Boomer's Song

Happy New Year 2009

2009-01-03T15:39:00.000-08:00

We took down the Christmas fluffery today. We were both a little quivery about the whole thing, so we left the candlelabra in the windows, to shed a soft light onto the harsh leafless January landscape. But the deer and wreaths and red bows are gone from the front lawn and the little Charlie Brown tree is at the curb. Another Christmas gone.

New Year's Day has come and gone, too. We went out New Year's Eve, just to get a filet at Liberty steakhouse and drink a glass of blackberry wheat microbrew. Our first dinner of 2009 was blackeyed peas, rice, cornbread, and collards, so my cullinary arts continue to be schizoid in origin. The peas were the best I have done in years, mainly because I couldn't find any of the deep south flavoring meats at Harris Teeter, so I threw a couple of country style pork ribs in, along with blackening spice, chili powder, red pepper flakes, an onion, salt and pepper. I had thrown a small bunch of fresh collards in the grocery buggy, but decided to go with a can of Glory brand greens which are seasoned perfectly. With Frank's hot sauce and Texas Pete pepper sauce(vinegar), and the Jiffy cornbread, we ate our good luck food for the year.

So we have settled in for the final overdose of football, the bowl games, the NFL playoffs, college championship, the Superbowl. We will be flying our Gator flag again and screaming for Jake Delhomme and the Panthers. Then my husband will go in to mourning, and I will find something more productive to do with my time. I am planning on getting a new, simple sewing machine and taking up again the only craft- type hobby I enjoy. Maybe I will start making reindeers similar to the ones my mother made, only perhaps a little fancier. Maybe I will make fairies like Mark Roberts. Or maybe I will just make clothes.

Devon and Ray are busy renovating their new townhouse, and we are planning to go up and help the next weekend. They have designed a really cool kitchen, with Ikea cabinets and a diner theme. Ray will be putting down hardwood floors throughout. I am so happy that they have a place of their own at last. And a fireplace, so they won't have to hang their stockings by the wormfarm. Of course, they will have to put up a mantle or a mantle shelf.

Kris and Brett are proud new parents of a flat screen TV. And perhaps a computer, haven't heard. heh. Brett dressed up as James Bond on New Year's Eve but I haven't seen them replace the Honda with an Aston Martin.

Hope 2009 brings everyone health, happiness, peace and a few wishes-come-true.

More Random Christmas Pictures

2008-12-28T09:34:00.000-08:00

Reindeer reflections

Christmas opals from Dad

Katie has eaten too much turkey

Joey, regifted

Scottie jams!!!

Edible Christmas

2008-12-27T11:36:00.000-08:00

Christmas hard candy

Wine, fine

Christmas dinner, simple, yummy

Lovely simmering cider

Since I had to work yesterday, today to me is like that lovely relaxed lazy day after Christmas, the day when in years past the kids would spend the day playing with new toys, the dinner would already be cooked, and at last, the mom, the great creator of Christmas, could enjoy the holiday. Of couse those crazy days are gone, but I still love the post Christmas days between Christmas and New Years. I am still enough of a Canadian to NOT end the holiday the day after, when a shocking number of Southerners take down all the lights and Christmas finery, put away the grog and the nog and return to doldrums of winter. In Toronto in the 80s you could still find houses lit at the end of January. In my own childhood in Florida, my mother NEVER spent New Year's Day taking down her decorations. New Year's Day was big deal to her, when she prepared yet another special meal with duck or goose or roast beef, and always invited friends and family. I think this was a holdover from her Scottish heritage, when those stern Presbyterians celebrated Christmas as a solemn holy day, but New Year's Day was a jolly celebration. Of course her immediate ancestors in Ottawa celebrated both with enthusiasm, as well as New Year's Eve.

Well, we never go out on New Year's Eve anymore, and I usually throw some black eyed peas and rice and hot sauce together for New Year's, but we celebrate Christmas for a week. And this Christmas, we have been celebrating since Thanksgiving, in the form of hot mulled cider. This cider has become a sort of continuous story, constantly bubbling in the crock pot, although I have drained the final 12 ounces or so, thick with sediment, into a refrigerated jar until I fell the need, maybe two days later, to take what I lovingly refer to as "the mother" out of the fridge and add fresh cider, oranges, cloves, cinnamon sticks, allspice, cardamom, and brown sugar to the starter and bring the whole thing to a soul-warming simmer again. When it is beautifully steeped and ready to drink, I ladle it into gold rimmed glass mugs with a generous dollop of Captain Morgan's Spiced Rum. Ahh, the smell, the taste, the heat of mulled cider. I owe part of this recipe to Nigella Lawson, whom I discovered first, briefly, on NPR, and then when I TiVO'd Christmas shows and was blessed with TWO Nigella specials. I immediately recognized a soul mate when she spoke of the scents of Christmas, which for her included oranges, cinnamon, cloves.....all the things that say Christmas to me. And then she described her CHRISTMAS CAKE, as we always called it in my Canadian early years, and her desire to have it as dark as possible, a goal that my mother and I had for years, but never achieved. Well Mom, wherever you are, I did it!! I made a dark, almost black, rich, moist Christmas cake that you would have loved. We are still enjoying it, thanks to the lovely Nigella, and I plan on making it for years to come. I remain an unabashed anglophile, listening to the King's College Boy's Choir singing Once in Royal David's City in pure high voice for a month leading up to Christmas Eve, but actually I think it is just attachment to English Canada that makes me so, well, not Southern, at least in December.

More Christmas pictures

2008-12-25T18:20:00.000-08:00

Nigella Lawson cookbooks! Yay!!

Christmas portrait

Our autistic Scottie and his antlers

The best book EVER

Dad and his Heinekin Hoodie

Christmas passed

2008-12-25T17:49:00.000-08:00

Look, a penguin in my stocking!

The Village in the "blue" room
Claire loves her antlers

Fairies in the air...

Christmas approached with increasing speed and then was gone in a flash. The presents are opened, the cider is finished, the dinner is completed. We started Christmas eve by deciding to fill stockings this year, since we were alone. We thought this might add a little excitement to Christmas morning, and it did. We started off with one rule:EVERYTHING had to be purchased at Walgreens. I went off first, dressed in red blazer with red plaid scarf. I stopped at a Marathon station to fill the car up, such a pleasant experience, now that prices have dropped drastically. As I was walking back to the car from the convenience store, a pickup pulled up and a young man yelled, Maam! Maam! I went over to the passenger side and the driver said"Maam, you look like a Christmas present! God bless you!" Needless to say, this random comment made my day. Next, I headed to the Honeybaked Ham company and queued up with the masses buying the world's best ham. Finally, I ended up at Walgreen's and loaded up on necessary and not so necessary stocking stuffers, which was a lot of fun. Next, D. headed out and was back shortly with Walgreens items and two pounds of Starbuck's Christmas blend, yum. After a dinner of wild caught salmon and asparagus, we drove through the drizzle to look at Christmas lights, but although there were many lovely houses tastefully lit, we were disappointed at the lack of Jax Beach tacky, giant inflatables, cheap icicle lights hanging off the roof, strange combinations of lights, a few strands thrown on to a bush or two. So when it started to pour, we headed home, done with tasteful lighting displays. Later, we went out into the drenching rain to 11 pm church services at the Main St. Presbyterian Church, a lovely candlelight communion service with beautiful music and gorgeous decor. We left feeling like it was Christmas Eve indeed. After filling stockings we went to bed with the knowledge we DID NOT have to get up early.

2008-12-15T17:57:00.000-08:00

Christmas is coming...

2008-12-08T16:40:00.000-08:00

All of the wreathes are fresh from the Farmer's Market. Dennis did a great job in the freezing cold.

Christmas in North Carolina

Pretty little tree

Thank God for homemade soup

Apres tree

the cold was Toronto in January...freakin freezin. We picked the first cheapo Charlie Brown tree we found.

We Gather Together

2008-12-01T17:05:00.001-08:00

Good God, lets eat . Brett brought a CASE of outstanding red wines, which we thoroughly enjoyed (well, not the whole case)

As easy as falling off a log
Grandpa and Ariel

Finding a cache

The big meal

Going geocaching

Devon sitting wherever she can find a seat
Enjoying Cape Cods on Thanksgiving morning

Brett and Claire by the fire
Kristen glowing by the firelight

Everyone arrived for the long Thanksgiving weekend. Kris and Brett arrived first, on Tuesday night after we had gone to bed. They had a quiet visit before the mob burst in. Brett helped make the apple cake and Kristen tore up the bread for the dressing.We ate at a mediocre restaurant that evening called Aquaria. We ate there because I had a gift certificate, and then forgot to use it. Genius, eh?

Devon and Ray and the gang got in about ten thirty Wed night with three sleepy kids who promptly went to bed, and then remained awake for the next two hours. I was up early Thanksgiving morning to stuff the turkey and put it in the oven. Before we ate we went out geocaching and found two caches! This was a new adventure for the non Boatwright members, and it was a lot of fun, hiking through wooded areas and following cell phone GPS directions. We also had a fantastic time playing beanbag toss, football and tag in the front yard prior to the big meal.The weather was cool and perfect and the pix of this activity can be found on Devon's blog.

Lets See, So It's Some Steps...and the Best Meal Ever

2008-11-22T07:18:00.000-08:00

doppio caffe

Ravioli

Eggplant

The only time we drank a wine other than chianti..so delicious that we documented the label for future enjoyment

Spanish Steps and a fountain in the square

I am totally ignorant of the significance of the Spanish Steps, so all I can say is the architecture in this area was beautiful and typical of what we saw throughout Rome. There were also very upscale shops here,and many sidewalk cafes, which were packed with diners, so we decided to eat INSIDE, what a concept. Here we were served the best meal that Dennis and I ate on this trip.

Rome: Day Three: The Museum isn't Built Yet

2008-11-16T17:34:00.000-08:00

Sadly this neighborhood pub was closed.
Dennis was warned by machine gun toting guards not to photograph this lovely building, but he had already snapped the shot.

Graffiti was everywhere in Rome, especially on the subway

On Saturday morning we set off to find the Modern Art Museum, only to find it was still under construction, which our trusty guide book failed to mention. Still, we got to stroll through a residential neighborhood that was not filled with sightseers. Devon was pleased to see Roman mothers with young children, which we had not seen in the tourist parts of town. Before getting back on the Metro and heading for the Spanish Steps, we enjoyed browsing through an upscale furniture store filled with ultra modern furnishings.

