Have you ever been mid-experience and thought, "Wow! I like it here. I feel so good! I don't want this moment to end...ever!" If you are honest with yourself, you might say, "Yeah, I know that feeling! I remember when..." Not to live in the past, of course, recalling contentment, elation, joy of particular "moments in time" can be therapeutic without spending $10,000 an hour for a therapist or the fee to rent a U-Haul for medication when basic discontentment, unhappiness, insecurity, fear set in. We all experience those disappointing feelings. Reaching for that moment in time sooths the burn. Relish that "ahhhhhhhhhhhh" and "yippeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" to retain the rush when life gets tangled and sticky.
When I was about twelve, or so, I distinctly remember standing at the edge of a swimming pool, built into the vast yard of a relative. Two of three cousins had been in the water with me. The oldest sibling was sitting on a lounge talking with my mother about everything and nothing. It was a beautiful, early summer day. Our families were going to barbecue. Music and laughter surrounded us. I was content, happy and as I looked to the sky, I thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
As an adult, I remember one and only one day that I had nothing that I really HAD to do. Steve and I had just returned from a Honeymoon in Aruba. He was at his New York office while Butterscotch, my cat, and I were home in a beautiful apartment on the New Jersey side of the Hudson River. We had breakfast on the terrace on a bright, sunny May morning as we watched the river roll by. Of course, I always read, embroidered, but I didn't HAVE to produce a thing that afternoon. I was content, happy and thought, " This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
One Christmas night, I drove my Grandparents home after a day of family, gifts, feasting. As my Grandmother and I embraced to say goodnight, she filled my senses. I was safe, warm, loved. I was content, happy and thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
I lurked in the hospital one evening. My Grandmother had one too many heart attacks. Where did that moment go between life and death? I wanted her last moment to last forever. I wanted to pull and pull her to stay on my side of that sliver of time. Freeze that moment! Don't move that moment in time from me! Stay Nana, stay! I was distraught, frantic, as she slipped from my grasp. I was upset, alone, sad and thought, "This is the worst day ever! Give me back that moment!"
As Steve and I sat at a Tiki Bar at the Engleside on the beach in Beach Haven on a perfect Saturday afternoon, we watched the ocean roll in and tease us. I was content, happy and thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
I stood with Todd, Tess and Tanner and looked to the sky on Independence Day. As we watched with our arms around each other and oooooed and ahhhhed at the bright splashes in the sky, I was content, happy and thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
After kissing and hugging my Grandchildren - Todd, Tess, Tanner before they boarded the school bus, watching them wave from the windows. Walking back toward the house with my daughter - she in a robe and cowboy boots and me in my leopard jammies, pink slippers and winter coat, laughing and planning our shared day, I was content, happy and thought, "This is the best day ever! Please don't end!"
Think, just think. Have you ever felt the moment so intensely that you want to freeze that moment in time? Sometimes, I want to live in those moments forever - to remain frozen in the peace, in the love of the experience. When I transport my heart to those Moments in Time, I tingle with the joy that I had. I burst with gratitude to God that I had those moments and occasionally demand to know why I couldn't have stayed in their shelter! Therapy isn't in the budget and there is no room in the garage for a massive U-Haul truck of meds. So, I reflect, share.
If you have had those moments, cherish them, although we can never really remain frozen in those Moments of Time!
Laura Macy Author & Actress
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
I'VE GOT THE POWER!!!
!I am a diversified, interesting individual if nothing else. I am creative to the max. I have recently returned from Boot Camp. I know, I know, I hated Physical Educational in school and had 1,000,000 reasons not to go to gym class (unless I was baton twirling during football season, or in the Girls' Athletic Association Show, primarily dancing.) By Boot Camp I mean that I attended the AWAI (American Writers and Artists Institute) four day intensive writing conference. I am a member of the AWAI and while I am distributing my resume, I am a member of the Professional Writers Alliance. In other words, I am a "word smith."
I have been asked, "Why write?" Of what value are my blogs? What purpose is served? Don't you think that you should get a "real job"? Well, let me share my heart and soul, or at least my thoughts on the burning question of a writer's worth.
The writer is, in my opinion, the most powerful member of society. The writer can educate, entertain, investigate, share his feelings, can praise, berate and if copywriting - sell YOU your own Grandmother!
My book reaches into the souls and temperaments of readers with humor, giving them a call to action to celebrate their achievements large and small. I encourage them to recognize that there are no small achievements, ever.
My blogs illustrate appreciation for various attractions experienced on trips with and without my family. I share the joy of participating, singing, dancing, playing wherever I roam! Many people who perform, guide, enchant, entertain are praised for their presentations with my words. Ordinarily, they might go unnoticed. I share my family, my logic (quirky as it might be), find unique words to broaden my readers' perspectives about music, arts, their own families, various social situations or have a platform to celebrate my heritage.
The written word is the backbone of society. Words advertise, words record history, words illuminate research, explain findings. Words can make giants small; and the meek, strong and notable. Words make us laugh, cry, think, act, pray, shop, create, indulge in hobbies, travel. Writers share scientific discoveries, enhance their readers' understanding of medical, geographical, political issues. Writer words reach into cores to make us realize our desires, our joy, our disappointments. We only know of our leaders, our products, our Faith by the passion of the writer's manipulation of the written word.
It is my belief that the writer rules the universe. The writer's only tools are his passion, in intelligence, his mastery of language and his impressions of the society, science, individuals that surround him. Mechanics of grammar, vocabulary, a pencil or computer assist in the generation of the thoughts in a writer's mind onto the printed page, or the screen to universally rouse, shake, praise, instruct mankind.
Those of us who write are blessed - We have the talent and intelligence to write. Those of us who write are cursed - We have the passion, the urgency, the sheer volume of so much to say and the driving necessity to "get it out there" as clearly, as efficiently, and as quirky as we think.
When I am happy, I write. When I am sad, I write. When I am feeling quirky, funny, I write. When I want to share knowledge, I write. When I am impressed, enlightened, I write. When I am disappointed with people, places, things, you, I write. When I am pensive, I write. When a marketer wants to entice consumers, I write. My suggestion to friend and foe. BEWARE! I cheerfully absorb my surroundings, my experiences and then tap dance with my laptop to create an opus of exhausting tempo! However, bear in mind that I am not the only person in the universe who is driven to expression through the written word. We are many.
I embrace the blessing and the curse with gratitude. You can bet your bottom dollar that I will keep the keys moving and the thoughts flowing! Caution: If in fact, the "pen" is mightier than the "sword", stand back and watch this keyboard smoke! Got armor?
I have been asked, "Why write?" Of what value are my blogs? What purpose is served? Don't you think that you should get a "real job"? Well, let me share my heart and soul, or at least my thoughts on the burning question of a writer's worth.
The writer is, in my opinion, the most powerful member of society. The writer can educate, entertain, investigate, share his feelings, can praise, berate and if copywriting - sell YOU your own Grandmother!
My book reaches into the souls and temperaments of readers with humor, giving them a call to action to celebrate their achievements large and small. I encourage them to recognize that there are no small achievements, ever.
