I'm baaaaack. Surgery's over. I'm doing fairly well considering I had a tumor the size of a tennis ball removed from my neck. A million thanks to all my pals around the world, across the country and down the block who warmly touched my life with your support and encouragement. What a difference a few heartfelt words of kindness, love and cheer can make to another human being.
As I recuperate, I've been thinking about all the positive energy, good vibes and prayers I received from old and new friends far and near, not to mention cards, flowers, phone calls, tons of email and Facebook good wishes. Without a doubt, it is nice to be remembered...while you're still living.
Several years ago in a different state, I hung out with a bunch of fun and friendly women. One day, one of the gals tearfully announced to our group that she was afraid that nobody would come to her funeral. She sobbed, "I don't want my children to be embarrassed that nobody thinks enough of me to attend my funeral." Every one of us was quiet for a minute and then we all admitted that we shared the same concern...that very few people would be at our funeral. Sounds like a silly, frivolous, vain thing to fret about...especially since none of us will be around to count mourners...or lack thereof. But I suspect it might be a universal worry that we all secretly brood about from time to time...especially as we get older. Right then and there all 9 of us raised our wine glasses and solemnly pledged to attend each other's funeral...no matter what. One for all and all for one...we swore to be there.
Hate to say it but there's no sweet ending to this little anecdote. Our group disbanded. Most of us moved away and we've lost touch. So much for Pinot Grigio-laced funeral fidelity oaths. On the other hand and we've heard this a million times...it is important to remember people while they're still alive and kicking. I try to do this in my own life...to acknowledge individuals who have blessed my world in countless ways with their kindred spirit, their compassion, true-blue friendship, understanding and unselfish nature. These are the kind of folks who've proven they can be absolutely/positively counted on to be there for you in good times and bad.
It's very easy to take for granted all the good people that come your way. I've been burned several times from people I thought I could and should trust. Haven't we all? But I've learned to discern the phonies from the rock solid. As a result, I appreciate and acknowledge even the smallest act of kindness someone does for me. To be honest, whenever anybody does something nice for the likes of an obnoxious, old fossil like me, I am stunned and deeply grateful. Yet, I was surprised, pleasantly so...by several considerate gestures that came from acquaintances I don't even know all that well. It amazes me that people went out of their way to offer expressions of concern during my medical ordeal. Still, the resounding silence of a few who could not be bothered, thunders painfully.
So now...a toast to you my faithful readers, to my dear friends, beautiful children, my sweet husband, some wonderful cousins, new friends and cherished old pals, thoughtful neighbors and my loving 90 year old mother who called long-distance ceaselessly...I am grateful indeed for your support, prayers, inspiration and good cheer. Margaritas all around!
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Recent Posts
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
The Five Wishes
Two more days til I have major surgery and I'm keeping my mind off it by staying busy. Already rearranged the living room...twice. Did a 4 mile hike. Enjoyed a scrumptious "last meal" dinner with my husband at a favorite restaurant (last meal because I won't be able to swallow solid foods for months after the surgery...which is not entirely a bad thing.) Went for a beautiful and leisurely afternoon drive in the sunny and lushly green countryside. Stopped at a roadside custard stand and treated ourselves to a chilled and tasty raspberry custard cone. Framed some recent family photos. Sewed a new pillow for adirondeck chair. Installed extra shelving in the tool room. And finally, I set aside some quiet time for reflection, personal thoughts and...filling out a health care directive. Oh ya...can I knock the fun out of a party or what?
Stick with me here and...doom and gloom aside, I think you may find this interesting. I never even knew exactly what a health care directive was until my husband and I did some research on it. We found something that I think is important to share with all of you because let's face it...ya never know when you're gonna kick the bucket. Many of us have made a "bucket list"...trekking to Macchu Picchu, hang-gliding over the Alps, sailing the Greek Isles, exploring the Grand Canyon or whizzing along a zip-line above a tropical rain forest. But how many of us have provided written directives about how we wish to be cared for in our final days? Granted, that's not nearly as thrilling as following your guru to an ashram in India or kayaking the Amazon.
But if you think of a health care directive as a greased zip line to a peaceful afterlife...you might find this information worthwhile. We've all heard of the living will. Well, that's been improved upon with what they call a durable power of attorney advanced health care directive. Yet there's another health care directive available today in most states that offers patients and their loved ones a dignified, compassionate and easily understood plan of action that walks people through the steps of how they'd like to be cared for in the event of serious illness or injury.
This document is called the Five Wishes. It allows you to control how you want to be treated if the inevitable happens. It covers your personal, emotional and spiritual needs as well as your medical wishes. It was inspired by a fellow who worked in a hospice run by Mother Teresa. I'm not going to delve into all the particulars of the Five Wishes but I strongly recommend you look up information about it online.
The really cool part about the Five Wishes is that it gives you a chance to express your own up-close-and personal thoughts in a clear, friendly, almost conversational manner. And it relieves your loved ones of some degree of stress and worry. It talks about forgiving others, making amends, even organizing your own memorial service. (Did somebody say organize? I'm on it.) It's a down-to-earth way of handling serious and emotional subject matter that most of us would rather avoid. It even provides a section for you to write down how you'd like to be remembered. In the grand scheme of things, it's your opportunity to finally get the last word. As for me, I've had the time of my life.
OK. Enough said. Just thought I'd pass this along as a community service. Til next time, my faithful, kind-hearted, lovely, dear and brilliant readers.
P.S. And just in case my public service post has been a bit too depressing...here's a little tune to get your feet a tappin'.
Peter Allen - I Go to Rio
Uploaded by GaleMcDonald. - Music videos, artist interviews, concerts and more. Sphere: Related Content
Stick with me here and...doom and gloom aside, I think you may find this interesting. I never even knew exactly what a health care directive was until my husband and I did some research on it. We found something that I think is important to share with all of you because let's face it...ya never know when you're gonna kick the bucket. Many of us have made a "bucket list"...trekking to Macchu Picchu, hang-gliding over the Alps, sailing the Greek Isles, exploring the Grand Canyon or whizzing along a zip-line above a tropical rain forest. But how many of us have provided written directives about how we wish to be cared for in our final days? Granted, that's not nearly as thrilling as following your guru to an ashram in India or kayaking the Amazon.
But if you think of a health care directive as a greased zip line to a peaceful afterlife...you might find this information worthwhile. We've all heard of the living will. Well, that's been improved upon with what they call a durable power of attorney advanced health care directive. Yet there's another health care directive available today in most states that offers patients and their loved ones a dignified, compassionate and easily understood plan of action that walks people through the steps of how they'd like to be cared for in the event of serious illness or injury.
This document is called the Five Wishes. It allows you to control how you want to be treated if the inevitable happens. It covers your personal, emotional and spiritual needs as well as your medical wishes. It was inspired by a fellow who worked in a hospice run by Mother Teresa. I'm not going to delve into all the particulars of the Five Wishes but I strongly recommend you look up information about it online.
