Tucked Away!

Trying to quiet my over active mind last night was somewhat of a complete failure or lack of discipline on my part.  How can I expect anyone to listen to me, if I won't even listen?  Moments of restlessness seemed to continue into the wee hours of the early morning with every breath and other movement within and out of my domain, seemingly amplified.  Yet despite all this mind commotion, some great inspirations appeared if only briefly.  Some returned to intertwine with others making absolutely no sense, yet strangely and rather meekly I admit, I totally get that!

Christmas 2011, now just a memory, has been tucked away in that special place and all that remains are the trimmings.  Working into the wee hours late last night, I was weary.  Walking my last lap around the location, making sure all was done and snugly tucked in for the night, I began the nightly ritual of powering down the brain.  Not an easy process, a mutiny in progress, rogue brain cells rush forward, resisting all efforts on my part to lay to rest the day's conversations, activities, feeding frenzies and any unsolved circumstances that hopefully will not result in "multiplication complication!"

The forty eight hours leading up to the actual holiday somehow seemed more peaceful.  Reflecting on the events of the past year, I feel a sense of accomplishment but the unsettled brain resists.  Living alone for many years, my grandmother would often talk to herself. When questioned about this habit, she seemed surprised, "doesn't everyone?" How could one small, seemingly preoccupied elderly woman's question have had such an impact on my life? Occasionally, throughout my adult life, that conversation with Memere, travelling at warp speed from the far away galaxies that criss-cross my sub conscious being, bursts forward, leaving no time for "beam me up Scotty" or "shields up!" 

Trans-Siberian Orchestra's  "Christmas Eve/ Sarajevo" at full volume, windows open, seventy-five tropical degrees and a matching speedometer at two in the morning, are my solitary Christmas tradition.  The simplistic nature of the Christmas season, with glitz and glitter removed, beckons tradition.  As my children read their Christmas messages, my hand carefully outlines the small gold locket that my mother cherished.  Two very old and worn pictures live within this tiny heart shaped pendant, yet pry open this delicate case and the memories that spill from within are endless. For the next year, I will have the luxury of this precious treasure chest of a lifetime in my grasp.  Mom and Dad have made their annual trip between their two daughters, a tradition my sister and I cherish.

As for Memere,"thank you", I get it.  Perhaps a talk with the "evil twin" brain would help, it can't hurt.  I don't recall my grandmother ever answering her imaginary visitors, but as the drive home with my Trans-Siberian friends reaches it's final destination, I understand that small unassuming elderly lady.  Ever the politician, she answered a question with a question, she was never lonely.  Do I believe some traits are a learned behavior? Absolutely, do you?  



   

Bountiful Pleasure!

"Do I miss snow?"  No! As Arctic air marches southward, the northern climates now stark, frozen and tucked neatly into their beds of sweet and cozy winter time dreams, I will explore the land of a "southern winter."  Yesterday's visit to the local Farmer's Market, yields a bounty of winter produce that beckons all to begin their New Year's resolution of healthier lifestyle prematurely. The luscious vibrantly colored fruits and vegetables are most definitely a feast of mesmerizing proportions for the senses. Ruby Red grapefruits, enormous in size with a delightfully sweet taste, will not only tingle but refresh the palette. One can see the patron "tapping" melons, sampling all the vendors products which they cheerfully share, while everyone seems to be breathing in the freshness of the multitude of aromas present.  Even fresh baked breads are available, local honey, roasted peanuts and nuts, of all types, making their annual holiday appearance.  These weekly bounties will be available throughout the winter and spring months in the land of the sun!  When super hot tropical days reappear, these markets, although smaller, still yield a plentiful harvest of goodness.

Did I mention, the first crop of sweetness is now available from this strawberry mecca in central Florida. Just in time for the holiday season and without a frost in sight, these berries are now being harvested in gigantic proportions and are ready to dazzle the holiday tables! Yesterday's purchase, already fifty percent consumed, were just the perfect touch of "dessert" and instant energy for a round of afternoon golf!  As the new year rolls in, the harvesting  revs up, continuing through much of February, depending on weather!

Everything citrus, also in full swing, creating hues of golds, oranges and greens, a great visual delight as well.  On a cool morning we can smell the oranges being processed for juice, even through the processing plant is about ten miles away.  In another month, when the trees have been striped of their bounty, the delicate and heavenly aromatic smells of orange blossoms returns.  So easy to understand the craziness of the honey bees pollinating the massive groves covering the landscape of central Florida. Orange blossoms are almost overpowering, yet the senses seem to yearn for more!

Although tomatoes are plentiful, more red than Santa's suit or the rosy cheeks of child playing in the cold snowy climates, the taste is good, but the acidic soils of New England produce a far better tasting product.  Once you've eaten a homegrown Connecticut tomato, nothing else will do!  So some things are missed but as I downed the second ear of Silver Queen corn, I allowed my thoughts to re-group, re-assess that thought and come to a definite conclusion; family and friends are missed, food, not so much and cold and snow,NEVER!

 

'Tis the Reasons

 Christmas cards have been arriving here in "paradise". The neighborhood is alive with thousands of holiday lights.  Sweet strains of Christmas music can be heard throughout the region.  Here in the land of the sun, folks love to share their holiday music, setting up speaker systems for all to enjoy.  Every radio station alive with Christmas tunes.  Along with the standard carols, I have been introduced to many new ones or at least new to my ears.  Perhaps in the hustle and bustle of past holidays I never really listened, but my quiet time drives to and from the most magical place on earth allow, for just such an experience to happen.

Southern people and many of our midwestern and northerners from the mid section of the country now live here. As people theyare very outspoken about the true meaning of the Christmas season.  Although they too get caught up in brouhaha of shopping, their yards and homes decorated with everything glittery, the true nature of the season, their enormous committments to spirituality and Christianity is most evident.  Statues of baby animals protecting the newborn child's manger, lights depicting the journey of the three wiseman, all nestled in amongst the smaller palm trees, tastful adorned with thousands of small white lights, are all the evidence needed to understand "tis the reason for the season!" With distant strains of "Mary did you know?" or "Breath of Heaven" you quickly realize, they get it.  Many small churches in are area host Chritmas plays, live Nativity scenes and open their doors for all to enjoy these annual celebrations.  They are passionate in their beliefs,  their willingness to act upon those beliefs and "educate", is relentless.

As a child, my devoted parents made sure the reason for Christmas celebration was known.  Visiting holiday nativity scenes and attending services were always a part of my upbringing as were Sunday school and attending weekly mass. Remembering midnight mass, thoughts of Christmas snow begin to creep in.  Many an early Christmas morning was greeted with a fresh sprinkling of snow.  Looking up into the heavens, the world asleep, watching each tiny intricate flake float to the ground, was truly exhilarating.  As the years have passed, I find, a warm clear and expansive southern sky filled with the brightest of stars, brings forth the same feelings, I am truly blessed to be able to experience both!

 My decisions to send my own children to Catholic school were based on teachings from my younger years.  On a recent trip to a local department store, I passed through the aisle with linens piled high.   One set of sheets, decorated with bold stripes, conjured up heartwarming memories of my kids, dressed as wiseman and shepards during their holiday school play. Smiling to myself as I remembered them running through the front door all excited, wide-eyed, jackets unzipped in freezing temperatures, "Mom, Mom I am a shepard in the school play, I told Sister you could make our costumes!" Outfitting two or three children perhaps but the entire "herd,"  so be it!   To this day Mom is thankful for: those little boys with their wholesome innocence that Mom could do anything, bold stripe sheets, uncut craggy jute cord and of course JANUARY WHITE SALES!     

"The Box"

While pulling out boxes of holiday decorations, that somehow seemed to be overshadowed by much larger heavier boxes, a lone box, sealed and simply marked books, seemed to appear out of nowhere.  I do not remember putting it on top of the boxes of fragile ornaments.  The only other person in this household looked like a deer in headlights when I questioned the origin of "the box." What seemed to be an uncomfortably long silence as our brains re-booted, was really a senior moment.  As the proverbial light bulb appeared as somewhat of an apparition, we both, as if on cue, reached to open "the box." Much like a child were tearing open his bounty from Santa, the big reveal about to take place, I make mention, "perhaps it is the other half of my food processor!" Sheer disgust is the best description I can conjure up in regards to the look I received from the Egg-Nazi.  As for myself, I would be pleased to find the other half of that small kitchen appliance, it was last seen in Orlando!  That being a totally different and untold story."What, what's wrong with wanting to find it?" I snap.  "Give it up, time to let go, that baby couldn't take the abuse from you and knew when it was time to sign off!" he sarcastically replies.

No jewels, no long lost valuables, no highly anticipated items or excitement that we'd found something we had misplaced, proper labeling said it all, "BOOKS."  After the big letdown, I noticed a few older magazines at the very bottom.  Most of the ads on the perfectly preserved glossy pages, did not have web addresses and coupons were outdated by ten years.  In the spirit of the season, they were holiday magazines.  I must of kept them for the cookie recipes, one can never have enough cookie recipes.  As I browsed through the pages, paying particular attention to some of the ingredients, familiarity seemed to be jumping from page to page.  Different colors of sugar now, a few added shapes, pistachios instead of peanuts, espresso instead of coffee crystals,  penuche instead of dark chocolate, which is soooooo much better for you and there you have it, a new and improved magazine of  holiday baking.  Change the decor, plates, kids helping with the baking, update the packaging, add re-cycled containers, a mug shot of Martha, Stewart that is and we are ready to go for 2011.  Oops, forgot the www.something to order everything shown and this year's magazine is good to go.

