LIFE IS LIKE A ROLL OF TOILET PAPER

Life is like a roll of toilet paper. The closer it gets

 to the end...the faster it goes.

As our own lives roll on, is it time for a change? Or are we too set in our ways? Do we fear change? Some people dread change. Others find it a challenge.  Personally, I embrace change. I always have. My husband and I have been married for over 41 years. During that time, we've lived in over 20 different homes in multiple cities. I have packed, unpacked, set up and dismantled households countless number of times. And that doesn't include the hundreds of times, I've rearranged furniture...just for the fun of it. I am a glutton for change. I thoroughly enjoy it. I get bored with the humdrum staleness of things. I seek something new and different by way of big or little challenges.

Change is scary. No doubt about it. Even for me. I've made many career moves....all by choice. My entrepreneurial spirit has led me to discover new things about myself. It's given me confidence to spread my wings, take calculated risks and make life-changing choices...mostly to benefit my family. It's frightening to leave behind safe, secure employment and leap into the unknown. But I never wanted to just "put in my time" at a boring job until retirement. Occasionally, along the way, I made some wrong turns. But I learned from my mistakes and used them as opportunities to redirect and reinvent myself. I truly believe if you don't stretch yourself, you will never ever reach your true potential.

You can make life changes all on your own. But it helps significantly if you have a positive sounding board. I've had support and encouragement from my husband. Even though he is very conservative, he was always willing to go along with my wild schemes and creative dreams. In the end, things worked out. Sometimes not in the way I expected but still a positive experience. I never wanted to go through life wondering..."What if I'd done that..." 

On the other hand, I don't equate change with "thrill seeking". I don't free fall out of airplanes. I don't even like flying in airplanes all that much. I don't bungee jump off sky-high bridges over raging rivers. I have never zipped-lined above the treetops of an Amazon jungle. I am thinking of learning how to paddle board this summer but even that gives me some trepidation.

Changing things about your life does not necessarily involve daredevil, death-defying pursuits. I know some people who have lived in the same home, on the same street, in the same town for their entire lives. They are some of the happiest people, you'd ever want to meet. Why? Because they did not remain stagnant. They faced complicated changes and challenges in their own way and emotionally moved on with no resentments.They survived and thrived without fanfare. They learned that the secret to changing oneself inwardly or outwardly is to give of yourself to others. As a result, they changed lives for the better without ever having to leave home. 

Yet some folks have wallowed in their status quo or "stagnant quo" and paid a hefty, lifetime price of discontent and unhappiness for not moving forward. Why? Because they are afraid. Fear is the greatest obstacle to transforming our lives. Think of all we could do if we weren't afraid. Fear is the monster wall of resistance that keeps people stuck in unhappy situations. Fear keeps us from exploring and discovering options that could better our lives and the lives of our families. Transition is not always about moving to a different town or redefining a career. Transition or change is adjusting and accepting new possibilities. Conquering negative fears produces positive changes. Overcoming "analysis paralysis" leads to amazing transformations.

Lately, I've been mindful of the spiritual and healing powers of an "open heart". We all know certain people who have closed off their heart to others for a long time. As a result, their imprisoned heart is encrusted with rust and hardened from years of negativity and decay. They have not allowed love to flow from their own heart and they have shut off any chance of love from those around them, to penetrate their closed heart. They are steeped in misery and blame others for their unhappiness.

For me, change is about moving forward. Nobody's perfect, especially me. I'm an imperfect, intense, exasperating, impatient, annoying, old woman who likes to buy houses and move around a lot. But even in my own life, I've come full circle and moved back to the city of my birth. My husband and I both like the community where we live and maybe we'll stay put for a "change". I do believe we can redeem ourselves through positive changes, kindness, humility and forgiveness. I cannot force others to change. But I can create a loving change of heart within myself if I'm willing to overcome my fears. I am deeply grateful beyond measure for all my blessings and my "blisters'. Like that dwindling roll of toilet paper, my life is spinning faster to the end. I try not to look backwards. I'm not going that way.

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Killing Thanksgiving

I'm mad as hell. Somebody stole my turkey day and it will never be the same again. Every year in November, untold numbers of turkeys are slaughtered for Thanksgiving feasts around the U.S.A. But this year, malevolent forces were out to kill the very holiday itself. Not with a gun. Not with a hatchet. Not with some explosive device. The killing weapons of choice? CREDIT CARDS!

I am not a fan of Black Friday. BUT when it's moved up to Thursday...as in Thanksgiving Day, Thursday...well that just makes my blood boil.

Have we become a nation of the most ridiculous, conspicuous consumer FOOLS on earth? The invasion of Black Friday into Black Thursday is a perfect example of how easily American consumers can be sucked in by giant retailers into thinking they're getting a good deal. Yes, I realize that we are a consumer driven society but why are we so easily snookered by giant retailers? For the love of God...the Good Will Store was having a Black Thursday sale on Thanksgiving Day.....the Good Will!  So....maybe you could buy somebody's worn, musty, dusty, old tweed jacket for $1 instead of $2.00?

Thanksgiving is the one holiday of the year that is slightly less consumer driven than most. Family, feasting, fun and football on TV or a rollicking, ragtag game of football outdoors with the more agile members of your family clan. The Thanksgiving tradition I've always enjoyed is steeped in homespun, happy times centered around gratitude and appreciation for the blessings we have and for the people we love. All that and plenty of turkey and all the trimmings are symbolic of this special day out of the year set aside for thankfulness and pleasant family togetherness.

