instance, my goal was to be in a typical English class by 12th grade. That’s exactly what happened this year!

But sometimes it’s hard being with typical kids. For instance, I don’t drive, but a lot of kids in my school do. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to, and that’s hard to accept.

Dream Job: Singer
I try not to let things like that upset me and just think of all the good things in my life. Like that I’ve published two songs. One of my favorite things to do is write poetry, and this singer my dad knows recorded some of my poems as singles.

Right now someone else is singing my songs, but someday, I want to be the one singing. I know it’s going to happen, because I’ve seen it. One day I looked in the mirror, and I saw someone in my head, a famous person or someone who was somebody, and I just knew: I will be a singer.

It’s true that I don’t learn some things as fast as other people. But that won’t stop me from trying. I just know that if I work really hard and be myself, I can do almost anything.

See Me
But I still have to remind myself all the time that it really is OK to just be myself. Sometimes all I see—all I think other people see—is the outside of me, not the inside. And I really want people to go in there and see what I’m all about.

Maybe that’s why I write poetry—so people can find out who I really am. My poems are all about my feelings: when I hope, when I hurt. I’m not sure where the ideas come from—I just look them up in my head. It’s like I have this gut feeling that comes out of me and onto the paper.

I can’t change that I have Down syndrome, but one thing I would change is how people think of me. I’d tell them: Judge me as a whole person, not just the person you see. Treat me with respect, and accept me for who I am. Most important, just be my friend.

After all, I would do the same for you.

What is Down Syndrome?
Down syndrome is an intellectual disability that about 5,000 babies in the United States are born with each year. A person with Down syndrome has 47 chromosomes, microscopic structures that carry genetic information to determine almost everything about a person. Most people have only 46 chromosomes. It’s the extra chromosome that can cause certain physical characteristics (such as short stature and an upward slant to the eyes) and speech and developmental delays. Still, people with Down syndrome are a lot like you: They are unique people with strengths and talents.

Click here to listen to "The Ring," the song that Melissa wrote.

Biggest Loser Trainer Bob Harper

2008-04-07T13:43:00.013-04:00

Big News! Bob Harper, one of the trainers on NBC's Biggest Loser, came to Tampa on Friday night to celebrate the release of his book called Are You Ready? He drew a huge crowd and sold stacks of copies of his new book. People from all over Florida and even Georgia attended the event. Bob is super nice and crazy fanatical about getting people feeling good about themselves. His passion is palpable, his enthusiasm is contagious and his smile will set the room aglow. Looks like everyone who attended were big winners.

Above left: Bob Harper signing books.

Above right: Bob adresses the crowd which was so big, he had to stand on a table so everyone could see. I was interpreting the event for a Deaf couple who attended.

Left: Me and my new friend Bob.

I'd Like to Buy Another Vowel, Please

2008-04-03T10:47:00.028-04:00

Traveling to Hawai'i [hah wai' ee] or [hah vai' ee], isn't as simple as it sounds ("sound" being the operative word here). It should be as simple as A, B, C, but in fact, it was as difficult as A, E, I, O, and U.
In Hawai'i, simple local pronunciation is an art which challenges the unfamiliar user with breaking up each word by its vowel -stops. If you think that's a mouthful, try getting around Kona without tripping over your tongue. Here are some of the words I learned:

aloha (ah-LO-ha). Hello and goodbye, as well as love. Can be used to express sympathy, if more stress given to the first syllable.

