The only thing missing.....

Well, I guess I am not quite over the 'nesting" instinct. Relax, gang. I'm not talking about babies (at our age....Good Lord Almighty, NO!) I'm talking about sprucing up the nest we already have.


What they say is true: DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT start any projects around the house, or you will be sorry! One little thing somehow mushrooms into a mad flurry of activity, resulting in bunches of money going out faster than it ever came in. And, somehow, it is all never quite 'done.' So, about half way through our little spruce- up, I got the bright idea to see what else is on the market. Yeah -- a buyer's market is THE time to look, I told myself. Really, I was trying to duck out of going any further with our madness of fixing up this place we call home. So, believe it or not, we DID find something rather interesting, just a few miles up the road from us. It sounded wonderful, the kind of house I always dreamed of!! The pictures on the web showed a house well cared-for and cared about with every creature comfort you could think of, including a massive "Florida room" -- which could house the entire downstairs of our present home, with room left over. A HUGE in-ground pool was right outside that room from paradise -- and the inviting blue water looked so cool and refreshing!! I just about ran all around, looking for my floaties, as we prepared to meet the Realtor the next day at the house.



Waiting for us in the spacious driveway, the Realtor figured he'd better prepare us for a little surprise: "There is some slight water damage, " he said, looking a bit sheepish. "Don't worry - a coat or paint will have it looking good as new in no time!" he finished with a flourish.

We entered the massive house (did I mention it was huge??) Nearly 4000 sq.ft. I believe the ad said.And, about 50 of 'em were lying face down in the downstairs hallway. The hallway ceiling had fallen down and lay in dusty piles all over the once-powder blue rug! "Water damage??" I asked, stepping gingerly around the fallen plaster pieces.

"Uh..yeah," he said. "Toilet upstairs probably over flowed or something. Hey! Did you see the size of the family room over here?!" he quickly added, hoping to distract us for a moment or two or a thousand.

My hubby was ominously quiet, always a bad sign. Polite to a fault -- but not saying much whatsoever. He asked where the basement door was and Mr. Realtor pointed to it. Richie went on downstairs and I swear, I have NEVER, in my whole life, seen such a dark, dreary, and totally horror movie-like basement! When I saw him round the bottom of the stairs, I held my breath, and squeezed my eyes shut tightly, expecting to hear a blood curdling scream at any moment! None came. Within moments, Richie was back upstairs.

"How long has the water been pooling down there?" he asked. The realtor tried to explain various scenarios re: sump pumps and what-not (boring stuff for a woman!) and I lost interest. I wanted to see the appliances in the kitchen. One look at the ancient stove caused me to actually ache for the new range back home that we bought 2 years ago, and its lovely glass top and self cleaning oven!

As I heard the men's conversation turn toward things such as "biologic tests for mold" and other dry as dirt topics, I meandered outside to view the pool and landscaping. The pool was a total nightmare! I mean, at any moment I expected to see a skeleton, eye ball, or other scary thing pop up to the nearly green-black water's surface, next to the dead cover floaty things bobbing around aimlessly. In my wildest dreams, I could NOT imagine that water ever, ever becoming blue and sparkling clean again! And the landscaping -- holy smokes! I never knew weeds could turn into tree-like plants if left alone to grow long enough, undisturbed and well nourished by the yuck probably leaching from the pool. Just how old WERE those pictures shown on the Web??? Probably about 5 years was my guess! (Turns out, I was almost right!)

We thanked the realtor as we left, and honestly, we could not get away fast enough! Back home that night, we both sat in our cozy living room, enjoying all of the sprucing up we did over the past 2 weeks, including putting in a deck out back and a patio out front -- and felt safe and secure there. We talked a bit about 'the dream house' we went to see and as I live and breathe, I will never forget my better half's final comment on it:


With dead-pan expression, he said, " The only thing missing was Jack Nicholson’s insane grinning face coming around a corner and yelling "Heeeeere's Johnnny!!"



Yup. That said it all!

Three Little Words

This was our Writers Group assignment for Feb. 15, 2013

Three Little Words

Three little magic words can set a person’s heart to dancing and leaping virtually out of his chest with visions of sheer delight going through his mind!  His senses on fire with thoughts of pleasures as yet unfolded, he anticipates how great life is going to become with the utterance of just those 3 words.  Sadly enough, some of us don’t learn these three words – said all together in one comprehensive thought – until there is some frost on the roof and the fire in the furnace is growing a tad dimmer. For me, I learned them early on,  thanks to Big Foot, or a reasonable facsimile thereof.The words are: "No, Thank You."

