The holidays are crazy. After spending beyond the budget, eating enough to kill an elephant, and drinking a corner of our liver off, there is renewed pressure on whether we succeeded in meeting our new year's resolutions for 2011. Dare we look at the list made after spiked egg nog, red wine and a couple of shots of scotch approximately 12 months ago? Yet another list made with high hopes and renewed enthusiasm. Is it possible to sustain enthusiasm for all those items on the list for an entire year? Alas, a couple of goals were actually met on the list: Goal No. 1: "read at least one book this year (and Twitter doesn't count);" and Goal No. 10: "sleep more." Congratulations! However, the disappointment comes when none of the unrealistic resolutions in the middle were met or even attempted, like Goal No. 6: "Save a million dollars;" and Goal No. 8: "Buy a Lamborghini."
For centuries humans have carefully put together their life's plans resolving at the stroke of midnight that their new life begins on January 1 by adhering to a list. I have gone so far as to frame my list. One time I hung it on the fridge so I was forced to look at it daily. Another time I actually miniaturized my list. I put it in my wallet so that it would fall out when I paid cash for something like a Starbucks coffee, which I'm sure was a no-no on my list. Crap.
Not only do we set ourselves up for failure, but we fail at some of the items on our list over and over as we try to regroup all year long. Yes, there are numerous adages that state failures lead to successes; learn from your mistakes; try, try again; and if you fall off, get back on. All true, but do you really need a list staring at you to remind you that you failed?
On the flip side, I have written thoughts down on paper and thrown them into a fire in an effort to let go. That felt the best. I was no longer disappointing myself, I was freeing myself of something that I no longer had a need for in my life. Maybe it was something dragging me down. It was a form of liberation without burning my bra. Especially since bras are really expensive.
As I picked up my notebook to begin creating my list of 2012 resolutions, I thought about the fires in the past and played with the thought of simply not doing it. After thinking about all the disappointment I have experienced with myself, I wondered which would be worse, no list or not meeting the goals on the list. As usual, I couldn't decide what to do. So, when in a quandary, change gears and walk away from the problem. The hope is that the answer will pop into my head when I expect it least. So I started brushing my dog and turned to my favorite blog, Zen Habits, for some reading. Amazingly, the latest post was all about NOT setting new year's resolutions. It was fate.
We already know the answers to our own questions but many times refuse to acknowledge them. For example, should I eat this piece of Death by Chocolate dessert even though I only have 5 pounds left to lose? Should I go out drinking even though I have been diagnosed with diabetes? Should I go to the gym, or watch Steel Magnolias for the 39th time while eating my tears with spoonfuls of Cherry Garcia ice cream? The same applies to resolutions. You already know what you want to accomplish. You might even have a business plan or something to that affect. Why torture yourself with yet another list? Don't you have some twatting on Twitter to do?
Instead of having a year-long "to-do" list that diversions cause you to stray from, experience a year of freedom. No more stressing about working hard enough to meet a goal or telling anyone what goal you are working towards. Release the unnecessary stress and enjoy the world around you while you experience new things at your whim. Not only are you free, but everyone around you is free as well. Free from your stress. I should know, I have been stressing out my family for years. Hopefully I can stick to a "no-resolution resolution." There will be a lot of happy people if I can.
Here's to freedom and a HAPPY NEW YEAR! Stay tuned for the next installation of "Thank You Notes from Hell" and the Super Bowl.
Carpe Diem!
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
People Watching Without Going to Walmart
Today was a great day to take a drive and escape the congestion of the city. It was as if we lived in a time with no television, no air conditioning and a brand new convertible. The mercury was expected to stay under 100 degrees and the long flat roads of Texas called out. What better reason to drive than no reason at all. Southeast was the direction and within an hour of driving the terrain had changed markedly. There were beautiful trees, rolling hills and nary a car on the road. That's when the fun began.
To say it was like living in another time and place was the theme of the day. First stop, local gas station on the main strip. As the gas pump worked to fill our tank, we went into the store for a break and some refreshments. While waiting for my cohort to choose a drink, I noticed the cute young blond in front of me and thinking to myself, "She is very well put together for a girl in a small podunk town like this," until I noticed she was purchasing a 90 ounce Slurpee and two large bags of pork rinds. I tried to snap a picture, but I was seconds behind as she climbed two feet up into her pickup truck where her redneck boyfriend awaited his snicky snacks.