As for the do-it-yourself treasure chest of holiday crafts, the pages screamed of, oh dear God forgive me, senior center crafts!  Angels made from plastic dish soap containers, pipe-cleaner snowmen and reindeer and.........my all-time favorite,  the doll pillow crocheted in holiday colors, "Golden Girls" revisited!  Understand my sarcasm, I have seen these articles for sale........NOW!  I'd like to think I have progressed farther than that.  I never understood why someone would cut a perfectly good dish towel in half, crochet a top to it and attach to your oven door. Couple of things I find quite bothersome......unless you have a wall oven, every time you open the oven door, the thing drags the floor, very sanitary don't you think?!  Can't use it as a means of protecting your hands when removing hot baking sheets of cookies, it's attached to the door! Alas, if the dishtowel is terry cloth and the top is crocheted with a yarn,  machine washing makes those irritating little white balls all over the yarn.  Now that I think about it the Egg-Nazi has a knack for doing that to the laundry as well!

Perhaps my New Year's resolution will be "bury the pack rat!"  In the depth's of our walk in closet there must be more unexplored boxes. I'd like to think that as follow through with my resolution,the better half of the food processor will make an appearance. Wishful thinking, perhaps!

Ready,Set, Go...the Holidays are Here!

Weather a bit chilly today but the brightness of the late autumn sun, just enough to warm the bones.  It is a pleasant change from the heat of this southern peninsula.  With the holiday season in full swing, cooler weather only accentuates the holiday moods.  Although I no longer enjoy temperatures lower than fifty-five degrees, the time frame from Thanksgiving through New Years, is the ONLY time it is tolerable. As Mr. Bill and friend Ward often joked, "this is also the feeding frenzy season!" Through the lips, on to the hips, says it all!  Their theory of bulking up for cold weather, just doesn't cut it!

Today's conversation with Ward reminded me, both him and Mr. Bill have just past their one year anniversary as cancer survivors. Ward announcing, "once you find out cancer has been found....you ARE a survivor."

 Last season Mr. Bill not too energetic, did not help haul out the holiday decorations, so I modified the display.  A complete turn around this year, he even decorated the remaining palms in the yard.  As we plugged in the outdoor pre-lit tree, our hopes of a hassle free lighting were dashed.  The middle section, "darker than a pocket!"  With amazing patience, the Egg-Nazi careful checked each bulb.  Unfortunately, the keeper of the lights did not shine fondly or brightly upon us.  For that matter they did not shine at all!  After a short and surprisingly calm discussion, it was decided we would remove all the pre-lit lights.  One would think it shouldn't be too time consuming, after all it wasn't "Made in America," so it should be pretty easy to destroy! Two hours later, a humongous pile of lights and wires, all no longer than three inches in length, lay before us.  What were we thinking?  Every Boy Scout trying to earn his badge on "knot tying," should learn this trade from the Chinese at the pre-lit Christmas tree factory!  Without rhyme or reason, knots that would put the most skilled sailor to shame, held these little lights in place.  My thought was, "no biggy, find the end knot, one pull and much like a chain stitch, it would unravel."  Silly woman, that would of been way to easy!

So tomorrow, I return to work, happy the season of thanks is upon us.  Yard decorated, the interior all gussied up, holiday baking just around the corner, I made a promise to Mr. Bill,  "any cookies baked, will be packaged and sent at once."  This was his wish..........last week, as he sat totally stuffed from the Thanksgiving feast.   By the look of surprise on his face, I surmise this wish was made while feeling the effects of a "turkey stupor!"  Once gone, any memory of that statement disappeared as well.  By New Years, he will be making resolutions to lose the extra tonnage....."we will see how that works out for him!"

Kailee, our Christmas Angel

Although for many the thoughts of a holiday season without snow and cold, "just ain't normal", I say to you a big pooh-pooh!  It is the time of year where the warmth of the heart seems to gush forward whether the landscape is green ( a holiday color) or frozen and in the midst of a long winter's sleep.  Daily newspapers now carry thought provoking and heartwarming stories of people who somehow have opened their hearts and homes for those less fortunate.  Holiday bazaars, Christmas symphonies, candlelight choirs, strolling musicians and bustling holiday shoppers set the happy and heartwarming atmosphere the season provides.  As a society, we somehow forget, not everyone feels the joy we've all come to expect.

Kailee is this child.  Not quite two years of age, she fights for her life,without a miracle, a battle she may soon loose.  Perhaps too young to understand, she clings to her parents,the family and friends who have dedicated their every breathing moment to her final days. Determined to "help" little Kailee, they have rallied, setting plans in motion to give her the happiest of holiday seasons before she is too weak to enjoy.  Watching, listening, laughing and crying, I too have felt helpless.  Although I really don't know Kailee, I am honored to know one of her most avid supporters.

Having a young family of her own, Lizzie feels helpless. Hers are a healthly brood, for which she is thankful.  Riding that emotional roller coaster, Lizzie and young son Jonah have visited Kailee often, forming an emotional bond that will, all too soon, be put to the test.  It is unlikely Kailee will survive the Christmas season.  How can one feel the joy and warmth of the season, when without rhyme or reason a young child will, all too soon, leave her earthly body?  Will Lizzie be able to explain that to Jonah?  Who will explain it Lizzie and the others who dedicate their lives to making Kailee's final days happy?  Ironic as it may seem, Kailee, too young to understand, may very well be the answer.  It will be her smile, her playfulness in the shadow of darkness, her touch as she cuddles close and the mountain of memories her parents, family and friends share.

We may always ask, WHY? For that there is no answer.  Enjoy what we have, what we can share and what others share with us. Be thankful for everything.  Throughout my day I always remind myself of how "lucky" I have been and most definitely, I never as WHY.  For me the answer is always WHY NOT!

As Kailee clings to life, we hope, we pray and we continue to make memories.  For her parents and the multitude of others she has touched, let the holiday season be joyful, filled with thanks and millions of Kailee stories.

Life is a Holiday

Something about the beginning of Thanksgiving week, that awakens, revs up and builds our sense of smell, taste and well being into a state of frenzy.  Although holiday decorations have long graced the department store shelves, this week begins the official holiday season.  But how do you have a season filled with crackling fireplaces, hot mulled cider, steaming mugs of hot chocolate, icicles. and dazzling displays of holiday lights, when the temperature is hovering close to eighty degrees?  Since presidential campaign season is also in full swing, answering a question with a question should make everyone feel right at home!  Have you ever seen  the trunk of a palm tree completely wrapped in miniature white lights, while it's majestic fronds sway in the soft evening breeze, outlined only by the stars and moonshine thats grace this heavenly tropical sky?  Many a nativity scene outlined by these same small lights are tucked beneath these stands of palms, a true reminder of the season.

Yet if it is colder temperatures and snowy landscapes you long for, one can visit the ice palace, a dazzling inside display of sub freezing temperatures that will accompany you on your stroll through this winter wonderland.  Here ice carvings, larger than life ice toys and playgrounds, all in the spirit of the holiday season come to life. One never has to worry the cold temperature will be too much, winter weather geer is provided!  A visit to this make-believe land of ice and snow will make you feel as though you are on top of the world at Santa's North Pole.

Back to Thanksgiving, a holiday that somehow has lost its true meaning.  As a child, the dazzling displays of the Christmas season began the day after Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving was a stand alone holiday, being thankful was the true meaning.  I'd like to believe for many it still is.  Yet I ask myself what am I thankful for?  Not wanting to be greedy but admitting to myself I am thankful for everything.  My faith, family, friends and health top my list, but the truth is, I am thankful for so much more.  We live in a world where everything is taken for granted and others not as fortunate as some.  I am thankful that I can see, hear and hopefully make a difference for those that cannot.  Everyday we are bombarded with the negativity of the world, the horrors of war and the greed that so quickly consumes.   I am thankful, my family intact, has not had to witness these horrors, but am confident myself and my children have the power to help those that cannot help themselves. Knowing that "help" does not always have to be in such grand proportions, it starts with small and meager steps.

In the faced paced world we now live in, Thanksgiving is the holiday tucked between the frightfully scary Halloween season and the shopping frenzy season of Christmas. For me the season of Thanksgiving isn't just one day.  As each day begins and I go about all that needs to be done, I am so thankfully aware I can be a participant in life, I can make a difference.  I do not need another holiday to make a resolution, being thankful is a mindset, life is a priviledge that I am thankfully aware of.    



    

Lost and Then, Found!