It was back in the late 70’s, when my son Jimmy was in the Cub Scouts. Needless to say, I was a den mother and up to my neck in volunteering for that noble cause. Someone came up with the idea of a real kick-butt Halloween party, complete with the landing of a flying saucer and a cameo appearance of none other then Big Foot himself. I never quite made the connection between the two, but that’s what the committee voted and decided upon. Besides, no one dared to come up against fellow committee person Lizette Beesley (who came up with the idea to begin with) too strongly as none of us wanted to deal with the fall out of her venom-laced outbursts of sheer anger. So, Big Foot it was to be.

“Who will help make this costume?” Lizette challenged. All eyes looked downward toward the table – all, that is, except for mine. Knowing I also had the Brownies, Girl Scouts, 4 H, youth league basketball, and community marching band volunteer duties to juggle, what do I say? Her eyes were burning two holes into my skull! She knew exactly who to target.

“I’ll do it!” I proclaimed as my stomach pulled inward toward my bowels and the vein in my forehead throbbed a little bit. After all, Lizette used the word “help”, insinuating that she was going to be in charge of the production. I could surely help. After all, what were an extra couple of hours of my time donated for a good cause, anyway?

That was my first mistake. My second one was in suggesting the materials of said costume – which she quickly put me in charge of procuring. Third mistake was I agreed to do the shopping/gathering of all of the stuff needed. So, the next day I bought four skeins of brown wool, six yards of burlap and a latch hook gizmo thing. My plan was to latch hook individual strands of yarn to the burlap, which I would of course fashion into a one piece suit (like an infant’s onesie, but enormous in size!) Lucky me – the volunteer to be Big Foot and wear the costume was a full six foot four inch dad of one of the cubs in my den. So, this costume was going to be extra, extra, extra large. Oh, boy.

One month later, and with my strained eyes streaming lines of salt water from seeing almost nothing but six inch lengths of brown wool for four weeks, and with fingers now permanently curled in the weirdest way from latch hooking literally thousands of these pieces, it started to really get to me! The four women who said they would help me never once showed up. It was one excuse after another – some of them quite creative, I might add. But, nevertheless, there was I like Mother Macree, latch hooking day after day, night after night until I wanted to pass out!

The big night arrived and our Big Foot was a smash hit! In fact, I can still hear the ear-splitting screams of the younger kids as they fled in terror from the room,  with hysterical, frantic mothers running after them. To this day, Lizette’s youngest daughter goes into a form of  PTSD at seeing the color brown – which is a strange kind of justice, I think. Score "one" for Karma.

Anyway, I learned from that experience that there are some times when you simply must take a step back – view the situation for what it really is (an escape for someone else from some chore they’re rather avoid)…and firmly aver, “No, thank you!”

Pardon me, but I have to get going now for two committee meetings here at JW, and will be teaching a class on brain training next week. Then, our chorus will be getting ready for St. Paddy’s day, and our beading group is gearing up for a big jewelry sale…and…........

The Long, Long Day

I try my hand at poetry after many years away from it....

The Long, Long Day

I am so hot!  

 My feet feel like they're burning from the pavement, and all I wish for
is to run and jump into the river, which is not so very far away from me.

The sun is beating down on my head, and I am beginning to get a headache but no one seems to notice or care.  I keep trying to tell them in the only ways that I can that I am not feeling so great in this heat, but as usual, no one is paying very much attention to me.

I look at the position of the sun in the sky and realize that this day is only half over – I have so much longer to go!  Once again, it is time to start walking on the hot pavement, and I can only hope that the movement will cause a breeze to brush over my body and help to cool me off. 

What helps me to keep my sanity is that I try to daydream as I go along.  Soft, green fields of sweet clover and grass are beneath my feet, and the blessed shade of a tall oak tree calls to me from across the field.  In celebration of the moment I run across the field and claim my spot in the shade of the oak tree. 

The cool, sweet water of a brook is close by and I know that whenever I wish I can take a drink from the brook.  But of course, this is only a dream and it happens only in my mind. 