Next stop, the town square. Saturdays are good days to explore new places, find hidden gems, shop, eat, and enjoy the hustle and bustle of a small town. We headed for the local farmer's market which sets up on the sidewalk in front of the courthouse on the town square. When we arrived, we found nothing. No hustle, no bustle, not even a freakin' watermelon. After illegally crossing the street to avoid a toothless woman in a cowboy hat, we found a swanky espresso cafe / diner / wi-fi hot spot / antique shop on the corner. Our first mistake was actually asking the young women running the place (one with her infant baby) where the farmer's market was. The second mistake was waiting for the answer. The response from both women was "uh, oh, um . . . ooooh." After a few of those, we headed in the direction we thought was part of the answer only to find the local Walmart. Not even close ladies! Now we know where they shop because apparently the farmer's market closes at noon. The square was not entirely a bust. We found the local Chamber of Commerce open. The town square was as quiet as the day was long. Oh, and at the espresso . . . . shop, you can get statuary for your garden or the run of the mill coral for your bathroom decor all in one place.
After a jaunt at the lake watching small-town teenagers in cutoff jean shorts and high top tennis shoes, we were relaxed and de-stressed, mainly because we no longer had to worry about whether the 80's were dead. Apparently the 80's are alive and well in small towns. But the fun of watching teenagers try to ditch their alcohol in front of a police officer had to end and we needed to head back to the big city. Not all was lost because there were still road-side attractions yet to be touched and decided to stop at one of them on our return trip. The sign read "Good Cookin" in black spray paint. Sue's Roost was the name of the place. Too risky, we chickened out of the roost and headed to an old cotton gin off the highway instead. It is a restaurant that is physically inside an old cotton gin. We were greeted with a warm southern smile and could smell the home cooking. Taking in the ambiance, we stopped to gawk at the murals on the walls. The owners might as well hang rebel flags in the windows as curtains. Probably never noticed by the sweet waitresses, but peering down on them was a painting of a white man in a suit sitting on bales of cotton. He appeared to be watching his migrant and slave workers pick cotton, which in turn was taken to ships and sailed down the Mississippi past the white man's big mansion. History was no longer a subject in school, it was real and current. What nailed it home was observing a group of cowboys coming out of a back room to leave the gin and staring at a black man in the dining room as they walked past him. I'm not sure, but I think they had white pointy hats tucked in their back pockets next to their Skoal cans. (Photo by E. Newton).
Life can be sheltered living in the big city and vice versa. Young folk in small towns enjoy a night in the city, a chance to live in the fast lane for a few hours, and city folk enjoy the slow pace and quiet bliss of a small town to lower their blood pressure. They are worlds apart however. One day, we will move back in time again and despite the flaws in social skills, we will return to the espresso . . . . shop, if it still exists, and the cotton gin, if there are no burning crosses out front. For now, go out and explore, but remember, to each his own.
In case your imagination doesn't work and from the people who created "People of Walmart", try "Your Kid's Art Sucks." http://www.yourkidsartsucks.com/.
Carpe Diem!
To say it was like living in another time and place was the theme of the day. First stop, local gas station on the main strip. As the gas pump worked to fill our tank, we went into the store for a break and some refreshments. While waiting for my cohort to choose a drink, I noticed the cute young blond in front of me and thinking to myself, "She is very well put together for a girl in a small podunk town like this," until I noticed she was purchasing a 90 ounce Slurpee and two large bags of pork rinds. I tried to snap a picture, but I was seconds behind as she climbed two feet up into her pickup truck where her redneck boyfriend awaited his snicky snacks.