Rome:Day Two: Ready Steady Rock and Roll

2008-11-15T13:44:00.001-08:00

The walk from Termini to the hotel

Say cheese!Stay Rebel?? What the heck does that mean?

Night in the city looks pretty to me..

On our second night in Rome, we decided to go to a little jazz club just a short Metro ride away. So we went off into the night, onto the subway, and up into the streets of Rome which never varied much, lovely older buildings, never over six or seven stories, cafes on the sidewalks everywhere, people in the streets at all hours. We arrived at the club but it didn't open until eleven PM, so we decided to grab a bite at a unique restaurant we had walked past, a place called, in English, "Stay Rebel." Over the somewhat western looking bar were the words "ready steady rock and roll." What a fun time we had there, a kitschy empty place trying to be an American steakhouse, perhaps like Longhorn. There was a poster of Elvis on one wall, the front end of a 57 Chevy on another, license plates from various states incorporated into the decor. The menu included something called a "cheeseburger," which we all ordered (well, maybe Ray ordered a pizza, I can't remember). Our waitress was an adorable girl from Romania who spoke a lot of English and put up with our incessant questions and almost total lack of Italian. When our cheeseburgers came, they were bunless and strangely un-beef- like. We asked where the buns were and she told us that was different, that was a"sandwich," which we apparently had not ordered. When we asked if the meat was beef, she said it was "little beef"...that is, veal. We ended up spending the entire evening there, almost the only customers, laughing and drinking and eating little beef. Oh, and there was the mustard incident...we tried to get some mustard for our bunless veal cheeseburgers, and suceeded with ketchup and mayo, but mustard seemed beyond our limited communication ability. Finally our determined waitress consulted the bartender and came back with little plastic packets of.........SENAPE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! "Senape" became our buzzword for the rest of the trip. We skipped the jazz club all together and ended our evening on the rooftop terrace of the hotel.

Rome Day Two:Scenes from Termini

2008-11-12T17:23:00.000-08:00

With our Roma passes in hand, we road the subways everywhere. We returned from the Colosseum to find a political protest tasking place at Termini, with crowds chanting in unison and carrying a banner saying Medicina. Outside , the Carabinieri, or state police , were standing by. At no time did we feel threatened despite the crowds and noise, and the demonstration seemed pretty orderly. We explored the station, which was similar to Grand Central or Union Station, with shops and restaurants on three levels, and took pictures of the trains. Later, we saw a woman, middleaged, accosted by the police while taking pictures in the Metro station. Apparently, it is not allowed, picture taking. We were a little more aware of the threat of terrorism in Europe.

Rome Day Two:The Colosseum

2008-11-12T17:00:00.000-08:00

Rome: the Second Day

2008-11-11T17:48:00.000-08:00

A familiar sight

Street scenes

Breakfast

Every morning we enjoyed the hotel breakfast on the rooftop. I became quite accustomed to croissants and coldcuts and cheeses with my coffee American every morning. Yoghurt, fresh and canned fruit, cereals and pastries were also on the buffet. Several English and Indian families sitting near us ordered bacon and/or eggs from the menu, but I did not miss the traditional English breakfast. It was so lovely being waited on every morning. Usually when we vacation I still end up cooking breakfast, so this was quite a treat.

We headed off this AM on foot to the Colosseum, which just seemed to appear around a corner. It constantly amazed me, the sudden revelation of breathtaking antiquities that were just an everyday part of life in this gorgeous city. We bought a Roma pass outside the Colosseum and Ray adopted his tour guide persona, copied from the many aggressive tour guides lurking around all the tourist spots. He would hold his arm above his head and we followed after him like ducklings. The Colosseum was magnificent but frightening. The image of the horrors that took place in this huge arena still hung in the air about the place. Boomers would call this aura "bad vibes."

2008-11-11T17:07:00.000-08:00

Enjoying the rooftop terrace

Cathedral across the street viewed from the roof of the hotel

Gelato at Trevi

Ray the photog

We wound up day one eating gelato, the first of many, at Trevi Fountain. We strolled back to the hotel, retrieved a bottle of wine from our room that had been purchased earlier at a corner market, and enjoyed a glass on the rooftop terrace of the hotel. The cathedral across from the hotel was beautiful bathed in soft lights. Our first day in Rome was complete.

More Day One in Rome

2008-11-10T17:32:00.000-08:00

Trevi Fountain

First pizza rustica

Our hotel

The door to Rome

Our hotel, which Ray found for us last January, was in the heart of the historic district and within walking distance of Trevi Fountain, the Colloseum, Termini (the train station), Upim, a dept store, many restaurants, and many grocers, which sold hard liquor as well as fresh produce. Dennis and I got the larger room, we later found was in deference to our age. The hotel had a rooftop terrace where you could bring your own bottle of wine and view the city, as well as the beautiful church, Santa Maria Maggiore, across the street.

Pix of Rome: Day One

2008-11-10T17:16:00.000-08:00

Trevi
Another beautiful bldg on the walk

Happy tenth anniversary, Devon and Ray

Happy 33 years

We had our first dinner in a cafe right below the hotel. I had caprese salad, Dennis had bruschetta, Ray had the second of many pizza margheritas, and Devon had???? This was the first of many meals outside during which we lingered over a bottle of chianti. Then we walked to Trevi Fountain, amidst the crowds of tourists and with beautiful evening weather. Our entire trip, until the last day, was graced with perfect weather.

HEY I GOT MY PASSPORT!!!!

2008-10-13T16:40:00.001-07:00

With just a LITTLE more drama, I finally have my passport in hand. If I only had some CLOTHES, I would be ready for Rome. But I will be off to get a couple pair of jeans and some "serviceable" shoes soon. REAL soon. We leave for DC on Tues next week, and will be on the flight to Rome Wed pm. The final drama re my passport occurred last Thursday, when I returned from an all day seminar in Greensboro to my office in High Point to check my mail and record my time online. An email awaited me, from our mailroom clerk, stating that my passport was in the mailroom. What the heck?? I had asked DHL to deliver the signature-required-in-person package to my work address, forgetting that I was not going to be there. I called them back early in the am to reschedule, only to learn that there was no record of the planned delivery to work. So I said ok, fine, deliver to my home address Friday. So they delivered it to my work address, accepted the signature of anyone willing to sign, and Barbara had gone home, not telling anyone where the passport was placed. After a few histrionics on my part, it was finally located, to my tremendous relief. Carolyn said my lovely photo looked like I was being sent up the river, and I could only laugh and agree.

We took off for New Bern this weekend, although it was raining Fri and Sat and our trip to the Mum Festival was dampened. Pretty much it was like the Palatka Blue Crab Festival without the crabs...and without the Florida heat. We did spend a lot of quality time in the hot tub and indoor pool. Sunday was clearer and cooler, but I did spend some time trying to soak up some sun on the outdoor pool deck. We spend endless conversations trying to decide if we want to buy a one bedroom with a deck. Still undecided. We kind of like the incredible European-ness of our functional one room, and we love the renovation. Still, it would be nice to have access to the outside. We will ponder this some more.

My incredibly handsome grandson flew to Orlando with his dad this weekend to attend a wedding in some fine new threads. I will post pix if I get some. Kristen and Brett got to travel to Mousetown and hang with the bro in law and the nephew. Pictures, please!!!

Will post again, maybe after the incredible Italy tour.

Lynn and Mike's Reception

2008-10-03T17:08:00.001-07:00

We made another crazy fast trip to Florida and back to attend the wedding reception of some old friends and colleagues. We had a wonderful time. Kristen decided to go with us since Brett had to work, and said she was surprised they played such current music. That explains why I didn't recognize it. All of us "older" folks got up to dance when we heard that old Motown sound...all of us women and Dennis, who has never not enjoyed a good party. Lynn's husband Mike seemed like a very nice fellow and perfect for Lynn. Earlier in the day we had eaten at Cruiser's, an old Beach dive, washed the car, dropped off Dennis to "nap," Kris and I went to a nail salon where I got nails and Kris got a pedicure, then to Roy's for a gift card for the newlyweds, and then to Starbucks, back to the apt, woke up D., and went for a walk on the beach before getting dressed to head to Riverside. I am beginning to feel like a jet setter, heh.

My good friend Janet emailed me yesterday and said she had responded to an inquiry from Canada Passport, so I have high hopes for the arrival of my passport. And today I got my North Carolina driver's license, so I am well documented indeed.

4on/3off

2008-09-20T17:19:00.000-07:00

I started working ten hour days this past week, which will give me Fridays off. I thought it would be tiring, but really it was not difficult at all. I have to get up about 25 minutes earlier (4:45 AM)in order to continue my mile and a half walk on the treadmill every morning, and I have to leave by 5:30 every evening since that's when they lock the place down, so really I am not working much longer hours than I did at Senior Home Care, without Fridays off. And having Friday off was GREAT...I slept a little later and painted the dining room, did the grocery shopping, made dinner, wow, it was like being retired for one day! And when we spend weekends in New Bern, I will be able to do the shopping and housework, and still enjoy our weekends away. It is ALL good.

We spent last weekend at the condo, the last of the summer, and it was pure relaxation this time. Spent both days at the pool, walking, bike riding. We did go into the city on Sat afternoon to get a coffee at Port City Java, shop a little, and eat dinner at Morgan's Tavern, our current favorite restaurant, where we both had lobster bisque, a wonderful filet, and key lime pie. Sigh. The only weird thing that served to slighly tarnish the weekend was the EXCHANGE of our brand new doormat for an older rattier model. As Peg said, "That's a little creepy." We were also confronted with huge number of MS bikers on our way into town, that's BICYCLISTS, not hogs, and we learned that Kelly, the young girl who kindly showed us the several units she and her husband Jeff have renovated and rented, is a TRIATHALON competitor who travels the world in pursuit of her sport. She recently returned from a competition in Belgium. Her husband Jeff is the new condo association president, and Kelly is just a small woman whom you would never have presumed to be athletic at first meeting. We also met a man who is in a barbershop group when we were scouting around for larger condos. New Bern is just full of interesting people...at least Fairfield is. And they were having the last chamber music concert of the season downtown across from the Episcopal church that dominates the landscape of the central city...a concert I would have liked to attend if we had known...High Point is drab by comparison..as we drove through the cavernous empty downtown on our trip back, and then by the tattoo parlors that edge Emerywood, I once again wondered why we ended up here, but fortunately the weather this week has been cool and crisp and fall-like, and we have done some sprucing up of our truly loved house and I am feeling better about the whole thing again. It is LOVELY here in the fall. And the coast and the mountains are just a short trip away. AND we ate lunch at Mayberry's today, a place like no other, an old fashioned soda fountain/diner/neighborhood haunt where we ate hotdogs and french fries, hot and crisp, famous bacon bean soup, and ice cream. There are things I love about High Point.