NOT ANY MORE! This year, the historic and noble feast of Thanksgiving Day was unceremoniously bull-dozed aside by pure, unadulterated greed. Greed on the part of retailers, many of which opened early on Thanksgiving morning. Insanity...on the part of frenzied mobs of shoppers who are lured like cattle to a slaughter-house of bargains. It's merchandising madness gone terribly awry. Frantic, deal hungry shoppers play right into the avaricious hands of lustful merchants who gleefully ring up sales with the swipe of millions of credit cards as fast as a thief can pick your pocket.

I don't begrudge retailers making money. They can cram in as many customers into their stores with as many clever discounts and cheesy marketing tactics as humanly possible. I used to be a marketing maven...so believe me I know all about wild and crazy ad campaigns. HOWEVER, I just hate it when businesses invade our family Thanksgiving celebration and turn respectable dinner companions into ravenous shopping sharks who jump in the car and fiendishly race after a good deal, turkey leg still in hand....on Thanksgiving Day.  Like deer in the headlights, Americans are easy targets for these modern-day Scrooges of the retail industry.

I'm sadly afraid that it won't be too many more years down the road, that Thanksgiving Day will be a mere footnote in American history....replaced by "Happy Retailer Day". The iconic Thanksgiving American holiday will be killed off by rapacious retailers who prey on naive, bargain-smitten shoppers. I like a deal as much as the next person, but I'm not going to risk my life for one.

I know perfectly lovely people who have made a tradition of Black Friday shopping. Most days, they appear to be completely normal, sane individuals. But on Black Shopping weekend, they degenerate into crazed bargain demons. They salivate with excitement over the thrill of a deal at 3 a.m. Camp out in the bone-chilling cold and wait in line for hours. All for the inglorious degradation of getting clobbered senseless by a flat screen TV sailing through the air.

I wonder how the early Pilgrims would react if they could see the hoards of pushy, vicious, desperate, ferocious bargain fanatics trample over their grandmothers to get a deal on a Kindle or a 15 piece Rachel Ray cookware set. Life in the rugged wilderness near Plymouth Rock might actually look tame compared to the near savagery of Black Thursday and Black Friday. Those intrepid Pilgrims might just high tail it back to England if they ever caught a glimpse of screeching, screwball shoppers diving head first into the bottom of a giant bargain bin at Walmart to snag the last Hello Kitty toaster.

I guess I just don't appreciate all this depraved, wacky kind of shopping fun. So I'll just help myself to some left-over turkey stuffing and fervently hope that Thanksgiving Day will still be on the calendar next year before it's totally killed off.

And they call this "fun" ??

Oh, the insanity of it all!

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DO YOU PINTEREST?

Do you Pin? As in Pinterest? For the unenlightened, Pinterest is the darling social networking site of 2012. It's a virtual pin board. It allows members to organize and share anything that interests them by "pinning" images on a theme board. Sort of like a digital scrapbook. People have become so addicted to Pinterest they call it, pinsanity. A lot of stuff on Pinterest is aspirational. Wishful thinking. Collage displays of travel spots you dream of visiting someday or clothes you'd really love to wear when you lose that extra 30 lbs. Recipes are popular on Pinterest too. My friends who unabashedly adore Pinterest, admit that it's often more fun to look at mouth-watering food pictures than get up, walk to the kitchen and actually cook...in real time.

In the United States, females make up 82 percent of Pinterest users. But outside of the U.S., Pinterest members tend to be mostly male....57 percent men in United Kingdom, 79 percent men in Japan and 74 percent men in France. Hmmm...I wonder what the trendy Pinterest themes are in Paris?

Honestly, I don't have much interest in Pinterest. I was invited to join by friends and so I did. But I just couldn't get hooked on it. It involves a LOT of time. Facebook is my social media drug of choice. I don't fault anyone who uses Pinterest but I often wonder how they find the time to peruse all the stuff that's on it.

Frankly, Pinterest gives me an inferiority complex. Like I need another one. There are all these millions of women on Pinterest every day, who display photos of how they make their own candles from scratch, whip up 12 layer cakes, boil their own cutesy soap in the shape of reindeer, plan extravagant menus fit for royalty, redesign the interior of a cruise ship, work up chic decorating ideas for a mansion most of us could never afford to own, and cleverly clip garden shrubs into topiaries that resemble each member of their family.

Me? I'm just lucky to drive to the Post Office, buy stamps and not have an accident on the way home.

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The Buck Stops Here...Literally!

 THE BUCK STOPS HERE

This might be sad to hear

But I’m not fond of deer.

They may strut with grace

And have a cute, cuddly face

But they don’t know their place

When they debase

My garden space.

It’s a disgrace.

They devour every flower

And for good measure

They smile with pleasure

Noshing on my blooming treasure.

I yell, I plead, I shoo them away

But to my dismay

They won’t stray from my garden buffet.

It’s their favorite hang-out café.

I'm not fooled by their bambi looks

Those doey eyes out of story books.

They steal my plants in broad daylight

Or sneak around in the dead of night.

Spring, summer and fall

They have a culinary ball.

Even during snowy winter

They eat my evergreens down to a splinter.

Now listen up, you hungry beasts

I’m tired of providing your daily feasts.

You just finished off my beautiful mums

And you’re still coming back for tasty crumbs.

I’ve had it up to here, you pesky deer

Enough is enough, so you’d better stay clear

Of my precious garden plot.