Next stop, the town square. Saturdays are good days to explore new places, find hidden gems, shop, eat, and enjoy the hustle and bustle of a small town. We headed for the local farmer's market which sets up on the sidewalk in front of the courthouse on the town square. When we arrived, we found nothing. No hustle, no bustle, not even a freakin' watermelon. After illegally crossing the street to avoid a toothless woman in a cowboy hat, we found a swanky espresso cafe / diner / wi-fi hot spot / antique shop on the corner. Our first mistake was actually asking the young women running the place (one with her infant baby) where the farmer's market was. The second mistake was waiting for the answer. The response from both women was "uh, oh, um . . . ooooh." After a few of those, we headed in the direction we thought was part of the answer only to find the local Walmart. Not even close ladies! Now we know where they shop because apparently the farmer's market closes at noon. The square was not entirely a bust. We found the local Chamber of Commerce open. The town square was as quiet as the day was long. Oh, and at the espresso . . . . shop, you can get statuary for your garden or the run of the mill coral for your bathroom decor all in one place.
After a jaunt at the lake watching small-town teenagers in cutoff jean shorts and high top tennis shoes, we were relaxed and de-stressed, mainly because we no longer had to worry about whether the 80's were dead. Apparently the 80's are alive and well in small towns. But the fun of watching teenagers try to ditch their alcohol in front of a police officer had to end and we needed to head back to the big city. Not all was lost because there were still road-side attractions yet to be touched and decided to stop at one of them on our return trip. The sign read "Good Cookin" in black spray paint. Sue's Roost was the name of the place. Too risky, we chickened out of the roost and headed to an old cotton gin off the highway instead. It is a restaurant that is physically inside an old cotton gin. We were greeted with a warm southern smile and could smell the home cooking. Taking in the ambiance, we stopped to gawk at the murals on the walls. The owners might as well hang rebel flags in the windows as curtains. Probably never noticed by the sweet waitresses, but peering down on them was a painting of a white man in a suit sitting on bales of cotton. He appeared to be watching his migrant and slave workers pick cotton, which in turn was taken to ships and sailed down the Mississippi past the white man's big mansion. History was no longer a subject in school, it was real and current. What nailed it home was observing a group of cowboys coming out of a back room to leave the gin and staring at a black man in the dining room as they walked past him. I'm not sure, but I think they had white pointy hats tucked in their back pockets next to their Skoal cans. (Photo by E. Newton).Life can be sheltered living in the big city and vice versa. Young folk in small towns enjoy a night in the city, a chance to live in the fast lane for a few hours, and city folk enjoy the slow pace and quiet bliss of a small town to lower their blood pressure. They are worlds apart however. One day, we will move back in time again and despite the flaws in social skills, we will return to the espresso . . . . shop, if it still exists, and the cotton gin, if there are no burning crosses out front. For now, go out and explore, but remember, to each his own.
In case your imagination doesn't work and from the people who created "People of Walmart", try "Your Kid's Art Sucks." http://www.yourkidsartsucks.com/.
Carpe Diem!
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Crazy People and More Thank You Notes from Hell!
Times are tough for a lot of people right now, and have been for a couple of years for some. Since there may be little relief in the immediate future, we have to concentrate on the good things. We have to stay positive and thankful for what we do have now (not wallow in our pity about what we had or could have had). In essence, we must keep our wits about us.
For example, if you DO have a job, try not to run people off the road on your way to work. Just because you are in a car does not mean you own the road. And, although you are probably smarter than the asshole in front of you, you might want to show restraint. For example, if someone flicks a cigarette butt out of a car window and it gets stuck under the hood of your car, be thankful for insurance. You're the lucky one who will get a new car after it burns up. Or, if some asshole cuts you off, try not to run them down. You will be thankful that they didn't call 911 and have you arrested for road rage.
If you are unemployed, take some time to watch Cops. You can learn a lot. For instance, if you are going to get into a dispute with your spouse over money, be sure to wear a shirt, but NOT a "wife-beater" t-shirt. No shirt or a "wife-beater" is an immediate sign that you will be arrested, and that can be costly.
Last, when you are in a jovial mood, please share it with everyone. Spread good energy around and help everyone be thankful. My new slogan: "No STD's, just good energy please!"
And because I am in a thankful mood, here is another installment of THANK YOU NOTES FROM HELL:
1. Thank you Casey Anthony for providing 6 plus weeks of entertainment on Headline News, CNN, Fox News, and every single online news source in the world. You are a total nut case, but you helped me avoid gaining 10 pounds by not going to baseball games. Instead, I came home from work every evening to endure an hour of that over-exposed Nancy Grace so I could catch up on your trial. Now, I am the same weight as when baseball season started and I have no desire to eat a hot dog.