My blogs illustrate appreciation for various attractions experienced on trips with and without my family. I share the joy of participating, singing, dancing, playing wherever I roam! Many people who perform, guide, enchant, entertain are praised for their presentations with my words. Ordinarily, they might go unnoticed. I share my family, my logic (quirky as it might be), find unique words to broaden my readers' perspectives about music, arts, their own families, various social situations or have a platform to celebrate my heritage.
The written word is the backbone of society. Words advertise, words record history, words illuminate research, explain findings. Words can make giants small; and the meek, strong and notable. Words make us laugh, cry, think, act, pray, shop, create, indulge in hobbies, travel. Writers share scientific discoveries, enhance their readers' understanding of medical, geographical, political issues. Writer words reach into cores to make us realize our desires, our joy, our disappointments. We only know of our leaders, our products, our Faith by the passion of the writer's manipulation of the written word.
It is my belief that the writer rules the universe. The writer's only tools are his passion, in intelligence, his mastery of language and his impressions of the society, science, individuals that surround him. Mechanics of grammar, vocabulary, a pencil or computer assist in the generation of the thoughts in a writer's mind onto the printed page, or the screen to universally rouse, shake, praise, instruct mankind.
Those of us who write are blessed - We have the talent and intelligence to write. Those of us who write are cursed - We have the passion, the urgency, the sheer volume of so much to say and the driving necessity to "get it out there" as clearly, as efficiently, and as quirky as we think.
When I am happy, I write. When I am sad, I write. When I am feeling quirky, funny, I write. When I want to share knowledge, I write. When I am impressed, enlightened, I write. When I am disappointed with people, places, things, you, I write. When I am pensive, I write. When a marketer wants to entice consumers, I write. My suggestion to friend and foe. BEWARE! I cheerfully absorb my surroundings, my experiences and then tap dance with my laptop to create an opus of exhausting tempo! However, bear in mind that I am not the only person in the universe who is driven to expression through the written word. We are many.
I embrace the blessing and the curse with gratitude. You can bet your bottom dollar that I will keep the keys moving and the thoughts flowing! Caution: If in fact, the "pen" is mightier than the "sword", stand back and watch this keyboard smoke! Got armor?
Sunday, October 7, 2012
FASHIONISTA
I love clothes! I have always been known for vast wardrobes with coordinating accessories. I can be classic, cocktail dressy, special occasion dressy, casual, upscale casual, affluent snob, weekend play, black tie formal, ball formal and even as Darla Darling, The Domestic Diva, I can do all of that in polka dots.
I especially enjoy my formal wear. I have ball gowns and good old fashioned, classic formal "black tie" get ups! My collection is so vast, but even after an invitation to a Black Tie in Cincinnati, I did, in good faith comb the boutiques and really found nothing like my Nieman Marcus find designer black formal. The gown still slides sveltly over the last of the "Ohio Five" (ugh, of the original ten pounds that I can't shake...gained after I moved to Ohio...gotta get back to Jersey...another story for another time). The piece features a high halter-ish neck and shoulder look. The bodice is smartly beaded with black beads subtly set in black embroidered areas. From the high waist to the ground is a solid black, free falling, flattering, straight skirt . With black panty hose and strappy closed toe and heal black silk stilettos and a black beaded evening bag, not to brag, I look great!
BUT
I neglected to mention that from that high neck to the top of the waist, in the back are 1,000,000 straps attached from neck to waist. From under the left arm, to the waist, there is a delicate zipper. Ah-huh. For forty-eight hours before an event to which I will wear this number, strategy is of the utmost importance. I live alone with my cat. Priscilla is bright, pretty, in tune with me, but as a dresser...not so much. First there has to be a war table where seated is a platoon of Fashionistas set up with charts and plots for strategy to master which strap should be where in order that my head be on top and my arms to my sides with, as you can imagine, the front beading in the front and those back straps in the back! Required, prior to even touching the garment, are blueprints, written and illustrated directions, a training video and live demonstration.
SO
I showered using "Organza" shower gel, shaved smoothly. "Organza" lotion was massaged into every pore. "Organza" perfume was dotted in all of the "right" places. Evening make-up done to perfection. My hair was sleek. No "Spanks" - thank goodness! Perfect panty hose... next.
AND THEN
A friend had to stand on a chair, doing the best octopus impersonation ever to hold all straps in just the right places as the gown was slipped over my head, brought down, lining all smoothly on me, while straightening and arranging straps. That required delicate, gentle handling. It worked! All body parts were just where I was supposed to be! The tricky part was a little surprising. The tiny zipper was very uncooperative. By pulling down and up strongly while my are was above my head, we struggled, worked up a mini perspiration incident and with pliers, got that weenie zipper up! After donning an evening bolero jacket in the same fabric with no collar, but high neck in the back, I was ready to rock!
The evening was fun. I entertained the table with my GUIDE FOR AFFLUENT MEN, DIVORCING and assorted jokes, riddles and funny stories. Chatter about a few books, the ballet, and theatre, I glided through the event with my "grown up" persona.
I returned home after midnight. Evidently, my delusional mind led me to believe that all I had to do was reach around, unzip and somehow navigate my way out of the tangle of straps. That should have not been a problem because I thought, who would care how the straps fell when taking off the mass of confusion? Priscilla must have had a premonition that this would not go well. She disappeared into the abyss known as "under the bed". I reached around, began to unzip...STUCK! I couldn't see under my arm to "UN STICK" the zipper from whatever was annoying it! I pulled the zipper up again, couldn't get it down at all! I couldn't pull the gown over my head without loosening any of the rigging. NOW WHAT?
At "0:dark:30", closer to Sunday School Standard Time, than to the Saturday Evening Bash, I opted for "phone a friend". (That maneuver will not be in the HOW TO WIN FRIENDS AND INFLUENCE PEOPLE book, by the way.) After an hour of an uncooperative zipper - not moving, even with pliers, grunts and threats and a ten minute "Let's think about this" break, we decided that the trusty "seam ripper" had to be found. Deftly, delicately, carefully, tiny stitches on one side of the zipper were removed. After another forty-five minutes, deftly, delicately, carefully, tiny stitches on the other side of the zipper were removed.
Like an overblown balloon, I was exhilarated, liberated and felt airborne! The freedom flight resulted in a sight similar to a back full of linguine. As if we were playing "Pick-Up Sticks", the straps had to be moved and sorted to release my head and neck allowing me to breathe. Then my arms were freed by sunrise!
My gown is dangling from a hanger, with the unrecognizable zipper tossed over it. I can't find one shoe. Having had a rough encounter with the pliers (we won't even discuss that) the panty hose are trashed. My friend has a new unlisted number. Priscilla finally emerged from the abyss, but she is giggling. On top of a pile of mail is, you guessed it...an invitation to a Black Tie Formal Event!
This Fashionista must go shopping for an outfit that is not sooooooooo exhausting! I'm just too weak!