The really cool part about the Five Wishes is that it gives you a chance to express your own up-close-and personal thoughts in a clear, friendly, almost conversational manner. And it relieves your loved ones of some degree of stress and worry. It talks about forgiving others, making amends, even organizing your own memorial service. (Did somebody say organize? I'm on it.) It's a down-to-earth way of handling serious and emotional subject matter that most of us would rather avoid. It even provides a section for you to write down how you'd like to be remembered. In the grand scheme of things, it's your opportunity to finally get the last word. As for me, I've had the time of my life.
OK. Enough said. Just thought I'd pass this along as a community service. Til next time, my faithful, kind-hearted, lovely, dear and brilliant readers.
P.S. And just in case my public service post has been a bit too depressing...here's a little tune to get your feet a tappin'.
Peter Allen - I Go to Rio
Uploaded by GaleMcDonald. - Music videos, artist interviews, concerts and more. Sphere: Related Content
Friday, August 20, 2010
Killing Time
In a few days, I'll be whisked off for surgery to have Doogie Howser slit open my throat and yank out a big, nasty, blobby, bulging cyst---the size of a lumpy cucumber...that's been wreaking havoc as it slowly strangles my thyroid, vocal chords, tongue and assorted other neck organs which I presume to be kinda vital for a pleasant quality of life.
I had not planned to write about the operation---which for the curious is called a Sistrunk Procedure to remove a thyroglossal duct cyst---because I was scared to death. My surgeon matter-of-factly told me I may lose the use of my vocal chords...permanently. Then he calmly rattled off a few other minor complications that could happen: like finding a malignancy, blood clots, stroke, seizures, choking, thyroid troubles, tongue impairment and for good measure...that pesky old nemesis they call...flat line.
After much hand-wringing, imagining the worst for months on end and watching ghastly YouTube videos of the surgical procedure over and over and over, I finally decided to stop obsessing about it. It was time to dump my negativity and channel positive resources. You might think I'd invoke something uplifting and inspirational like: Let go and let God or Put it in God's hands. Now don't get me wrong. I do strongly attest to the power of prayer. And believe me, I've weaseled myself onto the prayer lists of a vast multitude of friends and family. So I've got all that good spiritual stuff going for me already.
But when it comes to really taking my mind off worrisome things, the tried and true solution for me is to head to the inner depths of our household closets and...reorganize. The thing is...I'm already a notorious neatnik. I've been that way my entire life. I love order and orderliness. To me it makes perfect sense to keep things well organized because knowing where everything is and being able to find things in a flash---totally simplifies your entire life AND it gives me so much more freedom. Personal time freedom...to do so many more things. Not only that but putting things in order is relaxing therapy for me. Call me crazy. It is what it is.
As you can well imagine...if you've ever known a super organizational freak...our clothes closets were already organized more brilliantly than Martha Steward on steroids. They were already decluttered, alphabetized, color-coded, super sorted, lined with neat bins and boxes for socks, scarves and lingerie and sported custom shelving to hold shipshape stacks of finely folded shirts and shorts and jeans. I'm sure this sounds quite pathetic and utterly insane to most normal folks. But it works beautifully for us.
So this time, instead of reorganizing again...I decided to purge. I went through all our closets and pulled out stuff that we hadn't used in a year or so. Clothes, outdated computer stuff, cooking utensils that I never use any more, newer books I've already read and didn't like, some tools, several knick knacks, garden implements, a few furniture items. It took me several days to accomplish all this but eventually I ended up with a rather substantial and needless to say tidy pile of household goods. Most of the items were fairly new but seldom or never used. We gave it all away to the Goodwill and our church.
Now my sweet husband and I have even less stuff but more space in the house and more time to do things together. In the process, I stopped dwelling about my upcoming surgery. Only thing is...I have four more days before I go under the knife. Still gotta find things to keep myself occupied otherwise those mesmerizing YouTube surgery videos will be luring me back. Maybe I should reorganize the silverware drawers or restack the toilet paper shelf or rebuild the storage racks in the garage, or......... Sphere: Related Content
I had not planned to write about the operation---which for the curious is called a Sistrunk Procedure to remove a thyroglossal duct cyst---because I was scared to death. My surgeon matter-of-factly told me I may lose the use of my vocal chords...permanently. Then he calmly rattled off a few other minor complications that could happen: like finding a malignancy, blood clots, stroke, seizures, choking, thyroid troubles, tongue impairment and for good measure...that pesky old nemesis they call...flat line.
After much hand-wringing, imagining the worst for months on end and watching ghastly YouTube videos of the surgical procedure over and over and over, I finally decided to stop obsessing about it. It was time to dump my negativity and channel positive resources. You might think I'd invoke something uplifting and inspirational like: Let go and let God or Put it in God's hands. Now don't get me wrong. I do strongly attest to the power of prayer. And believe me, I've weaseled myself onto the prayer lists of a vast multitude of friends and family. So I've got all that good spiritual stuff going for me already.
But when it comes to really taking my mind off worrisome things, the tried and true solution for me is to head to the inner depths of our household closets and...reorganize. The thing is...I'm already a notorious neatnik. I've been that way my entire life. I love order and orderliness. To me it makes perfect sense to keep things well organized because knowing where everything is and being able to find things in a flash---totally simplifies your entire life AND it gives me so much more freedom. Personal time freedom...to do so many more things. Not only that but putting things in order is relaxing therapy for me. Call me crazy. It is what it is.
As you can well imagine...if you've ever known a super organizational freak...our clothes closets were already organized more brilliantly than Martha Steward on steroids. They were already decluttered, alphabetized, color-coded, super sorted, lined with neat bins and boxes for socks, scarves and lingerie and sported custom shelving to hold shipshape stacks of finely folded shirts and shorts and jeans. I'm sure this sounds quite pathetic and utterly insane to most normal folks. But it works beautifully for us.
So this time, instead of reorganizing again...I decided to purge. I went through all our closets and pulled out stuff that we hadn't used in a year or so. Clothes, outdated computer stuff, cooking utensils that I never use any more, newer books I've already read and didn't like, some tools, several knick knacks, garden implements, a few furniture items. It took me several days to accomplish all this but eventually I ended up with a rather substantial and needless to say tidy pile of household goods. Most of the items were fairly new but seldom or never used. We gave it all away to the Goodwill and our church.
Now my sweet husband and I have even less stuff but more space in the house and more time to do things together. In the process, I stopped dwelling about my upcoming surgery. Only thing is...I have four more days before I go under the knife. Still gotta find things to keep myself occupied otherwise those mesmerizing YouTube surgery videos will be luring me back. Maybe I should reorganize the silverware drawers or restack the toilet paper shelf or rebuild the storage racks in the garage, or......... Sphere: Related Content
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Michigan Changes Everything
My husband and I moved to Michigan from Florida, five years ago. What? Are we crazy? A few people questioned our sanity at the time. But we have never regretted our relocation north. For us, Michigan means four dramatic and distinct seasons, easy access to four of the stunning Great Lakes along with bountiful, beautiful and uncrowded beaches. A short drive brings us high atop some of the highest fresh water sand dunes in the world with magnificent views in every direction and not a mangy palm tree in site. Up and down the Michigan coast line, more than 100 lighthouses stand sentry. There are vast walkable areas of pristine wilderness to hike and thousands of lakes and rivers to kayak...with not a single alligator, Burmese python or snowbird in any of them.
