Made With Pride

Last month, when Ed and I were house hunting, we also did quite a bit of furniture shopping. We hit every store in town and were often disappointed with the quality of furniture we found. We had to furnish an entire house - living room, dining room, family room, master bedroom, two guest bedrooms and the office. We wanted everything new.

The item of furniture that was most important for us to find was a good dining room table, but the majority of what we saw was cheap wood with a veneer. We wanted something sturdy and beautiful, capable of seating at least six on a regular night and up to twelve or fourteen for family holidays, and since we didn't have a "formal" dining area, we also wanted a table that could be used every day.

We finally came across something gorgeous. We both fell in love with this Aspen Table with Ebony Inlay and the chairs that went with it; all handmade by Amish craftsmen. It was perfect. The wood was hard, the chairs comfortable and with the leaves in, the table stretched to over ten feet long! This was the one.

A few days after that shopping spree, and looking in more stores that featured solid wood creations, we found ourselves sitting in Barnes and Noble. Ed came to the table with a stack of woodworking books and magazines, plopped them down in front of me and when I questioned his odd choice of reading material, he said, "Well, I thought maybe I'd just make a dining room table."

"Make a dining room table?" I said.

"Yeah. How hard could it be? I'm sure it'll turn out just fine."

"You mean better than the Amish, who have been hand making furniture since the fifteen hundreds??"

We went back and forth with this for about an hour. He said it looked easy. I asked if I should start calling him Gepetto. He said if he read up on it, he's sure he'd be able to get the basics down. I said I don't know why guys think just because they read a book, they can all of a sudden become Bob Vila.

A few days later, I was relaying this story to my friend over lunch. She laughed in complete understanding and when I was done, told me that just a few days ago her husband told her that he was tired of paying for haircuts and since there wasn't a barber shop on his side of town, he decided he wanted to open one.

A couple of days after that conversation, she called me laughing. "Oh my God! I have to tell you what Rick said. He came home from work the other day and told me to stop buying soap because he wanted me to start making it instead." I cracked up.

What the hell is wrong with these guys?? I know they get some weird sense of pride out of creating something from their very own hands, and that's all fine and dandy if we didn't have to get involved. Because what ultimately winds up happening is, the woman gets stuck doing all of the work.

Making furniture means I have to live without a dining room table, nightstand, coffee table or hutch until he's done making it. Becoming a barber would mean my friend would be scheduling appointments or sweeping up hair in the shop. And making soap means that she'll be in the kitchen, filling every available decorative tin with some scented shea butter and lye concoction and then have to clean it all up when she's done.

I just don't get it. I'm all for being creative, no doubt about that, but it's not like I just up and decided one day to make, oh I don't know.....paper. Can you imagine if I said to Ed, "Baby. Stop buying paper for the printer. I'm going to start making it. Do you want it with extra pulp or without?"

I can see if you have a hobby, but when you open your mouth about making everyday household items when you can't even find time to shop for said items, that's a problem. I can sew, but I don't make my own clothes. I crochet, but I'm not making a winter sweater, hat and scarf ensemble. And I like butter on my Italian bread, but I'm not churning it.

I think my issue with this kind of desire to create is that men seem to take on these huge projects that they know very little about. Opening a barber shop to save twelve dollars is excessive. Making soap because you can is unecessary. And making furniture is no small task.

I want to support Ed with whatever he wants to do, but as I told him that day in Barnes and Noble...

"Start small. Build a birdhouse."

Squeaky Clean

Flying Into The Sun

Ed captured this great shot from the ferry we were taking over to Crystal Beach in Texas.

Rest In Peace Sweet Green Eyed Beauty

Lady “Paydee” Lettera
Tucson, AZ

Lady “Paydee” Lettera, a native of Tucson, Arizona died Monday, February 18, 2008. She was two and a half years old. A family statement (written by me) reads,

"Paydee, a Maine Coon, was born approximately six weeks before August 13, 2005 when she was adopted by Nana and Papa (my parents). She was actually born a male cat, but due to some confusion, she was given a girls name before that fact was discovered. Trying not to confuse her anymore and out of habit and laziness of the family, she remained a "she" cat until her death.

Paydee was adopted to take the place of Lady, who went missing earlier that summer. My mother wanted to call her Lady Two but when she was gently discouraged (by me) and told that perhaps she should give the cat her own unique name, my mother settled on calling her Lady Paydee; really for no other reason but that it rhymed. And also, I think, to secretly pay homage to the original "Lady" and thinking she faked us all out.

My nephews, Nana’s three grandsons, wanted to get into the naming and thought she should be called Lady Paydee Katie; also because it rhymed. And really, what more can you expect from three boys under the age of six? None of them seemed to take into account that she was actually a he and continued to come up with girlie names, all suspiciously rhyming with Lady. Which would lead one to believe they were being coached by their Nana.

Since none of those other names seemed to work, she became known by her middle name, Paydee. During her life, she was also known to answer to Payds, Paydster, Paydie Poo, Poopster, goddamnsonofabitchcat and Paydie Waydie Woo Woo.

In her early years, Paydee enjoyed playing with string, clawing furniture, hanging on the front of sweaters, watching TV, batting all the Christmas ornaments off the tree and visually hunting birds through the screen of the outdoor porch. She was much too skitterish to venture outside and found it more enjoyable to sleep in the sun on the window sill in the dining room. When she got too fat to fit on the window sill, she would lounge on the faux fur comforter that covered my mother's bed.

As Paydee got older, she decided to be bold and venture outside. She couldn't seem to walk upright, due to some undetermined fear, so she’d slink around dragging her belly across the dirt, staying low and safe near the ground. She looked ridiculous, but seemed to like doing it, so we didn't say anything to her. Going outside became an enjoyable way to spend a few minutes each day before heading back for a bite of Meow Mix and sip of cool water to nourish her for her afternoon nap.