The thought of that makes me a little sad.

The noise and smells that surround me snap me back into attention!  The harsh blair of automobile horns hurts my ears, but I have no way to escape them.  The smells of the city fill my nostrils and wipe away any trace memories of the beautiful green grass I dreamt of only a moment ago. 

The big wooden thing that is attached to me by leather straps trundles along behind me, and I'm beginning to feel a little bit tired.  The two legged creatures that get in and out of the wooden thing are laughing and seem quite happy.  That cheers me up a little bit, the thought of making other creatures happy. 

After all, that is what I was born into this world to do, to serve.  It does feel good I must admit to have a job to do; but it does make me long once in a while for the beautiful fields and Meadows of my dreams!

Suddenly, I hear the command, "Whoa, boy!"  and feel the tug of the reins upon my tender gums, and I know that I must stop -- and so I do.  I know that I will get a brief chance to rest, something that I look forward to in such heat! 

For, all too soon, I will feel the balance of the wooden thing sway a little bit, 

as two new two -legged creatures climb onto it.

Then, I will hear the command to giddy-up and get going. 

~~

Such is the life of a carriage horse in the big city....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Topic: Write about animals in the big city! 

Writer's Group Assignment for December 7, 2012 -

Windows and Doors

Our Writers' Group curious assignment recently was for, of all things, "Windows and Doors." This is what I came up with...

Windows and Doors –

Writing group assignment for Nov. 2, 2012

Our assignment this time was to write about windows and/ or doors.  The temptation was great to wax almost poetic and talk about doors as being open channels or closed off pathways.  As for windows, they are for looking out or looking in and apply just as much to a person's soul as they do to a building. When spelled with a capital “W”, windows  are also for computers, but that is a whole other category.  But I decided not to do that – I thought I would take a more practical approach and really discuss doors and windows.  No, no one in my family is employed by Home Depot or Lowe's!  I just wanted to take a very nontraditional approach – nontraditional, that is, for me.

 How did the concept of doors even begin one has to ask.  Did it begin long ago as our cavemen forefathers and foremothers hunkered down over a fire, listening to the screams of a saber tooth tiger outside the cave – and praying the hole in the front of the cave was too small for it to fit through?  I would love to know who first thought of rolling a huge rock in front of the cave entrance, and if when it was in place he considered how hard it was going to be to move it out of the way again!  Perhaps, he was more of a Tim the tool man kind of guy and thought about dragging some big branches home with him and sticking those across the hole of the cave.  Lighter and easier to move, they may not be as sturdy as the rock, but they have the decided advantage of having holes between them that the cavemen could peek through.  Ah ha!  I think that's how the very first concept of windows came about.

As time went on and mankind grew in knowledge and, most importantly, in tools' skills, I'm sure doors and windows became refined.  Instead of a bunch of sticks loosely strewn across the doorway of a hut or hovel, some genius thought of cutting trees to the size of the entryway and somehow attaching them together.  I bet the man who first came up with the idea of a hinge was looked upon as a genius in his day!  I mean, don't you ever seriously wonder about these things?  Someone had to be the inventor of literally everything.  I don't mean it was the same person, but every single thing that we use are that we are familiar with in this world had its start as an idea in someone's head.

Thinking along those lines, how about those windows!?  Sooner or later someone figured out that letting sunlight in was a whole lot better than keeping it out-- and just as in today, a whole lot cheaper too.  But, cutting a hole in the wall can lead to absolutely miserable results in rainy or otherwise foul weather, and become unbearable in the dead of winter. Something was needed to rectify this situation, such as, for instance, glass.

 I once did a research paper on glass, and to my total surprise and delight I learned that glass had its start in the desert.  Well, perhaps not an abandoned desert but it certainly was a very sandy place, one that got hit with bolts of lightning.  Another genius who lived long ago discovered the gobs of material that were left behind post-lightning bolt, and somehow he was able to figure out that extreme heat added to sand equals the creation of a miracle product – that which we call glass.  Now, there was a real giant leap!  Okay – so some genius figured out how to make glass.  But a really exquisite genius discovered how to make the glassey gob into a flat piece, and to refine it enough so that one could see through it – and use it to plug up those holes in the wall.  I bet that back then that new, glassy material was looked upon as miraculous!! At last, there was a solution for plugging up holes in walls that allowed sunlight in and kept the weather out.  Hence, the birth of windows as we know them today.