Cherry and apple orchards, vineyards and wineries, green grassy hill sides and farm lands saturate the state with their colorful hues. You can pick fresh fruit right from the tree, go fishing in a cool stream, sit in a shady glade and get snookered on cherry wine...all in one afternoon. Of course, that would be on a summery afternoon. In cold weather, you can snow-shoe through silent, snow-covered forests, cross-country ski, zip about on a snowmobile, go sledding, build a snowman, cuddle by a cozy fire or...you can winter in Florida.
For us, our move north was all about nature, a better quality of life and being able to venture outdoors in the summer without having to change sweat-soaked underwear umpteen times a day. Up here, we can step out to retrieve the morning paper without melting into a pool of sticky, damp mush from the steamy, toxic humidity that zapped our energy in Florida. Now we actually feel healthier and we're much more active. Less traffic, less congestion, fewer but friendlier people. Wholesome Midwest values. Yes, there is abundant snow in the winter but we've learned to embrace it. Summer, fall and spring are glorious with very little humidity, clean fresh air, and we hardly ever have to turn on the A/C.
It's true that Michigan like many states, has been devastated by the disastrous economy. Detroit suffers from massive urban blight, drug violence and rampant crime. But Detroit does not define the entire state. In places like Grand Rapids not far from Lake Michigan, where we live, there exists a sense of vitality and enthusiasm. This is not intended to gloss over the problems Michigan shares with many areas of this country. There is much room for improvement and many people are suffering from economic hardships. On the other hand, cities like Grand Rapids stand out as vibrant, self-sufficient communities with residents who are hopeful, hard-working and entrepreneurial.
Whenever my husband and I explore the attributes that Michigan has to offer, we feel invigorated. Whether we're relaxing in a shady green space at a park under a sprawling canopy of genuine, hard-wood oaks and maples instead of a sliver of shade offered by a scrawny Florida palm tree...or standing on the peak of a mountainous sand dune bluff that overlooks miles and miles of the vast, cobalt majesty of Lake Michigan...we are amazed. We appreciate the awesome diversity of the seasons and the breath-taking beauty Mother Nature bestowed on the exquisite landscapes of this often overlooked state. Here's a sampling of some of our favorite spots.
Sand dunes above Lake Michigan at Sleeping Bear Dunes National Park.
Grassy bluff over Lake Michigan near Glen Arbor.
The vastness of Lake Michigan is awesome.
Historic lighthouse at northern tip of Leelanau Peninsula, near Traverse City.
Cheerful daisies sunbathe by the big lake.
Beach goers brave big waves on Lake Michigan at Sleeping Bear Dunes.
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Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Despicable Me
Something happened to me today that was so utterly frightening, bone-chillingly scary and mind-blowingly weird that I thought I was in a parallel universe. And it all started innocently enough with...Facebook. I use Facebook and I like it. I make no excuses. I enjoy following family and friends on it. It's fun to see messages and photos and keep updated on the happenings of people I know from around the world.
But let me start at the beginning. Although I use Facebook, I'm not very technically savvy on a lot of its applications. Today I decided that I wanted to post a video from YouTube onto Facebook. I had no clue how to go about doing that. So I googled the info...which led me to the "help" section of FB, which I should have checked out in the first place.
I went to my WALL page on FB and opened the publishing box where you post messages. Following directions, I clicked the video icon at the bottom of the publishing bar. I was just about to insert the YouTube link inside the space when suddenly this hideous image appeared on my screen. It looked like something out of a horror film...a grotesque distortion of a human face...a repulsive, ghoulish hag of a woman. A frightful old gnome with a garish look of surprise who seemed to stare straight into my eyes. What the...? Somehow I screwed up. Missed a step in the directions. Inserted the wrong link. What a friggin doofus I am. I can't even figure out a simple...
But wait...Mother of all Nightmares! To my astonishment, that sinister old shrew on the screen...was ME! Somehow I had inadvertently activated the built-in web cam on my laptop and created an instant video of my own face! And before I knew what was happening...my miserable mug in all it's no-makeup, bad hair day, up-close-and-personal Grand Canyon size wrinkles and fiendish full blown horror, splashed across the Facebook world. For several surreal seconds, I did not even recognize my own sorry self. Suddenly that Michael Jackson song, Man in the Mirror reverberated through my brain. Dear readers...it was a truly bizarre moment. Eventually, I gathered my wits about me (the few I had left) and hit the "remove" button...most likely saving my entire Facebook nation from suffering an early morning heart attack.
The moral of this little horror story is: whenever you're fooling around with Facebook, be sure you know the location of the "delete/remove" button. Otherwise there's a good chance you could bring supreme embarrassment, shock, outrage or disabling nausea to yourself, your entire family, friends far and near and assorted acquaintances. I'm just thankful that I didn't get nabbed by the FB police for publication of offensive material. Sphere: Related Content
But let me start at the beginning. Although I use Facebook, I'm not very technically savvy on a lot of its applications. Today I decided that I wanted to post a video from YouTube onto Facebook. I had no clue how to go about doing that. So I googled the info...which led me to the "help" section of FB, which I should have checked out in the first place.
I went to my WALL page on FB and opened the publishing box where you post messages. Following directions, I clicked the video icon at the bottom of the publishing bar. I was just about to insert the YouTube link inside the space when suddenly this hideous image appeared on my screen. It looked like something out of a horror film...a grotesque distortion of a human face...a repulsive, ghoulish hag of a woman. A frightful old gnome with a garish look of surprise who seemed to stare straight into my eyes. What the...? Somehow I screwed up. Missed a step in the directions. Inserted the wrong link. What a friggin doofus I am. I can't even figure out a simple...
But wait...Mother of all Nightmares! To my astonishment, that sinister old shrew on the screen...was ME! Somehow I had inadvertently activated the built-in web cam on my laptop and created an instant video of my own face! And before I knew what was happening...my miserable mug in all it's no-makeup, bad hair day, up-close-and-personal Grand Canyon size wrinkles and fiendish full blown horror, splashed across the Facebook world. For several surreal seconds, I did not even recognize my own sorry self. Suddenly that Michael Jackson song, Man in the Mirror reverberated through my brain. Dear readers...it was a truly bizarre moment. Eventually, I gathered my wits about me (the few I had left) and hit the "remove" button...most likely saving my entire Facebook nation from suffering an early morning heart attack.
