Pam's Finally Writing

I Love the ASPCA

2008-12-06T14:21:00.006-05:00

As everyone who knows me is aware, I have been grieving the death of my cat, Tucker, who died on 6/27/08.

I finally got around to calling the ASPCA today to cancel the pet health insurance policy that I purchased for Tucker several years ago. The customer representative who took my call was named Shelley; she treated me with a kindness and compassion that I will never forget.

She pulled up my information, confirmed that my policies were for Tucker and Gus, and then asked how she could help me. I told her I needed to cancel the policy for Tucker; she asked "Oh, did something happen to Tucker?" "Yes, he died", and I could feel my throat tightening up as I started to cry. With a very sympathetic voice, she expressed her condolences and asked when he died. I felt a little embarrassed because I was calling almost 6 months after the fact, and I said "Well, it's been awhile. He died in June, but I haven't been able to bring myself to make this phone call until today." Shelley then said that she she understood and that she could cancel the policy retroactively as far back as September. I was surprised at this, because I never in a million years expected a refund. I replied "Well, I didn't expect you to go back even a day, so three months sounds very generous to me." She explained that the ASPCA permits retroactive cancellations and will give refunds because they understand that it sometimes takes awhile for a grieving pet owner to take care of any business that must be addressed following a pet's death. As Shelley gave me my confirmation number and we prepared to hang up, she said warmly, "Give Gus lots of extra hugs and attention now." I smiled through my tears and thanked her.

I have been making monthly donations to the ASPCA for several years, and I was already a big supporter. Speaking with Shelley today reaffirmed for me that my money and my support are in the right place. She was genuine, compassionate, and empathetic. It was refreshing and encouraging to find that in a total stranger, let alone in a customer service representative.

I'm in the process of composing a letter to a bigwig at the ASPCA Pet Health Insurance division in order to tell them about how marvelous Shelley was to me. I could write a million letters, though, and Shelley will never ever know what she means to me.

Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, You've Been Rickroll'd!

2008-12-02T22:30:00.008-05:00

I'm sorry I haven't written in awhile. I've recently been struck by a bout of writer's block/apathy, but I feel like the cobwebs are clearing. My brain is starting to clickety-clack again, and I'm full of thoughts. My mind is whirring.

To start things off, I'd like to share this video that I find to be really funny and clever. For those of you who missed it, this year's Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade got Rickroll'd. If you're not familiar with that term, I'll explain. It's an long-running Internet joke...kind of a bait and switch if you will. A person will provide for the unassuming victim a weblink in an e-mail that he or she will claim to be relevant to the topic at hand. The victim then clicks on the weblink only to find that it leads to the music video of Rick Astley singing "Never Gonna Give You Up", along with the announcement "You've been Rickroll'd!" I've been a victim on several occasions, and I'm always smacking my palm against my forehead in disbelief that I have once again fallen for it.

So here it is...the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade getting Rickroll'd.

Update

2008-11-17T19:19:00.002-05:00

As my friend, Brooke, pointed out to me today, an update is way overdue here. I have several unfinished posts saved in my Blogger file, but I simply haven't felt motivated to finish them. For the past month or so, I have been feeling rather overwhelmed and paralyzed by my stress regarding my application for NYU's School of Social Work. The possibility of either decision has created such emotional turmoil for me. If I am rejected, then I'm overwhelmed because I'm thinking "What in the hell am I going to do!? This is it! This is my grand plan! What if they tell me 'no'?"

And then if I am accepted into the program that begins in January, I have a whole new batch of things to be stressed about: I'll have eight weeks to work my 30-day notice at work, give a 30-day notice to my landlord, get registered for classes, find my immunization records, pack up my apartment, find a new place to live, move to NY in the middle of winter (dealing with snow and frigid temperatures), tell my family and friends good-bye fight after Christmas, and hope to secure a school loan when the banks are crapping out. I've been losing sleep over this. I've had a difficult time focusing on other projects (my blog, reading my book, learning Spanish with Rosetta Stone, cleaning my apartment, etc) because I haven't known for what I'm preparing. In short, I've been in limbo.

So I guess this would be the time to say that I found out on Friday that I GOT INTO NYU!!

And now I'm mostly stress-free because I have a beautiful happy medium! I am going to NYU, but I have been accepted to the program that starts in September 2009 rather than January. Now I have eight months to prepare for this colossal move. I now have plenty of time to plan, say my good-byes, and save more money---the more money I save, the less money I have to borrow. I'll be moving to New York City in August. I can't believe I'm saying that. I have wanted to be in New York City since I visited for the first time at the age of 18 (best weekend of my life, by the way). To think that I'm going to earn my MSW with the resources of New York City at my very fingertips simply blows me away. What a brilliant opportunity this is. I don't think I've ever been this excited about anything in my life.

Let's see...what else? Oh yes! Friends, I would like for you to meet Isabel.

So...how many cats does it take before one is officially labeled a "crazy cat lady"?

Yet another kitten (another tuxedo kitty) has shown up at Chez Pam. I swear, folks, I don't go looking for them or chasing them. They come to me as if someone has given them my name and address.

A few weeks ago, I was getting home after work. I opened my car door and placed my left foot on the ground as I leaned over to gather my belongings from the passenger's seat. I heard a soft high-pitched "mew". My ears perked up, and I listened....there it went again---"mew". I looked down, and there is this tiny black and white kitten standing next to my foot and staring up at me (much like she is in the above photo). Again, she pleadingly said "mew" as she placed her paw on the top of my shoe. Well of course I'm going to pick her up and take her in; who didn't already see that one coming? She practically dove into my neck, snuggling and nestling there, and she purred like a lawn mower.

As with Milo, I started out insisting that I could not keep her, and I fervently looked for another home. I e-mailed friends and I contacted rescues. My friends at work were checking with their families and friends.

Long story short---she's staying. Sigh.

I took her to the vet, and she is definitely a female. She weighs 4 pounds, and it is estimated that she's 4 months old. I'm happy to report that she's negative for FIV, leukemia, and worms. She received her rabies shot, as well as her first FIV vaccine. In a couple of weeks, she'll go back for her leukemia vaccine, as well as her 2nd FIV booster.

She's made herself right at home. As a matter of fact, I think she has the nerve to try to establish herself as the alpha kitty in a home containing three males---a geriatric, a young adult, and a pre-teen. Jasper (the young adult) sneaked up behind her as she was eating and harmlessly began to sniff her. She whirled around, hissing and growling, and he immediately backed down. She turned back around and resumed eating. "You go, girl!" I thought to myself. In spite of her feistiness (some would call it brattiness), the boys have made her feel at home. Gus tolerates her (which is pretty high praise coming from Gus). She and Milo have become fast friends, and they wrestle, stalk, and chase each other. Jasper gets in on the action, too. I'm going to have to give my downstairs neighbors a little extra something at Christmas for being so kind and patient; I have no doubt that they can hear every kitty footstep, especially when they're dashing around at midnight.

I took a great trip to Charleston SC a couple of weeks ago. I'll write about that in my next post.

And that is what's going on with me. I'm thinking I'll probably start a new blog once I get to NYC. It'll be about the move, adjusting, living in NYC, and being a grad student at the age of 42.

I'll let you know when that one's up an running.

President Barack Obama!

2008-11-04T23:52:00.003-05:00

Praise the Lord and Pass the Mylanta

2008-11-04T20:10:00.006-05:00

Against my better judgement, I'm glued to the TV watching election coverage on CNN. I swore that I wouldn't do this. I'm very nervous and excited about this election; as a result, I'm experiencing some----er, gastrointestinal distress.

I called Mom because I just knew she was doing the same...and she was.

It's way too early to call as of now (8:11 EST), but it's looking good for Obama right now.

But I think we all know that anything can happen. I'm prepared to celebrate, but I'm also preparing to concede.

All I Want for Election Day is...

2008-11-03T20:36:00.004-05:00

...to wake up on Wednesday morning and to know definitively who my new President is. I do not want recounts. I do not want to hear about malfunctioning voting machines. I do not want to hear unsubstantiated claims of a "stolen" election---and if there is a claim, then it sure as Hell had better be strongly substantiated. I can't take another Day After Election Day like the past two.

I want to wake up on Wednesday and either 1) Celebrate Obama's election or 2) Accept McCain's election and start moving towards a point in which I can support him.

I want to be rid of the horribly absurd mudslinging political ads. I'm over it. I'm done.

The John McCain I Used To Know and Like

2008-11-02T21:03:00.003-05:00

Up until about a year ago, John McCain was a man that I liked and would have gladly accepted as President. At one point, I even said that I would vote for him some day if he were to run for office. But McCain has morphed into someone that I neither like nor respect since he received the nomination for the Republican party.

I caught a glimpse of the old John McCain on SNL last night, and it was really good to see him.

This Just Makes Me Laugh...

2008-11-01T23:32:00.001-04:00

Attention, All Electioneers: You're Not the Boss of Me!

2008-11-01T18:36:00.013-04:00

I always dread navigating the flocks of electioneers who rush me as I'm approaching the voting place. Previously, I've always politely smiled and accepted the flyers and cards being shoved into my hand and then thrown them away after I got inside.

As I pulled into a parking space today, I saw the lot of them sitting around in their chairs, talking amongst themselves. I exited my car, and they all poked their heads up like lions who have spotted an antelope. I felt myself becoming increasingly irritated as I saw them moving towards me in a big clump; this time, I smiled and said "Thank you, everyone, but I'm already decided...your cards and flyers won't change a thing", and I placed my hands behind my back. I think I offended them, which truly was not my intention...I just wanted them to understand that their stacks of propaganda will have no bearing on my vote--I'm not so easily swayed.

As they walked away from me, they still shouted out their candidates' names and urged me to vote for them. Ah, well. At least I didn't have to find a trash can once I got inside.

Does anyone else feel irritated by the electioneers, or am I just a brat who doesn't like being told what to do?

What? Going Out On a Weeknight!?

2008-10-29T23:50:00.004-04:00

I drove to Charlotte tonight to meet my sister-in-law, Erica, and our friend, Eva, for an evening at the theater. They both work at the Mecklenburg County courthouse; I picked them up outside of the building, and we headed over to the McGlohon Theater at Spirit Square in uptown Charlotte. It's a beautiful and intimate little venue. The last time I was there was in 1988 with my friend Jada, and we saw Suzanne Vega perform.

"Traces" was wonderful! It's performance art, and it has a Cirque de Soleil-meets-Stomp feel to it.

I'm posting a video that I found on You Tube. Words can't describe it...you must watch for yourself.

My Brother, the Heavyweight Champion!

2008-10-22T23:04:00.013-04:00

Permit me, if you will, a moment to brag about the eldest of my three baby brothers.

Firstly, here is some background: Grant is very athletic, and he loves to play. He channeled this energy for awhile by playing in a men's baseball league. However, he was forced to hang up his cleats a couple of years ago when an old childhood injury (badly broken arm that never properly healed) flared up, and he was unable to continue to play. Never one to give up and remain idle, Grant merely went out and found a new passion. Initially, he learned how to box simply as a method of working out and staying in shape. However, he ended up tapping into a natural talent that I don't think anyone knew existed. It turns out that Grant is good at boxing. I mean really good. At the age of 37, he began to fight competitively on a toughman circuit that is highly regulated by the North Carolina Boxing Commission.

In October of 2007, I attended Grant's first competitive match in Salisbury NC. He was fighting in a lighter weight class than he fights now. Frankly, I thought he looked way too thin. His weight just didn't seem to suit his 6'3" frame. He was TKO'd in his first fight; he ended up on the ground more than once, and the ringside doctor was the one who ended the fight. It was difficult to watch; not because Grant lost, but because I knew how disappointed he was. He had been working and training exceptionally hard.

In his usual fashion, Grant didn't give up. He got back up on his feet (literally and figuratively) and went about trying to figure out how to build a better mousetrap. After conferring with some guys who had been in the business for awhile, Grant decided he would bulk up and fight at a higher weight---the heavyweight class. This lighter weight simply wasn't working for him. He took some time off from fighting, and he trained. And trained. And trained.

The following January (a mere 3 months later), we all traveled to Mooresville NC to watch Grant debut in the heavyweight class. He won 5 fights over a course of 2 nights, and he won the tournament! He's been kicking ass and taking names ever since. He's weighing in now in the neighborhood of 205ish pounds.

So flash forward to this past weekend: we were back in Salisbury almost a year to the day when Grant started fighting and was soundly beaten in this very same building. Talk about coming full circle...

He won his fight on Friday night---TKO in the 2nd or 3rd round (forgive me, Brother...I can't remember which!). We all returned on Saturday night to watch him continue to move through the tournament. By the way, when I say "all", I mean Grant's huge entourage. Grant is pretty lovable, and he is loved dearly by many people. On Saturday night, his entourage consisted of his wife, our mother, another one of our brothers and his wife, our aunt, me, and several of Grant's childhood friends.

Grant waits for his TKO to be called on Saturday night

You know...I just have to say here that I am both amazed and embarrassed at how having someone I love in the boxing ring so easily brings out my inner white trash redneck. Up until Grant's fight, I was cool and calm. I applauded politely when the other fights' winners were declared. I quietly snacked on my king-sized bag of peanut M&M's while I watched other people's husbands, brothers, sons, and friends enter the ring. And yet, when my brother was in the ring and involved in a fierce battle for the heavyweight championship, I was shocked to hear "Stick 'em, Grant!!" and "Knock 'em on his ass, Grant!!" raging out of my mouth while my fists were clenched.

The championship bout was about as close as it can be. It went all three rounds, and it was a split decision. Grant was declared the winner, and we went nuts! Another trophy and another $500 prize for Grant and Erica (the deal is that Grant gets the trophy, and Erica gets the money--which is compensation for severe emotional distress caused by watching her husband fight and get knocked around). His opponent's group obbbbvioussssly disagreed with the decision, and they were quite vocal in their disappointment. At first, I took it really personally, and I wanted to challenge each of them to a slap fight. However, my cool head prevailed, and I realized that I would have been booing and scowling if the decision had gone in the other direction. They love their guy as much as I love mine, I guess. So I decided to let it drop. This time.

Next fight is next month in Morganton NC. I'll be there with bells on.

Arizona, Day 6 - Heading Home and My Final Thoughts

2008-10-02T23:59:00.011-04:00

The trip home went off without a hitch. There were no cancelled or delay flights. Our rental car passed inspection---no dents, scrapes, or dings.

We had a 3-hour delay in Memphis, so I got to explore the airport a little (which is something I love to do, per my nerd tendencies). As we were descending into Memphis, I started to go over in my head some of Memphis' characteristics. Let's see...there's Graceland, the NBA's Grizzlies, blues music, and BBQ. As soon as we got off the plane, I smelled BBQ!! I literally began to salivate, as I was extremely hungry. I followed my nose to the food court where I found Interstate Barbecue, and I headed towards it like a fly towards a fresh cow paddy. For around $9, I got a huge heapin' serving of sliced barbecued beef, baked beans (the best I've ever had), hush puppies, bread, cole slaw, and iced tea. I sat down in the crowded food court and inhaled every crumb and drop. The sauce was tangier than my beloved NC BBQ. I wouldn't call it better or worse...just distinctively different. It was delicious!

There was plenty of time to kill, so we walked around and explored as we headed towards our gate. There's a restaurant in the Memphis airport that features a live band playing some Memphis blues. The music was thumping! It sounded great!

We landed in Charlotte around 10 p.m., and I walked into my apartment just a few minutes ago.

Here are some final thoughts about Arizona:

1. I cannot get over how kind and friendly the people are in Arizona. And I don't mean just the people within the tourist industry who are paid to be friendly; I mean the people who work at Walmart, Circle K, Denny's, and the Arizona Diamondbacks souvenir store. I've never met a friendlier bunch. When they said "Have a nice day!", I think they actually meant it.

2. North Carolina could learn something from the Arizona Department of Transportation. If there is an interstate exit off of which there is no gas station, food, or hotels, then the exit sign is labeled "No services available". Doesn't it make sense to do this? You know to keep on going if you're looking for gas or a place to pee.

3. It's a cliche, but there really is a difference between the humidity-filled NC heat and the dry heat in AZ. While the sun is intense, the higher temperatures are much more bearable when the air around you isn't filled with oppressive humidity. I'll never again make fun of someone when I hear them say "Well, it's not the heat that makes it feel so bad...it's the humidty."

4. While much of the AZ landscape looks completely different from that in NC, I was surprised at the many forests in AZ. In my ignorance, I expected nothing except sand, roadrunners, and tumbleweeds. And maybe an armadillo.

I enjoyed my trip immensely, and it was everything I had hoped it would be; I would definitely like to spend more time there. However, the western half of the U.S. will never feel like home to me. I'm an East Coast girl through and through. It's good to be home.

Arizona, Day 5 - The Navajo Nation and Grand Canyon National Park

2008-10-01T22:00:00.011-04:00

The view from the Denny's parking lot. I'll say again that Page AZ is surrounded by some gorgeous scenery!

We woke up this morning, and we got on the road at a fairly decent hour. We grabbed some breakfast at Denny's, and we were on the road again.

AZ Hwy 89 is beautiful in the daylight! As I suspected based on our nighttime drive a couple of nights ago, there is not much there in the way of goods and services; however, the scenery is breathtaking. I did not realize that we had driven through the Navajo nation on our way into Page.

A glimpse of the beautiful Navajo reservation

Another view of the Navajo reservation

As we were driving through, we stopped and met some Navajos who were selling handmade folk art. The pieces were gorgeous, and I was amazed that all of it was made by hand. I wanted literally every single piece that I examined. I could very easily have spent 100's of dollars at this roadside stand. Much of it had been made by a woman named Elsi; the lady who was selling her pieces was Elsi's niece. The niece shared with me the Navajo lore and history that was the inspiration for the pieces that I bought.

The roadside stand where I bought my Navajo folk art

My very favorite piece that I bought is my storyteller bear. According to Elsi's niece, the bear symbolizes strength and courage in the Navajo culture. It is hand carved out of clay. The art that you see on it is made with sand, and the sand is kept in place with tree sap. See the fine black lines going through it? That is horsehair art. It's hair from a horse's tail or mane, and it has been fired into the clay using a special technique.

My storyteller bear

Next, my eye caught a beautiful Christmas ornament that Elsi created, and it was also made of clay. You can see horsehair art used here, as well. The depiction of a Navajo on the horse is symbolic for "end of the line". This made me a little sad, because it represents the loss of many elements of Navajo culture through the years...the systemic and mandated elimination of their traditions and customs. Happily, the Navajo are currently working to revive many of those very traditions and customs.

My clay Christmas ornament

Finally, I found a gorgeous bracelet! It's made of silver, turquoise, and apple coral (which I had never heard of before).

My new bracelet

As we were driving across the Navajo reservation, we listened to a public radio station that serves the western Navajo nation--KGHR. They play quite a large variety of contemporary music---everything from The Archies to Van Morrison to Green Day to Los Lonely Boys. However, they also play traditional Navajo music, as well as contemporary songs about the history and plight of the Navajo people. Both English and the Navajo dialect were spoken. I thought it was quite fascinating, and listening to it as we drove made the trek through the Navajo nation feel surreal to me. I felt sad as I looked around the beautiful landscape and saw small communities consisting of shacks, campers, and trailers. It drove home the fact that we weren't merely passing through a tourist trap; these people live here. This is their home...their community. They are born here, live here, work here, and die here. I would like to visit this area again; next time, however, I want to educate myself about Navajo history and culture.

We drove through the Grand Canyon National Park again. It is much better in the daylight, I have to say. I took more pictures from various lookout points. These photos came out much better than the sunset tour, I think. Perhaps it was because we didn't have the smoky haze with which to contend this time.

I have been fascinated by all of the different countries being represented among my tourist brethren. I've heard very little English being spoken during this trip. Today, I've heard German, French, Japanese, and Arabic being spoken...and those are just the languages that I recognize. When I do hear English being spoken, it is often with a British or Australian accent.

We made it back to Phoenix around 8:30 p.m. or so. At this point, we were both pretty worn out. Although we've had a great time (except for the hospital thing), we're both ready to get the hell home. I love to travel, but I'm always ready to get back to my home base for awhile. We found our hotel with relative ease. I had my usual battle with the electronic key card (Kelley got it open on her first try...but then, she's much more patient than I), but we made it into the room. We were both craving McDonald's, for some reason. We got semi-settled, and we headed out again. I wanted to go ahead and fill up the gas tank so those rat bastards at the car rental place wouldn't charge a jillion dollars (roughly) if we returned the car on empty. The gods smiled upon us; my GPS led us to a nearby gas station...and there was a McDonald's right next door! We hit McD's first and then headed over to the gas station. As I pumped gas, Kelley started to clean the thousands of dead bugs off of our windshield. A Latino gentleman came running out of nowhere, exclaiming "Mami! Let me do that for you!" He was a kind and friendly fellow; we talked as he wiped down our car. It turns out that he's homeless. He was a construction worker and came from CA with his truck and his tools. He found work right away, and he was living a pretty good life. A few months ago, his truck and tools were stolen. He lost his job and, eventually, his home. In spite of this, however, he had such a sweet spirit and an exceptional outlook on life. He talked openly about his belief in God, as well as his approach towards life and his recent bout of rotten luck. He had virtually no possessions, yet he was one of the most generous people I've ever met. Kelley and I were running low on cash; she gave him a couple of bucks, and he accepted it humbly and gratefully.

Since we had a refrigerator in our room, we decided to buy some milk and cereal for breakfast the following morning; now we can eat a quick (and cheap) breakfast in our hotel room and get straight to the airport to catch our noon flight.

I'm exhausted. I should sleep juuust fine tonight.

Arizona, Day 4 - The Colorado River and Glen Canyon

2008-09-30T23:08:00.021-04:00

I woke up around 9:30 this morning; I slept pretty hard after my long day and night. I spoke to Kelley who informed me that the doc wanted to run IV antibiotics throughout the day, and then he would reassess tonight; he may possibly discharge her then. Kelley assured me that she was okay, and she encouraged me to go on our scheduled tour so that I could take lots of pics to share with her later.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that Page AZ is located right in the middle of some beautiful scenery. As you may recall, it was pitch black dark when we arrived in Page last night, and we could see nothing in the distance. When I walked out to the motel parking lot this morning, the view took my breath away! Who knew that this was there last night?