'aina (EYE-nah). Food. Of which I ate plenty!

ahi (AH-hee). Tuna. Best eaten sashimi style (raw) with shoyu, which I had for lunch twice. Very yummy.

hale (HAH-lay). House.

haole (HOW-leh). Originally, all foreigners. Now usually refers specifically to white people. Generally NOT a compliment. I learned this from Kavika, a homeless man who slept on the steps of a snorkel establishment with his seven dogs.

kahakai (kah-hah-KIE). The beach.

kahuna (kah-HOO-nah). Hawaiian priest. Christian priests or ministers are usually called kahu (KAH-hoo) or kahuna pule (kah-HOO-nah POO-leh). Pule is Hawaiian for prayer. I learned this when I went to a sunrise Easter service.

kalua (kah-LOO-ah). Hawaiian style of cooking where meat is placed in an imu (EE-moo), a fire pit, and buried until done.

keiki (KAY-kee). Child.

luau (loo-OW). Hawaiian feast, party. We went to one on Wednesday night.

lani (LAH-nee). Heaven or heavenly. Seen in many combination words and names.

mahimahi (mah-hee-MAH-hee). Dolphin, the fish, not a porpoise. Delicious.

mauka (MOW-kah, MOW rhymes with pow). Literally, toward the mountain. Used constantly when giving directions. Example: "My house is on the mauka side of Ali'i Drive."

makai (mah-KIE). Literally, toward the sea. Opposite of mauka.

mahalo (MAH-ha-lo). Thank you. Seen and heard everywhere.

nani (NAH-nee). Beautiful. Another word seen in combinations and names.

ono (OH-noh). Delicious. Also the name of a local food fish which is also delicious.

ohana (oh-HAH-nah). Family, relation, kin.

pau (pow, with a bit more oo sound on the end). Finished. Done. Over with. Which is similar to the use of PAH in the Deaf Community which I found interesting.

Now that you have an idea of how tongue-twisting travel to Hawai'i can be, I'll attempt to give you a tour of all the stops Ardith, (Jayne's mom), Lois (a cousin), Lisa (Jayne's niece, who lives on a mouka, and I made on our whiriling-dervish trip to Kona.

Ardith, Lois and I met in Phoenix to travel the last 6 hours to Kona. Ardith had flown in from Detroit, Lois from Arkansas and I came in from Tampa. Travel tid-bit: Don't wear an under wire bra going through security at the airports. I was detained about 10 minutes in Tampa until they finally figured out that both my metal eye-glasses and my Bali 18-hour boulder-holder caused the scanner to go haywire.

Once in Hawai'i, our pending jet-lag was over-shadowed by our excitement. When we arrived at the airport in Keahole, Ardith rented our car, meaning she could be the only driver unless we wanted to go back and pay an additional $10 a day for an extra driver. Thus, poor Ardith did all the driving in a huge Dodge Durango with 4-wheel drive. Parking proved to be hysterical, 3-point turns became 8-point turns and the 4-wheel drive really got a work-out traveling up the mountain to Lisa's place (if we could go over 15 mph that is). Travel tid-bit: Don't buy Ardith a GPS for Christmas; she doesn't believe them. That's all I'm saying.

When we arrived at the hotel, Lisa was there with her friend Josh where they gave us leis.

Since jet-lag finally did catch up with us, we were in bed by 9p (which was really 3a, our time).

Friday - Day 1 - Every morning, I awoke with the birds before the sun rose over the mountain and walked 3-miles along the water-side. This ritual was one I began to look forward to everyday. On my walks, I'd learn the language, meet the locals, make friends and enjoy the culture. Visiting Kavika and his seven dogs would be my first stop. Each dog would "spoon" each other across the small stoop of a local snorkel shop. To reach Kavika, you'd have to step over 7 various breeds of Labs, the last of which would be snuggled close to Kavika. He'd get up around 6:30a, hose off the mats and pillows they used to sleep on, hose off the dogs and the sidewalk, then sit and drink coffee and chat with everyone who walked by. He taught me about Hawaiian culture and etiquette and I admired his knowledge. They say you can judge a person by the way they treat their dogs; each dog was collared, leashed and licensed, by the way, and all were well-fed. He said he really didn't consider himself homeless at all, and that the owner of the store paid him to protect his property. At left is Kavika.