Paydee possessed many talents. She became an expert at opening doors; no matter how snug they fit in the door jamb, she'd find a way to get them open. She would either jump up and wrap her paws around the doorknob, or slide her paw underneath, grab the bottom of the door until it popped open, and then slide her fat body through the narrow crack. Which I think was also a magic trick.

One of her favorite hiding places was inside the shelving unit that took up one entire wall of the living room. She would open the cabinet doors beneath the shelves, sneak inside and disappear for hours. The only evidence that she was there were little tufts of hair stuck to old photo albums and Johnny Mathis records. I don’t think she ever actually listened to those records since we never heard music coming from that room, but she certainly walked across every single one of them.

Paydee was like any typical housecat in that she loved to eat and sleep. She did both very well. One of her favorite treats was salad, with a little olive oil and balsamic vinegar. We’re not sure, but we think she may have come from an Italian family; every once in a while, she’d even eat a meatball. She also enjoyed Ritz crackers and Italian bread. But the snack that really got her salivating were those little Pounce treats in the cylinder. They were the best; all we had to do was shake the can and she'd be running in place on the tile until she got enough traction to sprint to whoever held the goods.

She wasn't always very social, but whenever my mother had a play date with her grandsons, Paydee would be right there playing along side of them. The oldest loved to open his hand and feed her bits of salad, the middle one enjoyed tugging on her tail until she hissed at him, and the youngest enjoyed spending the afternoon with Paydee, sometimes doing dishes:

She was the epitome of a domestic animal, with more than her share of domestic duties, as you can see. Paydee also enjoyed working in the office (sitting at my mother's elbow as she sent e-mails), helping with the housework (sitting at my mother's feet while she cleaned the sinks, tub and tile), reading, crocheting and crossword puzzles (again, sitting at my mother's elbow while she did each task) and watching Law & Order (one of her favorite TV shows, watched while sitting on my mother's lap).

She followed my mother everywhere. She was always under her feet, circling around her legs as she cooked, talked on the phone or swept the porch. She would not go to sleep until my mother did, she would rush to the door when my mother came in from a day out or she'd sit on the desk in the art room as my mother painted and organized.

As I write this, I am sad that my mother is sad. Her favorite companion (well, besides her husband, of course) is gone. I always thought it was so ridiculous that people got so worked up over their pets but I am very attached to Paydee myself and feel a deep sadness that she is gone. I sort of get it now.

She was survived by Nana and Papa, The Three Grandsons, Eddie and I and my brother and his wife. She was buried this afternoon on the family property and will have a small ceremony tomorrow which will be attended by Nana, Papa and the Grandsons. They will mark her grave with colorful hand painted pavers and plastic flowers that are one of my mother's gardening specialties.

Paydee will be missed by all who knew her, snuggled with her, fed her salad and did household chores with her. May these memories provide comfort in this time of sadness and missing and perhaps someday subside to make way for Lady Paydee The Third....or perhaps another charming little kitty that will bring string and brightness into our lives.

May Paydee stretch on in kitty heaven forever..."

The Zoo In Stateroom 7377

(click on picture to enlarge)

Every night during the week, when we got back to our cabin, our steward had a little towel creation waiting for us. The funniest was the guy in the life preserver (he used Ed's clothes and hat and my flip-flops) but my favorite is the little monkey.

Dwarfed By A Behemoth Of The Sea

Roatan, Honduras. Local boat in the foreground, our cruise ship behind it; a stark contrast in more ways than one.

Eddie Roams The Mayan Ruins Friday

My Eddie is so cute, he makes me crumble like the Mayan ruins. (Yes, I know that's corny!)

Peace To This House

Catholic church at the site of the ruins in Xcambo, Yucatan, Mexico. A Catholic Prayer for travelers:

O Almighty and merciful God, who hast commissioned Thy angels to guide and protect us, command them to be our assiduous companions from our setting out until our return; to clothe us with their invisible protection; to keep from us all danger of collision, of fire, of explosion, of fall and bruises, and finally, having preserved us from all evil, and especially from sin, to guide us to our heavenly home. Through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.

"Whatever house you go into, let your first words be, 'Peace to this house!' And if a man of peace lives there, your peace will go and rest on him" (Lk 10,5-6).

The Place Is In Ruins

The ruins at Xcambo, Yucatan, Mexico. As described on a Mexican travel web site:

Xcambo is located near the coast 50 km from Merida via highway 180, and only 6 km from Telchac Puerto, in the State of Yucatan, Mexico. Xcambo its a curious combination of Mayan ruins, a Catholic chapel and a small freshwater spring. Its eldest occupation origin dates back to 150 BC to 300 AC. According to archaeological theories, it was an important city that provided salt to the Mayan cities of Izamal, Oxkintok and Ah Kim Pech. They were also great artisans with an important handcraft production and exchanged goods with Mayan cities in Campeche, Tabasco, Guatemala and Belize. Archaeologists have found a great similarity in its buildings with the ones in Izamal, making them believe that Izamal Mayans used this site as a port. Also Xcambo counts ten natural springs.

A Girl On The Shores Of Cozumel

Cozumel, Mexico

Setting Sail At Sunset

Taken last night in Galveston, Texas while waiting to depart for Mexico and Honduras.

Knots And Nautical Miles

On the good ship lollipop, it's a sweet trip to a candy shop, where bon-bons play, on the sunny beach of Peppermint Bay....

Today is cruise day! We will be on Royal Caribbean International's Voyager Of The Sea. Their web site has this to say about her:

"This ship is a revolutionary marvel of naval engineering. Enjoy one-of-a-kind features like an ice-skating rink, the Royal Promenade and a rock-climbing wall, just for starters. How did we accommodate all of these innovative ideas? Simple. We built a bigger cruise ship. The 138,000-ton, 3,114-guest Voyager of the Seas became the world's largest cruise ship when it entered service in November 1999. Innovations on this and other Voyager-family ships add up to more space for every guest, and include enhanced staterooms, expanded dining options and exceptional recreational facilities."