The view from the Motel 6 parking lot...that's our car you see here

I headed over to the Colorado River Discovery store to meet the guide and my tour group. I checked in, and I browsed around the store. I realized that I had forgotten my Yankees cap, so I bought a floppy hat to wear during the trip. The AZ sun is pretty fierce, and my fair Irish skin burns after about 3 minutes in the sun if I'm not wearing any protection.

The Colorado River Discovery Store on 6th Ave in Page AZ

We boarded the motorcoach, and we were on our way to the Glen Canyon Dam for the start of our trip.

The view from my seat on the motorcoach

The scenery on our way to the dam

We arrived at the "top of the tower" or the top of the dam which is where our journey was to begin. There is a 2-mile tunnel through which we had to go to get to the bottom of the dam; the tunnel goes through solid rock. We're on government property at this point, so per Homeland Security procedure, we had to disembark the bus prior to entering the tunnel so that a security sweep could be performed. Our bags had to go down in a separate vehicle so we loaded them onto another truck while we were waiting. We then boarded the bus again and rode through a dark tunnel. I sat with a nice lady from Canada, and we chatted a bit during this ride. Neither of us understood the purpose of the bags going down in a separate vehicle; they were never searched or x-rayed...and the other "vehicle" was the unsecured back of a pick-up truck.

Awaiting completion of the security sweep

We disembarked again at the bottom of the dam where our bags were awaiting our arrival. We were required to wear hard hats as we walked down towards the boats because of rocks and pebbles that may fall from the canyon walls, as well as objects that people may throw from the top of it (!).

Walking down to the docks

Our group divided into two smaller groups, and we boarded our boats. They were motorized pontoon boats. Our guide's name was Josh, and he was pretty cute. He also knew his stuff! He was full of information about the river and the canyon, and his passion for his job really shone through.

Our cute patootie guide, Josh

Once again, my tour group consisted of several nationalities. There were three Americans aboard---a married couple and me. The married couple also happened to be from western North Carolina, same as me! There were two Australian families, two British couples, a Canadian family, and a couple from Denmark. I enjoyed talking to the Danes; their English was good, though we did have a few moments when we played an impromptu game of charades--if they weren't sure of a word in English, they would act it out. They were really sweet, and they were good sports. We laughed a lot during our brief struggles to communicate.

The Australians were lovely people. There were three sons between the two families, and I'd say they ranged from 10-12 years old. They were cute and funny. I had brief conversation with one of them about meerkats. He learned that I'm a fan of the show "Meerkat Manor", and that broke the ice between us. One of the husbands and I struck up a conversation, and he shared with me that the two families were on a 4-week holiday touring the southwestern United States. They had been to San Francisco, Los Angeles (Disneyworld), Las Vegas, and now the Grand Canyon. He gave his wife full credit for the planning and organization of the trip. He said that he earned the money for the trip, and he showed up for it...his wife did the rest. We both agreed that Los Angeles was not the place for us. I encouraged him to visit New York City some time in his life, and he asked what the difference was between there and Los Angeles. I replied that it was hard to put my finger on it, but that it was just different, especially culturally. We talked about the differences between the east coast and west coast. I advised that the next time they visit the U.S. (according to him, it would be about ten years before they could afford another trip), they should check out the east coast. Specifically, I suggested New England, NYC, Washington DC, the NC Outer Banks, the Blue Ridge and Smoky Mountains, and Florida. I asked about the different coasts in Australia, and he shared that the biggest battle between the two coasts is for space. There are 20 million people living in Australia (which is the same size as the lower 48 United States), but only about 20% of the total population lives in the western half; the remaining 80% lives in the eastern half.

Needless to say, our 15-mile journey was filled with beauty and awe. The weather was perfect; the skies were bright blue and dotted with fluffy white clouds. We floated during most of it, though Josh gunned the motor a few times.

About halfway through the trip, we stopped at a small beach so that we could hike and explore.

Here, we were able to hike to an area in which there are prehistoric petroglyphs visible on one of the enormous rocks. A "petroglyph" is an image that is carved into a rock, as opposed to being drawn or painted onto the surface. These petroglyphs are estimated to be hundreds to thousands of years old; they were carved by the Ancestral Puebloans, which were the area's first inhabitants. According to Josh, the Puebolans were most likely trying to communicate that this trail leads to a body of water.

After everyone stretched their legs and visited the petroglyphs, we boarded the boats and were on our way again. The tour ended at Lee's Ferry. We disembarked, bid Josh farewell (I tipped him $5, and he was very sweetly surprised and grateful), and then boarded the motorcoach to head back to Page.

The end of the line

The 1-hour ride back was filled with more beautiful scenery as we rolled through the Navajo reservation. However, I was neglected to take any pictures because I was too busy gabbing with the Canadian woman who was on my boat. Her husband, her mother-in-law, and her were on a 2-week vacation. They had the first week in Alaska and were now exploring the Grand Canyon area. She is an investment broker from Toronto, and we talked about America's financial crisis and the notorious bailout (which was voted down today, incidentally). I asked her if the Canadian economy and her clients were feeling the brunt of it yet, and she said "No, not really." According to her, the Canadian economy will most likely never fall into such lousy shape because they are highly regulated (and their regulations are actually upheld as opposed to the very loose regulations in the U.S.). She said it seems that "everytime I turn around, we're being audited."

We returned to the Colorado River Discovery store around 6 o'clock, and I called Kelley to see how things were going. She said that her antibiotics were still running, but as soon as they were finished, she was being discharged. I drove over to the hospital, we visited in her room as we waited for the meds to run out. She looked much better. The swelling was obviously down, and she looked more like herself. She was given her discharge orders and new prescriptions, and we were out the door. We found a Safeway grocery store/pharmacy, and we got her prescriptions filled. While we waited, we strolled around the store and bought some snacks. We were both pretty hungry, and wanted something to nibble on once we got to the motel. Denny's Restaurant was our next stop. After devouring our supper, we headed over to the Motel 6 and crashed. Hard.

We have about a 5-hour drive to Phoenix tomorrow, so we're going to try to hit the road fairly early. The plan is to drive back through the Navajo reservation and Grand Canyon National Park again, except we will do it during the daylight this time. Novel idea.

Arizona, Day 3 - The Grand Canyon!

2008-09-29T19:58:00.015-04:00

AZ Hwy 64 on the way to Tusayan

We were both a little startled when we awoke this morning to find that Kelley's face was swollen, especially near and around her cheeks. She located a white patch on one of her tonsils, and she decided she'd call her doctor later on to see if perhaps he might be willing to prescribe an antibiotic over the phone (she was currently recovering from what had been diagnosed last week as strep throat). We checked out of the motel, loaded the car, and we were off again. There was a Denny's close by, so we ate a hearty breakfast. While we were there, Kelley got in touch with her doctor's office, and she was advised to visit a local urgent care center. We decided that we would go on our Grand Canyon tour and then locate an urgent care center after that. After we finished our breakfast, we were back on the road---this time to Tusayan AZ, a small community near the south entrance to the Grand Canyon, where we were scheduled to meet our guide for our Grand Canyon Sunset Tour.

The McDonald's in Tusayan AZ, our tour meeting place

We made better time than I had hoped, and we actually ended up in Tusayan a couple of hours before our tour was scheduled to begin. There is a National Geographic Visitor Center in Tusayan, so we ventured there, as it was very conveniently located across the street from McDonald's. Actually, everything is across the street or next to McDonald's...this is a tiny community.

The main drag in Tusayan as viewed from the McDonald's parking lot

We watched the Grand Canyon IMAX movie there, which not only showed some breathtaking shots of the canyon, but it also shared the history of this natural wonder.

The National Geographic Visitor Center in Tusayan

Afterwards, we did some shopping at a trading post/souvenir store. I can now honestly say that I have tasted prickly pear candy, and I do not care for it in the slightest. It's made from the fruit of the prickly pear cactus. I hear that it's an acquired taste, but I didn't acquire it. It's a jelly candy, and I found it to be rather sour. I don't like sour candy, but if you do like it, then you'd probably like this stuff. I ate a piece and threw the rest away.

Finally, our meeting time of 3:30 p.m. arrived, and we drove over to the McDonald's parking lot. We met 3 British couples who were also awaiting the arrival of our guide. Joe arrived and informed the Brits that they would be on another bus with their guide, Jared. Kelley and I were assigned to Joe's bus. An Indian couple, Vijay and Meera, joined us.

Our tour vehicle...that's Kelley inside

We drove to the Quality Inn to pick up seven more passengers---two Australian families who were traveling together. Out of a total of 17 passengers on this tour, Kelley and I were the only Americans. The rest were Brits, Aussies, and Indians; Joe laughingly called it the "British Empire Tour", which I thought was a rather intelligent and clever observation. Anyway, we picked up our Aussie friends, and we were on our way.

My view in the tour vehicle...that's Joe driving

We made our way deep into the Kaibab National Forest. Joe pointed out various plants and trees that were growing there, including mistletoe and juniper trees, some of which were hundreds of years old. Camping is permitted in much of the forest; Joe showed us six miles of forest that were burned from just one campfire that was left untended. It burned up to the side of the road, jumped over the road, and continued to destroy trees on the other side.

We saw several mule deer, including a huge buck that made Joe, an avid hunter, drool. I thought they were beautiful for other reasons. We also saw a herd of elk, but they were too far into the woods to get a decent photo. I was, however, able to capture a photo of a flock of wild turkeys that we saw.

Run, turkeys, run!

One of the most interesting things that Joe showed us was a man-made watering hole that had been donated by a local sportsmen's association. Arizona is drought-ravaged, and the sportsmen's association was concerned that the wild animals would die from thirst. So the individual members donated their personal money (Joe says the National Park Service will try to take credit for it) to build this thing. It didn't come from the money made from issuing hunting licenses---it came from the members' own pockets. Tanks were built in order to store the water. Hopefully, the snow will melt and fill the tanks naturally; if not, water is hauled in on tanker trucks. They built a roof over the tanks in order to prevent it from evaporating. The result is a watering hole that never dries up. We saw a huge footprint there that Joe identified as that of a bull elk. I thought this contraption was pretty ingenious. The water looks pretty gross, but Joe said it's fine for the animals, as their systems can handle it. If humans were to drink, however, it would certainly need to be purified first.

These are the tanks that are covered by the metal roof

The "watering hole"

We then headed to Grandview Lookout where there is an active lookout ranger station. We were permitted to climb this 80-foot steel tower that was constructed by the Civilian Conservation Corps in 1936.

The Grandview lookout tower

From the top, you can view The Painted Desert, the Grand Canyon, and the San Francisco Peaks. I'm proud to say that my 41-year-old body made it to the top with relatively mild discomfort. It was 80 feet of all stairs, baby! Needless to say, the views were breathtaking (no pun intended). I'm fine with heights---I enjoy them, even. I love getting higher and then enjoying the view. But it's the coming down part that makes me nervous. As I descended the tower, my knuckles were white; I was hanging on for dear life. It was a small price to pay, however, for the marvelous experience. We could only go up four people at a time, so we talked and explored as we awaited our turns. Joe shelled an acorn nut for me, and I ate it. It was pretty bitter and the taste was "interesting".

Joe talks with one of the Aussie families

The Aussie kids loved listening to Joe and asking him questions

Part of the Grand Canyon as viewed from the top of the tower

Looking down from the lookout tower...whew.

And then it was on to Grandview Point to view the Grand Canyon as the sun was setting. Words cannot describe what I saw, and that is the truth. There were controlled burnings going on nearby, and the smoke made the canyon a little hazy thus muting the colors. I still thought it was pretty good, though.

The pyramid-shaped peak is nicknamed "Vishnu"

This one is nicknamed "Sinking Ship"

Need I say more?

We got back to McDonald's a little after 7 p.m., and Kelley and I were eager to get back on the road, as we had a 2 1/2 to 3 hour drive to Page AZ ahead of us. By this time, Kelley's swelling and pain had increased, and she was starting to feel pretty bad. Things had most definitely gotten worse since this morning. I asked Joe if he could tell me of the closest medical clinic; he said there was one on the park (which we would be driving through). He said the next one before Page was probably in Cameron. We found the one in the park, but it was already closed. We decided we would just go to Page and find the hospital there. So we drove on. And on. And on. Had I known that AZ Hwys. 64 and 89 were so desolate and dark at night, I would have planned this part of the trip much differently. I have an adventurous spirit, and I can be rather fearless when I travel. However, I'm smart enough to know when to be creeped out and to back down when I know I've bitten off more than I can chew. For most of the 143 miles that I drove that night, I was scared and feeling very wary. I was praying. When I say "dark", I mean that the only light was coming from my headlights. There was a new moon this night, so we had no moonlight. There are very few road signs. The only reason that I knew I was going in the right direction was because of the dashboard compass. We were completely and utterly surrounded by total darkness. There were hardly any cars on the road with us. I had no idea what we were passing; we could have been on the edge of a cliff or at the edge of an expansive desert for all I know. I was keeping an eye out for the reflective eyes of wildlife (especially elk) crossing the road. Joe had sufficiently frightened me with tales of people hitting elk and dying on impact or being critically injured. If we had car trouble, we would have been on our own for the night. There was no cell phone service. We would have had to spend the night in the car and wait for morning. It was too dark to even try to walk anywhere. Kelley was getting worse, and I became increasingly afraid. She was becoming more swollen...what if her breathing became obstructed? What if her blood glucose either shot up or plummeted? I found myself trying to remember where I saw her put her glucometer and her insulin just in case I needed it. I took a mental inventory of the food we had with us---what could she eat that would bring her glucose up to a normal level? If we did have to stop, anyone could come along and do anything they wanted to with us, and no one would ever be the wiser. I silently continued to pray.

Finally, we came upon the city limits of Page. I saw streetlights in the distance, and I got a signal on my cell phone. I used the navigation system to find the nearest hospital, which was about 6 miles away. We went straight to Banner Health Page Hospital, which is a small hospital. However, the service there was the best I have ever seen. Ever. And I have seen a lot of hospitals. I sat with Kelley as she got registered and was then asked to sit in the waiting room. I left her momentarily to go check into the motel. If we were in for a long night in the ER, I thought it would be great if all we had to do afterwards was to flop into bed. I got us checked in and hauled all of our luggage into the room. I returned to the hospital about 20 minutes later to find that Kelley was no longer in the waiting room. I was impressed that she had already been called back to the treatment area. So I sat and watched. A guy who was pretty drunk was brought in by the cops; the left side of his face was swollen and bloody. He loudly claimed that some guy had "fucking coldcocked" him for no reason at all..."I didn't do nuthin'!" he yelled. Security had to ask him several times to be quiet and to watch his language, but to no avail. The policemen took him outside, and I heard him yelling at them at the tops of his lungs. There was also a young guy hunched over in a wheelchair, crying and holding his stomach. No one seemed particularly alarmed, including his mother and younger brother who were with him. So I sat and watched. A male nurse came out and called his name. His mother and younger brother wheeled him through the double doors. As the doors were closing I heard the nurse ask in a bored tone, "Have you been drinking again?" "Yeah", I heard the young man say.

John, the very kind and attentive patient representative asked me if I wanted to go back to the treatment area to sit with Kelley, and I accepted his invitation. Kelley and I sat (well, she laid) in Exam room #1. They have flat screen TVs in their exam rooms!! So we watched "Seinfeld" as we waited for the doctor. John (a different one than the patient rep), the nurse, was a good man. He was kind and respectful, and we enjoyed talking to him. Dr. Elizabeth Faulk was the doc on duty that night, and I just have to say that I wish she lived near me so that she could be my doctor. She actually got a pillow for Kelley and she put it in the pillow case even. She brought each of us a soda. Dr. Faulk was intelligent, helpful, humble, and informative. She knew that Kelley was a nurse, so she talked to her on a professional level while remembering that Kelley was also a sick person who was far far from home. The three of us were betting that Kelley's mono test would come back positive. Surprisingly, her mono test and her strep test came back negative. Dr. Faulk was stumped, but she remained proactive. She called an ENT guy in Flagstaff and consulted over the phone. Dr. Faulk then offered Kelley the options of being admitted to the hospital in order to be monitored and receive IV antibiotics or she could be discharged on oral antibiotics and hope for the best. Dr. Faulk left us to talk, and I told Kelley that my gut said she should remain in the hospital. Since no one had any idea of what was happening or what was going to happen, maybe we should let it play out here in the safety of a hospital rather than at the Motel 6. Kelley agreed (meanwhile, we joked about this being like an episode of "House"). She gave me a small list of things she would need overnight, and I returned to the motel and gathered them. I went back to the hospital with her stuff, and we confirmed with Dr. Faulk that Kelley would indeed be admitted. Dr. Faulk called the admitting doc, and he agreed that an inpatient admission was appropriate. Kelley had been given some morphine at this point, so she was feeling allllll right. By this time, it was 2:30 a.m., and Kelley dispatched me back to the motel so that I could get some sleep. I hated to leave her, but 1) I knew she was in great hands at this place, plus I was listed as the contact person if anything were needed and 2) I was exhausted and wanted to fall into a bed.

I had not eaten a meal since Denny's that morning, and I was famished; but there is not much available at 2:30 a.m. in Page. I did find a gas station called Maverick's. I stumbled into there and grabbed a sandwich, a can of Pringles, two granola bars, and 2 bottles of Lipton Diet Green Tea. I returned to the motel and collapsed onto the bed. I have eaten my tasty and nutritious dinner, and I'm getting ready to fall asleep to the sounds of "M*A*S*H" on TV Land.

The Colorado River trip scheduled for tomorrow is kind of iffy at this point. It will depend on what the doctor says when he sees her tomorrow. I'm hoping that it will work out for both of us to go. We shall see.

Arizona, Day 2 - The Diamondbacks Win With a Walk-off...Walk?

2008-09-28T22:00:00.018-04:00

The front exterior of Chase Field in Phoenix, Arizona

We woke up this morning to a hot day in Phoenix. After we showered and dressed, we found an IHOP and ate breakfast. I was famished because my stomach was still on Eastern time and believed it to be well after lunchtime. And then we wandered over to downtown Phoenix to look for Chase Field so we could catch the Diamondbacks game versus the Colorado Rockies. Thanks to my handy dandy Verizon Wireless navigation system on my cell phone, we found the stadium rather easily. It was still about three hours before game time, so parking was easy to find. As a matter of fact, we parked about 2 blocks away from the stadium for a measly $10! Boy, this is a far cry from catching a game at Yankee Stadium.

The gates weren't scheduled to open until around 11 a.m., so we walked around the outside of the stadium and explored our surroundings.

Giant bats outside of Chase Field

On the outside, the stadium isn't so impressive, in my humble opinion. It resembles a warehouse or an airplane hangar.

Meh.

The inside, however, is magnificent! We entered the gates and rode the escalator up to the 300 level.

Looking down on the Chase Field grounds

There are some beautiful murals painted in the hallways of the stadium.

One of several murals that are painted on the hallway walls

The field is beautiful. The temperature in Phoenix today was around 102 degrees, so the roof was closed, and the A/C kept the indoor temperature to a perfect 75 degrees.

The full view from Sec 317 Row F Seat 11

Randy Johnson was the starting picture for the Diamondbacks season finale today. On a personal level, I do not care for him. However, as a baseball fan, I cannot deny his phenomenal talent; it was very exciting to watch him pitch in person. We ended up watching a real pitcher's duel between Johnson and the Rockies' Ubaldo Jimenez. As a matter of fact, the Rockies were winning 1-0 (thanks to a Rockies baserunner that reached base because of a throwing error by the D-backs' third basemen) up until the bottom of the 8th inning. I thought it would be a terrible shame for Johnson to pitch such a great game but to still take the loss. Chris Young came through for Johnson, however, and hit a 1-run HR in the bottom of the 8th inning. The D-backs fans LOVE Randy Johnson. They were rooting hard for him to earn win #295.

Johnson pitches to Clint Barmes

After he pitched the top of the 9th, Johnson walked back to the dugout and was met with a thunderous ovation. The crowd cheered louder and louder until Johnson emerged from the dugout to tip his hat.

The D-backs managed to load the bases in the bottom of the 9th. Chris Young was the hero again---he worked a walk off of Luis Vizcaino, and the winning run scored.

Chris Young watches game-winning ball four come across the plate.

Understandably, the D-backs were excited to win a close game, and they celebrated. The 45-year-old Johnson pitched a complete game. His final line read 2 hits, 0 earned runs, 1 walk, and 9 strikeouts. Wow. Not bad for a 45-year-old, eh?

The Diamondbacks celebrate

The Diamondback fans are great. I saw signs that read "We still love our D-backs", "We'll be back next year", and "We love you whether you're #1 or #2". These fans showed a lot of unconditional support. We Yankee fans could learn something from them.

Leaving Chase Field was just as easy as getting to it. Within 15 minutes, we were on the road towards Flagstaff, which is about 150 miles north of Phoenix. We stopped by a Walmart on our way. Kelley needed a new suitcase (the wheels were broken on her old one), and I needed a new backpack ( a cat peed in mine sometime, apparently, right before I packed it. I suspect it was Gus retaliating for my failed attempt to drag him from underneath my bed on Friday for a trip to the vet). We were treated to a beautiful and scenic drive as we climbed about 4000 ft up into the mountains of northern Arizona. When we left Phoenix, the temperature was 99 degrees F. By the time we reached Flagstaff, it had dropped to 59 degrees.

A sunset from one of our stops on I-17 North

We were both pretty hungry at this point, so we checked into our motel and headed out immediately to grab some dinner. We found the main drag in Flagstaff and after a quick stop in Walgreen's (I discovered that Motel 6 doesn't provide hair dryers in the rooms, so I wanted to buy a small travel-sized one), we found a local joint called Stromboli's . We ordered a NY style pizza with pepperoni and fresh garlic, and it was delicious! We then headed back to the motel to crash and try to get a good night's sleep. We see the Grand Canyon tomorrow!