The moral of this little horror story is: whenever you're fooling around with Facebook, be sure you know the location of the "delete/remove" button. Otherwise there's a good chance you could bring supreme embarrassment, shock, outrage or disabling nausea to yourself, your entire family, friends far and near and assorted acquaintances. I'm just thankful that I didn't get nabbed by the FB police for publication of offensive material. Sphere: Related Content
Monday, July 12, 2010
Oh Those Sexy Soccer Boys
If a sport can be considered beautiful...soccer is a TEN. The sport is rugged yet graceful as ballet. As for those magnificent players.....they're gorgeous! The soccer lads are downright hotties...trim, masculine and muscular without an ounce of fat/blubber on their striking, magnificent physiques. Nearly every soccer player sports astounding 6 pack abs that practically jump out of their sweaty jerseys. In comparison, a good many American football hulks resemble overweight, helmet-clad refrigerators as they lumber across a football field.
Soccer players are in top notch physical condition because they are constantly in motion. Unlike football games that seem to stop action every 2 minutes, soccer matches run for 90 minutes or longer without a break. The limber soccer guys sprint like gazelles exuding an amazing sense of balance, strength, endurance and incredible dexterity. It's one thing to catch a ball in your hands but try juggling, kicking, flipping and passing a ball...with your feet. In my opinion, it takes a whole lot more skill to play soccer.
Soccer players wear shorts, for goodness sake. Talk about self-confidence. This makes them fearless in my estimation. No helmets, no shoulder or knee pads, no mouth pieces, no chin guards, no fat, thick layers of padding strapped around their legs. The only thing between a soccer player's bare flesh and a violent thrust to his kidneys...is a flimsy T shirt. Players do have very sharp, fiendish cleats on the bottom of their shoes...which must really, really hurt should an opponent jam his flying foot into your face or chest.
From my brief stint at watching a few soccer matches on TV, I've gained an appreciation for this thrilling, non-stop sport. However, I will concede that the scoring is less than exciting. Because the soccer ball changes "feet" so frequently, many games result in ties or very low scores. I prefer to see a definite winner and loser in a sports game. You almost feel cheated when the score results are so laughably low. Case in point, Spain finally pulverized the Netherlands for the 2010 World Cup supremacy with a beefy win of: one to zero. Whooptee do. But the crazy thing is...the players severely injured and nearly killed themselves fighting for that humble score.
Finally, my last word on soccer: Vuvuzelas...those colorful but annoying, loud, raucous, monotone horns blown by enthusiastic fans during soccer games. It sounds like 100 zillion ear-splitting kazoos all blaring at the same time. If soccer players can withstand a stadium throbbing with deafening vuvuzelas...and emerge from a game with their sanity (and their hearing) intact...then they truly are indeed...the bravest athletes in the world.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Lindsay Lohan Meets Judge Judy
Lindsay Lohan should consider herself lucky. Wonder if she'd been served up justice by Judge Judy? Do you think no-nonsense Judge Judy would coddle little Miss "It's not my fault" Lohan with a measley 3 months in jail? Not only did Lohan miss NINE court-ordered alcohol counseling sessions, but she painted the F word on her fingernails and flashed them to the judge throughout her court appearance. Over recent years, Lohan has been arrested for drunk driving, cocaine possession and other felony drug use. She appears to be unrepentent and has not accepted responsibility for her problems. Now she's whining about going to jail.
You think Judge Judy would have put up with Lindsay's no-show appearances, lame-brain excuses and crocodile tears? As in "Sorry your honor, but I was on a fancy shmancy yacht in Cannes with Dom Perignon and I just couldn't tear myself away to visit your lowly courtroom?" Judge Judy would've smacked down such narcisstic drivel with her now legendary retort: "Don't pee on my leg and tell me it's raining."
Can you just imagine how furious the irrascible Judge would be if she saw Lohan flaunting the "F" bomb on her fingernails? Take-no prisoners Judy would've thrown the sassy little actress in the slammer faster than Lohan could say: "Baby needs a cocktail." Then she'd order the poor trembling starlet to share a cell block with the likes of such lovely lady offenders as Ronda, the Fist, Lewinsky and Shakita, I'm Your Worst Nightmare, Jones. Instead of sporting expensively obscene manicures, Lohan could very well be hustling cigs in the big yard, sharpening up shivs and shanks and comparing tatoos with real-life mean girls of the prison world....all if Judge Judy justice prevailed. Sphere: Related Content
You think Judge Judy would have put up with Lindsay's no-show appearances, lame-brain excuses and crocodile tears? As in "Sorry your honor, but I was on a fancy shmancy yacht in Cannes with Dom Perignon and I just couldn't tear myself away to visit your lowly courtroom?" Judge Judy would've smacked down such narcisstic drivel with her now legendary retort: "Don't pee on my leg and tell me it's raining."
Can you just imagine how furious the irrascible Judge would be if she saw Lohan flaunting the "F" bomb on her fingernails? Take-no prisoners Judy would've thrown the sassy little actress in the slammer faster than Lohan could say: "Baby needs a cocktail." Then she'd order the poor trembling starlet to share a cell block with the likes of such lovely lady offenders as Ronda, the Fist, Lewinsky and Shakita, I'm Your Worst Nightmare, Jones. Instead of sporting expensively obscene manicures, Lohan could very well be hustling cigs in the big yard, sharpening up shivs and shanks and comparing tatoos with real-life mean girls of the prison world....all if Judge Judy justice prevailed. Sphere: Related Content
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Cowboys of the Wild Blue Yonder
The Blue Angels rule the sky. They are the cowboys and cowgirls of the wild blue yonder. Yes, some of the pilots are female. They put on an amazing performance at the annual Cherry Festival in Traverse City, Michigan over the Fourth of July. These pilots are extraordinary. Fearless. Gutsy. Nerves of steel. Daring. Brave. Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound with brilliant precision control.
It was an absolutely gorgeous, not-a-cloud-in-the-sky kind of day. Perfect weather for these F/A-18 Hornets to roar across the skies at a speed of up to 700 mph over the calm, cobalt waters of Grand Traverse Bay on majestic Lake Michigan.
My husband was especially interested in the show because he shares a history with one of the aircraft. As a Navy man during the Viet Nam War, he flew reconnaissance missions in a giant, hulking monster of a plane called a C-130T Hercules. Today, over 40 years later, that very same C-130 airplane participates in all the Blue Angel shows. Fat Albert, as it's affectionately called, is used to transport personnel, gear, parts and communications equipment. Amazingly, it can carry 155,000 lbs. of weight and take off in 15 seconds like a rocket...full throttle, nearly straight up. My husband was thrilled to see his old sky ship again after all these years. I asked him if he had scrawled any graffitti in the cockpit all those many years ago. He smiled but didn't say a word.
Sphere: Related Content
It was an absolutely gorgeous, not-a-cloud-in-the-sky kind of day. Perfect weather for these F/A-18 Hornets to roar across the skies at a speed of up to 700 mph over the calm, cobalt waters of Grand Traverse Bay on majestic Lake Michigan.