Trot back to your own forest lot.

Oh I know, we’ve invaded your territory

But boo hoo on that old sob story.

I don’t shoot at you or sling arrows your way

I don’t even eat your meat, I dare say.

So do me a favor if you please

Return to the woods with big oak trees,

Ticks and fleas and lyme disease

And leave my flowers to the birds and bees.

Now if you abide by this humble truce,

You will not replace our Christmas goose.

But if you don’t stop your nibbling ways

Then it’s roasted venison for the holidays!

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You Might Be Too Old to Tricker Treat if....

Years ago, when I was a mere youngster...I loved Halloween. Decked out in homemade costumes and with paper grocery sacks to hold our loot...my friends and I raced door to door along the darkened sidewalks, for Halloween treats. Our bounty consisted mostly of crappy hard candy, pieces of candy corn, rotten apples, worthless pennies and the occasional razor blade. For the record, I loathe candy corn. Every once in a while we hit pay dirt at one of the "good" houses and were rewarded with a decent sized chocolate bar.

We always knew where the "good" houses were and we paid them multi visits. Back then, Halloween was a night of frightful, frivolous, innocent fun with my rambunctious young pals and usually nobody got hurt. Even more amazing...nobody got texted, sexted, Ipodded, emailed, cell phoned or tweeted. Somehow we all survived.

Today, Halloween is the most popular and most lucrative commercial holiday next to Christmas! Billions...with a B...spent on costumes, candy and party paraphanalia. You never know what kind of freaks, crazies and weirdos will be prowling your neighborhood disguised as Lady Gaga, Spiderman, Angry Birds, vampires, pirates and Obama or Romney clones. Like we need more of those guys. There are giant stores dedicated solely to the sale of Halloween costumes. If you can't find a costume in a store, you can order one online...often priced at well over $100 each. What happened to going "toga" in a household sheet? 

A few years ago, we lived in a lovely burb of Atlanta that was a very family oriented community. Nearly every single family in this town owns at least one golf cart...whether they play golf or not. On Halloween night, thousands and I do mean thousands of young tricker-treaters are chauffered door to door on golf carts driven by their parents or by themselves. None of the kids walk. They all hitch a ride on the family golf cart to collect their Halloween goodies. Even better, they all use GPSs and cell phones to alert friends to the "good" houses. And they can speed there twice as fast on a golf cart. Why oh why, did I have to grow up in the dark ages!

These days, Halloween is as much a huge hoopla for adults as it is for children. BUT we all know there are a few folks out there who simply should not be out on neighborhood streets trolling for treats on Halloween or any time of year. If you're not sure if this applies to you, read further....

YOU KNOW YOU'RE TOO OLD 
TO TRICKER TREAT IF....

• You think chocolate is over-rated. But a nice bottle of vodka would be appreciated.                                                                                                                                                                                                      
• You like to run over kids on your Hoverround. 

• You only eat high fiber candy.                                                                                                 
• Kids point at you and scream, "Yikes, scary witch mask"...and you're not wearing one.                                                                                                                                                                                                                 
• On the doorstep you yell: "Tricker...." and forget the rest of it.                     
• You're the only tricker treater in the group with a hip replacement.                                                                                          
• You consider it a good night if your Depends don't leak and you don't drop the battery to your hearing aid.                                                                                                                    
• You're confident you can fight off candy thieves with your oxygen tank.                                                                                                         
• You're the only Power Ranger in the neighborhood using a walker.              
• Little kids run away from you screaming...and you just stepped out to get the mail.

• After the 4th house, you realize you'd rather be back home watching Antiques Roadshow.                                                                              

All in jest, of course, dear readers. But hey, forget the lousy candy. Instead, drop by my house on Halloween for flaming dacquiries and pumpkin vodka shots. Bring your golf carts but don't run over the mailbox.

Peace, love, Happy Halloween, man. Ya that's vodka in my water bottle. Far Out.

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Outside My Autumn Window

This morning, as I do every morning...I fling open the kitchen curtains and glance out across our front yard. It's Fall here in Michigan and most of the leaves on the trees have dropped off, rendering the bare, brown branches into eerie skeletal formations...just in time for Halloween. One stately maple tree defiantly hangs on to its brilliant coat of fiery crimson-red leaves, glimmering in the morning rays of sun like thousands of dazzling rubies. Through the window, I cast a quick look at our colorful, little garden patch by the front door to see how many flowers the rabbits and deer munched down during the night. Our autumn garden is ablaze with cheery yellow, deep purple and lush gold mums. A veritable midnight buffet for the deer and rabbits that inhabit the woods behind our house. So far, not too much damage done by the woodsy critters.

Our green front lawn is encrusted in a smattering of fallen leaves that literally sparkle with a resplendant sheen as shafts of sunlight bounce off the dew-moist foliage. My eyes drift across the street toward our community pond. I have an unfettered view now that most of the leaves have fallen. The periwinkle blue water shimmers in the morning light. A low ridge of ripples float across the tranquil water as a family of ducks paddles silently about. From the short distance of my kitchen window, I can see mirrored in the calm pond water...the perfectly clear reflections of the sky, puffy white clouds and neighboring homes. It's as if they've resettled in the pond. Our gentle little pond exudes a blissful stillness...an untroubled beauty and thought-provoking serenity.