Arizona, Day 1 - Welcome to Phoenix

2008-09-27T21:33:00.010-04:00

Though it's only 6:30 p.m. here, my mind and my body tell me that it's really 9:30 p.m., and I am winding down. I'm in my pajamas sitting up in bed in our hotel room/efficiency in mid-town Phoenix.

My friend, Kelley, and I caught our 9:20 a.m. flight this morning from Charlotte with little fanfare. The lines at the airport were long, but they moved quickly. We flew to Detroit for a connecting flight, where it was a chilly 61 degrees. I'd like to take a moment here to tell you how much I love the Detroit airport, primarily because of the magnificent bathrooms. The stalls are huge---it's nice to find an airport bathroom that contains stalls designed for people who might have (gasp!) luggage with them. The doors and walls are low to the ground and high to the ceiling; hence, no one can reach under or over to snatch your bags while you're sitting in a most vulnerable position. Another nifty feature is the Express Tram. It's a shuttle that carries people from terminal to terminal, and the nifty part is that the track is about 21 ft above the main floor of the airport. I know, I know...it doesn't take much to excite me. But I do have fun riding the tram and watching the action on the airport floor below me.

We had a brush with greatness on our Detroit - Phoenix flight. We sat with a pleasant gentleman who initiated an animated discussion about the upcoming election when he overheard Kelley and I mention that we were polar opposites regarding our political views. He was quiet for awhile and worked on his laptop, and then we began to talk again. He lives in Massachusetts, but received his MFA degree at UNC-Greensboro. He was fun to talk to, and he shared a picture of his adorable young daughter with us. We discussed our various reasons for traveling to Phoenix, and he mentioned that he was on a book tour. As it turns out, this fellow was author Steve Almond. He told us about his book entitled "Candyfreak", and I made a mental note to Google both his book and him. His website is very good, and the reviews that he has received are most impressive. He even received accolades from Amy Sedaris (she was brilliant in the Comedy Central series "Strangers With Candy"), one of my favorite comedians. I'll be purchasing one or two of his books online tonight after I finish this entry.

The flight itself was a long one. As time went on, I could sense the people around me growing restless. They were no longer content to sit quietly and read or listen to their iPods. Portable DVD players were being played at loud volumes, children's electronic toys could be heard bleeping and blipping noisily, and the overall noise level was growing. I thought to myself that if airlines were to ever allow passengers to use cell phones in-flight, there will be chaos. Mutiny even.

As we touched down in Phoenix, a flight attendant made a request over the P.A. system: "Due to the excessive heat outside, please pull the shades down on your windows before you leave the plane." Oy. That's never a good sign. Yes, it was a balmy 102 degrees in Phoenix, and the heat all but knocked me over when I walked off the plane. It felt like someone was blasting a hair dryer about 4 inches away from my face. It's true what they say, however...it is dry heat. So we had that going for us.

I met a cute young guy from New Jersey working behind the Enterprise rental car counter. He saw that I'm from North Carolina, and he asked how far I live from Charleston SC. He mentioned that he has a friend who plays for the Charleston River Dogs, the single A affiliate of my beloved New York Yankees. I asked his friend's name since I like to keep up with the minor league players, too. His friend's name is David Williams, and I will keep that name in mind as more Baby Bombers move up through the ranks.

We picked up our white Chevy Impala and found our way to the hotel. We were extremely hungry as neither of us had eaten much today. We decided that when in Rome, we should do as the Romans...so we looked for some regional cuisine to have for dinner. I flipped through the yellow pages, and I found a restaurant in Tempe called Z Tejas that offers southwestern cuisine. The food was absolutely delicious! Instead of the usual basket of rolls or muffins, this place serves up a pan of freshly baked cornbread, and it's even still in the iron skillet when it's brought to the table. There were actually kernels of corn in it, and it was served with honey butter. And yes. I took a picture of it.

Mmmmmm.

I ordered Jack's 5-Cheese Macaroni & Achiote Chicken. To call it "delicious" is a gross understatement. It's made with bleu, Jack, cheddar, parmesan, and Romano cheeses, finished with toasted bacon gratin (I copied that straight from the menu). I could eat that stuff everyday until I die, and I would never ever get sick of it. I'm serious.

Kelley ordered a frozen margarita that was much too strong for tastes, so it was mostly untouched. Had I not been driving later, I would have gladly helped her out---in spite of the fact that my history with tequila is not so favorable. It happened during my freshman year in college, but hey--that's another blog post altogether.

So tomorrow it's off to Chase Field to watch the Diamondbacks take on the Colorado Rockies. There's not much at stake at this point, as both teams are already eliminated from playoff contention. However, I will get to see the great Randy Johnson pitch. I am looking forward to that, although I'm still pissed that he wasn't so great during his brief stint with the Yankees. Anyway, he can throw the hell out of a baseball; as my brother Grant advised, "Don't blink." I am also excited about seeing a new (to me, anyway) baseball stadium.

And that is it for Day 1. Stay tuned.

A Clear Illustration of the Proposed Bailout

2008-09-26T20:37:00.001-04:00

Final Game at Yankee Stadium

2008-09-21T23:59:00.002-04:00

7:52 p.m. - Whitey Ford was just introduced. Could he be any cuter??

7:54 p.m. - There's Catfish Hunter's widow to represent her husband tonight. I'm already a little weepy. She just joined Whitey and Don Larsen on the mound...she asks "Am I the only broad?"

7:55 p.m. - They're not booing! They're saying "Gooooooooooooose!"

7:57 p.m. - There's David Wells. Meh.

8:01 p.m. - Oh boy. Bobby Murcer's wife and children. I'm this close to openly weeping at this point. The reception they're receiving is beautiful.

8:02 p.m. - One word: BERNIE!!!! I LOVE him! I'm still mad at the Yankees for not offering him a contract in 2007.

8:04 p.m. - Bernie's standing ovation is still going on. Wow!

8:06 p.m. - They're still screaming and chanting his name. :)

8:10 p.m. - The starting line up for the last game at the real Yankee Stadium is introduced. Lukewarm receptions for A-Rod, Giambi, and Cano.

8:13 p.m. - YAYYY!! Jorge to catch the ceremonial first pitch!!!! I was just thinking how sad it is that he's on the DL and not able to catch tonight. And Babe Ruth's daughter will throw the pitch. How wonderful!

8:21 p.m. - A very touching commercial...Yogi Berra reminiscing about Yankee Stadium. "Yankee Stadium will still be right here" as he gestures towards his heart. **tear**

8:23 p.m. - I would have given almost anything to be there tonight. I mean that. If I had $10,000 to pay for a field seat tonight, I would have gladly paid it. I'm serious.

8:26 p.m. - Thank you, Joe Morgan, for choosing this moment to remind everyone "This is no Game 7, because the Yankees will be eliminated from the playoffs this year." What a jerk.

8:31 p.m. - Awwww. Jorge is out at Monument Park taking pictures. What a nice reminder that most of these guys are simply baseball fans---just like me.

8:36 p.m. - Here we go. The last first pitch. Sigh.

8:46 p.m. - The Red Sox won today. That means that any Yankees loss from here on out will ensure that the Red Sox clinch at least the Wild Card, and the Yankees will then be officially eliminated from the playoffs. Please don't let that happen tonight. Not this game.

8:49 p.m - Hey!! Andy just got his 2000th strikeout. Yay.

8:50 p.m. - Hey!! Andy just gave up a triple. Boo.

8:52 p.m. - Boo! Kevin Millah!! (Millar)

8:55 p.m. - Crap! 1-0, Orioles. Settle down, Andrew.

8:56 p.m. - ESPN keeps listing lots of Yankee Stadium facts and figures in the ticker at the bottom of the screen. I'm learning so much! Note to self: Look for DVD and/or book documenting entire history of Yankee Stadium.

9:26 p.m. - 3-run HR from Hot Johnny Damon!! I LOVE that man! So cute...jumping up and high-fiving in the dugout! So so cute.

9:36 p.m. - I say again---I LOVE Johnny Damon. My heart will break if he's not a Yankee next year.

9:46 p.m. - Crap! O's tie it up...3-3. Middle of the 4th.

9:48 p.m. - No matter how many times I watch the footage of Chris Chambliss' walk-off ALCS-winning HR against the Royals in 1976, I never stop getting pissed and frustrated at those idiot fans who charged the field and blocked the basepaths before Chambliss finished running the bases. The look of panic and frustration on his face as he's shoving people to the side and pushing them down really stresses me out. Don't those pinheads know that the HR doesn't count if each of the bases are not touched?? Arrrgggh.

9:54 p.m. - A 2-run shot by Jose Molina! Yanks take the lead!! Suh-weet. I wonder if he will be the last Yankee to hit a HR in Yankee Stadium...?

10:03 p.m. - It was a rough start, but it looks as if vintage Andy has found his way to the mound. That was a very quick inning for him. Yanks are up 5-3, middle of the 5th.

10:10 p.m. - Did they just say "official closing ceremony" in November? ROAD TRIP!!!

10:11 p.m. - Joe Morgan and Jon Miller are speculating that A-Rod hasn't been accepted by Yankees fans because he hasn't won a World Series ring. Bullhockey. A-Rod hasn't been accepted by the fans because he is a selfish mercenary. A-Rod could win 10 WS rings with the Yankees, and I will still believe that he hasn't earned his pinstripes. Johnny Damon and Xavier Nady haven't won WS rings with the Yankees either, but they are Yankees, as far as I'm concerned--because of their work ethics and apparent joy for playing baseball.

10:19 p.m. - The night's over for Andy Pettitte...and he did well! He's in line for the W. The crowd chanted his name over and over again until he finally came out of the dugout and acknowledged them. It's up to the bullpen now. Eeep!

10:22 p.m.- Look at Reggie Jackson! He just took a picture with a young fan...and Reggie himself took the picture! He held the camera up in front of them and snapped it. What a good guy.

10:27 p.m. - Jose Veras is doing okay. There are 2 outs, but there are also 2 men on base. Joe G's bringing Phil Coke to get this last out.

10:34 p.m. - Struck. Him. Out!!!

10:37 p.m. - Reggie Jackson's in the broadcast booth. I love listening to his stories. I remember watching Game 6 of the 1977 World Series when Reggie hit those 3 HRs. I was 10 years old, and that was the moment I fell in love with the Yankees mystique.

10:57 p.m. - Good job, Joba!

10:59 p.m. - This Irish Tenor guy's voice moves me to tears. I'm usually not a "God Bless the U.S. of A!" type of person...but looking at the American flag while listening to him sing "God Bless America" is pretty damned touching.

11:12 p.m. - Yikes! That was ugly...thank you, O's! Yanks up 6-3, middle of the 7th.

11:17 p.m. - O's helped us out a little bit there, too. Oy.

11:18 p.m. - Pudge on deck!!! (swoon)

11:19 p.m. - Cano with a sac fly...Yanks up 7-3!!

11:20 p.m.. - Hmmmm...by my count, the O's should have two errors rather than one. I guess the scorer is feeling generous tonight.

11:24 p.m. - Of course, you let Mo close it out tonight. It doesn't matter if it's a save situation or not. You give the ball to Mo for the last game at the real Yankee Stadium.

11:29 p.m. - Joe G is letting the youngsters play. Cody Ransom and Brett Gardner are in. What a great memory in their young careers.

11:31 p.m. - The O's are looking very Bad News Bear-ish for the last couple of innings.

11:32 p.m. - Derek Jeter is 0-5 tonight. That ain't right.

11:33 p.m. - "Enter Sandman" is being played for the last time at Yankee Stadium now...announcing the entrance of MARIANO RIVERA! If you have never been at Yankee Stadium while Metallica blares over the P.A. system as Mo comes onto the field, then you will never understand how it feels to be there--no matter how hard I try to explain it. Electric!!!

11:37 p.m. - Out 1. I can't believe the final game at Yankee Stadium is almost over.

11:39 p.m. - 2 down.

11:39 p.m. - Jeter is leaving the game to a huge ovation. He comes out of the dugout to tip his hat. What a moment.

11:41 p.m. - The Yankees win! Thaaaaaaaaaaaaa Yankees win the final game at Yankee Stadium 7-3! I could just cry.

11:43 p.m. - Jose Molina (of The Catching Molinas) hit the final HR at Yankee Stadium. How about that?

11:43 p.m. - Frank Sinatra singing "New York, New York" is blaring over the P.A. system at Yankee Stadium for the last time. I could just cry.

11:45 p.m. - Players from both sides are scooping up dirt from the pitcher's mound. Even the stars want a souvenir!

11:46 p.m. - Jorge looks like he could cry. How disappointing for him to not be able to catch tonight. I could just cry.

11:47 p.m. - The Captain is speaking to the crowd, and each player is tipping his cap to the fans. I am now wiping tears from my face.

11:52 p.m. - Watching The Captain lead the entire team as they walk around the perimeter of the stadium and interact with fans is not helping matters for me, emotionally speaking.

11:56 p.m. - What a marvelous celebration! No one seems to want to leave. Players are lingering around on the field, and the stands are still full. I guess everyone's coming to the realization that this is the last time they'll ever be in Yankee Stadium, and they want to savor it.

11:57 p.m. - I love Mariano Rivera's accent.

Midnight - Goodbye, Yankee Stadium. Thank you for everything.

All Cried Out---Not

2008-09-16T22:45:00.006-04:00

I thought I had finished all of my crying over Tucker. However, I discovered two nights ago that this is not the case after all.

The night that Tucker died, I paid the vet clinic almost $400; I put it on a credit card with no qualms because 1) Tucker was worth every penny and more...and 2) I knew that I would receive some reimbursement from my pet insurance policy. I have put off filing the claim because it was too painful to have to deal with it at the time. I even considered not filing at all because I simply did not want to re-live any of it (you have to complete a narrative explanation of the medical event). But as I looked over my Capital One statement on Sunday night, it occurred to me that I need to file this claim so that I can get my balance paid down. Besides, it had already been 2 months and 18 days since he'd died (but who's counting?); that was ample time for me to get myself into a better emotional state, right?

Wrong.

I began to fill out the claim form, and--to my surprise--I cried. As I wrote his name, his gender, and his breed, the tears began to flow. By the time I finished writing the entire blow-by-blow for the narrative portion, I was sobbing as hard as I did on the night that he died. I cried for a good half hour afterwards until I finally fell asleep.

I called the after hours clinic yesterday to ask if I could take the claim form there this week so that the attending vet (Dr. Ewing) could sign it. I started to cry during the conversation, and I kept crying afterwards. I'm quite certain that I'll cry when I enter the clinic tomorrow night and wait for Dr. Ewing to sign my form.

Last night, I forced myself to watch videos I made of Tucker. This was the first time I've watched any of them since he died. I thought that I should just bite the bullet and meet my grief head on. Over and over and over again I watched the video I've posted here. I cried each time I watched it, but in a good way. I felt liberated and relieved after having done so.

I wanted to share the video here, but the file was too big to upload onto Blogger. Much to my chagrin, I posted it on You Tube so that I can embed it here. I'm reluctant to use You Tube because this video is very special to me, and I really do not want to expose it to the cowardly Internet idiots who post abusive and mean-spirited comments while they hide behind their online anonymity. Therefore, I have disabled the comments function on You Tube. The idiots can look but they can't touch.

This was taped last October. I had just bought a new comforter set for my bed, and I was attempting to put the new bed skirt on. Tucker showed up and "helped". I love this video because you can see his bright eyes and sweet face. His facial expressions were always so sweet and knowing. He had just turned 13, but you can see how playful he was. He was definitely in touch with his inner kitten.

Tina Fey IS Sarah Palin

2008-09-14T14:17:00.001-04:00

Tina Fey and SNL listened to the cries of the masses, and they delivered! I knew she would nail it!

Remembering 9/11

2008-09-11T21:03:00.008-04:00

On the morning of September 11 2001, I was sitting at my desk at work trying to get caught up on some paperwork. Our receptionist informed me that I had a phone call; I picked up my phone and greeted the caller. It was my mother, and she said she was calling all of her kids just to tell us that she loved us. While I thought this was sweet, it also struck me as a little odd. I asked, "Is everything okay, Mom?" She asked if I had heard about the plane that crashed into the World Trade Center. I told her I had heard something about it, and I figured it was a small privately owned plane being piloted by someone who didn't quite know what they were doing. I mean really---how else could you explain an airplane accidentally running into the tallest building in the United States? This was the only explanation that was comprehensible to me. Mom then informed me that two planes had flown into the World Trade Center, and another plane had just crashed into the Pentagon. Mom said "I think we're under attack." I told Mom that I loved her, and I quickly hung up and went downstairs to the offices there to watch the news on television.

Co-workers, patients, and family members had already gathered around the television. Not a word was being spoken. Each person was staring blankly at the television screen as they watched the towers burning. I joined them and stared silently at the television as the CNN crew reported on the events unfolding in front of us. When the first tower collapsed, my heart simply broke. Up until that moment, I had hope that there would be more survivors than fatalities. I said out loud (to no one in particular) "I wonder how many people just died?" When the second tower collapsed, I started to cry and I had to walk away from the television.

I went home to my apartment for lunch because I wanted to call my friend who lived in the NYC suburbs and worked in Manhattan. I called her home number and was pleasantly surprised (and thrilled!) to hear her voice when she answered the phone. She had not gone to work that day, and she was home with her sons. Thankfully, she had already spoken with her husband (who also worked in Manhattan) and her brother (who worked and lived in Manhattan). They were both okay, but it didn't look like her hubby would be able to get out of Manhattan that day, so he was going to spend the night with his brother-in-law. I remember her voice sounded flat and sad.

I went back to work, but I was pretty useless for the rest of the day. We all were. One of my co-workers had a son who worked in the financial district, and we were all on edge until she finally received a phone call from him near the end of the workday. We were all relieved to know that he was safe.

I remember feeling sad and depressed for the rest of the day and for a few weeks afterwards. September 11 is a sad day for me. I watch the documentaries on The History Channel each year so that I can remember and reflect. Eight years later, the impact of that horrible day hits me just as hard as it did in 2001. I feel like it's my duty and my responsibility to remember and think about everyone who died in NYC, Washington DC, and Shanksville PA, as well as the survivors.

"Though all are different, all are great" ***

2008-09-10T21:02:00.010-04:00

As I was sitting with a dying patient the other night, her family and I began the inevitable discussion of life after death. The dying woman had been reaching her arms up towards the sky, and she periodically opened her eyes and appeared to be watching or looking at something or someone or someplace that was unseen by the rest of us. This behavior is common, and I see it at most every death with very few exceptions. Most of my patients are Christian, and they tell me they are unafraid of death because they know they are going to Heaven. However, what they are afraid of is the actual process of dying...the transition from this world into the next. Will there be pain? Will there be light? Will they make the transition by themselves? How will they know what to do? It is my personal belief that God is well aware of these fears. And so He eases that fear by sending someone from Heaven to assure the dying person and to guide them. A vast majority of my patients have conversations with people who are unseen by anyone else. More often than not, they see their deceased mothers. Sometimes it's a spouse, a father, or a child who has died. Sometimes they report seeing angels. This is what I believe was happening to the woman I was with the other night. She was seeing into the afterlife, and there were people she loved who were coming to greet her.

This experience got my wheels to turning about religion and the various religious beliefs that exist on this great big planet of ours. It has always been my nature to question the norm. I do not question it just for the sake of being argumentative. I do not question it because I am doubting my own beliefs. Usually, I am questioning simply out of curiosity. When I'm questioning religous beliefs, I find that people get defensive and tend to end the discussion rather quickly. It's not my intention to offend people; but I do like to talk about religion from a philosophical point of view, as well as a faith-based one. I like to ask lots of "what if" questions.

A co-worker of mine, who happens to be a nurse, shared with me that a recently deceased patient of hers had reported seeing Jesus prior to her death. The patient described Jesus has being Caucasian, having rosy cheeks, and having long brown hair. My co-worker smirked and cited this vision as evidence that Jesus' physical appearance was just as she herself had always pictured it...fair-skinned with long straight brown hair. I suggested that perhaps Jesus appeared to her patient specficially in that form so that she would recognize him. Perhaps Jesus did not look anything like that while he walked on the Earth, but if had he appeared to this woman in an unfamiliar form, she would not have recognized him. She may not have been open to this vision or been comforted by it, so he appeared to her in the only form that she knew. This seemed to offend my co-worker, and I guess I had rained on her parade a little bit. Again, it was not my intention to ruffle any feathers; I was truly only speculating out loud.

I once had a deaf patient who communicated only with American Sign Language. He had been deaf since birth, and he had never spoken a word or heard one. I was sitting with him as he was dying, and suddenly his eyes flew open. He pointed at something/someone unseen by me, and he followed it around the room with his eyes and with his finger. He looked at me with an incredulous expression on his face, as if to ask "Did you see that?" There was not an interpreter present, so I couldn't ask what he saw. I wondered if he saw angels, and that lead to another speculative question: Would an angel use sign language to speak to him? If an angel truly speaks (in the verbal sense) in a vision, wouldn't it stand to reason that he or she would speak in the native tongue of the person who is having the vision? So I had this beautiful image in my head of an angel using sign language to speak to my patient. I mentioned this to another co-worker, and she was pretty adamant that the angel wouldn't need to speak sign language because the patient would be "healed" and "perfect" upon entering Heaven, and he would be able to hear. I countered with "Maybe God doesn't consider deafness to be an imperfection...maybe that's something that we mortals have decided." What if "healing" someone who has known only deafness for his entire life would be like "healing" someone because they have blue eyes? My feeling was that perhaps if this patient has never heard a spoken word before, then there would be no need for him to have the ability to hear in Heaven...? My co-worker took great offense to this and snapped "Well, I know he's going to be perfect when he gets to Heaven, and he'll be healed from his deafness!" She walked away in a bit of a huff, thereby ending our debate.