My husband was especially interested in the show because he shares a history with one of the aircraft. As a Navy man during the Viet Nam War, he flew reconnaissance missions in a giant, hulking monster of a plane called a C-130T Hercules. Today, over 40 years later, that very same C-130 airplane participates in all the Blue Angel shows. Fat Albert, as it's affectionately called, is used to transport personnel, gear, parts and communications equipment. Amazingly, it can carry 155,000 lbs. of weight and take off in 15 seconds like a rocket...full throttle, nearly straight up. My husband was thrilled to see his old sky ship again after all these years. I asked him if he had scrawled any graffitti in the cockpit all those many years ago. He smiled but didn't say a word.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Of Photographs and Memories
A picture is worth a thousand words. The old adage rings true even more today in our high tech world of ingenious devices that snap photos and whip them around the world in seconds. A single image such as in a photograph freezes the essence of the moment. Faces and places are forever held still in time. A simple, crinkled old snapshot taken many years ago captures a time or a place or people that may have vanished from our lives and nothing can ever bring them back again. A photograph reminds us of what we forget. It's a touchstone to our past that enriches our lives.
For the past week, I have been reminded of the priceless value of old family photographs. Last winter our home suffered a devastating flood as a result of a broken pipe. The walls and ceiling literally fell down because of the force of the water. We were out of town. But our neighbor who lives in the attached condo next to us...told us when we returned home that he heard the pipe break and that he heard the water rushing through the pipes nonstop. And yet he never notified anyone in the management company or any of our many neighbors. If he had told somebody right away, the water could have at least been turned off and our home would not have been so severely flooded. As it was, this man sat by and heard the water run for over five days...without doing a single thing about it. It was only when we returned home that we discovered the damage...and found the water was still running.
But this story is not about the apathetic old coot who lives next door. This is about the importance of treasured family photographs. After the flood, we eventually had the house repaired and restored good as new. All the wet, soggy stuff was thrown out. And the water was sucked out with special hoses. Later, water damage restoration specialists came with nifty little meters and checked and rechecked for the slightest evidence of mold or mildew or even a spec of dampness. They found nothing. We felt a great sense of relief. Not a trace of mold or mildew was apparent anywhere. Or so we thought....
Last week, I just happened to be searching through several large plastic bins where I stored all my old photo albums that date back 50 years and more. As I delved deeper into the containers, I saw it. I smelled it. The dreaded MOLD. Dank, ugly fungus spores encased all my photo albums. It looked like somebody had thrown a shovel full of slimey black dirt into the bins. All the albums were sopping wet.
It was as if an arrow had pierced my heart. I instinctively knew that most, if not all of my precious photographs were ruined. The visual memories of our entire past life no longer existed. We could replace the carpet, replace the walls, replace the ceiling. We could buy new furniture and other tangible items. But old family photographs are simply irreplaceable.
After a great deal of sobbing and wringing of hands, I lugged all the bins out into our garage. For the past week I have been meticulously going through every single album...to determine if any of the photos are worth saving. I've been snapping pictures since I was ten years old. And I saved every one of them. No jumbled shoe boxes for me. I stored all my photos very neat and tidy, labeled and organized in ancient, bulky, over-sized, old-fashioned leather albums. In recent years, I've been uploading photos to my computer. But I had saved thousands of hard copy Kodak moments from over the past 50 years.
Miraculously I was able to salvage some of the pictures. But most of them were lost to water and mold damage. It turns out that when water splashes on a photo, it literally washes the color away leaving nothing but empty white paper. And so it is that all of my college yearbooks had to be trashed. Tons of photos of family gatherings, first communions, Christmases, our kid's first days of school, birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, sailboat trips, vacations, beloved pets, various houses we've lived in over the years, weddings...all destroyed.
Photographs are more than preservations of the past. They are our link to people and places and times that we hold dear. We immediately recall how we felt when we look at old pictures. Just for an instant, we are able to touch people from our past lives...loved ones no longer with us. Friends we haven't seen in decades. We can see ourselves as we once were. We can watch our children growing up. We can see our elders, grand parents and great greats. The funny clothes they wore. What their houses looked like. Their furniture. Their old jalopy cars. Photographs have the uncanny ability to restore our youth, if only for a moment. Photographs rescue time. They represent a fleeting history of our lives.
I feel like a part of my life has been stolen. I feel like my past has been plundered. My memories ransacked. These old family photos showed people I loved with goofy looks on their faces or serious scowls or happy-go-lucky grins embracing life at the instant the photo was snapped. The people, their poses, their expressions, the surroundings, the stories behind the pictures...to me they are paper treasures that are now lost forever.
In the hit 70's song Kodachrome, Paul Simon wrote:
They give us those nice, bright colors
They give us the greens of summer
Makes you think all the world's a sunny day, Oh yeah
Mama don't take my Kodachrome away
Mama don't take my Kodachrome away.
I will dearly miss those cozy, old Kodachromes...those sunny, bright colors and the faded black and white snapshots of years past. But when all is said and done, I still have those memories pressed between the pages of my mind and sweetened with the passage of time. Still and all, my old family albums were like a sumptuous feast of priceless memories that I could see and touch and recollect and laugh over and reminisce about with family members. Now I start with a clean slate. I have a new camera and a passionate mission...to create and preserve brand new memories for our children and grandchildren. I will store them all online...with plenty of backup. OK now...everybody smile and say: Kodachroooomme.
Sphere: Related Content
For the past week, I have been reminded of the priceless value of old family photographs. Last winter our home suffered a devastating flood as a result of a broken pipe. The walls and ceiling literally fell down because of the force of the water. We were out of town. But our neighbor who lives in the attached condo next to us...told us when we returned home that he heard the pipe break and that he heard the water rushing through the pipes nonstop. And yet he never notified anyone in the management company or any of our many neighbors. If he had told somebody right away, the water could have at least been turned off and our home would not have been so severely flooded. As it was, this man sat by and heard the water run for over five days...without doing a single thing about it. It was only when we returned home that we discovered the damage...and found the water was still running.
But this story is not about the apathetic old coot who lives next door. This is about the importance of treasured family photographs. After the flood, we eventually had the house repaired and restored good as new. All the wet, soggy stuff was thrown out. And the water was sucked out with special hoses. Later, water damage restoration specialists came with nifty little meters and checked and rechecked for the slightest evidence of mold or mildew or even a spec of dampness. They found nothing. We felt a great sense of relief. Not a trace of mold or mildew was apparent anywhere. Or so we thought....
Last week, I just happened to be searching through several large plastic bins where I stored all my old photo albums that date back 50 years and more. As I delved deeper into the containers, I saw it. I smelled it. The dreaded MOLD. Dank, ugly fungus spores encased all my photo albums. It looked like somebody had thrown a shovel full of slimey black dirt into the bins. All the albums were sopping wet.
It was as if an arrow had pierced my heart. I instinctively knew that most, if not all of my precious photographs were ruined. The visual memories of our entire past life no longer existed. We could replace the carpet, replace the walls, replace the ceiling. We could buy new furniture and other tangible items. But old family photographs are simply irreplaceable.
