I spent a festive Independence Day, four day weekend, with my grandchildren, my daughter and son-in-law. We went to an American Celebration Festival. We watched a Patriotic Parade. We had a bonfire, ate S'mores, barbecued...the works. There were sparklers, bang snap pop something or others that had the trio (ages 9,8,6) laughing and prancing. BUT...
At dusk, on the Fourth, there was a fog rolling across the area. A fine drizzle, by nightfall became a marginal monsoon. We retreated indoors. Doubtful that there would be a display of fireworks on the river (Muskingham), we all resigned ourselves to the possibility that the fireworks would be postponed until the following evening.
My daughter and spouse retired to their wing, closed the door. The four of us bathed, jammied up, brushed teeth and all congregated in Tess' room to surf channels, maybe watch a movie. Todd began playing something or other on my computer; Tanner was connected to his DS. Tess and I practiced her knitting. The television screen flickered with the movie upon which we all agreed...The Wizard of Oz. (Gotta love the witches and those stylin' red bling shoes!)
Suddenly, Todd said, "Hey, Meme (may-may)...do you hear that?" Tess responded, "I saw the sky light up!" Tanner removed his thumb from his mouth and screeched, "FIREWORKS!" We couldn't believe that Tiff and Gary didn't hear/see the sky!
At 10 P.M., three children and their grandmother (yes me, thank you very much), crept down the stairs in the dark, shushing each other, then raced out of the door, ducked in the rain and jumped into my car! We were clad in our pajamas, barefooted (carrying slippers not to soak them) and don't you dare repeat this, but, I had on NO MAKE-UP! The children watched the sky, we all ooooooed and ahhhhhhed as I followed Todd's suggestion to "follow the sky, Meme! Just drive towards where we see the fireworks!" I did! We headed for the brilliant sky celebrating yet another Independence Day...the weather be damned! We made it to the section of town, where on the river, the firework were launched. We remained in the car (ah...jammies and worse...no make-up?) and watched with wonder. Each year, we have been together watching Fireworks on the Fourth. Each year we marvel as if we had never experienced a noisy, well-lit sky bursting before us! The finale was amazing. "Okay, we better head home", I attempted to say as Todd, excitedly exclaimed, "No Meme! There are more...over there...let's go!" His little finger pointed up and over. So, we raced toward fireworks...s-o-m-e-w-h-e-r-e. We saw what we could from a moving, lost car. Driving on the ground, with my eyes to the sky, left me totally disoriented and lost!
The family has lived in Zanesville, Ohio (two hour drive from me) for only a few months. I can navigate my way from my home (where they lived 2 minutes from my door prior to Z-ville) to their home and to a few places in Zanesville (ie...Mall, Duncan Falls Elementary School). Given the dark night, poor lighting, rain and having the navigational skills of Columbus (the man thought that he landed in India!), I was definitely in over my head! "So, I think that I'm a little lost. Do any of you recognize where we are?" What was I thinking? Nine, eight, six years old? Seriously? Todd reminded me, "Hey, Meme! We're just kids!" Gee, I hadn't thought of that. Finally, he said, "Why don't you use the GPS?" I had forgotten that I took one along. It was balanced in my console on top of my Lady Antebellum discs!
Tess quickly retrieved the Magellan. "Here Meme! We won't be lost anymore!" Tanner, removing his thumb from his mouth again, volunteered, "Meme doesn't know how to use that. She told me once." How about that? And I thought that children don't listen!
Todd snatched the contraption. "I'm the oldest. Let me do this!" After a few clicks, I heard a definite robotic female voice, "Proceed to the highlighted route. Make first legal U-turn..."
With more turns than the Mad Hatter's Tea Cups at Disney, we managed with Ms. Magellan, to get home...oh, at about 1 A.M. As we pulled into the driveway of still unaware parents, we High-Fived and called ourselves not "Storm Chasers", but "Firework Chasers". As we calmed, Todd asked, "Hey, Meme. Don't teenagers sneak out at night sometimes?"
My only response:
"Todd, you're too young for this and I'm too old! Or at least, I should know better!"
Laura Macy Author & Actress
Monday, July 15, 2013
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
THE CONTEST
Recently, my grandchildren - Todd (9), Tess (8), Tanner (6) and I were having an extremely serious conversation. It went something like this: Todd: "Hey! Let's go to McDonalds. It has a big, big Play Place!" Tess: "Todd, no. Burger King is bigger! Let's go there! Right Tanner?" Now, Tanner quickly agreed with his older sister, mostly responsible for potty training and plays house and school with him. I had been thinking along the lines of Ruby Tuesday's for lunch, truthfully. I just love the salad bar. The trio appealed to me for a ruling about the bigger Play Place. Evidently, Ruby Tuesday's didn't hold a candle to either establishment in their minds.
"Well, I think that Burger King might be bigger, but I really can't be sure." Let's face it readers...I let them play while I jot notes on a pad, read the paper, read a book, or do a little embroidery. I have never bounced, climbed or experienced sliding down the slides frontwards or backwards! "I have an idea!" Keep in mind that as a grandparent, one has to remain open minded, fair. As a Libra, I have an underlying need to be a diplomat. "Let's have a competition. We can only make a fair call if we go to both on the same day to compare them. So, let's start at McDonalds's (I was in the mood for a caramel Frappe) and order food. We'll play for an hour exactly. We'll then go to Burger King for drinks and dessert and play for an hour there. After we've done both, we will know which Play Place is bigger for sure!" The three cheered as we raced to the car. I hesitated only to pack my "busy bag" with a book and embroidery).
We bounded into McDonald's. With Happy Meals all around and my super scrumptious drink, we began timing our play session. "Meme! (may-may), watch this! Meme, here I am, see me? Todd cut in front of me! Tanner, don't go up the slide!" Ah, an hour of pure joy!
"Time's up! Let's move on!" I called out. As the trio put their shoes back on, a rather attractive grandfather commented, "Wow! You're lucky. Those kids didn't give you an argument to leave! My grandson, Jake here would be throwing a fit if he only played for a little while!" I smiled, "Sir, we're having a contest. We have to run to Burger King for some research. The carrot here is that they can get slushies and another play experience!" He laughed, said that was the funniest thing that he heard all day (and I thought that I needed a life?) and told us to have fun. "Thanks", I replied, "I wouldn't have it any other way, but you enjoy yourself too! It was nice talking to you!" Away we went!
In Burger King, slushies and cookies secured, we raced into the Play Area. For an hour, "Meme! Watch this! Meme, here I am, see me? Todd cut in front of me! Tanner, don't go up the slide!" Ah another hour of pure joy!
"Time's up! Let's move on!" I called out. A young mother with five year old twins said, "I have to drag these two out or offer bribes to have them leave without a battle! How do you do it?" I replied that we were having a contest and had to have a discussion on neutral turf. She laughed and said that was pretty funny. I wondered why I was spending the day with the trio when I could do some stand-up comedy at Funny Bone.
In the car, I said, "Okay, we have to decide." Todd offered this suggestion: "Hey Meme! Why don't we get Frosties and talk about it?" So, we went to Wendy's, ordered Frosties, found a table and opened the conversation. Todd said that McDonald's was bigger. Tess (and Tanner) said that Burger King was bigger. Wasn't that the way we started out? I then decided to sound a little grown up (very little). "You know, McDonald's equipment looks bigger, because the actual 'place' is smaller. Burger King's room is twice the size, but I think that makes the equipment look smaller". Other patrons in Wendy's began to listen and look at us as if our spaceship from Mars was overheating in the parking lot. An employee, clearing a table nearby, commented, "you sound like experts." I told him about our contest. He asked me to adopt him.
We met Tiff (aka, their Mom, my daughter) later. She said, "What did you do today? Did you have fun? Let's go have a little dinner, you decide where and tell me all about it!" The four of us held our stomachs, groaned. She asked, "What's wrong?" As one chorus, we sang out, "Oh nothing! Your choice and we'll tell you all about it!"