I especially enjoy my formal wear. I have ball gowns and good old fashioned, classic formal "black tie" get ups! My collection is so vast, but even after an invitation to a Black Tie in Cincinnati, I did, in good faith comb the boutiques and really found nothing like my Nieman Marcus find designer black formal. The gown still slides sveltly over the last of the "Ohio Five" (ugh, of the original ten pounds that I can't shake...gained after I moved to Ohio...gotta get back to Jersey...another story for another time). The piece features a high halter-ish neck and shoulder look. The bodice is smartly beaded with black beads subtly set in black embroidered areas. From the high waist to the ground is a solid black, free falling, flattering, straight skirt . With black panty hose and strappy closed toe and heal black silk stilettos and a black beaded evening bag, not to brag, I look great!
BUT
I neglected to mention that from that high neck to the top of the waist, in the back are 1,000,000 straps attached from neck to waist. From under the left arm, to the waist, there is a delicate zipper. Ah-huh. For forty-eight hours before an event to which I will wear this number, strategy is of the utmost importance. I live alone with my cat. Priscilla is bright, pretty, in tune with me, but as a dresser...not so much. First there has to be a war table where seated is a platoon of Fashionistas set up with charts and plots for strategy to master which strap should be where in order that my head be on top and my arms to my sides with, as you can imagine, the front beading in the front and those back straps in the back! Required, prior to even touching the garment, are blueprints, written and illustrated directions, a training video and live demonstration.
SO
I showered using "Organza" shower gel, shaved smoothly. "Organza" lotion was massaged into every pore. "Organza" perfume was dotted in all of the "right" places. Evening make-up done to perfection. My hair was sleek. No "Spanks" - thank goodness! Perfect panty hose... next.
AND THEN
A friend had to stand on a chair, doing the best octopus impersonation ever to hold all straps in just the right places as the gown was slipped over my head, brought down, lining all smoothly on me, while straightening and arranging straps. That required delicate, gentle handling. It worked! All body parts were just where I was supposed to be! The tricky part was a little surprising. The tiny zipper was very uncooperative. By pulling down and up strongly while my are was above my head, we struggled, worked up a mini perspiration incident and with pliers, got that weenie zipper up! After donning an evening bolero jacket in the same fabric with no collar, but high neck in the back, I was ready to rock!
The evening was fun. I entertained the table with my GUIDE FOR AFFLUENT MEN, DIVORCING and assorted jokes, riddles and funny stories. Chatter about a few books, the ballet, and theatre, I glided through the event with my "grown up" persona.
I returned home after midnight. Evidently, my delusional mind led me to believe that all I had to do was reach around, unzip and somehow navigate my way out of the tangle of straps. That should have not been a problem because I thought, who would care how the straps fell when taking off the mass of confusion? Priscilla must have had a premonition that this would not go well. She disappeared into the abyss known as "under the bed". I reached around, began to unzip...STUCK! I couldn't see under my arm to "UN STICK" the zipper from whatever was annoying it! I pulled the zipper up again, couldn't get it down at all! I couldn't pull the gown over my head without loosening any of the rigging. NOW WHAT?
At "0:dark:30", closer to Sunday School Standard Time, than to the Saturday Evening Bash, I opted for "phone a friend". (That maneuver will not be in the HOW TO WIN FRIENDS AND INFLUENCE PEOPLE book, by the way.) After an hour of an uncooperative zipper - not moving, even with pliers, grunts and threats and a ten minute "Let's think about this" break, we decided that the trusty "seam ripper" had to be found. Deftly, delicately, carefully, tiny stitches on one side of the zipper were removed. After another forty-five minutes, deftly, delicately, carefully, tiny stitches on the other side of the zipper were removed.
Like an overblown balloon, I was exhilarated, liberated and felt airborne! The freedom flight resulted in a sight similar to a back full of linguine. As if we were playing "Pick-Up Sticks", the straps had to be moved and sorted to release my head and neck allowing me to breathe. Then my arms were freed by sunrise!
My gown is dangling from a hanger, with the unrecognizable zipper tossed over it. I can't find one shoe. Having had a rough encounter with the pliers (we won't even discuss that) the panty hose are trashed. My friend has a new unlisted number. Priscilla finally emerged from the abyss, but she is giggling. On top of a pile of mail is, you guessed it...an invitation to a Black Tie Formal Event!
This Fashionista must go shopping for an outfit that is not sooooooooo exhausting! I'm just too weak!
Monday, September 24, 2012
THANK YOU! I'M FLATTERED!!!
As an author, trying to promote my book and myself, I am so happy and grateful that You read my Facebook, "Laura Macy, Author" page. I am so excited that you read my Blogs and Tweets! I celebrate all of you, friends and foes who "track" me!
Of course, my family and friends keep an eye on my quips and quirky humor and comments as my life unfolds. Often I am asked, "Am I mentioned in...?" and I receive comments, "Hey, are you going to mention that...?'" I appreciate the interest, support and enthusiasm from my very heart and soul!
It has been pointed out to me: "Do you know that there are people in Miami County watching and reading your every word over your shoulder, so to speak, with malice?" REALLY? And exactly, for what are these readers/you looking? Do you frown over my travel Blogs where my daughter, my grandchildren and I explore, laugh, dance, play? What is detestable about my celebrations of my Father, my Grandparents? Will you condemn my joy upon meeting people in Danville, Kokomo, St. Albert's, and Primary Village South? Many grandparents are "Baby Boomers" and have expressed appreciation for "Not Your Grandma's Grandmother". Have I made anyone uncomfortable when I shared my Independence Day Memories or paraded at the Dragons' Stadium with Todd? With tongue in cheek humor, I offer "life" guides for "Affluent Men, Divorcing" and "Grandparents' Gift Giving". Miami county doesn't encompass Naples geographically. Hey Naples, if you don't like the Blog, get an attitude adjustment! Did I touch a nerve when I implored the Powers-That-Be to make Deadbeat Dads "Pay to Play"?
I, with pride, have devoted my life to my family and my Church. I celebrate my Italian Heritage, my interests, my activities, my friends, my life! I look forward to AWAI Boot Camp (for writers), to milestones in my children's, my grandchildren's, my niece', my nephews' my sister's, my dearest friends lives! I embrace experiences that I can share with my friends and foes alike.
So, Miami County, you have put me under a microscope? You comb through my words with a "fine toothed" comb and a magnifying glass? REALLY???
THANK YOU! I'M FLATTERED!!!
Of course, my family and friends keep an eye on my quips and quirky humor and comments as my life unfolds. Often I am asked, "Am I mentioned in...?" and I receive comments, "Hey, are you going to mention that...?'" I appreciate the interest, support and enthusiasm from my very heart and soul!