You can take a virtual tour of the ship and maybe even book your own vacation while you're at it! I'll see you when I return.

Bon Voyage to me!

Not A Knock Knock Joke

We've spent the last four days in a hotel, waiting for cruise day. I've been shopping like a crazed, stressed out Christmas shopper, hitting every store in town for stuff I need to take on the cruise. Since we had planned to be back home at the end of the month, I didn't bring my usual four seasons of wardrobe with me. I only took a few weeks' worth of cold weather stuff, anticipating being up north until our return home.

I got a little bit of everything; bathing suits, cover-up, flip-flops, shorts, white capri pants, denim capri pants, tank tops, short sleeve tops, skirts, a dress, walking shoes, tote bags, suntan lotion, pedicure, manicure, floppy hat, new magazines, music for the iPod, lipgloss, Dramamine...anything you can think of, I probably bought. I was exhausted. My legs felt like I had been on the treadmill for days. I barely ate or slept. I just shopped.

Did I happen to mention that I hate shopping? Even on the best day? I'm an in and out shopper. I don't meander and I don't go to the mall just for the sake of going. I get hot just thinking about dressing rooms and I hate trying on clothes. I'd rather buy all the stuff I want, take it with me and try it on in whatever icy air conditioned surroundings I may be in and then take back whatever I don't want. It's worth the two trips for that.

Also, if you've been paying attention here at the blog, you'll know that I'm one of them good 'ol full figured gals....PHAT, as Mo'Nique likes to say. This in itself presents a problem, as my choices for shopping are a little more limited. Add to that fact that I wear a size twelve shoe and you can imagine the frustration and trauma at having to do everything last minute!

So after the marathon scavenger hunt was over, I had basically everything I needed, which included three bathing suits if you can believe it! I had it all laid out on the hotel room bed, sorting and packing as I went along. This meant going back and forth from the truck to the room with this and that as I decided what to take and what not to.

On one of my trips back to the room, I got to the door, arms full of stuff, and knocked.

Nothing.

I knocked again. After a minute, I heard shuffling and finally Ed opened the door.

His first words?

"Don't you have a key?"

WTF? Was he not here for the whole four day shopping ordeal? Does he not know I'm hot and irritated? Has he heard the muttering under my breath as I was packing?

And if I had an mother-effing key, would I be knocking on the door???

Eddie Reads A Book Friday

On Monday, I mentioned a little vacation Eddie and I had planned. Well...on Sunday, we leave for a week long cruise!

We are going to Cozumel, Mexico (where we'd like to do a little snorkeling), Roatan, Honduras (which I am very excited about since I just saw this island featured on a HGTV show) and Progreso, Mexico which is located on the Yucatan Peninsula.

I am looking forward to taking lots of pictures of all things tropical and hopefully coming home with more tan and less crappy trinkets from port shops. I am unsure of the internet situation, but you can bet if I have service, I'll be checking email!

He Wouldn't Recommend His Wife To Anyone He Knows

(click picture to enlarge)

While searching online for a hotel room, I came across this little "review" from a previous guest. What good is bringing your wife to a hotel room if she's not even going to lay on the bed??

As Pisghetti Gains Another Year, I Lose Eight

Eh-Eh-Ed.

Eddie Cakes.

The Ed Man.

Eddie Pisghetti.

Ed Go.

My Eddie.

These are just a few of the monikers my Eddie goes by; nicknames given by my nephews, brother and even Aunts. Everyone loves Ed.

Today is sweet Eddie's birthday. He's a spring chicken, still in his thirties. I figure since it's common for men to be older than their mates, it may work to my benefit when people find out that Ed is only thirty-three. Conceivably, I can probably get away with telling people I'm thirty-two instead of forty. So that's my plan; since I turned forty last year, I'm going to start lying about my age this year.

So let's all come together to wish Ed a Happy Birthday and at the same time, we can wish me a happy reverse birthday on the side!

He Wants Me Like Joe Franklin

Years ago I was at a function in New York with my cousin, something she won tickets to. A lot of people were in attendance, all seated at round tables of ten, which were facing a fancy podium at the front of the room. Something was going on, though I don't remember what it was.

What I do remember, is an older guy seated across the room, who kept looking at me. Every time I looked up, he was looking at me. Every time I gazed across the room, he was gazing back. He clearly wanted me. All through dinner, all through the speeches, every time I moved, he was looking.

Come to find out this guy, this old guy, the one looking at me all night, was Joe Franklin; famous radio and TV personality, commonly known as "The King of Nostalgia". As it turned out he wasn't looking at me at all, he was just looking in my direction. Because I couldn't see his eyes, it appeared as if he were checking me out. Staring. I thought he wanted me. And even though I didn't want him, I was crushed. Rejected. A young girl's dream? Shattered.

I told that story so many times and got so many laughs from the description of how I thought he was looking at me the whole night, how he couldn't take his eyes off me, that my friends and I began to describe someone's interest in us as, "He wants me like Joe Franklin." Even my brother started using it, saying to his friends "She wants you like Joe Franklin wanted my sister." It became so integrated into his language, that even his friends started using it. It started a mini-trend.

To this day, some twenty years later, I'll still say "He wants me like Joe Franklin wanted me" when I catch someone checking me out. Even if the person I say it to doesn't get it, I secretly chuckle to myself as the memory is conjured up in my mind. Sometimes they'll want to know what I'm talking about and if I'm in the mood, I'll let them in on it. Other times I'll just say, "Oh, nothing" and leave 'em hanging.

In fact, just today someone was looking at me with interest in his eyes, and judging by how he watched me saunter across the convenience store to pay for my Diet Coke, I knew it. I could just tell.

He wanted me just like Joe Franklin did so many years ago.

