INTO THE WOODS NEAR THE RAINBOW BRIDGE

"Ms. Macy, when you are ready, you can pick up the final remains, you poor dear, but be thankful that the children and you are unharmed." I wore black, tried to keep up a Christmas spirit, attempting to sing along with carols blasting a rental car's radio. I was too nervous, numb to drive. An old faithful friend drove me to Rutherford's Auto Body Shop in Pickerington, Ohio. That was where I would say farewell to a reliable, faithful friend...my car. Upon our arrival, I was handed a bag in which I could finish clearing what I had left before the tow truck came to the Zanesville driveway. Garage door opener and ice scraper (like I had a car, never mind a windshield at this point). I sat in the car to remove a small broom riding witch from the rear view mirror. As I clung to her, I began to apologize to her, to the car, to the deer. My friend, most likely with a crowbar, eased me out of the corpse, mostly carrying me back to the shop's office. I was handed a box of tissues by the kind receptionist as a technician handed me my license plates! I was then inconsolable. Let me explain: At about 6 P.M. on December 3, my grandchildren Tess (10, Tanner (7) and I set out to go to gymnastics. Todd, their brother, eleven years old, chose to remain at home with his Mom, my daughter. So, singing Christmas carols, we drove my 2012 Mazda 3 along South River Road in Zanesville, Ohio. The four lane road parallels a river. We were on the far side, fourth lane from the river. Suddenly, "on the fourth day of Christmas" there was a thud, a severe push to the side of the road, glass, airbags commandeered the car! Tanner, riding behind me, began screaming and crying...his airbag began pushing him to the other side of the car. "Tanner, try to undo the seat belt and scoot behind Tess (riding next to me - "shot gun") Hurry, something is wrong!" Tess, the swiftest of us: "Meme! (may-may) are you okay? Call 9-1-1!" I hadn't a clue what had happened. My driver's side air bag deployed, glass was everywhere from the driver's side windows! As I turned off the engine, at the side of the road, I looked out of my windshield to see a white mist, a white fog in the loose shape of a deer! The spirit arched over my hood and dissolved! There was nothing. "Tess! Did you see that?" Crying, both children responded that the ghost of a deer was there and gone! A State Trooper recommended that I pull my car into a nearby side street. The driver's side of the car was terribly damaged. My door couldn't open, so I crawled across the car to exit. We were all unharmed. I was not scratched, cut, however, my seat was loaded with glass! The entire side no longer existed, really and there was not much left of the driver's front fender, headlight, part of the hood either. There was some fur wedged into a crevice though. A sweet woman walked over to me with a big black "thing" slung over her shoulder. "Hey M'am, where do you want your wheel well cover?" Dazed, I responded, "How about the trunk?" My son-in-law arrived with my daughter. He,trying to be helpful said: "Laura, you just can't see deer at night, you know. Hunting season has just begun and deer are running will-nilly." Gee, that made me feel better...NOT! I began to complain to the Trooper that since the deer didn't have insurance and since that poor creature was running from the river for his life, hunters should learn to go food shopping in stores and leave the deer alone! This is 2014, not pioneer days! My son-in-law assured me that he has had two deer crashes himself! Swell. My daughter, not so understanding. She began berating me for not being alert to have seen it coming, she didn't want the car returned to her driveway, that since I was a ninny, to just go home! Double swell. Tess spoke up and told her: "IT WAS AN ACCIDENT! MEME DIDN'T AIM FOR A DEER! SHE USED TO WORK AT THE ZOO AND LOVES ANIMALS! TWO DEER LIVE IN HER YARD!" Tanner, still sobbing, told her: "Hey Mom! I was looking out of my window to try to see the river and I didn't see the deer! He hit my side of the car and I didn't see him!" The Trooper looked at this collection of crazies and was extremely sorry that he didn't call in sick that evening. MY son-in-law insisted that my daughter be quiet, that we bring the car back to the house. I asked the Trooper if I could drive it 132 miles back to Kettering. He guaranteed me that: 1. it wouldn't make it - it barely turned the corner to park out of traffic; 2. illegal to drive without two headlights; 3. no visibility with airbags inflated; 4. I would freeze without windows. The scenario sounded rather bleak! Since we were only 1/4 mile from the house, my son-in-law said that he would drive the car back and I could drive his. Knowing that I would never drive again if I didn't put on my big girl panties and get behind the ailing car's wheel, I insisted that I take it back. As Mazda and I limped along, I stopped! My son-in-law, got out of his car, behind me, and approached: "Why are you stopping, here in the middle of the road?" As if he landed from Mars, I responded: "Look! All across the road, there is such a mess...the deer must be splattered all over!" He stood there, shook his head and said: "There is nothing! Drive on, or let me get in front of you and you take my car with the children." Hmmmm....strange. The Mazda and I continued. My daughter's nasty was still raging. I ignored her. Todd ran to me: "Meme! Are you okay?" I assured him that I was "righter than rain". He then replied: "Oh boy! I miss all the good stuff! I shoulda gone to watch those two flip out and around! I could have seen it all and not gone to gymnastics after all!" Ah, to be eleven! We are aware of "The Rainbow Bridge" where our pets wait to play with us again. After watching the spirit of the deer rise, I know that those poor beautiful creatures who meet accidental, untimely ends, through no fault of their own, play, forage, wait for their families if you go INTO THE WOODS NEAR THE RAINBOW BRIDGE.

EXTRA! EXTRA! READ ALL ABOUT IT! (Or Not)

There are two things that I must have to jump start my day. Well, actually, just to start my day, jumping or not...COFFEE and THE DAILY NEWSPAPER! I know, I know, there are at least 1,000,000 News Programs on the television. The ultimate morning entails sipping coffee, reading the paper with The Today Show tickling the background! Now, that is luxury living at its finest! BUT... This morning, the Newspaper was not at my door! Crushed, saddened, confused, I phoned the Newspaper Customer Disservice Office. I was told that someone or other would be dispatched to "redeliver" the paper within ninety minutes! If the newspaper didn't stagger to my door, be sure to phone before 10 A.M. to speak with Ms. Representative again. Well, I didn't want to argue, but how can a paper be redelivered, if it was never delivered in the first place? But, I did bite my tongue and refrained from my smartie-aleckie response. SO... I drained the coffee pot while watching the clock. At 9:50...no paper! At 9:53, I phoned Customer Disservice of the Dayton Daily News again. I was connected to an automated, press 1, press 3, press 2, spin around three times, press 7, spit, press 1 again system to file a complaint. Well, now what? I've callused my fingertips, gotten a headache from prompts and I still had no paper and no response! My grouchometer was elevated too! WHAT THE CARELESS NEWSPAPER DON'T REALIZE: Not only did I pay for this misery, but, I am now in a dark vacuum for the day, unless I actually shower, apply make-up, do my hair, dress, fire up my "ride" and go to a newsstand. The vital sections of the paper are like mother's milk to me! Take the Horoscopes for instance...now should I read my own Tarot Cards? Too boost my intelligence morale, how about the Word Jumble, the Word Scramble or the challenge of the Crossword Puzzle? The funnies - Life in Sketches! How can I check up on my parents without "The Lockhorns" or "Blondie"? My son - "Funky Winklebean" alternating with "Hagar Che Horrible". My three grandchildren are "Peanuts" if nothing else: Todd - Charlie Brown; Tess - Lucy; Tanner - Linus. My daughter is in the center ring of "The Family Circus"! What will I do for self affirmation that life is just dandy compared to the whiners who write to "Dear Abby"? Heloise has saved so many items of clothing sporting stains and how about that closet organization! What is opening in the Movies this weekend, or are the TV listings better? The Sports section has protected my work area from messes that are the by-products of my art projects. I can check the Business Section's Dow Jones to see if I have to go shopping to boost the economy of this great Nation of ours! See what I mean? I NEED THE NEWSPAPER! It is hereditary, you know: My grandfather loved to read the Obituaries to gloat - he was sipping his coffee reading about some peers of his who were listed, if you know what I mean. My mother can do a crossword puzzle in a flash, before most people can read the hints across and down. She also analyzes the Bridge strategy of legendary card players on the same page. My father is a headline hound, I think to boast to Mom that he's pretty smart after all (she doubts that very much). And, finished with today's paper? I can make you a paper mache piggy bank! WELL... My shower is water has warmed. Time to put myself together and go to the Newsstand because I have Home Delivery (not) of the Dayton Daily News and I want to READ ALL ABOUT IT!

FISH WHISPERER

As my children grew up, as with many of us, goldfish were the classic pets. My daughter had a pink and white one that we named: "Fish Cake" during the "Strawberry Shortcake" days. When Tiffany was about three or four years old, Fish Cake took up residence in a bowl in Tiff's room. That finned friend lived for about eleven years! No joke! She was an amazing fish! Fish Cake grew and grew. We always accomodated her with larger and larger bowls. She recognized Tiffany, or her "vibration" as she entered her room. Full of personality, Fish Cake would dance with her nose to the water line and tail fin down nibbling food from Tiffany's fingers. Fish Cake grew so old that her scales were rather funky and sort of falling off! I was grateful for her authentic longevity because her coloring was so unique... And... Nick and Tiff had assorted gold fish over the years. When the children were little, I didn't want to clutter up their happy world with the concept of death. So, when a fish was found floating on its side, I would say that the next day, I would take the ailing fish to "Dr. Mackerel", the vet who specialized in fish, to cure him/her. I would drop brother and sister at school, or my Mom's, head to a pet store and replace the expired critter with the same looking fish! The fish were "cured" and frisky! Everyone was happy! I will add, that when Tiffany was fourteen or fifteen years old, neither she, nor her brother, Nick, were still on board with the whole "Dr. Mackerel" story, so we did have proper services for such an fish with amazing longevity! She, I am sure is waiting for Tiff, swimming in the Sunshine Brook, beneath The Rainbow Bridge! Time passed, as it always does... Now, the Trio, my grandchildren, Todd, 11; Tess, 9; Tanner, 7 have goldfish, well, and minnows. You might be aware that the rock group: "Chubby and The Minnows" have an extended booking at my house. Tess' Chubby is a huge goldfish in an aquarium and Tanner acquired minnows. The minnows occupy a bowl in his room at my house. Todd's goldfish, "Figaro" had taken up residence in a huge crystal snifter with floating candles in my dining room. Figaro has been decorating my dining room for well over a year or so. Two evenings ago, I did a "head count", and "bed and bowl" check. I found Figaro moving his mouth, but floating on his side. He seemed to be looking at me, trying to plead his case not to count him out, but to help him. Figaro, between you and me, could be replaceable...shhh! But, where there is life, there is hope. So, I filled another bowl with fresh, clean water and moved Figaro into it. I emptied, cleaned refilled the snifter and left it waiting for us. Figaro didn't try to escape the net...a concerning sign! After I placed him in my watery doctor's office, I righted him. He tried to swim, but couldn't maintain his balance. For an hour and a half, I coaxed Figaro by gently nudging him upright and softly talking and encouraging him. I would give a tiny push to have him try to swim forward and then support the "down" side. He kept wobbling and trying. I continued to softly talk and gently nudge. I decided to try to put him back in his snifter. He didn't run from the net. Not a good sign. But, once I released him in his home snifter, he seemed to stay erect for a little longer than before! Another hour of encouraging him to try and boosting as he needed it, Figaro seemed to be rallying! I napped for about an hour or two. With dread, I returned to the snifter. Figaro was chipper, swimming quickly around his home, approached the side where I stood, moved his mouth emphatically! Did he thank me or was he demanding to know when room service would be bringing his breakfast? Figaro gobbled his breakfast with loud lip smacking! As I type, I am watching his antics. I have no idea what happened. I have no idea how Figaro was cured. Gentle nudging and soft words are the only prescriptions that I can recommend as, what this Grandmother has become, THE FISH WHISPERER!