It has been pointed out to me: "Do you know that there are people in Miami County watching and reading your every word over your shoulder, so to speak, with malice?" REALLY? And exactly, for what are these readers/you looking? Do you frown over my travel Blogs where my daughter, my grandchildren and I explore, laugh, dance, play? What is detestable about my celebrations of my Father, my Grandparents? Will you condemn my joy upon meeting people in Danville, Kokomo, St. Albert's, and Primary Village South? Many grandparents are "Baby Boomers" and have expressed appreciation for "Not Your Grandma's Grandmother". Have I made anyone uncomfortable when I shared my Independence Day Memories or paraded at the Dragons' Stadium with Todd? With tongue in cheek humor, I offer "life" guides for "Affluent Men, Divorcing" and "Grandparents' Gift Giving". Miami county doesn't encompass Naples geographically. Hey Naples, if you don't like the Blog, get an attitude adjustment! Did I touch a nerve when I implored the Powers-That-Be to make Deadbeat Dads "Pay to Play"?
I, with pride, have devoted my life to my family and my Church. I celebrate my Italian Heritage, my interests, my activities, my friends, my life! I look forward to AWAI Boot Camp (for writers), to milestones in my children's, my grandchildren's, my niece', my nephews' my sister's, my dearest friends lives! I embrace experiences that I can share with my friends and foes alike.
So, Miami County, you have put me under a microscope? You comb through my words with a "fine toothed" comb and a magnifying glass? REALLY???
THANK YOU! I'M FLATTERED!!!
Sunday, September 2, 2012
BABYSITTING A LA ALEXANDER GRAHAM BELL
Four weeks ago, my daughter and my three grandchildren moved a considerable distance from me. I had seen the trio and their Mom every day. I followed my daughter to Ohio, at her request, witnessed the birth of all three children, saw them or cared for them every day since the oldest (nine) was born. With the move, I most certainly should have been admitted into a cushy institution to detox and survive the withdrawal disability suffered. The children have spent two of the four weekends with me since they left. They phone once or twice a day to say "Hi!". My distress is easing. Now, I only need a support group and regular "meetings" to keep the caretaker addiction at bay.
HOWEVER:
One morning, Tess phoned giggling. "Meme!" (pronounced may may) "I have to make these kids (her brothers ages 8 and 5) breakfast! Mommy is still upstairs doing stuff and the boys are hungry. I'm making cereal!" So, seven year old Tess and I via the snappy phone wires (or cordless phone) made and ate breakfast with the boys. When Tiff came downstairs, we had a cup of coffee and planned our day(s). Later, Todd and I rode his scooter and discussed the malfunction of the rear, 360 degree wheel. Ah-ha! God bless cell phones! During one of the first nights in their new home, Tess phoned. "Meme, I'm scared." After learning that Tanner (youngest-5) was with her in her room, I suggested that they snuggle with their blankets and we would have a pajama party until we fell asleep. Tanner fell asleep first. Tess yawned and after an hour of our "party", she drifted off to sleep. I kept the connection open "just in case" she woke up. Late into the night, while Tiff did her "rounds", she found the phone glowing on Tess' bed. "Hello?" "Hi Tiff! Tess, Tanner and I had a pajama party!" She laughed, hung up and blessed the day that the phones became cordless. The next morning, Tess wrote my number on papers for both boys to keep.
During the following night, my phone rang. "Meme! There's a noise in my closet!" Todd was whispering into the phone. "Well Todd, let's tell silly stories and make up songs!" That is about the best that a mature grandparent can do. Well, at least this one. So, into the evening, we sillied and sillied!
Tess was lonely and missed me one evening. She phoned rather sadly. "Tess," I said, choking back tears myself, "we are together now, we are under the same sky and stars!" (Sounds like "American Tale") "Remember the kisses that I left in your hands the last time that I saw you?" Tess sighed, "Yes, Meme." I instructed, "Open your hands and put them all over your face! Let them tickle your neck!" Tess giggled and we hung up.
Now, God really had it going on when He moved the heavens for the creation of Cell Phones! One afternoon, Tanner phoned and asked if I wanted to take a ride on his tractor (Pedal powered, John Deere). I said that I would love to ride with him and asked if he's a good driver. He assured me that he could drive like the best of all drivers. So, we took off! We raced down the driveway. "Tanner! Slow down!" He laughed and went faster! We chugged up the driveway. We then went down even faster and dodged some sticks on the way back up. On the next ride down the driveway, Tanner pointed out some beautiful flowers and falling leaves. We swerved around a rock on the next ride back up. For at least an hour, Tanner and I rode the pedal tractor and chit-chatted about the adventure! He began Kindergarten two days after the older two. So, Tiff, walked Tanner (still driving his tractor) and I (windblown and breathless after such fast riding) down the driveway to meet his brother and sister as they disembarked from their school bus. I walked up the driveway from the bus, slowly feeling the weight of Todd's backpack and listening to his explanation of the difficulty and depth of the third grade. The discomfort of the backpack vanished as I completed the walk up the driveway listening to Tess describe her new classmates and certain expectations of second grade. Oh, and, she had a new best friend already!
One afternoon, Tess and I sorted hair ribbons and assorted ornaments for her hair vial the cordless. Later, Tanner played some music for me while he explained some dance moves. We danced together until dinner. Todd needed a television companion one evening. Tiff had heard enough about super heroes. She finally tossed the phone to Todd and said, "Here, Meme loves that show!" We watched the good guys win on some program or other and I do know to stay away from "Serpentine"! Tess and I studied for a spelling test last week. "Mud", "mad" and "an" required a little more concentration. We did very well though and scored 100%!
Last night, Tess and Tanner were asleep. Tiff, getting ready for bed, gave Todd the phone in case he wanted to say Good Night to Meme. He phoned! We discussed his birthday party invitations that I had bought and wrote for him. I assured him that I would bring them to his birthday dinner today. We they acquired "Fire Cat" as a pet for "Wizards 101". Well into the night, we talked while we played the game. Suddenly, I realized that it was midnight! "Todd! You aren't eight years old anymore! Happy Birthday nine year old!" Nine years ago, I greeted an adorable little blue eyed baby. Miles and miles and years later, I was the first to usher in another year with him! After Mass, He took me for a ride on his new bicycle (birthday gift from Mom) before we met for his birthday dinner.
The four of us, in spite of the distance, have played, laughed, studied, watched television, prepared meals, rode a tractor, rode a bicycle, danced, sang, put on costumes and silly hats, organized, put away, took out. Thank you Mr. Bell for the gift of the children even when they are not physically with me. Thanks Tiff for such precious gifts. Thank God for giving Mr. Bell and Tiff the dispositions/abilities for their achievements.
Please excuse me now. I have to run and plug in my phone! We've been so busy and I don't want to miss a minute!
HOWEVER:
One morning, Tess phoned giggling. "Meme!" (pronounced may may) "I have to make these kids (her brothers ages 8 and 5) breakfast! Mommy is still upstairs doing stuff and the boys are hungry. I'm making cereal!" So, seven year old Tess and I via the snappy phone wires (or cordless phone) made and ate breakfast with the boys. When Tiff came downstairs, we had a cup of coffee and planned our day(s). Later, Todd and I rode his scooter and discussed the malfunction of the rear, 360 degree wheel. Ah-ha! God bless cell phones! During one of the first nights in their new home, Tess phoned. "Meme, I'm scared." After learning that Tanner (youngest-5) was with her in her room, I suggested that they snuggle with their blankets and we would have a pajama party until we fell asleep. Tanner fell asleep first. Tess yawned and after an hour of our "party", she drifted off to sleep. I kept the connection open "just in case" she woke up. Late into the night, while Tiff did her "rounds", she found the phone glowing on Tess' bed. "Hello?" "Hi Tiff! Tess, Tanner and I had a pajama party!" She laughed, hung up and blessed the day that the phones became cordless. The next morning, Tess wrote my number on papers for both boys to keep.