"Well, I think that Burger King might be bigger, but I really can't be sure." Let's face it readers...I let them play while I jot notes on a pad, read the paper, read a book, or do a little embroidery. I have never bounced, climbed or experienced sliding down the slides frontwards or backwards! "I have an idea!" Keep in mind that as a grandparent, one has to remain open minded, fair. As a Libra, I have an underlying need to be a diplomat. "Let's have a competition. We can only make a fair call if we go to both on the same day to compare them. So, let's start at McDonalds's (I was in the mood for a caramel Frappe) and order food. We'll play for an hour exactly. We'll then go to Burger King for drinks and dessert and play for an hour there. After we've done both, we will know which Play Place is bigger for sure!" The three cheered as we raced to the car. I hesitated only to pack my "busy bag" with a book and embroidery).
We bounded into McDonald's. With Happy Meals all around and my super scrumptious drink, we began timing our play session. "Meme! (may-may), watch this! Meme, here I am, see me? Todd cut in front of me! Tanner, don't go up the slide!" Ah, an hour of pure joy!
"Time's up! Let's move on!" I called out. As the trio put their shoes back on, a rather attractive grandfather commented, "Wow! You're lucky. Those kids didn't give you an argument to leave! My grandson, Jake here would be throwing a fit if he only played for a little while!" I smiled, "Sir, we're having a contest. We have to run to Burger King for some research. The carrot here is that they can get slushies and another play experience!" He laughed, said that was the funniest thing that he heard all day (and I thought that I needed a life?) and told us to have fun. "Thanks", I replied, "I wouldn't have it any other way, but you enjoy yourself too! It was nice talking to you!" Away we went!
In Burger King, slushies and cookies secured, we raced into the Play Area. For an hour, "Meme! Watch this! Meme, here I am, see me? Todd cut in front of me! Tanner, don't go up the slide!" Ah another hour of pure joy!
"Time's up! Let's move on!" I called out. A young mother with five year old twins said, "I have to drag these two out or offer bribes to have them leave without a battle! How do you do it?" I replied that we were having a contest and had to have a discussion on neutral turf. She laughed and said that was pretty funny. I wondered why I was spending the day with the trio when I could do some stand-up comedy at Funny Bone.
In the car, I said, "Okay, we have to decide." Todd offered this suggestion: "Hey Meme! Why don't we get Frosties and talk about it?" So, we went to Wendy's, ordered Frosties, found a table and opened the conversation. Todd said that McDonald's was bigger. Tess (and Tanner) said that Burger King was bigger. Wasn't that the way we started out? I then decided to sound a little grown up (very little). "You know, McDonald's equipment looks bigger, because the actual 'place' is smaller. Burger King's room is twice the size, but I think that makes the equipment look smaller". Other patrons in Wendy's began to listen and look at us as if our spaceship from Mars was overheating in the parking lot. An employee, clearing a table nearby, commented, "you sound like experts." I told him about our contest. He asked me to adopt him.
We met Tiff (aka, their Mom, my daughter) later. She said, "What did you do today? Did you have fun? Let's go have a little dinner, you decide where and tell me all about it!" The four of us held our stomachs, groaned. She asked, "What's wrong?" As one chorus, we sang out, "Oh nothing! Your choice and we'll tell you all about it!"
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
HEY COACH! OR TENNIS ANYONE?
I am not what you might label an athlete. While I was in High School, I did twirl, two batons, thank you, as a Majorette/twirler with the Marching Band. I never dropped the batons during a game or a parade, could spin and flip like Lyndhurst's first Golden Girl(she twirled with fire). I danced from the age of three until, let's see...yesterday. I power walk, well actually, that's through the Mall, or down Fifth Avenue during "hot" sales en route to the Elizabeth Arden Salon. I can make any credit card smoke! It's all in the wrist. I learned to play tennis. I had gorgeous outfits, coordinating sneakers. I looked great and never broke a sweat. I played with my best friend Gail and she still is my friend (what does that tell you?). My Dad (undefeated in Wayne NJ even at 86 years old) would practice with me. He wasn't overly impressed with my performance, or my non-performance, at all! When we would play doubles, he told me to stay out of the way because I made him look bad. On our honeymoon, Steve and I would play. I was more of a poser, in Aruba, rather than a player. I'm sure you figured out that he just might have had a slight edge on me...didn't everyone? Take a close look at the episode of "Sex and the City" where Nathan Lane made an appearance. I played a party snob well and in another scene, I was on the tennis court in an amazing outfit!
Time passed.
I signed my Grandchildren up for tennis lessons. On the way to the tennis court, we would talk to Grandpa (my Dad) on the phone for pointers. Tanner, then four, liked the concept of tennis and the club tennis parties. Tess, then six, with a fantastically high ponytail and the ability of her grandmother (ah, me) was never sure if she was on the court or not. She was all about the parties as well. Todd, at seven, was good. I mean that boy could hit the ball in bounds with accuracy that could make Bad Boy McEnroe register for Tennis Camp! One day, after a lesson, the Pro distributed forms for an accelerated tennis team for Todd's age. Bouncing with every word, Todd told me that he wanted to sign up immediately! He wanted to be on the team! Faster than Annie Oakley could draw, I whipped out my pen, signed on all of the dotted and undotted lines and exclaimed, "Oh Todd! That's fantastic! We'll call Grandpa on our way home! Mommy will be proud", and so the party line went as we sang all of the way home.
And then...
"Okay, boys and girls, let's get into our teams." Day one of tennis practice. The children were divided into appropriate age groups for competition, etc. Todd's four man team, bouncing like the tennis balls that they were supposed to hit later, waited for organization to take shape. The structure was that the Pros oversaw the teams coached by two Dads/parents (to sound politically correct, but I was there) DADS each. A handsome, thirty-something man, Orlando, was Todd's coach. No one else volunteered. No Coaches = No Team. That is a perpetual formula, you know. Dave, the Pro and Orlando reassured the little team, "Don't worry, someone will volunteer." Todd bounced over to the two men, screeching gleefully, "I have a coach! She's been playing since she was a little girl! Meme (pronounced may-may) will coach! See? She's right there!" The little finger, much like Moses' staff, parted the Red Sea of tennis enthusiasts and landed on me! My father and Gail would have choked with that recommendation! Anyway, I very lamely (in Anne Klien shoes and Dana Buchman threads) stepped, rather crept up to the men and the pack of mighty-mights. "Uh, well, I don't want to step on toes. If you are desperate, I mean really desperate, I would gladly help out?" Dave said, "That's great, Laura! I don't believe we've ever had a grandmother coach our players! That is so great of you to step right up! Thank you!" Hm...step up? I more or less crawled. Orlando exclaimed, "Ah, Laura is it? It'll be an honor to work with you!" his daughter Christina and Todd did a little victory dance, the children cheered! There are grandmothers who wearing sweats and sneakers (please, I am not criticizing) who were at home making meatloaf. There I was, standing at Quail (sister club to Kettering Tennis Club)wondering "What happened here?" The children were told to give information to a secretary while the coaches had a meeting. The last "meeting" which I attended was at the Ballet Guild (planning a fund raiser) when Tess was a mouse in "The Nutcracker". I'm more the tea and scone type of meeting attendee. I was now ushered to tables with the "next stop - Wimbledon crowd". Ah-ha.
On the ride home, Todd was beside himself! "Meme! This is the best day ever! You're going to coach our team!" This from a child who electively listens to what I tell him to do. Wait 'till I tell everybody!" Yeah, Todd, you do that. My first order of business, after assisting friends and family off their respective floors triggered by laughing fits, was wardrobe. I found the most gorgeous outfits and bought a racquet (white) to go with everything. Face it, I hadn't played in ____years! My racquet was a little dated.