LISTEN, DO YOU WANT TO KNOW A SECRET? SHHH!!! (or...There's Nothing New Under The Sun!")

My mother told me that there is nothing new under the sun. She more or less meant that history repeats itself in one way or another. Typical of Mom...she just might be spot on, right! When I was seventeen years old, my father was going to be admitted to a hospital for gall bladder surgery. In the "old days", a surgeon would make an incision, remove the monster affliction and stitch the patient back up. This required a hospital stay of at least a week and recovery period at home for ages. On the morning of my father's admittance into the hospital, he pulled his old, old, dark blue, wrinkled bodied Volkswagen Beetle around to the patio, behind our house in order that my Mom could pull her car in and out of the driveway to visit him. My mother was never, ever approached to teach Drivers' Education! She couldn't back up, refuses to drive on highways, won't make left turns, only parks in parking lots in "pull through" spaces and the list goes on and on. My father told me to start the car every day to keep the battery charged. It was February and he didn't want anything to "freeze". Ah-huh. He repeatedly warned me to attempt driving nowhere! I couldn't drive a "stick" and had already failed my driving test three times. I promised that I would simply turn the engine on, let run for a few minutes, turn it off and leave the stick, choke and clutch alone. So, on the following morning, I turned on the engine, thought that I could drive that bug around the backyard (huge corner acre) and return it to its secure spot on the patio! With a lurch, Blue Bug wound up straddling three steps leading up to the back porch! My Grandmother came out of the house. To say that she was shocked, momentarily speechless and upset is just not doing the poor woman justice! "Dolly Dear, what are you doing? You're going to knock down the house! You aren't supposed to drive the car! You aren't supposed to drive the car up the back steps especially! Get that off!" This was done as she continuously blessed herself and with a strong Italian accent! Ugh! "Nana, the guys at school pick this kind of car up all of the time and turn them around or move them!" I was interrupted by: "But, they don't drive them up[ steps!" I tried again: "Nan, let's just pick this thing up and we'll put it back!" Pleading ensued: "Dolly Dear! Make that car go back! Your papa is going to be mad at both of us!" Her exasperation and frustration were only topped by her reluctant and ineffective attempt at pushing, pulling, lifting with me. Realizing that the brute strength of an elderly woman and 101, 5'2" weenie was non-existent, I said, "Never mind, Nan. I'll just back up." Thinking that I could back a car, resting at a forty-five degree angle, off brick steps, I smartly put the car in reverse. I splintered a wooden picnic table, which unceremoniously crashed into the cedar shake of the house! Groaning, I slammed that Beetle into first gear and managed to stop it, just short of another trip up the stairs! Then, I was regaled with the Litany of Saints in Italian for my black, black soul and the demise of an old picnic table, benches and the rear of a house! "Nana! Stop! All we have to do is touch up the paint on the house". The house was due to be painted in the spring. It was a light grey. The "touch up paint", definitely looked way too fresh. Nana and I tried scraping loose cedar and applying paint. Oh, that looked so bad! That evening, my cousin Stephen visited along with is parents, my grandfathers, aunts, uncles, great aunts, great uncles. The beauty of being Italian, not to sound corny..."You'll never walk alone." I convinced my cousin to sneak out of the house with a flashlight with me. We brought bleach, cleanser, steel wool, anything that we could think of to fade the grey and blend the "patch" with the house. Stephen was sworn to secrecy. After the immediate world left, I said to my Grandmother: "Hey, Nana, do you think that we could not tell Dad about his car, the steps, the patio, the picnic table, the house and the paint?" She guaranteed that she would not tell a would not tell a soul, even my Grandfather. Whew! At my twenty-sixth birthday dinner, my sister, my parents, my grandparents and I were gathered around the table. Right before my birthday cake was brought out, we were all having a lively conversation about who knows what - everything and nothing. At one point, I looked across the table at my Father and kiddling said that he really never knew what was going on in the household. I said that his cluelessness was part of his charm and that's why we loved him. He looked directly into my eyes and said: "Oh, yeah?" I assured him that if he had been so intune, he would have noticed a few extra dents in the Volkswagen nine years ago. My Grandmother gasped and threw her fingers to her lips! "Dolly Dear, be careful!" The story of the car, steps, patio, picnic table, house, painting ruse came tumbling from me. Nana exclaimed: "All these years, I never said anything! Now, told? Dad was still, silent. And then: "Is that so?" Looking at Nana: "You were in on that with her?" We all,including my ButterScotch, my cat, held our collective breath. Enlightened, he declared: "Well, you two are always in cahoots! Hey Ang! (my Mom),let's light the candles and get this show on the road." Time has passed, as it always does. Tess, my nine year old Granddaughter, called a month ago to tell me that her brother (oldest, eleven year old Todd) was in trouble and if Mom (my daughter) found out, all three (Todd, Tess, Tanner (7) children would get into trouble. I said, "Hmmmm...and this news is such a great Grandparent's Day gift Tess. What's up?" She then shrieked, "That's it! I'm cheering today. I know you couldn't come to the game because of your ankle (Broken) and all, but, you have to come to the game for Grandparents' Day! We'll do a special cheer! Todd, come here! Meme (may-may) is coming to the game, we're saved!" Call me slow, but, I still didn't know what was going on. "Wait, wait Tess, what is the Big Trouble before we get on about the Fourth Grade Football game?" Here it went: Todd, the 2014 version of "Charlie Brown", Tess (nine year old cheer/ring master) and Tanner (7 and clueless) went swimming in a friend's pool on the day before. Todd left his brand new eye glasses there. Mom has zero tolerance for irresponsibility. The Trio had to retrieve those glasses, without anyone knowing what had happened. So, after painstakingly readying myself, cushioning my leg, I made a two hour drive to Zanesville. I would "surprise" everyone by my strength, go to the football game, take a soaking at the snack bar and the Trio would jump into my car after the game and guide me to McKenna's house for the rogue glasses. Simple? When I was ten minutes from the field, my daughter phoned. Cell phones are blessings...why? "Mom! Tess told me some nonsense about Grandparents' Day and that you are coming to the game! You'll never heal! You FELL you have to heal! We need you so much to stay with the kids when we travel this year. Why are you doing this? What's wrong with you? If you are already almost here, YOU go to the game. I'm so mad that you are worse than a child! YOU need a sitter! I can't believe...Tess! You wait here for Meme! She can go to the game. Tanner! Get Meme a chair. She needs a psychiatrist, but a chair will do! Mom, you fell! You're hurt! This is serious! What are you..." I pulled into the driveway, as I slowed down, kids, chairs, literally jumped into the car! Tess: "I'm sorry you got in trouble, Meme!" Like bandits plotting to hold up the next train heading West, we giggled and laughed as I zoomed to the football field. We were on pins and needles for that game to end! I seriously wondered of Todd was a techno-geek enough to rig that digital scoreboard to cut out some of the time! Finally, the last whistle, horn, whatever blew! Three different directions to one house, minutes later, we roared into McKenna's driveway. Tess jumped out of the car before I had it in "Park" and raced up the front stairs. McKenna's Mom answered the door and said: "Oh, Tess! McKenna must have told you we are having a lazy day at home. She said that you phoned whispering about something. I have Todd's glasses. I was just about to phone your Mom to tell her that they are safely here!" Tess screeched: "Don't tell Mom! There's Meme in the car. She wanted to say HI and pick up the glasses for us!" Wave, wave, smile, smile, see you next trip to Zanesville, sure, we'll do lunch. Tess jumped back into the car and off we went with Todd sporting his glasses. The children eventually were home, all snug in their beds, with visions of naughty Meme dancing/limping in their heads. For about twenty minutes, as I drove back to Kettering, Mom yelled and blathered; said that she guessed that I should have stayed the night, etc. Finally, I said: "What? What? I must be riding in a black hole! I can't hear you!" Disconnect. Nana, DO YOU WANT TO KNOW A SECRET? You kept my secret. I think it best that you come with me to Tess' twenty-sixth birthday dinner and please, please, help me keep a secret, because there truly is nothing new under the sun!