During the following night, my phone rang. "Meme! There's a noise in my closet!" Todd was whispering into the phone. "Well Todd, let's tell silly stories and make up songs!" That is about the best that a mature grandparent can do. Well, at least this one. So, into the evening, we sillied and sillied!
Tess was lonely and missed me one evening. She phoned rather sadly. "Tess," I said, choking back tears myself, "we are together now, we are under the same sky and stars!" (Sounds like "American Tale") "Remember the kisses that I left in your hands the last time that I saw you?" Tess sighed, "Yes, Meme." I instructed, "Open your hands and put them all over your face! Let them tickle your neck!" Tess giggled and we hung up.
Now, God really had it going on when He moved the heavens for the creation of Cell Phones! One afternoon, Tanner phoned and asked if I wanted to take a ride on his tractor (Pedal powered, John Deere). I said that I would love to ride with him and asked if he's a good driver. He assured me that he could drive like the best of all drivers. So, we took off! We raced down the driveway. "Tanner! Slow down!" He laughed and went faster! We chugged up the driveway. We then went down even faster and dodged some sticks on the way back up. On the next ride down the driveway, Tanner pointed out some beautiful flowers and falling leaves. We swerved around a rock on the next ride back up. For at least an hour, Tanner and I rode the pedal tractor and chit-chatted about the adventure! He began Kindergarten two days after the older two. So, Tiff, walked Tanner (still driving his tractor) and I (windblown and breathless after such fast riding) down the driveway to meet his brother and sister as they disembarked from their school bus. I walked up the driveway from the bus, slowly feeling the weight of Todd's backpack and listening to his explanation of the difficulty and depth of the third grade. The discomfort of the backpack vanished as I completed the walk up the driveway listening to Tess describe her new classmates and certain expectations of second grade. Oh, and, she had a new best friend already!
One afternoon, Tess and I sorted hair ribbons and assorted ornaments for her hair vial the cordless. Later, Tanner played some music for me while he explained some dance moves. We danced together until dinner. Todd needed a television companion one evening. Tiff had heard enough about super heroes. She finally tossed the phone to Todd and said, "Here, Meme loves that show!" We watched the good guys win on some program or other and I do know to stay away from "Serpentine"! Tess and I studied for a spelling test last week. "Mud", "mad" and "an" required a little more concentration. We did very well though and scored 100%!
Last night, Tess and Tanner were asleep. Tiff, getting ready for bed, gave Todd the phone in case he wanted to say Good Night to Meme. He phoned! We discussed his birthday party invitations that I had bought and wrote for him. I assured him that I would bring them to his birthday dinner today. We they acquired "Fire Cat" as a pet for "Wizards 101". Well into the night, we talked while we played the game. Suddenly, I realized that it was midnight! "Todd! You aren't eight years old anymore! Happy Birthday nine year old!" Nine years ago, I greeted an adorable little blue eyed baby. Miles and miles and years later, I was the first to usher in another year with him! After Mass, He took me for a ride on his new bicycle (birthday gift from Mom) before we met for his birthday dinner.
The four of us, in spite of the distance, have played, laughed, studied, watched television, prepared meals, rode a tractor, rode a bicycle, danced, sang, put on costumes and silly hats, organized, put away, took out. Thank you Mr. Bell for the gift of the children even when they are not physically with me. Thanks Tiff for such precious gifts. Thank God for giving Mr. Bell and Tiff the dispositions/abilities for their achievements.
Please excuse me now. I have to run and plug in my phone! We've been so busy and I don't want to miss a minute!
Friday, August 10, 2012
Hi! HOW ARE YOU (OR STRANGER NO MORE!)
I lived in the same town for at least forty years before moving to Ohio (another story, blame Tiffany). My family is one of the original, founding families of our Parish. I went to school, went to church in the same school and church that my children, my sister, my niece and nephew all attended. The State University, from which I graduated, is also in Wayne, New Jersey. I returned to the High School to teach Art for a while!
Over the years, as you can imagine, everyone knows/knew everyone. When starving for company or information, to flaunt a new outfit or hair-do, to see and be seen, everybody who was anyone and all of the somebody want to be's found their way to the "A & P Shopping Center" on the corner of Valley Road and Preakness Avenue. For instance, the owner of the Liquor Store knew how my seasonal wreath business was going because I would send my Father to the Hardware Store to ship form that establishment. The Pharmacist knew that I was on the way to the hospital to have Tiffany before our Parish Priest, because, Steve told the clerk in the A & P when he ran in for a pack of cigarettes while I waited in the car uncomfortably. The owner of the Barber Shop could advise troubled marriages and the Shoemaker was an expert on raising children (also, his prices were better if one brought him a cup of black coffee on hangover mornings with their ailing shoes). The Sweet Shoppe was info central for all generations. The founding fathers of Wayne and the local politicians had a table in the back where they congregated every morning. High School students who were not supposed to be "out" for lunch could depend on the waitress, Joyce, not to "rat" them out when the Principal would occasionally (rare) stroll across Valley Road to "check". When in doubt, you could always find company for a cup of coffee in Dunkin' Donuts. What you didn't learn from the aisles in the A & P, you heard there! The Post Office regulars only had to enter the government establishment and they were informed as to whether they should even bother with their mail that day or not. The hair salon may have used "spoolies", but the older citizens flocked there. At the Fun and Fashion Boutique, the proprietor knew my taste and weaknesses. It would take a split second for me to walk out of there with arms loaded with overflowing shopping bags. By the time the items were in the car, my mother would be waiting for me in my driveway to see my purchases because at least five friends had seen me! I taught the Florist's daughter how to twirl a baton when I coached the PAL Twirlers. The Realtor's son went to school with me and taught my son Karate. I taught many of Wayne's Catholic children their prayers as a teacher in the Religious Ed. program. Eventually, even my son taught the Junior High School Age of Religious Ed. students. Former students would help me load groceries into my car and help me get my children situated after shopping. One of them was from a family who was not only active in our Parish, but was a former Art student of mine. His family owned/owns Valley Amusements (carnival rides and attractions). I ran into the clan and their wares at the Ohio State Fair one year, by the way. There was never a "quick trip" to the , shall we say, Town Square. Allow, perhaps thirty minutes for actual business and at least an hour meeting, greeting, chatting, confiding, sympathizing and solving. When I go home to visit, if we drive, we stop at the shopping center on the way to my Parents' house. By the time I get home, my Mother already knows what I am wearing. If I fly into Newark Airport, the designated "pick up Laura" person cruises through the A & P parking lot, "just in case". It has been said that Wayne is the biggest small town in the world.