Practice sessions began on a regular basis. We drilled the children with basics, ran a little, chased balls a lot. Orlando and I had a system, I think. The children were hitting, they were accurate, some powerful. Some, not so much. I took the shy little girls and managed to level their swings (Oh! Listen to me! I sound so tennis-ish!) I even talked them into keeping their eyes on the ball, timing, bounce swing, du, try to aim for my thigh to bust cellulite, you have to serve like you mean it, we don't have waiters on when the children did well, pep talks and positive "wows, good ones and yikes," the matches were to begin. There were twenty-eight teams, give or take. During the "practice" weeks, I took adult "refresher" lessons. Dave was such a gentleman. He never commented on this non-pro's performance. Well, actually, not much of a performance, but I moved around a lot. He thought that if personality could win trophies (not Miss Congeniality...Tennis), I'd need a display case.
Orlando was factual, strong, patient, god at this. I was nice, encouraging, funny. My comments were a little quirky, but they kept the stress level down while we blitzed the court! At the end of the season, there was a party and free play. A hush fell over the assembly when awards were to be given when our placements were announced. Todd was edgy, Orlando and I were hoping for a decent showing. We emphasized that they did their best. Orlando and I, it was announced, coached the FOURTH PLACE team! Our little crew burst with screams of pride! The parents congratulated their treasures and us! One woman asked if I coach privately...it was a nice touch, she said , to have a grandmother on the courts with the little ones! Dave looked at me and winked. I declined. Between you and me, I probably could get you to Wimbledon, but I still can't play worth a _____!
On the way home, we called my Dad, I called Gail. Todd said that he was wrong before, "Meme! TODAY is the best day ever! We did it! You're the best tennis player ever!" I sighed, "Well Todd, YOU played tennis and YOU helped the team!" That little finger wiggled at me: "Meme, okay, then you're the best tennis coach ever!"
Time passed.
I signed my Grandchildren up for tennis lessons. On the way to the tennis court, we would talk to Grandpa (my Dad) on the phone for pointers. Tanner, then four, liked the concept of tennis and the club tennis parties. Tess, then six, with a fantastically high ponytail and the ability of her grandmother (ah, me) was never sure if she was on the court or not. She was all about the parties as well. Todd, at seven, was good. I mean that boy could hit the ball in bounds with accuracy that could make Bad Boy McEnroe register for Tennis Camp! One day, after a lesson, the Pro distributed forms for an accelerated tennis team for Todd's age. Bouncing with every word, Todd told me that he wanted to sign up immediately! He wanted to be on the team! Faster than Annie Oakley could draw, I whipped out my pen, signed on all of the dotted and undotted lines and exclaimed, "Oh Todd! That's fantastic! We'll call Grandpa on our way home! Mommy will be proud", and so the party line went as we sang all of the way home.
And then...
"Okay, boys and girls, let's get into our teams." Day one of tennis practice. The children were divided into appropriate age groups for competition, etc. Todd's four man team, bouncing like the tennis balls that they were supposed to hit later, waited for organization to take shape. The structure was that the Pros oversaw the teams coached by two Dads/parents (to sound politically correct, but I was there) DADS each. A handsome, thirty-something man, Orlando, was Todd's coach. No one else volunteered. No Coaches = No Team. That is a perpetual formula, you know. Dave, the Pro and Orlando reassured the little team, "Don't worry, someone will volunteer." Todd bounced over to the two men, screeching gleefully, "I have a coach! She's been playing since she was a little girl! Meme (pronounced may-may) will coach! See? She's right there!" The little finger, much like Moses' staff, parted the Red Sea of tennis enthusiasts and landed on me! My father and Gail would have choked with that recommendation! Anyway, I very lamely (in Anne Klien shoes and Dana Buchman threads) stepped, rather crept up to the men and the pack of mighty-mights. "Uh, well, I don't want to step on toes. If you are desperate, I mean really desperate, I would gladly help out?" Dave said, "That's great, Laura! I don't believe we've ever had a grandmother coach our players! That is so great of you to step right up! Thank you!" Hm...step up? I more or less crawled. Orlando exclaimed, "Ah, Laura is it? It'll be an honor to work with you!" his daughter Christina and Todd did a little victory dance, the children cheered! There are grandmothers who wearing sweats and sneakers (please, I am not criticizing) who were at home making meatloaf. There I was, standing at Quail (sister club to Kettering Tennis Club)wondering "What happened here?" The children were told to give information to a secretary while the coaches had a meeting. The last "meeting" which I attended was at the Ballet Guild (planning a fund raiser) when Tess was a mouse in "The Nutcracker". I'm more the tea and scone type of meeting attendee. I was now ushered to tables with the "next stop - Wimbledon crowd". Ah-ha.
On the ride home, Todd was beside himself! "Meme! This is the best day ever! You're going to coach our team!" This from a child who electively listens to what I tell him to do. Wait 'till I tell everybody!" Yeah, Todd, you do that. My first order of business, after assisting friends and family off their respective floors triggered by laughing fits, was wardrobe. I found the most gorgeous outfits and bought a racquet (white) to go with everything. Face it, I hadn't played in ____years! My racquet was a little dated.
Practice sessions began on a regular basis. We drilled the children with basics, ran a little, chased balls a lot. Orlando and I had a system, I think. The children were hitting, they were accurate, some powerful. Some, not so much. I took the shy little girls and managed to level their swings (Oh! Listen to me! I sound so tennis-ish!) I even talked them into keeping their eyes on the ball, timing, bounce swing, du, try to aim for my thigh to bust cellulite, you have to serve like you mean it, we don't have waiters on when the children did well, pep talks and positive "wows, good ones and yikes," the matches were to begin. There were twenty-eight teams, give or take. During the "practice" weeks, I took adult "refresher" lessons. Dave was such a gentleman. He never commented on this non-pro's performance. Well, actually, not much of a performance, but I moved around a lot. He thought that if personality could win trophies (not Miss Congeniality...Tennis), I'd need a display case.
Orlando was factual, strong, patient, god at this. I was nice, encouraging, funny. My comments were a little quirky, but they kept the stress level down while we blitzed the court! At the end of the season, there was a party and free play. A hush fell over the assembly when awards were to be given when our placements were announced. Todd was edgy, Orlando and I were hoping for a decent showing. We emphasized that they did their best. Orlando and I, it was announced, coached the FOURTH PLACE team! Our little crew burst with screams of pride! The parents congratulated their treasures and us! One woman asked if I coach privately...it was a nice touch, she said , to have a grandmother on the courts with the little ones! Dave looked at me and winked. I declined. Between you and me, I probably could get you to Wimbledon, but I still can't play worth a _____!
On the way home, we called my Dad, I called Gail. Todd said that he was wrong before, "Meme! TODAY is the best day ever! We did it! You're the best tennis player ever!" I sighed, "Well Todd, YOU played tennis and YOU helped the team!" That little finger wiggled at me: "Meme, okay, then you're the best tennis coach ever!"
Saturday, May 18, 2013
WORK AT HOME OR BRING MONEY AND LOTS OF IT!
I have been investigating "work at home" claims, websites and the like. The snake oil salesmen attempt to be slick, so sincere and so eager to share their secrets and want to see you succeed! No risk involved and blah, blah, blah. I love the "absolutely free" claims with the catch at the end of a video presentation of an absolutely new and free (honestly, ask my neighbors) program, for a mere one time only fee of $99, $299, $1099 (unless you sign up five seconds ago, then, there is a 75% discount because we want you to succeed!) SERIOUSLY? Let's look at this massive mess of deceit logically.
First of all, if Slick Sammy the Salesman was making mad money, hand over fist with a gimmick to allow him to swim in money, exactly WHY would ne be sharing with any assorted bored, broke, sluggish Internet surfing underachievers in their tidy-whities? Honestly, if you could make a bazillion dollars, would you share with a bazillion strangers? Maybe friends, family, but STRANGERS? Ah-ha...just as I thought!
"Ladies and gentlemen, step right up, move in a little closer, all you need is a computer, Internet connection, will and desire! We'll train you. Follow our step by step, proven methods!" If all of these claimants had megaphones, instead of snappy "volume controls", you'd think that you were walking the Net Midway through an alley of Barkers! What a carnival of garbage!