So my questions ( I mean them rhetorically, but I'm open to reading responses) are these: When a person is seeing into the afterlife as they prepare to die, do they see the afterlife as it truly exists? Or is it all about one's own personal perception? Does God (or whatever Higher Being you believe in) send visions that are tailor-made to that person's personal beliefs? Visions that are manifested in a way that is consistent with that person's own experiences?

As I mentioned earlier, the community I serve is mostly Christian. After working eleven years with this hospice, I can count the number of non-Christian patients I've served on one hand. I've never been with a non-Christian in the last moments of his or her life. I think it would be interesting to sit with a Muslim, a Jew, a Hindu, or a member of another world religion and observe their behavior as they die. Will they also reach to Heaven? Will they see Jesus? Will they see angels? Will they see loved ones who have died? Or will their experience be something completely different because of their different perceptions and beliefs?

I will add these questions to my "Things to Ask God When I Get To Heaven" list.

***From "The Stairs", a song by INXS, referring to the different faiths around the world

Oh My God, I Loves Me Some Tennis!

2008-09-03T01:30:00.001-04:00

Novak Djokovic celebrates his 2008 Australian Open victory with his parents and two younger brothers

I have been sitting and watching so much freakin' U.S. Open coverage in the past week, I am truly surprised that I don't have bedsores.

I continued my annual Labor Day weekend tradition of watching U.S. Open coverage from 11a-11p on Saturday, Sunday, AND Monday. I made sure I was stocked up on food and supplies. I got up early so that I could take care of any errands before 11a. There was an hour break between 6 and 7p, so I'd try to do something productive during that hour---vacuum, pay bills online, exercise, and scoop out the litterboxes.

I'm especially watching the progress of Serbia's Novak Djokovic, my favorite player. He's currently ranked #3 in the world behind Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer. I love his passion and his humor, and I love how he loves his family. He's very funny...he's kind of known as the class clown on the professional tour. He's known for his famous impressions of other players. Check it out here.

Oh, and here's something I just happened to run across on YouTube. Apparently, some of the players (including some big names!) participated in some karaoke in Paris during the French Open. Here are the top 10...check out #1.

LET'S GO, NOVAK!!!

Superhero Quiz, Part Deux

2008-09-03T00:33:00.005-04:00

My disappointed baby cousin has pointed out that I inadvertently removed the link to the superhero quiz.

So I'm putting it here so that she (and anyone else) can take it.

Have at it, Elizabear, and be sure to let me know who you are! I predict that you'll be Superman....

Day 3 (And 4) in New York - Part 2: The U.S. Open (And Going Home)

2008-09-01T12:35:00.015-04:00

Monday night was the climax of my trip! Anyone who knows me also knows how badly I've wanted to attend the U.S. Open Tennis Championships since I was 12 years old.

I caught the "4" train to 59th and Lexington Ave and strolled the 5 blocks to Brooke's office building. I looked around a lot (as I always do when I'm walking around NYC) because I'm fascinated by the varying architecture. One of the most beautiful buildings I saw during my walk was the Central Synagogue, which is located on 55th St.

Central Synagogue

I met Brooke outside of her office building, and we headed over to a joint called Qdoba Mexican Grill to grab a quick dinner. I thought it was really good! It's kind of like Subway restaurant. You walk through the line and tell them what you want. Afterwards, we took the "N" train, and then transferred to the "7" train, which took us to the tennis center.

After we exited the train, the walk to the tennis center was very exciting to me. I could see the familiar landmarks that I see on television every year...except this time, they were looming in the horizon and getting bigger as we walked.

Getting closer! That's Arthur Ashe Stadium

It's a pretty long walk from the grounds entrance to Arthur Ashe Stadium, and the signs directing you were pretty much non-existent. My first impression of the U.S. Open staff is that they're quite bossy. From the moment we entered the grounds, we were surrounded by people barking orders through a bullhorn. "If you are carrying a bag of any size, you MUST move towards the left! You MUST move towards the left!" "If you have a laptop computer, you MUST move to the right and check it! Laptops are NOT allowed in the stadium!" etc, etc. Everyone obeyed, and we moved through metal barricades like cattle. I joked that I was waiting to be zapped with a cattle prod because I'm not a very fast walker (I prefer to blame that on my short legs).

There are beautiful colorful banners on display that feature the past U.S. Open champions

The brackets!

Our seats were in the upper level, so we got to ride several escalators. The trip up was a scenic one, and I took a few photos on the way up.

The Unisphere built in 1964 for the World's Fair

Action on surrounding courts

I was very excited about the view from our seats! On television, Arthur Ashe Stadium looks gigantic (it's the largest tennis facility in the world), and I thought the players might look like ants to us. Surprisingly, it's actually a pretty intimate setting! You know how on TV, the crowds are shushed at the beginning of each point? And they're not allowed to use flash photography? And no movement is allowed during points? And people are only allowed to leave or go towards their seats in between points? Well, that ain't the case with the upper level seats and we peasants who sit there. It was total anarchy, I tell you! People were chatting audibly on cell phones, chit chatting among themselves, and getting up and down during points. I was irked each time I had to stand up in order to allow some pinhead to pass in front of me with his beer and nachos during a point. I don't understand how a person can be present at such a monumental event and not want to soak in every moment. I suppose there will always be people around who aren't there because they love the sport. There are those who want to make an appearance because it's trendy to be able to say that you were there. I happen to be a tennis purist who deserves nothing less than front row courtside seats!

The view from Sec 340 Row F Seat 14

I forgot that this is the 40th anniversary of the U.S. Open. In 1968, the tournament became open to both professionals and amateurs, thus elevating the quality of tennis being played. Great Britain's Virginia Wade was the ladies' champion that year, and the late great Arthur Ashe became the first African American to win a major tennis title as he took the men's title. Because it was the 40th anniversary, the opening night ceremony was a pretty big bash--much to my thrilled surprise!! Mayor Michael Bloomberg spoke, and Academy award-winning actor Forest Whitaker hosted the ceremonies.

Mayor Michael Bloomberg

Forest Whitaker is introduced

A choir from Harlem called the Songs of Solomon performed, as did a youth drum corps called Drums of Thunder.

Songs of Solomon : An Inspirational Ensemble

Drums of Thunder

The magnificent Earth Wind & Fire performed! I kept waiting for them to belt out my favorite "September", but alas, it never came. Additionally, performers from the Broadway musical "Jersey Boys" sang some numbers from their show.

Earth Wind & Fire

The "Jersey Boys"

And finally...the highlight of the night for me! They introduced former champions of the U.S. Open! Many of my childhood idols were there, and it was all quite thrilling for me. The champions included Virginia Wade, Rod Laver, Stan Smith, Billie Jean King, Ilie Nastase, Chris Evert, John Newcombe, Guillermo Vilas, Tracy Austin, John McEnroe, Martina Navratilova, Ivan Lendl, Mats Wilander, Boris Becker , Gabriela Sabatini, Monica Seles, Lindsay Davenport, Marat Safin, Serena Williams, Venus Williams, Andy Roddick, Maria Sharapova, Svetlana Kuznetsova, and Roger Federer. Arthur Ashe was represented by his wife and daughter, Jeannie and Camren.

The Champions gather

The parade of champions. The lady in black in the middle is Gabriela Sabatini. She and Chris Evert are clasping hands as they walk by each other. That made me smile.

The colors were presented, and a giant American flag was unfurled as Earth Wind & Fire performed "God Bless America" along with Songs of Solomon.

This scene sent chills up my spine and gave me goosebumps.

Finally, we were ready to play some tennis! The night's matches featured the women's No. 2 seed Jelena Jankovic (Serbia) vs. CoCo Vandeweghe (United States) followed by the men's No. 9 seed James Blake vs. Donald Young (both from the United States).

The match between Jankovic and Vandeweghe was pretty anti-climactic, though Vandeweghe was fun to watch, and she hit some impressive shots...her serve is quite good. Jankovic was never truly tested, so we didn't get to see any glimpses of her brilliance. She wasn't really forced to exhibit her champion form. During her post-match interview, however, she was her usual charming and engaging self---she thanked the crowd for coming out, and we acknowledged her with a warm round of applause. She then autographed three tennis balls and hit them into the upper levels so that us peasants could have a shot at a souvenir.

That's Jankovic in the yellow dress receiving Vandeweghe's serve

And this is Jankovic hitting one of her autographed balls towards fans in the upper level seats

Donald Young is a 19-year-old U.S. Open rookie from Atlanta, and he gave James Blake a run for his money! These two put on a very exciting match that went 5 sets and well into the next morning (Blake won). At this point, the wind was blowing and it was actually pretty chilly! Brooke and I were exhausted and cold, so we left around 12:45 a.m. during the 4th set. Part of me hated to leave because we were witnessing a very exciting match! But the part of me that wanted to be warm and in bed won. The trains don't run quite as frequently during non-peak hours, so it was almost 2 a.m. by the time we got back to Brooke's place. Needless to say, we went straight to bed without much fanfare. We were both exhausted.

That's Blake at the bottom returning Young's serve

I got up early the next morning so that I could say my good-byes to Brooke before she left for work. Thankfully, she decided to go in a little late, so she had time to recover a bit more from her long and late night. We hugged as she was walking out the door and we said good-bye.

The balance on my Metrocard was enough for one more bus/subway ride, so I decided to take the $2 bus ride to the airport rather than the $15 cab ride. It's a little bit of a pain keeping up with luggage on the bus, especially when it's crowded (which it was), but it's worth saving the $13. I disembarked at the Delta terminal at LaGuardia, and I got my luggage checked within 10 minutes. I grabbed a slice of pizza at Sbarro's along with a bottle of water, and I plopped down at the gate with plenty of time to spare.

I'm happy to report that the flight back to Charlotte was uneventful AND on time. My suitcase came through on the baggage claim carousel very soon after we landed, and then I rode the shuttle to the daily parking garage. I was out like a flash, and I walked into my apartment around 6 p.m.

As always, I'm eager to get back to New York City ASAP! Hopefully, I'll be returning there as a new resident by the end of the year. I'm grateful for the trips to Westchester (north of NYC) and to Long Island, because it showed that I have other options of places to live if/when I become a student at NYU or Columbia U. Living in the city is going to be very expensive, and I think it would be very very difficult to live there as a poor college student. Brooke and her friends gave me some good advice about places to live that are right outside of the city, as well as the various modes of public transit that take you right into the city. The Long Island Railroad takes you to Penn Station, and the Metro-North takes you to Grand Central. Each of those locations is a short subway ride away from NYU. Knowing about these other options eases my mind and makes me feel more optimistic about my chances to succeed there. Once I have my master's degree and a job, then I'll look into completing my dream and moving into the city...preferably to Queens.

My application to NYU is almost complete, and I'll be putting it in the mail tomorrow. The NYU School of Social Work's website states they take 4-6 weeks to review an application and make a decision. Hopefully, I'll know something by the middle of October, and then I can start taking the next steps.

Stay tuned!

Day 3 in New York - Part 1: Hanging Out in Lower Manhattan

2008-08-29T23:56:00.037-04:00

Our subway station

I was awoken early on Monday morning by a recorded message on my cell phone telling me that my tour of Ground Zero in lower Manhattan had been cancelled. Sigh. I got out of bed so that I could wish Brooke a good day (and good luck---today's the day she tells her boss that she's resigning). After she left, I settled in front of the TV and thought about what I was going to do with my morning. I took a short nap and watched a little bit of trash TV, including one of Maury Povich's infamous "Who Da Baby Daddy?" episodes. I decided that I would head to lower Manhattan anyway and visit Battery Park, which is one of my favorite places to hang out. It's on the very southern tip of Manhattan, and it overlooks New York Harbor and the Statue of Liberty.

I ate a bowl of Cocoa Pebbles for breakfast. (Sidenote: Before Brooke left for work, she pulled all of her boxes of cereal from the top shelf and placed them on the counter for me because she knew I was too short to reach them myself.....aw. This struck me as both funny and sweet.) I showered, got dressed, and packed my messenger bag with everything I'd need that day, as well as that evening at the U.S. Open.

I walked to the subway stop (which is about 2 blocks from the apartment), and caught the "N" train into Manhattan. I got off at 42nd St & Times Square and transferred to the "1" train, which takes you all the way to Battery Park. Incidentally, the subway train runs above the ground while you're in Queens (would you call it the supraway?). I prefer that because I like to watch the scenery.

The view from the subway platform in Queens

As I said, Battery Park overlooks New York Harbor and the Statue of Liberty.

Lady Liberty as seen from the shore

The World War 2 Memorial is also there, and I like to linger there a bit and read the names on the walls.

The World War 2 Memorial

"1941***1945 Erected by the United States of America in proud and grateful remembrance of her sons who gave their lives in her service and who sleep in the American coastal waters of the Atlantic Ocean. INTO THEY HANDS O LORD"

Each of the walls contains names of men who died in WW2. They are categorized by their service branches.

I bought a hot sausage, cheese pretzel, and a bottle of water from a street vendor for lunch. While I ate, I watched a quartet of street acrobats who put on quite a show! Not only were they talented, they were personable and funny...their act was very entertaining!

I love the architecture of lower Manhattan. Older buildings are nestled in with the more contemporary and sleeker skyscrapers. I walked around and took photographs of what I thought were the most interesting buildings and combinations of buildings.

This is the Bowling Green subway station where you can catch the "4" and "5" trains. I love this little building!

While I was strolling around, I stumbled across the National Museum of the American Indian. I was bowled over even before I went in...the exterior of the museum is breathtaking!

The main entrance to the National Museum of the American Indian

I love museums, so I decided to enter and look around. Visitors have to go through security---it was almost like being at an airport! I had to walk through a metal detector after I laid my messenger bag on a conveyor belt that carried it through an x-ray machine. I think the most beautiful part of the interior of the museum was the rotunda! The ceiling was covered in panels of painting and drawings. I took photographs, but they hardly serve any justice. It is truly one of those experiences for which you must be present in order to appreciate the full effect of walking into this room.

After I finished at the museum, I caught the "4" train (at the cute little Bowling Green subway station I showed you) and headed uptown to meet Brooke outside of her office building so that we could head up to Flushing for Opening Night at the U.S. Open Tennis Champions tournament.

More to come!

Day 2 in NY: Out to Long Island

2008-08-28T19:36:00.026-04:00

On Sunday, we got up and spent the morning with our hosts. We ate breakfast, and then Brooke, Lauren, Alexander, and I headed out to Babies R Us so that Lauren could stock up on baby formula and Pampers. We stopped by our beloved Taco Bell and ordered tons of food to take back to the house for lunch. We all sat outside at their now famous patio table and ate lunch together. Shortly thereafter, we said good-bye, and Brooke and I headed to Long Island to meet her friend, Mosie.

Brooke and Mosie

After about a 45-minute drive, we arrived at Mosie's cute little apartment (I loved it!). We sat and talked for awhile, and then Mosie suggested that we head to the little village of Bayville which is located about 20 minutes away from her place. Bayville is located in the town of Oyster Bay, and it sits on the northern shore of Long Island.

We parked the car and wandered over to the beach. The Long Island Sound is a large and beautiful body of water. Actually, when we first arrived, I mistook it for the Atlantic Ocean.

The Long Island Sound. That's Connecticut on the other side.

We walked across the sand, and Brooke and I immediately took off our shoes with the intention of wading in the sound. As we approached the water's edge, we noticed several items that had washed up on shore---bottles, cans, the waistband of a pair of men's briefs, etc. We heard parents in the background yelling to their children "Don't go in the wah-tuh! Don't go in the wah-tuh!" Plus there was seaweed everywhere, and I haaaate being in the water with seaweed because I'm constantly being tricked into thinking there's a critter brushing up against my leg. So we reconsidered wading in the water and settled for standing right on the edge and admiring the view from there instead.

Don't go in the wah-tuh!

We walked across the street to the Bayville Adventure Park. They have an ice cream parlor there, and we stopped in and each ordered a treat. We realized right away that we are---er, maturing because we all agreed that the it was just too damned noisy in there. So we went out onto the patio to eat our ice cream. We were surrounded by screaming children, but it wasn't nearly as loud as it was inside.

We then walked to a different area of the beach and sat on a bench, and Mosie began to prep Brooke for a difficult conversation Brooke was to have with her boss the following day---she was going to tender her resignation. This was the first time that I had ever met Mosie. Based on my observations of her and things Brooke has told me about her, my first impression of Mosie is that she is really really really really smart. She seems to be very good at helping a person dissect a difficult decision that must be made. Mosie's a great sounding board, and she's good at pointing out the various outcomes and scenarios and then helping you prepare for each one. She'd make a great consultant. Next time I have a difficult decision to make, I just might call her and ask "What do I do!?!?"

On the way back to Mosie's place, we stopped by the private school at which she is an English teacher. She gave us a brief tour of the campus, and it is beautiful. It has a very collegiate feel to it.

We hung out at Mosie's place a while longer as we continued Brooke's prep session. Mosie initiated some role play in which she acted as Brooke's boss, and she peppered Brooke with questions, arguments, and counteroffers her boss would probably pose during this conversation. It was really quite good! We said good night and began the drive back to Queens.

We parked Brooke's car and walked a couple of blocks to her apartment---which I love, incidentally. It's a cozy 4th floor walk-up in a Greek neighborhood, and I think it's very cute!

The entrance to Brooke's apartment building

We both puttered around and did our own thing...Brooke called her Dad, and I got caught up on my e-mail and viewed some digital photos I had taken throughout the day. We inflated the air mattress and got the guestroom situated. Her two cats, Stanley and Lanikai, weren't too sure about the air mattress, so they investigated thoroughly.

"What the meow is this?"

We went to bed shortly afterwards, as we were both pretty pooped, and we both had to get up early the next morning. I thought I would sit up for awhile and watch some TV after Brooke went to bed, but I ended up dozing off in the recliner and waking up 30 minutes later with Lanikai curled up on my lap. I stumbled towards my room and crawled into bed. I love air mattresses! It was very comfy, and I was asleep within minutes.

Day 1 in New York: The 'Burbs

2008-08-27T23:50:00.021-04:00

The view as we touched down at LaGuardia. Who says New Yorkers aren't friendly?

My flight from Charlotte to LaGuardia was uneventful, and I was looking forward to dinner that night in the NYC suburbs with Lauren and Jayme, a married couple with whom Brooke is close.

Brooke met me outside of baggage claim, and we hugged as we loaded my suitcase into the trunk of her Mazda sedan. She mentioned, "Lauren wants us to pick up a patio table on our way to her house tonight." This made me laugh because Brooke said it so casually, "patio table" could have easily been replaced with "head of lettuce" or "bag of ice". The thought "How are we going to fit a patio table into this car?" flashed momentarily through my head, but it dissipated as suddenly as it appeared. It turned out to be rather prophetic.

We figured we'd walk into the first store we found, pick out a table, and head north for dinner. However, it seems that finding patio furniture in a northeastern state on the cusp of September is not all that easy. After visiting one Target and two Home Depots, we finally found a table at a gigantic liquidation discount store. We liked the table we saw on display, and we were delighted to find that there were plenty in stock AND it was on sale for 50% off! We looked at the box, looked at each other, and the question of "Is this going to fit in the car?" was introduced. Naturally, we had no tape measure with us. We examined the box from several different angles, and we knew it would be close. So we threw caution to the wind ('cuz that's how we roll) and decided to take a chance on it.

Brooke paid for it, and we pulled the car to the front of the store and waited for the table to be loaded. We looked at her car and decided that this would never work. The box was going to be too big. We shook our heads as we waited for the gentleman to bring the table out. We planned to tell him "Sorry, but it's not going to fit", get Brooke's money back, and head to Lauren and Jayme's sans table. A young guy rolled the table out with a hydraulic truck dolly, and another gentleman who appeared to be the manager came with him. Brooke popped her trunk, and the manager shook his head, saying "No, it's not going to work. It's impossible." However, his young employee was more optimistic. In a soft voice laced with what sounded to be an African accent, he stated that we could indeed get the table into Brooke's car. He tried to fit it in several ways, but it wasn't working. It was just barely too big, which made it all the more frustrating. We were standing around and shaking our heads when the young man asked, "What if we take it out of the box and load the pieces separately?" Our faces lit up as we enthusiastically agreed that this was a brilliant idea! Our young friend cut open the box with his box cutter, and we were cooking! Brooke and I tossed the legs, brace, and hardware into the trunk as the two men started to load the table top into the car.

Suddenly, it was no longer about the sale. It was no longer simply two employees trying to load a table for a customer. They turned into "guys" who now had a project. Come hell or high water, they were going to figure out how to get this tabletop loaded into Brooke's Mazda 3. They were driven by the challenge that had been set before them. Their eyes glazed over, and they went to work. Doors were opened and pushed to their maximum span, headrests were removed, seats were reclined, and billions of stryofoam particles were expelled. I was wondering where Brooke and I were going to sit if and when they did manage to get the tabletop loaded. I envisioned having to lay flat in the backseat while Brooke drove us to dinner.

And then somehow....somehow...the table slid in. They were able to shut all four doors and return both front seats to their upright positions. I clapped my hands and proclaimed that a miracle had just occurred. Her car reminded me of one of those bottles that contain a model ship. You don't know how the ship got inside, and you don't know how to get it out with breaking the bottle.

The drive up to Lauren and Jayme's was something of which Lucy and Ethel would have been proud. Bear in mind...the glass table top was balanced precariously on top of the headrests. One end was resting in the back window while the other teetered just behind our heads. Brooke tried to slow down when we came to tricky spots in the road, but it's impossible to dodge them all. I'd reach behind my head and brace the glass with my hands as we simultaneously yelled out "OHHHH!" each time we hit a bump or a dip. We'd cringe and listen for the sound of glass cracking, but it never came. At one point, I was laughing pretty hard. But only because the glass never broke.

We finally arrived at Lauren and Jayme's beautiful new home located just north of NYC. It's a gorgeous house set in an idyllic neighborhood...a perfect place to raise their new baby son, Alexander.

Lauren and Jayme's beautiful home

I finally got to meet little Alexander. He's the cutest and smilingest baby! His face is so expressive...he reminds me of Calvin from "Calvin and Hobbes". Everyone wanted to hold him. Lauren and Jayme were gracious enough to allow him to be passed around like a cigarette.