AND SO
For the past ten years, I have lived in Ohio. I have considered myself "the new kid on the block" and a "stranger in a strange land". Unless the trio is with me (Todd, Tess, Tanner...many other stories), I basically move around in my own bubble of anonymity. Without them, I have shopped alone, worshipped alone, found my way to salons, spas...alone. Of course, through the Church, Patriotic organizations and the TV Studio, I am not totally isolated. There are social affairs, interactions and the like. However, but for the most part, I feel invisible, quiet. (Okay, over the top?) How quiet can one feel with 8,7,5 year olds around 24/7?
AND THEN
Last week, I had an appointment with Dr. Thuney for some routine blood work. As I entered the office, there sat Dennis. "Hey! Kiddo, what are ya doin' here?" I was shocked. I ran into someone who knew me and I him! We sat and made medical small talk until I was asked to go with a nurse.
From the Doctor's office, I went to daily Mass at noon. After Mass, a woman approached me and said, "Laura! How is Todd's tennis game? I'll bet Tanner is getting so big! Is Tess still dancing?" Kim used to be the baby sitter at the Tennis Club! We had a fifteen minute catch-up chat fest!
From the Church, I ran into the Library to pick up/drop off books. A resident at my apartment complex recognized me! He asked about my bulldozer (yet another story...Villager, you know it) and what I was reading!
I had to make a stop at the Post Office. As I was leaving, there, in line stood Helga! We talked about her son's wedding, her new great-grandchild and one on the way! She was on her way to visit another granddaughter for a birthday! And so the conversation went until someone approached the line. Rick said, "Hey Laura! Hey Helga! What are ya'll don' here? Judy sent me to..." Oh, my gosh! I was conversing with "friends" that I just happened to see at random,! Wow!
As I left the Post Office, a friend phoned. "Hey, kid, what are you doing? Brit (his granddaughter) is visiting from Florida and I thought that you could meet us at Friendly's." With wings on my jalopy, I flew to Friendly's - right down the street. After I slid into the booth, our waitress, Ginger said, "Hi there! I haven't seen you at the Post (VFW) forever! What have you been up to? How is your daughter?"
As I entered my home, after a full, social day, I was elated! The phone rang. It was Suzanne. "You know that Jim and I are getting married in October. Can I count on you to..."
I am not "the new kid on the block" anymore. I am not a "stranger in a strange land" anymore. I see and am seen. I meet and greet everywhere I turn suddenly!
I just can't wait until September when I am going home again to tell everyone at the A & P Shopping Center!
Over the years, as you can imagine, everyone knows/knew everyone. When starving for company or information, to flaunt a new outfit or hair-do, to see and be seen, everybody who was anyone and all of the somebody want to be's found their way to the "A & P Shopping Center" on the corner of Valley Road and Preakness Avenue. For instance, the owner of the Liquor Store knew how my seasonal wreath business was going because I would send my Father to the Hardware Store to ship form that establishment. The Pharmacist knew that I was on the way to the hospital to have Tiffany before our Parish Priest, because, Steve told the clerk in the A & P when he ran in for a pack of cigarettes while I waited in the car uncomfortably. The owner of the Barber Shop could advise troubled marriages and the Shoemaker was an expert on raising children (also, his prices were better if one brought him a cup of black coffee on hangover mornings with their ailing shoes). The Sweet Shoppe was info central for all generations. The founding fathers of Wayne and the local politicians had a table in the back where they congregated every morning. High School students who were not supposed to be "out" for lunch could depend on the waitress, Joyce, not to "rat" them out when the Principal would occasionally (rare) stroll across Valley Road to "check". When in doubt, you could always find company for a cup of coffee in Dunkin' Donuts. What you didn't learn from the aisles in the A & P, you heard there! The Post Office regulars only had to enter the government establishment and they were informed as to whether they should even bother with their mail that day or not. The hair salon may have used "spoolies", but the older citizens flocked there. At the Fun and Fashion Boutique, the proprietor knew my taste and weaknesses. It would take a split second for me to walk out of there with arms loaded with overflowing shopping bags. By the time the items were in the car, my mother would be waiting for me in my driveway to see my purchases because at least five friends had seen me! I taught the Florist's daughter how to twirl a baton when I coached the PAL Twirlers. The Realtor's son went to school with me and taught my son Karate. I taught many of Wayne's Catholic children their prayers as a teacher in the Religious Ed. program. Eventually, even my son taught the Junior High School Age of Religious Ed. students. Former students would help me load groceries into my car and help me get my children situated after shopping. One of them was from a family who was not only active in our Parish, but was a former Art student of mine. His family owned/owns Valley Amusements (carnival rides and attractions). I ran into the clan and their wares at the Ohio State Fair one year, by the way. There was never a "quick trip" to the , shall we say, Town Square. Allow, perhaps thirty minutes for actual business and at least an hour meeting, greeting, chatting, confiding, sympathizing and solving. When I go home to visit, if we drive, we stop at the shopping center on the way to my Parents' house. By the time I get home, my Mother already knows what I am wearing. If I fly into Newark Airport, the designated "pick up Laura" person cruises through the A & P parking lot, "just in case". It has been said that Wayne is the biggest small town in the world.
AND SO
For the past ten years, I have lived in Ohio. I have considered myself "the new kid on the block" and a "stranger in a strange land". Unless the trio is with me (Todd, Tess, Tanner...many other stories), I basically move around in my own bubble of anonymity. Without them, I have shopped alone, worshipped alone, found my way to salons, spas...alone. Of course, through the Church, Patriotic organizations and the TV Studio, I am not totally isolated. There are social affairs, interactions and the like. However, but for the most part, I feel invisible, quiet. (Okay, over the top?) How quiet can one feel with 8,7,5 year olds around 24/7?
AND THEN
Last week, I had an appointment with Dr. Thuney for some routine blood work. As I entered the office, there sat Dennis. "Hey! Kiddo, what are ya doin' here?" I was shocked. I ran into someone who knew me and I him! We sat and made medical small talk until I was asked to go with a nurse.
From the Doctor's office, I went to daily Mass at noon. After Mass, a woman approached me and said, "Laura! How is Todd's tennis game? I'll bet Tanner is getting so big! Is Tess still dancing?" Kim used to be the baby sitter at the Tennis Club! We had a fifteen minute catch-up chat fest!
From the Church, I ran into the Library to pick up/drop off books. A resident at my apartment complex recognized me! He asked about my bulldozer (yet another story...Villager, you know it) and what I was reading!
I had to make a stop at the Post Office. As I was leaving, there, in line stood Helga! We talked about her son's wedding, her new great-grandchild and one on the way! She was on her way to visit another granddaughter for a birthday! And so the conversation went until someone approached the line. Rick said, "Hey Laura! Hey Helga! What are ya'll don' here? Judy sent me to..." Oh, my gosh! I was conversing with "friends" that I just happened to see at random,! Wow!