We are off to Florida AGAIN next weekend, for Lynn's wedding reception at Sterlings of Avondale. I am looking forward to seeing all my old friends from SHC, as well as seeing Kris and Brett again and staying at the beach.

Saw "Tropic Thunder" two weeks ago, the funniest movie we have seen in years. Gross but funny. Tom Cruise alone is worth the admission price. Matthew McConawatsit is fabulously vacuous in his pink polo shirt. The STARS are hysterical, although Jack Black could have been allowed to let loose a little more. There was even a parody of Steven Speilberg's penchant for making heroes of little boys, in the form of a less than sympathetic little dude as the leader of a big heroin distribution center.

There is the possibility that I may have satisfied Canada Passport with my most recent application and I may actually be going to Italy in October with the rest of the gang. I spoke with a rep on the phone who said it should be ready around October the tenth. I have hesitated to discuss the Italy trip in this forum for fear that I might not be going. Now I at least have a glimmer of hope that I will not be made to jump through more hoops. The Americans in this family had no trouble getting their passports. My frustration with the Canadian passport process for expatriates is still intact.. I still have only hope, not confidence, in the system.

That's it for Sat night in front of the TV watching college football..Go Wake!!

To Florida and Back

2008-09-04T16:45:00.000-07:00

.

We went to Florida over Labor Day weekend because it was a three day weekend, we hadn't seen Kris since Thanksgiving, and probably would have no other chance to see Karen and Buff this year. It was a whirlwind tour, to say the least. I had Friday off, but Dennis did not, so we left at 5 am on Sat. The dogs were at the vet's, and the cats were on their own. It was dark and drizzling and I gripped the steering wheel with both hands until we got through Charlotte and the sun came up. Poor night vision is just one of the joys of growing old. But the trip was short, it seemed, and we were in Jax Beach by 12:45. We drove through our old neighborhood and saw a lot of debris left by Fay, branches stacked in front of every yard, trees bent and broken by the wind. The streets seemed narrow and the houses a little messy, here and there unkempt, or maybe it was just the remains of the tropical storm that made the neighborhood seem less lustrous than my memories. We arrived at Kris and Brett's apt and had a happy reunion. The apt is small but open and attractive, with a new kitchen and clean white walls. And of course it is less than a block off the ocean, which is in view from the furnished front porch. We couldn't wait to walk on the beach, so we took a stroll after Brett left for work, and in a few short minutes we were completely drenched by a sudden storm. I had forgotten how fickle Florida weather is, and what real humidity is. Later that afternoon we met Brett's parents, Pat and Dave, for dinner at the Gene's Seafood, for old times sake, and like everything else I missed from my previous life in Florida, the place had changed, nolonger crowded, somewhat dingy and different, but the crabcakes were still huge and delicious. Dennis spent a long time inspecting and admiring Dave's recently acquired 1968 Porsche 912. Back at the apt we listened to reggae and talked and drank lots of mini margaritas and later enjoyed a pleasant night on the Eddie Bauer air mattress in the spare bedroom.

Early the next morning I arose first, made coffee, and went down to the beach to take in the sound and smell and lovely sight of the ocean. It was rough and gray all weekend, because of Hanna who spun offshore hundreds of miles away, but caused the ocean to swell and heave like a northeaster from the wrong direction. This same hurricane is expected to come onshore in North Carolina this weekend, finally, somewhat depleted but hopefuly still wet. After everyone dragged out of bed we walked, yes walked, to the Third Street Diner for a wonderful breakfast...I had a perfect feta and spinach omelette. Then we headed for Palatka and the Munnagerie. Karen had made her famous barbecued shrimp and her famous delicious Dottie's Delight for dessert. We ate early, still stuffed from breakfast, because Brett had to leave at 3:30 to get to work . We had a lot of fun playing with the new baby, Max the 4 month old German Shepherd, but it seemed strange with only four horses and no matched Belgians. And there was much disappointment for the guys that the Segue was broken. Still, we had a nice reunion and Karen's house seemed like home, as usual.

We drove back to Jax at dusk and bought a bag of Krystals which we took back to Kristen's and enjoyed before watching the best of Christopher Walken (more cowbell)on DVD and heading to bed. I was up first again in the morning and went down to the beach again. I could get used to that. I even began to look at beachfront real estate when we got back to NC. Dennis and I left around ten and the drive home seemed so much longer. We stopped at Cracker Barrel in Lexington for dinner where I had complete comfort food, chicken and dumplings, fried apples, corn, biscuits. What the heck happened to my diet, heh. The kitties were glad to see us, and we went back to work Tuesday morning. Next trip will be back to New bern in a week or so...

to New Bern and back

2008-08-17T18:46:00.000-07:00

Just got back from a memorable trip to New Bern. It was memorable for mostly good reasons; however, the trip down could have been disastrous. We decided to try a different route that would avoid the Raleigh traffic, taking backroads south of the city and perhaps making better time and arriving before dark. But by the time we pulled into Fairfield Harbour it was one thirty A.M. We had spent three and a half hours in the parking lot of Advance Auto Parts while a stranger named Mike, our angel, struggled to replace the alternator and the serpentine belt on our eleven year old F-150, IN THE POURING RAIN. The route south of Raleigh was slow and tortuous, and we were already discouraged by our lack of progress, when the truck's battery light came on. We continued on, hoping it was just a faulty sensor, when the voltage gauge began to drop. It was seven thirty on Friday night in the middle of the central North Carolina countryside. I was driving and feeling panicky, imagining the engine finally dying on a lonely dark stretch of road between Kinston and New Bern, late at night without a tow truck or motel in sight. I asked Dennis what the "plan" was, other than blind hope, so he came up with one. He located the auto parts store with the help of his GPS, only three miles away, but there was no one to replace the dead alternator at an auto parts store, or so we thought. We were wrong. Mike was standing at the counter when D. was asking around for help, and said he would do the deed in the parking lot for thirty dollars! He said it would take 20 or 30 minutes and we would be on our way. Three hours later he is sweating in the rain, struggling with the belt; we have acquired another "helper" who actually needs gas money so he weaseled into the fray with a flashlight and some suggestions, but it was Mike who refused to leave us stranded, even after the store closed, the lights went out, and lightning flashed all around us. He was truly our miracle . Finally, we were on our way again, the rain continued off and on, and we arrived for our weekend vacation in the wee hours. The dogs awakened me at six thirty for their morning constitutional, and we were off in the early morning grey, me uncharacteristically groggy, the dogs joyous as usual.
The rest of the weekend was lovely. We went into town to get some i phone accessories and condo stuff, dog dishes, cleaning supplies, a door mat with red and grey geese, and a sign for the front door that said "and they lived happily ever after." Stopped at Applebees for lunch, then went back to the resort and slept for three hours. When we awoke, Dennis hung the pictures I had brought from home over the bed, nailed the hook in the kitchen for the dishtowel, and nailed up the door sign. As we were hammering, our neighbor Joann came out and talked for awhile, then we decided to rent some bikes at the clubhouse and tour the park. Since we had no dinner plans, we stopped at BB Hurricanes, also known as the worst restaurant in NC, to order couple of margaritas, which we drank outside while they cooked our crabcakes to go, and watched the sun sink over the Marina. It was a beautiful evening. Back home, we ate the crabcakes and fries, although with usual incompetence they had forgotten to pack our coleslaw. We watched Michael Phelps win his eighth gold medal at the Olympics to beat Mark Spitz's record and it was a fine end to the day.
This morning, Sunday, I took the dogs for a long happy walk at seven AM and we came across three does grazing on the Riverwatch front lawn. They leapt to the edge of the woods when they saw us, but remained fully visible as we turned and left them to their morning foraging. Later, D and I went to breakfast at IHOP and then spent the rest of the time remaining at the pool, which was much more refreshing than two weeks ago. We hated to leave, but at least had no unpleasant incidents on the way home. It will be several weeks before we can get back, but we have not lost the thrill of having our own little spot of vacation paradise.

A piece of the pie...before and after

2008-08-06T14:25:00.000-07:00

Here are photos of the condo in New Bern, before and after the renovation and during the attempt to make it our little piece of vacation heaven. I think we achieved our goal and had a wonderful time in the process. David still has to install the cooktop, but that is all. We found the perfect futon in Furniture Liquidators, plus a blanket chest to serve as storage/coffee table, and a headboard for the bedframe we brought from home. Everyone dropped by to see the "new place" and meet the new "weekenders."
Now we are considering buying another one, with a real BEDROOM!

Millions of peaches, peaches for you..

2008-07-27T16:48:00.000-07:00

Ok, so today we had peaches sliced for breakfast, D. had peaches and cottage cheese for lunch and I had a peach and yoghurt smoothie. The pie making was a struggle as usual, so I made one pie and one cobbler, and we had pie tonight following our leg o' lamb and roasted veggie dinner. The pie was crumbly and peachy,all I could hope for.

Plant a little garden, eat a lot of peaches

2008-07-26T18:07:00.000-07:00

Today I went to the Triad Farmer's Market in search of peaches, and found a basket of slightly bruised fruit for ten dollars. This is an incredible bargain, especially in light of the cost of driving out there. I peeled and sliced a bowlful and still have a plethora of peaches in the basket. So tomorrow I will be making peach pies, cobblers, jam, although I intended to garden. I have a corner of the driveway filled with perennials awaiting planting. I bought them for their colours and textures, their height or their squatness. I have no idea what they are, except for the daylillies. I want to plant them around the mailbox, and on the opposite side of the driveway, where the grass is parched because the sprinkler will not water there.I have visions of my yard, my garden, like an English garden, lush, full of flowers and butterflies, stone retaining walls, daily rainfall.....what I actually see out my front door is a flat suburban rectangle, with a tree in the center, a large willow oak, and a stripe of asphalt dividing the left side. The drought continues, although the grass seems green until you examine it closely and see the brown patches spreading between the blades. I think the flowers will grow better than the grass, as I will be inspired to water them in hopes of producing that English garden.....
We are watching "The Kite Runner, " a beautifully made, sad movie...

Rachael's Birthday, or "I am getting drenched!!"