Crowds have waned, the usual hustle and bustle that fills the walkway is now eerily quiet, while shadows playfully dance on the massive stone and log walls.  As I walk towards the doorway, I am cheerfully greeted by two holiday wreaths standing guard on either side of the entry way.  Welcoming all into the fishing camp, the wreaths seem to breathe and ooze holiday spirit from every fresh bough and glistening ornament.  The enormous antlers nestled between the bristling greenery, rapidly release visions of a pleasingly plump jolly elf with his team of reindeer beginning their long journey through the clear cold and star guided Christmas Eve sky!    Perhaps we will hear the bells of the sleigh as they make a quick stop for the steaming mug of hot chocolate and the plate full of cookies that beckon.  Hopefully the reindeer remember those crisp juicey cold apple snacks, so rosey red and sweet, we put out just for them!

As I round the corner, gorgeous holiday decorations hanging from the Lodge's massive log beams, a perfectly decorated tree standing guard in the center of the Lodge, the fireplace flickering, rocking chairs now quietly still, resting from the earlier evening activities of holiday Guests enjoying the dancing flames while warming away the night time chill, a feeling of serenity and holiday happiness fill my spirit.  My day almost complete, just a few more pieces, the intricate ins and outs of my daily puzzle will all be in place. Funny how I look forward to these moments of solitude and quiet, yet thoroughly enjoy my full speed ahead approach of each new day.

Walking back to the fish camp, the soft glow of the lanterns wrapped in their holiday greens, help lead the way, but the shadows and the images they create on the walls and moisture laden windows, only add to the mystique and magic of this fairy tale place. Rounding the corner, at first look nothing seems unusual or out of place but at closer observation, I notice my quiet late night must of been visited by...........all that's left is one tiny shoe, sitting alone beneath my wreaths. Imagination, much like the flickering flames in the stone fireplace, has just had another log added!  As my mind roars to life, there are many things to ponder here!!!!  Why would one so tiny be out in the wee hours of the waning night time?  Was it a visitor from Mickey's Very Merry or is that one tiny shoe, a little blue and green Croc adorned with Mickey heads, all that is left?  Have thoughts of the North Pole, Santa and his reindeer, a bustling workshop of tiny elves scurrying to finish each special toy, transported my tiny friend to a new place and time, after all this is a magical place!  As I pick up the tiny shoe, it is obvious, it has just been left.  Placing it where it can be easily found, I am sure its owner will dearly miss it.  Perhaps much like the crumbs left in the fairy tale, it is a direction finder for its wee owner  upon his return to reality.

As the next day begins and I return to my fishing camp, I notice the tiny piece of apparel has disappeared, hmmmmm, did its owner retrieve it?  Questioning other inhabitants of the area, no one recalls seeing the tiny shoe, odd but perhaps true, it was lost and then found. As each small child visits this place, I find myself looking downward.  Time, approaching the magical hour, Guests returning to the Lodge, I notice a tired little boy snuggled asleep in his Dad's arms, his small feet adorned with the blue and green, Mickey head Crocs. As he stood beneath my massive wreaths, Dad must of realized I was watching, a broad smile lightened his face, a thumbs up and goodnight wave laid to rest my weary imagination, yet who knows......this is a Magical Place! 

Dare to Dream!

As a child my dreams always fascinated me. Having had a few of nightmares invade the usual fun and exciting world of imagination, I now wish I'd kept a journal of these events.  There were times I'd hurry to my room, turn off the lights and snuggle deeply into the soft, fresh scented sheets and blankets.  Nothing better than a pillow case that conjures up visions of the warm afternoon sun and fragrant springtime breeze.  Everything so fresh and new, tickling the senses, honeysuckle blooming, the many shades of greenery stretching skyward as they are being beckoned by the warmth of the late spring and early summer sun.  No wonder nightmares were few and far between!

My favorite dreams were usually about the vast expanses of our universe.  As a child space exploration, then just in its infancy, beckoned me. Somehow the thought of being able to travel to other planets overwhelmed my imagination.  Whether awake or asleep, I craved everything outer space.  Could I be an astronaut? Why not, I'd be the first female in outer space or so I thought. A sadly disappointing and abrupt awakening ended my adolescent space voyage dream, when in 1963, a Russian female cosmonaut by the name of Valentina Tereshkova was launched into space. My imaginary world of space travel driven from the heavens at the tender age of eleven!

It was a space program's debut in 1965 that once again lifted my spirits, enhancing my dream process nightly.  "Lost in Space", an all-time favorite of mine.  Even now when it appears on cable, I am driven to watch.  God love the robot with his "danger Will Robinson, danger!'  methodically  mechanical cry of doom, arms flailing in every direction. As years passed other thoughts of grandeur occupied my dreams, space exploration taking a back seat.  Although still fascinated and always reading anything concerning the universe, it was the voice of Carl Sagan on public television that "forced me" to sit for an hour and watch!  

Living in relatively close proximity to Cape Canaveral, I have been fortunate enough to visit, peering inside a space ship, allowing my imagination a "free ride".  Watching a number of launches, each one more breathless than the first, admitting to myself..... I should have pursued the dream!  On nights I leave work, long after the evening rush and the road is wide open, it seems to dissect the night sky as I head southwest towards home, I gaze upwards into the beauty of this Florida sky, so vast and unending.  I pick out familiar constellations,perhaps making a wish upon a falling star.  They seem so numerous yet each one, much like a snowflake, is strikingly different.  Where do they land, who else is making that special wish?  This world we live in, with solid surfaces beneath our feet. is where I am grounded, but my imagination is free to explore in it's outer most expanses, no boundaries, just questions waiting to be answered and explored!   

Have we learned?

So much media coverage about today's woman:  exactly who is she? Very much a unique person, she craves individuality. What is important to her? Her world, her accomplishments, her family, their happiness and her legacy.  Peace of heart and mind allowing important issues to be prioritized and acted upon. It is a feeling of self worth, so hard to define yet so simple.  All one needs to do is ask, "am I able to make a difference, have I made a difference?" In the vast expanses of our ever changing world, where there is violence, natural disasters, human suffering, negativity and self doubt, differences do not always have to be grand.  A simple smile, a caring gesture may lift the spirits of someone who has or is experiencing such "pain".  Regardless of age, today's woman craves knowledge, conversation and enlightenment.  She has learned from her mistakes and those of her predecessor.  She knows one must and she promises with such fervor, "I will not repeat what has caused me great pain, perhaps it has taken away from the precious few hours of life that we are given.

It was recently reported that today's woman will make approximately $750,000.00 less than her male counterpart over the course of her working years.  Staggering statistics, a stark reminder there is much work to be done.  Taking charge of our future, women continue to make a difference.  Perseverance will surely result in rewards, but the nagging question remains, "Is it all about money?" Women don't always travel the super highways, we stop to experience life, observe, share, and nurture others with a much bleaker future than just equal pay. Having the mindset, if you want something, only you can make it happen, we are the keepers of life, passing on the knowledge, hoping our children will be better off, their "world will be worth living in."  Martyrs, not a chance, it is the "nature of our beauty, as well as our beast." We get it!  In the face of change, we are the champions of change with a "can do" attitude.

 Moving past the money issue, the world population's carbon footprint continues to grow. Recently passing the seven billion milestone, what will it be in just another generation?  Our objective, nothing less than ensuring that our children will have that "world worth living in."

Diversity is key, with just over fifty percent of the world's population being female, our counterparts sometime approach with caution.  Can you blame them?  A group of outspoken women firing questions in rapid succession at one unprepared male, it is a recipe for disaster.  There is truth in John Gray's "Woman are from Venus, Men are from Mars." Moods of the female species are complex, numerous and double meaning.  Admittedly the male species has moods, hungry, horny and sleepy.  Comedian, writer, celebrity and animal activist, Elayne Boosler one said: When women are depressed they either eat or go shopping, men invade another country."   As I laughed at the thought, I was also consumed by sadness, ones perception of the opposite species should be individualistic at best. Personally, I hate to shop, while the over consumption of food makes me sleepy and my thought process slows to a crawl.  On the flip side men do invade other countries and should never tell their female counterparts to mid their own business. 

Having been the matriarch in a household dominated by males, the dog included in the count, has made my life so much sweeter.  Only now do I understands my Father's comment "I am outnumbered!" referring to his female dominated flock.  The men of my life are more caring, more open minded, more patient.  They get it!

As a whisper in the wind I am not one to rely on cliches.  Words of wisdom from my Grandmother, "wish in one hand, poop in the other", may have worked from the female generations before me but I prefer " you can't win if you don't play the game."  What I want may not be totally achieved in my lifetime yet woman have made great strides. There are more young men today who embrace life, listen, observe and much like their mothers, they are not afraid to voice their opinions yet accept those of others.  Slowly, the archaic "take my toys and go home" attitude is slipping into obscurity and the emotional roller coasters of their lives, much like mine are embraced, not something to be feared. It is these traits and the tenacious personalities of both women and men, that will truly lead to equality. 

 




 

 

Soul in my Work!

Passion is a powerful or compelling feeling, so when one asks, "are you passionate about your work?" I ponder a bit.  Perhaps the more appropriate question should be:  "What am I passionate about?" Simply stated, without letting my tangent personality get the upper hand, I am passionate about life.