The scariest and yet most ridiculous scam out there on the "Work at Home" bandwagon is one where by, you have a "Mentor". Patty will phone and after a pep talk about how she is doing soooooo well working at home, directs you to write down your three goals, and on and on, moves in for the kill asking for $299 to begin making a Six Figure Income (would that be $000000?) immediately. After Patty is told that $299 isn't possible for a week or two, she then proposes, "Oh, I get it. It's tough. You'll be so glad that you are on track to do this though. So, I'll tell you what I'm going to do" (Original? Not hardly). "For $9.99, enthuses Patty, "I'll send you twelve bottles of the healthiest product ever formulated so that you learn to love it! We don't do sales, you will only manage your own site, your own business, but if you love the product, you will have an incentive to join the program! You can even put some in a cooler, when you visit friends or family and nonchalantly pull one out, start drinking and they'll want to know where you got it and how to buy some!" Whoa, wait a minute Patty! This was to make money from web pages...no sales, no inventory; no deliveries, etc. Where did cooler hawking come from? Now, can you picture stopping to visit a friend, having lunch, coffee, or tea with your daughter, Mom, sister and whipping out a cooler and think they will clamor for "hat?" Ah-ha...go to Northern Jersey or NYC with a cooler and have my Italian family even let me in the door as a peddler? My friends have breeding and money. "Here, Gail, when you are finished jetting between cruises, your houses, Ireland and while shopping at Bergdorf's, get jealous over this bug juice!" Or, "Hey Suzanne! Forget the Grey Goose and Dom's bubbly, have a zap of stupidity!" Or even better, at the next SAG-AFTRA mixer, meet and greet, I slam my cooler on the table and offer A and B Listers a swig of health! SERIOUSLY? I know, I know, at the next Hog Roast, with the Country music playing, the barn cleared for dancing, the steer out in the Adkins field; as cases of beer are iced, "Thanks for including this City Slicker again this year, Rick! I love this ho-down...how about tossing back some pure glutton free, low-cal, watery health?" SERIOUSLY? Patty and the cooler goo even outdid Lisa who swoops down on a poor soul's carcass after all else fails and sends: "Sorry you're having trouble. Click this link for an absolutely free opportunity." Adrian, in a video sales letter pushes his "social commission" scam then for a mere, $19.99 (instead of $99) AND after passing that screen, how about $99 (discounted from $399) for "set up" to this totally free, HOAX!
I am not a "lifestyle snob", really, but if a person is out of options and out of money, these predators should be jailed and banned from the Internet. I am a writer ,so really, the above are not too relevant...HOWEVER, this brings me to "Hired Board", Beyond.com" Elance, "My Writing Jobs", "Real Writing Jobs", "Hub Pages," and a slew of bogus insults. Forget them all, go back to school, get a job doing ANYTHING!
First of all, poor writer, bring money and lots of it. There are fees, commissions to pay to the sites should you get n assignment (not likely). Moe cash has to be invested totally disrespecting any talent that the writer may have. Money a must; talent unnecessary, no experience needed. Second of all, don't think that the assignments are valid...they don't exist. Third, for whichever "job" you bid, thinking there is a job, you won't get it because someone from India, Pakistan, Bangladesh will write a 750 word piece for $.25! That's not a typo, I meant TWENTY-FIVE CENTS FOR THE ENTIRE 750 WORDS ALTOGETHER. (NOT PER)
If these were legitimate jobs, I understand paying a commission to the company , in order to obtain them...AFTER the job is completed, paid from you to the Company. BUT...paying to "join" to troll for assorted flim-flam "opportunities" is sad and desperate. If an individual had the funds to "join" these "exclusive" and "wealth building" enterprises, he/she wouldn't NEED them!
So, THINK, THINK, THINK and be warned! Or, lose your shirt (pant, hat and coat as well!)
First of all, if Slick Sammy the Salesman was making mad money, hand over fist with a gimmick to allow him to swim in money, exactly WHY would ne be sharing with any assorted bored, broke, sluggish Internet surfing underachievers in their tidy-whities? Honestly, if you could make a bazillion dollars, would you share with a bazillion strangers? Maybe friends, family, but STRANGERS? Ah-ha...just as I thought!
"Ladies and gentlemen, step right up, move in a little closer, all you need is a computer, Internet connection, will and desire! We'll train you. Follow our step by step, proven methods!" If all of these claimants had megaphones, instead of snappy "volume controls", you'd think that you were walking the Net Midway through an alley of Barkers! What a carnival of garbage!
The scariest and yet most ridiculous scam out there on the "Work at Home" bandwagon is one where by, you have a "Mentor". Patty will phone and after a pep talk about how she is doing soooooo well working at home, directs you to write down your three goals, and on and on, moves in for the kill asking for $299 to begin making a Six Figure Income (would that be $000000?) immediately. After Patty is told that $299 isn't possible for a week or two, she then proposes, "Oh, I get it. It's tough. You'll be so glad that you are on track to do this though. So, I'll tell you what I'm going to do" (Original? Not hardly). "For $9.99, enthuses Patty, "I'll send you twelve bottles of the healthiest product ever formulated so that you learn to love it! We don't do sales, you will only manage your own site, your own business, but if you love the product, you will have an incentive to join the program! You can even put some in a cooler, when you visit friends or family and nonchalantly pull one out, start drinking and they'll want to know where you got it and how to buy some!" Whoa, wait a minute Patty! This was to make money from web pages...no sales, no inventory; no deliveries, etc. Where did cooler hawking come from? Now, can you picture stopping to visit a friend, having lunch, coffee, or tea with your daughter, Mom, sister and whipping out a cooler and think they will clamor for "hat?" Ah-ha...go to Northern Jersey or NYC with a cooler and have my Italian family even let me in the door as a peddler? My friends have breeding and money. "Here, Gail, when you are finished jetting between cruises, your houses, Ireland and while shopping at Bergdorf's, get jealous over this bug juice!" Or, "Hey Suzanne! Forget the Grey Goose and Dom's bubbly, have a zap of stupidity!" Or even better, at the next SAG-AFTRA mixer, meet and greet, I slam my cooler on the table and offer A and B Listers a swig of health! SERIOUSLY? I know, I know, at the next Hog Roast, with the Country music playing, the barn cleared for dancing, the steer out in the Adkins field; as cases of beer are iced, "Thanks for including this City Slicker again this year, Rick! I love this ho-down...how about tossing back some pure glutton free, low-cal, watery health?" SERIOUSLY? Patty and the cooler goo even outdid Lisa who swoops down on a poor soul's carcass after all else fails and sends: "Sorry you're having trouble. Click this link for an absolutely free opportunity." Adrian, in a video sales letter pushes his "social commission" scam then for a mere, $19.99 (instead of $99) AND after passing that screen, how about $99 (discounted from $399) for "set up" to this totally free, HOAX!
I am not a "lifestyle snob", really, but if a person is out of options and out of money, these predators should be jailed and banned from the Internet. I am a writer ,so really, the above are not too relevant...HOWEVER, this brings me to "Hired Board", Beyond.com" Elance, "My Writing Jobs", "Real Writing Jobs", "Hub Pages," and a slew of bogus insults. Forget them all, go back to school, get a job doing ANYTHING!
First of all, poor writer, bring money and lots of it. There are fees, commissions to pay to the sites should you get n assignment (not likely). Moe cash has to be invested totally disrespecting any talent that the writer may have. Money a must; talent unnecessary, no experience needed. Second of all, don't think that the assignments are valid...they don't exist. Third, for whichever "job" you bid, thinking there is a job, you won't get it because someone from India, Pakistan, Bangladesh will write a 750 word piece for $.25! That's not a typo, I meant TWENTY-FIVE CENTS FOR THE ENTIRE 750 WORDS ALTOGETHER. (NOT PER)
If these were legitimate jobs, I understand paying a commission to the company , in order to obtain them...AFTER the job is completed, paid from you to the Company. BUT...paying to "join" to troll for assorted flim-flam "opportunities" is sad and desperate. If an individual had the funds to "join" these "exclusive" and "wealth building" enterprises, he/she wouldn't NEED them!