SPINNING IN CIRCLES BACK TO SCHOOL

With the timing of a pro-avoider, my daughter decided to leave town to move some things from a house that she and her husband were selling just as a new school year began for the Trio, her children, my grandchildren: Todd, 10; Tess, 9; Tanner, 7. In other words, she left Zanesville, Ohio for Naples, Florida with clear, distinct, detailed instructions: "Mom, school starts on the 18th (Why Ohio, why August? In good old New Jersey, we started in September). Button up having the kids ready and don't forget that they should be on time! Try to keep the morning stress free. Have fun!" So, for days before the school bell rang at Bishop Fenwick Catholic School, we bought a new "Sonic" lunchbox and "Sonic" eyeglass case to match Todd's "Sonic" backpack; bought Tess' cheerleading bloomers; smocks bought and personalized (I embroidered their names on them at about 2 A.M. in the morning): the right, "cool", but uniform friendly, shoes; decorative basket for Tess' room; three sets of headphones; Tanner's new back pack; Tess' complete "Justice" ensemble of backpack, lunch box, water bottle sporting a "T" on everything; haircuts for the boys and a trim for Tess; all meals out for days as we continued to move swiftly through unending supply lists. Whew! On the eve of the first morning, we steamed uniforms, stood new backpacks at the door, made lunches! Thinking we were organized, in great shape, it then began: "Meme! (may-may) I can't find any white knee socks! I may have to wear ankle socks, but you aren't allowed! Should I wear pants instead? Oh no! These shoes don't go! I hate these!" That was Tess for starters. And then Tanner: "I don't want to try on this stuff!" Todd: "We have to tr your stuff on! Meme! These pants are too tight! We just bought these! What's up with that? I think you shrunk them while you were steaming." Tanner: "My pants are falling down!" Todd and Tess: "Wear a belt! It's part of the uniform!" There followed: "I can't find a belt!" "Check the belt drawer!" "Do we have a belt drawer?" And the finale: "Tomorrow we can't go to school! Let's go shopping and start over. We can go out for lunch too!" Seriously? Finally, scrubbed, shampooed, jammied, breakfast orders placed with the misguided idea of saving time, the Trio managed to giggle themselves to sleep. my The dawning of the First Day of School for the 2014-1025 School Year! We pride ourselves on consistent chaos as usual! Why does school start soooooo early? Just asking. The boys confused their uniforms; again, the magical mystery belt conflict reared its ugly head. Tess awoke with smooth, silky hair. I cringed when I heard: "Meme! For the first day of school, I'm going to curl my hair! I can do it myself while you make breakfast!" Tanner: "Meme! This shirt stretched overnight!" Todd: "Take it off! It's mine!" Eggs, bacon, toast, hot chocolate ordered last night turned into cold cereal with the garnish: "You don't want milk on that do you, just throw it in a cup it in a cup and eat it in the car!" After twenty minutes of trying to free Tess' tangled hair from the curling iron, without shaving her head, the whole "on time" concept was fading. Six feet scrambled into shoes in the back of my car and then I remembered: The classic "First Day of School Photo Shoot!" Oh nuts! "Get out! Grab your backpacks (hey at $75 a pop, they were picture worthy) and line up on the step..SMILE! Another year of school is here!!! Smile! Don't grit your teeth and mummer!" A quick snap of the camera phone, photo texts to Mom and Grandpa, we were off! We careened to TAnner's school first. The same Bishop Fenwick School has grades K-3 in one building and up a hill on the other side of Main Street, is the Middle School - Grades 4-8. Cars were lined up smartly as children walked into Tanner's building. I had exactly NO minutes to get the other two to their school door. Leaving my car in a nifty "no parking" zone, motor running, doors gaping open, I grabbed Tanner, his lunchbox flapping behind him, backpack swinging lethally, ran through cars as they screeched to a halt across the street, nearly knocking the good pastor over. Salvaging myself from ex-communication, I smiled, said,"Here's Tanner, have a great day, love you, see you later!" I raced back to the car (time saver to keep doors open and motor running). Practically running over three students, an older woman pushing a baby stroller and pushing traffic out of the way, I managed to pull up to the Middle School's door, just as Sr. Smiling...not so much...was about to close it! I slammed on the brakes, beeped the horn, waved and tried to control my hysteria: "Oh wait! Two more here!" Wanting to crawl into a crack in the pavement, but instead blowing me kisses, the duo, aka, Todd and Tess raced into the school. Fundamental rule of life: School begins and school is dismissed. I made the rounds picking up the Trio. We decided to go out for an early, early dinner to exchange the stories of the day at school. I asked: "Hey! do any of you have homework tonight, on the first day?" This brought an onslaught of laughter. I began to weigh the possibility of headlining in Las Vegas, if I ever got out of Zanesville. In three part harmony: "No Meme! But you do!" Piles of papers for me to sign (What happened to tree conservation?) Homework contracts, emergency info papers, behavior contracts, menus for the month, special enrichment subject acknowledgements and my personal favorite: "Notice that signature required here___________ acknowledging checking students' backpacks, folders and papers sent home for signatures." The Trio was pretty efficient pushing the papers in front of me and I have never been to slow with an autograph, so after an hour and a half, we managed to move smoothly through it all. Later, the circus wagon, aka, moving truck arrived with Mom. The driver, a friend of the globe trotters, announced that in the morning, before we all go our ways, he would make a huge breakfast. I warned him that we have to be in the car and down the driveway by 7:25 A.M. He said he understood. The next morning, slightly smoother than the one before, we assembled in a quiet, empty, clean kitchen. There was no breakfast action even as late as 7:18! We were running out of time. Thank goodness for my stash of Lucky Charms in my embroidery bag! Either Breakfast Man: 1. Has no children: 2. Has never attended DAY school; or 3. Had a death wish thinking that 7:18 was the time to begin! He appeared in the kitchen just as my signature: "You don't want milk in those Lucky Charms do you? Let's roll!" hung over the room. Cool Breakfast Man mumbled: "How about some scrambled eggs?" In an attempt to be polite rather than timely, we scrapped the Charms and by 7:40, we blew past two State Troopers, that little old lady pushing that stroller, nearly missed Tanner's principal's toes and threw body blocks against Todd and Tess' principal to hold the door open! I returned to the house to collect my bag, computer, sewing to return to home turf. Giving myself "atta girls" for managing to not have lost my touch for the first days of school, I froze in terror! Three brand new lunch boxes waved and mocked me at the door! Oh no! I snatched the rogue boxes, raced to Tanner's school first, introduced myself and surrendered his lunch. I then retraced the original route to the Middle School. The secretary buzzed me in and said: "Ah, Mrs. Macy, we're beginning the new year just as we ended the last!" Another contender to headline in Vegas! I smiled as sweetly as I could and asked that she give Todd and Tess their lunches. As I turned around, I collided with Todd: "Meme! I am so glad that you're here! We forgot our lunches! You shouda reminded us!" R-I-G-H-T, who knew, my bad! "Todd, can you bring Tess her lunch so that we don't have to disturb the machinery here anymore than we have?" The relieved secretary strained a smile and a happy Fifth Grader sang as he swung both lunch boxes skipping down the hall. As he rounded a corner, he turned, winked, smiled and said: "I love you Meme!" And so, the whirlpool slowed after SPINNING IN CIRCLES BACK TO SCHOOL!

GONE FISHING

My daughter was traveling for a week during the summer and my grandchildren - Todd, 10; Tess, 9 and Tanner, 7 (aka The Trio) stayed with me. Tiki, their cat and Figaro, Todd's goldfish came along for my care as well. The Trio, still impressed by my five years at the Central Park Zoo in NYC thought that I could care for any living thing. Todd's goldfish took up residence in a decorative snifter with floating candles that I have in my dining room. Figaro, I believe has moved in permanently. The week was fun, adventurous, all critters, human and/or not, thrived. My story begins when the Trio went to visit Bio-Dad. Excuse my sharky-ness. My daughter and their Dad have been divorced for a while. Their two week "visitation" was to start as my week ended. I seldom receive any communication fro the other camp, other than logistics of meeting to exchange the Trio. At 9:24, on a Tuesday morning, Tess called: "Meme! (may-may) I have a big goldfish here at my Dad's. It is about four or five inches long and really fat! I giggled and said: "Hey Tess! Is his name Chubby?" She groaned: "Meme! It's a girl!" Corrected, I replied, "Oh, I'm sorry, Tess, is her name Chubby?" Tess exhaled an eye rolling sigh: "Okay, if you want, you can call her Chubby. I don't want Chubby to live here and Mommy won't be happy when we meet her to go home with a great big goldfish! So, I asked Mary (Bio-Dad's fiance) if I could call you to pick her up! Can you come here to meet us and take my fish home with you? I want my fish to live with you so that when we come over, I have my fish to visit!" Warily, I responded: "Is this okay with Dad and Mary?" Tess, growing impatient: "Meme! Dad's at work, Todd is with him, Mary said we'd meet you what ever time is good for you" Hmmmm..."Tess, put Mary on the phone." A pause, Mary: "Tess said that you'll take the fish. Thank you, she's so happy What time is good for you?" We agreed that at 2:PM, I would arrive in Tipp City (one half hour drive from my door) to pick up Chubby. I quickly showered, dressed, made up (casual, summer shear) and headed for the pet store. After explaining that Figaro wouldn't be safe with a big, still sight unseen Chubby in a snifter, which would be too small for Chubby anyway, the sympathetic (but very amused at the story) clerk helped me based on the amount that I wanted to spend - $0.00 and what I had to spend - $75.00 plus tax and a donation for the local animal shelter to feed homeless kitties and puppies. The "alert" sounded on my phone with an urgent message as I staggered to my car with Chubby's new digs. Mary sent me a text: "Tanner wants the minnows. Can he have them to take to your house too? And, if so, how many? He has about a dozen. He fell in love with them. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wants to save them. It's hard for me to say no to him! Lol!" My response: "Oh, sure. Let him keep them all. Why not? I've never seen a minnow. Priscilla (my cat) has a new cookbook: '101 Ways To Cook Fresh Fish'. Sounds like a fish fry!" Minnows? I phoned a friend on the way to the rendezvous with Mary, Tess, Tanner and new finned friends. "I'm on my way to pick up a huge goldfish and some minnows. I don't know how to care for minnows. I've never seen a minnow!" Deep laughter emitted from my phone: "Ah, you might mean guppies...small colorful. Minnows are bait or feeder fish. Minnows are skinny, grey, little. They aren't pets." Hmmmm. I assured him that I didn't misunderstand and that I would let him know. Two children ran to me, jumped and hugged me giggling. Mary carried a huge carton containing an enormous fishbowl (with Chubby and the minnows. Hey! Sounds like a rock band!), two nets (one large, one small), a few decorative rocks, fish food and secured it in my little white car! "Thank you so much! The children love you so! You really are a wonderful grandmother, you know! Give Meme hugs and kisses and let's go to the park!" I thanked Mary for the compliments, smiled about the fish (sort of), assured her that Priscilla would have a dilly of a fish fry and headed for home. She laughed and said to enjoy the fry! On the way, I phoned my friend back: "Hey, I'm on the way to cross the Kettering border with Chubby and a slew of skinny, grey, little fish." A deep laugh: "Well girl, better go fishing! You've got yourself a mess of minnows!" Priscilla was waiting for me with her frying pan on the counter as I struggled to bring in the fish cargo. I immediately told her: "Pris! Shame on you! You know GRILL, don't FRY!" She muttered something about health freaks and climbed on to the counter to supervise move-in day with a scowl. Ugh...mount background scene; put filters in the filter; wash stones, arrange plants...I should be a decorator! Oh, wait, I am an aquarium decorator. Finally, something water to neutralize it - like wetness? Time for Chubby t move into her new home. Ah-ha...right. For twenty-seven (yes, that was 27) minutes, armed with the larger net, I launched a high speed chase to capture Chubby to more her scaly, finny body into the tank. I was wet, tired and losing the sea battle badly! Finally, Pris stuck her paw in one side of the bowl and voila! Chubby practically jumped into my net on the other side! The tank sits on one end of the piano, the snifter with Figaro on the other. This project did not get any easier! I cleaned out the mega-bowl after spending forty-two (yes, 42) minutes corralling, are you ready? Corralling eighteen (yep, 18) minnows to transfer to the cleaning/holding bowl. A circus performer couldn't be more flexible and fast to be sure! After cleaning mega-bowl, placing a cute grey stone in the bottom, I went on a minnow round up again to move them into their spacious studio apartment. You guessed it: 57 minutes to gather these little beasts, practically one at a time. A floating candle on the top should put me on the cover of "Home Decor International". That lovely domain rests between the other two. I dried the kitchen, disinfected, mopped, scrubbed myself senseless (ah, that may have been the problem in the beginning). I snapped pictures of Chubby and MInnow World to text to Mary to text to Mary to share with the children. Her response: "You're awesome! Enjoy the fish fry!" As Priscilla and I settled back for a cup of tea and to rehash the day, my cell phone blasted its "Pirate Jig" ringtone. God love friends who say: "I hope you don't miss the children too much. Use the time to do what you want to do. Where were you earlier?" Frankly, I had "gone fishing"!