When you stop and think about it, doors and windows are truly miraculous things.  I mean, they themselves are not miraculous but the very idea that early man was able to look around him, and to figure out the concept of keeping things in that you want to keep in, and keeping out things you want to keep out, and coming up with a device called the door is to me, quite miraculous.  The concept of taking an accident of nature, and realizing the accident created a whole new substance that could be turned into a useful tool for mankind is in itself truly miraculous.

Doors and windows.  These are things that we take for granted, but if we seriously stopped and thought about them long enough I think all of us would truly be filled with awe!

The Hero

It was at one of those walk-away ice cream stands on the boardwalk in Wildwood, NJ,  that I had the pleasure of witnessing a hero in action! I was about 10 years old at the time and my parents, my brother, Jody, and I were in Wildwood for our yearly vacation. The day was blisteringly hot, so of course, we kids begged for ice cream!  Dad trudged with us through the pure white, lava-hot sand up to the boardwalk where heaven awaited us in the form of double-dip chocolate ice cream cones.

A young father (who seemed so very old at the time to me) and his two little kids were ahead of us in line. His son seemed to be no more than about 5 of 6 years old at the most, and the little girl seemed to be about 3.  They danced impatiently from foot to foot as all kids do, as they watched the man behind the counter dip their ice cream cones. The little boy got his first, a cone wrapped in a napkin but already sending down rivulets of melting ice cream all over his hand. His licked his cone with gusto, with his little sister looking on, barely able to contain herself. At last, her cone was ready. As her dad handed it to her, Jody and I edged a little closer to the ice cream stand. The trio turned to walk away when all of a sudden, tragedy struck!

The little girl’s nose accidentally connected with the ball of ice cream, and in so doing, caused the icy treat to teeter on the edge of the cone. Falling victim to the law of gravity, seemingly in slow-motion the ice cream followed its trajectory to the ground, and landed with a sad and gooey plop. The child’s sweet, cherubic little face changed expression in an instant – from a chocolate-dotted nose atop a happy smile to a grimace of disbelief and then, to a mask of down-right grief. Tears squeezed out of tightly-closed eyes as she began to cry. Hardly missing a beat, her older brother momentarily looked at his ice cream cone, tucked the napkin a little tighter around it and with great ceremony, handed it to his sister.

Everyone around us “Aww’ed!”  and “Ohhhh’ed!” and nodded our heads in approval.  I swear, about five adults rushed to the counter, offering to buy the boy another cone. My dad beat them all to it, including the kids’ father.  But I learned that day that the real hero was that little boy who gave up his ice cream to make his sister happy again.

I ask you:  If that little boy wasn’t a real hero, then who is!

Writers Group Assignment for Sept. 16, 2011

Mixed Vegetable Soup

Our class leader, an English Professor at one of the colleges here in Philadelphia, suggested we do something a little different for our next assignment, which we all dubbed "Mixed Vegetable Soup." Each of us contributed just one word and the assignment was to create an essay using all of the words we contributed! The words were:

Jubilation, exemplify, confusion, love, duplication, pond, muzzled, goldfish

Now, for the task at hand, this is what I created:

 

Nothing causes as much jubilation as to see a lost child returned home, to the safety of his loving parents’ arms! I remember when I was a youngster that one of the kids from our school suddenly went missing one late spring day.  The deep-creased look of worry on their haggard faces exemplified the emotional pain his mother and father were feeling.  Adding to the confusion, the missing child had a history of just going off on his own,  and until that fateful day, no one ever doubted he would be back home before nightfall.

So, in a united spirit of love and compassion, friends and neighbors all banded together to help find the missing boy. This required the duplication of posters and fliers, which in almost no time at all seemed to almost miraculously pop up on every tree, telephone pole, and building in our little town. Even at the local butcher shop, Mr. Latimer’s usually hyper and cranky watch dog seemed on the alert, as if listening, and expecting to hear something. Not muzzled on that day, the dog was the least of everyone’s worries.