So, THINK, THINK, THINK and be warned! Or, lose your shirt (pant, hat and coat as well!)
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
WWE, TODD AND ME
February - "Meme" (pronounced may-may), "don't you have to go to New York in April?" The question was posed by my nine year old grandson, who is used to me traveling here, there and everywhere from our home base in Ohio. His grandfather lives in Manhattan and my parents live nineteen miles from the Lincoln Tunnel on the New Jersey side of the Hudson River. Frequent trips home are the norm. "Well, we are going at the end of March for Easter, Todd, you know that. Maybe we'll take another trip later in the spring." That was not the answer Todd expected, wanted or accepted. "Oh", he replied dejectedly, "I thought we'd go, oh maybe, April, like the sixth. WWE will be there and maybe we could see it!"
Ah-Ha! Got it. "Well, let me see what I can do."
March 19 - "Here you go Todd! GEAR!" A delighted, excited little boy hastily slipped on a JUST BRING IT sweatshirt over a JUST BRING IT t-shirt and topped himself off with the official WWE "Rock" ball cap. Y-E-S-S-S!!! He grabbed his WWE championship belt (Santa provided that months ago) and couldn't contain himself as he made a "Kane" poster to hold up at, WWE SMACKDOWN in Cincinnati! "I can't believe this, Meme! We're going to see Ryback, Randy Orton, Shamus, Kane, the Shield, Big Show, Cody Rhodes,..." and on and on the cast/wrestlers were listed for a nearly four hour show! Todd gobbled up his ravioli faster than anyone can say ravioli, brushed his teeth and was literally jumping out of his skin as his little legs pumped and propelled him down the stairs, into the car to get to the US Bank Arena in Cincinnati, Ohio in time for the show!
During what should have been a forty-five minute ride from my home (north) to Cincinnati (south), Todd chattered, played various entrance themes on the phone...simply non-stop hype. I guaranteed him that we would be on time, even early. I asked a friend for directions. I printed out "Mapquest" directions as back up. Yes, I realize that I am crippled without a GPS. I surely get that. Todd in total exasperation, threw the directions over his shoulder, into the back seat as we crossed the Ohio River and read "Welcome to Kentucky" on a sign on a bridge. "Oh no! Meme! We're supposed to stay in Ohio, not go to Kentucky! We're lost! What about WWE?" I phoned the friend and screeched, "Hey, I'm on a bridge and I think that the Arena is behind me!" The response: "You over shot it. You're in Kentucky. Turn around and go back." Duh? Like I hadn't thought of that. So, as soon as I could make a U-Turn (I didn't say legally), we headed for Cincinnati (again). Some nice uniformed policemen guided me from the bridge, every few feet or so through my confusion.
As we parked the car, Todd noticed that we still had fifteen minutes to spare. "Whew Meme! Close one!"
Our seats were down on the floor, ringside! Todd looked at the ring, looked at the entrance stage, stood, looked around after comfortably negotiating his WWE Belt and sign, looked at me and said, "Wow, Meme! These are the best seats ever!" I smiled and didn't mention that they cost about the same as the national budget for a fiscal year of a small country. Collector cup for soda, popcorn and slushies were all rather fairly priced, I must admit.
I looked around the arena. There were families comprised of Dads, Moms and children. There were older couples- grandparents with children. There were men with boys, young and older. I saw some couples, men with boys and girls. I realized that, at least in the floor section and surrounding areas, I was the only single female with a child - Grandmother and Grandson. What would my grandmother say about a lady at a wrestling match, I wondered. Then, I remembered that my Great Aunt Carmela used to watch wrestling on television. She liked a wrestler named, "Gorgeous George". Nana didn't think that Carmela was much of a lady most of the time. And, Nana would be able to relate to an over the top, overly accommodating Grandmother anyway.
Special effects, pyrotechnics, lights, music were all amazing. One could become totally absorbed in the spirit and excitement of a match to begin as the powerful men made their entrances! When "Kane" came to our side of the ring, complete with entrance theme, effects including fire, light show and looked at Todd, I thought that Todd would stop breathing! His blue eyes were enormous! He gasped as he looked up at one of his heroes, standing directly in front of him, feeling the fire from his effects warming his little face! "Oh Meme!" Todd jumped up and down, screaming in the pandemonium, "This is the best day ever! This is the best night ever!"
Todd stood in the aisle, ringside for most of the evening. In reality, three different shows to be aired on television were being taped that night as well as "Smackdown". Between you and me, this is theatre. The "moves" are carefully choreographed. I would venture to say, WWE Wrestling is physical, musical, comedic theatre. Of course, the men are big, muscular, strong, impressive. Personalities shine through the massive, smoothly shaved (everywhere, except for some facial & a lot of head hair) as they strut their macho stuff. The wrestlers/performers/gymnasts endeared themselves to the spectators by radiating a certain camaraderie between themselves and enthusiastic fans, totally engrossed in the entire experience.
I know "fighting" is hostile, violent. This is really not the case with WWE. As I have mentioned, this is entertainment. The men train extensively to learn how to tumble, to take falls, to land, to give the illusion of certain "shots". But, it is physical fantasy. Children, of course, should be warned that these are well rehearsed professionals/gymnasts and that these antics should not be attempted by the untrained.
There is a patriotic, moral fiber that is woven through the performance. The WWE is charitable, globally. Our troops were saluted, honored frequently throughout the entertainment.
Though, I did my best to "get out of gym" while in school; though, I am not a fitness narc (lazy), I do walk and fret to maintain my weight and size 2. However, I appreciate the ability, strength, talent, maneuvers presented at a WWE performance. If children realize that this is theatre, the performers are actually rather good role models for the young fans out of the ring.
I am the ultimate audience member of EVERYTHING. Truly, I try to take the children to see everything, always. Circuses, Ice Shows, Musicals, Broadway shows, Elmo, Barney extravaganzas, etc. This is the first time that I have ever experienced a "Souvenir" stand, or "Merchandise" stand where items were not priced to support the transportation system of the small country I mentioned earlier. Nothing was "hawked/pushed". Hats and T-shirts (not $50 lights that have a 10 minute shelf life) were priced exactly as they are in stores or on the WWE website. Modestly. There was only one expensive replica of the WWE Championship belt that was not emphasized, highlighted, nor did the vendor try to entice ANYONE with it. Prices were reasonable, realistic, do-able. I compliment the WWE for "souvenir integrity".
After our "John Cena" T-shirt purchase, Todd wanted one fair well look at the Ring. Clutching his souvenir cup, new T-shirt, belt over shoulder and cap on head, he scanned the arena, the ring where he experienced the men he watches on television religiously. I fought tears when he turned and said, "Meme, I told you that this is the best night, ever! I'm so glad we came here together! Thanks Meme!"
We laughed, joked, re-hashed the evening's events on the drive home. I did not get lost because I started with a BFF in uniform to repeat directions to 75 N over and over. Todd was still at a feverish pitch with enthusiasm discussing Ryback, Big Show, Kane. Maybe next time Cena will be there, and so the conversation went.
I never, ever expected, in my life that I would be attending a Wrestling Match! I never, ever expected in my life that I would learn wrestlers' names, actually sit ringside and cheer! I was excited as Todd jumped up and down pointing at the "bad guys" - The Shield. I never, ever expected that I would join the crowd booing them as did Todd! I never, ever expected to say: "Next time we come, Todd, I think....." My devotion to Todd, my grandson was challenged and I thank God for the blessings that enabled me to come through with flying colors, as Todd has reported to everyone and anyone since we attended the Smackdown! I never, ever expected in my life that I would share with Todd and you, readers, that, "Wow! I just love THE ROCK!"
Ah-Ha! Got it. "Well, let me see what I can do."