The Newest B & B Trend Might Not Take Off As Expected

Eddie and I have a vacation planned for the near future (which I will tell you about later) and were talking today about some other places we'd like to go and things we'd like to see.

Fiji, Madagascar and Chile were mentioned, as was Italy, Russia and China.

"How about castles?" he said.

"Oh, I'd love to see castles!" I said.

"Really?"

"Yeah. You know, there are some beautiful ones in Germany and I've always wanted to go to Romania, which is where Bran Castle is, the one that people attribute to being Dracula's. And that one is for sale!"

"Oh yeah? How much?" he wanted to know.

"I don't know, I think like a hundred and fifty three or a hundred and thirty five million, something like that."

"Wow." he said. "Someone should buy that and turn it into a blood and breakfast. Bwaaah-ha-ha-ha..."

Wyth Jane's Kin In Wytheville

I used to date a guy who was in the Air Force and had the job title of "meterologist"; I use that term very loosely, since his job mainly consisted of going outside on his cigarette break, looking at the sky and then going back in to send out the "weather report" to the masses. At the time, he was stationed at Andrews Air Force Base in Maryland and we were living in Alexandria, Virginia.

Due to its proximity to Washington, DC, this base was home to Air Force One and often experienced a lot of activity and buzz whenever anything "presidential" happened. We were living there just before the war in Iraq was started and because of possible retaliation, my boyfriend was required to carry his government issued gas mask in his duffle bag at all times.

The people on the base were always talking about the security levels: Alpha, Bravo, Charlie and Delta; Delta being the highest, where the base went into lockdown. No one in, no one out. Since I was living in a hotel suite at the time, I would just wait to hear the news about what happened that day, but didn't give much thought as to what I would be doing should the security level go to Delta.

That wasn't the case for one of my boyfriends co-workers. She was G.I. Jane, with a boyfriend who was a Green Beret and several years of her own Navy service behind her. After leaving the ship she had been on, she wanted to continue her service on land so she enlisted in the Air Force.

She was entrenched in all things military. She couldn't have a conversation without including something about her being in the military. Her sentences always contained something like, "...when I was at sea," or "On the ship, we did it this way..." She wore no makeup and had cheekbones that could cut glass. Not in the chisled beauty sort of way, but in the short haired, plain faced,I-could-be-a-very-skinny-man-if-you-looked-too-quickly-at-me kind of way.

She grated on my nerves. I tried to befriend her because she was a co-worker of my boyfriend, but I couldn't bear the sound of her voice. Because several people working in the same unit were staying at our hotel, she'd often wind up sitting with our group at dinner.

She spoke in acronyms and told time using the twenty-four hour clock. I'd have to listen to conversations over dinner with her saying things like, "Well, since we're TDY, the DOD wants us to be prepared for an ADE and you know what happens if we have to go to the PX and have AAFES prepare provisions for us to take on base just in case we're in lockdown." or, when I would agree to meet her for lunch or a movie, she'd tell me to be there between "nineteen hundred hours and nineteen-thirty since the movie started at twenty-ten."

I wanted to shoot her in the head ASAP with a three fifty seven. She drove me nuts.

I'm writing about this because every time I pass this one particular town in Virginia, I'm reminded of a conversation we had just prior to the war being started. Seems they all knew that the President was going to announce us going to war before it was reported on television, so they were making plans for "what if". One of those plans included me and what I would be doing should something happen while they were on the base and I was happily snacking and watching TV in my hotel room.

She told me that in the event of a chemical attack on Washington, I should head South, not North; something stupid about the way the wind blows. I'm thinking, chemical attack? I thought the government said duct tape was good for that...

OK, kidding. Who ever thought the duct tape solution made any sense??

Anyway, I listened with feigned interest because I really couldn't care one iota about what came out of her mouth, but she continued on about what I should do just in case my boyfriend was locked down on base and couldn't get to me; which would be useless anyway, since he didn't have an extra gas mask, right?

She knew he was the only one I knew in town and that my family was in New York and Arizona, so as she continued her instructions, she offered me the shelter of her family. If the time came for me to head South, she said, I was to meet her family in the parking lot of the Wal-Mart in Wytheville, Virginia. Wytheville? I had no idea where the hell that was. I do now, since I drive all over the country, but then? No clue.

"If for some reason," she said, "in the midst of the chaos you may be faced with while trying to get out of the area, you forget the name of the town where the Wal-Mart is, just remember...We'll Be With You In Wytheville."

Unfortunately, I have never forgotten those words. They ring in my ears every single time I pass the sign on the interstate or stop in that town for fuel.

I am haunted by G.I. Jane.

Hunt On Hold

The house hunting is on hold for now. We put in an offer on something we saw and after going back and forth several times, the sellers just wouldn't comply with our demands!

Seriously...they actually didn't. We requested what we wanted repaired/replaced and they didn't want to do it. So, we lost interest and cancelled any further dealings.

Now we're back on the road and have put a hold on the hunt for now. We may resume once we get back to town, but for now, it's internet searching only.

And if all else fails, it might be back to RV livin', which was our first choice anyway!!

Eddie Gets His Eyes Checked Friday

Ed recently had an eye exam and got new lenses for his glasses. When he brought me the receipt, I see that he went to Dr. Magalhaes and Ass.

I'm pretty sure the ass was that annoyingly perky little blond that peered deep into my Eddie's pretty blue eyes before writing up his prescription. Ass, is right.

Gambling Haze

Reno, Nevada

Traveling With Your Cat

Eddie is never crude. Ever. It never occurs to him to speak in that manner, even if someone else does it or even if the situation might allow him to get away with it. He just doesn't do it.

So the other night when he came back to the truck, after I sat there wondering what the hell was taking him so long since I thought it was a bathroom run but it actually turned into a tall glass of milk and hot apple pie run, and told me of an interaction he had while sitting at the counter in the truck stop, I was caught off guard with the surprise ending.