2008-07-20T12:27:00.001-07:00

Princess Rachael Elizabeth Boatwright turned five on July 19, so she packed her clothes and took a trip to North Carolina, also known as Almost Heaven. She went to visit her Grandma and Grandpa Rudy, who being old and moldy and what with having to work and all, couldn't visit her in her castle in Virginia. Rachael also kindly allowed her older brother Trevor the Flatulent and her baby sister Ariel the Interminably Cute accompany her, along with Dad, who was the Moneykeeper (an oxymoron) and Mom, Who Knows What Clothes Match and Cooks. After a brief car trip in the Mallowmobile they all arrived in High Point, ready to party. But first they had to get past Claire the Fierce and Winston the Even Fiercer, sneak through the Laundry and Catpoo Dungeon, avoid the Claws of Death and the Polydactyl Kitty, which they did without much bloodshed. But the Home of the Grandfolks was empty, and even worse, the kitchen was not full of good dinner smells. Alas, the Mom Who Cooks did not, so off went Dad and Grandpa to the Italian sector to bring the Princess and her entourage some sustenance, or better yet, spaghetti on round silver plates, and for the Adventurous, eggplant Parmesan WHICH MAY HAVE BEEN VEAL, or not. We shall never know. And then the Princess retired to the Informal room to watch Noggin, only Dad was struck by the Sword of Commercialism and thus turned the dial to the Cartoon Network, which caused Mom to question his Sanity later on. Following much sampling of the Noble Dessert Wine from the legendary Stonefield Cellars Winery , the old Grandma suggested a Bat Walk which was met with a chorus of Yeas from the Princess and her siblings, as this meant they could AVOID BEDTIME, because as everyone knows, bats only come out at twilight, which was nine pm in Almost Heaven, North Carolina. So they gathered their crocs and dogs and jars and lanterns and other hiking accoutrema and set off into the fading light of Suburbia to catch a glimpse of the mysterious Flying Rodents, to seek the fatally beautiful Fireflies, doomed to be put in a jar by the Trevor the Astute Hunter, and to tantalize the visitors with a brief tour of the THE HOUSE FOR SALE DOWN THE STREET, obviously a GOOD BUY, being an Estate Sale, but alas the people who rent their castle up north were only temporarily seduced by the GREAT VALUE.

After much walking, many bat sightings,even by Ariel the Small, and several Firefly Capturings, the tired Princess climbed the Hill of Sorrow and Leg Cramps with her
throng of Hangers-On, and upon reaching the Castle of Relativity began to weep in the most heartbreaking fashion, tears rolling down her fair cheeks. Alas, it became apparent that the Princess had not caught a firefly and that even though Trevor offered his own flashy bugs to the Royal Sister, she was not appeased. Finally, to the surprise of All and Sundry (who had just shown up uninvited)it was noted by Trevor the Beaten Down by All These Sisters that there was one lone flashy fly left in the jar who had not been Set Free, so Princess Rachael took the jar to the front stoop of the Castle of Relativity and, unscrewing the lid of the glass prison, set the little phosphorescent creature free. The evening was saved, and all the Royal Siblings piled happily into the familiar cozy bed of the Castle. And the old grandma pulled put of the Bag of Surprising Stuff a night light of most amazing design, a light which created stars of Many Colours on the wall to the delight of the Royal Grandkids, who declared it pretty and went off to sleep.

The following morning the Grandfolks went off to work and the Princess and her Court went to the Museum of Dinosaurs, Lemurs and Tigers, which is a Tale that shall be told by the Mom who Blogs and Doesn't Seem to Cook. That same evening Dad the Smoker of Turkeys cooked lovely juicy hamburgers and hotdogs on the Castle Grill while Grandpa gave sage advise and drank from the Bottle of Brewed Barley and Hops. And the Royal Children, still WAITING FOR RACHAEL'S BIRTHDAY, watched My Neighbor Totoro and Did Not Want to go to Bed Much. But they knew that finally on Saturday it would be the Princess Rachael's Actual Real Birthday and that they would be going to a Land of Great Adventure and Recreational Water.

The Great Day dawned grey and misty but with the Admonition from Trevor the Soothsayer that it "Can't rain on Rachael's birthday," the revelers set forth for a Day of Merriment. The first stop on the great Journey was the Land of Breakfast (or Golden Corral in some parlances). This was a land of Wonderment, a land of Scrambled Eggs and Bacon and Sausage and Pancakes and French Toast and Omelettes and Hash Brown Potatoes and Biscuits and Strawberries and Yogurt and Gummi Bears and Sugar Cookie Pizza and Corned Beef Hash and Eggs Benedict and Watermelon and Brownies and Soft Serv Ice Cream and you could have it all Twice, even Three Times, such an amazing Land this was!! The Princess Rachael commanded her Grandmother to carry her plate and place such items of her choosing on it and carry it back to the Royal Table. Her poor old Grandma complied, many times, and sadly did not get to finish her coffee, but this is of No Importance to the Story.

The next stop on the Journey to the Park of Excess Water was a simple shop selling bathing suits and wrapping paper and Cd's and water. The Royal Grandpa, alas, did not find a swimming suit of Less Absorbency and was saddened, but the Royal Dad found water in plastic cylinders and after a heated exchange of words with the Royal Son, purchased the beneficial liquid without Flavor or Fitness added. The Royal Mom did not buy anything but did remind the Royal Son to curry favor with the King or risk the Consequences. Everyone returned to the Royal conveyances and headed out to the final destination. There was much discussion between the Mom and Grandma over the Possibility of Rain, but they realized talking about it would make no difference at all. After all, the HIGHLY COMPENSATED meteorologists had studied the meteors and other signs and had declared NO RAIN (except maybe later on in the afternoon, and then there was only a 30% chance which as WE ALL KNOW means no, it is not gonna rain on YOU) Nevertheless, there were an awful lot of Big Gray clouds looming overhead.
The Royal Procession arrived in the Wet and Wild parking lot ahead of the common folks and rushed to the ticket booth. To the horror of the Royal Parents, Trevor the Tall was charged an adult price because of his Great Height, even though the Royal Prince Just Turned Seven. This was a great Injustice but no one wanted to spoil the Princess' birthday so Dad decided not to File a Complaint on this Happy Occasion. The next stop was the Cabana rental booth, which as we know is what separates the aristocracy from the rabble, and the King thought that the Princess' fifth birthday was the proper occasion for her to develop her natural Preference for All Things Costing more than Regular Stuff, and so the Cabana was rented and the distinction between the Princess and her subjects was emphasized by the blue band placed around her delicate wrist, so that All and Sundry (who kept showing up wherever she went) would realize her place in the Park and in the World, and treat her with awe and deference, as was her Right. Indeed, all the Royal folk were given bright blue bands and wore them with distinction, except for Ariel the quite Small but Vocal, who did NOT want to wear hers, but then she was too young to understand the GREAT HONOR that having a Cabana bestowed upon you. After settling into the comfort of the Royal Shelter, the Men went off to seek the Great and Thrilling Slides of Terror, and the Royal Women descended to the Kiddie Pools, pools of great and frightening whales, submarines, toadstools and other things SO TERRIFYING that the Birthday Princess did not LIKE them and demanded to go elsewhere. Of course her demands were obeyed and off they went to the Kiddie Slides, a place so frightening that the Princess demanded to go Elsewhere and would NOT watch the Princess Ariel go down the slide with her Mom. Finally, after much impatient Princess foot stomping and some embarrassing public dancing by the Princess and her plump old Grandma, the Lazy River opened and let the Princess in ahead of everyone else. She pointed to the BEST inner tube and of course her Grandma grabbed it, and the Princess LIKED it! She sat in the tube like the Royal person she is and floated down the river in the lovely current and there were no scary slides or splashes at all! NOTHING HAPPENED, and the Princess Rachael loved it, and much time was spent floating in circles. Her Mom the Queen who Really Does Cook Sometimes floated in the reverie of someone who doesn't get much Peace and Quiet and only occasionally had to amuse the Princess Ariel.

But Alas, the lazy river lost its charm eventually and the Royal party headed back to the Cabana where the Royal men regaled them with stories of Truly Amazing Waterslides of great tallness and twistiness and speediness. A pizza was sought and purchased and a sort of Great Feast followed. Then the Great decision was made to go to the Wave Pool, an awesome fortress of astounding technology, where the ocean is tamed into ONE GREAT WAVE which bursts forth with regularity from the bowels of an INVISIBLE MACHINE and sweeps the unfortunate from their feet and leaves all before it gasping in Amazement. It scared the Princesses to death, a figure of speech that seems appropriate. Even Prince Trevor the Fearless was a little undone. The Royal Grandma asked the Royal menfolk, who had abandoned EVERYONE in some great insanity of joy, TO PLEASE WATCH THE CHILDREN so that the Queen and the Queen Mother could tempt the great wave by swimming toward it, and so they did. By now the Royal Princess Rachael was pretty much DONE with the water park, which she expressed by saying with some emphasis, "I am DONE!!" But the Grandma suggested cotton candy which was met with great hurrahs and they headed off to the candy stand where Grandma paid NINE DOLLARS for three bags of cotton candy, two blue, one pink , and there was joy in the Cabana again. Everyone ate great gobs of spun sugar except Trevor whose sweet tooth is quite a bit smaller than the Royal Sisters'.

And then came the Great Irony. It started to rain, slowly at first, and then harder until the slight chance of rain became a torrential downpour. The Princess was not amused. Not only did it rain on Her Birthday, but at a Water Park, where quite frankly there was already more than a reasonable amount of opportunities to get wet, and the Princess was not impressed with most of them. Really, she just wanted to return to the Grandcastle and open her presents. Truly. But there was the little problem of the Cabana. It required that everyone GET THEIR MONEY'S WORTH, a concept pretty much lost on the Princess. "I am getting drenched!" she announced with regal impatience. This was obviously not the case, as she was under the sheltering Cabana and wrapped in a towel. But the Princess was given to a certain dramatic overstatement of facts. "I AM GETTING DRENCHED! I AM DONE!!" she announced again to her brother, the Prince, who lay out in the open on a lounge chair, covered by four towels, and replied in a muffled voice that he was nice and dry. " I AM GETTING DRENCHED!" she cried with horror to her grandma who was actually getting drenched on her starboard side. "I AM GETTING DRENCHED!" she shouted with royal exasperation to her mother, who, looking somewhat amused said "What are you Rachael? Can you tell me again?" At this point the Princess Rachael totally forgot that she had just turned five that very day and said with unquestionable imperialism, "I AM GETTING DRENCHED AND IF I HAVE TO STAY HERE ONE MORE MINUTE I WILL TAKE THE CAR KEYS AND DRIVE MYSELF HOME!"