Brooke, Lauren, and li'l Alexander

Believe it or not, the tabletop came out of the car much more easily and quickly than it did going in (ain't that the way it always happens?). I will say, however, that the expression on Jayme's face was priceless when he initially looked inside of the car and realized we weren't exaggerating with the "model ship in a bottle" analogy. Jayme is the last of a dying breed. He is a thirtysomething guy who knows how to repair stuff and put stuff together. He had the table assembled in less than half an hour, and we were in business! The table looked great, and it even matched the four chairs that Lauren had bought earlier at a different store! I am convinced that this table was destined to live in Lauren and Jayme's backyard.

Jayme enjoys the fruits of his labor

Lauren and Jayme are the most gracious of hosts! Lauren brought out some chilled pink champagne and pita crisps while Jayme got the grill fired up. Remember how I said Jayme can fix stuff and build stuff? Well, he's also a grillmaster! He has it down to an art. He has all of those grilling accessories that nobody really knows how to use or what they're for...but Jayme knows! He cooked pork sausage links, hamburgers (to perfection!), fresh corn-on-the-cob, and peppers. Lauren prepared some tasty baked beans. We had quite a spread! I had never eaten grilled corn-on-the-cob before...it was truly some of the best tasting food I have ever eaten. I practically buried my face in it. It smells like popcorn when it's grilling. We ate it straight off the cob with the husks still on. It doesn't get much fresher than that, does it? It was so pretty, I took a picture of it. Yes. I'm that dorky.

Mmmmmmmm!

We ate and ate and ate, and we shared wine, beer, and conversation. Sitting in this wonderful backyard on a breezy summer night while the sun went down and the crickets chirped, I thought of my childhood and how this used to be my favorite time of day. Brooke and I commented that we never saw lightning bugs anymore (the "do you call them fireflies or lightning bugs" debate ensued). About 15 minutes later, little yellow lights were flashing all around us. It was the most relaxed I have felt in a long time.

By this time, li'l Alexander was bathed and tucked safely into bed. Lauren, Jayme, Brooke, and I relaxed in the den and watched television and talked. It had been a long day for all of us, so we were all in bed by 10:00. We slept with the windows open, and I could hear the crickets chirping as I lay in bed waiting to doze off. I was asleep within 10 minutes, and I slept hard. It was a good good day.

Very Short Hiatus

2008-08-24T21:43:00.007-04:00

I know I promised updates as I go, but I'm just really worn out these past two nights. New York exhausts me, but in a good way!

Tomorrow, I will have several hours in between my tour and heading over to the U.S. Open. If I can, I'll posts an update or two then. Otherwise, I'll update Tuesday night after I get home!

Come back soon!

Today's Rant...

2008-08-22T20:32:00.004-04:00

SCREW YOU, JC PENNEY! Leave "The Breakfast Club" alone!

Start Spreadin' The News...

2008-08-19T22:57:00.023-04:00

My upcoming trip to NYC will soon be upon me...I'm leaving Saturday morning. I'm very excited! NYC is my favorite place to be!

I checked the seating diagram for my flights, and it looks as if the flight up is a full one. Sigh. I always secretly hope that the seat next to me will be empty. Coach seating is so cramped, I consider it to be a special treat if I can have a row all to myself. However, it looks as if my wish will come true for the flight home...so far.

I'm not sure what exactly we'll be doing over the weekend, other than attending a cookout on Saturday. However, my friend, Brooke--with whom I'll be staying--and I managed to score tickets to the night session on Day 1 (Monday Aug 25) of the U.S. Open Tennis Championship tournament! I am so excited about this that I can hardly breathe when I think about it! I have wanted to go to the U.S. Open since I was about twelve years old, so a childhood wish is finally coming true!

Brooke has to work during the day on Monday, so I'll be on my own. I just booked a great walking tour of lower Manhattan...Ground Zero. Whenever I visit NYC, I feel a need to reflect on 9/11. While the rest of the world may have emotionally detached seven years later, NYC is still grieving. And how can they not be? There are reminders everywhere.

A firehouse located near the apartment I rented last summer. The plaques you see on the front right wall each represent a member of this squad who died on 9/11.

After my tour, I'll probably go say 'hello' to the Statue of Liberty since I'll be in the neighborhood anyway.

On Tuesday, I'll fly home, and my adventure will be over. For now, anyway.

I'll be traveling with my laptop and posting tales from my trip. Stay tuned!

Happy Birthday To Me!

2008-08-17T22:39:00.007-04:00

Ordinarily, I'm not one to announce my own birthday. Modesty prevents me from doing so. But hell, it's been such a good day that I thought I'd write about it.

A friend of mine made turning 41 sound soooo cool. He wrote: "Born in the summer of love and two years to the day before Jimi Hendrix woke everybody up on a Monday morning at Woodstock with the national anthem." Pretty good, huh?

My mother took me to dinner (Thank you, Mom!), and I was able to speak to each of my three brothers on the phone. My three wonderful sisters-in-law sent cards, phone calls, and text messages. My friends who live far away have inundated me with phone calls, text messages, and online greeting cards. Heck, on a Dixie Chicks fan message board, there's an entire thread devoted to wishing me a happy birthday.

I received a snail mail card from my brother, Stephen, and his wonderful wife, Joy. Stephen wrote inside "I hope on your birthday you will be reminded of what a special and caring person you are and how much you mean to every person lucky enough to know you." That made me feel a little weepy, but it really got me to thinking. Originally, I didn't expect too much out of today. I was content to stay home, packing and cleaning. But Stephen is right. It is a day to stop and reflect on all of the people in this world who love me and whom I also love. I have the most wonderful family I can ever imagine. My Mom is great, and my each of my three wonderful brothers married women who are like sisters to me. I have extraordinarily supportive friends who offer unconditional love.

Here's to another year of love from family and friends.

I am truly blessed.

Touching Base

2008-08-16T21:21:00.019-04:00

There's nothing much going on here this weekend (nothing interesting, anyway), so I thought I would just give some general updates on life and what not.

I'm still anti-nesting. Today was spent removing pictures and decorations from the walls. I placed some of those things in the "Yard Sale" box while the others went into one of my "To Take With Me" boxes. I washed some of the walls, and I filled the nail holes with spackle. I love spacklin'. I bought some really nifty spackle at Walmart. It's bubble gum pink when you fill the nail hole, but it turns white when it's dry. Hence you know for sure when it is fully dry.

My application package for NYU is almost complete. I have my reference letters, my transcripts, my resume, and the application itself ready to go. All I have to do now is to complete my "Statement of Purpose". This is an essay that I am required to write as part of the application process. There are five questions I am expected to address: 1. How did you become interested in social work? What personal, academic, organizational, volunteer, and/or paid experiences have influenced your choice of social work as a profession? 2. What are your reasons for seeking graduate school education at this time? What are your expectations of graduate school education? 3. Describe some personal and intellectual attributes that you believe make you particularly suited for the profession of social work. What attribute would you most like to strengthen or change in order to increase your ability to be helpful to others? 4. Briefly discuss a current social issue of great concern or interest to you. 5. What are your career interests and goals? As a graduate of the School of Social Work at New York University, how do you expect to contribute to the social work profession?

Simple, huh? I have already started on it, and I've written some preliminary responses for each question. I just need to expand on them and clean it up a little. I intend to mail it by the first of September. The deadline isn't until November 7, but I'm hoping that I will get an early response if I get my application early, especially since I'm sniffing around for scholarships and such. Plus, if I have to pick up and move to New York City, I'd rather have several months notice rather than several weeks.

I've added a new gadget, as you may have noticed. I found it on Wil Wheaton's blog, and I clicked the link to Last.Fm's website. I have it linked with the iTunes player on my computer, and it lists what I'm currently listening to. There are several other lists available that I could list here if I so choose. I can list the artists and the tracks that I listen to most frequently, as well as what I'm purchasing. The list showing now is pretty eclectic, but that's only because my musical interests vary. I'm currently listening to my "Favorites" playlist. It consists of a real hodge podge of different genres of music from various eras.

My new itty bitty kitty is doing great and thriving here! Milo and Jasper are becoming buddies and playmates. Gus hasn't hissed at him in days! They can actually walk past each other, tap noses, and Gus doesn't hiss or get bent out of shape. I think Gus and Jasper are bonding with Milo whether they want to admit it or not.

I'm watching the Olympics now and eagerly awaiting to see Michael Phelps win (hopefully) his 8th gold medal!

I think I've covered all the highlights from here. Stay tuned.

I Love This Song

2008-08-14T20:56:00.004-04:00

I recently rented the movie "Juno", and I absolutely fell in love with this song from the opening sequence. I know the movie catches some flak because some feel that it romanticized teenage pregnancy. I suppose there is an argument for that, but I didn't come away thinking this. I liked it, and I thought it was sweet.

God's Open Door Policy

2008-08-13T20:10:00.009-04:00

I was visiting with a patient today who recently received some bad news. She has a lung disease, and she was evaluated for a lung transplant. Since she's only in her 50's, she was hopeful that she would be approved and would be placed on a waiting list for a healthy set of lungs. However, due to some co-existing medical conditions, she was told that she would not be eligible for a transplant after all. The doctors felt that the surgery and the recovery process would only weaken her further and detract from her quality of life...possibly hastening her death. At first, she seemed okay with it; she voiced acceptance and said that this was God's plan. She would simply live with it and enjoy whatever time she had left with her family. However, as time has passed and she's had more time to think about it, she is struggling more and more. She was tearful during my visit with her today, and she said she doesn't think that God is listening to her. Then she immediately started to back pedal and said "Not that I would ever question God, of course." What I'm hearing from her is that she's angry at God, and she feels guilty for that. I think she's struggling with her anger and disappointment in God and the subsequent guilt as well.

This got me to thinking more about my own views about God and being angry with Him. My thought is that it's okay to feel angry with God and to express it to Him. He can handle it. He created anger. Jesus became angry when he discovered the temple was being used as a marketplace. God became angry when His Son died. Anger is not sin. It doesn't indicate a lack of faith. Anger is not a sign of disrespect. Anger can result in sin if it is not properly channeled...but anger in and of itself is not sinful.

I think God has an open door policy. If you're angry, then it's okay to talk to Him about it. I think that He wants you to. My relationship with God is no different than my relationship with family and friends. If I'm angry with someone I love, I'm miserable. I don't want to be angry with them. I want to talk about it as soon as possible and fix it. Why shouldn't my approach towards my relationship with God be the same way? I've been in relationships before when I didn't express anger for fear of retribution or fear that the person wouldn't love me as much as they did before. Guess what? My anger didn't fade. It festered. I became resentful, and my relationship suffered. I think the same thing can happen in a relationship with God. If you don't talk to Him and acknowledge your anger (He already knows you're angry, by the way...He's God!), then your anger will fester, too. Your relationship can become strained and broken.

I've been angry with God before, and I approached Him in the same manner that I approach other loved ones. My prayer to Him went something like this: "God, I'm so angry with You right now, and I hate it. I don't know what to do with it, but I know I don't want it to be like this. Please help me to understand what is happening. I can't go on like this...I need You too badly." My anger didn't fade instantaneously. I continued to pray and talk to God about it over the next few days. Eventually, I made peace with God and the issue that angered me. God and I kissed and made up, figuratively speaking. We were okay again. Actually, my bond with Him felt stronger and deeper. It felt more vibrant.

A long time ago, I met a gentleman named R.F Smith, Jr. He was a pastor, and his sister was a patient of mine. He traveled from his home in West Virginia to spend her last days with her, and he and I had several opportunities to talk. As it turns out, he is the author of a book entitled "Sit Down, God...I'm Angry." It is about his own struggle with his anger towards God after his 17-year-old son died in a water skiing accident. He donated an autographed copy to our resource library, and I read it in about two days. It's a phenomenal book. I would highly recommend it to anyone who is trying to come to grips with anger towards God, as well as pastors and counselors who may encounter people who are dealing with this strife.

A Sure Sign of Aging

2008-08-10T22:18:00.003-04:00

As I sit here and listen to one of my favorite 80's songs being bastardized in a Yaz birth control commercial, it occurs to me that I'm officially at that age where songs from my youth are heard more frequently as commercial jingles than on the radio.

Recently, I was playing music on my iPod at work. We were listening to my painstakingly compiled 80's playlist, and "Melt With You" began to play. One of my twentysomething co-workers piped up "That's the Taco bell song!" I quickly corrected her--"No, it's not the Taco Bell song! It's the Modern English song from 1982." She smiled and shrugged, saying "I wasn't born until 1981. I didn't even know it was a real song."

Sigh.

For those of you who think it's the Taco Bell song, I give you the complete performance and video for one of the best love songs---ever. And don't ever call it the "Taco Bell song" in my presence, for I fear my head would explode.

Oh. And by the way. For all you whippersnappers out there, it's not the "Yaz birth control song" either. That gem, "Goodbye to You" was originally done by Scandal, also in 1982.

Milo's Report Card

2008-08-09T22:35:00.001-04:00

I took Milo to the vet this week for a check-up and to get started on his vaccinations. He weighs a hearty 4.5 pounds, and the doc estimates his age to be 12-14 weeks. He's just so little! The photos I have of him don't indicate just how tiny he is. He's outgrown his kitten face and his kitten body; right now, he simply looks like a miniature cat. I am trying to get photos of him with Jasper and Gus so that you can see how tiny he is compared to the two of them. I've had no luck so far. Milo is never still for more than a few moments when the big boys are around. I do, however, have a picture of him being held by my friend's nephew. You can get an idea of Milo's size in relation to a 4-year-old boy.

Milo and friend

Milo tested negative for feline leukemia and FIV (feline immunodeficiency virus---very similar to HIV), which was a great relief to me. I don't think I could have handled hearing more bad news about the health of one of my cats. He threw a horrible tantrum when he was having blood drawn for the testing! At one point, I thought that he was having some kind of seizure. Right before they drew the blood, they also inserted the "stool stick" in his rectum to try to extract stool so they could test it for worms. Oh my gosh...that little guy was pretty angry. But who can blame him? Apparently, his rectum was empty---no stool came out. When he's a little bigger, we'll apply a topical medicine that will kill any worms he might have...just as a precaution.

Oh. And he's definitely a boy. The doc thinks he'll be ready for snippin' in a couple of months. She says his li'l testicles have dropped, and everything feels normal. She said she prefers to "wait until they're big enough to handle." I laughed out loud when she said this, because it put a mental image in my head that, frankly, cracks me up.

I'm taking him with me tomorrow when I travel to visit my mother. I regret not having socialized Gus and Tucker when they were kittens. I feel like I have a fresh start with Milo.

Milo poses with a picture of Tucker

A Random Rant---Literally!

2008-08-08T19:12:00.004-04:00

It's been a few days, and I apologize. My muse has been M.I.A., but I think she's back. There is nothing quite like a pet peeve to get her singing again.

Petty as it may seem, it drives me crazy when a person uses the word "literally" incorrectly. "She's literally driving me up a wall!" or "I was so scared, I literally jumped out of my skin!" You get the point.

I was just watching a news story on TV about astronomical gasoline prices. The reporter was interviewing a woman while she was pumping gas into her car. She railed "We're literally being raped at the gas pump!"

What?

Lady, I don't know where you're going to buy gas, but I wouldn't go back if I were you.

What My Teachers REALLY Taught Me

2008-08-03T19:42:00.023-04:00

For all of you teachers who wonder if you're making a difference...let me assure you that you are. Please believe me when I say that there is at least once child out there whom you've permanently touched. That child may very well be an adult now but continues to use something he or she learned from you.

I might not remember how to diagram a sentence or how to balance an algebraic equation. I am no longer able to conjugate verbs in French. But there are some more important and more meaningful lessons that I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

Kay Wilson, 1st grade - I did not attend kindergarten, so the 1st grade was my first year in the school system. On the last day of school, I remember crying for much of the day after I got home. I was crying because I was going to miss Mrs. Wilson, and I wanted her to always be my teacher. I was very shy as a little girl, and Mrs. Wilson had made me feel comfortable and safe at school. I had formed an emotional attachment to her, and I was convinced that there would never be another teacher like her. This is my very first memory of a genuine sense of loss and grief.

Patti Salenius, 3rd grade - Good manners were a must as far as Mrs. Salenius was concerned. She taught us to say "sir" and "ma'am". When we failed to address adults in this manner, she made us write sentences. One day in class, she used two toy telephones to teach us about telephone etiquette. I learned that you should allow a phone to ring at least ten times before hanging up just in case the person was too far away from the phone to answer after just a few rings (this was before answering machines and voicemail). I learned that when I am the one placing the call, I should immediately identify myself to the person answering the phone. I learned to say, "May I ask who's calling?" rather than "Who's this?". It's been 33 years since I was in the 3rd grade, but I still carry these things with me today. I'm often described as "polite", and I give a great deal of credit for this to Mrs. Salenius.

John Magness, 4th grade - There was a girl in our class whom I'll call Becky. Becky was not very popular with the other kids. She was a know-it-all, and she was happy to point out other students' weaknesses. She talked too much. She was snobby. She was arrogant. She tried too hard to fit in with the popular kids---she came across as phony. Becky also came from a poor family, which did not help her case at all. Becky's clothes were obviously hand-me-downs, and they were not the stylish clothes that the popular kids were wearing. Sometimes, Becky came to school wearing dirty clothes; her face and hair were sometimes unwashed. I recall her coming to school on some days with bruises on various parts of her body. As a result, Becky was often a target of verbal bullying from the mean-spirited and socially powerful kids, especially the girls. The popular girls could smell weakness in her, and they pounced quickly and often.

Mr. Magness was a kind and fair man. He laid out his policy on discipline on Day 1, and he never deviated from it. Everyone was treated equally. If he had "favorites', he never showed it. Mr. Magness had a paddle he called "Mr. Goodbody". Boys received one smack to their rumps, and girls to the palms of their hands. Mr. Magness did not derive any sadistic joy or pleasure from paddling us. He didn't make a show out of it. He was simply holding us accountable and teaching us about consequences. Not having your homework was an infraction for which it was understood that you would be punished---no exceptions. One day, Becky came to class without her homework. Everyone knew immediately that this very unpopular little girl was about to be paddled in front of all of us, and this brought on cheers and taunts from some kids in the class. They were like piranhas converging on a sickly little goldfish.

And then something strange happened---Becky burst into tears. I don't mean that she cried "I don't want to get paddled so I'll try to cry my way out of it" tears. She sobbed like someone who was conceding defeat. She wept like someone who was exhausted and was giving up. She was completely vulnerable and exposed. Becky defiantly stuck her palm out and through her tears she shouted "Do it! Just do it! It's what they all want to see anyway!" And she just stood there, sobbing, with her palm extended, staring up at Mr. Magness. For the rest of my life, I will never forget the look of compassion and sadness that overtook that man's face. Everyone was silent, and all we could hear was Becky trying to stifle her sobs. In a soft and gentle voice, Mr. Magness said "Sit down, Becky" as he lowered Mr. Goodbody to his side. He then assigned "busy work" to the rest of us, and he took Becky out into the hallway, shutting the door behind them. They later returned, and Becky was much calmer, though her eyes were red and swollen. I remember feeling incredibly sad for the rest of the day. Later, I would learn that Becky's homelife was pretty crummy. Mr. Magness obviously knew that; he also knew that there was something more to Becky not having her homework that day other than mere irresponsibility. He was the personification of compassion and mercy, and that moment is forever burned in my memory. He has a place in my heart as one of my most favorite teachers--ever.

Diane Burnette, 6th grade English - One of our assignments was to read a biography and write a book report about it; additionally, we had to write it from the first person point of view. I chose to read and write about President Andrew Jackson. Miss Burnette was passing out the graded papers. Before she handed mine to me, she asked that I step out in the hallway with her. Iwas terrified! In my experience, the only people who ever got asked to step out into the hallway were kids who were in big trouble. I was quite anxious as I followed her out the door, and I was trying to figure out what my transgression could possibly have been. Once there, Miss Burnette proceeded to tell me that I was an excellent writer and that I should consider a career in journalism. While my teachers always had a tendency to like me, I had never ever had one to single out a specific talent and encourage me to pursue it as a career. I was on Cloud 9 for the rest of the day! She handed me my graded paper, and "100" was written across the top in red ink. I don't know that Miss Burnette ever realized how much that moment meant to me. I wonder if she knew that I would still be talking about it 30 years later?

Pauline Yoder, 7th grade social studies - On the first day of 7th grade, Miss Yoder introduced herself to us. She was looking down at her planner, and she said, "Today's agenda---" and then she looked up at us and asked "Does anyone here know what 'agenda' means?" None of us knew, so she explained to us what an "agenda" is. Everyday for the rest of the year, she started class with that same phrase: "Today's agenda consists of...." We would even try to anticipate when she would say it and try to say it with her. This, of course, had nothing to do with social studies, but she saw an opportunity to teach us something, and she took it. The word "agenda" still makes me think of Miss Yoder.

Ann Williams, 9th grade U.S. history - She picked five students from our class, and I was one of them. She assigned each of us a U.S. history topic, and we were to teach it to the class as Mrs. Williams observed. I was assigned the task of teaching about President Andrew Johnson's presidency and his subsequent impeachment. I worked hard to prepare myself, and I thought it went well. Later that same day, I passed Mrs. Williams in the stairwell. She stopped me and hugged me, telling me that I had done a wonderful job and that I would make an excellent teacher. That moment meant the world to me, and it helped to boost my self-confidence which was lagging a little bit at that time.

Martin Eaddy, principal of my junior high school - One day, I was walking across the blacktop at school, and I noticed a piece of trash on the ground. I stopped, picked it up, and I placed it in a trashcan. I continued on my way to class when I noticed Mr. Eaddy bursting through a doorway and flagging me down. He approached me, smiling, and he thanked me for helping to keep our school clean. He was watching me through his office window, and he stopped what he was doing just to come and thank me for picking up the piece of trash. He stressed to me that I was an integral part of our school community. For a moment, Mr. Eaddy made me feel like a honkin' big fish in a little pond.