March 19 - "Here you go Todd! GEAR!" A delighted, excited little boy hastily slipped on a JUST BRING IT sweatshirt over a JUST BRING IT t-shirt and topped himself off with the official WWE "Rock" ball cap. Y-E-S-S-S!!! He grabbed his WWE championship belt (Santa provided that months ago) and couldn't contain himself as he made a "Kane" poster to hold up at, WWE SMACKDOWN in Cincinnati! "I can't believe this, Meme! We're going to see Ryback, Randy Orton, Shamus, Kane, the Shield, Big Show, Cody Rhodes,..." and on and on the cast/wrestlers were listed for a nearly four hour show! Todd gobbled up his ravioli faster than anyone can say ravioli, brushed his teeth and was literally jumping out of his skin as his little legs pumped and propelled him down the stairs, into the car to get to the US Bank Arena in Cincinnati, Ohio in time for the show!
During what should have been a forty-five minute ride from my home (north) to Cincinnati (south), Todd chattered, played various entrance themes on the phone...simply non-stop hype. I guaranteed him that we would be on time, even early. I asked a friend for directions. I printed out "Mapquest" directions as back up. Yes, I realize that I am crippled without a GPS. I surely get that. Todd in total exasperation, threw the directions over his shoulder, into the back seat as we crossed the Ohio River and read "Welcome to Kentucky" on a sign on a bridge. "Oh no! Meme! We're supposed to stay in Ohio, not go to Kentucky! We're lost! What about WWE?" I phoned the friend and screeched, "Hey, I'm on a bridge and I think that the Arena is behind me!" The response: "You over shot it. You're in Kentucky. Turn around and go back." Duh? Like I hadn't thought of that. So, as soon as I could make a U-Turn (I didn't say legally), we headed for Cincinnati (again). Some nice uniformed policemen guided me from the bridge, every few feet or so through my confusion.
As we parked the car, Todd noticed that we still had fifteen minutes to spare. "Whew Meme! Close one!"
Our seats were down on the floor, ringside! Todd looked at the ring, looked at the entrance stage, stood, looked around after comfortably negotiating his WWE Belt and sign, looked at me and said, "Wow, Meme! These are the best seats ever!" I smiled and didn't mention that they cost about the same as the national budget for a fiscal year of a small country. Collector cup for soda, popcorn and slushies were all rather fairly priced, I must admit.
I looked around the arena. There were families comprised of Dads, Moms and children. There were older couples- grandparents with children. There were men with boys, young and older. I saw some couples, men with boys and girls. I realized that, at least in the floor section and surrounding areas, I was the only single female with a child - Grandmother and Grandson. What would my grandmother say about a lady at a wrestling match, I wondered. Then, I remembered that my Great Aunt Carmela used to watch wrestling on television. She liked a wrestler named, "Gorgeous George". Nana didn't think that Carmela was much of a lady most of the time. And, Nana would be able to relate to an over the top, overly accommodating Grandmother anyway.
Special effects, pyrotechnics, lights, music were all amazing. One could become totally absorbed in the spirit and excitement of a match to begin as the powerful men made their entrances! When "Kane" came to our side of the ring, complete with entrance theme, effects including fire, light show and looked at Todd, I thought that Todd would stop breathing! His blue eyes were enormous! He gasped as he looked up at one of his heroes, standing directly in front of him, feeling the fire from his effects warming his little face! "Oh Meme!" Todd jumped up and down, screaming in the pandemonium, "This is the best day ever! This is the best night ever!"
Todd stood in the aisle, ringside for most of the evening. In reality, three different shows to be aired on television were being taped that night as well as "Smackdown". Between you and me, this is theatre. The "moves" are carefully choreographed. I would venture to say, WWE Wrestling is physical, musical, comedic theatre. Of course, the men are big, muscular, strong, impressive. Personalities shine through the massive, smoothly shaved (everywhere, except for some facial & a lot of head hair) as they strut their macho stuff. The wrestlers/performers/gymnasts endeared themselves to the spectators by radiating a certain camaraderie between themselves and enthusiastic fans, totally engrossed in the entire experience.
I know "fighting" is hostile, violent. This is really not the case with WWE. As I have mentioned, this is entertainment. The men train extensively to learn how to tumble, to take falls, to land, to give the illusion of certain "shots". But, it is physical fantasy. Children, of course, should be warned that these are well rehearsed professionals/gymnasts and that these antics should not be attempted by the untrained.
There is a patriotic, moral fiber that is woven through the performance. The WWE is charitable, globally. Our troops were saluted, honored frequently throughout the entertainment.
Though, I did my best to "get out of gym" while in school; though, I am not a fitness narc (lazy), I do walk and fret to maintain my weight and size 2. However, I appreciate the ability, strength, talent, maneuvers presented at a WWE performance. If children realize that this is theatre, the performers are actually rather good role models for the young fans out of the ring.
I am the ultimate audience member of EVERYTHING. Truly, I try to take the children to see everything, always. Circuses, Ice Shows, Musicals, Broadway shows, Elmo, Barney extravaganzas, etc. This is the first time that I have ever experienced a "Souvenir" stand, or "Merchandise" stand where items were not priced to support the transportation system of the small country I mentioned earlier. Nothing was "hawked/pushed". Hats and T-shirts (not $50 lights that have a 10 minute shelf life) were priced exactly as they are in stores or on the WWE website. Modestly. There was only one expensive replica of the WWE Championship belt that was not emphasized, highlighted, nor did the vendor try to entice ANYONE with it. Prices were reasonable, realistic, do-able. I compliment the WWE for "souvenir integrity".
After our "John Cena" T-shirt purchase, Todd wanted one fair well look at the Ring. Clutching his souvenir cup, new T-shirt, belt over shoulder and cap on head, he scanned the arena, the ring where he experienced the men he watches on television religiously. I fought tears when he turned and said, "Meme, I told you that this is the best night, ever! I'm so glad we came here together! Thanks Meme!"
We laughed, joked, re-hashed the evening's events on the drive home. I did not get lost because I started with a BFF in uniform to repeat directions to 75 N over and over. Todd was still at a feverish pitch with enthusiasm discussing Ryback, Big Show, Kane. Maybe next time Cena will be there, and so the conversation went.
I never, ever expected, in my life that I would be attending a Wrestling Match! I never, ever expected in my life that I would learn wrestlers' names, actually sit ringside and cheer! I was excited as Todd jumped up and down pointing at the "bad guys" - The Shield. I never, ever expected that I would join the crowd booing them as did Todd! I never, ever expected to say: "Next time we come, Todd, I think....." My devotion to Todd, my grandson was challenged and I thank God for the blessings that enabled me to come through with flying colors, as Todd has reported to everyone and anyone since we attended the Smackdown! I never, ever expected in my life that I would share with Todd and you, readers, that, "Wow! I just love THE ROCK!"
Thursday, February 28, 2013
THE PALAZZO
There is a man of humble beginnings, as many of us are/were. He is a self proclaimed "black sheep" of his family. I do not judge such ranks to be honest. With honesty, I can say that he has climbed from modesty to self important pompous proportions. He is really quite impressed with himself and expects anyone he meets to be as impressed as he. He is narrow minded, prejudiced, phony, grudge holding, goofy, irrational, demanding, self-absorbed, illogical, immature. I mean, this is one tough person to take seriously. His hair line is receding, so I think that gifting a clown wig just might be appropriate.
On the positive side of this ridiculous person, and there is only one positive side, he has a work ethic that enables him to earn nobly. Then again, I once heard that "money is the root of all evil".
So, Mr. Dollars and Cents, bought an old, 1800's "house". To hear him tell it, it's a magnificent mansion with a name chiseled into the stone above a front "porch" under gargoyles. I call this, because the name is as ridiculous as he, THE KINGDOM. It had a river running in front of it; however, with progress, a four lane State Route whatever now separates The Kingdom from the water. The Palazzo doesn't have much yardage between the gargoyles and rumbling semi's. However, Mr. Dollars and Cents thinks the layout, palazzo, gargoyles are just beautiful and indicative of one wealthy man of which people are green with envy. (Actually, they are red, convulsed with laughter).