It should be noted that the rain stopped,the Royal Family went back to the Pirate Ship where the Prince had a good time jumping into the pool off the bow, where grandma and grandpa actually got to swim, and where the Princess refused to stay but actually had a blast at the kiddie pool with the Princess Ariel and the patient Queen who Never Cooked Once, and enjoyed another trip down the lazy river. All in all, getting DRENCHED is pretty much fun as long as the Princess says it is fun.

Wall e

2008-07-05T13:02:00.000-07:00

Loved this movie.

July 4th

2008-07-04T11:01:00.000-07:00

Plenty of time to write today. We had to cancel our trip to New Bern as David the Reno Man has way too much to do before the place is habitable. He is a very nice guy and is apparently quite meticulous, so we will just wait until he is finished to his satisfaction. He has completed stripping the ancient wallpaper and painting the place one uniform light beige color, and has installed the neutral beige tile, although he had to reset a couple of tiles he was not happy with. But he has not installed the bathroom sink and counter, or the kitchen cabinets, counters and appliances, or the ceiling fan. He did say the place was much brighter now. So we will wait another week or two before heading for the coast. I am excited to see the results, especially after we put the bed in, with all the beige and chocolate brown and reddish accent colors. And the multicolored rug. And the metal wall decor I picked up at the Home Depot clearance corner and must spray black. I want to see if it all blends. BUT most of all this weekend I wanted to go to the pool, rent a boat, go bike riding, sit in the hot tub, eat at Morgan's Tavern again. Before they close it, sigh.

I say that because after three years of eating there at least two weekends a month, they closed the Armadillo Grill. This little fresh Mex cafe was our favorite casual eatery. We could schlepp in wearing our rattiest old shorts and flip flops and feel right at home. The place was always dark and cool, the tvs were everywhere but no sound, you could order a beer and an enchilada plate and know that you would not get any foreign objects in your food, like the metal nut I found in my food from Three Caballeros in Jax Beach. We knew it would happen. The place was never crowded, not even during furniture market. We really didn't expect it to stay open the first year. But after three, we figured they must somehow be making a profit, maybe in the bar. So I admit we were shocked to find it closed permanently, with a sign on the door to try their Raleigh and Carrboro locations. A bit far for a quick bite, I think.

So, still on the subject of food, since we had to stay in town, I decided we would at least have a cookout, just us. So I have chicken marinating in lime, garlic and cilantro, and we will also have grilled corn and pineapple, a salad and watermelon.I don't think we will be braving the traffic this year to try and see the fireworks at Oak Hollow Park. Last year, when Devon and Ray and the kids drove down on the spur of the moment and gas was two dollars a gallon cheaper, we tried to see the fireworks but ended up cruising up and down Eastchester, hoping in vain to find a parking spot.I really miss the days of watching from the beach, or even from my mother's houseboat in Palatka. I hope next year we will be in New Bern, or Jax Beach, or DC. We will have a better plan. Spending holidays alone is no fun, even if it is relaxing..who needs relaxation, unless it is by a pool, or floating up the Trent River?

Ramblings

2008-06-30T17:47:00.000-07:00

I have written a lot over the past month...just didn't publish it. Don't like ranting on the internet. Sometimes it seems so hard to express one's self in a coherent, amusing, entertaining manner. So I don't think I will try. I think I will just write.
I read with some sadness that Devon is giving up home schooling. I completely understand her decision. I don't think I would ever have had the patience or courage to attempt to teach my children a curriculum, with expectations from the school system. But Trevor and Rachael seemed so LUCKY, to be able to learn from their mother, in their own home environment, with a flexible schedule and no teacher to discourage them or judge them. But of course in the real world they will have to overcome discouragement and they will be judged. And they will be incorporated into a group and somehow learn their place. Sigh. And they will have to conform to the school calendar. I loved it when they seemed so free, outside of the constraints of society. Of course, I loved it when I seemed so free, able to take off for Reston for birthdays and illnesses and for fun. But it was also quite disconcerting, to have no connections or obligations where I lived. Having a job has given me a small sense of belonging in High Point. Still quite small....
We have paid someone to redo our New Bern condo, as our tenant moved out. We lowered our expectations from granite to laminate counters, but other than that we are getting what we wanted, tile floors, new kitchen,paint, GRANITE in the bathroom. I am a victim of HGTV. Today I went out at lunch to Steinmart to buy a comforter, towels, shower curtain, pillows etc. It is fun to decorate such a small space. We will be hauling it all down to the coast this 4th of July weekend, loading up the pickup with a bed and mattress and blinds and bringing the dogs and generally seeming like the Clampetts. I will post before and after pictures next week.
Disconcertingly, Dennis is playing a Tivo'd Nirvana concert in the den as I type. I am writing about decorating listening to the late great Kurt Cobain insisting that he doesn't have a gun. I believe he DID have a gun. They did a "no 1 song of the decade" thing on VH1 at the millenium. I was watching with Dennis and Kristen. I TOLD them it would be "Smells Like Teen Spirit" but they didn't believe me. Of course I was right, and Kris was an In Sync fan, she could not be expected to know, heh. She was one of their few 20 year old fans. She and her good friend Nicole went and camped out all night to score concert tickets, along with the twelve year olds and their moms. I guess that was better than me having to throw the Marilyn Manson cd away that Devon left in my car (you should not have left it there!)But I like most of the alternative groups of the nineties. Flannel shirts were a welcome change from the large hair groups and synthetic rhythms of the eighties. As for music today, it is well hidden from public view, the good stuff. I seek it out wherever I can, Vampire Weekend, Postal Service, whatever.Yesterday I was on an "Ink Spots" kick, remembering my parents' album with the song "To Each his Own." (Oh the rose must remain with the sun and the rain..." sung in a minor key and oh so poignant.) There is NOTHING you can't find on the internet.
I see I have digressed into music again. what can you expect from someone who slept with her transistor radio under her pillow as a preteen?
Oh, and so long to the hippy dippy weatherman, the man with too much stuff, another icon bites the dust.
Happy Independence day, everyone. Happy Canada Day!!

New Bern Diary, Fri-Sat

2008-05-25T18:08:00.000-07:00

The wonderful thing about New Bern is that the kids and grandkids show up. We have invited everyone to Lake Lure, but no one came for two years. But they come to New Bern, so we keep our annual appointment the week prior to Memorial Day weekend, before the rates go up. This week is usually warm enough for summer activities, and we can still get a two bedroom condo with our timeshare points. Why they come is obvious:Devon and Ray love to sleep on a lumpy sleeper sofa in the living room while the poor grandparents suffer in the master suite, and the three children suffer upstairs in their own little kingdom, actually a loft with a window through which they an pitch their clothes, toys, and voices to their sleeping(?) mom and dad below. This trip Arie was bedded down in the upstairs closet when we arrived. The Reston folks arrived ahead of us this trip, as Dennis and I are both working people this year and didn't get away till after seven. Last year we were between jobs and arrived in plenty of time to have sloppy joes and frozen corn ready for the weary travelers, and the mere sight of sloppy joes sent Ray into food nirvana. Alas this year there was no food ready; we all ate on the road and arrived tired. Devon and I invented a drink that was much enjoyed over the next several days. It was a concoction of Smoking Loon cabernet sauvignon, orange juice and gingerale. So the guys drank beer, the girls drank wine-ade, and we all went to bed.
I awoke the next morning to the wonderful sound of my son in law making breakfast!!!!
Pancakes!Bacon! It was just the start of many wonderful meals cooked by Ray, paid for by Ray, or eaten by Ray. Not to omit the meal at BB Hurricanes, the previously mentioned worst restaurant in NC, which unfortunately is the only restaurant on the property. After breakfast, we all went over to the indoor pool, the kids remembered how to swim, we all sat in the hot tub and enjoyed the Sahara, which is what Trevor somewhat aptly called the sauna. In no time Trevor was jumping in and paddling to the deep end. Rachie swam with a pool noodle and her Grandma, and Arie clung to her mom for awhile, but later in the trip was noodling around the pool with help.We had scads of fun, horsing around and playing crab, manatee and shark with the kids. Later we played minigolf, went bike riding and made several trips back to the pool. Trevor took his grandma on a bike tour of the area, and we stopped to feed the geese and turtles at the lake. We also walked over to our studio condo which has just been vacated by our tenant of two years, and Dennis and Ray spent several hours hacking apart the ancient murphy bed and hauling the mattress and bed to the dump. Trevor found a beautiful model sailing ship, a square rigger which had been left in the condo. On the way back from the dump, the guys picked us up some pizzas at the Big Apple, the kids and their mom watched Lady and the Tramp in their kingdom upstairs, the menfolk watched some silly trash on the downstairs TV, and grandma went to bed at nine o clock. Too much wine-ade??

ahh, New Bern, part one

2008-05-24T07:33:00.000-07:00

Almost heaven, North Carolina. Since moving to NC three years ago, we quickly discovered what we had been missing all these years: beaches wider and less crowded than Florida, mountain retreats just a couple of hours up the road, breathtaking fall scenery, laughably mild winters, yet occasional snowfalls, lots of opportunities to enjoy sitting by the fireside, long lingering springtimes bursting with color, from daffodils to azaleas and dogwood. And the mountains and beaches are no more than three hours from our doorstep. The dogwoods and azaleas are in our backyard. The fall spectacular is on our street. We have been to Asheville and Banner Elk and New Bern. Nothing compares to New Bern. Most people have never heard of New Bern, a town of about twenty three thousand people, sitting inland from the Atlantic at the convergence of the Trent and Neuse Rivers. Like Jacksonville, it is a town of wide rivers and gorgeous waterfront homes. And it is close enough to have the moderating effect of the ocean, the late day seabreezes and the comforting salty humidity. Unlike Jax, it is a small town with little industry, and the downtown has been converted to a few blocks of bed and breakfasts, antique and art stores, TWO trendy coffee bars, and the birthplace of Pepsi Cola enshrined on a corner. And let us not forget the Cow restaurant, specializing in all things bovine, and ice cream. And the toy store, independent, and full of serendipitous stuff. There are touristy places, the Tryon Palace which we have never bothered to enter with three kids six and under, several waterfront hotels, the Carolina Aquarium, down the road toward Morehead City, which we are sure to visit next year. The town is edged by the usual Southern ghetto of small shacks, pool halls, pawn shops, poverty. When they finish repairing the drawbridge into downtown, you can skirt the obvious, but right now the detour takes you through other folk's reality. Even Disney World has an underclass....
But our reality is Fairfield Harbour, part resort, part expensive waterfront bulkheaded deep harbour houses, part retirement village, part timeshare. This bit of middle class paradise is a couple of miles out of town, five miles down a country road, through an unguarded entance, past the golf courses and modular earthtoned condos, to the timeshare units a few steps from the rec center, the marina, and the worst restaurant in NC. Well, it can't ALL be good.