He sat down next to another driver, a big black guy, and they started to talk about the nature of their work, their lives, etc. He listened as the guy proceeded to explain to Ed that he had just gone through a divorce, was having trouble with his ex regarding his kids, wasn't getting paid enough, could barely keep up with his bills, hated his dispatcher and all the other stuff Ed has heard a million times from drivers out here on the road.

When the conversation turned back to him and the guy asked about his situation, Ed told him that his girlfriend (me!) traveled with him on the road and that I was actually a driver too. He explained how we do a lot of sightseeing, how he enjoys my company and how it's just not as lonely as being out here on your own.

To that, the guy responded with an all knowing wink, sly smile and slow continuous head nod as if he understood the "not being lonely part" and said, "Ohhhh, I get it, brotha. So you take your pussy with you."

At that moment, the one where you're not sure what to say because you really don't think it's the time or the place to educate someone about appropriate conversation, yet you don't want to look totally un-cool, Ed said, "Yep. That's right."

Then he finished up his pie right quick and hurried on out to the truck to pet me goodnight...

Mercury Dropping

It's twenty two degrees, and I'm in heaven. Not the real heaven of course, but close enough. I'm in upstate New York.

I have no winter coat to speak of, my flip-flops are breaking lose from their hiding place behind the seat begging to be worn and there is a Dunkin' Donuts in the parking lot. Sheer bliss. Just the thought of waking up to a Dunkin' Donuts iced latte and Boston Kreme donut is going to keep me from getting the proper amount of sleep I need.

Unfortunately, there is no snow to speak of; a few lone piles left over from the last plowing, but most of the fields and hillsides have only small patches here and there. I saw a few semi-frozen ponds in the area, but nothing worth getting all skate happy about.

We will have the weekend off in Boston, so I'm hoping to get some good pictures in the next few days, here and once we get there. I'm hoping for sun and no warmth...just the nice winter chill.

Why ruin a good thing?

Girl Crush

Ever have a girl crush?

You know, a girl that you like a little more than you should? Not in the romantic way, or maybe it is in the romantic way, I don't know....but certainly someone that when you're in their company, you just want to be in it more?

Or maybe it's a crush on someone you don't really know but see often; the beautiful barista that makes your latte or the girl in the bank who always has on the cutest outfit or greatest jewelry.

Guys just don't get this concept....they think it's "gay" if they were to say they thought another guy was hot, or wished for abs like his or even commented on something as innocuous as a pair of jeans or shoes he was wearing. We know better. We get it.

I have had several girl crushes over the years and the latest one is on my dentist. And no, it's not in a romantic way, but I do have to say I love her! I don't really love going to the dentist, but I enjoy seeing her and that makes it all worth the trip. My whole family (who also go to her) feels the same way. At least I'm not alone in my crushing.

She's BEAUTIFUL. I mean, BEE-YOU-TEE-FULL! Great teeth (of course), beautiful hair, classy clothes, gentle little hands, gorgeous eyes with long lashes (since when I'm staring up in the chair, her eyes are all I see), great shoes, magnetic personality and charming disposition. She asks about the family, remembers names of boyfriends and nephews, asks about the last trip you said you were going on or how your holidays were. I aspire to be like her. It'll never happen, but I can dream.

Sometimes, I feel like a dental recruiter when I talk about her. "Oh, you have to go see Dr. C - she's the best. You'll love her." Even my step-father, who is eighty-six, gets all googly when he talks about her. She's just a gem. The epitome of femininity and grace.

And at least she's local and I actually know her. My other chica I have to crush on from afar. Unrequited.

Sadly, she doesn't even know I exist.

On Tour And Collecting Paper As We Go

One of my "jobs" on the road is to do our paperwork. Which means scanning EVERY SINGLE RECEIPT we get. Every single one.

If you had any idea how many receipts we collect in a day, you'd understand the daunting task it is. It becomes even more overwhelming when you get behind...like someone I know (me).

The good news is, I'm almost done with 2007. Yes, I know it's 2008, but I'm only a little behind and I do have to get my ass in gear before 2008 starts piling up. We're going back on the road and this has to be done before we leave.

So, wish me luck and may the force be with me as the receipt collecting tour of 2008 begins!

Teaching Them Young

This is the shirt I bought my nephew for Christmas. He's fascinated with everything trucking, so we thought we'd teach him the important stuff first: SAY NO TO CHEAP FREIGHT

Hopefully, he will apply this to any job he gets. Don't work for less than you're worth and don't lower the standards for others in your field. Do what you do well and get paid accordingly for it.

Great lesson for anyone.

How A Four Year Old Can Make You Feel Like Crap For Trying To Get Out Of Doing Yard Work

As I mentioned yesterday, I have been working in the yard with my nephews; against my will, of course.

Yesterday, the youngest came running up to me, jumped in my lap, threw his hands around my neck, scooched his face close to mine and asked, "Aunt Salena, will you come outside and play with me?"

"Sure," I said. "What are we going to do?"

"Dig."

"Dig??"

"Yeah, dig. I'll even let you wear my glubs." Gloves. OK, this game is not sounding fun already. I have to wear gloves? And dig? Nuh uh.

We went outside, he handed me a rake and then proceeded to tell me where my "area" was and what I was supposed to rake. I did as I was told, but the whole time I was thinking, he tricked me. He told me we were going to play, yet this is suspiciously similar to yardwork. And I don't do yardwork.

I watched him go back and forth, raking the leaves into piles and then shoveling the piles into the wheelbarrow. I said, "You like doing this?"

He answered, "I LOVE doing this."

"Really? Why?"

"Because it helps Nana."

I had no response. A four year old who likes doing yardwork to help his Nana?

Can't get a better answer than that.

You Can Get Them At Home Depot??

While working in the yard with my two nephews, one using the hoe and the other using the rake, an argument broke out. The one using the rake wanted to use the hoe; this happens all the time, one wants what the other has. Didn't know it existed until someone else started to use it, but now they absolutely must have that particular tool.