After a great deal of sobbing and wringing of hands, I lugged all the bins out into our garage. For the past week I have been meticulously going through every single album...to determine if any of the photos are worth saving. I've been snapping pictures since I was ten years old. And I saved every one of them. No jumbled shoe boxes for me. I stored all my photos very neat and tidy, labeled and organized in ancient, bulky, over-sized, old-fashioned leather albums. In recent years, I've been uploading photos to my computer. But I had saved thousands of hard copy Kodak moments from over the past 50 years.
Miraculously I was able to salvage some of the pictures. But most of them were lost to water and mold damage. It turns out that when water splashes on a photo, it literally washes the color away leaving nothing but empty white paper. And so it is that all of my college yearbooks had to be trashed. Tons of photos of family gatherings, first communions, Christmases, our kid's first days of school, birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, sailboat trips, vacations, beloved pets, various houses we've lived in over the years, weddings...all destroyed.
Photographs are more than preservations of the past. They are our link to people and places and times that we hold dear. We immediately recall how we felt when we look at old pictures. Just for an instant, we are able to touch people from our past lives...loved ones no longer with us. Friends we haven't seen in decades. We can see ourselves as we once were. We can watch our children growing up. We can see our elders, grand parents and great greats. The funny clothes they wore. What their houses looked like. Their furniture. Their old jalopy cars. Photographs have the uncanny ability to restore our youth, if only for a moment. Photographs rescue time. They represent a fleeting history of our lives.
I feel like a part of my life has been stolen. I feel like my past has been plundered. My memories ransacked. These old family photos showed people I loved with goofy looks on their faces or serious scowls or happy-go-lucky grins embracing life at the instant the photo was snapped. The people, their poses, their expressions, the surroundings, the stories behind the pictures...to me they are paper treasures that are now lost forever.
In the hit 70's song Kodachrome, Paul Simon wrote:
They give us those nice, bright colors
They give us the greens of summer
Makes you think all the world's a sunny day, Oh yeah
Mama don't take my Kodachrome away
Mama don't take my Kodachrome away.
I will dearly miss those cozy, old Kodachromes...those sunny, bright colors and the faded black and white snapshots of years past. But when all is said and done, I still have those memories pressed between the pages of my mind and sweetened with the passage of time. Still and all, my old family albums were like a sumptuous feast of priceless memories that I could see and touch and recollect and laugh over and reminisce about with family members. Now I start with a clean slate. I have a new camera and a passionate mission...to create and preserve brand new memories for our children and grandchildren. I will store them all online...with plenty of backup. OK now...everybody smile and say: Kodachroooomme.
Sphere: Related Content
Thursday, June 17, 2010
The Reunion
I'm generally not one who dwells on the past all that much. But last week...there it was...my past life... staring me right smack in the face. I had summoned up my courage and with great intrepidation ventured off to a mini reunion of former high school and grade school girl friends. Sixteen of us gathered together at a grand and gracious historic hotel in a picturesque, countryside village for several days of reminiscing, laughing, dining, wining and sharing personal stories.
I will be the first to admit that I was a bit nervous about retreating back to high school years. Sure, I had my fair share of goofy fun way back then but it's never been all that important to me to relive those days. Yet the minute I laid eyes on my old friends...my silly fears and insecurities disappeared.
We hugged. We embraced. We looked into each other's eyes and saw the soul of our youth. In their now grown-up faces, seasoned with wisdom and character lines and grannie glasses, I still recognized the happy-go-lucky, plucky, fresh, fearless, teen-aged, beautiful young ladies I had formed friendships with so many, many years ago.
Back in the day, we listened to music by Trini Lopez, Jan and Dean, Dion, the Beach Boys, Nat King Cole, Bobby Darin, Bobby Vinton and an emerging new group called The Beatles. Jackie Kennedy took us on a TV tour of the White House. Andy Warhol painted a soup can and made us all think we could become famous artists just like him. Gas was 28 cents a gallon...if we were ever lucky enough to get the keys to the family station wagon. A brand new car cost about $3300. Leslie Gore cried that It's My Party. But for many of us it was the Days of Wine and Roses when we were brazen enough to swig our first beers down at the beach and received pink rose corsages on Prom night. Silicone breast implants had just been invented. Who knows if any of the women in our little reunion group might now be sporting them.
Reconnecting with these wonderful women was a sheer delight. Among the group was my very, very best friend from 6th grade onward, whom I had not seen since college days. We're all a lot more mellow now. No drama. No bitchiness. No histrionics. Hell...most of us can't tolerate more than two glasses of wine without nodding off. We've all enjoyed glorious highs and suffered saddening lows, bore lots of children, worked hard, traveled widely and experienced life and love in a multitude of different ways. Although we're not as wacky as we once were...we still share a kindred spirit and a rollicking enthusiasm for life that bubbles with energy and vitality. We have all become kind and loving human beings. We are still vibrant women. I salute each and every one of the girls. Reuniting with them again has revitalized my soul.
Sphere: Related Content
I will be the first to admit that I was a bit nervous about retreating back to high school years. Sure, I had my fair share of goofy fun way back then but it's never been all that important to me to relive those days. Yet the minute I laid eyes on my old friends...my silly fears and insecurities disappeared.
We hugged. We embraced. We looked into each other's eyes and saw the soul of our youth. In their now grown-up faces, seasoned with wisdom and character lines and grannie glasses, I still recognized the happy-go-lucky, plucky, fresh, fearless, teen-aged, beautiful young ladies I had formed friendships with so many, many years ago.
Back in the day, we listened to music by Trini Lopez, Jan and Dean, Dion, the Beach Boys, Nat King Cole, Bobby Darin, Bobby Vinton and an emerging new group called The Beatles. Jackie Kennedy took us on a TV tour of the White House. Andy Warhol painted a soup can and made us all think we could become famous artists just like him. Gas was 28 cents a gallon...if we were ever lucky enough to get the keys to the family station wagon. A brand new car cost about $3300. Leslie Gore cried that It's My Party. But for many of us it was the Days of Wine and Roses when we were brazen enough to swig our first beers down at the beach and received pink rose corsages on Prom night. Silicone breast implants had just been invented. Who knows if any of the women in our little reunion group might now be sporting them.
Reconnecting with these wonderful women was a sheer delight. Among the group was my very, very best friend from 6th grade onward, whom I had not seen since college days. We're all a lot more mellow now. No drama. No bitchiness. No histrionics. Hell...most of us can't tolerate more than two glasses of wine without nodding off. We've all enjoyed glorious highs and suffered saddening lows, bore lots of children, worked hard, traveled widely and experienced life and love in a multitude of different ways. Although we're not as wacky as we once were...we still share a kindred spirit and a rollicking enthusiasm for life that bubbles with energy and vitality. We have all become kind and loving human beings. We are still vibrant women. I salute each and every one of the girls. Reuniting with them again has revitalized my soul.