At a recent gathering, opportunities to observe and truly listen to conversations, presented themselves.  Amid the chatter, laughter and the tiny but cautionary cries of a baby with an empty stomach, my mind presents me with a question I had contemplated many times but was always able to resist answering.  As I comforted the small infant, slowly rocking him back to sleep, I began descending into anoesis but for only a micro moment.  As if someone had painted a bold brazen scarlet letter upon my chest, the unanswered question that has been very much a thorn in my side, begins parading across my thoughts.  "Is there soul in my work?"

Baby milk now ready for consumption, I return my joyful, sweet smelling, wiggly worm little package to the arms of his waiting mom.  As I settle in for the opening of the wide array of gifts presented to the future Mr. and Mrs., my eyes scan the room.  The happy couple laughing, kissing, surrounded by all those who care deeply, savouring their moment.  It is their day, their gifts, thoughtfully chosen by those closest to them.  My eyes have captured, my brain is recording.  Jokingly I am leaning forward, resting my arms on a walker belonging to the Dad of the future bride.  Just released from the hospital, a tenaciously spirited man, there is a battle of survival raging within him.  Looking deep into his eyes, I see the love and pride for his daughter pouring forth, he, has "soul in his work!"  Daddy is hanging in there!  All around the happy couple, people are laughing, smiling, taking pictures.  Her attendants are....attending.  A break from tradition, she has chosen her closest friend, someone who has, for the last ten plus years, been with her and her family. Someone who seen her triumphs, has encouraged, poked and prodded her and her loved ones through dark times and the happiest of moments, her "Man of Honor." 

As I watch and enjoy the moments happening all around,  my eyes again fix themselves on her Dad. There is a softness in his glaze as he looks at each gift. Although he cannot easily move about, he too is capturing everything. Mom is helping deliver the gifts, Dad is proudly beaming.  As I try to invade his thoughts, he leans towards me."I want to tell you," he softly whispers, "he is the best, my daughter chose wisely, her Man of Honor.  He may be her best friend but he is the best friend everyone should have.  You did a good job Mom, you should be proud!"  As emotions swirled, a gentle calmness settled within, "Thank you,  he is a wonderful young man, with out a doubt I am proud!"  Allowing that warm calmness to invade, I realized, although I do not take myself seriously, I take life itself very seriously, I have been blessed.  There is soul in my work!    

Summer sun and Autumn colors

Pumpkins, gourds, vibrantly colorful mums and dried corn stalks, combined with the unseasonably cool crisp and dry weather, release a flurry of long buried memories.  The southern sunshine still warm, but its angle as it treks across the expanse of this never ending sky, is much lower, the arc smaller, the Autumn season is taking hold.


Before all creatures awaken and as they settle back down burrowing in for the cool nights, familiar scents float across the cool damp evenings, creating an eerie landscape.  Daylight hours warm the rapidly cooling soils and numerous lakes, but once sunshine falls below the horizon, heavy fog forms quickly, racing across the lowlands, creating eery shapes and capturing some of the most pleasing scents that bring back great childhood memories. The pungent smells of the wood burning stoves and campfires used to chase away the evening chill while family and friends gather round the smoking barbecue.  Southern tradition at its best.


Mother Nature's creatures and their human counterparts, hibernate for the summer months, the changing seasons find them emerging from their deep cool burrows and air conditioned homes, to reconnect with her.  As the summer monsoons wane, the cooler sun brings life to the parched grounds.  The multitude of green tropical plants are now being overtaken by the vibrant colors of the fall flowers.  Mums are everywhere with the colors of autumn, yet the delicate pinks, purples and reds of the petunias and other tender annuals are appearing.  They are in stark contrast to the warm and hearty colors of autumn, yet their displays are dazzling. They beckon the return of other creatures, the northern snow bird has begun its annual migration.

A non-hibernating species, they flock to warmth of the south.  Their return is time to reconnect with friends that have survived the exhausting and non-stop battering of sun, heat, rain, more sun and more heat. A confusing time, "how did they manage and not show signs of being battle weary?"  The hearty souls snicker, "we miss you old friends, perhaps as the months pass quickly you will reconsider staying, fighting this battle of tropical sun, moonlit nights, awesome warmth of a star-lit sky and long walks nightly through the warm sands of our miles of beaches.  If the flicker of the tiki lights in the wee hours of the morning bother you, maybe you shouldn't stay, but the haunting calls of the owls and  soothing coo of the doves might persuade you." 

Tonight's gorgeous sunset mimicked the lavenders and pinks of the now flowering petunias.  Yet the deep orange glow and redness of the fiery sunset was such a contrast.  The red sky at night, is a sailor's delight but the colors of the fall season create an artist's palette that stimulate the senses of the battle weary creatures that have "survived"! These southern lands continue to amaze, they are a true picture of just how resilient we all are. We dread the thought of daily never ending sun, yet as clouds move in, we gaze upwards asking for its return.  We seek relief in the coolness of our homes yet take advantage of everything outside.  We golf, swim, walk, spend  lazy afternoons under the canopy of spanish moss laden cypress trees, drinking cool sweet tea.  During the warm and humid evenings we sit outside, light the torches and re-hash daily events. We even wonder if and when the migration of the snow bird will begin. 

 I have learned; those living in the land of the southern sun are a forgiving and God-loving people who enjoy their privacy, yet are willing to share, taking advantage of the solitude provided by the spring migration of the snow bird, yet welcome their return.  As Mother Nature renews her lands, its people renew and rekindle old friendships, beckoning all to return, welcoming them into their hearts and homes.  A hearty people we are!  Bed & breakfast season is upon us!
           

Vacation-Staycation Memories!

Gorgeous Florida weather this week, but because of prior commitments, I did work Thursday. For the most part humidity and I have been on vacation for a good part of the week. Although "I am on vacation", no time for brain drain.

This actually has been a stay-cation with painting having top priority this week.  But my mind has been wondering back to the narrow streets of Paris, wondering if the staircase of flowers still adorns the front steps of the Church of La Madeleine, creating  a vibrant sea of color, the delicate hues of the petunias and dusty miller dancing ever so lightly and carefree, their soft fragrances drifting aloft much like the vapors in the wind, beckoning me to come and sit for just awhile.  Back in my little home the only fragrance awakening my senses is the fresh coat of paint brightening my dining room walls.

As strange as it may sound, my mind had settled on a color long before the process of actually collecting those little color samples began.  Something easy on the mind and spirit, yet able to showcase the colorful collections of glass and paintings. My thoughts again drifting to the free spirited movement of gently swaying branches in the afternoon and early evening breezes.  As I walked along the river Seine, admiring the canopy of trees, the freshness of the evening air invigorating, house boats and barges moored along the stones walls of the river, I imagined that way of life to be so fulfilling and relaxing.  Perhaps this softness and stillness could be brought to me.

Another day, quickly drawing to a close, it has been quite productive,  The majority of what I had hoped to accomplish this week is complete. There is a certain satisfaction in knowing you have reached your goal even if it is only a plateau.  Of course there is much more that need to be done, but realistically I would like to return to work at least feeling somewhat relaxed.  With thoughts of France still frequently drifting through my mind, I wonder: The magnificent murals, delicate paintings, perfectly sculpted statues, ornately painted ceilings and yes my beloved and adored Mona Lisa, all painted or sculpted by the masters, "Did they ever have sore bones and muscles after a day of painting or chiseling away at stone?" Hmmmm, no Alleve, Advil, Bayer Back and Body tablets for them, they just sucked it up!  So as my inner most voice has repeated calmly and at least a gazillion times over the course of this stay-cation week."stop ya belly aching and just do it!"

Right now as I sit quietly on my comfy love seat, little laptop perched on crossed knees, the vision of the most gorgeous cosmopolitan people, Parisians, once again begin their evening stroll through my thoughts. Are they out and about in this European hub viewing the Eiffel Tower, spectacularly lighting up the darkness of the evening sky.  Perhaps it is the Arc d'Triomphe, a monument to what was, what has happened and the guardian of the Champs-Elysees, Paris' most prestigious avenue, a place where cafes adorn every inch of the overly wide sidewalks, completely lined with the beautiful horse chestnut trees, high end shops, cinemas and fashion houses.  There is a dampness in the air but still the beautiful people mingle!

As I sit here, the subdued colors of the walls create an air of leisure and balance. If paint were not the predominant odor teasing my senses, I might be able to close my eyes, imaging myself back in France, on a cool autumn evening, perhaps engaging in lively conversation while enjoying a glass of wine from the Beaujelais region of France.  If I linger long enough, perhaps the November arrival of Beaujelais Nouveau will tingle my palette.  Just a passing thought!

For now, I will snuggle down on my love seat, enjoying the cool evening breeze drifting though the dining room window.  The weeping willow walls seem to dance with the evening shadows, the sounds of the preserve and the children of Mother Nature ready to emerge for their evening stroll under the starlit tropical Florida sky.  As I emerge from my stay-cation cocoon, the blood returning to the legs which have been tucked neatly beneath me,  I drift in an out of reality, I wonder: Did Leonardo DaVinci ever feel the muscle aches that are now riddling my aching body? Just a thought!

Just Bits and Pieces!

Multi-tasking isn't for everyone!  At the very top of that list and an art-form in its own right, the ability to listen and carry on more than one converation simultaneously.  Although I can probably make a good size list of those much better at this than me, it's probably safe to say, I can hold my own.  There have been times that listening intently to just one conversation would have produced better results. In retrospect, some of the conversations, even in small amounts, produced some great stories and outstanding moments.