I said to my mother, "Why don't you have two of everything, Ma? I mean, wouldn't that just make it easier??"

She shrugged as if saying, what can you do?

Ed was at Home Depot, picking up some stuff he needed for the shelving unit he's building, so I said to my mother, "Do you want me to have Ed pick up a cheap hoe for the boys?"

Laughing, my mother said, "This better be the only time I hear that kind of question."

Addicted

Long ago, before Starbucks took over every other corner in a city, people got their coffee fix in a different way. Mine was at the local AM/PM mini-mart.

I used to stop every single morning, at this little convenience store on the corner, a block from the construction company I worked at. And every morning (and sometimes in the afternoon), I would buy a large "Italian Cappuccino" from one of those machines where you push the button and it hisses and clicks before it sprays a tasty, steaming concoction into your cup. I paid something like $1.10 a cup (oh, the bargain!) for this dreamy drink.

Until one day, when I was approaching the machine and saw the girl filling the chamber with a powdered drink mix. On the pouch she was pouring from, I saw a label that said, General Foods International. General Foods International??? Why, I could buy that in the grocery store!!!

So I did. And that was the beginning of the addiction. At one point, when I was working for a large resort hotel, I made a connection with guy who supplied our coffee and got myself a sweet deal on the product in bulk. I had bags of this stuff lying around; I could have been an Italian Cappuccino dealer.

Now I know Michelle over at Bleeding Espresso is thinking, "Feh! What does she know about real cappuccino???" Well, girl, I know it's not real cappuccino. It's not even close. It's not frothy and foamy and it doesn't even smell like coffee, let alone espresso! But I jones for this particular taste. It's a little Italian monkey on my back. My dirty little secret.

Well, it was my dirty little secret.

Is It Really SO Hard??

I should start a "Pet Peeve" category because I have SO many of them.

Today I went to renew my membership at Blockbuster. It's not really something I use often, as Ed and I see so many movies in the theater, that we rarely need to rent anything, but since we are in town, I wanted to be able to get some new releases that I might have missed.

I gave my driver's license and credit card to the guy behind the counter. While he was entering my information in the computer, I browsed the store and made my selections.

When I got back up to the counter, he processed my movies and handed me my membership cards. I thanked him and left the store.

When I got home, I fished the cards out of my wallet and handed Ed his. As I did, I noticed the guy spelled my name wrong. And here's where the peeve part comes in...

I GAVE HIM MY DRIVER'S LICENSE AND CREDIT CARD! All he had to do was COPY my name as it was written.

Is it really SO hard to do something the right way the first time? It's just sloppy, lazy and inefficient in my opinion. I don't understand how people hold jobs they can't seem to do. I know it's a minor indescretion, but the point is just that.

If you can't handle the little things, and do them right, how can you ever be trusted with anything else??

The Sympathy Train Stopped Dead In Its Tracks

Today while driving downtown, I was making a left into one of the busiest intersections in the city, where in the median Ed and I saw a man with a sign:

HOMELESS.

ANYTHING WILL HELP.

WILL WORK.

Typical scene these days, a homeless man on the corner with a sign; especially here where it's warm in the winter time and the homeless seem to come out of the woodwork and become more diligent in their coverage of the street corners.

What bothered me about this particular "homeless" person was the fact that while walking back and forth with his sign, limping as he went, head hanging down looking all vulnerable, he was talking on a cell phone.

A cell phone??? You are homeless, yet you have money for a cell phone? And I'm supposed to believe this?

Maybe he should back the person he was talking to and see if they can put him up for the night.

Lighting To Do Laundry By

I won't have a suitable place for this glittering crystal orb of a chandelier in the public area of my new house since it won't go with my general decor, but I might be able to find a little spot to hang it in my massive laundry room. Then my whites will really sparkle!

Who Do You Know?

Sometimes I think about who I know and what their professions are; in addition to thinking about how they arrived at that profession, if they're happy in it and if they ever think of doing something else, but that's another post. Sometimes knowing someone in a certain field can help you out in certain ways, whether it's actual help or just an answer to a question. There can also be a bit of bartering if you play your cards right. One hand washes the other and all that.

So I got to thinking of all the people I currently know or have known in my life and who might be called on to come to my aid if needed. This is what I came up with (starting with the most obvious and their connection to me):

My boyfriend is a truck driver; he's moved my stuff cross country once already - in addition to helping other family and friends with their trucking needs.

My brother is a tile contractor; I plan on using him quite a bit for the new house!

My mother is a drug and alcohol abuse counselor; I haven't needed her for those issues, but that doesn't stop her from dispensing "advice".

My father worked at the post office, was a bartender and before he died, owned a hot dog truck; hence, I never bought a stamp growing up, I learned how to make some of the most difficult mixed drinks ever and I had the best place on earth to go for a hot dog whenever I was in the area.

My step-father used to own a restaurant; where I learned soooo many skills that to this day, they still help me.

My sister-in-law, step-sister and cousin's wife are school teachers; elementary level, but they have come in handy many times.

My sister-in-law's father was a physics teacher; I still call him with questions like "Which boils faster, cold water from the tap or hot water from the tap?"

My sister-in-law's mother and my best friend Alan are nurses; they get all the weirdo symptom phone calls and assure me I'm not dying from the ant bite I got in the woods of West Virginia.

My cousin is a jeweler; anything I want, anytime I want, he can find it and get it for me at the "family" discount.

That same cousin's wife is from Columbia; she's a great source when I need Spanish translation.

My step-niece is an architect; guess who I'm having draw up the addition for our house?

My other cousin is a bigwig at Verizon Wireless; he gets all the cell phone inquiries and my undying love for his company.

I have yet another cousin who is a priest; he married my cousin and his wife and also officiated at my father's funeral.

My best friend's husband is a custom cabinet maker; he's been consulted many times on building storage for the inside of our truck.