THE RESULTS ARE IN! THE ULTIMATE PIZZA COMPETITION!

The Trio and I were rehashing our latest "challenge" one afternoon. Let me explain:The Trio is made up of my grandchildren: Todd, 10; tess, 9 and Tanner 7. In the past, we had a contest between "McDonald's" and "Burger King". See the blog: THE CONTEST, written about a year or so ago. We recently cast our votes and opinions about Ice Cream Parlors during THE TRIPLE THREAT ICE CREAM CHALLENGE (blogged about a month ago, or so). Assorted friends and family have begun asking about our criteria and results. Some asked what our next competition would be. Fun with a purpose, you might say. Todd nixed Chinese. All three can use chop sticks, but he doesn't like the Cuisine at all. A light bulb went off among the three at the same time! The next contest: PIZZA! Armed with paper and pens, we jotted down our ideas, by which we would judge three local pizza shops. We labored, debated and decided which shops, the location, the categories to be judged and the scoring system. "Cassano's" would be running the race against "Marion's" and "Flyi8ng Pizza". "Cassano's" is a long time Dayton tradition. A pizza from Cassano's was the first Mid-West Pizza that I had ever tasted. I had never seen pizza cut into squares before! "Marion's" is also an old timer with a huge following. "Flying Pizza" is "New York style, imported from the East Coast. SLICES - YES!!!! I took our hand written notes and created "score sheets" for each of us. The three pizza establishments were to be judged on the number of toppings, the varieties of crusts. On a scale of 1 (worst) to 10 (best, we were to judge oily/dry, crust, freshness of ingredients, overall taste, inside atmosphere, cleanliness, decor, overall experience. I printed out the score papers, packed four pens in my purse (and a few dollars) to begin the ULTIMATE PIZZA COMPETITION! Over the course of three different days, three different "meals", we pursued PIZZA! We went to Cassano's first. One has to admire "Cassano's". It sponsors a display/installation at the "Boonshoft Children's Museum of Natural History" in Dayton, thereby, embracing fellow Daytonians. We enjoyed the dispositions of the staff, the restaurant in general. Pictures of old Dayton, old "Cassano's", Vic Cassano and celebrities adorned the walls. The crust had a slight hint of salt, but was perfect! The top -not dry, not oily whereby you have to blot, but, just right! We ordered a pepperoni pizza (Trio's favorite). As we licked our fingers and pushed away the empty pizza tray, we began our scoring. !Lively discussion, comparison of notations, "Cassano's" would be tough to beat! Before we went to pizzeria number two: "Marion's", I was told that "Marion's" would put "Cassano's" to shame. Well readers, the judges could not disagree more! "Marion's" pizza was dry, dry, dry! It was palatable because Todd kept the soda run going at a steady pace. Tanner said he filled up on the soda, because he couldn't eat the cardboard! Tess said that the little squares were great to make a craft project, maybe a mosaic of a picture of a pepperoni pizza? There was no pleasure to be had at all! The pepperoni was so old that I think that it was on Social Security and Disability all at once! Maybe "Marion's" was having a bad day. Plates were an issue until I got up and began to whine and scrounged some from the counter. The decor was pleasant enough, but, frankly, we were too hungry and disappointed to appreciate trees "growing" mid restaurant. And, society frowns upon gnawing on the furniture in public. We whipped out our score sheets and let the our pens' ink do its polka. before we left disappointedly! Our third and final contestant was "Flying Pizza". As a New Yorker/East Coaster, myself, I thought that "Flying Pizza" (New York import, new York Style...slices!) would sweep me away. The decor was nothing to look at ...a few New York Photos, but, hey, we were there to fill the pizza space in our tummies! Our order was interrupted twice by one customer who asked for water and another looking for a plate, but eventually taken. Then, we seated ourselves. A delicious looking pepperoni pizza was delivered to our table. Slices excited me! Dry crust that tasted like cardboard did not excite me so much. Tanner said that his teeth were going to crack, break and fall out of his mouth all at once! Todd doubted that and responded that his teeth were getting stuck. No breakage if you're stuck in a crust. Tess rolled her eyes and tried to make the best of the entire episode. Todd, finally removing his teeth from his slice, asked for a bag of potato chips. I never grasped the concept of potato chips with pizza, but, I chalk it up to a "Mid - West" thing. I got up, took a bag from a nearby rack and approached the counter in order to pay. I held a $5.00 bill in view and the bag of chips. There was not a single customer at the counter at that time. I stood watching two workers chat. I remained, in full view, totally ignored. I asked if one of the two could assist me, just as a customer came into the door. Attention was turned to the newly arrived individual. Assuming that I am constructed out of clear plastic wrap and invisible, I left the chips on the counter and returned to my seat announcing "POINTS OFF - PENALTY 5!" Of the fast food play places, of the ice cream parlors and previous "pizza joints", we had a new, unfamiliar issue: IGNORE- or lack of respect for the customer and indifferent disposition! We finished our so, so pizza. We took out our score papers and our lethal pens to begin. Those pens strutted their stuff on no uncertain terms! As we left, we politely said good-bye. The staff did reply, without looking up from their crossword puzzles, "Bye now!". Tanner turned as he straddled the threshold: "You lost points you know!" and scurried out of the door. Our findings: "Cassano's" blew the anchovies off of both "Marion's" and "Flying Pizza" with a combined score of 221.9 out of a possible 236! "Marion's slipped into second place only because "Flying Pizza" was in dire need of an attitude adjustment! The two were a whisper apart in the 118-117 range in second and third place! We are not "restaurant critics" by any stretch of the imagination. But, think about this...we are grandchildren with a grandmother out for pizza (or ice cream, or a bounce in a play place). Baby Boomers, like myself, are considered to be the "big spenders" of our era. At last count, 3.75 million Baby Boomers are entertaining their grandchildren. We are the Pizza consumers! OUr findings just might be advantageous for Pizza establishments to consider. My peers might accept our suggestions and possibly use our "results" (and a coupon) to determine where they will purchase pizza for their grandchildren. That being said, we had fun. I can't say that any of us are clamoring for pizza in the near future. We will be at "Cassano's" when we are, so look for us there! Let the pit fall of "Flying Pizza" teach Pizza merchants something though...Placement will be tarnished by questionable attitude in THE ULTIMATE PIZZA COMPETITION!

CAT SITTER OR GYMNAST?

Since my first grandchild was born, ten years ago, I have always vacationed with my daughter and the three children (now 10, 9 and 7).  We have gone to the beach, to the North Pole, Camp Yogi, every and any water indoor park, Disney World, Ft. Lauderdale, Pirate Dinners, Pirate Cruises, Naples, Florida, New York, New Jersey, Pawley's Island, South Carolina.  At any given time, we get up, get packed and GO! We have been well tuned, efficiently moving, well-oiled touring machines!

But, I broke my ankle!  I am having a difficult time healing.  I am in a walking cast which is heavy and cumbersome.  I am to "relax", curtail activity, limit travel, rest, remain close to my Doctors for constant visits.  UGH.  So, a family trip to the beach (Cape May, New Jersey) with inflexible dates, was not to include me.  The Trio and I were having a difficult time dealing with this, but, as my grandmother would say:  "This too, will pass."  In other words...get over it with style and grace!

While their Mom spent two days packing, getting her nails done, etc. in preparation for the family (minus one) vacation, I thought that I too, would have a sleepover, mini vacation with Todd, Tess and Tanner before they left.  We booked a hotel for two days with a spa and swimming pool, breakfast, accommodating staff, near a mall, restaurants, miniature golf, movie theatre and laser tag!  Firm ground...no shifting sand for my instability.  We shopped, ate, played, swam and I kept my leg elevated while they ran amuck!  After the pool closed for the evening at the hotel, Tess made me tea.  The boys created snacks.  Tess and I gave each other facials, pedicures and manicures!  They did their best to take care of Meme (may may).  Finally, the call came from Mommy: "We have a long ride Mom." (ten hours)  "Maybe, you should bring the children back at 11 this morning.  Everything is packed.  I even have Dad's birthday gift in the rental car."  Sadly, I relayed the message to the Trio.  We returned home.  The "Griswald" (Family Vacation - Chevy Chase) packed car was a reality before me.  Tearfully, we hugged, kissed, promised to call.  This sounds a little over the top for a week's separation, I do admit.  Upon their return, they knew that they would spend the week with Uncle Nick, Vacation Bible School and me...something to which we could all look forward!

Suddenly, Tiff (my daughter) came down the stairs with what we call "Tiki's Space Ship"!  This is a flying saucer shaped, covered litter box for Tiki, their pure white, affectionate, playful, silly cat!  Trying to be cool, collected, mature and dry eyed, I asked: "Tiff, what are you doing?"  Giggles erupted all around: "Meme!  You are taking Tiki home with you!  You won't miss us and you know we'll be right there after vacation  to see you and Tiki!  You two will have fun and you won't cry!"

I had to install Tiki in one of the bedrooms used by the Trio.  Priscilla, my cat, becomes an emotional and mental freak, leading to $3,000 Veterinary bills when her psychosis, insecurities, jealousy manifest themselves into a physical mess of a kitty!  In other words, Priscilla does not play hostess to Tiki with a smile.  She does not offer to play paper dolls, share vittles or breath the same air.  So, the "Space Ship" was placed at the far end of a rather large bedroom/playroom.  Far from it, Tiki's food dishes were assembled.  Disney Jr. played on the television for her entertainment.  Door firmly closed.

This morning, in a flimsy robe, walking cast and one slipper with nothing else on me at all, I ventured down the stairs to distract Priscilla with breakfast and treats before tending to Tiki.  I planned to then shower, dress in comfortable lounging clothes and relax with my leg elevated most if not all of the day to counter the exhaustion of the previous two days.  Maybe I would watch a little television with Tiki to keep her company for a little while.  And so, Saturday was to be stress free, easy, relaxed.