To obtain an invitation and to actually see the palazzo from the inside really does take a convulsion of nature. Truly. Once, for some reason, one passes muster and Mr. D & C is either drunk, sober, fleetingly nice, or realizes that your X might have a few doubloons himself, you just might gain entrance into the palace.
Here's the deal. Everything is orderly, ALWAYS. Nothing on walls, counters, no use of dishwasher (hand wash), no dish towels out. Absolutely NOTHING on a window sill. If a chair is moved and will be again in a few minutes, it must be replaced in its exact spot and moved again. He boasts of renovations, modernization, newest, latest technology. There is no "personality" of decor. Cold, uncomfortable showroom is the style of choice. I will give this point: the most enormous television ever dominates one sitting room. However, it has six remote controls and no one can figure it out...except occasionally him.
Sadly, children can hang no masterpieces on the refrigerator. There can be no personalized little wooden signs making their rooms "theirs".
BUT
He doesn't believe in garbage cans (like tall kitchen trash receptacle under a sink), waste baskets (bathroom refuse) or any sort of trash disposal in bedrooms. He permits plastic grocery bags to hang on a door knob, or cabinet door in the kitchen. The only acceptable item seen on the kitchen counter, near the double sink with garbage disposal proudly stands a plastic container (cereal box size). Into this receptacle food scraps, egg shells, cores, rinds, skin, bones, crusts, glop are stored until it is filled to overflowing. Once the container is full, it is walked outside into the "hay field" for disposal. BUT: there is no field, no hay, no compost pile. There are no pigs to feed. Is it me? Q-tips, cotton balls, tissues, empty toilet paper rolls...on the counters. His illogic, "That's what ______'s are for." (His twice a week housekeeper's name) Personally, I think that it's disgusting. But, that is just me.
There are three bedrooms in the Kingdom. No joke. Two of them have NO CLOSETS. None. There are four bathrooms in the Palazzo. You are not ready for the physical requirements to use any of this: In one bathroom, unless you strain all possible arm muscles to have the lever work to flush...it won't! I think I sprained my wrist. I tried sharing an upstairs bathroom with the children. For the first time, I found a "dry clean only" shower. Only the hot water runs and at a trickle at that! The toilet in that bathroom really could put someone in traction; or at least a candidate for acupuncture and a chiropractor. If you have the misfortune to use that toilet, you can flush, then jump up, spin around, lift and open the tank top, push a stopper down and replace lid! If you forget, the next user is cooked. However, repeating that a few times during a stay is absolutely exhausting! There is a bathroom down in, what I would call, a "Man Cave". I think that nothing is connected. Pristine and off limits.
Speaking of not connected: In an upstairs hallway between two closet-less bedrooms, there is a smart glass and iron table with a lamp still sporting clear plastic on its shade. There is no bulb and there is no connection! The still wrapped cord hangs with no purpose!
Now, there are some of you saying, "Come on now, Laura, STOP! It's an old house! We are the poster family of an "old house". We owned a house on Long Beach Island, New Jersey which was built in 1863. It had three stories, eight bedrooms (nine if you counted the maid's room). Electricity was installed by those cute little round switches and wires ran under the transoms. You could hold your lodge meetings in our bedroom closets. I know from OLD and RENOVATION. I will tell you about that house one day, but I assure you that up on the third floor, you could sing in the shower just as heartily as you could on the first! Our children were allowed to live in the house, enjoy it and we welcomed family, friends, constantly! BUT...we never bragged, snubbed, judged.
What makes THE PALAZZO a tour of medieval reform school is not just the misery imposed by the building, but the personality of its jailer.
On the positive side of this ridiculous person, and there is only one positive side, he has a work ethic that enables him to earn nobly. Then again, I once heard that "money is the root of all evil".
So, Mr. Dollars and Cents, bought an old, 1800's "house". To hear him tell it, it's a magnificent mansion with a name chiseled into the stone above a front "porch" under gargoyles. I call this, because the name is as ridiculous as he, THE KINGDOM. It had a river running in front of it; however, with progress, a four lane State Route whatever now separates The Kingdom from the water. The Palazzo doesn't have much yardage between the gargoyles and rumbling semi's. However, Mr. Dollars and Cents thinks the layout, palazzo, gargoyles are just beautiful and indicative of one wealthy man of which people are green with envy. (Actually, they are red, convulsed with laughter).
To obtain an invitation and to actually see the palazzo from the inside really does take a convulsion of nature. Truly. Once, for some reason, one passes muster and Mr. D & C is either drunk, sober, fleetingly nice, or realizes that your X might have a few doubloons himself, you just might gain entrance into the palace.
Here's the deal. Everything is orderly, ALWAYS. Nothing on walls, counters, no use of dishwasher (hand wash), no dish towels out. Absolutely NOTHING on a window sill. If a chair is moved and will be again in a few minutes, it must be replaced in its exact spot and moved again. He boasts of renovations, modernization, newest, latest technology. There is no "personality" of decor. Cold, uncomfortable showroom is the style of choice. I will give this point: the most enormous television ever dominates one sitting room. However, it has six remote controls and no one can figure it out...except occasionally him.
Sadly, children can hang no masterpieces on the refrigerator. There can be no personalized little wooden signs making their rooms "theirs".
BUT
He doesn't believe in garbage cans (like tall kitchen trash receptacle under a sink), waste baskets (bathroom refuse) or any sort of trash disposal in bedrooms. He permits plastic grocery bags to hang on a door knob, or cabinet door in the kitchen. The only acceptable item seen on the kitchen counter, near the double sink with garbage disposal proudly stands a plastic container (cereal box size). Into this receptacle food scraps, egg shells, cores, rinds, skin, bones, crusts, glop are stored until it is filled to overflowing. Once the container is full, it is walked outside into the "hay field" for disposal. BUT: there is no field, no hay, no compost pile. There are no pigs to feed. Is it me? Q-tips, cotton balls, tissues, empty toilet paper rolls...on the counters. His illogic, "That's what ______'s are for." (His twice a week housekeeper's name) Personally, I think that it's disgusting. But, that is just me.
There are three bedrooms in the Kingdom. No joke. Two of them have NO CLOSETS. None. There are four bathrooms in the Palazzo. You are not ready for the physical requirements to use any of this: In one bathroom, unless you strain all possible arm muscles to have the lever work to flush...it won't! I think I sprained my wrist. I tried sharing an upstairs bathroom with the children. For the first time, I found a "dry clean only" shower. Only the hot water runs and at a trickle at that! The toilet in that bathroom really could put someone in traction; or at least a candidate for acupuncture and a chiropractor. If you have the misfortune to use that toilet, you can flush, then jump up, spin around, lift and open the tank top, push a stopper down and replace lid! If you forget, the next user is cooked. However, repeating that a few times during a stay is absolutely exhausting! There is a bathroom down in, what I would call, a "Man Cave". I think that nothing is connected. Pristine and off limits.
Speaking of not connected: In an upstairs hallway between two closet-less bedrooms, there is a smart glass and iron table with a lamp still sporting clear plastic on its shade. There is no bulb and there is no connection! The still wrapped cord hangs with no purpose!
Now, there are some of you saying, "Come on now, Laura, STOP! It's an old house! We are the poster family of an "old house". We owned a house on Long Beach Island, New Jersey which was built in 1863. It had three stories, eight bedrooms (nine if you counted the maid's room). Electricity was installed by those cute little round switches and wires ran under the transoms. You could hold your lodge meetings in our bedroom closets. I know from OLD and RENOVATION. I will tell you about that house one day, but I assure you that up on the third floor, you could sing in the shower just as heartily as you could on the first! Our children were allowed to live in the house, enjoy it and we welcomed family, friends, constantly! BUT...we never bragged, snubbed, judged.
What makes THE PALAZZO a tour of medieval reform school is not just the misery imposed by the building, but the personality of its jailer.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
WE'RE NOT COMING BACK, ARE WE?