My step-brother owns a laundromat; when in Florida, I can get suds on the house!

My uncle is in construction; he lets me pick his brain freely when I need building advice.

I have a cousin who is a television producer in Hollywood; I'm ready for my close up...

My old friend in Tucson is in law enforcement; he's always willing to give me the scoop on what's happening in town.

My old co-worker is in the hospitality field at a very famous resort/day spa; he's always willing to give me a discount on spa services.

That's just a partial list but as you can see, I have no family or friends who are doctors, lawyers or indian chiefs and I guess I should be lucky I don't need one of those! I have made some internet friends though who fill the doctor and lawyer category and I've already hit them up for a few answers to which they've graciously obliged.

Who do you know?

Eddie Gets Handy Friday

My "handy" man, installing a new mailbox at my mother's house.

He also had an entourage since my nephews were here while he was working. They followed him around like puppies; apparently, carrying his tools to the work location was the desired position to have.

I don't think Ed has ever had such eager helpers. I just hope he doesn't get too used to it!

A Willow Weeps In Arizona

I was told this is an African Weeping Willow, but I'm not sure if that is correct. I just know it's weeping outside my bedroom.

My Boyfriend Simon Is Back In Town

If you know anything at all, you know that the American Idol auditions started this week and as usual, they don't disappoint.

As usual, Simon is the purest form of genius and always calls it right on the money (well, except for that Jennifer Hudson flub in Season 3).

When I watch these early auditions, the one thing that always comes to mind when people say they were encouraged by their friends, family, mother, boyfriend, etc. and were told that they have a great voice is...WHO are these people???

How do you give someone that you love, or someone who is your friend, false hope? How do you let them stand in line for hours, possibly wind up on television and most likely humiliate themselves? I'm not talking about the freaks who show up in costume and clearly need mental evaluation, I'm talking about the people who honestly think they can sing.

I'm glad we have some professionals weeding through the cattle calls and I would never want to give up watching these atrocious auditions, but I can't wait until we get down to the nitty gritty.

Bring it on! Next week, San Diego!

When Big Hair And Denim Were King

I believe this picture was taken in February of 1991, but it might have been 1990 - so I guess I would have been 23 here. I am wearing my favorite three-quarter length denim coat with multiple pockets and drawstrings, one of my many gold rope chains (my uncle is a jeweler!) and the big hair.

I love that hair. It wasn't "Long Island" big, but it was definitely "New York" big. I'm sure I thought I was totally bitchin'.

And I was, wasn't I??

If "G" Means Good, Then "I" Must Mean Incompetent

So as this whole house hunting process moves forward, there are things that we have to do and check and double check before actually buying a place.

One of those things is a trip to the various government agencies involved in our property; zoning, flood plain development, sanitation, permits and the beloved tax assessor.

I pulled teeth dealing with the guy in flood plain, had an argument with the lady in zoning, asked the permit woman to walk "to the back" one more time to make sure she checked correctly (since our information was conflicting) and got utterly exasperated with the girl in the tax assessor's office; who I'm sure wasn't too happy to see me either since she let out a big, annoyed sigh when she had to get up from her desk and greet me at the counter.

The reason I was at the tax assessor's office was to determine whether the addition on the house was being taxed incorrectly. Was it really living space or just a closed in garage that was put on the books in error? I asked her to pull the document with this information and she begrudgingly did so.

When I asked her to explain the notations on the document, she faltered and asked me to hold on a second. She walked to her desk, came back with the same puzzled look and proceeded to tell me what the coding in each column meant. I was listening, but not sold that she knew what she was talking about. When she said, about the column referring to the wall construction, that "G" meant good, I asked her if there was someone who knew what all the codes meant.

She said, "Well, I'd have to get someone from the back."

I tried not to strangle her over the counter and instead said in a calm voice, "Do you think you can do that, please?" I actually said please. Little did she know she was seriously trying my patience, of which I don't have much.

As she started to walk away, she said to me, "Well, she's really busy."

"Well, too bad. That's her job." I had lost my patience right there and I think the realtor skulked under the counter for a minute. Ed knew enough not to interfere so he stood by resolutely and thankfully, silent.

Too busy?? Too busy to do the job you are PAID to do? Paid by me, most likely, and my tax dollars. After all, we were in the tax assessor's office.

After Miss Too Busy To Do Her Job came out, we were fortunate enough to have the tax assessor who has been with the office for over 23 years come to her aid, taking over for her and her minions. I'm happy to report he was forthcoming with the information we needed, explained everything in full and sent us off with information that we never even knew existed.

As for Miss "G" Is For Good; that has become my new code word for incompetence. And as you might expect, I was able to use it several more times that day and even more in the following days. Now when I turn to Ed and say G is for good, he knows exactly what I mean.

See how often you can fit this little phrase into your work day. I know for sure that Greggie will be using it frequently. It's sort of like "The B & The C"....right, Greg?

Overshadowing Government

A palm tree dwarfs the mosaic tiled dome of one of the government building in downtown Tucson, Arizona.

When She's Not Sleeping, She Tries To Look Purty

Although upon a second assessment, I think this is her "annoyed" look.

Soft Core Porn

I have always been a fan of HGTV, but since the house hunting has started, I've been watching more obsessively.

What I want to know is this; are all the carpenters on this show former underwear models?? I have to tell you, there is not a bad looking one in the bunch.

In fact, I think they should re-name the network Hunk and Garden TV.

Napolitos

These are found in abundance in what might soon be our new backyard.

Pull Up A Chair

On The Hunt

Eddie and I are on a house hunt and as soon as I have more details, I'll be sure to spill 'em.

I mention this only because I have to tell y'all how shocked I am by the condition in which people live. The more houses I go into, the more amazed I am that people not only live the way they do, but when they are selling their house, they don't even bother to make the place neater for potential buyers!

Is it so hard to put your curling iron under the sink, not to hang your towel over the shower door or put your kids toys away? You know people are coming; you have your house listed FOR SALE.