As I left the Post Office, a friend phoned. "Hey, kid, what are you doing? Brit (his granddaughter) is visiting from Florida and I thought that you could meet us at Friendly's." With wings on my jalopy, I flew to Friendly's - right down the street. After I slid into the booth, our waitress, Ginger said, "Hi there! I haven't seen you at the Post (VFW) forever! What have you been up to? How is your daughter?"
As I entered my home, after a full, social day, I was elated! The phone rang. It was Suzanne. "You know that Jim and I are getting married in October. Can I count on you to..."
I am not "the new kid on the block" anymore. I am not a "stranger in a strange land" anymore. I see and am seen. I meet and greet everywhere I turn suddenly!
I just can't wait until September when I am going home again to tell everyone at the A & P Shopping Center!
Thursday, July 26, 2012
BORN TO BE WILD...(Not so much)
I was checking out my nifty computer earlier today. I checked e-mails, Face book, horoscopes, library lists, map quest, the Ohio State Fair. Nothing was extraordinary, really. I tweeted,I posted, I chatted, I Linked-In. I responded to funnies, nasty-grams. I wept when I brought up my banking screen. Ah, business as usual. And then...two invitations struck me...right in my Cyber-Space.
"Poker Run on Saturday. Breakfast at Am Vets at 10. Ride for Disabled Veterans, dinner and music, dancing at post afterwards. Come join the fun!"
NOT A SHOT!!!! 1,000,000 MILES ON A BIKE? I LOVE VETERANS, BUT, CAN I EAT AND WALK?
AND
"Ride for the best Bologna Sandwiches in Ohio...meet behind Dot's Market. 100 miles...Worth it!"
NOT A SHOT!!!! 100 MILES FOR A SANDWICH ON THE BACK OF A 'BIKE"? OUCH!!!
God love my friend! Let me back up...
One lonely evening, about three, maybe four years ago, I was sitting in our local Am Vets establishment. I had been making jokes, riddles and funny stories with a friend, who happened to be a "Rider". (He portrayed Darla Darling's (ME) motorcycle riding husband. In one episode, I did take a short ride on the back of the bike with a plant...don't ask). Those are the Veterans with time and buckets of cash to ride Harley-Davidson Motorcycles. Am Vets has "Riders" I am a member of the Auxiliary, by the way, but that is so not what I am writing about! Scot's friend, "Rags" walked in. I froze! I mean that fear overcame me! There stood a 6'3" leather clad, lean, imposing man! Black boots, black leather everything except for his rugged features! Tall, silent, strong. The weenie in me trembled as what was left of my arms and legs melted like warm Jell-O. He sort of glanced my way. The smarty pants, quick mouthed, fast wit ME was struck dumb! We all left at about the same time. Scot a.k.a. "Shooter" and "Rags" left at about the same time that I did. There in the parking lot, not far from my little white car stood two huge Harley-Davidson Motorcycles. EEEEEKS.
Fast forward, time passed. About two years ago, I went to a fund raiser "Hair For Kids" at Am Vets. The trio had participated in a bowling afternoon to contribute funds for wigs for Children Cancer Patients. After raffles, dinner, the children went home with my daughter. "Rags" was there! He had on a designer shirt, nice pants, real shoes! No bandanna, but smart hair cut! Rugged, handsome. Hmmmmm. He was speaking with other "Riders" about real subjects. He conversed about theatre, a CLIO Award, his career, etc. Then the music started! This man could dance!!!! I mean, I hadn't met a dancer like him since my Cousin John and Billy (dance contest partner...mentioned a number of blogs ago). So, he asked me to dance! Oh, but yes!!!! That man could move and never stop! I asked him where he learned to dance like he did (picturing stomping in biker boots). I learned that with about 1,000,000 older sisters, at least that many Bar Mitzvahs, he hadn't a choice but to learn to dance and to learn well!
He had made a comment that if he knew that I needed television cameras to get on a "Bike", he would have signed up for DARLA, years ago! So, we arranged to "go riding" on the following Tuesday. I had taken a spin with "Dan Darling" when we took "La Petite" (our plant) for a ride (comedy show, don't ask). So, this may not be a bad "thing". I stressed about what to wear. Suzanne ( a go-to sort who knows many things and is helpful friend) and I came up with an outfit. I was ready on time (miraculously). We rode gently to what I thought was a rustic, quaint restaurant. (It turns out that it was a Biker Bar...who knew?). The spring and summer were passing! I was invited to participate in a Poker Run (I told Mom that it was a fundraiser for Veterans like a progressive dinner...not on the back of a motorcycle). We rode on motorcycles in a group to various VFW and AMVET posts, wound up miles and miles later with sore bums and starving for dinner. I was told that I was a "natural". It was easy to have me on the back of a "Bike" and so it went.
I was no longer afraid of "Rags", but, I still had a lot of respect for two wheels and a motor on real roads. Okay, I was a little frightened. Scratch that...I was scared, but I could hold on like no body's business! I wore out two sets of Rosary Beads at about that time, as well.
AND THEN
"Hey, Laura! Do you want to see the moving Vietnam Wall? It will be in Sydney this weekend!" Now kids, get this...Sydney is at least a 1 1/2 hour ride by highway. I specifically wouldn't/won't ride a motorcycle on a highway...so, how far? " We'll (Riders & all Vietnam Veterans), have breakfast, ride up, see the wall, spend the day, have dinner later..." Note to self; NEVER, EVER respond as I did again: "Oh, sure! I'll go to early Mass and quickly change before breakfast! Sounds great!" NOT!
That morning, I went to Mass. I hustled to secure my hair, put on a new Biker get up (he used to own a biker store in Florida after winning CLIO, etc), smartly rode about four inches on the Harley for breakfast with the Riders. Ah-ha. Official "road captains" led the formation to the Wall...well, actually, we rode back roads for an hour or so. We rode, attentive to "captains". We rode, backtracked, rode, circled, detoured and after two hours, were officially lost! After stopping at a tiny country store, we learned that we were really lost! Beyond lost...I mean LOST! The only remedy...Interstate Highway 75 North! A highway!!!!! Oh no! Oh no, no,no!!!
We climbed on the Motorcycles. The "Riders" revved their engines. One by one, the Bikes took off. Rags glanced over his shoulder..."I'm sorry kid! You'll be fine. Hold on. Ready?" Off we went! I proceeded to hold on so tightly around his body that I am surprised that he didn't suffer cracked ribs. I am surprised that he could breathe at all. For twenty minutes, we drove up the highway. For twenty minutes, I held on so tightly that my arms were numb! I choked back tears. I prayed as if the local Monastery needed Religious Education.
We arrived at the field of the Wall. One by one, the Riders parked their bikes in a perfect line. Reverently, the Riders removed their bandannas. Silently, they processed to the Wall. Citizens began thanking the men for their service. A murmur could be heard telling stories of loved ones. Rags was swept up in the moment, the emotions, the loss, a different time and place. The men practically held hands as they approached the Wall.