Which one is Boomer Pie? Back row, 4th from left (white jacket, black blouse)
Friday, June 4, 2010
The Girls
In a few days, I will be going back in time...literally. I will be attending a gathering of wise, witty and wonderful women...all of whom I have not seen in 100 years. Well, it seems that long anyway. They are my former grade school and high school classmates. Talk about old school...we're the freakin' BC era...before computers.
About 20 of the "girls" have reconnected over the last couple years. They found me via Facebook just this past year. We will join up outside Chicago for a three day, girlfriends reunion and non-stop gabfest. I'm looking forward to it. Yet, I'm a bit apprehensive at the same time because I have not weathered all that well over the years. I have character lines and saggy parts and I'm all stressed out about it. Truth is that inside me lives a skinny woman crying to get out. But I can usually shut her up with cookies. So I'm wondering how the others have fared physically. Are they all as trim and fit as they used to be years ago? How many have let their hair go gray? Have any of them had "work" done? Face lifts, nip and tucks? Have their personalities changed much? After all these decades, will I recognize any of them? Will I like any of them? Will they like me?
Most of the gals who will be at the reunion were good friends of mine back in the day. We had slumber parties together, shared secrets, attended basketball games and movies and hung out at the A&W drive in Root Beer stand. In the summer, we basked in the sun at the neighborhood swim club and debated the merits of shaving your legs...above the knee or not? We laughed till we spit up food and squealed with delight over Elvis or Pat Boone. Yes, we are that old. We yakked on the phone for hours (decades before cell phones...can you say "princess phone?") and wallowed in one girlhood drama after another...most having to do with boys.
Post high school, I graduated from college, moved away and never had an opportunity to see any of these people again. So it's like I will be meeting up with perfect strangers. Yet, overall, I have very fond recollections of these now seasoned women whom I am about to encounter again after many decades. We all shared childhood and young adulthood together. We formed friendships and forged common bonds and I truly hope all of them are well and happy. I look forward to hearing about their lives, their loves and their latest dreams. I think it will be great fun........if only I could send in a Meryl Streep look-alike to represent me. Sphere: Related Content
About 20 of the "girls" have reconnected over the last couple years. They found me via Facebook just this past year. We will join up outside Chicago for a three day, girlfriends reunion and non-stop gabfest. I'm looking forward to it. Yet, I'm a bit apprehensive at the same time because I have not weathered all that well over the years. I have character lines and saggy parts and I'm all stressed out about it. Truth is that inside me lives a skinny woman crying to get out. But I can usually shut her up with cookies. So I'm wondering how the others have fared physically. Are they all as trim and fit as they used to be years ago? How many have let their hair go gray? Have any of them had "work" done? Face lifts, nip and tucks? Have their personalities changed much? After all these decades, will I recognize any of them? Will I like any of them? Will they like me?
Most of the gals who will be at the reunion were good friends of mine back in the day. We had slumber parties together, shared secrets, attended basketball games and movies and hung out at the A&W drive in Root Beer stand. In the summer, we basked in the sun at the neighborhood swim club and debated the merits of shaving your legs...above the knee or not? We laughed till we spit up food and squealed with delight over Elvis or Pat Boone. Yes, we are that old. We yakked on the phone for hours (decades before cell phones...can you say "princess phone?") and wallowed in one girlhood drama after another...most having to do with boys.
Post high school, I graduated from college, moved away and never had an opportunity to see any of these people again. So it's like I will be meeting up with perfect strangers. Yet, overall, I have very fond recollections of these now seasoned women whom I am about to encounter again after many decades. We all shared childhood and young adulthood together. We formed friendships and forged common bonds and I truly hope all of them are well and happy. I look forward to hearing about their lives, their loves and their latest dreams. I think it will be great fun........if only I could send in a Meryl Streep look-alike to represent me. Sphere: Related Content
Monday, May 31, 2010
The Covered Bridge
It was a beautiful Sunday in spring. Perfect for an afternoon drive. We live in a bustling city but just outside of town, the subdivisions morph into pastoral countryside. We turned down a little country road and were rewarded with the sight of a beautiful, century-old covered bridge sprawled across a serene-flowing river. After stopping to snap photos, we got back in the car and decided to cross the bridge to see where it led. Surprisingly, vehicles are still allowed to traverse the historic structure at a wicked 5 miles per hour. Rumbling over the clunky, wooden planks, we thought about the horse-drawn wagons that had bumped over this same route years ago. On the other side, we came upon the last vestiges of what was once a thriving saw mill town. A few old dilapidated, wood houses, a church and a weathered barn are all that remain. Over the decades, the acreage around the town has grown into a lush forest and the surrounding fields flaunt millions of midnight blue phlox...all bobbing their perky heads in the gentle breeze. Standing knee-deep in wild flowers, we gazed up at the sagging, decrepit barn and embraced the utter stillness and peaceful solitude of our surroundings.
In the blink of an eye, we were transported back one hundred years. It was all so unexpected to discover this lovely, hidden little place. It's quaint, quiet and basically undisturbed today. But I wonder what it must have been like a century or more ago. The buzz of the saw mill. The men...hot and sweltering, covered in saw dust performing a dirty, dangerous job. The women...outside washing clothes, tending their gardens, baking bread. The children...helping out with the chores. From sunup to sundown, no electricity out there in the sticks. No mammoth, modern-day grocery stores, no Home Depots or malls. No computers or fast food or cell phones or TV.
It was a back-breaking hard life back then. Yet the simplicity and beauty of that bucolic, little village today masks the difficulties and hardships those country folk faced. Every so often, I wish I lived in a simpler time...with no worries of terrorists or identity theft or oil spills. But then I come to my senses and realize that I'd be lost without the microwave, computer and a million other technological conveniences. Still I'm glad that sweet, little country village has not entirely disappeared. The rugged, old covered bridge was like a time tunnel that for just a brief spec of time, guided us to a peaceful oasis far removed from our crazy, hectic, modern society. Over a hundred years after the town's demise, it continues to provide an unpretentious beauty, grace and homespun charm that is often lacking in our world today. I think we'll be back for many more visits.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
The Solitary Man
The solitary man. He walks alone. The sands squish underfoot. The waves lap at his side. The wind slaps his face. He must be cold. He wears a jacket and stuffs his hands in the pockets for warmth. Does he have a destination? Or is his walk merely for relaxation?
What is he thinking as he plods along the deserted shoreline? How far is he going? How far has he already come? Does he notice the thousands of footprints that have already trod this stretch of beach? The telltale impact of countless feet...yet where are the masses who left these marks?
A cloudless blue sky. A curvy, tan ribbon of beach. A man in black. Scenic beauty. Quiet stillness. What awaits this solitary man? Will he turn around and go back the way he came? Or will he travel forward...round the far bend? Just to see what's there. Is he curious? Or does he already know what he will find?
I follow behind this stranger. At a distance. With my sleek, ultra-slim camera. He is unaware of my stealthy photo snapping. I follow him because I too am curious...about him. We round the bend. He turns back. At last, he sees me. We nod a greeting. I am tempted to speak and carry on a bit of chat with him. But I decide against it. I let him go without a word. He climbs up a hill into the dunes and disappears. I continue walking...seeking out my next solitary man.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Liberals do Lunch.