Priscilla was purring as she inhaled her treats at breakfast.  I fed the goldfish, which has taken up residence since the last trip that my daughter took, leaving me pets and children.  I loaded a silver tray (no joke) with goodies for Tiki and snuck down the hallway to Tiki's room.  I smartly opened  and closed the door quickly and firmly.  I scooped the space ship, watered, fed my house guest.  I changed the channel on the television to Westerns (Hey, it was Saturday, after all!)  We made chit chat, a little ear, chin rubbing, "I'll visit you later Tiki", took the tray of dirty dishes, etc. and headed for the door.

I turned the door knob.  Nothing caught to open the door!  I turned and turned and turned and turned the knob more and more and more and more!  Nothing.  I turned it the opposite way.  I turned and turned and turned and turned the knob again and again and again and again!  Nothing!  I could not get out!  My phone was upstairs.  The only other living, breathing beings in the house at the time were Priscilla (can't reach the knob) and the goldfish (can't scale the snifter from beneath floating candles)  Now what?  My aknle was throbbing, even in the boot.  I was panicking!

I was on the first floor.  The windows are rather large.  So, I opened the window and screen in the bedroom.  Tiki was hot on my trail.  I kept telling her to go away and "spot" me from the other side of the room.  I tossed some jingle bells (Tanner had been playing with them last week) across the floor. Tiki took off after them.  I scratched my --- sliding out of the window of the brick palazzo.  I had the presence of mind to hang on by a thread, so to speak, to the screen to close it, confining Tiki.  I am glad that the neighbors are either not nosey, or not outdoorsy to have paid any attention to me!  Luckily, the neighborhood "watch" didn't recommend that I be arrested for indecent exposure!

I limped/clumped around the house, climbed onto the deck and found a window from there, unlocked.  I climbed back into the house, shimmying down a bookcase.  Hmmmm....and I didn't like Gym when I was in school.  Pretty athletic, if you ask me! I was hot, dirty, in agony, but IN THE HOUSE!!!

My phone was ringing upstairs!  I pulled myself up the stairs, missed two calls.  I listened to the first message as I was removing weeks from my hair and the Velcro of my boot: "Hi Meme!  We tried to call you!  You said to call, but you are'n't answering!  How's Tiki?  Are you taking good care of your ankle?  Are you resting or sleeping now?  Grandpa rented a big house.  Too bad he couldn't change the date, but Mom said to stay off of your ankle and take good care of it so that we can play when we come home!  I miss you!  I miss you more!! C'mon guys, we all miss Meme!  We'll call you back later!  I love you!  I love you!  I love you!!  Kiss Tiki for us!!!  We'll call you back!"  CLICK  I listened to the second message.  My Mom:  "Now that the children are away, just rest.  Don't exert yourself!  The peace will do you good.  A little tea, a good book and doze - you might be napping now.  You're probably feeling refreshed already."

You know, one just might be able to nurse a broken ankle while the family is away.  I get that.  But, not when Meme is a Cat Sitter!

PET ANGEL WAITING AT THE RAINBOW BRIDGE or A DEATH IN THE FAMILY

At about six in the evening of a beautiful summer day, my phone rang.  As I attempted a simple greeting, like: "Hello?", Tess, my nine year old granddaughter hysterically screeched:  "Meme! (may -may)!  we are on the way to the vet with Pirouette.  Something is wrong with her!  Her throat is all black.  Mommy is driving as fast as she can.  Meet us right away!"  I live two hours from my daughter and three grandchildren.  It is at a time like this, when I seriously consider tossing my geography over my shoulder, moving and not looking back.  "Tess, let me know what happens.  It will take me a while to get there, keep moving forward!

Pirouette - Tess' Bearded Dragon.  Pirouette came to Tess as a three inch baby, eight months ago.  I used to tease and call the lizard: "Dizzy Lizzy".  I learned the diet, habits, etc. to assist in the care of a Bearded Dragon.  In her travel tank, Pirouette made either of our houses, her home.

I called my son, "Uncle Nick" to the Trio (Tess and her two brothers- todd, 10 and Tanner, 7) and told him that I might be in Zanesville for a day or two, and explained the situation.  He replied: "Mom, remember Dr. Mackerel?"  I had to laugh.  When my children were young, if we found a pet goldfish, shall we say, "sleeping" on it's side, I would say:  "Oh dear!  It looks like Patches (or whoever) doesn't feel well.  While you're in school tomorrow, I'll bring him/her to Dr. Mackerel and see what he can do."  (Fish specialist only found in my mind)  The next day, the fish would feel so much better - replaced by an exact duplicate.  Thank goodness, Tiff's pink goldfish lived for thirteen years (no joke), because that would have been a dilly to replace.  By the time "Fishcake" died, Tiffany was a teenager and was aware of mortality.  Anyway, Nick said that he'd get on the phone and find another bearded dragon.  He told me to go to Zanesville and pick up Pirouette, dead or alive, promise my connections with Dr. Newt Gecko, and then return with a well heated Pirouette!  Then the "glitch" surfaced it's ugly head:  Pirouette grew to be twelve inches long, had a four (or more) inch circumference around her tummy.  Nick called every pet shop in a seventy-five mile radius north, south, east, west.  Only babies.  He began on animal shelters as I packed an overnight bag and received the next call:

"Meme!!!  Hurry!!! You used to work at the Zoo (Central Park Zoo, NYC, education department for five years) and you know what the Vet is talking about!  Pirouette may not make it through the night and we have to keep her comfortable to try to get the toxins out.  Mommy fed her a lightning bug and the light is poisonous!  I want to come by you!"  A gush of tears followed.  I phoned Nick:  "How are you making out?  I'm on my way to Tess, please let me know as soon as possible what's what!"  An exhausted response:  "Mom, I have three of us on phones and we've got nothing!  We might have to check Indiana or Pennsylvania!"  Reality took hold:  "Nick, if you are all combing Ohio, I don't think there is much hope.  We've got to go with Pirouette's demise."

For two hours, Todd and Tanner phoned to check my progress and update the patient's condition.  Tess wasn't available.  She was alternately holding and soaking Pirouette  to "keep her comfortable" while crying.    As I got out of my car, the boys nearly knocked me over, grabbed my bag and purse and ushered me into the living room.  My daughter was devastated and filled with guilty sorrow.  Tess clung to me and we spent the evening stroking and holding Pirouette in her misery.  I said to Tess that she needed some rest.  I told her that Mom and I would check Pirouette during the night. I told Todd and Tanner that Pirouette was "hanging in" for Tess, but most likely would pass during the night, once Tess put her in her tank.  they said good night to her, kissed her and said that they would miss her.  With labored breadth, Pirouette did her best to acknowledge them.

Like the Italian (at least part) that she is, Tess made calls in the morning.  She called her Grandfather, Uncle Nick, the Richards Family, her God-Mother, her friends and with each call, cried telling them about Pirouette.  Like the 75% Italian and 25% Sicilian that I am, I figured that I should keep "the book" of mourners for future reference.  

We selected a peaceful spot near a trellis in the yard.  The boys each took shovels and excavated the burial site.  Tiff bought a pink plastic container and lined it with a pink and white doll blanket.  We decorated the interior with Pirouette's red heat plant.  I suggested placing her Christmas Stocking that I made with her, but Tiff said that Tess might want it as a memory.  A private family internment followed.  tess read a Psalm about the Lord and His creatures and the Resurrection.  Each of us then spoke.  I was glib, light telling of two misadventures that I had with Pirouette.  Tiff crumbled and cried only saying she was sorry, that it was an accident.  Todd told us about Pirouette on his computer keyboard.  Tess did her best to talk about her pet, but just couldn't finish.  Tanner made us giggle, though, when he admitted that he didn't think Pirouette liked him much.  "I think that she thought that I was annoying."  We did all smile and agree.  Tess placed the box in the hole.  That was the most heart wrenching scene.  Tiff, Tess and I watched the boys fill in the hole and place a flat disk of a stone on top, to suffice until a more permanent marker be make and placed.  The boys, with their heads bowed, walked back to the house/garage dragging their big shovels silently.  Tiff, to my right was so racked with guilt, that she barely walked.  Tess clung to my left hip, sobbing.

I had an uncle.  I will call him Uncle No Heart. After my Grandfather suffered, what turned out to be his final stroke and was in a coma, my children and I were in the hospital restaurant when Uncle no Heart came up to me.  Sir Lean and Mean, waggled his finger at me and said with a smirk:  "I know that you are close to your Grandfather (his Father, by the way).  I know that you have spent your lifetime loving your Grandparents and that you taught your children the same.  Now, this is the end of the line.  Are you willing to pay the price?  "  Like a lioness, I pounced (verbally):  "I pay the price every day and I hurt and I'm glad!  I want one more day, one more hour, one more minute, even a second with Grandpa!  I pay the price when I drag these two kids to the hospital to visit their Great-Grandpa even if he can't wake up!  I do it with joy!  We love and feel.  If ultimate loss and sorrow are the prices for loving and feeling, bring it on and I'll pay and pay and pay and then beg to pay some more!  Mom (his sister)  is paying over and over as well!  Just go away!  Just go away!"  He turned and left with his arrogance and cockiness flashing all over the place.  Some patrons, who witnessed the scene, applauded me and those who didn't clap, gave me encouraging, sympathetic smiles.

As we walked and I cleared my mind of the recollection, I said to Tess;  "Pirouette is always with you.  She's a Pet Angel and..."  Before I could continue, Tess said:  "And, Meme, when I have another Bearded Dragon, she'll help me take care of it even better!"  I smiled:  "Yes Tess, and eventually, you'll meet Pirouette at the Rainbow Bridge to play together again.  But not for a long time."

THE TRIPLE THREAT ICE CREAM CHALLENGE

About a year ago, the Trio (my grandchildren: Todd, 10; Tess, 9; Tanner, 7) and I created and participated in "The Contest".  The Contest is described in my June 12, 2013 blog - THE CONTEST.   We compared and contrasted McDonald's and Burger King.