Good, bad or ugly some of the Egg-Nazi's jokes were great, while others had a tendency to backfire.  As the story goes, an anonymous, off color jokester relays the story of a full figured young woman with a larger than normal upper body.  Repeating a joke, not my forte, I will forego the meaty part of the blurb.  If my memory is correct,  it usually is, the punch line "I'll take two pickets to Titsburg!", will forever be etched in my mind, as will the the look of disgust on the young woman's face, who just happened to have a very large set of "pickets to Titsburgs!" The clarification for that statement is: 1) I have no idea who the young woman was; 2) She happened to be the next in line to place an order at Fred's News and as she came to the counter she only heard the words, "two Titsburg";  3) Mr. Bill and friends were exchanging this joke, insisting they were whispering. For the record they were not, which resulted in the young voluptuous woman taking offense; 4) She insisted they were taking about her, they were not.  Had I not calmed the woman down, I feared for the life of every one of the male species present in the place at that precise moment.  Had she sued for sexual harassment, it would have been a tough case.  Reason being, the slew of obscenities spewing from her face far surpassed the snickers of an overheard, albeit misguided punch line, that had nothing to do with her "two pickets to Titsburg!"  Did we loose a customer?  No, we never saw her again but prior to that fateful morning, we'd never see her before either!

"Was it a fling," not sure, I only heard bits and pieces of the conversation but, "I think so!"  A hint of a whisper begins to float across the room...."a pregnant nun? no, no get the gun? What gun? Not a gun, what am I hearing.  Oh a piece of gum..... anybody got gum. " You got any gum on ya Dick?"  with a twinkle in his eye..."only if you put it there!"   Just the bits and pieces, ins and outs of passing conversations, one never know what others have heard!

Falling into the Autumn Season

Normal weather for this southern peninsula state is hot, so when making a  recent statement, " this summer's weather has been so hot!", I should not have been surprised by the look of, "what the....do you expect, you live in Florida for goodness sake!"  Taking direction from Mr. Bill's past conversations telling me "say what you mean, mean what you say," I thought for just a nano-second he might be right, so I continued, "What I really mean is.....it has been so humid here this summer!"  For the record, I received that same dazed and confused look followed by, "did you not hear me, you live in Florida for goodness sake!"  All is not lost however, I followed Mr. Bill's directions to the tee, they still didn't understand, I can handle that!  The best part is Mr. Bill was wrong and I even got him to kind of admit his blunder, although the secret about that is between you and me!!!!  His exact words, "One would have to live here, to understand your thought process," falls into that category known as the gray area.  With that in mind....he was wrong!

Front page story in today's online news.........."Because of the devastation caused by this year's Tropical Storm Irene, leaf-peepers should turn out in droves to see the damages."  Really!  Personally I don't think they should be called leaf-peepers. The usual bucolic settings are now areas of devastation, roads completely washed away, many homes ripped from their foundations by the torrential rains rushing from the mountains, wildlife habitats in complete disarray and "leaf-peepers' are on their way.  With all do respect, the inhabitants of this region still need to make a living, so perhaps tourists looking at fall foliage will help the minds, bodies and wallets of the people living and working within the region.  Hopefully, the mindset of the tourists will be one of support for their neighbors in these areas and not one of disgust at not being able to get around.  The other point being, hopefully they will truly be leaf-peepers.

The autumn season in the northern states is very much an artist's palette of color. The rich hues of brilliant red, yellow and orange against the crisp blue of the cooler autumn sky is second to none in majestic beauty. The warmth of these colors conjure memories of apple picking season, pumpkin carving, piling fallen leaves in huge piles and jumping in them.  As a child there was something very special about raking leaves in the neighborhood and them jumping into the center of this giant pillow of leaves.  If I close my eyes, I can almost hear the squeals of delight as leaves and kids were flying in all directions.  One of my most vivid memories is the smell of those leaves burning....something we are no longer allowed to do.  Yet that smoke curling upward into the cool evening skies, now seems so fitting considering it was almost as if it signaled closure, Mother Nature's bedtime.

Florida does have seasons but one has to be a year round inhabitant to appreciate them all, each equally as beautiful as the four distinct seasons to our north.  Annuals and perennials are much the same, but planting of these annuals in the south, are a year round option.  The gorgeous sweet smelling vibrant colored petunia, loves three out of the four southern seasons, summer being much too hot for these tender beauties.  The Egg-Nazi is patiently awaiting Mother Nature's signal.  As she neatly tucks in her northern climates for their cold, snowy and long winter's sleep, she allows the southern soils to cool just enough, her new "children" are waiting.  The grounds now moist enough from the monsoon proportions of rain that have occurred almost daily, these new beauties will push through and soon the vibrant colors of the southern autumn season will fill the landscapes.  Snowbirds will return, as will the many feathered friends seeking refuge from the cold northern lands.  This peninsula is again bustling with activity, visitors from everywhere soaking up the warmth of the sun.  Personally we do not mind the heat of summer, my older bones actually appreciate it.  If options were given, I would still take the summer heat over the cold of the winter.



  

And the Emmy goes to...........!

Billed as TVs greatest night, the Emmy's recognize the best and the brightest stars of television. With that said, the Cast of Characters that have, are or will take up residence in my mind, all deserve recognition and equal billing. It go without saying, my family has the highest honors, without their exploits, idiosyncrasies, love and encouragement, my memory banks would indeed have had meager deposits. To the Cast of Characters that have enriched our lives, the new additions that are carving their indelible niches in my overloaded warped brain on a daily basis, we savory every conversation, morsel of info, quirky habit and the monumental amount of life's ups and downs, strange habits, victories and pitfalls.They are the foods that nurture my imagination, giving me reason to preserve and protect this craziness!


In a world filled with horrors of "evil doers", murder, rape, famine, non-stop natural disasters and whatever else, "sells", we forget, we need a reason to smile. Just waking up in the morning is reason to smile. Years of early morning wakeup calls were always made brighter by someone opening the front door, "Good Morning!" Although my schedule now varies from opening one week to closing the next, it is always started with a smile and extremely meaningful "hello!" In my book, Great Guest Service begins from within!

Over the past fifteen months we have explored early morning attitudes that range from zombie like to disgusting hangovers, from quiet and reserved to over the top. Whether back in the small New England village or at the world's largest and best know theme park, be it known there are morning people and then there are ....well let's just say....some not so much! For years I had to memorize who frowns, who smiles, who speaks, growls and stares but with the massive amounts of people who frequent the location I now manage, eye contact is a must, the abilty to pick up body language and the genuine smile are the necessities needed to melt even the toughest early morning or tired late night ogre!

Our early morning group at Fred's was a great cross-section of society and I praise the good Lord for their daily teachings! David & Doug, helpful, gentle and definitely morning people, always eager to greet their early morning family whether the family was ready or not! "Lee do you ever smile? Oh forgive me that was a smile!" Then there is our Frankie the Mailman, who reminded much of the youngest brother of the family, always ready to secretly agitate, we call it "Mom he's looking at me syndrome!" Yet Frankie, so smug, snickering and looking so angelic! When caught in the act, a look of complete innocence followed by the hearty laugh. Of course one cannot forget "Mary, Mary quite Contrary", always smiling and ready to help anyone start their day. The observers, Glenn and Doc sitting ever so quietly just behind the "counter setters" waiting to start a conversation just because they knew how to fire up the crowd, especially if Delaval was in the building, but then being an "over the top personality", Delaval fired up at almost anything. The thought of a "tree hugger" being one up was a "priceless" conversation starter.

As the little Fred's News building now stands empty, it's wall probably still adorned with memorabilia, one can almost hear the lively chatter that filled it's rooms on a daily basis. As I walk my location, conversing with people from all over the world, I realize as different as they are, their personality, looks, body language and their everyday needs are strikingly similar and I think back to my "Fred's News family" and say thank you!

No, is Not an Acceptable Answer!

In our ever changing world, inspiration for my stories come from some of the most unexpected sources.  They may be freestanding, nothing to do with our former restaurant, yet in some strange and perhaps twisted way, be intertwined. It is also highly probable these wee memories that are in the outer most orbit on the "dark side" of my brain, are racing towards an asteroid like collision with the recent events that are waiting to be deposited into the memory banks of my overloaded chaotic brain.

It has been just over a year since these memories began spilling out and arranging themselves on the "pages" of my little computer.  I write, read, write, re-read, re-write and then as if some solar powered light bulb clicks on, I smile, this idea, this memory that is fighting, much like the small child crying, "no pick me first, it's my turn!", appears before me, in place, ready for all to read.  "A Constant Place" recently published in book form, is still a source of wonder, pride and ironically, an inspiration to me.  Recently I was asked, is this work, your first book and is it "A Labor of Love" which is defined as: productive work performed voluntarily without material reward or compensation.  Emphatically "NO!" Silly person of course I want compensation.  Having a book published, naturally the next step would be to sell it.  Sales have been going well, yet I must admit it is strange to see my name as the author.  Writing has always been a secret passion for which, I never had time.