Eight Belles

2008-05-04T12:35:00.000-07:00

When I was a teenager, and younger, my sister and I never missed the Kentucky Derby. We loved horses. And a televised horse race was just another opportunity to see that most magnificent of horses, the Thoroughbred, perform as God intended, not as the fleetest of foot, for that honor belonged to the Arabian, but as the horse with the most heart, the horse who could run the fastest and the longest. We were steeped in horse lore, we knew all about the great triple crown winners of a past golden era, War Admiral, Citation, and the legendary Man O War. We read every horse book ever published, The Black Stallion series,Smokey the Cow Horse, Misty of Chincoteague. All the great classics of horse literature had passed through our hands by the grace of the public library. A cigar company whose name escapes me held a contest every year, and the grand prize was a Thoroughbred horse. Every year we entered, half expecting to win and half wondering what we would do if we DID win. I wonder now if any suburban child ever won that large hungry temperamental equine, and kept it in a garage or a fenced quarter acre of backyard, alongside the swing set and the barbeque grill. We grew up in the sixties, that era of Secretariat and Northern Dancer, and we lived only a couple of hours from Ocala, where sweeping white fenced green fields still were home to champion race horses. Horse racing seemed to be a charming and charmed sport, and Derby winners retired to lives of ease after a few years of a glamorous life in the Sport of Kings. So I thought at the time.

As I grew older, I lost interest in horse racing. I still loved horses, but the reality of feeding and caring for a creature much larger than a collie held no appeal for me. My sister, however, never got over her infatuation with the undeniably beautiful creatures, and to this day has many more horses than can be reasonably expected to be "necessary." But they are not Thoroughbreds. Thoroughbreds cannot be pets. They have been bred for one reason only, to race. They are not saddle horses. The Thoroughbred is, sadly, a racing machine, a commodity to be bought and sold, a moneymaking enterprise on four powerful yet delicate legs.

As an adult, I rarely remember the date of the Derby.When I was still in Florida, my mother or my sister would call to remind me, and I would, for just a few minutes, get caught up in the excitement again. The year that Barbaro was expected to take the Triple Crown, I was as shocked and saddened as everyone by the "freak accident" that ended his chance for the ultimate horse racing prize, that ended his career, and eventually ended his life. To the great credit of his owner, extraordinary attempts were made to rehabilitate this huge hearted horse. Months went by while he gamely fought the painful onslaught of laminitis, and the veterinarians charged with the impossible task of saving the life of a horse with a shattered leg learned much and tried everything. But Barbaro died anyway.

Yesterday, at 6 pm, I flicked on the TV to catch the evening news. Dennis had run over to Carter Brothers to pickup two Saturday night special spaghetti dinners. I saw that I had not missed the Derby and spent a few minutes learning what horse was the favorite, who was the long shot, and who was the tall black filly with an actual chance to win. That was Eight Belles. Dennis returned with our dinner, I set up the
trays, and the jockeys mounted up and eased their engineered racing machines into the gates. And they were off! I was rooting for a horse named Adriano, only because he was ridden by Barbaro's jockey. But the favorite, an unbeaten colt named Big Brown, in only his fourth race, took the lead in the stretch and never looked back. He won the race by several lengths and I did not know who came in second. I was looking for Adriano, who had done poorly. But I was shocked by the behavior of the winning horse, who, in his trek to the winner's circle, seemed spooked. He even threw his jockey to the pavement. And then the cameras focused on a bizarre scene, a horse down and a horse ambulance hiding the horror. The television announcers hemmed and hawed, said that Eight Belles had gone down after finishing second, and that the jockey had been seen walking away. They tried to put a positive spin on the event, saying that quite often a horse will go down and it does not mean it is anything serious.Hmm, I thought, that's not true, especially after running second in the Kentucky Derby. And the jockey walking away, well that could only happen for one reason...his mount is severely injured, it is his fault, he was the "driver.' Sure enough, the track vet made the tragedy clear to millions. The horse had compound fractures of both forelegs and had been euthanized immediately. No months of whirlpool therapy for this lady. She had broken BOTH legs, AFTER the race. How could this happen? Was her genetic engineering flawed? Why did it happen? That one is easy. These animals are money makers. They don't have "heart." They have one purpose, and they are not in the driver's seat of their "purpose driven life." The horse who runs the fastest, the longest, without getting injured, will make the person in the driver's seat very wealthy. Thousands of these elegant, shy creatures do not have the right stuff. Only a few do. The multitude of injuries occurring every day in this "sport" are the result of bad genetic engineering. And it is all for profit. Sure,Barbaro's "family" loved and admired him: he was already a hero. And he had three good legs for awhile. Most horses injured at the track are euthanized and forgotten. But not this time. Millions of viewers saw this beautiful black filly die at the Kentucky Derby after racing beyond her endurance. I could not swallow my food.I could not speak. Finally, I started to sob. I don't know why. I could only think how SHE must have felt, almost catching that big brown colt, running fast and hard as always, and then suddenly, unspeakable pain, falling on the hard dirt track, heaving with exhaustion from the race and overwhelmed by fear when she could not stand. Confusion, then nothingness. Obliteration. No more. On the greatest day of her life. In our perspective.

The other perspective is from an unknown vantage point.This was not the greatest day of her life. The greatest day would occur in the future, when she could fulfill her purpose as a horse, an intelligent, emotional creature. This is not good stewardship of the earth. I know it seems trivial compared to war, famine, the evils done by man to man. I know I rarely sob when I see abandoned children in the Sudan, frightened women in Baghdad,victims of disease, starvation, and crime. But this was the Derby, a happy occasion, with American women in hats, of all things, and magnificent horses parading colors down the track. I did not want to see that ugly underbelly, that cruel sneer from the god of this religion, paramutuel betting. How ironic when they announced what the trifecta paid.
The dead horse paid off. The dead horse. Just a dead horse. I don't plan on ever watching the Derby or any Thoroughbred horse race again. I don't imagine the boycotting of tv viewing of racing by a single middle aged woman will make much of a statement to the world. I don't imagine I am being particularly altruistic.I just don't want to feel the shock and pain of a dying horse again.

Spring, the blues and Dru Lombar

2008-04-02T14:39:00.000-07:00

Spring is here. This evening after work, I sat out on the deck and watched the dogs chase each other around the newly green lawn, Claire with her long graceful lopes and Winston keeping up with her on his stubby Scottie legs. The azaleas which will eventually shock and awe with their beauty are beginning to bloom, bits of pink and red in the foliage. The dogwoods are threatening greeneyed flowers. The moths are back at night, entertaining the cats.The other night Dennis actually saw a bat at dusk although it seems much to early and chilly for bat walks. The robins are here all year, as are the cardinals and Canada geese, but they have seemed much more visible and vocal recently. And the real harbinger of spring: the impossibly loud hooting of an owl outside our open bedroom window. We were riding through Emerywood the other day, looking at houses we cannot afford, when D. slammed on the brakes, backed up and pointed to a HUGE owl sitting among the bare branches of a wooded lawn. It was awesome, in the true sense of the word: a large owl, brown and ominous, who slowly turned his face to us, and it was a strange face, like a barn owl, pale and unearthly. His eyes were yellow and staring, his beak was cruel, and rather than a symbol of wisdom, he looked to me like a cunning predator, slow and calculating. Still, we thought him beautiful and wondered later if the owl we heard outside our window was the same fellow.
So North Carolina is becoming greenly lush again, and I hope we escape the extreme drought of last summer. It is too hot here in summer, not like Florida where the sea breeze in the afternoon quells the heat. Here the air is dense and wet and algae and mildew are constantly winning the battle. Here the stillness of the heat defeats you, the sweat sitting idly on your skin. Like living on the Westside of Jacksonville instead of the annointed Southside. Which brings me of course, to Lynyrd Skynyrd. We all know the westside is not really the best side, unless you are a redneck Skynrd fan.
I was flipping through the channels one recent after work afternoon, when I came upon a VH1 channel which was airing a show from England called "The Old Grey Whistle Test", a title which I am sure has some meaning to the Brits but is just so fullsome in its obscurity to me. And the guest of this day's show, which seemed to have originated from the early seventies, was Lynyrd Skynyrd. The original band, Donnie Van Zant, et al. Before the Crash. Now I have never been a Skynyrd fan, despite having a deep appreciation of the Allman Brothers, despite having seen Marshall Tucker in concert, despite having grown up in Jacksonville. I know Freebird and Sweet Home and some other top forty hits, but I had never seen the band. I didn't even know which one was the vaunted Van Zant. I am ashamed to say they blew me away, playing that Southern brand of hard driving blues that you seem to only hear in Jacksonville. Which brings me to the Springing the Blues Festival held at Jax Beach every spring, before the beaches are even officially "open" although of course they never close. Back in the day when Jax Beach was a blighted area(that would be the early 90s), when Einstein's was in full flower for the goth kids and you could still ride your bike Eastward across Penman and Third street to the ocean without risking your life in tourist traffic, we would ride to the Blues Festival, to hear loud music, watch bizarre beach people with boa constrictors around their necks, maybe have a beer and flop on the grass in the hot April sun. One of the bands that played the festival every year was Dr. Hector and the Blues Injectors, a local group fronted by Dru Lombar, a local "boy" whom I had gone to Fletcher High School with in the sixties, only I didn't know this. I just knew Dru had been in a beach band called Magi in the early 70's when Southern rock was taking off. I knew Magi because I was going out with the bass player, the one who had a van and thus secured a place in the band. Magi played some gigs around the beach, at the Maikai and other grungy beach bars that were rife before gentrification ruined the area. Magi was only a middling band and soon broke up. Dru went on to form Grinderswitch and tour as an opening act with well known bands in the Southland. I decided to google Southern rock bands after watching Skynyrd on tv, feeling all nostalgic for my lost youth. Which leads to an obituary. During my google ramble, I learned that Dru Lombar had died of a massive heart attack in 2005, shortly after we had sold our beach house and moved. And in seeking more info on his demise, I learned that Dru had been the soul of the Soul Searchers, a band at Fletcher that had been fronted by a pretty boy lead singer that every girl in school had a crush on. The Soul Searchers had actually recorded a song which was played on local radio, the Big Ape, and I had recorded this song from the radio broadcast on the portable tape recorder I had received for Christmas. The song was "Can I Get a Witness." How perfect for Dru, the ultimate white bluesman, to have recorded this Motown tune in 1965. How shallow of me to never have bothered to know him, in the ninth grade or later as an adult, because he was not the pretty boy. He was just the one with the talent. Not that he knew me at all. I was just the girl with the bass player who couldn't play but had a van. At Fletcher in the sixties I was just a townie who rode for an hour on a school bus to rectify overcrowding at the in-town schools. So although our paths crossed, I can't say I knew the man. Still, like the Kevin Bacon game, I feel I am somehow connected to Dru and through him to the bands he toured with, including those redneck boys from the Westside, Lynyrd Skynyrd. I hope Neil Young will forgive me. My conscience does not bother me...does your conscience bother you?