In the brief few minutes that I've taken to explore the morning from my front window, I am once again mesmerized and inspired by the simple grace and majestic dignity of nature. It's going to be a beautiful autumn day.

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MY NEW BEST SUMMER FRIEND

The chairs haven't started to melt but it was 107 degrees on our deck.

It's hot. It's steaming, screaming, broiling, roiling hot. It's blistering, baking, fiery, scalding hot. It's stifling, sizzling, sweltering, white-hot, HOT. Last week on our deck, the temperature hit 107 degrees...in the shade. And we live in Michigan.


It's been so feverishly hot up here this summer in our normally cool Great Lakes region, that yesterday a guy baked a pizza on the roof of his car...and the crust burnt. No telling how he'll get all that gooey mozzarella off the finish. It's so hot up here with no rain for weeks, that our big, sturdy maple trees are melting. The leaves are wilting, falling off and just plain surrendering to the heat. It's so hot, my sweat is sweating. It's so hot, the corn is popping on the stalk. The charcoal in our grill is firing up all by itself. Asphalt parking lots are turning into La Brea tar pits. My shoes get stuck on the sticky black-top, tennis courts.


Yet in spite of this hellish heat wave..there is refreshing, good news. I have met a new friend. A very cool, awesome, delightful, scintillating, shiveringly delicious friend....and his last name is Slushie. His first name is Vodka.

Vodka Slushie. My new BSF...Best Summer Friend. I even introduced Slushie to my hubs. We sit out on the deck on a balmy summer's eve, the stars twinkling above us, the crescent moon peering over the tall trees in our back woods and chill out with the coolest, tangiest, most refreshing alcoholic beverage since Jose Cuervo hooked up with Miss Margarita. After a couple sips, our body temps drop to below-sizzling. After half a glass, we feel like we're on a sleek sailboat bobbing in a fresh breeze on Lake Superior. Two glasses later and we're floating in the Antarctic (figuratively speaking).


Vodka Slushie has numerous advantages over frozen cocktails. For one thing, it doesn't get rock-solid frozen. It won't give you brain freeze. It's easy to sip  without numbing your tongue. You can make a batch ahead of time and wow your guests at an impromptu party or enjoy a glass just for yourself. It's not your convenience store slushie. It's so much better. It's got Vodka. Perhaps you've enjoyed one before. There are many recipe variations online. A bunch of us girlfriends became acquainted with Vodka Slushie at a Girls Nite Out gathering. Ever since, I've been a devoted fan... especially since it's been so excruciatingly hot outside.


Many people have asked for the recipe. So now, with enthusiastic pleasure and for the benefit of all mankind and womankind suffering from this infernal heat....I offer you the definitive way to beat the heat with a delicious, cool and refreshing concoction that will set your armpits to shivering in seconds and your taste buds screaming for more...the Vodka Slushie.

Vodka Lime Slushie 

2 six ounce cans frozen lemonade (partially thawed)
2 six ounce cans frozen limeade  (partially thawed)
8  cans water
3 cups Vodka (more or less depending on taste)
1 64 oz. bottle lemon-lime soda, chilled
Sliced limes or fresh mint leaves...for garnish

Mix all ingredients EXCEPT SODA, in big plastic bowl or large deep dish.
Freeze over night. (Be sure the bowl you use won't crack from freezing.)
The mixture will not completely freeze because of alcohol content.
When it's nearly frozen, it's time to serve.
Scoop mixture into glasses. Ice cream scooper works well for this.
Top off each glass with some lemon-lime soda to liquify a bit.
Garnish with lime slice or mint leaf or both.
Serve with tall spoons. At first it's very thick. But the lemon-lime soda helps it quickly melt into easy drinking consistency while remaining icy cold down to the last drop.
Extremely refreshing.
Serves at least 10 people, depending on size of glass.
 
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Stumping in the Sunshine State

Ahhhhh...the blissful, balmy, batty state of Florida. Land of perpetual sunshine, lazy sailboats, swaying palm trees, bronzed starlets, sun-crispy tourists, screwballs and waddling snowbirds (of which I am one), skyrocketing short sales and foreclosures, plummeting home values, insane drivers, pushy elderly people, all day happy hours, early-bird specials, tumultuous traffic and...lines---long, long, long lines...mostly for waiting to get into restaurants, movie theaters and walk-in clinics.

I'm down in quaint little Dunedin, Florida, an idyllic little village on the Gulf of Mexico, frittering away the winter months by devoting my time to such important issues as zumba classes, tennis, tai chi, restaurant hopping, playing with my grandboys, strolling along the bay and picture-perfect sunsets at the marina. All the while maintaining an enthusiastic vigilance toward discovering the consummate Margarita cocktail.

It's a lovely life down here and I am deeply grateful for the opportunity I have to enjoy it. I escape for three months in the Florida sunshine and then I go back to the real world. This week, our little community hosted a major event...Mitt Romney came to town. It was a gloriously sunny, brilliant blue sky kind of day. So I decided to amble downtown and check out the political scenery.

I snuck in through the Press Only entrance gate. Told them I wrote a popular American blog and they actually believed me. Yowza! Now that's great security.

Thousands of people showed up to see Mitt...young and old. It was a happy, carefree, non-combative crowd.

One young woman standing next to me in the crush of bodies asked me with utmost seriousness: "Is this where Newt Gingrich is supposed to speak?" I pointed to the million ROMNEY signs plastered everywhere and informed her it was a Mitt Romney appearance. She seemed confused but decided to stay anyway. She was an operating room nurse and told me I could get free antibiotics at the local Publix supermarket. Good to know. We became fast friends as only people can do for 45 minutes at a political gathering...and I actually think I persuaded her to consider Romney instead of that diabolical Newt character.

