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Showing posts from February, 2014

We Use To Be Friends

At last count, I have 775 Facebook friends. Somewhat less than a friend with 4,992 but certainly more than another with only 21. So why am I so bothered by the few who have unfriended me in real life?

Like, a couple of weeks ago. I decided to go out on a Friday night and see a band.  I got to the front door at the same time as the guitar player's wife and son, and we exchanged pleasantries.  She told the bouncer that they were on the guest list, they entered, and left me to pay the $22 cover charge to get in.

Did I mention that she and her husband were in our wedding and Wingman was in theirs?  Boom.


I've had many great friends over the years.  There were the ones I had in grade school when sleepovers and boys were we all could think about.  There were the ones I had in high school when... hmmmm.... sleepovers and boys were all we could think about. There were the college friends with a purpose beyond sleepovers and young men.  We studied, worked and planned our professional fut…

And When I Die, And When I'm Gone

When Wingman died, my sons and I went through the big bin of things that held his most treasured mementos, looking for anything that might represent him at his wake.  There were envelopes of ticket stubs from concerts he attended (Chicago and Bruce Springsteen at Madison Square Garden in 1973 for $6.50!), a bag of rings from bubble gum machines, the name off the back of his high school football jersey, and a HUGE stack of letters from his first girlfriend.


Feeling a little weird including the letters, I asked "What should I do with these?" None of them were in the least bit curious in even looking at them and replied in unison "GET RID OF THEM".  So, that piece of his history, from a girl who ended almost every letter with "Well, I have to go and wash my hair" is now sitting in a landfill. I know all about the hair washing because I read every last letter. Twice.

The ticket stubs, rings and jersey name remain, as well as bins of my treasures from years …

Only hopes for the future

Lisa reminded me that worrying about summer fruit during the winter might be a time-honored farmer thing to do, but it doesn't mean it's actually useful.

That said? I'm worrying about my summer fruit right now. The trees are covered with beautiful blooms:


Another worry is that by removing all of my bees there won't be enough bees to pollinate my trees. I haven't yet seen any workers on the trees, although I've seen them out front on the lime tree. I know there are at least two hives one street over -- plenty of bees, should they scout out these trees. It's not as though I can compel them, however. So -- I worry.
In addition, not all the things that are blooming are good things (apologies to Dr. Seuss). The unseasonable warmth means it's time to cut back the existing AND replant more kale.

So I don't really know what's going to happen.

Then there's one more project in the works:


That's the decanted and mixed limoncello. We'll see how it tur…

All The Single Ladies

It didn't come as much of a surprise when I picked up this week's work schedule.  As usual, I'll be on (not just on-call) tomorrow night, which just happens to coincide with that most hallowed holiday for lovers.  Ah yes, Valentine's Day.  Depending on who you talk to, it's either the most romantic...or the most stressful day/night you can have.  The good old days of giving that special someone a nice card, a bag of conversation heart candies stamped with "So Fine" or "Cutie Pie" and calling it a day are as passe' as Lindsay Lohan's acting career.    My first Valentine's Day with Wingman only happened because the band he was in succumbed to their girlfriends' pressure not to practice that night. Valentine's Day that year also happened to coincide with a Nor'easter.  After getting through flooded roads, my car got stuck in the mud in front of my beachfront apartment.  In the time it took him to help me push it out to higher…

Makings, Old and New

Nothing warms this knitter's heart like seeing a beloved sweater passed down among the kids. It's softer, felted, and still delightful.



I think there's an adult in the making. She's still not that close, but growing up takes a LOT of energy, and sometimes you have to fall asleep, face down on the floor. Under the dining table.


She's been busy with school projects. I give you the Sewer Pipe Harp.


For some reason, apple pie seemed reasonable for tonight. I cheated and bought a crust, but it's still mostly homemade. It may end up as breakfast tomorrow.


And there's knitting, but it's mostly left over from unfinished Christmas, so I'm not showing it. And the rain is reminding me that there is at least a chance we're having a winter, so that's nice. If wet, and doggy, and drippy. I know there are people with much worse weather out there, so I'm not too upset. It's good for us, certainly.

Life Is What Happens To You While You're Busy Making Other Plans

Fifty years ago,  two cousins were sprawled in front of a black and white TV, waiting for the Ed Sullivan show to start. The sophisticated older cousin, one week shy of 11 years old was explaining to the 9 year old  just who this Beatles band was.  When "I Saw Her Standing There" started, the older cousin sang out "One, Two, Three, Four". The stubborn younger cousin, probably already suffering from her first case of SAD, argued saying it was "One, Two, Three BOP." A general cat fight ensued, with the older cousin calling the younger one stupid.




The nine year old would like to offer her cousin a long-overdue apology.  She knew she was right even back then.  She blames it on the Polar Vortex or something.

My entire generation was influenced by that band, that night.  Whether it was the songs, the clothes or whatever, they had "it".   Boys wanted to be like them. Girls just wanted them.  We had their bubble gum cards, their notebooks and lunch boxes,…

Horse With No Name

I guess the BBC wasn't the only one confused about what the current Chinese New Year was supposed represent.  I was under the mistaken impression that this-the year of the horse-was to be my year.

Instead, I just learned from feng shui experts that this year is going to suck.  The masters say that we, my fellow horses, will have chaos, disputes and money problems. Throw a little wood and fire into the mix (our yin and yang earth signs) and we've got the makings of a real apocalypse. Somehow, I can't shake the image of a Trojan Horse going up in flames in my ugly, flooded-out yard with all the dead trees and bushes adding flames to the fire..


But I think these feng shui guys may be onto something about money problems.  January certainly started off with a bang.  The Polar Vortex and a broken water pipe in the garage.  A failed auto inspection, $400 in repairs and I failed on the reinspection.  February began with a nail in a tire.  The new snow blower crapping out after onl…

They've Given You A Number And Taken Away Your Name

A couple of years ago, a family friend who has a private investigation company hired one of my sons to do some surveillance work for him. My son went to a soccer field and photographed a woman thought to be cheating. She was there alone watching her son, then went to lunch with a woman friend. All very innocuous. He got paid for his time, gas and even the hotdogs he ate.

After my adventure this week, I've considered asking this guy for a job.  And I'd work cheaper than my son because I don't eat hotdogs.


There have been some pretty cool women working as private investigators or the like: Agent 99 from Get Smart.  Sabrina Duncan from Charlie's Angel's. Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum. And now, me.

It began last year when someone close to me got ditched after 30 years.  They never married, and enjoyed a rather bohemian lifestyle in a little cottage by the water. Then the bastard just packed his clothes and walked away, leaving her with the house, a mortgage, a se…