After my morning walks, I'd stop everyday and get coffee at Hula Bean coffee, where, after the first day, the owner Gwen, started giving me a discount since I had become a "regular" customer. She'd watch me walk up the hill, and by the time I came back, she'd have my "skinny latte" ready. On the way back to the hotel, I'd stop and watch the Ironman athletes practice swimming their 2.4 miles while the hotel cook made me egg-white omelets every morning, and every morning he'd say "lucky customer after you get extra yolks in their breakfast."

The first day, we drove Highway 11 about 11 times. Finding Linda Bong's (where Lisa cooks fantastic, healthy food), proved to be our first challenge. Once we did find it however, we enjoyed a delicious lunch including a tomato-based soup, a wheat-wrap with quinoa, fruits such as dried mango and apple bananas. Then we were off to see The Painted Church, a black sand beach and Pu'u Honua O Honaunau - The City of Refuge (now called A Place of Refuge) where we saw wild dolphins dancing backwards on their tails. Travel tid-bit: Road signs can be deceiving. Always stop and ask a local directions. The weather was fantastic, gas was $3.80 a gallon and we were in bed by 9p once again.

Left-to-right: Linda Bong's where Lisa cooks, The Painted Church and one of its cemetaries.

Saturday - Day 2 - Travel tid-bit: Wal-Marts are everywhere, even in Hawai'i, as are Salvation Army stores. They tend to have cheaper souvenirs! We visited a local Wal-Mart for coffee and macadamia nuts and various other necessities. We also went to the Salvation Army. More on that, later. Today, we packed a health-food lunch, picked up Lisa at the foot of her mountain and drove to South Point which was utterly breath-taking as it sits at the southern-most point possible. We spent the morning there and tail-gated our lunch. We then went to another black sand beach, Hawai'i Volcanoes National Park where we walked through a rain forest (and it was raining!) and the Lava Tube. Lisa entertained us in a hotel lobby by playing the piano and belting-it out Bob Marley-style. As we were leaving the volcano park, Lisa noticed a fantastic rainbow behind us, so we pulled the Durango over and all jumped out to take pictures of the most beautiful rainbow I've ever seen. Later, we stopped for some great fish for dinner at Shaka's (named after the famous "Y"-looking handshape used in Hawai'i as a greeting or an acknowledgement).

Left-to-right: Windmills at South Point, the Rain Forest and the rainbow at Volcano Park.

Sunday - Day 3 -Easter - This morning's ritual went a different route as I decided to walk to a Sunrise Easter Service - Hawaiian style. Having never been to one, this was a real treat. By 6a, the Old Airport Field was filled with over 2000 people. Most people brought beach chairs and werewearing cut-offs and flip-flops. The service was an inter-faith ceremony which included a live band/chorus, hula dancers, a drama and a phenomenal sunrise over the mountain. Truly choreographed by God. I was moved to tears. After the ceremony, I went my regular route for coffee, breakfast and then I sunned by the pool with a huge family from Hilo for a good part of the day. Later, Lois, Lisa, Ardith and I took a drive north to see King Kamehameha's statue. We took Queen Ka'ahumanu Highway for what seemed like forever but saw some beautiful resorts along the way. Our goal was to catch the sunset at North Point. Travel tid-bit: Always fill up your tank when you're 3/4 full just in case you can't find a gas station anywhere along the way. We did eventually find a gas station, the statue, a beautiful sunset and a great restaurant for dinner. The bartender flirted with Lisa, gas was $3.95 a gallon and our bellies were full as the gas tank.

Monday - Day 4 - Oahu - My friend Casey from Barnes & Noble recently moved to Oahu to be with his girlfriend, Brianne. A great way to see all of Hawai'i is by air, so we all flew from the Big Island to Oahu so I could visit Casey and Brianne. Lisa had never been there and Lois and Ardith wanted to sight-see. Travel tid-bit: Don't wear a rasta crown to stuff your dreadlocks in while attempting air travel. Security will search your hair for drugs and swiffer your hands for some drug dust. Lisa was delayed because of her hair but it didn't seem to stop her from turning cartwheels and standing on her head in the airport once they released her.