Last week, on the phone, I had a conversation with Todd.  "I have an idea!"  Usually, I dread those four words coming at me.  This time, the roles were reversed: "Oh, Oh!  Meme (may-may) you're scaring me!  What do you have in mind?"  Undaunted, I continued:  "Todd, remember the contest last year with McDonald's and Burger King as contestants?"  A giggle:  "Oh yes!  That was so funny!  You're so silly Meme!  We had a blast!"  I pushed on:  "Todd, the next time that the three of you are with me, we're going to have an Ice Cream Challenge!  We'll have a competition between Cold Stone and Graeter's!  We'll do official sheets whereby we compare the number of flavors, number of toppings, best tasting, inside atmosphere, outside patio, the works.  We'll give scores and see who wins!"  Todd jumped on this one:  "Wait!  We did two places last time.  How about a triple threat?  All in one day, so we have good memory.  Like how about using Maggie Moo's too?  That's right in Centerville!"  So, Todd and I declared a TRIPLE THREAT ICE CREAM CHALLENGE to be held during their very next visit!

On a Friday evening, after the Trio settled into their rooms, we congregated in the living room for a strategy meeting.  We reviewed our score sheets.  Three Ice Cream Parlors were going to be judged and analyzed by three experts and their grandmother!  We plotted the order of the next day.  On Saturday morning, breakfast was light.  The judges were ready to rock!

Our first visit, after we bought Tess new ballet shoes, was to Maggie Moo's.   We sat inside because, there was no outdoor seating, unless we wanted to sit on a curb in front of the shop.  We counted flavors, toppings, recorded them.  Todd ordered Chocolate ice cream and said that we should stick with one flavor to make the taste test more accurate.  We could fiddle with toppings though.  We all readily agreed.  Tess chose Cotton Candy, Tanner- Chocolate Chip Mint.  I said that I would select the "summer" special flavors in each to check creativity.  We nibbled, slurped, recorded, discussed.

After watching the movie "Maleficent", we wandered into Cold Stone.  The outdoor seating was spacious, the inside smaller, but had a "fun" atmosphere.  Again, we took out our score papers, munched, slurped, recorded our findings.  My summer special was so good that the trio dug into it after they inhaled their ice cream.  A few people passing recognized Darla Darling (my TV character) as they passed.  Tanner noticed and said we'd be a good commercial for Cold Stone.

After a dip, splash, hop and jump on The Greene's water pads (I warmed a bench, thank you) with live music playing, we went home to freshen up, regroup.  We still clutched our score sheets as we entered Graeter's - the last competitor.  The Trio agreed that the only thing that Graeter's had going for it was that they could eat ice cream in base ball helmet bowls.  My seasonal special...ugh.  Not so good.  Out door seating? Curb and a bench or two.  Eck.

After we finished our ice cream, we sat in Graeter's, around a table, to labor over finding a winner.  People watched us curiously as we tallied scores, discussed each venue from various points of view.  We were as serious, detailed and meticulous as if we were writing for the food critics at the New York Times.  For a minute, I sat back and listened to the conversation which for children, having eaten ice cream all day, was  intelligent, logical, an even respect of give and take.  Their teachers, if they had seen/heard, would want them to be so competent in school, to be sure.

The final results revealed that the three competitors were close.  The judges' combined scores were:  Cold Stone - 218; Maggie Moo's - 201; Graeter's - 195.  We awarded our GOLDEN ICE CREAM SCOOP to Cold Stone!

We gave each other High-Fives and folded up our score sheets for our scrapbooks.  I suppose, when the Trio are adults, they might look back on this wacky day with their Grandmother.  Not many people think of these things, when their broken ankle is bound in a walking cast, as an entertainment for their grandchildren.  Maybe I'll be a funny party story with which I leave them when I must.

So, the book is closed on THE TRIPLE THREAT ICE CREAM CHALLENGE!  How about a PIZZA CHALLENGE next?

NOT A PHONE PERSON ! SMOKE SIGNALS?

Faux Ami.  A person who you learn is not your friend afterall.  It happens.  I would rather have someone say directly and honestly, "Don't call me; I'll call you...NEVER!"  than play all sorts of excuse games.  Direct honesty might smart and sting, but the sensation of rejection passes and we can all move along happily.  I usually brag, if you will, that I have a sense of humor, so I can have a little fun with the phone challenged and the Faux Ami finally making a break from me.

Let me explain:

For years, Faux Ami and I were Vrai Amis, or so I thought.  She helped my daughter move twice, baby sat the trio once, helped with my daughter's second wedding and sat in a court room with her at the end of that road one day.  I helped with her wedding, helped with her daughter's wedding, painted murals, sewed poet shirts for groomsmen, hand beaded parts of the wedding dress, spent nearly a month picking up, playing with, etc her granddaughter. We didn't keep score, really.  Vrai Amis don't do that.  A recommendation was needed for a job.  I wrote it.  Explanation of employment or lack there of for her daughter's benefit.  I wrote it and delivered it immediately.  In order to write, deliver, help, make plans, phone calls were made.  The spoken word made necessities, requests, emergencies clear.  One does not know why a person is phoning, until he/she answers the phone.

Time passed:

For months, I would call and get Faux Ami's voice mail.  I recorded  so often, that I just might go platinum by the end of the year.  I would text.  After a day or two after my messages were left, I would receive lame texts, fewer, but lamer calls:  "My phone was dead; I couldn't find my phone; my phone was in the bottom of my purse, at the bottom of the stairs; I was asleep; I was in the shower; I was outside, the phone inside; I was in the car with my sister;  I was talking on my phone; my phone is wonkie..."  This went on for months and months, as I have said.

One day, I knew that I really needed just one hour of her time.  Just one hour and it was excruciatingly important.  About two days before I tried to phone...voicemail (I expected that); the next day, I tried to phone...voicemail (surprise?).  The day after I really, really needed just one hour, I received a text with yet another lame excuse.  I waved my white surrender flag... I apologized for bothering her and admitted defeat.

Days later, a friend told me that he ran into Faux Ami who said that she thought that I'm annoyed.  How old are we?  Deal directly, yes?  She went on to say that she doesn't answer the phone when I call because she is "not a phone person".   I respect that.  No chit-chat, no stories, no entertainment.  Valid.

But...

What about an emergency?  What about an invitation?  A question?  If Faux Ami does not answer, how does she know the reason of the call?  Of course, we know that it is MY number/call that will not be answered, so emergencies, invitations, questions are not issues.

However, for those of you who are not on her "no phone" list, I advise: Faux Ami is not a "phone person", so in case of emergency: SEND SMOKE SIGNALS!!!

FINE FEATHERED FREELOADING FRIENDS (or One Tough Crowd)

One afternoon, I was embroidering and sipping some Vanilla Chai Tea.  My reverie was shattered by my phone's Pirate Jig ringtone.  All three grandchildren - Todd, 10; tess, 9; Tanner, 6 happened to be on three separate extentions, screeching, giggling all at once.  The gist of the episode was a chorus of "Hey Meme!" (That's may-may) "Quick!  Turn on the television! We need the "I Spy Birdhouse"!  And, if you order right now, we can get a free bird feeder with it and a laser level!"  I tried asking what channel...another sales pitch in three part harmony.  I tried asking if they could jot down a phone number since this treasure was available only "as seen on TV"  The response was from Tanner: "What's a level?"  I asked if there was a web site.  Tess told Tanner that if he didn't know what a level was, he couldn't use it when it came.  I asked if there was an address.  Todd told Tess to stop and get to the business of buying the contraption.  In other words, I had three enthusiastic consumers leaving me to figure it all out and of course, pay for it.  After a little of the frenzy died down, I said that I would check it out and have my fingers do the surfing on my keyboard.  Tess reminded me that the "I Spy Birdhouse" had to be shipped to my house.  Mommy would have a conniption if they tried hanging it on any window at their house.  Of course.

I found the "I Spy Birdhouse", ordered the complete ensemble of house, feeder and level.  One day, during a visit, while the Trio and I were finishing lunch, there was a knock at the door.  A package was delivered!  There is little more thrilling for children than to receive a package.  The Trio tore into the box as if Christmas was suddenly declared.  We gathered around a table and as Tess read directions, Todd and Tanner engineered the new construction.  After Tess finished reading the directions and we had an assortment of extra pieces.  I re-read the directions as Tess dissembled the boys' work and Todd tried to put it together again.  The key to this is that the house has suction cups to hold it on the outside of a window and a one-way mirror film hangs inside of the window.  Birds are supposed to think that it is a private nook with a dark, solid back, which is actually the wall through which we can "spy" and see nest building, etc.  We took a step ladder out of the garage, tried it on for size and it was declared that Meme was the only one tall enough to stand on the ladder and reach one of the window panes targeted for the new house.  Yes, in the front dining room window.  With Tess holding the house and the boys steadying the ladder (ah-ha, yeah, that's the ticket - steadying) I climbed up, took the house from Tess and attached our new "I Spy Birdhouse" to the house window.  We returned inside to assemble the bird feeder.  Problems? Yep!  Nothing is simple.  The suction cup couldn't negotiate the sphere shape of the feeder to attach to the window.  So, I rigged wire going through it and attached it onto a rather tall rhododendron that brushes the targeted window.  Upon our return inside, Tanner picked up the level and asked what to do with it!  I told the children that we were supposed to use it to be sure that we hung the house straight.  Todd just looked at me and said, "Hey, Meme!  We're professionals.  We eye-balled it!" We filled the feeder with crushed saltines, having no bird seed.  Second to receiving a package, there is a rush when children can take turns smashing anything - crackers- no exception.  Inside, we attached the one way mirror film.  Priscilla, my cat, drew up a lease with option to buy and we scheduled an open house to encourage traffic and screen potential residents. 

For days now, birds have been chowing down on my crackers like little porkers!  I cannot keep the feeder full.  Those feathered mooches are bellying up to the feeder, loading up and not even leaving a tip!

Late in the afternoon, early evening-ish today, I was sipping a glass of wine on the back deck.  A sparrow perched itself on a wire near me, looking at me, he began to squawk!  It hopped around and complained like an irate diner who in an upscale restaurant, found a mouse doing the backstroke in his soup!  A cardinal joined him and began almost honking alerting his friends.  After a while, I had two wires full of hostile, complaining birds, apparently misreading Priscilla's menu board as a "Customer Service" sign! I think, but I can't be sure, that those freeloaders are becoming bored with saltines and want a change in menu!  Now, they are lousy tippers and have never put any cash in the donation jar!  What nervve.  Priscilla joined me on the deck and shared my amazement!  She is not as patient as I.  So, she went directly inside and raised the prices on the menu board and is now rewriting the lease to include a bigger meal plan and cleaning charges.  Commercial "add-ons".

Well, Mother Nature, I do not know if running a nesting Bed and Breakfast house is truly my vocation.  I am inclined to think that I am not cut out to feed the greedy hungry.  At best, Priscilla and I are going to video this fiasco and possibly run it on You-Tube:  FINE FEATHERED FREELOADING FRIENDS, or One Tough Crowd!

MC DONALD'S - I'M LOVIN' IT!