A friend's Dad passed away last week. He was 98 years old. When I visited Jim about a week or so before that, I was in the company of an older gentleman with a twinkle in now cloudy blue eyes. That foggy twinkle revealed to me a rascal, as Tiff says. He was a young widower, a flirt with appreciation for the ladies, literature, the arts, finance, hard work. Now feeble, stooped, slow but grasping at the wit, the humor he once knew. Eyes faded, hearing challenged, he gracefully slipped into life everlasting. My daughter was the last living individual he saw, who's arms he felt as he met his wife who had been waiting for him for years.
At the funeral parlor, on a Friday evening, I viewed a slide show. There before me, I saw a young handsome man, a beautiful bride, attractive children in various stages of growth, maturity. I saw homes, land, celebrations, joy, life in its fullest prime. Exactly when did he age? Where is the boundary between vitality from one day to fragility on the next?
At the cemetery, after a service on the following morning, my mind swirled with questions and thoughts that I set aside as we continued through the funeral (which my Grandmother always said is for the living...the deceased, by then, was doing just fine) I had hustled the trio into their suits, ties, and a pretty dress. The four of us stood, listened, fidgeted, embraced other mourners, prayed.
And so, he rests, celebrates his life, relaxes in the joy of everlasting life. I can resume my questions and thoughts...
I see myself in the mirror. I see myself everyday. Often, many, many times in a day (I'm like that, you know). When did I acquire "age"? Where is the defining line between the child that I saw every day and the woman (with three grandchildren) that I see every day? Exactly when did that first grey hair appear on you, on your Mom? Just when did that hairline recede on your Dad? Do my parents see the young GI returning from WWII and the young NYU student with perfect skin, a twenty inch waist and long brunette hair today at 86 and 84 years old? Where is the boundary between the two year old who called me "Warrie" and the woman who calls her older sister (me) with stories of my nephew and his fraternity brothers and my niece's latest hair craze? Where is the baby, that I saw every day, changed every day, who now phones me with a laundry list of, "Mom, when do we want to schedule our Spring book event?" Did I blink to long? Where is the little girl with whom I would spend countless hours in ballet studios, nearly every day of her childhood, who now commands my new skin care, anti-aging regime?
Where is the definition between the free spirit with hair down to her a-a-a to the grandmother, who receives calls and directives from grandchildren who squeal with delight when Meme (may-may) arrives? When did the participants at the tea table change from afternoon tea with Nana, to a tea party with Tess? I swear, she was there a minute ago. I swear, I was Tess a minute ago. Where? When?
I watched myself in the mirror before dates, getting my hair and make-up "just right" while battling hic-cups. I see that same face...or so I think. I battle those same hic-cups (not as frequently) before "an occasion of state" or at least I think they are the same!
We see ourselves every day. We see each other (family, friends) every day. Exactly how, when did we evolve into the older, busier versions of the blissful children that we were? Was there a Disney time-lapse episode going on that I missed? That you missed?
When did the stroller turn into a tricycle, to a bicycle, to a racing bicycle, to a Harley or a Convertible? When did I turn from the "Mistress of the Kitchen" to a collaborator and second in command with our Four Generation Cookbook as my son takes lead? When did I evolve into the "Meme" from the driver for a prima ballerina and solver of assorted social, beauty, domestic issues and a confidant?
If I hadn't a wrinkle, exactly what is the anniversary of the first one? If I had low lights, highlights, exactly when did it become mandatory to "touch up" roots? How did pound by pound we gain or lose weight? What day do some move from thin to fat? Exactly where does weight go when we go from heavy to slight? I have been known to lament about gaining "The Ohio Ten". I lost it (in Reunion Book), but where did it go?
We see US and each other every day. We laugh, cry, play, pray together everyday. Exactly when, how before our eyes slipped in between blinks, did we become what we are right now, tomorrow, next year?
I want to find that boundary, that definitive line that marks change. Steve always maintained that I do not take to change very well. Actually, I don't take to change AT ALL. Are our lives a slide show to ignite wonder, to retrace our steps from there to here?
Two things that we can bear in mind, inspired from two books that I read when I was younger:
1. If you realize that there is no perfect Utopia, accept it, "work with it". Then you are always bound to have A FAIRLY GOOD TIME.
2. SPEND ALL OF YOUR KISSES here and now...you can't take them with you, when you go!
As Jim's son said, "We're not coming back, are we?"
At the funeral parlor, on a Friday evening, I viewed a slide show. There before me, I saw a young handsome man, a beautiful bride, attractive children in various stages of growth, maturity. I saw homes, land, celebrations, joy, life in its fullest prime. Exactly when did he age? Where is the boundary between vitality from one day to fragility on the next?
At the cemetery, after a service on the following morning, my mind swirled with questions and thoughts that I set aside as we continued through the funeral (which my Grandmother always said is for the living...the deceased, by then, was doing just fine) I had hustled the trio into their suits, ties, and a pretty dress. The four of us stood, listened, fidgeted, embraced other mourners, prayed.
And so, he rests, celebrates his life, relaxes in the joy of everlasting life. I can resume my questions and thoughts...
I see myself in the mirror. I see myself everyday. Often, many, many times in a day (I'm like that, you know). When did I acquire "age"? Where is the defining line between the child that I saw every day and the woman (with three grandchildren) that I see every day? Exactly when did that first grey hair appear on you, on your Mom? Just when did that hairline recede on your Dad? Do my parents see the young GI returning from WWII and the young NYU student with perfect skin, a twenty inch waist and long brunette hair today at 86 and 84 years old? Where is the boundary between the two year old who called me "Warrie" and the woman who calls her older sister (me) with stories of my nephew and his fraternity brothers and my niece's latest hair craze? Where is the baby, that I saw every day, changed every day, who now phones me with a laundry list of, "Mom, when do we want to schedule our Spring book event?" Did I blink to long? Where is the little girl with whom I would spend countless hours in ballet studios, nearly every day of her childhood, who now commands my new skin care, anti-aging regime?
Where is the definition between the free spirit with hair down to her a-a-a to the grandmother, who receives calls and directives from grandchildren who squeal with delight when Meme (may-may) arrives? When did the participants at the tea table change from afternoon tea with Nana, to a tea party with Tess? I swear, she was there a minute ago. I swear, I was Tess a minute ago. Where? When?
I watched myself in the mirror before dates, getting my hair and make-up "just right" while battling hic-cups. I see that same face...or so I think. I battle those same hic-cups (not as frequently) before "an occasion of state" or at least I think they are the same!
We see ourselves every day. We see each other (family, friends) every day. Exactly how, when did we evolve into the older, busier versions of the blissful children that we were? Was there a Disney time-lapse episode going on that I missed? That you missed?
When did the stroller turn into a tricycle, to a bicycle, to a racing bicycle, to a Harley or a Convertible? When did I turn from the "Mistress of the Kitchen" to a collaborator and second in command with our Four Generation Cookbook as my son takes lead? When did I evolve into the "Meme" from the driver for a prima ballerina and solver of assorted social, beauty, domestic issues and a confidant?
If I hadn't a wrinkle, exactly what is the anniversary of the first one? If I had low lights, highlights, exactly when did it become mandatory to "touch up" roots? How did pound by pound we gain or lose weight? What day do some move from thin to fat? Exactly where does weight go when we go from heavy to slight? I have been known to lament about gaining "The Ohio Ten". I lost it (in Reunion Book), but where did it go?
We see US and each other every day. We laugh, cry, play, pray together everyday. Exactly when, how before our eyes slipped in between blinks, did we become what we are right now, tomorrow, next year?
I want to find that boundary, that definitive line that marks change. Steve always maintained that I do not take to change very well. Actually, I don't take to change AT ALL. Are our lives a slide show to ignite wonder, to retrace our steps from there to here?
Two things that we can bear in mind, inspired from two books that I read when I was younger:
1. If you realize that there is no perfect Utopia, accept it, "work with it". Then you are always bound to have A FAIRLY GOOD TIME.
2. SPEND ALL OF YOUR KISSES here and now...you can't take them with you, when you go!
As Jim's son said, "We're not coming back, are we?"
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