Oahu was a busy city bordered by a beautiful beach. We learned quickly how The Bus (the city's public transportation system) worked, and traveled easily around the city. Travel tid-bit: If you're waiting at a bus stop and looking for something to do, find a plastic bag in the garbage can and clean up the bus stop around you. That's what Lisa did while we were waiting for a bus and it was a much cleaner, litter-free bus stop when we pulled away.
Mostly everything was bi-lingual in Oahu; signs and receipts were in both English and Japanese. It was an interesting change from Tampa where everything is in Spanish and English. We met Casey and Brianne at a B&N in a huge mall and had lunch. Lois, Lisa and Ardith went sight-seeing (and apparently Lisa went almost-skinny-dipping) while I caught up with Casey. We walked the beach, saw some odd birds, and talked all afternoon. He's a very happy poet these days and I'm happy for him. We were lucky enough to catch a sunset-flight back to Kona. For dinner, we went to a French-Vietnamese restaurant where I had purple sweet potato tapioca. I know that sounds odd, but it was so good, I went back three times to have some more!

Left-to-right: Casey & Brianne, all three of us, and ann odd bird. If you click on the pictures, they will enlarge.

Tuesday - Day 5 - Today was a day of rest. After my morning walk, a chat with Kavika, a chat with Gwen at the coffee shop and my egg-whites, I spent most of the morning by the pool with the huge family from Hilo. I say huge because they were an extended family of about 14 and every one of them was the stereotypical Hawaiian-huge. Each child, ranging from 3 months to 17 years old, was obese - morbidly obese. I was fascinated by the size of their breakfasts and lunches and how ritualized their eating was. I was also fascinated by their sense of family; they were joyful, supportive of each other and happy all the way around. Also, on this day, I met a Deaf woman! She was just passing though the pool area and I caught her signing out of the corner of my eye to her companion who was not deaf. Turns out she lives in Kona and the woman she was traveling with lives in Washington state. I signed with both of them for about a half-hour and learned that there are not many deaf people in Kona. Lunch was a real treat. I ordered Ahi Poke and it was so good, I ordered it again the next day. Served with green onions, a lot of garlic and an entire zuchinni diced up, this pan-seared tuna was just gently browned on the outside and a little red on the inside. So, so good!! For dinner, we walked back to the French-Vietnamese place where I of course had some more purple sweet potato tapioca, but I did have dinner which was buttered shrimp with rice noodles. Again, excellent food.

Wednesday - Day 6 - Today we decided to walk into town for a little shopping adventure. We needed to burn off some extra calories before the Lu'au. Besides, Ardith needed to consult with the Verizon tech about her cell phone and it was as good a time as any to find the Salvation Army Thrift shop. Travel tid-bit: Don't charge your cell phone with it turned on and don't fast-charge or car-charge for more than an hour. Another Travel tid-bit: if the GPS says .5 miles to your destination and as you start walking it becomes .9 miles to your destination, you're going the wrong way. Needless to say, we never found the Salvation Army, but we did have a very nice long walk before our dinner.
The lu'au was just wonderful! From the entertainment to the food ,to the cultural and historical content, we enjoyed it immensely. The sunset was perfect and the people at our table were interesting and fun. Travel tid-bit: Get to know the people you stand in line with and as well as all the people at your table. You begin to realize how nice people can be and learn that as different as we all are, we're a lot alike as well. We met people from Canada and Alaska and found out about all the places they had been thanks to Ardith's great people skills!

Left-to-right: The lu'au greeter, dancers and our dinner selection. See the purple sweet potato?