I have mentioned to whoever falls victim to my rants, how I am not a fan (big or little) of Naples, Florida , nor Zanesville, Ohio.  The only difference between the two (other than geography) is that Naples is affluent and Zanesville - not so much.  The citizens/residents of both checked manners, intelligence at the borders before entering.

BUT...

Both have a McDonald's with Wi-Fi!  In situations when I have been condemned to either municipality, I have wandered into McDonald's with my computer, newspaper, loneliness and an extreme thirst for coffee!  After I corralled the Trio (grandchildren), which is like herding cats, early in the morning, I would stop in at a Naples' McDonald's.  A very nice man explained the "drill" to access the Internet, other patrons chatted with the children and frankly, for hours, one could actually enjoy oneself!  The partons were older, well-dressed, well-spoken and "regulars" that met in the mornings before their days began!  Friendly, welcoming, patient, fun!  The staff of the establishment seemed to be waiting for us and glad that we finally arrived!  After a few mornings, the people remembered our names, saved a table large enough for the Trio and myself and all of my assorted papers!  When a gentleman, any gentleman, would get up for a refill, he would ask if I was ready for a warm up!  I expressed my shock, gratitude and said that should I wander back into Naples, I would most certainly join the crowd again!

AND THEN...

I spent a week in Zanesville, Ohio with the children while my daughter was out of town.  For some reason, the Internet was "down".  What to do?  After dropping the children off at school, I headed for the nearest McDonald's, on Maple Avenue, might I add.  I found a great table, with a perfect view of the television, already tuned in to NBC (I am a "Today Show" junkie).  I spread out - newspaper, computer, papers, breakfast and hunkered down. After a short time, one of the employees approached and offered to refill my coffee cup.  Patrons coming and going all smiled, said "Good Morning".  Like Naples, the guests were older.  Designer clothing was lacking, but warmth, friendliness were the norm.  On the second morning, as I entered, one man said: "Here you go, honey - the table must be reserved for you!"  Chit chat about everything and nothing included een me!  My visit became a party.  By the third morning, the staff greeted me, the partons( sounded like the customers in "Cheers" when they would yell out "Norm!") exclaimed: "Laur!"   Who would get more coffee, who would read everyone's horoscopes, and "Hey, girl, what 'er ya workin' on now?" was directed at me!

SO...

On my last morning for this visit in Zanesville, I met my 25 new friends, settled in and flipped on "Happy" on You-Tube.  The crowd, including staff, gravitated towards me.  Some were familiar with "that hip hop stuff" because of grandchildren.  By the time I played the song for the second time, the partons of McDonald's were dancing, singing, snapping their fingers!  We were all "happy"!  I phoned and placed my phone on speaker for one more encore so that my parents, in their local McDonald's on the Hamburg Turnpike in Wayne, NJ, could hear what is in store for them when I join them during my next visit.

MY THOUGHT...

The McDonald Corporation should stand and proudly bow!  The dispositions of the employees encourage a "regular" crowd of very, very, very nice people.  The Senior Citizen Breakfast Club (my words, not theirs) is made to feel welcome, not rushed (how about that for a fast food joint?).  McDonald's guidelines and policies, I think, have established a universal protocol of patience, kindness and understanding.  McDonald's is a haven for those seeking companionship, peer idea exchange and a sense of "belonging".  I appreciate Happy Meals and Play Areas when I have the children with me.  McDonald's accommodates all ages, true.  However, whether it be Zanesville, Centerville, Ohio; Naples, Orlando, Florida; Wayne, New Jersey; Times Square, NYC or anyplace on the planet, McDonald's corporation, thank you!  I'M LOVIN' IT!!!

GIVE 'EM A COOKIE!

I have noticed that there is a direct proportion between "hunger" and bullying in our elementary and early middle schools.  The more healthy the lunch, the hungrier, more edgy, more aggressive the child.  The more full, the more docile, content, nicer the child.  From about junior high school through young adulthood, the young bully emerges into a vile, anti-social,violent blight on others.  The behavior, I noticed begins at an early, hungry age.  I have been observing bullying for some time.  You might remember my blog: "Teach Your Children Well, Or Better Than You Have!"  The parents of bullies should be held accountable for nurturing, fostering, encouraging and enabling objectionable behavior in their children.  The ignorance of "Atta boy/girl!" is sleazy, totally unacceptable and should never be condoned.

Here is my thought:

President Kennedy promoted Physical Fitness.  Mrs. Obama wants youth to MOVE.  But, children are not going to joyfully "Move it, move it. You've got to move it, move it.  Move it!" if they are hungry.  Comfort food is not necessarily broccoli and tofu.  Comfort food traditionally includes meatloaf and macaroni and cheese.  I am not suggesting that we want to pork up our children.  Homemade, natural, nutritious, variegated, appealing foods are preferable to any fare out there.  School lunches used to be satisfying.  Lunches packed at home, even more so.  Our school cafeteria workers can slice, dice, stew, chill any and all vegetables and fruits on the planet and place them artistically (or not) on trays and watch big black trash bags being filled to tip capacity with those very items.  (Understand, I love veggies and fruit of all kinds, except okra.  Two of my three grandchildren delight in them as well.)  I have personally observed a janitor with the quickest reflexes ever!  He could catch and stow apples as they, mid air, made their way from trays being "dumped" into garbage cans.  That man was good!  Any professional ball team would sign him up in a heartbeat! 

Before healthy nutritious mania, children brought possibly "last night's leftovers" on a Kaiser roll, Twinkies and bought chocolate milk for lunch.  Those who "bought" would maybe trade a chocolate chip cookie from their trays for one of the Twinkies and perhaps have some of the homemade lunch in exchange for half of their sandwich.  Chocolate milk, again, washed down that meal.  On the playground, afterwards, full, satisfied children did not necessarily have the edge, hunger, hollow discomfort to "pick on anybody".  Hunger = Grouchy.  Most children played together.  Of course, there are always leaders, tough kids, but disputes were settled, "evened up".  At home cereal, oatmeal, fruit at breakfast and traditional meals sometimes based on ethnicity and convenience rounded our children's diets.  Lunch could be fun, but, EAT THOSE ASPARAGUS at dinner!

I have witnessed the jealousy that arises when a child might have brought something scrumptious from home, from the child who buys low carb, low fat, low salt, no sugar balanced lunch.  I have heard victims of the wilted celery stick beg for a chip or a taste of a more appealing lunch.  I realize that children do not necessarily know what is good for them and we can't feed them cotton candy three times a day, but... Why not a lunch of a salami sandwich, Sun chips and a chocolate chip cookie?

From the disappointing cafeteria, the hungry child on the playground, has an itch that he can't scratch.  He becomes consumed by jealousy and rage, but just does not know why.  Chances are that the well fed, happy child, who may or may not have shared, or any other singled out child who is satisfied becomes his victim!  The hungry child is just plain old grouchy, cranky manifesting infantile behavior.  A baby cries and fusses when it is hungry.  The child in school is nasty when he is hungry.  Just pay attention!

BEFORE an incident, SQUASH bullies.  Head them off at the pass!  GIVE 'EM A COOKIE!

HAPPY EASTER SISTER MARY MUSIC

When my children went to Our Lady of the Valley R.C. School in Wayne New Jersey, I became friendly with Sister Mary Theresa, aka, Sister Mary Music.  She was the music minister in our parish.  My son played the drums and my daughter sang with the Children's Choir.  Sister had some health issues when she wasn't making that organ smoke.  Sister had great faith and dynamite Rosary Beads, though, to be able to relax and have me drive her to doctor appointments, to eye surgery, assorted errands and shhhh....don't tell Sister Ave (the Superior, at the time), cruising with my roof open, blasting the radio to the park for picnics and a bottle of wine.  She just loved riding in that car and trying to scratch up some drag races.

One day, during Holy Week, as we were parting company in front of the Convent and hugging, I said:  "Oh, go get some rest Sister and have a Happy Easter!"  With that, fury descended on me from the formerly sweet Sister.  I swear, I felt the flames of hell licking the hem of my skirt!  "That's not acceptable!  The entire Crucifixion, death of Jesus, and this, our holiest week of our Liturgical Year, just NOT HAPPY, Laura!  You should be more respectful of our Savior!...I would have thought..."  And on and on and on... I watched her for a while, remembered that she was not one of my children ranting, but God's and said:  "I get that, I really do.  But, just think of how HAPPY Jesus was to come alive again, to be off of that hard rock and out of those borrowed sheets, have a tete-a-tete with Mary Magdalene, strut His stuff at Pilate and his goons and manage to crank open those gate of Heaven for all of those good souls lined up waiting, probably cheering.  I don't know about you, Sister, but, I'm thinking that the Easter/Resurrection thing is on the Happier side of Lent."  She stood, stared at me for a nano-second and in a hushed voice said:  "I see your point.  I will pray for you though, dear.  And, by the way, don't tell Ave that we went joy riding, next time we'll shut those punks down...great wine, thanks for lunch!"  She turned on her sensible shoe's heel and went inside.

Sister died about a month after that, not from my driving, thank you, but whenever I say:  "Happy Easter" to anyone other than the heathens who surround me, I miss her.  I think of her.  So, if  on Easter Sunday, you catch me looking up...join me in saying:  HAPPY EASTER , SISTER MARY MUSIC!!!

I ASK YOU BABY BOOMERS: WERE WE SO GOOD, THAT IT'S NO GOOD?

I am a Baby Boomer.  I am a divorced Baby Boomer.  I am a divorced Baby Boomer Grandparent.  My social circle is comprised of Baby Boomers who are either divorced, widowed, married, yet mostly grandparents.  There are, by the way about 76 million Baby Boomers out there.  We talk about music, movies, our parents (sorry Mom and Dad, but we do), our lawns, our condo associations, our cars, possibly Viet Nam, fundraisers, Church, history, our Alma Maters/degrees (I know, I know, I do what most consider hobbies), taxes, the "Market", latest clothing trends (got 'em), latest electronic trends (can't get 'em) and over coffee, a glass of wine, possibly a beer...our children/our grandchildren.

We grew up in an era of "responsibility".  Yes, we enjoyed the activities, the "craziness" of teenage years, sports, dancing schools, band trips, shenanigans during lunch, study, trying to "cut" school, "everyone else is doing it..."  But, most of our Dads earned the family's income out of the home and our Moms ran the "castle" so to speak.  We learned respect, accountability. We were educated (not always loving it, I know), getting in "trouble" in school was not the best choice, because at home you'd be in "bigger trouble."  We were taught that the purpose of an education was to obtain a "good JOB".  Many worked for the "extras", put our own gas in our "jalopies" that we worked on for years until we could drive.  I, personally, danced with Billy (another Blog) to win record albums in contests.  There was not extra money for some things like records, or some of the craft/art supplies that I craved.  Things were moderate, measured.  There were family vacations that we didn't want to end at the beach or a lake.