With the mindset, I will write when I get older, quickly dashed by the reflection in the "Mirror, mirror on the wall" announcing "Fairest, I think not, crow's feet, gray hair and laugh lines near, honey old age IS here!" At forty, I promised myself someday I would write a book.  At the time, inspirations seemed to be all around, time or the allocation of such wasn't even remotely an option, so as all great wannabe authors do, I chalked it up to "writer's block."  Truth be known, it is simply procrastination and the old "I work better under pressure thing!"  Seventy-five percent of a quarter century has nearly passed and finally by the Grace of God,  a promise I had made to myself, has been kept.

For years I have preached, "No, is not an acceptable answer," the constant battle of stubbornness and procrastination now finally over, determination and dedication have finally become the victors!  There are many more stories, hopefully my new friends will also provide fodder that will nourish and awaken my mind.  Will I be able to intertwine them with my past life, hopefully, the past and present would really enjoy each other's company.  Should they meet, sparks would fly, laughter abound, lasting friendships would develop. Mr. Lightyear, a good friend of mine once said, "please call me Buzz and remember it is always "Infinity and Beyond!" With that said, my life has an always will be "A Constant Place!"

      

Hope comes from Joey

Today a day of memories, reflections of the past, unless we have learned from our mistakes, one question remains; will history repeat itself?  We watch, listen and perhaps wonder.  No longer living near the epicenter of this remembered tragedy, I wondered:  would people understand, would they feel the same emotions as those who had once witnessed the grandeur that had so suddenly been destroyed; did they know anyone who had witnessed this horrific event?  Questions unanswered, people asked, "did you ever see the Towers before 9/11?" "Yes, of course, the Towers stood high above the city skyline."  With that, memories began to surface, our brood all accounted for, I thanked my Maker, I new no one that was lost that day, yet for the people that filled the little restaurant on West Main St., that moment seemed to be frozen in time.

 As we turned on the old TV, eyes became fixated on the screen, the first Tower, smoke pouring from all sides, debris and my God, people screaming and free falling from the Tower, news cameras capturing each morbidly disturbing moment.  Then as if a giant predator were invading from the heavens, that second plane hit.  We watched, no words spoken, only gasps, from the growing group of patrons.  As the door opened, many more filed in, looking for friends.  I wondered as I gazed upon their faces, what was possibly passing through each mind. 

Today as we look back, I close my eyes and still see those faces, eyes upturned, locked on the TV screen, but it is the dazed and utterly confused looks, I remember most.  There was no usual banter between our patrons that fateful morning, no laughter, no greetings or playful jabs.  Just silence, frightening uncertain silence.  Wanting to hear noise, I walked from the little restaurant. Upon reaching the sunlight, I began inhaling large amounts of fresh air, "Please dear God, make it go away."  The fresh air exhilarating, but the usual sounds of traffic passing, voices and laughter from people walking by, strangely missing.  Even the usual soothing sound of the cold fresh and vibrant waters of Beaver Brook, tumbling over the stones, worn smooth from years of cleansing, seemed as though it had disappeared, stopped and confused much like the people, now standing alone, yet altogether, inside my little restaurant.  Today, it is the faces my mind has pulled deep from within.

Remembrance is everything.  For those to young to remember it will be their thirst for knowledge that may stop the world's craziness, laying to rest mankind's need to self destruct.  The answer is always, how?  Hopefully through open-minded education, not just "what they want us to hear."  Opinions, truths and myths will always bombard our inner most psyche, but it is the opened mind, in search for answers, that needs to prevail.

Yesterday, in passing conversation, a young woman, intent on teaching her young family what is so right with our world and how we must protect it, shared a conversation she had with her five-year old son, who has just begun school. "Joey you weren't even born ten years ago, you have no idea what happened on September 11th!" "Do so Mommy, so sad and very bad, alot of people we don't even know, died that day!"

The sounds of nature still heard, the hustle and bustle of everyday life returned.  Through tears of horror and disbelief, our world continues.  If my little friend Joey has anything to say about it, this piece of history will not repeat itself. 

It's Corn-Chopping Time!

Recent meteorological events along the east coast allow me to wonder a couple of things!  Is someone really watching over my life?  Our years at Fred's News saw only one tropical storm, two," hundred year" floods indirectly caused by nature. Whether it was dumped upon the tiny hamlet of Baltic in frozen form or in monsoon like proportions, Mother Nature was to blame.  In hindsight most of the horrific flooding could have been avoided.  "Analysis leads to paralysis" definitely sums up the biggest reason behind the why these events occurred.  Money or the lack of, caused most of the "paralysis."  As with all forms of government mumbo jumbo the fact remains, we spend too much money, people get ripped, officials aren't re-elected, they become part of the unemployment statistics.  However, keep the taxes down, get re-elected, adoration by the masses occurs, everything is "cool beans" until.............Mother Nature gets a "wild hair", dumps her anger on us all, adoration by the masses turns to the "ugly mob", so......the system of checks and balances occurs!  Not the one directly related to supply and demand, but the one of "finger pointing" and I might add, if it is anywhere near an election year, this finger pointing system of checks and balances, might just mean the demise of the official who's "analysis led to the paralysis" allowing Mother Nature's fury to create this "major political cleansing!"

With all that said, we wonder just what the effects this years rains have had on eastern Connecticut.  Late summer and early fall is "corn chopping" time for the local farmers.  Spielman farms in Sprague, a major player during this event.  Did they cut early this year as a result of "Weather Channels" constant reminder of "doom and gloom" or did they adopt the "wait and see" attitude.  Our daily reporters from the area announced some of the fields survived nature's fury while others look as though a nuclear disaster had occurred.

This yearly event of cutting, chopping and hauling of the corn created appetites of ravenous proportions for the little restaurant know as Fred's News.  Thankfully most of it occurred in the early morning hours before the masses filled the place.  As with all "special events" daily chores still needed to be completed.  Milking of the three hundred plus "eating machines" finished, the "chopping crew" heads out.  First stop, Fred's News for a quick breakfast and load of yummy snacks and  delicious over sized sandwiches, carefully wrapped and placed in coolers. Stopping the chopping only to eat or move to the next field, these boys were out until dark, their quick visit in the early morning darkness just a memory, but with the pungent smell of cow poop lingering in the air, a definite wake up call for the senses! Usually as they headed out the front door, the back door was propped open as was the front, fans turned on, quick wash of the floor where they had sat, Yankee Candles lit, Fabreeze sprayed, fresh coffee brewed, warm muffins uncovered, hood fans turned on, the awakening world only recognizing the warm inviting aromas drifting through the crisp early morning moist-laden air, beckoning them to their favorite restaurant.     
   

Years of Memories

Monday holidays are great.  With the exception of Christmas and New Years, if a holiday falls on a  Monday, I am usually off.  Thanksgiving, always on a Thursday, so we take turns.  The past few years, Turkey day has been my major holiday off and I absolutely love it!  This holiday is all about family and it gives us a chance to catch up with the kids and our Florida family, which we do not see, nearly enough!

Sadly we do not see our Fred's News family either, although we do hear from them!  Just the other day, one of the "former family" announced that the little Fred's News building is again for sale, such a pity.  Neighborhood restaurants are a dying breed, most overtaken by "the chains".  The small family owned restaurant, sadly, is something today's young people may never know.  Somehow it doesn't sound the same when someone says, "what a crowd at Dunkin Donuts this morning, boy they make the best bacon, egg and cheese on a bagel."  Couple things here we might make note of:  although the place has fantastic coffee and the sandwich is pretty decent, they are also busy most of the time, is it done with "LOVE"? Can you get the sandwich over easy with a standard five pieces of bacon? Is it made with farm fresh eggs, that were perhaps delivered that very morning? I think not mon ami (remnants of my visit to Paris)!  For the naysayers, I am not complaining nor boasting, just stating the facts.  Why did we leave?  It was time but the fact remains, the small family owned restaurant, that in most places was "the Town meeting place" ( I did not coin that phrase either) IS  for the most part, facing extinction. Why? Tough question but then why not?  Society for the most part has become, "a throw-away society".  We bore easy, much like attention deficit disorder, new and exciting places are not only needed, but required.  Gossip spreads like wildfire via social networking.  If you thought it got bigger everytime it was repeated in Fred's News, just log into Facebook!  So, maybe that type of social gathering place is no longer needed.

We have search for a local place in our new neighborhood.  Even in Polk County, Florida's oldest county, the landscape is dotted with chains.  Our community has a restaurant where one can visit and meet old(since this is an over fifty-five community, I do mean old) friends daily, but you will never have someone stop by on a whim or because the place looked inviting.  Perhaps it is the flowers, or quaint benches and carved bears that beckoned.  Could it have been the array of antique cars that occasionally lined the front walk-way, or the streams of people coming after Sunday morning services, or the groups of young teens congregating on the sidewalks waiting for ALL their friends to arrive, that invited the passerby to stop and sit awhile.  Whatever the reason, that way of life is slowly disappearing. 