Chris Hoffman, high school tennis coach - Coach Hoffman and I had a great relationship. He seemed to truly like me as a person. His opinion of me was very important in my eyes. During my final year of high school, there was a day on which seniors didn't have to report to school because the other students were undergoing some standardized testing. I decided that I would blow off tennis practice, too. It was my day off, right? I wanted to go to the lake with some friends.

The next day, we had a scheduled home match against a very tough opponent. I reported to the courts at the end of the school day in order to warm up and get a little bit of practice in. Coach Hoffman was already there, and he had a basket of tennis balls. He was practicing his serve, and he was slapping the hell out of those balls. He was obviously angry about something. He wouldn't look at me or acknowledge that I was there. He returned my greeting with an indifferent grunt. When I asked why he was so upset, he stopped what he was doing, and he glared at me. He pointed at me with his tennis racket and said sternly, "If we weren't playing South Iredell today, and if this team didn't need you so badly, your butt would be on the bench today. You blow off practice one more time, and I'll bench you anyway." He was angry at the poor example I had set, and rightfully so. I was a senior, the captain, and the number one seed. I should have been at that practice. The rest of the team was there, and my absence was glaring. I immediately "got" what he was saying, and I apologized to him and the rest of the team. After a few days, things between Coach and me were right again. I'll never forget how devastated I felt when I realized that he was disappointed in me. But I learned a little something about leadership and responsibility.

There are other teachers whom I've loved and have meant something to me. This list is not all-inclusive. But the teachers described above have shaped me as an adult. These are memories that I carry around with me everyday. I wish I knew where they were today so that I could find them and tell them.

What's the Opposite of Nesting?

2008-07-31T23:35:00.007-04:00

A longtime dream of mine is to live in New York City. In an attempt to finally follow this dream, I am applying to grad school at NYU and Columbia U. More specifically, I am applying for a 16-month accelerated program that starts in January. I envision myself renting a room somewhere in the Big Apple and living like a pauper/college student again. While this sounded romantic and cool when I was 18, it all seems very daunting at the ripe old age of 40. I imagine that I will throw away or sell most everything that I own and keep only what fits into a U-Haul trailer. I will be starting over. Literally.

Recently, I have been feeling a strong compulsion to start getting rid of extraneous stuff laying around my apartment. I have been going through drawers and closets and shelves like a maniac. I'm filling up garbage bags, and I've already started a pile of various items to carry to the public landfill on Saturday. I find myself looking around and mentally pricing belongings for a possible yard sale. This is highly unusual for me, as I am a lifelong pack rat---just ask my mother.

I remember the last time I felt this way.

It was eleven years ago, almost to the day. I was living in Charlotte at the time, and I had returned home from my interview with my current employer. After several previous miserable job interviews, I felt really good about this one. I felt so good, as a matter of fact, that I started to pack that very night. It would be two weeks before the job would even be offered to me, but I felt a strong compulsion to gather my belongings into boxes on the same day as my interview.

I hope this "compulsion" bodes as well as it did last time.

Hot Damn! Pudge is a Yankee!

2008-07-30T22:54:00.013-04:00

Much to my joy and happiness, Ivan "Pudge" Rodriguez was traded to my beloved New York Yankees today! Pudge has been my favorite player for the past 7-8 years or so, and I'm thrilled to no end about him donning the Yankees pinstripes tomorrow as they square off against the Los Angeles Angels...of Anaheim (whatever).

I have been a baseball fan since I was about 10 years old, and I have always had an affinity for catchers. Other than Cal Ripken Jr., my favorite players have traditionally played behind the plate, e.g. Thurman Munson, Carlton Fisk, Johnny Bench, Jorge Posada, and Ivan Rodriguez to name a few.

With all due respect to the other position players, I admire the catchers because I believe their position is the most mentally and intellectually challenging. Catchers use a lot of psychology, especially when dealing with their pitchers. They must know each pitcher's strengths and weaknesses, both mechanically and mentally. They must know how to extract the best possible performance from that pitcher. He is a cheerleader when the pitcher is on; he is an encourager when the pitcher is off. The catcher must also be familiar with strengths and weaknesses of the hitters on each of the opposing teams...he must know how to pitch to any given hitter and then call for those pitches.

The position of catcher is, by far, the most physically grueling---you have to be tough to be a catcher. Not only are you squatting up and down for about half of the game, but you are also wearing several pounds of protective equipment while you're doing it. In any given game, a catcher has 100+ balls moving in excess of 90 mph popping into the palm of his hand, which is protected only by a thick layer of leather. A catcher must use his body to block unruly pitches that miss their mark. Perhaps the most physically harrowing aspect of a catcher's list of duties is to block home plate at all costs. Do not let the runner score. This means blocking it with nothing more than your body. Who says baseball is a non-contact sport?

I love how gutsy and passionate Pudge is when he plays baseball. Here is a picture of Pudge blocking the plate during game 5 of the 2003 National League Championship Series in Miami. This is one of my favorite Pudge moments! J.T. Snow of the Giants bowled Pudge over in an attempt to cross the plate. Pudge tumbled head over heels, but he tagged Snow and held onto the ball in the process. This moment marked the end of the NLCS, because the Marlins clinched the game and the National League Championship with this play! I watched it live on television, and when I saw Pudge pop up and show the ump that he still had the ball, it endeared him to me even more.

My Concession

2008-07-28T23:01:00.006-04:00

Okay. Everyone who bet that I would keep Milo go ahead and collect your chips.

I suppose that anyone and everyone who knows me is not surprised in the slightest to hear this news. As for me, I just figured it out today.

Over the weekend, I found myself in a blue funk. I was a bit weepy, and I didn't feel much like talking to people. I attributed it to a few things...mostly PMS and the fact that Sunday was the 1-month anniversary of Tucker's death. However, it was the thought of giving Milo away that caused me to feel the saddest and the weepiest. I continued to try to convince myself that finding another home for him was the most practical and noble thing to do.

Last night, I noticed how at ease Milo feels here. While very affectionate, he's no longer clingy. He doesn't chase me around as often, meowing frantically, if I leave his sight. When he sleeps, he sleeps deeply; so deeply, that I can pick him up and move him without him waking up---he's completely limp as I carry him. He's more playful, and he's very comfortable with Gus and Jasper. He walks right up to them and sniffs them, and he likes to play with their tails. He and Jasper will sometimes stalk and chase each other.

He was stretched out flat on his back last night while he was sleeping. He looked so content and peaceful, as if sleeping were the best thing in the world. I thought to myself, "He thinks he's home", and I started to experience huge waves of guilt. I also became really weepy. I was becoming emotionally attached to another cat who was going to be leaving my life--albeit under happier circumstances--but it was still a potential loss for me.

I became weepy at lunch today while I was talking with co-workers about finding a home for Milo. My friends asked if I were sure that I didn't want to keep Milo. I said out loud "No, I want to keep him." And then a sense of peace came over me, and I stopped crying.

So--to no one's surprise, I'm sure--we're a 3-cat household again.

Flying Monkeys

2008-07-27T23:53:00.008-04:00

Is it just me or do the flying monkeys in "The Wizard of Oz" still scare the bejeezus out of you too?

I'm watching this classic on TNT, and the scene where the Wicked Witch of the West is calling out the flying monkeys is on...she's standing at the window yelling "Fly! Fly!" and suddenly, the sky is darkened by the winged primates. To this day, that scene still makes me shudder!

I think I was 4 or 5 the first time I saw this movie. I actually cried at that very scene. I remember feeling the panic and fear surge through my belly.

Many years ago, my parents took me to a theme park on Beech Mountain NC called "The Land of Oz" for my 8th birthday. I remember traveling down the Yellow Brick Road with a group...and our "Munchkin" guide prepared us for the possibility of sighting flying monkeys, and I was terrified! As I recall, I think he told us to duck down, place our hands on our heads, and shout the warning "Flying monkeys!!" Of course, we would see no flying monkeys, but I didn't know that...I was only 8! I cautiously checked the skies about every 15 seconds or so. As we prepared to enter the haunted forest, our guide kindly reminded us that the Wicked Witch would capture anyone wearing red shoes. I burst into tears as I looked down at my bright red Converse sneakers.

Come to think of it...maybe "The Wizard of Oz" isn't appropriate for young children after all? Or maybe I was just an overly-sensitive kid who was too literal and believed everything I was told?

I went on You Tube to see if I could find some footage of the flying monkeys. Instead, I found a family's home movies from a trip to this same park, also in the 1970's (which is when I went...turned 8 in 1975). Even better! So I'm posting it here so that you can see the place. The images are a little fuzzy, but remember the film is 30-some years old.

Update on the Stray Kitten, a.k.a. Milo

2008-07-25T22:40:00.011-04:00

Yes, he's still here. But I do have a potential home for him...I'll find out for sure this weekend.

I've started calling him Milo, because he needs a name. I feel bad calling him "the stray" or "that kitten". I've let him stay inside, by the way. I heard him outside last night, meowing and pacing as if he were looking for something or someone. He sounded so lonely and/or scared, I just could not make him stay outside.

Old man Gus seems rather irritated, but I think whippersnapper Jasper is happy to have someone to play with. He and Milo have been stalking and chasing each other.

If this prospective home doesn't work out, then I'll check in with my vet on Monday. He's a great little kitty...whoever gets him is going to be very lucky. He's an affectionate lap kitten. I bought a little collar with a jingle bell for him so that he looks extra handsome. Right now, he's driving himself crazy trying to determine the origin of the jingle bell sound.

I think he misses his mother, so it makes me wonder if perhaps he was separated from her too soon. He likes to curl up on my chest and sleep. Sometimes, as he sleeps, he sucks on my shirt.

I'll keep posting updates until I've found a good home for him.

How Do They Find Me??

2008-07-24T19:55:00.011-04:00

I have this image in my head of some kind of networking going on out on the streets among stray cats. Apparently, my address is part of this network, as if I run a soup kitchen and shelter for homeless kitties. "Hey kid! Need a place to sleep? Some grub? Some heartstrings to pull on? Let me tell you about this place...."

I came home from work this evening and was greeted by a tiny kitty stretched out on the stairs leading up to my apartment. He's an older kitten, I think. He followed me to my door, meowing and talking along the way. I went inside and closed the door. I could hear him standing outside my door still meowing and talking. He looks very thin, and it's so hot outside so I placed a bowl of food and some water outside for him. He began to devour the meal.

He's really cute and very playful. He snuggles against me when I hold him, and he likes to play with my necklace while he chews on it. To call him affectionate is an understatement. He likes it when I hold him, and he likes to curl up on my lap. I love his huge ears! He looks like my cat, Gus, who is also a tuxedo cat. Here's a photo of Gus from last Christmas:

Now before you start to predict that I am going to end up keeping this cat, let me say that I cannot afford to introduce another cat into my household, regardless of how cute and playful he is. I think that the addition of yet another cat into Gus' territory would be really stressful for him, especially since his brother, Tucker, has died. Plus, I can't take on the expense of having him checked for feline leukemia and feline immunodeficiency virus before I introduce him into the household.

So I have a plan. If he's still around in the morning (and I suspect he will be), I'm going to scoop him up and into one of my kitty carriers. I'll stop by my vet's office on the way to work in the morning and see if any of their staff wants a kitten or if they know of any other clients who might be looking for a kitten. If I have no luck there, I'll take him to work and see if I have a co-worker who would like to have a kitten or knows of someone who wants one. I really don't want to take him to the shelter because a large majority of cats who end up in animal shelters are euthanized because they are not adopted. I will do whatever I can to avoid that. Fortunately, it's not cold outside, so I don't feel guilty about not bringing him inside.

I don't feel particularly emotionally equipped to doing this, but I have no choice. I can't let this little guy wander around aimlessly looking for food and affection. He's just a baby, after all. I've set up a little shelter for him right outside of my apartment door, and he has food and water. I'm hoping like crazy that I can find a good home for him tomorrow.

International Radio

2008-07-23T21:03:00.004-04:00

I found a website today that I find to be quite interesting, and I thought I would share it here.

There is a website called Mike's Radio World that is a gateway to over 5000 radio stations from all over the world that stream live onto the internet. You can listen to live broadcasts from radio stations all over the United States, Canada, Europe, New Zealand, and Australia.

For as long as I can remember, I have always been fascinated with other countries and their languages, their cultures, and their customs. I am loving this website! So far tonight, I've listened to live radio broadcasts from Athens, Greece and Reykjavik, Iceland. Currently, I'm listening to a station in Casla, Ireland that broadcasts in Gaelic and also plays Gaelic music.

Here is the site if you'd like to check it out: http://www.mikesradioworld.com/

Which Superhero Are You?

2008-07-22T23:48:00.005-04:00

Okay, it's time for a little bit of silly fun tonight.

I don't go much for personality quizzes, but when my brother sent me this, I couldn't resist! I'm a geek at heart, and I have always loved superheroes!

I'm posting my results and a link to the quiz at the very bottom of this page.

Just for fun, I think you should take it! Post a comment or sign the guestbook and let me know your results!

FYI, the brother who sent this to me is Superman. His twin brother is Robin. My other brother has yet to take it, but I predict he'll be The Flash.

Here's Your Sign

2008-07-22T23:04:00.014-04:00

I've been a social worker with hospice for almost eleven years now. Every then and again, I start to feel tired and weary. I wonder "What am I doing here?" "Am I really making a difference?" "Do I need to do something else?"

And it never fails. Just when I think I have reached the end of my rope, God sends signs to me just when I need them. The people He puts into my path are not-so-subtle reminders that I am where I need to be.

For the past few weeks, I've been feeling worn and burned out. I had hit one of my slides when I start to wonder if my purpose at hospice has run its course. And then it happened.

I was at the grocery store yesterday, and I heard a familiar voice say "Excuse me." I looked up, and it was Bonnie, the wife of a former patient who had died five years ago. She grabbed me and hugged me, and she started to cry. We stood in the produce department for about twenty minutes, and I listened as she talked about her husband and how much she missed him. She was able to recall things that I had done for her husband and her (things that I had forgotten about), and she was very grateful...even after five years.

Today, I went to the funeral of a patient who died over the weekend. His wife, Mary, hugged me. Next thing I knew, her daughter (whom I had never met until today) was hugging me and thanking me for everything I had done for her mother. Evidently, Mary had been talking to her about me. Mary's sister and brother-in-law approached me and hugged me. I had had only a few conversations with them, but apparently, something I did or said meant something to them.

At this same funeral, I ran into the friend of another patient of mine who died several months ago. This lady also knew Mary and her husband. I had only met her once, but she remembered me. She hugged me and said that when Mary told her that her social worker's name was Pam, she told her "you will be in good hands." As I was walking back to my car after the funeral, I said quietly under my breath, "Thank you, God. I needed that."

Tonight, I'm feeling affirmed and re-energized. The funny thing is that I always forget that God does this for me. I never realize that I need it, and I never know to ask for it. Yet He gives it to me anyway. I always think, "Oh yeah! He does do this, doesn't He?"

I Have A Guestbook!

2008-07-21T22:59:00.009-04:00

I'm going to be brief tonight...I'm tired and feeling a bit worn out. But the OCD in me won't allow me to skip a day on the blog. I'm convinced that I must/can/will post at least a little something on a daily basis.

Today's post will be nothing more than a shameless plug. I now have a guestbook on my blog, and I would like to invite my visitors to drop a little note and say 'hello' if you feel comfortable doing so. I know it can be a pain to leave "comments" because you have to set up an account, etc. The guestbook is much more user friendly.

Please feel free to sign my cool new awesome guestbook. C'mon...I even found a nifty one that lets you insert cute little smileys. The link is at the top of the column immediately to the left of this post.

C'mon. Do it.

Mamma Mia! The Movie

2008-07-20T22:30:00.019-04:00

I don't usually gush about movies. I love to watch movies (and I watch a LOT of them now, thanks to Netflix), but there are few that leave me gushing. "Mamma Mia!" is one about which I simply must gush.

I knew that I would enjoy it, because I enjoyed the musical. Also, I love ABBA's music! That's right--I said it. I love ABBA. However, when I planned to go see it with Mom on Saturday night, I had no idea that it would leave me feeling happy, giddy, and loving Meryl Streep even more than I already did.

Admit it. ABBA's music is fun and infectious. The actors interacted with each other playfully and looked like they were having pure unadulterated FUN dancing to and singing "Dancing Queen", "Mamma Mia", "Waterloo", and the rest of ABBA's iconic songs from the 70's. I found that to be incredibly endearing, especially regarding Meryl Streep. In addition to marveling at her acting skills, I have always admired her on a personal level. In spite of her success and status as one of the greatest actors of our time, she never takes herself too seriously or considers herself to be above accepting a minor role ( check out the Farrelly brothers' "Stuck On You"...she's not even credited!). She is as talented a comedic actress as she is a dramatic one. Her comedic delivery in "Mamma Mia!" is spot on. And she's just so cute, which might be an odd adjective with which to describe a 59-year-old woman, but it happens to be accurate here; she is girlish and youthful, but not in a contrived or put-on way. Another thing I like about her is that she allows herself to age gracefully. Yes, you can tell that she's not a thirty-something or even a forty-something woman anymore...but her natural beauty is far more beautiful than any "work" I've ever seen on any number of the synthetic-looking faces in Hollywood. And who knew that she could dance and sing!?!?

The dance numbers were fun and uplifting, especially the "Dancing Queen" number. The women and girls of the Greek village were dancing and skipping through the streets (led by Meryl's character, Donna, and her two best friends) singing at the tops of their lungs as they reminded themselves and each other that their free spirits still exist in spite of sometimes feeling covered up by life's responsibilities and burdens. I felt my heart swelling as I watched, and I wanted to watch that scene over and over again.

And you simply must love a movie in which Pierce Brosnan wears a polyester funky disco suit (think Earth Wind & Fire) as he dances to and sings "Waterloo". (HINT: Do NOT get up and leave when the credits start to roll. Stay and keep watching until the screen goes black)

I was actually tempted to suggest to Mom that we buy another ticket and watch the next show. I don't buy many DVDs, either...but "Mamma Mia!" is on my list.

I thought it was a beautiful, sweet, adorable, and fun movie, and I'm already eager to see it again.

The Cookiegate Scandal of '88

2008-07-19T22:05:00.003-04:00

I think "Sesame Street" is an ingenious piece of television. It entertains children without talking down to them, and it educates children without them realizing it. I watched it faithfully as a little girl, and I fully believe that is one of the reasons that I was reading at a 5th grade level at the age of 4. I'm not bragging...I'm just sayin'.

Something else I recently discovered is that the good folks at the Children's Television Workshop also know how to entertain the adults who are watching, be they parents who are watching with their children or are simply grown-ups watching to revisit a happy memory of childhood. Let's face it---"Sesame Street" is damn good television.

This was made apparent to me by this 1988 parody of the Iran-Contra scandal hearings. I watched it as an adult, and I literally laughed out loud throughout the entire 3 1/2 minutes.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

From My Travel Journal: My Excellent Adventure in Los Angeles - The Final Chapter

2008-07-18T12:20:00.002-04:00

On Sunday, we all took it easy during the day. We were exhausted! Betsy and I sat pool by the pool and had a heart-to-heart conversation while Brooke spent the afternoon with a friend from high school who lives in the L.A. area. This was the day that the wildfires started in Malibu and San Diego.

The Radisson has a bar up on the penthouse floor. It's a marvelous view! Prior to leaving for the Dixie Chicks concert that night, the three of us had a drink there. I had absolutely the best lemon drop martini I've ever tasted. It should be the best for $12. We watched planes landing and taking off, as we were overlooking several runways at the airport. Sadly, we could also see the black smoke billowing from the wildfires in the distant mountains.

We were going to meet Paul and his girlfriend at the Nokia tonight, so we took off for downtown L.A. in our nifty PT Cruiser convertible. One of Wolfgang Puck's restaurants had set up an outdoor cafe at the Nokia, so we grabbed some dinner there. There were lots of people around who were excited about the show, and the weather was beautiful! It was the perfect night for eating, drinking, and hanging out outside. I ate a really yummy Caesar chicken sandwich and several beers. We stood at a table that we shared with 4 ladies who had come all the way from Saskatchewan, Canada to see the show. They were nice and friendly, and we liked them very much. They were there for The Eagles, but they said they enjoyed the Chicks, too. We assured them that the show would be worth their long (and expensive!) trip. We talked a little bit about the war in Iraq, and all four ladies agreed that regardless of whether or not you believe the war is just, the troops should always be supported by their countrymen. We all said "amen", and we drank a toast to the American and Canadian troops.

We met Paul and his girlfriend, and he presented us with our tickets. Sweet! They were even better than last night! We were in row P in the left orchestra. But first, we had to go through security again. The night before, we had to go through a metal detector and have our purses searched. I decided to hide my digital camera in a side pocket on the inside of my purse. I camouflaged it with a couple of tampons, presuming that a male security guard wouldn't dare touch tampons and would look no further. Guess what? I was right. He unzipped the pouch, saw the tampons, and immediately apologized while handing the purse back to me. Later, during a phone call with my brother, I told him this story, and he referred to them as my "campons".

Security personnel were swarming the place and looking for people taking pictures. I have to say that I am pretty impressed with the quality of the pictures and short videos we were able to get. We had to snap 'n duck. We were finally busted towards the end of the show, so we stopped for fear of having our cameras confiscated.

I'm not sure what it was about this night's crowd, but they were extra surly and nasty. Since we were closer to the stage this time, we thought we'd make ourselves a little more visible to the Chicks and let them know that we were there to support them. We decided we were going to stand up and dance during fast-paced songs and during parts of the songs that moved us emotionally. We sat for slower-paced parts of the show, and we thought this was a fair compromise. They opened up with "The Long Way Around" (my personal favorite from the new CD); we got up and cheered and danced. We were on our feet for about 30 seconds, and we started hearing people behind us shouting, "Sit the f**k down!!!" People were trying to get security to make us sit down...it got pretty confrontational. I was stunned at how angry and hostile people became when we would stand up...shouting insults and saying some pretty nasty things. One woman whined, "Some people aren't physically capable of standing up!" We informed her that when The Eagles appeared on stage, she was going to be sorely disappointed because 99% of the crowd would be on their feet for the entire show. It turns out that our new Canadian friends were only a few rows directly in front of us. They stood up and started dancing too. They turned towards us and smiled and waved, giving the thumbs up. We sat down and were perfectly still for much of the show, but we did dance during some of their more powerful numbers. After the Chicks were finished, we left. We just couldn't stand being in such a nasty environment any longer. Plus, we didn't want to sit through The Eagles again (my apologies to any Eagles fans out there).