Of course, in high school, there were incidents like smoking in the boys'  room", drinking behind the Junior High on Friday nights, or even an occasional cherry bomb in the toilet in the boys' room.  But, by college, or in the military, we still had fun, humor, pranks, but we became adults with responsibility and to sound repetitive , respect.  Respect for authority, for parents, for family, for God, Country.  We marched into the Viet Nam Was, some pro, some con.  We fought or demonstrated.  We were treated shabbily upon the return home, but we maintained our dignity remaining strong, proud, moral.  The Boomers bridged war, technology, radical social, economic changes, but we vowed to make the world better, easier for our children.

What happened?

Many of the Boomers' children are productive, successful, happy.  However, I find that the majority of Boomers with whom I have come in contact, wonder "What happened?  Where did we go wrong?"  What is the common denominator that drove boomers into the despair and statistic of approximately 2 1/2 million of us raising our grandchildren? The number increases by at least 1 million of those assuming more parental responsibility.  As we grew up, we visited our grandparents.  Perhaps there was a standing "Sunday Dinner" weekly.  We spent holidays, overnight was a treat.  They attended our Dance Recitals, our Graduations, Birthday dinners, occasionally baby-sat.  But, the vast majority of our parents raised us, taught us, aged because of us.

I am led to believe that we may have, in our drive to make things easier for our children, to let them grow as expressive individuals, be exposed to "everything" such as music, culture, art, upscale organized sports, while striving to remain youthful  and "cool" ourselves, we just may have cultivated  a collection of miserable, unhappy, unproductive, over exposed, problem ridden young adults.  Many of the young men have problems with drugs, alcohol, work ethics.  Our daughters are out of control.  They are equipped with their degrees, yet bottles of Vodka.  Picking up the slack for our children, as we have always done, we Boomers, now are going to school meetings, arranging lessons, seeing to homework/education, clothing feeding and in some cases, becoming their sports coaches or the "backstage" mothers at dance recitals.  We are Santa Clauses, Easter Bunnies, we ride the Carousel and the Train.  We are pushing swings, bouncing up and down on teeter-totters.  We're doing it all over again.  Our children are selfish.  We taught them to expect the world given to them, not earned.  We tried and tried to be so generous, understanding, to participate and be the "go to" parent, that we forgot that they must learn to sustain themselves and continue life.

There was an old saying:  "A good parent gives their children Roots and Wings.  Roots so that they have a solid anchor and know that they are loved and accepted; Wings in order that they fly and thrive."

Some of us, Boomers, have strangled our children with roots that now bind us as well.  We didn't get the "wing" thing down.

Our conversations among ourselves include statements like:  "Do you have the children this weekend? OR "I'm taking my daughter to outpatient counseling...she was discharged from de-tox."  OR "I have new outfits for the girls' school pictures, Mom's still in the psych ward" OR "My daughter hates me.  I have spent nothing but time and money on her...gotta run and pick up the kids from school!" OR "I kept the boys while my husband went to that place, just in time before the drug raid mentioned in the paper, looking for her."  How many homes have become multi-generational, or how many of our new cars have racked up 7,000 miles in three weeks?

Though we compare notes, help each other out, arrange play dates, struggle through another round of child raising, we would not ever, ever drop the ball.  NEVER.  The Boomers are paying the piper for trying to be good, involved, interesting parents, thereby encouraging our children to play too hard.  Our hearts are with our Grandchildren.  None of us would trade the responsibility, the love, the little voices when they say:  "Meme (may-may), O Pa, Grandma, Pop-Pop, Nannie, Granny, Grandma, Grandpa, you are the only one that I can trust!  I love you!"

So, Boomers, we have a chance for redemption.  A "do-over" with our Grandchildren.  (I pray that we don't make the same mistakes, if we only knew what exactly they were)  We love them more than ourselves or our lives.  It's said that people live longer now than ever before!  It's a good thing, because we have a crop of children to give roots and wings.  Let's get it right!

I ask you, Boomers, were we so good that it's no good?

THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH (no joke...the GREATEST E-V-E-R!)

My three young grandchildren were having a terrible day, one Friday.  They had worked so hard on their "Pinewood Derby" cars for a month.  Unfortunately, they are products of divorce.  The kind of divorce where Dad hates Mom (my daughter) more than he loves the children.  (Child support w-a-y behind also)  In spite of pleas, offers to "switch weekends", offers of an extra weekend, visiting for only one of the two nights of the weekend (going to Dad's after the Derby), offers for Dad to attend the Derby, participate and that I would do the driving, were refuted with great hostility.  My heart broke as I stood with Todd (10 years old) as he pleaded, cried and begged to participate in the Pinewood Derby.  Dad only wanted to punish Mom, claiming last minute (not so) and on and on as he waved his "court orders" like a flag.  The two younger children (Tess, 9 and Tanner 6) agreed with Todd, but were fearful of the classically cruel step-mother (if Dad and she were married...simply a live in).  But, no one could move the mountain of disagree-ability.  When Dad threatened little Todd that he would have me - Meme (may-may) arrested for attempted kidnapping, if he refused to get into his Dad's car and went into mine, Todd reluctantly, miserably agreed to go with Dad.  Todd then said, as he hugged and kissed me: "Meme, you are the only one that I trust.  I'll see you Sunday."

What I did not mention to Dad, was that I had tickets for RINGLING BROTHERS, BARNUM AND BAILEY CIRCUS immediately after visitation!  I am a" Circus Junkie".  I have attended Ringling Brothers, Cole Brothers, Wallace Brothers and the Pan Am Circuses since I was the size of a thimble!  After I graduated from College, I wanted to attend "Clown College" having been inspired by Bill Balentine's book about the Circus and Clown Alley.  My parents were less than enthused.  However, my father told my mother to tell me, just last week, that the Circus has a clown shortage and perhaps, I just might consider auditioning.  I have a perfect "graduation act" ready, but, I think that the Trio's parents might be on the same page, for once, if we all ran away and joined the Circus.

The trio was returned to me at 4 pm.  After extreme hugs, kisses and cheers, we drove to Cincinnati, caught the "Pre-show" of the Circus.  The children during the Pre-Show were invited  into the center ring to meet the performers, obtain autographs, get up close and personal with the animals.  The cast was gracious and radiated warmth implying that they were happy to see us!  We, then situated ourselves in the front row with a perfect view of EVERYTHING that was about to unfold!

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, CHILDREN OF ALL AGES, WELCOME TO RINGLING BROTHERS, BARNUM AND BAILEY CIRCUS...THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH!"

The weekend dissolved into lights, color, music, magic, clowns, acrobats, elephants, big cats.  During the Circus Parade, we waved to the elephant riders, horses, dogs, clowns, King Charles Troupe, aerialists, acrobats, animal trainers, dancers.  They all smiled and waved back!  Todd and a clown had an exchange; a clown flirted with Tess; a third clown hi-fived Tanner!  We laughed, sang, stomped, danced, totally immersed ourselves in the joy of the Greatest Show on Earth!  "Meme!  Look! They are going to shoot someone out of a cannon!"  "Meme!  Look!  How do they go around on that thing and not fall off?"  "Meme!  Look! That tiger is so big!"  And so the amazement continued throughout the "Built to Amaze" edition of the Circus.  Dancers were extremely talented, embraced the audience and then broke out into "Gangman Style".  Tanner simply got up and pranced along!  Popcorn, soda, cotton candy, cool circus hats and ices in elephant mugs added to the uninhibited glee.  We hung onto every minute!  The entertainment of the Circus is so varied that there is something for everyone to enjoy.

Finally, the performance ended.  I could feel tears swelling as the Ringmaster said:  "MAY ALL YOUR DAYS BE CIRCUS DAYS!"

As we pulled out of the parking garage at US BANK ARENA, Todd said, "You know, Meme, now the weekend seems so far away from us.  The circus makes me happy and makes everything good again."  Tess and Tanner, readily agreed. Todd continued: "We can only trust you, and maybe, we should remember and try together that all our days be circus days...just like the Greatest Show on Earth!"

OF COURSE...CALL OR TEXT ANYTIME

Let me begin with a shaky foundation.  I bought the trio (Todd, 10; Tess, 9; Tanner, 6) Kindle Fires.  They have the ability to text from those contraptions.  Their cell phones have been lost, broken, not replaced (yet). My phone has a rather loud "Pirate Jig" ringtone and my text alert sounds like a "clang" heard at your local fire department.  I am not a morning person.

BUT...I am a smothering, over involved Grandmother.

SO...  After a weekend visit, the usual hugs, kisses, see you next weekend , I love you's and "call anytime"  I unknowingly sealed the deal that I just might never sleep until sunrise again.

BECAUSE...  This morning, my text alarm clanged at 7:02 A.M.  That startled me out of a rather pleasant dream.  UGH.  I managed to grope and grab my phone after knocking the alarm clock (never used), some papers, a pen, two paper clips, an emery board, three flash drives, two prayer books, a photo of my grandparents, a bracelet and a glass of water off of my night table onto the floor.  The text was from Tess:  "Good morning Meme (may-may)!  I love you!  I'll talk to you later!"  So, one eyed, stiff fingered, I replied something to the effect: "Good morning pretty Princess!  I love you too!"  I gently closed my eyes.  At 7:18 A.M., the Pirate Jig, not to be outdone, rattled me.  "Hello?"  Todd:  "Meme!  Is Tessie bothering you?  I told her that texting would wake you up.  Your text thingie is so loud!  I'll talk to her about bothering you early in the morning!"  Ah-ha...is it me?  "Todd, I was up anyway". (Oh sure, let's see now - America's top lies:  1.  "the check is in the mail" 2. "you can tell me anything" and 3."I was up"), so no worries.  Are you getting ready for school?  Better have some breakfast and I'll talk to you when you get home!"  Todd:  "Okay, love you, bye!"  Click.  I settled under the covers again, ignoring the mess on the floor.  I snuggled in just right, when, you guessed it...a text followed quickly by the jig!  Tanner, before I could speak :  "Meme!  Todd grabs the phone before me!  Tess said that I can't text you while she is because that's too much at once and your phone will break!  I think that they make stuff up and grab the house phone faster because I'm the baby!"  Oh boy.  "Tanner.  It's true that you are the youngest.  But, you are no baby, because you have those two figured out!  Quick Fingers and Bossy Bloomers have nothing on you!"  Giggling:  "I love you, Meme!  You are always right!"

When children are 6, adults are right.  When they are 10 until, oh maybe yesterday (talking to my 36 year old son), not so much!  Of course, call or text anytime and I'll remind you!