Sunday blissful Sunday

2008-03-02T09:50:00.000-08:00

It is now Sunday afternoon...early, around 12:50. Got up late this morning because our heat never came on, signaling time to get up or smother under three comforters. Yes, I sleep under three comforters, one down, two fake down. We turn the heat down so far at night that for all intents and purposes it is off. But it creaks on at 6 am, flapping and groaning and spewing out parched air. But this morning it did not. So we had to call the gas furnace man, who will be out on Monday. Meanwhile, the weather is so springlike, I am willing to just let the darn thing sit idle. Fortunately I am married to a much more practical person who realizes it is March 2and we are not out of the woods yet. But the forsythia is blooming, some redbuds are out, and the dogwoods and azaleas hold promise. Earlier Dennis was out chopping firewood to warm the living room tonight..to which I said "it is going to be warm today.." and he scowled at me and said "Just play along, ok?" OK! Now he is scrounging under the house for the deck furniture. The sun beating into the "morning room", our glassed porch off the kitchen, convinced him it is almost spring. A couple of hours ago I was chopping vegetables for potato leek soup, which is now simmering in the crockpot (yes, it is VEGETARIAN, Devon, no chicken stock)and now I am listening to Diana Krall on XM Radio. When my fingers completely stop bleeding, I will bathe the filthy Scottie and put some more laundry in the machine.

On days like this, I wonder why our lives have turned out like this. Of course, we made decisions, and that's pretty much why we are living in the burbs in a country club neighborhood, with no interest in joining the club,or playing golf, or playing tennis. We don't care much about going out, eating out, joining a church or making any of those kind of social connections. The two people who seem to share some of my interests, besides my husband, are my two daughters. But our real enthusiasms at this point are our animals, and doing homey tasks, cooking, maintaining our old house, reading by the fire, gardening, listening to music. So many times in my life I have wished I had completed my liberal arts degree and gone on to advanced degrees and teaching at a university, my dream in high school that some how got sidelined at UF. I finally I got my degree in nursing so I would have a decent paying career....a career for which I am so remarkably unsuited, something in which I have no interest whatsoever. But it has helped to support us over the years, and I have managed to find jobs that are removed from patient care, something I found much too intense and personal.

But I can't help but think that we would be so much happier living on some acreage, perhaps in the mountains, away from suburbia and fast food and meaningless jobs. Maybe we are too old now to "get back to the land." Maybe we can't afford to retire.
I just wish we could try. I just wish we could try before we die.

Baby Boomer Ailments

2008-02-22T13:19:00.000-08:00

Last July I was running through the final rainfall of the summer, before everything parched and died. I put my right leg down hard and came to an abrupt halt in the company parking lot. The pain was excruciating. I hobbled to my car, not caring if I were drenched in the process. By the time I arrived home, I could not bear weight on my right leg. Dutifully I called in sick the next day and went to see my family doctor, a small South American woman of about fifteen, with a charming accent, no bigger than Eva Longoria, no smarter than Charo. Why, then?, you ask. Well, I never have to wait to see her. And when I do see her, she whips out her prescription pad in the wink of an eye. She knows that I have already diagnosed my problem and her actual job is to give me the drugs to fix it. (Shingles! Sciatica!)(Prednisone!Prednisone!) But this time it was a little different. I didn't really know what was wrong, and Dr. Hispanic Princess didn't either. She yanked my knee left and right, I gave a couple of appropriate yelps, she wrote her magic prescription for 800 mg tabs of ibuprofen, and with a reassuring "Call me if it doesn't get better", she sent me off in the disappointed custody of my husband (he was hoping for the GOOD dope).

After a week of wearing strange and bulky velcroed support devices on my knee, it got better. At least ok to walk on, go up and down steps, and sit all day at my deadly computer job without a whole lot of yelping. Dennis was glad; he had sampled all the drug stores and medical supply dealers in the area, seeking the perfect knee brace. He just wanted me to stop yelping and go back to cleaning out the cat box. And cooking. And doing laundry. Well you know the drill, if you are 56 like me. We (women) wanted it all, and by golly they (men) wanted us to HAVE it all. Only we had to get it ourselves. But that's another story.

Anyhow, the darn knee just never seemed to get its groove back. It made me yelp asleep in bed, it made me yelp if I accidently hyperextended it.I got a brand new superdeluxe health club quality treadmill for my birthday, but was afraid to use it with any degree of effectiveness. Finally I decided to go to a Real Doctor, a handsome and charismatic orthopedic surgeon who with breathtaking efficiency had me xrayed, MRI'd and diagnosed in less time than it takes Dr. J lo to flip open her laptop and ask yet again if I am still taking my reflux pill.(NO NO NO).

So today I get my diagnosis. I felt somewhat silly sitting fully dressed in the exam room, waiting for Sincere MD to tell me "You have osteoarthritis, you overweight middleaged out of shape but nevertheless attractive cow, what did you expect," and then I could laughingly exit the room with apologies to all for being such a whiner and go back to the treadmill with lots of nsaids to keep me motivated. BUT NO.
I have a Real Thing. I have a torn meniscus, like an athelete. Like a skiier.Like someone who actually DOES run. And it requires arthroscopic surgery to fix. IS THAT COOL OR WHAT??

Roma

2008-01-31T15:23:00.000-08:00

We are going to Italy. We are staying in a hotel with ensuite bathrooms. Thank you God. We are going with Ray and Devon, who said we could come as long as we stayed in different rooms. And no fanny packs. I think he had us confused with someone else; the last time I shared a hotel room with my daughter, she was 18 and we were posing for pictures in front of "Sock World" in Pigeon Forge. I am not really sure what a fanny pack is, but with my fanny, I would not be inclined to pack anything additional on it. Actually, they INVITED us to come along, which I took as the ultimate compliment to two old fogies. The clincher was when Ray said, "if you think my tour of Washington was good, wait till I show you Rome!" And his tour of D.C. was so much fun, on Christmas eve. As we were driving into the city from Reston, Va., I mentioned that I would love to see Georgetown. The next thing I knew, I was sitting in a cheery neighborhood eatery in Georgetown, Clydes, eating eggs Benedict and watching my three under seven grandchildren behave like polite strangers. We were surrounded by adults, well dressed and holding discussions of the kind one sees in self conscious college towns. It was great. The streets of Georgetown were replete with last minute shoppers and creative panhandlers. The stores were of a kind I do not see in High Point, Anthropologie, Abercrombie and Fitch, you know, "A" stores. Later on the "DC TOUR" (we had been to DC several times before, but not with such a willing tour guide), we circled the White House several times in hopes of obtaining the official White House tour book which I had heard had many pictures of the Bush Scotties. However, the chances of getting near the place were slim and we began to look suspicious, Ray with his skinhead haircut and threatening facial hair, circling the White House in the rented van. So it was off to XM radio to tour the studios, great huge photos of Jimi and Janis, great huge satellite dishes pointing at the skies. Then the highlight of the tour, we zoomed off to Reagan National and spent an hour plane spotting as dusk descended and the intense cold seeped under our jackets and the kids ran wild in the park and I realized it was Christmas Eve and I was NOT COOKING.
Rome ought to be SPECTACULAR!

Scrabble and Suzanne Pleshette

2008-01-20T07:50:00.000-08:00

No, I don't think the two subjects are related. I was going to write about Scrabble when Joe the Cat walked over my laptop keyboard, wiped out the computer's ability to think logically, made me reboot, and geez on the AOL welcome page was a HEADLINE THAT HAD NOT BEEN THERE TWO MINUTES EARLIER! And it said Suzanne Pleshette had died. Say it isn't so. She was the real "Suzanne" icon from the seventies, not that blonde bimbo and her bio-identical hormones. Beautiful Suzanne with the brunette shag and the sardonic grin. Bob Newhart, his
incurable neurotics, his dimbulb neighbor, and his sane, sharptongued, laser witted wife. The REAL seventies, to me. It all came rushing back, the spider plants, the post-hippie let's nest
malaise, the midi skirts, Carole King, The Magic Pan, spinach quiche, white wine, backgammon....you know, the seventies for adults, SNL, first real jobs, Volvos, transactional analysis, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, wedge heels, decoupage, Annie Hall, bridge revival, the Seventies. I guess the Seventies are over......we were all grateful when they were over, no more disco, no more question that we were grown ups. But now even the seventies are starting to look nostalgic. Good bye Suzanne, you inspired my haircut and my hope for TV wives, heh. I was also a brunette with a shag haircut, for a brief year, before even a shag seemed too radical for the times. I really don't know what you did after "Newhart," but I am sure you had a great life,
you were never a victim.

My daughter Devon invited me to play Scrabble a couple of weeks ago. First I had to join Facebook, which made me hesitate a moment. I did not want to to join a league of predators, exhibitionists, lonely hearts, and a younger generation for whom privacy is some boring anachronism. However, I did want to play Scrabble, so I joined. Scrabble has been an important part of my life since my early teen years, when a family friend brought a gift back from England called "Travel Scrabble." Travel Scrabble was small, portable, and the letters were affixed to the board by little plastic legs. So you could play Scrabble anywhere, and you could have marathon games over days, and the cat could never scatter the letters. So we did have marathon games, my mother, my sister, my sister's friend Susan, and me. We were serious about the game, usually making well over 300 points and yes, occasionally using all seven letters. Later, I married a man who was not good at the game, and although he tried in vain to teach me chess, we were never able to offer each other "good game." So Scrabble fell by the wayside, and even though my mother and I played sporadically, on visits or vacations, I never reached the heights of competitive play I had enjoyed in my youth. During her last years, my mother played against herself constantly, using words I never knew existed, and "building the board" to her own satisfaction and advantage. It became impossible to play with her because a real opponent never cooperated like her alter ego, and she complained bitterly if I happened to draw the "good letters" or refused to sacrifice points to "open up the board." So I lost my chief Scrabble competitor; she preferred to play against herself. Now, for some reason I had never played Scrabble much with my two daughters. They seemed to have much more of a "life" than I did as a teenager and didn't have time or inclination to play Scrabble with their mother or Grandmother. Or perhaps it was my fault: I had a job, a house and a husband in addition to my children and there just didn't seem to be as many lazy Sunday afternoons for Scrabble playing in our lives. But now that has CHANGED. Devon and I play Scrabble, a couple of hundred miles apart. We can play anytime; we can play at different times. We don't have to be online together. We have the entire internet for a dictionary and we have a format that tells us if our word is invalid. Scrabble is back and it is back BIG. I am having a wonderful time; she says she is "addicted" in the hyperbole of the era. We are evenly matched and a lot of it is luck of the draw. But I must admit I was taken aback when Devon said the other night that the board was "not very open." However, I did not see her sacrificing points to open up the board. Shades of yesteryear. Ah Scrabble, let the conflict begin. May the one with the most altruism open up the board.