A former patron once said to me "we understand, everyone deserves to retire, but we had so hoped our children's first place of employment, would have been Fred's News!" Thinking back, most of the young people we employed, started their working years at the little place.  We still laugh at Eric buttering an uncooked english muffin THEN placing it in the toaster.  That one moment in time began the years of "toaster torture" for those hard working little appliances.  Perhaps the beautiful new curtains that framed the famous Paris Window will forever be remembered by the milkshake cup regurgitating its entire contents of chocolate ice cream, fudge syrup and milk onto their crisp flowing ruffles, as it spun, precariously hooked wrong, on the blender! That made for an interesting story of why and how it happened.  Less we forget the young man that insisted he had properly sprayed the waffle iron before he had loaded it with batter! Then of course, the same person was responsible for not tightening the tops of the syrup containers. Interesting to say the least!  At extremely busy times two automatic dishwashers operated at the same time, one in front and one in the back.  For the most part I saw EVERYTHING that was happening every moment of the day.  Somehow the person squirting dishwashing liquid instead of automatic dishmachine soap into the dishwasher, escaped my notice.  It wasn't until a patron said "I see something coming out underneath the door to the back room, looks like soap!" that panic set in.  For the record, it was probably the cleanest the back room ever was, no one ever admitted the guilt, but everyone had to take bucket loads of suds out to the back dock.  It took at least a half dozen more cycles to completely rid the machine of bubbles. 

My spiel to all "you are allowed one mistake, do not repeat it!"  For the most part, all learned and there was a sadness as each left. Not only did they grow from their Freds News experience, we did as well and we thank each and everyone of them for their laughter and tears, their unique personalities and the wealth of memories they gave us, but mostly we thank them for the wonderful memories and their friendship!   

Thunderstorms.....Just Learn to Love Them!

Tropical moisture, as it is called is inundating the Florida landscape with enormous amounts of rain.  We are a peninsula and one would think coastal areas receive the majority of these rains.  Not always the case as the easterly sea breeze meets the westerlies, they DUMP their loads over central Florida and guess who resides in central Florida? As awesome and expansive as the Florida sky is, the developing afternoon thunderheads, drawing up all this tropical moisture, become so dark and ominous, one would think the creatures of the underworld have been released. Instead sheets of rain pound the ground so hard not even this soil know as the "Florida sponge" can soak it all in.  At this point in time many retention ponds are at capacity yet should we miss one day of rain activity, the "sponge" would once again begin absorbing the excessive amounts of water.

All the small little creatures that populate our preserve are desperately searching for dry new digs to call home.  Certain areas of our yard sit at a higher elevation than their flooded homes so, much like wandering nomads in search of place to rest weary bones, these little bastards enjoy using flower pots, lush Rosemary bushes, storage shelves, recycling bins and our garage as protection from all this tropical moisture crap.  Although we haven't seen one in a couple of days, we aren't sure if the slowly receding waters are the reason or Mr. Bill's back swing with the broom that has halted the mass exodus from the preserve.  Other possibilities are the neighbor's garage and trash bin.  The old man next door is twenty five plus years Mr Bill's senior so, the odds are his back swing is nonexistent, I 'd call his place a safe haven!

Seems this season the rumblings of thunder are more frequent with enormous amounts of lightening.  As I watch people in our community walk their dogs, my mind drifts to our beloved Fred the Dog.  How he hated the sounds of thunder and the continual flashes of lightening, always seeking comfort from the equally irritated thunder storm hater, his faithful master Mr. (wimpy) Bill.  Since these storms appear all too often for Mr. Bill to remain "under the bed", his distress is lessened by wearing his radio earphones if the thunder rolls around too long.  Wonder if they make them for dogs....just one of those thoughts.....try to visualize that, Mr. Bill with Fred the Dog in his lap, both wearing huge radio earphones! 

Many years ago during a rather violent thunderstorm in Connecticut, we were awakened by Fred the Dog long before the storm arrived.  Like most animals, Fred could predict an impending storm.  We had just gotten back to sleep, Mr. Bill hanging his arm over the side of the bed, comforting Fred, letting him know he was not alone, when one of them rogue sort of thunder bolts shook the ground.  Fred was up, Mr. Bill was up and the horrendous sound of a mad dog charging up our stairs, clawing at the screen door, even trying to break the window of the storm door, broke the dead silence following that clap of thunder. This animal, so frightened, was seeking refuge in side our home.  Of course we had no idea whose animal it was or where he came from.  All we knew, he WAS NOT coming into our home!  As the large German Shepard continued clawing his way through these doors, Mr. Bill grabbed one of the boys baseball bats and gave the poor terrified critter a knot on the top of his head.  Seeing what he had done to the front door, no way was he coming into the house, he wasn't even a neighborhood dog.  As he disappeared, howling into the stormy night, we surveyed the damage to the door, Fred the Dog, now petrified at the approaching storm and the screeching howling animal that had tried to invade his home.  

Hours later, heart rythyms back to normal, we awaken from about two hours of sleep to begin our day at Fred's News Restaurant.  Early morning conversations centered around the storm during the night.  One of our patrons mentioned he had seen his neighbor out in the early morning hours looking for his dog.  Seems the animal had broken his chain during the freak storm and had run away.  "Was he a large German Shepard?" we questioned.  "Hell yeah and he hates thunderstorms, seems they have trouble every time one of them babies fire up!"  he mentions.  "Have you seen him?"   "Seen him, damn fool animal tried to eat through the front door, he was so friggan scared! Mr. Bill yells.  "Shouldn't be too hard to find though" he offers, "he's the only German Shepard running around the area that looks like a UNICORN!!!      

Goodbye Art

Letting the mind settle in allowing it to pour forth thoughts worth sharing is sometimes a bit tough.  There are plenty, perhaps too many, reminding me of opening the refrigerator door, staring in declaring your starved, but not seeing anything worth munching on.  Perhaps trying a few "bites of each" would suffice the moment.

The decision to sell Fred's News was not arrived at easily. Equally as hard, leaving eastern Connecticut, a place we had called home all of our lives. During the past three and a half years we have been visited by many of our friends, receive daily reports via an early morning phone call from one, "talk" back and forth through the usual social media channels and receive calls or emails from others inquiring about a former Fred's News family member.  Perhaps the most difficult phone call I have made was to my dear friend Edna. Although I thought I had prepared my mind for what I knew I was going to hear, the words still haunt my memory days after being spoken.  "Edna it's me, what happened to Art?" The silence said it all, the heart wrenching sound of my friend's voice, trying to find the right words, not wanting to say them, hoping to awaken from her nightmare.  With controlled emotion, Mrs. G. managed to say, "Art died this morning." 

I wanted to be there for her, letting her know we care, we share her pain, Art was our friend.  More importantly, he was a quiet private man, who was very much an observer. A man with a wickedly dry sense of humor, who always tried to make sense of it all. Proud of his accomplishments, his family and grand kids, Art always seemed preoccupied with his thoughts, reminding me much of what my Memere called a "ponderer". 

Art had views and opinions yet he was a great listener.  He would offer advice in the form of questions, yet my favorite "Grandpa" story will always be "Grandpa  are we there yet?" "When will we get there?" was the continual questioning from the backseat peanut gallery of grand kids. "When the car stops and the doors open we will be there!" That always put a stop to further whining and questioning.

Art is not the first friend we have had to say our final good byes to, yet it is perhaps the hardest.  Mr. Bill and I spent almost every Saturday and Sunday evening with Edna and Art.  We have watched there grand kids arrive and grow, we have shared their happiness as well as their pain, we have known this moment would one day arrive, we were not prepared but then is one every ready for that final moment.  Acceptance comes with time, we will remember the fun moments, they are numerous.  A Christmas party with Art donning red suspenders and a matching bow-tie announcing "the women love it!"  Perhaps it will be the re- emergence of THE picture:  Art and Mr. Bill's feet, perfectly outfitted with white socks and sandals, much to his granddaughters' anguish, or the memory of shopping in Manhattan on raw freezing rainy December day, Art running up behind me much like a super sleuth on a mission, "did she tell you anything she wanted, has she seen anything today, please be sure to tell me!" he blurted out, "I want to buy her something special, she loves jewelry" he said with that twinkle in his eye only Art could get when he was on a mission to buy something for HIS Edna. Memories like this last a lifetime, Art we will miss you but...."The car has stopped, the doors are open."  Look down my friend on your lifetime, the legacy you have left, help them all to cope, to understand their pain, they miss you, perhaps they feel there is so much they never said.  Ironically, they didn't need to, you knew but it was always nice to hear.  Look down my friend, you have given them many memories, that will last their lifetime as well. 

People and Places!

One would think that the last two days there would have been numerous opportunities to sit at the computer and write.  Just as the skies over central Florida have been gray, with ominous clouds that have released almost ten inches of rain in two days, my brain felt as though the fog had settled in, so thick it seemed endless.  Although it isn't abnormal, this brain fog was truly maddening. Having so much rolling around upstairs sometimes can be detrimental to my creative side. As the sun again made its way through the clouds only to have everyone saying "bring on the rain, it is too damn hot!", the brain fog hasn't really burned off.  Maybe it's all those '"you know your from Baltic" postings that has my mind swirling.  One in particular, the flatiron building, caught my attention.  Also known as the Jodoin Building, by the large letter on the top of the building!   Although only three stories high, it was impressive.  Postcards from earlier more prosperous times  showed a building that was at the hub of activity in the village. Many of the Victorian buildings have long since been renovated into apartments or worse yet, demolished.  Hard for new residents to understand just what a thriving town Sprague once was. Thankfully its history, painstakingly preserved by it's dedicated citizens and members of the Sprague Historical Society.  Their recent one hundred fiftieth anniversary celebration a great tribute to a diverse and colorful past of former citizens, architecture and businesses that once called this area home.