It was starting to get dark, and slowly, one by one, many parents had to return to their own homes to tend to their families. The police, however, enjoyed no such luxury – their hunt continued. Still no sign of the missing boy, everyone was getting more than a bit anxious. Then, Chief Daugherty slapped his forehead with his hand and in a loud, explosive voice said, ‘Oh my God! Why didn’t we think to search around Beacon Pond? C’mon..let’s go!” and away six of our burliest cops went with the chief to the community’s favorite swimming hole in Beacon  Park.

The warm spring night was fairly loud with the sound of peepers, little tree frogs. Squish, slap, squish went the policemen’s feet as they trod along the pond’s banks. They began calling out the boy’s name:  “Bobby! Bobby Smith – are you here?”  Nothing. No response other than the steady song of the tree frogs.

Suddenly, a small voice wove its way through the cacophony of frogs.

“It’s me…it’s Bobby. I’m here” the voice said. And there, on the far side of the pond sat little Bobby with a makeshift fishing pole lying by his side. It was clear that he had fallen asleep and was awakened by the men’s loud calling.

So happy to find him at last, the policemen all but fell over one another to get to Bobby, and when they reached him, they scooped him up in their arms. Bobby asked one thing, to please have his prized fishing pole. There, on the end of the safety pin hook dangled a little goldfish, quite obviously past his prime. But, hey….Chief Daugherty was so happy to have found Bobby that he promised to buy him a dozen goldfish!

Everyone trudged back to the police station, where Bobby’s folks were waiting with open arms. It was a really bad scare our town had that day, but it ended really well and as far as I know, Bobby had goldfish to call his own and take care of for quite some time, up until he left for college! 

(This story is pure fiction! It did not happen, I promise you!) 

Writers Group Assignment: Our Choice of Topic

When the Well Goes Dry

For those of us who love to write there comes a time for all of us when a curious phenomenon hits, called Writer's Block, or as I like to call it, 'When the Well Goes Dry.'  Right now, it feels as if my well is pretty much dried up.  For me, this is truly a highly unusual state because almost always I can find something that I would like to write about.  But, not right now.

I can't write about it much because it is still much too painful to even think about, but just last week we lost our beloved dog who was our faithful and loving companion for the past 14 years.  And that is the last sentence I'm going to write on that for this essay.  But the curious thing is that it seems my emotions have dried up as well, and for me I'm beginning to realize that once the emotions go so does any feeling to write.

On my very first plane trip, when I went to visit my parents in Florida for the first time, it was as natural as rain for me to grab my notebook and my pen and write down every little detail of my trip from the super-fast take off to the floating bubble-like landing.  The results of that essay were actually hilarious, and it kept my parents entertained for a while.  That is when my mother confessed that she had saved all of my writings from when I was a young child, which filled me with a sense of nostalgia and pleasure.  She ran to fetch the folder which she lovingly kept in her bureau drawer and when I opened it, it was as if I stepped back in time.  We enjoyed reading through it together.

When mom came to live with us for the last three years of her life, I kept a journal of her last several months.  That was the time when mom was terminally ill with cancer and was receiving hospice care, here in our home.  For some strange reason it gave me a lot of comfort after she passed to read what I had written about her final months.  It was almost as if she were still here with me, looking over my shoulder and silently reading along with me.

Then there was the time about 10 years ago when my husband and I went through a very rough patch in our marriage.  Needless to say, I grabbed my computer and kept a long, heart wrenching journal of the events as they transpired.  This, too, gave me a measure of comfort, or balance, both during our trial and for a period of time afterward.We were able to resolve our differences and to go on with our relationship, thank
God.

However, this time, it is as if someone flipped the switch on my heart and simply turned it off.  I do not feel my heartbeat, I feel no air coming into my lungs, and I have to concentrate to feel the warmth of the hot sun on my skin.  Food does not interest me, and indeed, I lost 12 pounds in just one week.  My grief was so all-consuming that it feels as if I am the ghost, the shadow of the being who was once here.  I next found it absolutely impossible to write on any topic because the one I want to write on the most, I cannot.  And so, this piece is on "when the well goes dry".  For me, it means that my bank account of emotions at at the moment is overdrawn, and there are no more emotions to be spent right now.

For now, my emotional account needs a chance to fill up with deposits again, and I know that it will.  But for the time being, I have to be content with writer's block.  I know, at least I hope, that in the whole scheme of my life this short-fall is only temporary, and as my life goes on, there will be many deposits made into my emotional account. All it takes is to live, and that, I intend to do.