Lots of national network news cameras perched above the crowd waiting for the ultimate sound bite.

Romney came on stage and the crowd roared. He seemed very affable in person and much more personable than in does in those TV debates. He spoke very effectively and passionately. He's tallish, very lean, wore faded jeans and is quite a handsome guy. Very statesman-like.

I only saw four hecklers in the entire crowd. One was dressed in a fuzzy doggie suit. Don't know the significance of the dog costume but it must have been suffocatingly hot inside that outfit. They didn't start heckling until Romney was done speaking. We have very polite hecklers in Dunedin. Nobody could understand a word they said.

The "Street Dogs" heckle Romney...as a couple glares behind them.

I did spy a couple of Occupy Wallstreet protesters. Two 60ish women with cheesy, hand-written signs appeared angry and menacing. But they didn't have tents so I guess they really weren't planning to take over the neighborhood. Although their fanny packs looked rather ominous. Security!

These old gals got grumpy because there were no free hot dogs.

These two birdbrains could care less about visiting politicos as they snooze on a sunny dock.

Now here's an interesting side note. See the lady above in the black blouse?
She is California Congresswoman, Mary Bono. Yes...the widow of Sonny Bono. Turns out she married Florida Congressman Connie Mack (the guy in the center of the photo). By the way, that's Mitt Romney on the left.

When it was all over, Romney and his troops hopped back on his big blue bus and it was chilled martinis and margaritas for all the gang. (I'm just conjecturing). Another fun day in the sunshine state.

Back at my condo after the Romney mania, I came upon five elderly neighbor ladies (most in their 80s) seated outside in the dappled afternoon sun. They were all laughing and knocking back jumbo glasses of chilled Khalua on the rocks. They cheerfully called to me:"Come join us". It's always 5 o'clock somewhere. God bless America!

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Those Turkeys in Washington Have Cooked our Goose!

It's Thanksgiving time and that means turkeys roasting in ovens across the country. But what about those turkeys in Washington D.C.? Americans are getting our gooses cooked by a bunch of impudent, self-preening, Washington politico buffoons, who wobble around the halls of Congress like bumbling, old gobblers stumbling through a barn yard full of political partisan turkey poop. They are so entrenched in their own mud-slinging, political animosities,  stagnating indecisiveness and self-aggrandizing that they couldn't run a lemonade stand much less an entire country.

Is anybody surprised by the failure of the so-called Super Committee? It's more like a stupid committee. Did anyone ever, even for a minute, think these paid elected representatives could muster enough courage, intellectual savvy, cooperation and good old fashioned give and take to reach some kind of debt reduction agreement. My dog could have figured out something! And I don't even own a dog. But if I did, I'm pretty sure he'd find some bones.

And who set up this lame-brain committee in the first place? President Barach Obama. Mr. President, I humbly submit that any average American outside of Washington could have told you that when you hole up a bunch of squabbling politicians in a room, they'll come up with nothing but hot air and windbag excuses. They had no leader. You did not take charge, sir. The super stupid committee was nothing more than a pass-the-buck trick to deflect criticism off of you, our president, and smear it all over a bunch of hapless bipartisan dupes. And your scheme may very well work. I held great hopes for you, Mr. Obama. We all did. Yet frankly sir, based on your unremarkable, passive leadership and inability to solve our current problems, I have absolutely no confidence in you whatsoever. The super committee is yet one more example of you not taking command of our crisis situation.

Mr. President, I respectfully beseech you...for the goodness of America...lose your "blame them" baggage. Drop your "victim" attitude. Next time you want to blame Bush. STOP. Don't do it. That's old. Boring. Unproductive. Rise to the occasion. LEAD with bold actions. Be a statesman. INSPIRE! DO SOMETHING! You talk about compromise but you constantly accuse and belittle not only your political opponents but the American people. I for one, am sick of your churlish blaming of others. We've got a problem. FIX IT. Think outside the box. Brainstorm some solutions yourself. Stop piddling around. Ask Michelle. Honestly, Mr. President, I am so disappointed by your lack of substantive ideas. As for your opponents being obstinant...indeed they are. But it's up to YOU to bring them around. Practice friendly persuasion. Show statesmanship. Play golf with them. Invite them for  sleep overs at the W.H.  Play B ball...and let them win. Play nice.

Ask yourself: what would Bill Clinton do? What would Ronald Reagan do? What would Harry Truman do? Apparently the old school, "slap em on the back, smile, pretend you like em, good ole boy" style of getting things done actually works in Washington. It's worked since the time of our founding fathers. You tried to change things. How's that working? Stalemates and deepening failures. You gotta get flying, sir. Be our national hero. Not our demise.

YOU must do the leading, sir. You must preside. Seek advice from successful, smart, real-world business people not politicians or academics. Redeem yourself, sir. You still have a golden opportunity to earn reelection. Solve the financial crisis of America with innovative ideas. We need positive action and responsible leadership. Turn this country around for the better. Lead Americans back on the path to prosperity again. And perhaps, sir, you will deserve my vote and my respect.