Rather shakily they processed. Rather shakily, I, after I dismounted from the Harley, took a breath. Rather shakily, I took in my surroundings. I broke into a run, found a remote tree...I cried and deposited my breakfast, my dinner from the evening before, and I believe that I was there for so long, I deposited the first Zwieback teething cookie that I ever gummed!
I was bundled and returned via backroads to civilization. We are tremendous friends and he has saved me from myself countless times. However, when he does...we use his truck. Four wheels, seats with backs. Air conditioning. Seat belts. A rugged, cool man knows that I have to ride in a Weenie-mobile...well, at least my seat.
Face it...I was just not BORN TO BE WILD.
"Poker Run on Saturday. Breakfast at Am Vets at 10. Ride for Disabled Veterans, dinner and music, dancing at post afterwards. Come join the fun!"
NOT A SHOT!!!! 1,000,000 MILES ON A BIKE? I LOVE VETERANS, BUT, CAN I EAT AND WALK?
AND
"Ride for the best Bologna Sandwiches in Ohio...meet behind Dot's Market. 100 miles...Worth it!"
NOT A SHOT!!!! 100 MILES FOR A SANDWICH ON THE BACK OF A 'BIKE"? OUCH!!!
God love my friend! Let me back up...
One lonely evening, about three, maybe four years ago, I was sitting in our local Am Vets establishment. I had been making jokes, riddles and funny stories with a friend, who happened to be a "Rider". (He portrayed Darla Darling's (ME) motorcycle riding husband. In one episode, I did take a short ride on the back of the bike with a plant...don't ask). Those are the Veterans with time and buckets of cash to ride Harley-Davidson Motorcycles. Am Vets has "Riders" I am a member of the Auxiliary, by the way, but that is so not what I am writing about! Scot's friend, "Rags" walked in. I froze! I mean that fear overcame me! There stood a 6'3" leather clad, lean, imposing man! Black boots, black leather everything except for his rugged features! Tall, silent, strong. The weenie in me trembled as what was left of my arms and legs melted like warm Jell-O. He sort of glanced my way. The smarty pants, quick mouthed, fast wit ME was struck dumb! We all left at about the same time. Scot a.k.a. "Shooter" and "Rags" left at about the same time that I did. There in the parking lot, not far from my little white car stood two huge Harley-Davidson Motorcycles. EEEEEKS.
Fast forward, time passed. About two years ago, I went to a fund raiser "Hair For Kids" at Am Vets. The trio had participated in a bowling afternoon to contribute funds for wigs for Children Cancer Patients. After raffles, dinner, the children went home with my daughter. "Rags" was there! He had on a designer shirt, nice pants, real shoes! No bandanna, but smart hair cut! Rugged, handsome. Hmmmmm. He was speaking with other "Riders" about real subjects. He conversed about theatre, a CLIO Award, his career, etc. Then the music started! This man could dance!!!! I mean, I hadn't met a dancer like him since my Cousin John and Billy (dance contest partner...mentioned a number of blogs ago). So, he asked me to dance! Oh, but yes!!!! That man could move and never stop! I asked him where he learned to dance like he did (picturing stomping in biker boots). I learned that with about 1,000,000 older sisters, at least that many Bar Mitzvahs, he hadn't a choice but to learn to dance and to learn well!
He had made a comment that if he knew that I needed television cameras to get on a "Bike", he would have signed up for DARLA, years ago! So, we arranged to "go riding" on the following Tuesday. I had taken a spin with "Dan Darling" when we took "La Petite" (our plant) for a ride (comedy show, don't ask). So, this may not be a bad "thing". I stressed about what to wear. Suzanne ( a go-to sort who knows many things and is helpful friend) and I came up with an outfit. I was ready on time (miraculously). We rode gently to what I thought was a rustic, quaint restaurant. (It turns out that it was a Biker Bar...who knew?). The spring and summer were passing! I was invited to participate in a Poker Run (I told Mom that it was a fundraiser for Veterans like a progressive dinner...not on the back of a motorcycle). We rode on motorcycles in a group to various VFW and AMVET posts, wound up miles and miles later with sore bums and starving for dinner. I was told that I was a "natural". It was easy to have me on the back of a "Bike" and so it went.
I was no longer afraid of "Rags", but, I still had a lot of respect for two wheels and a motor on real roads. Okay, I was a little frightened. Scratch that...I was scared, but I could hold on like no body's business! I wore out two sets of Rosary Beads at about that time, as well.
AND THEN
"Hey, Laura! Do you want to see the moving Vietnam Wall? It will be in Sydney this weekend!" Now kids, get this...Sydney is at least a 1 1/2 hour ride by highway. I specifically wouldn't/won't ride a motorcycle on a highway...so, how far? " We'll (Riders & all Vietnam Veterans), have breakfast, ride up, see the wall, spend the day, have dinner later..." Note to self; NEVER, EVER respond as I did again: "Oh, sure! I'll go to early Mass and quickly change before breakfast! Sounds great!" NOT!
That morning, I went to Mass. I hustled to secure my hair, put on a new Biker get up (he used to own a biker store in Florida after winning CLIO, etc), smartly rode about four inches on the Harley for breakfast with the Riders. Ah-ha. Official "road captains" led the formation to the Wall...well, actually, we rode back roads for an hour or so. We rode, attentive to "captains". We rode, backtracked, rode, circled, detoured and after two hours, were officially lost! After stopping at a tiny country store, we learned that we were really lost! Beyond lost...I mean LOST! The only remedy...Interstate Highway 75 North! A highway!!!!! Oh no! Oh no, no,no!!!
We climbed on the Motorcycles. The "Riders" revved their engines. One by one, the Bikes took off. Rags glanced over his shoulder..."I'm sorry kid! You'll be fine. Hold on. Ready?" Off we went! I proceeded to hold on so tightly around his body that I am surprised that he didn't suffer cracked ribs. I am surprised that he could breathe at all. For twenty minutes, we drove up the highway. For twenty minutes, I held on so tightly that my arms were numb! I choked back tears. I prayed as if the local Monastery needed Religious Education.
We arrived at the field of the Wall. One by one, the Riders parked their bikes in a perfect line. Reverently, the Riders removed their bandannas. Silently, they processed to the Wall. Citizens began thanking the men for their service. A murmur could be heard telling stories of loved ones. Rags was swept up in the moment, the emotions, the loss, a different time and place. The men practically held hands as they approached the Wall.
Rather shakily they processed. Rather shakily, I, after I dismounted from the Harley, took a breath. Rather shakily, I took in my surroundings. I broke into a run, found a remote tree...I cried and deposited my breakfast, my dinner from the evening before, and I believe that I was there for so long, I deposited the first Zwieback teething cookie that I ever gummed!
I was bundled and returned via backroads to civilization. We are tremendous friends and he has saved me from myself countless times. However, when he does...we use his truck. Four wheels, seats with backs. Air conditioning. Seat belts. A rugged, cool man knows that I have to ride in a Weenie-mobile...well, at least my seat.
Face it...I was just not BORN TO BE WILD.
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