Ironic how certain moments or events will begin a series of "oh I remember that" to be jogged loose from the catacombs of the mind.  Sitting in Paris, soaking up all the new sights, the tremendous amount of flatiron buildings perched side by side with other forms of architecture, that have survived centuries of weather, wars, fire and many other humankind disasters, I think "now that's a flatiron building!" but in all actuality, its all relative. Paris an enormous city, with a tremendous history, Sprague, a little town......with a great history! Understand, it truly is all about its people. 

As these thought roamed through the vacationing brain, my journey brings me in front of a place in Disneyland Paris called a barbecue.  Its location is Frontier Land, but what has garnered my undivided attention are three performers, singing "She'll be coming 'round the mountain when she comes," with an ever so small hint of a french accent.  Laughing, I think...dear God it's a reincarnation of the Baltic Country Bumpkins, but then I remember, it is all about people, perception and relevance.  The country western shows courtesy of the dedicated citizens of Sprague were no different than the entertainment provided in Frontier Land on the outskirts of Paris.  Well maybe the voices are stronger and more professional, but the end result very much the same... they both make us smile.

Perhaps what people forget, yes whether you live in Florida, France or some other exotic place.....it is still home for the inhabitants of the area.  They may thrive off the tourist industry, but they have homes, families and roots.  A conversation between myself and someone visiting this tourist mecca made me truly understand what people's perception of an unknown area might be.  The question, innocent enough "why do you want to live at Disney?"  Caught slightly off guard, I answer, "I don't."  Again, with the edge of a seasoned interrogator, "you don't, what else is there?"  Admittedly I was surprised, but soon realized many people feel that way about the many places they visit.  For the record, I saw so much in Paris, all of which left me wanting more and cherishing the memories that I have. Yet it was truly the people that I watched and listened to; the little boy on the train, so animated, driving his older sister crazy, making his parents laugh and surely noticing my enjoyment as well; the young mother playing her songs, hoping for a handout to support her baby, wrapped closely to her tiny figure. I watched and listened, enjoying every moment, but the intriguing people that inhabitant these lands, that are the heart and soul of their cities, these are most fascinating to me.

   

Quality Time in the City

My first view of Paris, soaring at an altitude of five thousand feet, still left me awestruck at its massive sprawl and lack of skyscrapers.  As the plane came around lining up with the runway, my eyes gazed upon a magnificent sentry standing guard over it's loyal subjects, announcing my arrival into this city, so steeped in history, I cannot wait to walk its narrow streets with flowers adorning its every building, a city so entrenched in a culture that has existed much longer than one can imagine, yet the trend setters of fashion and haute cuisine worldwide. As my eyes gaze upon the Eiffel Tower, I feel that little smile of satisfaction beginning to emerge.  Thoughts swirling, will I see the Lourve, Notre Dame and the Arc d'Triomphe? Will I have the time to walk in the footsteps of the masters, sit in the small sidewalk cafes, enjoy and breathe in the wonders of this city and suddenly, "Madame, Monsieur, Ladies and Gentlemen, please bring your seats to their upright positions, prepare for landing." 

 Back in the real world, collecting my belongings, trying to stretch the legs, thoughts again swirl, "will I be able to walk once I try to stand up?, Will that little pain in the butt kid that kick my seat for the better part of this night flight understand just how lucky he is.  At one point, as I tried to get comfortable, his continual thumping of my seat back, brought thoughts of breaking the little shit's feet off at the ankles.  Amazing, what torture will do to the mind!   This kid could make a hardcore spy spill his guts!

Working most of my adult life in guest service orientated businesses, the robotic like attitudes of the passport checkpoint employees somewhat bothered me.  Not even a bonjour for God's sake, they would be a perfect fit to work at any Motor Vehicle Department back in the States, "You filled out your form in the wrong color ink, not acceptable."  My guess, these people in their adolescent years, thrived on pissing off people with their quirky irritating little habit, much like seat thumper from the previous evening's flight.  At one point during the flight, I think I was dreaming about some little kid, sitting at the counter in Fred's News, swing his feet into the wall under the counter at the same slow methodical rate as the irritating, old enough to know better, spoiled brat behind me.  I also realized why his mother was sitting behind him!  

Riding through the country side, traffic, speeding by at warp speed, the landscape in this part of France reminds me of southern New England.  It is a dreary day, a tad bit chilly (remember I have just arrived from ninety plus humid degrees), but the heart is warm and excited, "you're in Paris for God's sake!" 

One cool afternoon as we stroll along the narrow streets and tree-lined walkways running parallel to the Seine, hunger pains bring us to one of the numerous cafes lining the boulevards.  Quickly finding a seat, our waiter, "Bonjour?" His quick smile but questioning eyes makes me realize with the throngs of visitors from around the world, he's testing the language skills from the get go. "Bonjour, we speak English and French so either is okay!"  His broad smile suggests it is an opportunity for him to hone his English.  The rain shower starting to subside, but for us it doesn't matter, protection from the elements is afforded by a lovely awning, overshadowing the multitude of tiny tables lining the sidewalk. Two older women along side drinking coffee, continuous chatter and laughter suggest they too are enjoying the Paris scene.  Our waiter is for the most part jovial, albeit slow.  For us it doesn't matter, we're in Paris, enjoying a chance for mother and son to spend a great time together, something that doesn't happen nearly enough!  We notice our waiter scanning the table once occupied by the two older women.  His pleasant smile turning to an angry frown suggests something is amiss.  Turning to us,"did you see them leave?" "No monsieur, why?" we ask.  Seems the two women stiffed the guy!  Ah yes, street-wise old ladies, isn't Paris wonderful?

Who has Passed This Way?

Doors, much like that first impression, definitely make a statement.  As with all things there are exceptions and I do like exceptions.  They are the reminders of the infinite possibilities this life has to offer when you allow your mind to release itself from the confines of the "box" and explore.  Acceptable terminology would be the Buzz Light Year approach of "Infinity and Beyond!".  Throughout my life, much like trying to escape the earth's gravitational  grasp, I have jumped through open doors even when that little voice said "Don't do it!' These so-called "Leaps of Faith", all part of my relentless stubborn personality, have now manifested themselves in my children.  Their sheer determination, have allowed them to jump through many doors and as son Matthew reminded me recently he can be a "tenacious little bastard!

The menu covers of Fred's News changed often. Many had nothing to do with the small restaurant, but might perhaps evoke memories of the past, open the eyes of its' readers to the beauty of the surrounding community, pay respect to a former way of life (the Baltic Mills) and allow our Guests to occupy themselves during busy moments while waiting for their meals to arrive.  Poking fun at ourselves by super-imposing our stern faces on the bodies of Iowa born, American regionalist painter, Grant Wood's painting "American Gothic" was just one a numerous menu covers that are now "collectors' items" to many former customers.   A personal favorite, our "Doors" menu cover.  Friend Christine, scoured the community for interesting doors to photograph. She captured none of the surrounding architecture, just the doors, their stark beauty captured in an instance. Each door alone on their stage, basking in the limelight, hearing the voices of the masses that have passed over their thresholds, trying to guess where they had been seen.  Some who viewed these knew in an instance what structure these magnificent guards protected, while others, much like a wallflower, had long faded into obscurity. Interestingly, people shared some of their most poignant memories of these doors with the Fred's News family.  Crazy Bruce reminded me, that one particular door that had fallen into the depths of disrepair, had allowed him a makeshift shelter on a cold New England night.  Behind that door he crouched alone, the "demons swirling within," a place where only he would venture on such a night.  I had asked Bruce a simple question as he tried to purchase a soothing cup of hot coffee in the early morning hours, "what are you doing out in the cold, you're a mess, go home, where did you stay?" His fingers raw and chapped, dirty and weathered, he pointed to the menu on the counter, "I stayed there, no one would find me but no one cares to either!" With that he left.

As I strolled the streets of Paris, paying particular attention the entry ways of many of these buildings, wondering who has passed their entry and graced the halls of these buildings.  Many dating back to my friend Mr. DaVinci's era, who has whispered their inner most thoughts, what secrets do these walls hide.  Perhaps a meeting place, plotting the French Revolution or a meeting place for a secluded royal tryst!  What is most interesting is the history, many doors weathering the test of time, the ornate masterpieces still just as magnificent.  Looking at the entry into the Cathedral of Notre Dame I entertained the thought that French novelist Victor Hugo, based his character Quasimodo, the hunchbacked cathedral bell-ringer, after a real life person that perhaps quietly and cautiously entered through these massive doorways undetected.  Did he ask his Maker for forgiveness, did he weep beneath these ornate statues, did he simply ask "Pourquoi moi?" Why me?  Did he imagine the infinite possibilities a lifetime has to offer?