I am just a humble, ordinary, cash poor, unhappy but patriotic American who is very, very worried about the condition of our beloved country. As an independent voter, I've been struggling which way to cast my ballot next November. The problem is: There is no person at this point in either party who seems the least bit capable of resolving the problems our country faces. Those inept folks on Capitol Hill in both parties, who are supposed to be working for us, have proven themselves to be an abject, spineless bunch of bungling, gutless, self-serving, irresponsible, incompetent lunkheads. This bothers me. Does it bother you? To many Americans it seems the only decisions these screwballs can come up with is which restaurant to dine at...on the taxpayers tab, no doubt. I'm guessing there may be a few other citizens in this country who feel the same way I do.

So here's what I'd do to all those super jerks who could not figure out a debt solution. FIRE THEM ALL!  They failed. Pack your bags folks and get the hell out of D.C. You wasted all our time and lord knows how many millions of dollars you squandered sitting on your butts for months, munching donuts and sandwiches, texting, playing Bejeweled Blitz, googling stupid stuff and eventually coming up with zilch, zippo, nothing. You should be ashamed of yourselves. But of course, you won't be. You are shameless with your unabashed hubris and lime-light microphone grabbing. As for all the other political offices...including the Prez....I say change them all to volunteer jobs. No salaries. No lobbyists. And make them pay for their own health insurance. They'll still have some power and prestige but no perks. Maybe a decent pension when they retire. That way, all the money-grubbing, political leaches may drop out. And we might just get some honest, hard-working, responsible, competent folks to run our government who could actually get along and balance the budget. That my friends, would eventually give Americans something to truly celebrate on Thanksgiving Day. Sphere: Related Content

The Joys of a Sunday Drive

I've always enjoyed taking the road less traveled. And a Sunday drive in the country is perfect for discovering rural surprises along uncrowded country byways. Yesterday was a beautiful, end-of-summer September Sunday with a touch of cool crispness in the air, azure blue skies and a friendly, warm sun that beckoned us to take a ride on the back roads.

Hubz did the driving and we decided to head northeast and let the old country roads inspire our course. Our philiosophy: Embrace the unexpected. We both brought along our cameras because you never know when a photo opp will pop up.

No sooner had we veered off the main highway than we came across a wonderful fall festival/art show at a gorgeous park. The vast and grassy grounds teamed with people, luscious aromas of fried chicken, corn dogs and elephant ears and tons of original creations by many talented artisans. I never realized all the clever things you could do with old spoons and forks!

We spent some time mingling and kibbitzing, admiring the art and noshing. Then it was time to leave the crowds behind and continue our Sunday sojourne. Even though it's late September up here in Michigan, the blazing colors of autumn have not yet fired up. Most of the trees are still green. Nonetheless, we found lots of "sneak previews" of nature's annual color extravaganza.  After stopping along scenic rivers and farmlands and exploring some lonely dirt roads, we were rewarded with wondrous sights of historic covered bridges, picturesque, old barns and lovely woodland flowers making their fall debut. Here are some of our unexpected Sunday drive discoveries.

A jaunty farmer sits amidst his fruits of harvest.

  Specks of orange bell flowers bloom along a bubbly creek.

Cheerful goldenrod peek out from a creekside.

Splish splash goes a meandering stream.

Dappled shades of sunlight enliven a creek bed.

Joe Pie Weed and Golden Rod flank the Flat River.

A lone visitor admires the view.

A yellow butterfly lunches on wild daisies.

Wild purple astors wave in the wind along the river bank.

A century old, classic red barn stands sentry over the farmlands.

Built 2 years after the Civil War, White's Bridge over the Flat River, is still used by cars today.

At the end of a lonely dirt road, we came upon this spectacular covered bridge.

Canoes and kayaks glide the scenic Flat River.

A rugged yet beautifully weathered old barn graces the farm fields.

A scenic hillside view high above the Flat River.

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Life is Like a Wet Burrito at the In-Between Bar

We drove by the restaurant...if you could even call it that. The football-size parking lot was nearly deserted. Grass sprouted up through all the cracks in the asphalt. The exterior was a muddy gray and screamed for a new paint job. There was no sign. Well...there was a board on the front with letters, but it was so dirty we could not make out the wording.

Even so, we knew this was the place. We'd been here before about six years ago and enjoyed a memorably delicious Mexican meal. Back then it was not actually a designated Mexican eatery. It had been owned by an Italian guy. But they served to-die-for enchiladas and burritos. Go figure. Today, it was high noon. We were in the neighborhood. And we were craving Mexican food. We decided to take a chance.

After entering the front door, we were blinded by the darkness. It was so dim inside, our eyes took a while to adjust. When we finally got our visual bearings, we saw that the place was practically empty. Only one table was occupied by four people. The inside was huge. It reeked of millions of stale cigarettes from years gone by, even though smoking was now outlawed on the premises. Dozens of tables and roomy but worn, vinyl-clad booths were vacant. There was a big, long mahogany bar, a bunch of pool tables and a stage. We saw no servers. At this point we considered leaving.

Suddenly from out of the darkness, a waitress appeared carrying a yummy looking pizza for the foursome at the table. She acknowledged us and suggested we could sit anywhere. We recalled that there used to be a charming outdoor garden seating area and we asked if it was still in use. The young woman cheerfully escorted us to the far end of the dingy dining room and opened a door to a lovely, alfresco patio with fresh, clean air, plenty of tables and tall sun umbrellas. It was a perfect weather, blue-sky, end-of-summer afternoon. Yet, nobody was outside. We had the garden to ourselves. By this time we were feeling adventurous so we plopped down at a table, opened a faded green umbrella to shade off the sun and decided to order.