As we were walking back to the car, we walked past a roadblock that was being manned by several really young policemen (like 20 or 21 years old). We asked if this was the point from where the Chicks would be leaving the theater, and the young guards told us that this indeed was from where the Chicks would be leaving. So we decided to stick around and see of we could catch a glimpse of them. We befriended one of the officers, Rudy, and he agreed to let us know when he received word to remove the roadblock so that the Chicks could get through. A few minutes later he informed us that someone was preparing to leave. We were standing on the corner, and Emily drove her car up and had to stop at a red light. She stopped right in front of us, and she was talking on a cell phone. She noticed us, and she smiled and waved as she pulled away. We waited for a while longer, and nothing was happening. Betsy wanted to walk around to the front of the theater and buy a t-shirt from a vendor. I went with her so that she wouldn't have to walk alone. Brooke stayed behind with a couple of other fans who were hanging around with us. I swear, Betsy and I were gone for not even 10 minutes. We returned only to learn that we had missed seeing Martie leave. Aaarrrrgghhhh. We decided to hang around and see if we could catch a glimps of Natalie leaving the theater. As we waited, we had fun talking with Rudy and his friends. We also were able to witness other goings on in downtown L.A. The Nokia Theater is right across from the Staples Center, and the Lakers were playing a game that night. While we waited for Natalie, the Lakers players were leaving the Staples parking lot (I had a Kobe sighting). There were fans hanging out there and converging on the players' cars as they were leaving the parking garage, practically forcing them to stop and acknowledge them. I don't ever want to be that kind of fan. I would rather never meet the Chicks than to meet them and leave them believing that I'm a lunatic.

Suddenly, we noticed paparazzi swarming around us. I think they were from TMZ.com. We asked who they were waiting for, and they said Hayden Pantierre was reportedly going to be leaving via this route soon. Her car pulled past us, too, and the camera flashes started popping! And then the jackasses ran to their cars and started to chase after her. I overheard one of them on his cell phone asking one of his "buddies" for Hayden's address. He apparently got it, and he was off to stalk her at her house, I guess. We also saw Steve Kroft (from "60 Minutes") hanging around outside. This was the last of our celebrity sightings. We waited for about an hour hoping to catch a glimpse of Natalie, but she never came out. We figured that she either sneaked out without being noticed, or she was sticking around for The Eagles' performance. We headed back to the hotel and crashed hard----again.

Betsy had an early flight on Monday, so she was up and out early. We gave her quick good-bye hugs, and then she was out the door to catch the shuttle to the airport. Brooke and I had each scored an afternoon flight, so we slept in a little bit. Then we got up, showered, packed, and checked out. We ran a few errands (went to buy more sinus/allergy medication and cough drops). While driving around and exploring, we found a public beach, so we parked in a residential section and walked down to the ocean. We parked in a space in front of a private home. We had to park close to the car in front of us in order to squeeze in to the space, but this wasn't a problem because there was nothing in front of the other car to prevent the driver from being able to pull away.

We walked down to the beautiful beach, took our shoes off, and walked in the water. It was pretty cold, the kind of cold that makes your ankles ache. But I had never touched the Pacific Ocean before, so it was worth it. We could still see the black smoke and haze hanging over the mountains.

When we got back to the car, we witnessed yet another example of that gracious L.A. hospitality. There was a handwritten note underneath the windshield wiper that said, "You need to be more considerate when you park. You obviously don't live at the beach, thank God!" We were baffled, and we never figured out what our offense was. We walked around the cars to see if we had inadvertently bumped the other car when we were parking; but we ruled that out when we saw there was a good 2 inches between the cars' bumpers. I have no idea what made this person so angry. So I balled up the note and threw it in the his/her yard. Jackass.

We headed over to an In 'n Out Burger joint. This is a west coast franchise, and Brooke had been raving about the cheap yet delicious burgers. At this point, we were running way behind schedule, so we got the food to go. We sped to the airport, and we made it to the Alamo Rental car return area with 2 minutes to spare. It was a beautiful day, so we had a picnic lunch sitting outside of the Alamo Rental office (the burger WAS yummy!). Shortly after we ate, we boarded the airport shuttle bus with our luggage, and we headed out to catch our flights. We got to my terminal first, so we gave each other a quick hug and said 'good-bye' before I got off of the shuttle.

The flight from L.A. to Atlanta was uneventful. The flight wasn't full, and I actually had an entire 3-seat row to myself. Ah, I felt like I was in Heaven. I was able to spread out a little bit. I read my "Newsweek" magazine, watched episodes of "Family Guy" on my iPod, nibbled on my Hershey pretzel bars, and drank tasty complimentary beverages.

The east coast weather was pretty nasty, and it was wreaking havoc with flights flying in and out of Atlanta. We were late landing in Atlanta, and I was hauling ass across the terminal, because I only had 20 minutes until my connecting flight was scheduled to take off. It was originally scheduled to leave at 10:55 p.m. and arrive in Charlotte at 11:55 p.m. The gate number had been changed twice, and I was running around like a chicken with its head cut off and trying to figure out where the hell I was supposed to be. I finally located the correct gate only to find that the flight had been delayed until 11:35 p.m. This was okay with me, because I needed to go to the bathroom, and I really wanted to grab a bagel.

There was already a plane waiting at this gate, and I assumed this was our plane bound for Charlotte. It turns out that this was a flight bound for Indianapolis, and they hadn't even started to board yet! The AirTran employee said that our plane was on the ground, however...we just had to wait for this other plane to take off so that our plane could approach the gate. At this point, it became obvious that we would not be leaving at 11:35 p.m. Oh boy, was the tension high! Travelers and airport employees alike were tired and very frustrated with all of the delayed flights and gate changes. I felt bad for the gentleman working at our gate. People were being really nasty to him and very demanding, as if he had created the weather delays (I thought he did a great job of keeping us informed, and this decreased the stress a lot for me. I told him that before I got on the plane). The flight to Indianapolis finally boarded, and I thought "Great! We're on our way!" It boarded, and then it just sat at the gate. And sat. And sat. And sat. The gentleman from AirTran eventually announced that the plane couldn't leave for Indy yet because---get this---THE PILOTS HADN'T ARRIVED YET! The pilots for this flight had been delayed coming in on another flight, so the pilots weren't even in Atlanta yet! So we sat and sat and sat (and so did the poor people on the plane). The pilots finally arrived, and everyone in the waiting area cheered and yelled as the pilots boarded the plane.

They changed our gate---again---and about 100 people collectively groaned as we gathered our belongings and walked about 40 yards to another gate. We got boarded, and we finally lifted off around 12:35 a.m. I was seated with the cutest young couple. They were both around 19-21 years old, and they were both Marines stationed at Camp Pendleton in CA. They had been married for about 7 months, and they were 6 months pregnant with their daughter, Janelle. Dominique (the wife) was from Louisiana, and Chris was from VA. They were on leave and headed to VA because Chris' grandmother had died that day. They were both so sweet and innocent and open and friendly; I suspect that neither of them had been to Iraq or Afghanistan yet. Dominique wore braces (making her look younger), and she smiled constantly, calling me "Miss Pam"---making me feel like I was about 80 years old. But I still appreciated her manners and kindness. The nastiness of some of the passengers continued on the plane; some of them were being really crappy to the flight attendants who were obviously physically and mentally exhausted. Dominique and Chris also noticed this, and Dominique was offended. She said loudly enough to be heard by the jackass in front of us who was giving the flight attendant a hard time, "I'm so glad the Marines taught us to be respectful towards other people no matter what's going on around us!" We talked the entire time as we shared snacks. Dominique and Chris looked out for me. After we landed and were disembarking, Dominique asked Chris to retrieve my suitcase from the overhead compartment for me, and he did. And then they scooted me out into the aisle in front of them as the line shuffled along. Chris' mother was waiting for them at baggage claim. Those two introduced me to her, and they both hugged me before they left. Such a sweet young couple. I told them to go and have a happy long life together. I got my big suitcase from baggage claim, caught the shuttle to the parking deck, and I walked into my apartment around 3:30 a.m. Thank goodness I had taken the next day off of work, too.

The End

From My Travel Journal: My Excellent Adventure in Los Angeles - Part 2

2008-07-17T01:10:00.001-04:00

On Saturday morning, we hit the Pacific Coast Highway because we had tickets to go to the Getty Villa, which is an educational center and museum in Malibu. Brooke is an art history major, and she particularly is interested in ancient cultures. She has wanted to visit this museum for quite some time, and she was excited at the prospect of going. Initially, I tagged along mostly because it was so important to her; but I had no idea how much I was going to love it! The museum building itself is modeled after a first-century Roman country house. The displays there consist of ancient statues and artifacts from Rome and Greece. Some of them date back to before Christ was born. It's quite mind-boggling when you're actually there in front of them. Additionally, they were statues and artifacts that were created in honor of the Roman and Greek gods/goddesses/deities. Roman and Greek mythology has always been a great interest of mine, so I really enjoyed that aspect, too. We were there for a couple of hours, and I still didn't get to see everything. If I'm ever in the neighborhood again, I'd like to spend an entire day there.

The Getty Villa exterior

The Roman god, Zeus. This statue is made of marble. It was found in Italy, and it dates to 1-100 A.D.

One of the beautiful Villa gardens.

Remember Paul from yesterday's post? The high roller? He has talked often of his good friend, Pete. Pete lives in Malibu, and he also makes his living from gambling. He is apparently very good at gambling, because he generates a substantial income from it. According to Paul, Pete lives a larger-than-life lifestyle, but he's a "really nice guy". Pete invited all of us to stop by the Malibu beach house and have lunch after we finished at the museum. Brooke, Betsy, and I were a little bit skeptical about the legend of Pete, but we were mostly curious. Curiosity won out, so we followed Paul (he came to the museum with us) to a beach house where Pete was staying. Well, it turns out that Pete is indeed a really nice guy. He's in his late thirties, the son of Italian immigrants (his father worked as a cab driver in NYC), and he still has a thick Queens accent. He was remarkably funny, and he was very generous. He was quite open and friendly, and we learned a lot about him. Pete greeted us warmly as if he'd known us forever, offering beer and wine to us all. I'm going to give some details about his lifestyle, but I first want to stress that he was not bragging or name-dropping when he was telling us these stories. He's extremely down-to-earth. He was just very casually telling us about things going on in his life. It just so happens that his life consists of a big things and celebrity friends.

So I ended up spending that Saturday afternoon in a $17.8 million beach front house in Malibu. It consisted of three stories, and it was beautifully decorated. But it was not a $17.8 million house. I suspect, however, that the land it's sitting on is a $17.8 million piece of real estate. The house actually belonged to Pete's girlfriend, Betsy, who happened to be out of town this weekend (Pete's own beach house was nearby). According to Pete, Betsy is worth about $250 million (again, he wasn't bragging, but he was very proud of her and the success she's created for herself). She is a self-made business woman; she sniffed out an untapped market, and she practically created an industry. Pete gave us a tour of the house, and we saw that Betsy is quite the clothes horse. We saw her "black room", which contains all of her black clothes, accessories, and shoes. She had a lot of those, as black seems to be the color of choice if you want to be cool in L.A. We saw the master bedroom which contained a new, trendy, and expensive-looking piece of exercise equipment; I asked him about it, and he casually mentioned, "Yeah, Stevie Nicks turned us on to that." I asked, "You know Stevie Nicks?" He non-chalantly replied, "Yeah, my girl's manicurist also does Stevie's nails, and we became friends through her."

I noticed that Pete was intently watching the Kentucky-Florida football game on TV. He couldn't take his eyes off of the screens (there were plasma TVs in every room of the house). I said "You're watching this game very intensely; who are we rooting for?" He said he had some money on Kentucky, but that it was "only a few thousand, so I'm not sweating it too much." He mentioned that he lost about $40,000 on an earlier game, but he wasn't really worried about that one either.

Pete had menus from a nearby restaurant called "Marmalade" waiting for us. He asked us to look over them, circle what we wanted, and then he called the order in. He went to go pick all of the food up himself, and he treated us to a delicious lunch. We ate out on the patio and stared at the Pacific Ocean. We also stared at the next door neighbors. The houses are literally inches apart. I could have been on the neighbor's patio in one step. Look at how close they are:

I had some really yummy rigatoni cooked with marinara sauce, Italian sausage, and meatballs. When we left, Pete gave us all heartfelt hugs and pecks on the cheek. What a nice guy! For a few hours, I got to see how the "other half" lives. While I'm not necessarily impressed by the lifestyle (though I did find it very interesting!), I will say that I would love to have a house on the Pacific Ocean. I mean really...look at it.

Brooke, Betsy, and I headed back to the hotel to get ready for the Dixie Chicks concert. Paul was going to pick us up in an SUV around 6 p.m., so the three of us had about an hour to get ready. Paul and his girlfriend arrived in a rented Suburban, and we all headed to the brand new Nokia theater in downtown L.A. Since we weren't sure how heavy security was going to be, we decided to go without cameras this night. The plan was to observe the security measures and assess what we could get away with the next night (if anything).

The crowd was pretty much there for The Eagles, which is understandable. The trouble is that many of them were pretty rude to the Chicks and to the Chicks' fans. During their performance, people were coming in late and strolling around the theather. We heard some nasty remarks from the people around us about the Dixie Chicks, but we didn't say anything. We decided we'd let them watch the show and see for themselves. We were in orchestra right, row PP. The brand new theater is very intimate---seats only 7100. It's a nice place, but I really don't see what all the buzz was about. It was no nicer than other venues I've visited. The seats did have cup holders, however, and that was nice. I didn't have to hold my cup of wine all night long. The Chicks sounded phenomenal as always. They're wonderful in person...they sound fantastic, and they really connect with their audience. They're natural entertainers, especially Natalie---the lead singer. She catches a lot of flak and gets called a "loud mouth" by Chicks bashers, but she really is quite funny and entertaining. They dedicated "White Trash Wedding" to Britney Spears, which made me laugh. My favorite moment was during their song, "Not Ready to Make Nice". I don't know how familiar you are with that song, but there's a powerful musical and emotional crescendo in that song. When she reached the climax and sang out "or my life will be over" with her arms raised in the air, the place went nuts, even the Eagles fans! Just about every one of those 7100 people were on their feet, cheering with arms raised. It literally sent chills up my spine and my arms. They got about a 2-minute standing ovation when the song was over. After they finished and left the stage, the people around us who had made the snide remarks had changed their tune. A lady next to us vowed that she was going to go out and buy their most recent CD. The guy behind us who had made some pretty mean remarks ended up saying, "Wow! They're really good! The violin player is beautiful! If it had been just them playing tonight without The Eagles, it would still have been worth the trip!"

After a short break, The Eagles took the stage, and the place pretty much went crazy. People were on their feet for almost the entire show, which lasted about 2 1/2 hours. The Eagles may have gotten older, but they still know how to turn it out on stage. They sounded really good, too. The played a few new songs, but then they played all of the classics. The show ended with the 2nd encore...Don Henley singing "Desperado". It was pretty amazing to be there and witness that. Joe Walsh is still crazier than bat sh*t.

After the show, we went back to the hotel and crashed. Once again, I slept pretty hard as my body was attempting to adjust to the time change.

End of Part 2

From My Travel Journal: My Excellent Adventure in Los Angeles - Part 1

2008-07-16T00:25:00.002-04:00

I've been flipping through the travel journal that I keep, and I found a few trips and stories that I'd like to share.

This one is from October of 2007 when I made a pilgrimage to Los Angeles to see my beloved Dixie Chicks in concert. It's a little long, so I'm breaking it down day-by-day...so it's a trilogy.

The old saying is true. Los Angeles---or whatever place you're discussing--- is a nice place to visit but I wouldn't want to live there. The city's personality just doesn't mesh with mine. The natural beauty (when you can find it) is breathtaking, but there's not much else there that's beautiful in my eyes. There's no beautiful architecture, nothing historically significant (unless you're a movie history buff, which I'm not), no beautiful skyline, etc. I've been to other big cities, and while it's true that people in those cities aren't what I would describe as "friendly" (in Southern standards, anyway), L.A. is the first city I've visited in which people went out of their way to be shi**y. I'll explain more about that later. That being said, I wouldn't change anything about the 3 days that I spent there.

Some background: I am an avid Dixie Chicks fan, and I have been since 1998. I love their talent and music, and I deeply admire them on a personal level. For about a year prior to this trip, I had been regularly reading and posting messages on a Dixie Chicks blog that was authored by an embedded reporter. He was touring with the Chicks, and he posted background stories and pics as he traveled with them on their 2006 Accidents and Accusations tour. There were several regular posters there, and I became good friends with two of them. Brooke lives in NYC and Betsy is in Minneapolis. We learned that the Chicks were going to be playing with The Eagles for six nights in L.A. as they christened the brand new Nokia Theater. We discussed this, decided "Why not?", and we started planning our pilgrimage to L.A. Neither of us has much disposable income to toss around, so we decided this had to be an economical trip. Our plan was to attend one show and to sit in the cheap seats. Betsy's brother was a general manager with a major hotel chain, and he was kind enough to arrange for us to spend three nights at the LAX Radisson free of charge. Needless to say, that took a significant chunk out of our expenses. Each of us managed to find good deals on airfare, so we decided we were going to make this happen!

Now this is where it gets interesting...we had another acquaintance from the same website named Paul. Paul lives in Las Vegas, and he is a professional gambler. Betsy and Brooke met him in December of 2006 when they all met in Dallas on a whim to see the Chicks play their final show on the Accidents & Accusations tour (I couldn't get the time off, dammit!). Paul has lots of connections, and he seems to be financially quite comfortable. As a treat, he gave front row seats to Betsy and Brooke for the show in Dallas. There were no strings attached, no expectations----just a genuinely altruistic gesture on Paul's part.

So when the concerts in L.A. were announced, Paul came into the picture and learned that Brooke and Betsy were planning to attend a show. Brooke informed him that another blogger (me) would be coming, too. Paul said he loved our adventurous spirits, and he thought we should be rewarded. So he treated all 3 of us to orchestra seats for two of the L.A. shows. We protested (albeit mildly), but Paul insisted, and we accepted. Now before you call me naive, let me tell you that I was guarded prior to meeting Paul. It's not that I didn't trust Brooke and Betsy's judgment, but it just sounded too good to be true. I went armed with cash in case I had to buy a ticket at the last minute from a scalper. I asked that we rent our own car and pay for our own hotel (he offered to pay for those, too) so that we could maintain some control of our situation. Long story short----he is not too good to be true. He's genuine, down-to-earth, and a really nice guy. He truly seemed to enjoy making us happy.

So there's the background.

I got up reallllllllllly early on Friday, Oct. 19th to catch a 6 a.m. flight to Atlanta. The 45-minute flight was very choppy due to rain and thunderstorms---the plane dropped and dipped the entire time. They even
cancelled beverage service and the seat belt light stayed on for the entire flight. Maybe I was in denial, but the motion of the airplane was soothing to me, and I slept for most of the flight.

The 5-hour flight from Atlanta to L.A. was uneventful, and I was fortunate enough to sit with people whose company I enjoyed. Louise is a Jewish sixty-something reading teacher from Washington, D.C., and we talked for much of the trip. She was warm and open. Her husband was a nice man, but he was pretty quiet. I think he was grateful that his talkative wife found a distraction. They were heading to L.A. to visit their son and daughter-in-law. We were talking about all of the places we wanted to visit, and she said she had always wanted to visit Santa Fe ever since she was a little girl. Immediately after she said this, the pilot said over the intercom---I swear---"Folks, just to give you an update of our trip, we are now flying over Santa Fe, New Mexico, and we'll soon be flying over The Painted Desert in Arizona." Our mouths dropped, and I pointed out the window and said, "Well, Louise, here you are."

I landed at 11:15 a.m. (L.A. time); Brooke and Betsy's flights landed earlier that morning, so I called them as soon as I touched down. They were in the process of picking up our rental car, and Betsy said they'd pick me up outside of baggage claim in about 15 minutes. I grabbed my suitcase from the conveyor belt, and I headed outside. Brooke and Betsy were there, waiting for me in our silver PT Cruiser convertible(!!). Brooke and Betsy are both tall with long legs. I'm about 5'3" with short legs. Therefore, I was relegated to the backseat for the entirety of the trip. But you know what? I had the best seat in the house! I stretched out, wind whipping around me, and I took in the sunshine and the sights.

We ate lunch at a great place called Paco's Tacos. Brooke says that Mexican food served in CA is "real" Mexican food as opposed to what you find in other parts of the country. Brooke is originally from CA, so she knows of what she speaks. I had a huge delicious cheese enchilada, drank a couple of Mexican beers, caught a good buzz, and then off we went to the hotel.

The hotel was nice, but it always pisses me off that the "nicer" the motel, the more they charge you for amenities. It was $13/day to park there (Motel 6 lets you park for free!). Anyhoo, our room was on the 9th floor, and the hotel was right next to the airport. We had a great view...you could see planes landing and taking off, but you couldn't hear the loud roar.

It seems that what I have heard about the air quality of L.A. is indeed true. It stinks. I was eating sinus/allergy medicine like it was candy. My sinuses burned and ached for the entire trip, and I had numerous sinus headaches, a sore throat, and a persistent cough. When I blew my nose, my mucus had noticeable tinges of black soot. My apologies to the reader for not having photos of that.