Thursday - Day 7 - Today I broke tradition and ate breakfast at a little Hawaiian-owned restaurant called U-Top-It. One of the families at the lu'au suggested it and it was a great place to sit outside and take in the local scenery. They serve mostly everything on a thin flat-bread which was really delicious. After breakfast, I took a longer walk than usual and went through a local outdoor market on the way back. The fresh fruits and veggies are outstanding. I also found a place to get Lisa a new rasta crown for her dreads which we gave to her later that day and she really liked it. Turned out the shop owner knew her and knew her hair would fit into that particular hat! Since it was the day before our last day in Hawaii, we wanted to go see Lisa's mountain and her farm. We stopped at Wal-Mart first, then we went to The Epicurian and Ardith splurged on a pillow cover and some sweet treats. I splurged on more coffee! We lunched on fish tacos which were to die for at an outdoor cafe. We also tried some abiu, a fruit that's creamy like vanilla pudding. After a full lunch, we drove the hill to Lisa's place. I have a video of us driving up the hill, but it's so bumpy you can't really see the road, and neither could we. Lisa lives in a lush paradise. She gave us a fantastic tour of the land from avocado trees and banana trees to all the native plants and flowers. We saw rainbow eucaliptis trees 100-years old that were humbling and ate from an "ice cream" tree. The land was beautiful and you could live off of it entirely. No wonder Lisa loves living here. Her garden was lush, her tent was comfortable and homey and her view was peaceful and just lovely. It was the best day there having Lisa give nature's grand tour. We watched the sunset from a radio station high up in the mountains and went back to the hotel awed at what we'd just seen.

Top left-to-right: a sign Lisa painted to welcome people to the land, the abiu fruit, the rainbow eucaliptis. Bottom left-to-right: a mountain sunset, me standing next to a flowering tree and a red pineapple-looking flower.

Friday - Last Day - I went for my last walk and said "aloha" to Kavika and Gwen. It was time to print our boarding passes and fly home. Travel tid-bit: Check-in time is 24 hours before your departure and not one second before. We took a drive to the Salvation Army, and this time found it. Finding gas, however was not as easy. We had to leave the rental car's tank full before turning it in, and in doing so, we found ourselves taking a lovely ride around the coast of Kona before leaving. We met Lisa for dinner at Quinn's, a local favorite restaurant, and feasted on ono. We took one last parting shot of Lisa and made our way to the airport for the long flight home. Since we were several hours early for our flight, we found ourselves sitting in the same location we were when we went to Oahu a few days before. There, we three weary travelers sat waiting for our boarding call when all of the sudden, a group of young teens walked by and started turning cartwheels in the same place Lisa had!!! I imagine it's a magical spot in the universe and leave it to Lisa to find it. Karma is a funny thing.

In Phoenix, my sister who lives in Anthem, AZ, met me at the airport for a quick cup of coffee and a bagel. It was great to see her and believe it or not, I forgot to snap a picture of her!

Now that I'm home and homesick no longer here's my last travel tid-bit: travel, turn cartwheels, clean up the earth, learn the alphabet in a different language, talk to a homeless person, make friends with strangers, rise with the birds and sleep with the moon shining down on your pillow. Aloha!

Pug Love

2008-03-12T13:09:00.002-04:00

My sister, Lynn, is a dog-person. It started with Beagles when she first got married, then Doberman Pinschers, and now, it's Pugs. Not one, not two...but six adorable, distinctly different clone-like Pugs. Here, she is pictured with her husband Ronnie (seated) and a friend at the opening of the Anthem Pet Park in Arizona. My sister crochets and made those cute little outfits each dog is wearing, for which she won First Prize for "Best Dressed" dog(s).

Got Pugs? Yep...six of them.

February Remembers

2008-02-23T13:14:00.006-05:00

Not one
February,
but two Februaries.
First one, then another passes;

parents.

Some months
go unnoticed

until February's
heavy heart sinks soft behind mine;

pounding.

Who's There?

2008-02-16T20:34:00.005-05:00

It was a fine day in Venice, Florida today for a baby owl to survey its new surroundings from far atop a pine tree. Its sibling was too shy to say hello and its parents were in neighboring trees echoing "who, who"!