I couldn't help but stare at our server. She was covered in tatoos. Hell Kat was emblazoned across her forearm. She had these weird, round, bright blue, ring-like things pushed through her ears. The effect was that they created a hole in her lower ear lobes big enough to shoot giant marbles through. Yet, she had a pleasant face and a perky smile and was very friendly.

The place offered a $5.00 lunch special. We each ordered a half burrito, no rice or sides and a light beer. We figured a small burrito would not be too filling but hopefully satisfy our crazy Mexican food cravings.

Hell Kat was back in a flash with icy cold beers, chips and salsa. The chips were homemade, large, flavorful and crispy and coated with an unusual but very tasty chili powder mixture. Yummo!  Since she had no other customers, Hell Kat, chatted with us for a bit and told us that the place had undergone several owners over the last few years and lots of name changes. At one time or another, it was called 36th Street Bar. Then Larry's. Then Frank's. Both Italian fellows who had a peculiar affinity for Mexican food. Now she said it's the In-Between Bar but they haven't changed the sign out front for years.

We asked how the place could possibly remain in business since there were virtually no lunch goers except us and the 4 folks inside. She said most of their business was in the evenings and on weekends with Kareoke, sixties rock bands, boomers and a hefty biker crowd. Ahhh, so that explains it.

In no time, Hell Kat returned with our half burritos. Half portion? An understatement to be sure! On an oversized dinner plate, sat an enormous, steaming hot wrapped tortilla...the size of a football...fully loaded with enough beef and cheese and sauce to feed a ravenous gang of bikers. A scrumptious red sauce smothered the burrito but left just enough room on the side for freshly cut lettuce strips and rosy, ripe tomatoes. We dived into our food. It was out of this world delicious. It even surpassed the memorable meal we had there six years ago. Amazing.

Between bites, we pondered how the place could afford to serve such large helpings and cram their burritos with such delectable meat/cheese fixings. Most likely the cook was a different one from previous years. But those wet burritos were still the best-tasting wet burritos we've ever had. It seemed a shame that the establishment was so run down. We pipe dreamed about how we could buy it, refurbish it, paint the outside, add lots of flowers and white table cloths and come up with a clever name. Then it was time to go. Hell Kat gave us take-home boxes. We loaded up much of the food we were too stuffed to finish, left her a hefty tip and fumbled our way back through the gloomy interior out to the car.

Later, it occurred to me just how much life is like a wet burrito at the In-Between Bar. Sometimes you have to forge through the darkness to get to the good stuff...because it's often in the most unexpected places. But always worth taking a chance. Sphere: Related Content

Wild West Adventure: Final Finish....Rocky Mountain Highs

 So here's how our Wild West Adventure stacks up so far:

• We've driven nearly 3000 miles in a rental car, west from Denver.

• We've traveled the length and breadth of Colorado, Wyoming, Idaho and Utah. 

• We've toured 7 National Parks, 4 state parks and crossed umpteen white-knuckle, twisting, winding, sky high mountain ranges in ten days.

• We've trudged through dozens of blistering 110 degree deserts that could melt the freckles off your face...and I think they did.

• We've explored enough beautiful, yet sweltering canyons and gorges and buttes and mesas and plateaus to last a lifetime.

• We've hiked up steep mountain trails; down treacherous, rocky canyons; across burning desert sand; along rushing rivers and through thick forests til our legs begged for mercy. 

And we've done it all at an altitude considerably higher than what we're used to. The elevation where we live is 640 feet above sea level. The places out West where we've visited range from at least 5000 feet up to 12,000 feet above sea level. Even the hot desert altitudes are 6000 to 8000 feet. I've read that altitude sickness sets in around 8000 feet and can make you miserably sick for several days at any heights above that. I talked to a lady who moved to the mile-high city of Denver (5280 ft.) from Michigan and she told me that for the first solid month she was in Denver, both she and her husband suffered serious altitude sickness...which causes bad headaches, fever, dizziness, nausea. Luckily for us and maybe it's because we planned ahead and drank so much water, we did not suffer altitude sickness. We did get out of breath easily though. Most of the time when we were hiking and climbing, the small backpacks we carried felt like a two ton buffalo.

The truth is we're exhausted. So we decided it was time for a little rest and relaxation. We also wanted to escape the throbbing, baking heat we'd been experiencing. We did not have a plan on where to go next. I got out my trusty laptop, googled around a bit and found what appeared to be a pretty little ski village in Colorado just up the road from Vail. We figured a mountain town high up in the Rockies would be refreshingly cool and probably not too crowded in the summer.

What we found upon driving into Beaver Creek Resort was....heaven on earth. The second we stopped the car at the hotel entrance, my door was whisked open by the hotel manager himself, who said: "Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Boomer. We've been expecting you." And with that he ushered us inside a magnificent hotel lobby and graciously upgraded us to the best room in the house. (I told him it was our anniversary...and it was...a few days earlier.)  He had the valet park our car and led us upstairs to a gorgeous room with stunning views of the mountains. "We're at your service every moment you're here," he said. "Whatever you want, just ask." 

The hubs and I looked at each other and wondered if we'd inadvertently stumbled upon fantasy island. Or in this case Fantasy Mountain. Turns out this luxurious, four star, 350 room hotel had only a handful of rooms booked, as it was off season. We later learned that the entire staff was instructed by management to attend to our every need.