Christmas Past Part One

2007-12-30T08:40:00.000-08:00

Christmas is over. A week ago we, all seven of us, were driving to Hershey PA in the big silver rental minivan, Ray at the wheel and braving the rain, Dennis riding shotgun, Devon and I in the second row Captain's chairs(although we did very little captaining, a little first mating, mostly nannying), the three kids bringing up the rear, Rachael asking for "a mint," Ariel passed out from a viral illness, Trevor supervising everyone. On and on, through Frederick, MD, the Pennsylvania countryside, the temperature rising with every mile we traveled north. We had decided to go because the "really bad" rain wasn't supposed to start until 4, and staying home on a rainy day in a townhouse with a slightly sick baby and two children antsy for Santa to come did not appeal to any of us. Besides, Ray had volunteered to drive. After an amazingly short time, time spent eating Grandpa's stock of Wintogreen life savers and Grandma's leftover white cheddar popcorn ("ew, that popcorn STINKS"), and listening to "Enter the Haggis," we arrived at Hershey Park. We were surprised at the number of tourists who had braved the weather two days before Christmas to tour Chocolate land. Like us. First stop was lunch at the food court, then we were off on the bus tour of the town. The bus was designed as an old fashioned trolley and decorated with garland and other seasonal stuff. A peppy tour guide dressed in nineteenth century caroler's garb gave us the low down on the Hershey family and how chocolate came to be King in the PA heartland. Then we all sang carols, led by a recurring player who showed up at the bus door as a factory worker, Mr. Hershey's mom, and even as the Jolly Old Elf himself! Rachael, who was glommed onto her Grandma, refused the offer of REAL jingle bells to play, but was happy to take the tree ornament, kazoo and free candy. The adults had some difficulty remembering the intracacies of kazoo playing (which end to you blow into? you don't blow, you HUM. oh. Ray was good at this :)

Back at the park, we next went into the 3-D movie about, yes, CHOCOLATE, and it was FUN. And even a bit SCARY, with spiders and webs and things thumping over your feet. Rachael and Trevor looked through the glasses only sporadically, but no one cried, a first for us. Then we were out the theatre door and into BUY CANDY land, which we did. I bought green tea kisses which are either delicious or gross, the jury is still out on that one. The bittersweet chocolate with cinnamon is also an acquired taste. The kids loved the peppermint kisses that their mom bought. And the jolly ranchers in little acrylic houses with scoops their Gma bought. Then on to the ride through the factory, with "boats" like Disney World, and singing cows. Rachael, still stuck to me, loved that ride the best, and wanted to go again. Grandpa, who NEVER buys anything, bought the picture snapped at the end of the ride without any prodding . It was a GOOD day.(Actually, it was his idea to rent the minivan, too, but I think he wanted it mainly for the comfort of his dog.)We tried to tour the actual park, outdoors, after Ray bought us all hot coffees and lovely blue ponchos for the rain, but the rules had changed and now they wanted to charge us forty dollars to walk around in the rain. So we politely declined , Ray fetched the Christmasmobile, and after a quick meal at Bob Evans and several false alarms regarding Ari's tummy, Ray gallantly took the wheel again and got us all home safely through the monsoon.

Bring Us a Figgy Pudding

2007-12-19T16:02:00.000-08:00

During our Christmas luncheon at work last Thursday, we played Christmas trivia, answering a lot of questions about Clark Griswold, cousin Eddie, Ralphie and his chance of reaching adulthood with two functioning eyes, what the lamb does while the little drummer boy bangs away, and what goes into a Christmas pudding, choices a, b, c, and d. Nobody in this North Carolina office had a clue what a Christmas pudding is. Ask the Canadian, they all said , she will know. Actually, I did know, but before I had a chance to answer, Dr H., our medical director, piped up saying, aw, she's a French Canadian, she won't know. I was struck so speechless by this pronouncement that by the time I was able to protest, the answer had been produced by process of elimination and the emcee explaining that currants were like raisins. French Canadian????My Scotch ancestors would roll over in their graves. Why on earth did this man who knows me only slightly say I was gasp..French? Then I thought I knew. I had made Caesar salad for one of our many holiday meals, loaded with garlic, and had said within his hearing that I came from a long line of garlic eaters. Of course !!!! Everyone knows that the British Canadians eat only bland British pap, pizzas with pineapple, and Tim Horton Donuts. I must be French! I eat escargot! I have eaten escargot in the Chateau Laurier in Ottawa. Lord, I never knew how much that 1/8th French blood my father claimed due to a great great who took a tumble with the French maid and spawned the poor branch of my dad's family ...little did I know how much influence that little bit of DNA had on my behavior. And yes, I do spout French words now and then, not words picked up from my french immersed childhood in Ontario, but from my fifth grade teacher in Jacksonville Florida who had spent the previous summer in France and wanted to keep the language alive in her mind. And years of high school and college French. Sheesh, I am NOT French. I am Scotch Irish. And YES I know what is in Christmas pudding. And option B was ALSO the answer. It DOES contain beef and flour (NO, that's Yorkshire pudding, the emcee scoffed. ) My protestation that it has both flour and beef suet fell on deaf ears, ears that had moved on to "Who REALLY lost all that money in "It's a Wonderful Life" Uncle Billy I whispered, didnt want to answer ALL the questions first.
Then I was driving home yesterday, listening to NPR as usual, and the subject of All Things Considered was....FIGGY PUDDING. What IS that asked the fearless reporter. Plum pudding the expert cook replied. They also call it Christmas pudding in some places(yeah, like MY house in North Carolina I said) The expert cook gave a great recipe that was loaded with rum and brandy and steamed for two hours in a Bundt pan in a pot of water. I was so impressed, I may try it one year...but as I tried to explain to the nonbelievers at work, it comes in a CAN. No, not a can, they all said. Pudding can not come in a can! But yes it does, every year, with a Crosse and Blackwell label on it, our figgy pudding, heated in the oven, drowned in whatever liquor we have that will ignite, and served with a hot carmelized sauce or whipped cream, yum, bring me a figgy pudding and BRING IT RIGHT NOW!!

the Mantle

2007-12-16T18:28:00.000-08:00

the Tree

2007-12-16T18:25:00.001-08:00

The Tree with the Story

2007-12-08T15:34:00.000-08:00

We put our Christmas tree up today. The tree has a story. This is serendipitous for a blogger who does not have a story. When facing writer's block, it is good to encounter a chatty tree farmer with a sentimental streak. We were plowing through the forests of the Piedmont Triad Farmer's Market with hope in our hearts and Starbucks in our stomachs when amidst the most spectacular of North Carolina's fir trees, any one of which would have qualified for the White House or at least the lobby of Krispy Kreme, we found Our Tree. It was tall and skinny, my only requirement, and it was missing most of the branches on its backside, which is usually my sister's requirement, as she has spent her adult life seeking the perfect Charlie Brown tree. Me , however, well, I have spent my adult Christmases producing themed color -coordinated awe-
inspiring trees that florists would envy. Seriously. I have had flocked blue and silver trees, gold and white trees decked out in beads, bows and ribbons, and red and white trees dripping with pearls and poinsettias. Until last year. Last year my sister was visiting two weeks before the big day, and I told her I wanted a real tree, just a little one, but a real one for the corner of the living room. Oh yeah, I had the huge artificial tree in the den, bloated with 21st century spectacle, but I wanted one like we had in our childhood in the fifties. The tree with the mellow glow of red, green, gold and blue lights. The tree with no theme but Christmas, the tree with the glass balls, clip on birds, one old plastic Santa that rattled when shaken, like it was filled with rice. The tree that was covered with brittle silver foil icicles that sometimes broke into pieces when hung. The tree that filled me with wonder. I wanted just a pale recollection of that ideal tree, just a shade of the original. So off we went to the farmer's market and found a spindly little tree. We bought "retro" lights in Target, and glass balls in the drug store. We forgot the tree stand and had to run out again in the frigid December night to Home Depot. But in the end we had our old fashioned tree radiating a warm glow in the living room. Our mother had died suddenly a few days earlier. Somehow this little tree brought back the joy of our childhood, before the years of sadness and illness that preceded my mother's death. She LOVED Christmas. She always had. It had never mattered to her that we had little money or lived in a poor little house. She always invited any and all available to share our meal and our home. There was always food and company at Christmas.
So back to this year. I told Dennis I did not want to put up the fancy fake tree. If we had a tree at all, since we are going away for the holiday, I wanted a skinny "real" tree for the corner of the living room. So there we were, poking through the 90 dollar models , and there were hundreds of them, when I spied a skinny, misshapen, embarassed looking fir, like a girl in her underwear at the prom. That One, I cried. What IS Wrong With it??? But it was still tall, and had a good side, and I did not want to pay the expected 50 dollars for a Charlie Brown tree. So we were walking away. Let me tell you about that tree, said a young man approaching. That there is a natural tree, he said. Oh yes, it IS natural , I said, thinking that this must be the latest trend and that the price would be equally trendy. What to you mean, natural, asked Dennis. Well, sir, it ain't been trimmed up to the Christmas tree shape. As a matter of fact, a big ole tree fell on it last summer and sheared all the branches off the one side there. It was sposed to go in the pile for cutting up and making wreaths, but somehow it got baled with the good trees and here it is. I would like to see it go to a good home.
So how much? I asked, expecting to walk away. I really wasn't sure we needed a tree, going away for Christmas. 15 dollars, maam. 15 dollars?????Oh I want that tree. Can we get that tree? Course we can, honey, its got a good story, so we have to get it, said Dennis.
Now it is standing in the living room, radiating a mellow, multiolored glow, the bare backsided tree with the "good story." Ain't Christmas grand??