Afternoon lunch in a swanky D.C. eatery...three top administration officials casually discuss the merits of allowing illegal immigrants to remain in the United States:
By god, that stupid Arizona law is gonna kill us. We need all the minority votes we can drag over the border.
Damn strait and I'll have another martini.
But illegals can't vote.
Oh, we got people working on that.
I don't care if illegals are not legal. I don't care if they're breaking the law. They have rights..... And make mine a double.
Well, technically they don't have rights in the U.S. but once we give them amnesty, then they'll have rights.
Yah, and if we send them back or prosecute them, the wife and I will lose our housekeeper, Conchita, all our landscape people AND our nanny. It's just not fair.
That Conchita sure makes tasty chili rellenos. Yummy.
And your nanny ain't so bad either. Yummy. Heh, heh , heh.
Tell me about it, amigo. Ha, ha, ha.
Guys, you're missing the point. That crazy tea bagger crowd is gonna vote us out.
Naw, they're just a bunch of old coots who like to fart off at town hall meetings.
OK. Here's a plan: we keep the illegals and ship the tea baggers off to Ciudad Juarez. Set up a phony town hall meeting. Hire a Glenn Beck look-alike to drive the bus and before they can scream "Sara Palin"... they're across the border and those Mexican drug gangs will pick off every one of their sorry butts.
Elder care...Mexican style. Ha, ha, ha.
That's crazy, dude. Did you lose part of your brain when you got that goofy hair transplant?
Hey, don't mock my new hair revitalization. Or my butt lift and my nose job. And how about that snazzy new, fifty grand, security fence around your vacation compound?
All thanks to taxpayers.
Ya gotta love em. Cheers.
But seriously...how can we fight this Arizona law?
I say we boycott the Grand Canyon and Las Vegas.
Vegas is not in Arizona, you idiot.
Oh, thank god. I've got tickets to Cirque du Soleil and a spa session at the Belagio coming up soon.
We'd be slumming it without the American taxpayers, that's for sure! Ha, ha ha.
I've got it. Let's take a fact-finding junket to Mexico.
Awesome! We can spend one week in Acapulco. Another in Los Cabos and just to be fair...five days in Cancun.
Just make sure Rahm doesn't hear about it. I don't want him hauling his foul-mouth along with us.
Not to worry. He's too busy protecting those poor, misguided 9/11 terrorists.
Well, bring your Cipro, scuba gear, golf clubs, your passport, security ID, birth certificate, first born child and other personal documents. They're really strict over there. They don't want no stinkin' gringo drug dealers coming in to Mexico.
Ya. But they're happy as a Margarita to let em loose on our side of the creek.
Speaking of Margaritas...let's have a round to celebrate our bold decision.
Ahhh, here's to sun, sand and tequila.
It's good to be in power.
Thanks to the American taxpayers. Ha, ha, ha.
Check, please. Sphere: Related Content
By god, that stupid Arizona law is gonna kill us. We need all the minority votes we can drag over the border.
Damn strait and I'll have another martini.
But illegals can't vote.
Oh, we got people working on that.
I don't care if illegals are not legal. I don't care if they're breaking the law. They have rights..... And make mine a double.
Well, technically they don't have rights in the U.S. but once we give them amnesty, then they'll have rights.
Yah, and if we send them back or prosecute them, the wife and I will lose our housekeeper, Conchita, all our landscape people AND our nanny. It's just not fair.
That Conchita sure makes tasty chili rellenos. Yummy.
And your nanny ain't so bad either. Yummy. Heh, heh , heh.
Tell me about it, amigo. Ha, ha, ha.
Guys, you're missing the point. That crazy tea bagger crowd is gonna vote us out.
Naw, they're just a bunch of old coots who like to fart off at town hall meetings.
OK. Here's a plan: we keep the illegals and ship the tea baggers off to Ciudad Juarez. Set up a phony town hall meeting. Hire a Glenn Beck look-alike to drive the bus and before they can scream "Sara Palin"... they're across the border and those Mexican drug gangs will pick off every one of their sorry butts.
Elder care...Mexican style. Ha, ha, ha.
That's crazy, dude. Did you lose part of your brain when you got that goofy hair transplant?
Hey, don't mock my new hair revitalization. Or my butt lift and my nose job. And how about that snazzy new, fifty grand, security fence around your vacation compound?
All thanks to taxpayers.
Ya gotta love em. Cheers.
But seriously...how can we fight this Arizona law?
I say we boycott the Grand Canyon and Las Vegas.
Vegas is not in Arizona, you idiot.
Oh, thank god. I've got tickets to Cirque du Soleil and a spa session at the Belagio coming up soon.
We'd be slumming it without the American taxpayers, that's for sure! Ha, ha ha.
I've got it. Let's take a fact-finding junket to Mexico.
Awesome! We can spend one week in Acapulco. Another in Los Cabos and just to be fair...five days in Cancun.
Just make sure Rahm doesn't hear about it. I don't want him hauling his foul-mouth along with us.
Not to worry. He's too busy protecting those poor, misguided 9/11 terrorists.
Well, bring your Cipro, scuba gear, golf clubs, your passport, security ID, birth certificate, first born child and other personal documents. They're really strict over there. They don't want no stinkin' gringo drug dealers coming in to Mexico.
Ya. But they're happy as a Margarita to let em loose on our side of the creek.
Speaking of Margaritas...let's have a round to celebrate our bold decision.
Ahhh, here's to sun, sand and tequila.
It's good to be in power.
Thanks to the American taxpayers. Ha, ha, ha.
Check, please. Sphere: Related Content
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
For Lighthouse Lovers
I am fortunate to live near a big, beautiful, blue inland sea...otherwise known as Lake Michigan. It's vast. It's treacherous. It's very deep. And it's quite breathtaking. For centuries, lighthouses along the coastline of Lake Michigan warned ships of danger and guided them to safe harbor. In the state of Michigan, there are 115 lighthouses. These historical structures were a feat of architectural and engineering ingenuity...built to withstand the savage elements of wind, water and weather. Many of the lighthouses are no longer in official operation. Some have been converted to tourist attractions, bed and breakfasts or even private residences. Yet, today each lighthouse still stands proudly as a silent but majestic reminder of its unwavering service.
A beacon of brilliance, a shining light in the darkness,
a reassuring hope for seafarers of long ago.
A beacon of brilliance, a shining light in the darkness,
a reassuring hope for seafarers of long ago.
Here are some photos I took of the 2 lighthouses on the pier at Grand Haven, Michigan on a recent sunny May day. The structures were built between 1875-1905. The square shaped building at the end of the pier housed the fog signal. The more traditional tower contained the guiding beacon. They are still in operation. A high, black steel catwalk connects the two lighthouses. Back in the day, the lighthouse keeper crawled or walked along the catwalk to access the structures in order to avoid being swept out to sea by crashing waves that washed over the pier.
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