We opened the French doors of our suite to a lovely balcony overlooking the village and the beautiful green ski slopes. We sucked in the glorious clean, cool mountain air. No bugs, no flies, no mosquitoes. Perfect weather. We didn't even need to turn on the A/C. The room was comfortably pleasant with the soft mountain breeze wafting through. We stepped out for a few minutes to check out the rest of the hotel. Only saw one other couple lounging by the pool. When we returned to the room, a plate of exquisite cheeses and a bottle of French champagne awaited us on the table, compliments of the hotel.

There are few things so pleasurable in life as being pampered to the max at a fine hotel. This was all quite unexpected for us. For the next several days we soaked up the first class ambiance as much as we could. We hiked among the towering groves of aspen and pine. We strolled through the lovely, old world village of shops and restaurants, few people and no cars. We had the resort to ourselves! We explored a rushing creek bubbling up with fresh snow melt that cascaded all the way from the top of the mountain to the bottom. We saw scenic waterfalls up close and personal and meandered through mountain meadows bursting with wildflowers.

We even climbed up a narrow, wooded path along side the grassy ski slopes to 9000 feet and lived to tell the tale, albeit gasping for breath. That's when we became concerned about bears. Afterall, this was definitely bear country...black bears and grizzly. We were told that if you whistle or talk loudly or sing...you'll let the bears know you're around and they won't be startled. So we sang: Smokey the Bear, Smokey the Bear, prowlin and a growlin and a sniffin the air. He can find a fire before it starts to flame. That's why they call him Smokey. That's how he got his name......over and over and over....all the way up the dense, leafy forest to 9000 feet. And I guess it worked because we saw no bears. They probably decided not to bother with the likes of us loonie, off-tune interlopers.

Even though we're not big alcohol drinkers, we made great friends with the hotel bartender, Teddie. He gave us free drinks on the lovely bar veranda overlooking the mountains. Teddie regaled us with stories about the area and all the celebs he's met over the years during the winter ski season. We were the only people in the bar. We left Teddie a very generous tip.

Dinner at the hotel's award winning, elegant restaurant was a slight let down. Personally, I do not like frou-frou food. Pretentious, over-priced, minimal and usually garnished with scraggly, paper-thin weed-like veggies to make it look fancy-schmancy. I've had much tastier crusted walleye fish in Michigan. My two slices of potato, each the size of a thin dime, were....ice cold. Ah but all was not lost. Near the end of our paltry and outrageously expensive meal, the waiter told us that our pal, Teddie was offering us complimentary after-dinner drinks on the veranda. So we leisurely ended the evening watching the sun set behind the snow-capped mountains, sipping gigantic mugs of delicious hot coffee laced with Baileys Irish Cream, grand marnier, and fra angelico topped with a heaping scoop of fresh whipped cream. Divine!

There were numerous activities we could have availed ourselves during our stay in Beaver Creek Resort. But we opted to soak up the world class scenery, do some hiking and mostly relax. Our Wild West Adventure was nearly over and we wanted to decompress and unwind before we flew back home.

We started our little excursion hoping to discover the natural scenery of the American West. And we found it....in all its startling, stunning, magnificent, breathtaking, pristine, unforgiving, wild simplicity. In our culture today that values bling over beauty, chaos over quiet, crudeness over civility...the American West offers a pure, unvarnished, sublime, mostly uncrowded, calming escape from the pandemonium of our disordered world. The scenery is world class....like nothing else anywhere on the planet.

We consider it a privilege that we were able to visit and physically explore such monumental natural and ancient landscapes that exist in the western United States. Although we've always appreciated nature, these experiences have changed both my husband and myself for the better. We understand that we are all connected to the natural world even if we don't live near it every day. It's the soundless tranquility of a scorching desert where you can hear the sun sizzle on the sand and rub your hands along a gigantic boulder that feels surprisingly cool to the touch. It's the tranquil calmness of the Grand Teton Mountains where the only sound you hear on a rocky, woodland path is the whisper of the wind.

You hear the wind too on the edge of a high canyon rim looking down thousands of feet below you. The wind is different on the canyon top. Instead of whispering...it whistles. You have to be there. Or you have to be on the banks of a Rocky Mountain stream. Looking way, way up you see snow. Then midway down, you actually see the snow melting and you watch as the water tumbles down the mountain and forms a magnificent waterfall. Right before your very eyes, you've witnessed the creation of a waterfall.

Where ever you are, it's all about being in the moment. On the very edge of a giant, gorge in Canyonlands with a sheer and ultimately fatal drop-off, I spied a lone patch of four yellow flowers growing off the twisted, rocky ledge. My eye caught something fluttering among these few sparse blooms. It was a tiny hummingbird...flitting from flower to flower. I was only inches away with my camera and was able to capture the unusual scene. It's all about the unexpected, precious, gem-stone moments of nature.

In closing this account of our Wild West Adventure, I invite all of you to take a trip to this spectacular area of the country. It's wild, untamed and even dangerous. But above all....you will never forget the rare, raw, stark, unusual, unparalleled natural grandeur of the great American West.

Rocky Mountain highs as seen from our hotel.

View from our hotel room balcony. We hiked to top of green area...9000 ft.

Some snow at highest elevations never melts in the Rockies.

Magnificent views in Beaver Creek, Colorado.

A lone hummingbird finds food high above the steep canyons.

Solitary hummingbird in foreground on canyon rim with Colorado River far below.

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