In case you haven't been following what's going on with housing, it's a buyer's market. Which means WE are in a better position than YOU, the seller. My suggestion would be to make your house as attractive as possible or take your sign down till you're reeeeaaalllly ready to sell it.

I am on the hunt and there are thousands of choices. Try to make it a teensy bit easier on me, please!

When You Get One Like This, Don't Let Him Get Away

While in Arizona for the holidays, I went to visit a girl I used to work with. I knew I liked her when I first met her, but unfortunately wasn’t at the job long enough to really get a chance to get to know her. Since then, we’ve fostered more of a connection by e-mailing and since she also reads my blog regularly, I like her even more!

She has a son who just turned four, and to give you an idea of how long ago it’s been since I’ve been to her house, the last time I saw him was at his first birthday party! The day we had lunch together, he was quite the charmer; even when he politely told me not to talk with food in my mouth!

Later that evening, she had gone out with one of her friends, leaving him at her sister’s house while she was gone. On the way home, after she had picked him up, he kept trying to interrupt their conversation. She was ignoring him and he was getting more upset by the minute. He waited for a pause in the conversation and then told her that he was packing his bags and leaving their house because she wouldn’t talk to him.

She told him she was fine with that and then asked if he needed any help packing. He said no, but informed her that he was calling his dad to come pick him up. She gently reminded him that his father was out of state and he said, “That’s okay.”

“Fine.” she said. “You can leave tonight.”

She said he became very quiet and sat staring out the window. He then asked, “Would it be okay if I left in the morning? “ explaining that it was dark outside and he was scared. She said, “Sure.” and looked at her friend, both of them trying to contain their laughter.

After they got home, he went to bed and slept through the night; apparently he had a change of heart overnight because the next morning he asked his mother if it was alright if he stayed.

Of course she said yes; as would I. Why would you ever let a kid like that get away??

No, You Can't Fly It

I know it looks like the cockpit of an airplane, but it's actually a Lowrey Stardust.

This Stardust belongs to my brother's mother-in-law; and she can actually play it! We were invited for dinner and not only is she one of the best cooks I know (doing a dinner party right by including several courses!) but she serenaded us with the songs she's learned over the last year.

This is how I like to do dinner and a show.

C'mon In

Lee, Massachusetts

Eddie Gets Way Too Close Friday

Whoa, buddy! Back up. You're freakin' me out.

A Mid-Winter Pick Me Up

Hudson Valley, New York

High Flame Toni

So, my mother and I are sitting in her office talking about our day, Ed is in the family room talking to his mother on the phone and Frank (my step-father) is in the room adjacent to the kitchen, watching TV. Frank has a little bit of a cold and has been sporting a hoarse voice for the last few days.

All of a sudden, we hear him screaming for my mother. "Toni! Toni!" comes the barely audible voice from the kitchen. My mother jumps up and heads out of the room. "Toni!" I hear again, "Something is burning!" At this point, I decide not to get up because it's not uncommon for my mother to be burning something in the kitchen. It's one of the reasons my father dubbed her "High Flame Toni" when we were growing up.

Now, as she's gotten on in years, she's become forgetful and will walk out of the kitchen, get distracted by almost anything and by the time she comes back to the kitchen, she finds something sticking to the bottom of the pot. We're all used to it.

But this time, Frank's voice was so urgent and despondent and he was still shouting "Jesus Christ!" that I got up and went to the kitchen to see what happened. When I walked into the kitchen, I was met with a wall of acrid, white smoke; it was coming from the microwave. WTF? The smoke was stinging my eyes and lungs. I immediately ordered my parents out of the kitchen outside to the patio. I had to go out there myself just to get a breath of fresh air so I could return and investigate the problem.

When I had a sufficient gulp of fresh air, I headed back to the microwave, opened it, and found this inside:

You are looking at what used to be a rice cooker. It is sitting on the glass turntable that was in the microwave, which I picked up with oven mitts and hauled outside. The plastic was melted like lava and the rice inside was charred a crispy black. As you can see, it was still smoking.

With the exception of the time my mother almost burned my brother's new house down because she left a pot on the stove whose handle burst into flames when she walked away from it, this meltdown comes in a very close second. In my forty years of life, I've never seen a kitchen disaster like it.

It's been a while since we've had such a debacle; usually it's just a burnt grilled cheese sandwich or sauteed onions that hover on the edge of crispy. For a time, my mother had gotten away with pulling off some really spectacular meals. We've been graced with delicious pork loin, meatballs to die for and chicken soup that would cure anyone's soul.

But today? Today we can confidently say that High Flame Toni has come out of hiding and is alive and well, residing in a kitchen in Southern Arizona. If you are interested in dinner and a "show" be sure to call ahead for reservations!

Fresh Dreams. Clean Slate. High Hopes. New You.

Blog title courtesy of a Hallmark card; why do they say it so well??

As the first day of the New Year reared it's lovely head, I thought of resolutions. How I never really make them. I sorta say things, but I never really officially transition them into the actual act of resolving. And these days, when I use the word "resolution" it usually has to do with the sharpness of an image on my laptop screen.

That said, I did make a few resolutions. The first and most important one I made to another person, a person who has known me for a long time and whose opinion I value. That one I'll probably keep.

The other one is my standard "lose weight this year" resolution which went fairly well as I ended the day (today) at 1229 calories. Not bad, but let's see if I can keep that up for the next three hundred and sixty four days.

My last one is to be more productive with my time. Since I am like a person who works from home, I need to get my ass out of my "pajamas" so to speak and act like I have shit to do. It's very easy to drive a few hours a day and then spend the rest of the day reading magazines and surfing the net. I have to utilize my time more wisely.

So there you have it. Only three little resolutions. Easy to keep track of and easy to determine the success or failure rate.

Fresh dreams, clean slate, high hopes, new ME.