We got settled and unpacked, and then we hit the town. Each of us was pretty exhausted (we'd all caught early morning flights), so we knew we wouldn't be able to hit the town too hard. We walked up and down Hollywood Blvd, which has a very Myrtle Beach-y feel to it. I wasn't all that impressed, to be honest. But we did see the Walk of Fame, and I saw all of the stars on the sidewalk. Did you know that Kermit the Frog has one? I had a yummy vanilla ice cream soda at the Disney Ice Cream Shoppe.

While on Hollywood Blvd., we ate dinner at Verte, a Franco-American restaurant owned by Wolfgang Puck. It was casual, so we were comfy popping in while wearing our jeans and capri pants. I had the best steak I have ever had in my life! And I mean this quite literally. I also had a really good apple martini.

We drove back to the hotel, got into our p.j's, and talked. By the time I crawled into bed, I had been awake for over 25 consecutive hours. I fell asleep in about 2 minutes, and I slept the hardest I had in a while.

End of Part 1

Feist Appears on "Sesame Street"

2008-07-15T18:37:00.005-04:00

Nothing endears an artist to me more than when he or she (or they) appears on "Sesame Street" to sing and dance with the muppets.

Feist performs a parody of her song "1 2 3 4" (you guessed it...the parody is a song about counting) flanked by monsters, penguins, and chickens.

I love it!

A Little Bit of Closure

2008-07-15T17:35:00.005-04:00

Tucker's urn arrived via Fed Ex last Friday. It's really quite pretty yet subtle...it doesn't look like an urn, which is just the look I was going for. It simply looks like a pretty wooden box with Tucker's picture on it.

I cried as I opened it, especially when I pulled out the little engraved plaque that was to be affixed to it. The tears continued to flow as I set it up and transferred his cremains. And then I found a really nice spot to keep it, placed it there, and the tears dried up. It helps to see a little reminder of him each time I look around the living room.

A Harsh Reminder

2008-07-14T21:12:00.002-04:00

When this "war" in Iraq began way back in 2003, I was acutely aware of America's presence there. CNN and other news channels were filling the airwaves for seemingly 24 hours a day with news and images of the violence there. American flags and yellow ribbons were prominent. My baby brother was in the US Marine Corps, and he subsequently served two tours there. I was sending care packages to him, as well as to troops whom I knew weren't receiving packages of their own. I had a yellow ribbon magnet on my car that read "Protect My Brother". I could not get enough news about the what was happening there...I was watching CNN constantly. I eventually had to take a break from CNN because I found myself becoming agitated, depressed, and suffering from nightmares as a result of Iraq news overload. How could I not be caught up in the "support the troops" fervor?

As this conflict now drags into its sixth year, I find that my thoughts and attention are rarely focused on Iraq. My brother has since then been transferred to a training squadron---a non-deploying squadron. My family has a temporary reprieve from the constant threat of his return to Iraq. My yellow ribbon magnet was removed in a celebratory nature when my brother came home; I think it might be somewhere in my trunk right now...? CNN no longer gives Iraq their full attention. I haven't sent a care package in about a year now. Embarrassingly, I must confess that I have become entirely too accustomed to the situation in Iraq...and the troops who remain there have been drifting further and further from my mind.

I received a subtle yet powerful reminder last weekend when I traveled to Jacksonville NC to visit my brother, who is now stationed at Camp Lejeune, and his wife. I'm a history buff, and I love to visit monuments and statues. My sister-in-law knows this about me, and she offered to take me to see the Beirut Memorial in Jacksonville. Up until the moment she asked me, I had no idea that such a memorial even existed. I eagerly accepted her invitation. The monument consists primarily of a wall, referred to as "The Other Wall", in which the names of each of the troops who died in Beirut in 1983-84 are etched. There is also a beautiful statue of a Marine in his combat gear.

Also on display at this same park is something that I was completely unprepared to see---a steel beam from one of the NYC twin towers that crumbled to the ground on 9/11/01. As I drew closer to it, suddenly all my memories of that horrible day came flooding back in full force---the moment I realized that the plane crashes were part of some sinister plot rather than freakish accidents...watching live feed from CNN and watching the two towers collapse and wondering how many people just died right in front of my eyes...wondering where the next plane would fall. I examined the beam closely, and the extent of the impact and damage that had obviously been inflicted upon it was mind blowing. As I was taking photographs from various angles, my sister-in-law discovered two sets of military dog tags that were hanging from one of the warped rivets. We were initially perplexed as we bemoaned how foolish it was to leave your dog tags in a public place since they clearly contain your social security number, and wouldn't it be easy to steal this person's identity, yada yada yada...and then the sad realization dawned upon both of us at the same time----the owners of these dog tags were probably dead. We looked at each other sadly and wondered aloud about the intended meaning of hanging the tags at this particular site.

Though no discernible connection has been established between 9/11 and Saddam Hussein, I think that 9/11 does serve as a symbol of our troops' presence in Iraq. I suspect that these dog tags belonged to a couple of Marines who died there, and someone quietly memorialized them by hanging the tags from the WTC beam.

This was a sobering moment for me, and I felt ashamed for having all but forgotten about the men and women who continue to serve in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Regardless of how we might feel about the "war" itself, it is imperative that we remember the men and women who are serving there. They are there out of a sense of pride and duty; but they are also hot, exhausted, homesick, and witnessing violence that most of us could not imagine even in our worst nightmares. We must also remember the military families who are left behind and who, in my opinion, make just as big of a sacrifice as the troops themselves. We must remember the troops who are coming home with horrible injuries, disfigurements, and scars---not only the physical ones, but the emotional ones as well.

Here are some ideas about how we can put "support the troops" into practice:

http://www.anysoldier.com/

http://www.militaryfamilysupport.org/

https://www.woundedwarriorproject.org/component/option,com_frontpage/Itemid,840/

The Letter

2008-07-13T12:11:00.009-04:00

In my previous post today, I mentioned the letter I wrote to friends and family about Tucker. I am posting here the actual letter. I'll tell you what I told them---thank you for reading it.
"If you notice me being out of sorts for awhile, then you'll know why. I'm heartbroken, and I don't know that I've ever felt sadness quite to this depth before. I took today off of work because I'm an utter and complete mess, and I'm not able to do anything for anybody today. This has completely debilitated me today, physically and emotionally. I've cried so much that my eyes are swollen. The skin around my eyes is raw and red from all the wiping and rubbing. I've cried so deeply that there are times I feel like I'm not going to be able to catch my breath. I've cried so loudly that I wonder if I worry the neighbors.

I got home from work last night, and everything was fine. Tucker met me at the door, as he's done everyday for the past 14 years. His behavior was completely normal until around 7:45 p.m. I heard a strange noise and realized that it was Tucker struggling to breathe. He was panting rapidly, making a LOT of noise while he was doing it, and his tongue was hanging out. He couldn't stand up, and he was crawling around on his belly, struggling to find a comfortable position. It came on so suddenly, I figured something was caught in his throat. I swept his throat with my finger, but there was nothing. I scooped him up, and I hauled ass to the After Hours Emergency Vet Clinic in Hickory. He was yowling and thrashing around the carrier. He was terrified and obviously in great physical discomfort.

I hurried into the clinic, and the technician behind the desk smiled and asked if she could help me. I put Tucker on the countertop, and I said (with tears forming), "About 30 minutes ago, my cat had a sudden onset of respiratory distress...I think he's in a lot of trouble." She took one look at him, and the smile dissipated from her face. She grabbed him up and hustled immediately to the treatment area---no questions, no "fill out these forms", etc. She came out a few minutes later and told me they put him on some oxygen while awaiting an examination room. I then filled out the forms and gave his medical history, which was very brief. He had just had his wellness exam a couple of months ago, and he got a great report, as always. His docs have always marveled at healthy he was, especially for a kitty his age. While I waited in the lobby, I checked my credit card balances so that I could see how high I could go before I had to start bargaining for a payment plan.

They called me back into a room and Dr. Ewing told me that she could hear a lot of fluid in his chest, and she suspected he was in congestive heart failure. His blood pressure was low. She tried to listen to his heart but she couldn't hear it because of all the fluid. She asked if he had a heart murmur or any history of heart trouble, and I told her no...that he had just recently gotten a good report from his vet. I told her how suddenly the problem came about, and she was puzzled since the symptoms of CHF usually develop progressively. They gave him some Lasix (a diuretic) and placed him in an oxygen chamber. The plan was to wait until they got some of the fluid off and got him a little more stable, and then they would get a chest x-ray to have a better idea of what was going on. Dr. Ewing said that though they could probably resolve this episode of CHF, they couldn't fix his heart, and it would be a terminal condition. He'd probably have to be on Lasix for the rest of his life, but that was fine by me...I'd learn to give him his pills, no question about that. She let me go back and visit him for a few minutes. He looked better...she said she was pleased with his response to the oxygen chamber. He was no longer panting or breathing through his mouth. He wasn't using his hindlegs yet, but he was able to pull himself up. He was meowing because he wasn't happy to be there, but we were feeling more optimistic about his chances. Dr. Ewing suggested that I call back around 11:30 p.m. for an update; hopefully, they would have a chest x-ray by then. I hugged him and kissed him, and then I left.

On my way home, I prayed out loud for God to be with Tucker and to please get him through this, because I wasn't ready to lose him yet. But, if that wasn't part of the plan, I asked that He make it known to me when it was time to let Tucker go, because I didn't want him to suffer because of any selfishness on my part. I called around 11:30 p.m. They hadn't done the chest x-ray yet, but only because they were crazy busy. The tech said, however, that Tucker was resting comfortably in the oxygen chamber. I told her I'd call back in a couple of hours, and she said that would be fine. During this time, I had been Googling cats and CHF on my computer so that I could start educating myself about how I'd need to care for Tucker from now on.

About half an hour later, my cell phone rang, and I could see that it was the vet clinic. My gut
started to scream. It was Dr. Ewing. She said that Tucker had apparently thrown a blood clot, and it had cut off the circulation to his hindlegs, which were now permanently paralyzed. He panicked when he could no longer feel his legs, so they sedated him to keep him calm. She said
that when it got to this point, she recommended that he be euthanized. Out of desperation, I asked if there was a way to dissolve the clot. She said she could,but his heart was functioning so poorly, he'd just keep throwing them. She said he was experiencing pain now in his front legs, and that "this is really no kind of life for him." Of course, I knew she was right. I realized that this was God answering my prayer...He was making it known to me, just as I had asked. I wept and wailed and cursed after I hung up, and then I got dressed.

I drove the 20-minute drive back to the clinic. I was crying off and on, though I was also struggling with trying to grasp the reality of what was happening. It was feeling surreal at this point, and there were moments when I literally wondered if I were dreaming. It didn't seem real. I walked into the clinic, and a very sad-looking tech asked if I was Tucker's mommy. I told her yes, and she said she would let the doctor know that I was there. I sat down in the lobby and started to cry. They called me back to a room, and I signed to authorize the euthanization. The very kind technician asked if I wanted to take Tucker home afterwards or to have him cremated. Since I have no place to bury him, I told her that I wanted to have him cremated and that I wanted the cremains to be returned to me. I have no idea what I'm going to do with them, but I know that I need to have them back. This happened so quickly that I've had no chance for any kind of closure. I had no idea that my last time holding him was going to be my last time holding him. I couldn't bear the thought of leaving that place and that being it---no connection with him ever again. I never thought that I'd be a person who would keep their pet's cremains, but now I fully undertand why people do it. I don't know if I'll keep them or maybe sprinkle them somewhere.

After all of that was worked out, they brought Tucker in so that I could tell him good-bye. Seeing him then confirmed for me that euthanasia was the only alternative. This was not the same cat I had seen 4 hours earlier. He was awake and responsive, but I could see that he was already dying. He was yowling in pain and trying to stand up. He had "the stare". It wasn't a "i'm doped up on sedatives" stare. It was a stare that I've seen thousands of times since working at Hospice. It's the stare that a dying creature develops when he or she is mentally disconnecting from the environment. His hindlegs were motionless, and the paw pads were dark blue. The insides of his ears had a bluish hue, as did his lips. He was starting to pant again. I realized that now he was out of the oxygen chamber, he was growing increasingly uncomfortable and that I shouldn't drag this out. I hugged him and kissed him, and I told him it would be okay...that this was going to end soon. And I thanked him for everything. I told him that I loved him very much. Dr. Ewing came in and asked if I had any questions. I wrapped my arms around him, and he rested his chin and front leg on my forearm (which is something he has always liked to do). Dr. Ewing injected him, and I felt him go limp literally about 2 seconds after she started to push it. This confirmed for me that he was already dying...he didn't need much help to leave this world. Before she euthanized him, Dr. Ewing cradled his face in her hands and said "You look like you've had a very good life." It was nice to receive that validation from an objective 3rd party. Dr. Ewing was wonderful. At the bottom of my invoice, she wrote "We are so sorry for the loss of your companion and friend."

In spite of everything else, the Lasix had been effective in pulling much of the fluid from around Tucker's heart. Dr. Ewing said she could hear no heart murmur, so she doesn't think the
primary diagnosis was CHF. Because of the sudden onset, she thinks something went terribly wrong with his heart suddenly and with no warning. We suspect he had what's called a Saddle Thrombus ( blood clot) in his descending aorta. It had apparently kicked loose and started to move when Tucker's symptoms started. Sometime between 11:30 and midnight, the clot manifested itself when it became lodged in the branching vessel into the femoral arteries and blocked the flow of blood to those arteries. All circulation to his hindlegs was cut off, and they became paralyzed. Everything went downhill from there. It's my understanding that a Saddle Thrombus usually forms as a result of some kind of underlying heart disease that is often undetectable.

The routine things have been very hard today. Tucker has always followed me to the bathroom...always. In the past 14 years, I think I've gone to the bathroom alone maybe 3 or 4 times. Tucker has always shown up. He sat on the edge of the tub keeping me company, or he sat between my feet---looking up at me, chirping and purring. It became routine for us. No matter where I've lived, I've always always always kept the under-sink cabinet door open. For some reason, in every apartment we've lived, Tucker has always adopted that space as his own. He was terrified of thunderstorms, so the under-sink cabinet also served as his safe place during storms. So the rule has always been that the cabinet door remains open so that Tucker can enter and exit at will. When I'd have friends check on the cats for me while I was out of town, part of my direction was that this cabinet door should remain open at all times. For the first time in 14 years, I shut the cabinet door this morning, and I cried. I cry everytime I go to the bathroom; I find myself putting it off until I absolutely have no choice but to go. I haven't been able to bring his kitty carrier from the car yet; it's still in my backseat with a piece of tape on it from the clinic that says "Tucker Adams". I wept the whole time as I was feeding Gus and Jasper today...it hurts to only be filling 2 bowls today. All day long, I've had moments when I allow myself to be distracted, and then I suddenly "remember " that he's dead, and I feel like I've been kicked in the stomach, and I cry. I really really miss him.

I've been trying to think of things for which to be grateful. Obviously, I'm very grateful to have had such a wonderful little guy in my life for the past 14 years. He truly had one of the gentlest and sweetest souls I've ever encountered in any living being. I'm grateful that his suffering was minimal. The clinic staff got him comfortable very quickly, and they kept him there. I'm grateful that his death occurred only hours after the onset of his illness. I'm grateful that I was able to come home to two affectionate kitties rather than to an empty apartment. Gus is starting to figure out that something's wrong...he's anxious and sniffing around a lot...and pacing. He's been pretty clingy with me, and he looks at me and taps me with his paw the way that he does when he needs something from me. Jasper seems a little bewildered everytime I start to cry.

I'm attaching some of my favorite photos of Tucker. The one of him on the loveseat is my
favorite. His facial expression shows the essence of Tucker.

All of this being said, I do want you to know that I'll be okay. I think all of this is a process that I have to go through. I guess it's part of the deal when you love a creature whose life expectancy is markedly less than your own. The depth of my sadness is the same as the depth of my love for him.

Thank you all, again, for reading through all of this. Mostly, thank you for all of your support and your encouragement.

Love,
Pam"

Opening Up

2008-07-13T12:03:00.002-04:00

My sweet and gentle cat, Tucker, died in the wee hours of June 27 this year. He had been a constant in my life for almost 14 years, and his death was sudden. One night at home, he suddenly went into severe respiratory distress. Five hours later, I was at the emergency vet clinic and holding him as he was being humanely euthanized.

The profound sadness I felt was debilitating. It brought me to my knees---both literally and figuratively. I cried myself to sleep that night, and the next morning I left a tearful voicemail to my supervisor and explained I was unable to come to work that day. I curled up into a ball on the sofa and cried for the remainder of the day. I ignored phone calls, and I completely isolated myself from the outside world. As time wore on, I felt an overwhelming need to purge myself of all this sadness. I desperately wanted to talk about it, yet I did not want to have any contact with another human being. I needed to process (as I always do) my feelings. Ordinarily, I am not comfortable with expressing "negative" emotions, such as anger and sadness, in front of other people. So I let them fester. I'll insist that "I'm okay" or "I'm fine" until the people who love me finally feel so exasperated by my reluctance to share that they finally stop asking, even though they know good and well that I am neither okay nor fine.

This time, I thought I'd try something different. I knew that my family and friends were going to know that something was troubling me because it was quite evident. There was no denying it this time---my sadness was so deep that I could not conceal it. I decided that I would write an e-mail describing what happened with Tucker, and I would do a mass mailing of it to all my family and friends. I wanted to tell the story, but I did not have the energy to tell it more than once. I was going to be fully open and honest about my feelings. I felt like I owed them that.

I sat down at my computer, and I had one of the most therapeutic experiences of my life. I wrote a long letter that shared the entire ordeal in great detail. I graphically described my sadness and my grief. It took about three hours to complete it, because I was sobbing while I was writing. As I read over the finished product, I was surprised at how exhausted I had become. My eyes were swollen, red, and raw. The knot in my stomach was gone. The tightness in my chest and throat was no longer there. I was purged.

I clicked the "send" button with just a little bit of doubt. I began to feel some anxiety about making myself so vulnerable...exposing my soft underbelly, as it were. I don't pretend to believe that each person in my life understands the grief associated with the death of an pet. There are a few animal lovers in my inner circle whom I knew would "get it" right away. However, there are also those who do not own a pet or form the same attachments with theirs as I do with mine. I felt sure that those people would feel sad for me, but they would not fully grasp how I could feel devastated about losing something that was "just" a cat. I was worried that their responses, while well-intended, would fall short of what I needed.

I could not have been more wrong.

The outpouring of love and support that I received was staggering! Everyone responded in exactly the manner that I needed. They offered words of love and sympathy but gave me space at the same time. Not once did anyone ever discount my feelings. They were encouraging while also acknowledging my sadness and the necessity of grief. Without exception, each person in my inner circle "got" it, even the ones who weren't particularly animal lovers. I was touched, and I have never felt more loved in my entire life.

So I thought about this. I thought about it a lot. Why are people now so open and free in consoling me during my sadness and grief? In my previous experiences, people have seemed rather uncomfortable when I was sad. They wanted to help, but they had no idea what to say or to do, so they took the path of least resistance---they did and said nothing. Why were their responses so vastly different this time?

I was chatting with a close friend, and she mentioned that she had felt very comfortable reaching out to me in my time of grief. She said that this surprised her because she usually approaches the bereaved with trepidation. According to her, I made it "easy and comfortable" by letting her know precisely how I was feeling and what I needed from her.

Another good friend said to me, "I wish I could do or say something that would cheer you up." My response to her was "Short of resurrecting a healthy Tucker, there is absolutely nothing right now that is going to make me feel better. But I really appreciate the fact that you want to." She smiled at me and hugged me, and she seemed visibily more at ease.

And then I had my epiphany...other people's responses weren't different. Mine were.

In the past, I had always kept people at arm's length during times of sadness. I refused to open up. I would then expect them to figure out on their own why I was sad and to subsequently know what I needed from them. When they understandably failed to achieve this, I was hurt and wounded. I realize now how remarkably unfair that is! I set them up for failure while also setting myself up for disappointment. By being brutally honest with my loved ones, I equipped them with what they needed to reach out to me and help. And they needed to help me, for their sakes as well as mine. To paraphrase Mr. Rogers, "The nicest thing you can do for someone is to let them do something nice for you."

I thought that opening myself up to people would make me too vulnerable...it might weaken me in other people's eyes. Ironically, it has actually empowered me and lifted me up. I am now entering into my third week without Tucker following me around my apartment and snuggling up against me as I sleep. I miss him terribly, and I still have my moments when I "remember" he's gone, and I cry. But overall, I feel peace and I feel closure. I would not have gotten here without the gift of love and support from family and close friends.

I wish I had figured this out a long time ago.

My Very First Post

2008-07-12T18:14:00.001-04:00

Welcome, one and all!

I turned 40 in 2007. In anticipation of this milestone, I made a New Year's resolution that I was going to stop talking about all of the things that I want to do in my life, and I was going to start actually doing them. My list of things to do included to travel, to start the process of getting into grad school...and to write.

I'm a medical social worker by trade, but there is a wannabe writer inside of me. Periodically, she rumbles around, and I make a half-ass attempt to start a journal or a blog. However, for various reasons, the journal/blog is cast to the side, and my inner writer becomes quiet again. But she always comes back. She's been quite vocal lately...and she has been LOUD. I have also been receiving encouragement from friends and family. I share stories and experiences in e-mails, and I'm told that I should submit my writings to various publications or that I would make a good travel journalist. As much as I appreciate the kind words, I don't think it's so much that I'm a great writer----but I do know enjoy telling stories, and this is apparent in my writing.

So I present to you, the reader, my very first FULL-ass attempt at starting a blog. This inner writer of mine is screaming to get out. I believe this blog will be a perfect outlet for her. There is no theme here; the reader will have the dubious privilege of having access to whatever moods or thoughts happen to be rattling around in my brain on any given day. I will be splaying them out here in my usual stream-of-consciousness style.

Since January 1, 2007, I have had some most excellent adventures as a result of my commitment to keeping the aforementioned resolution. I have also had some experiences that have been spiritual, sad, uplifting, etc. I will probably write about these whenever I'm feeling a little retrospective.

I'm finally writing!