2. Thank you to the Casey Anthony jury for coming to such a speedy decision. Not only did you put an end to a trial that went on far too long, but you swiftly kicked Nancy Grace off the top of the hill. For that, I love you, and I hope I never see Nancy Grace again.
3. Thank you John Boehner. I refuse to believe the pronunciation of your name used on television is correct because without my pronunciation of your surname, I could not smile and laugh every time I read an article about party leaders in our country.
4. Thank you Katy Perry for turning aliens into something sexual. I am finally interested.
5. Thank you again to the Casey Anthony jury for a quick deliberation. I finally have my boyfriend back. Now I can quit listening to Katy Perry.
6. Thank you God for this agonizing heat wave. For once in my life, I might enjoy the winter. (Ha, probably not.)
Send me your THANK YOU'S FROM HELL and I will post them!
For example, if you DO have a job, try not to run people off the road on your way to work. Just because you are in a car does not mean you own the road. And, although you are probably smarter than the asshole in front of you, you might want to show restraint. For example, if someone flicks a cigarette butt out of a car window and it gets stuck under the hood of your car, be thankful for insurance. You're the lucky one who will get a new car after it burns up. Or, if some asshole cuts you off, try not to run them down. You will be thankful that they didn't call 911 and have you arrested for road rage.
If you are unemployed, take some time to watch Cops. You can learn a lot. For instance, if you are going to get into a dispute with your spouse over money, be sure to wear a shirt, but NOT a "wife-beater" t-shirt. No shirt or a "wife-beater" is an immediate sign that you will be arrested, and that can be costly.
Last, when you are in a jovial mood, please share it with everyone. Spread good energy around and help everyone be thankful. My new slogan: "No STD's, just good energy please!"
And because I am in a thankful mood, here is another installment of THANK YOU NOTES FROM HELL:
1. Thank you Casey Anthony for providing 6 plus weeks of entertainment on Headline News, CNN, Fox News, and every single online news source in the world. You are a total nut case, but you helped me avoid gaining 10 pounds by not going to baseball games. Instead, I came home from work every evening to endure an hour of that over-exposed Nancy Grace so I could catch up on your trial. Now, I am the same weight as when baseball season started and I have no desire to eat a hot dog.
2. Thank you to the Casey Anthony jury for coming to such a speedy decision. Not only did you put an end to a trial that went on far too long, but you swiftly kicked Nancy Grace off the top of the hill. For that, I love you, and I hope I never see Nancy Grace again.
3. Thank you John Boehner. I refuse to believe the pronunciation of your name used on television is correct because without my pronunciation of your surname, I could not smile and laugh every time I read an article about party leaders in our country.
4. Thank you Katy Perry for turning aliens into something sexual. I am finally interested.
5. Thank you again to the Casey Anthony jury for a quick deliberation. I finally have my boyfriend back. Now I can quit listening to Katy Perry.
6. Thank you God for this agonizing heat wave. For once in my life, I might enjoy the winter. (Ha, probably not.)
Send me your THANK YOU'S FROM HELL and I will post them!
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Stingrays and Poison Ivy-a revisit
Three years ago, I got the bright idea to start a blog. I wanted to learn more about this thing called "blogging" and thought it would be a great way to keep up with all the crazy kids in cyberspace. Aside from not knowing how to function as a "blogger", I also felt that my writing skills were below par and a blog would force me to write more better (hee). At the same time, I could no longer ignore "wiener" flashing politicians, my own unfortunate yet comical incidents, and the unbelievable amount of ignorance and lunacy in the world without making fun of it in script. Which has brought me to my anniversary blog entry for 2011. Circumstances of a painful summer three years ago, similar to this summer's painful experience, give me something to celebrate (or commemorate) in this anniversary addition regarding Stingrays and poison ivy-a revisit..
As some people have heard, because word travels fast around my mother, I was stung by a stingray in the Gulf of Mexico over the Memorial Day weekend. Let's take a moment here to thank all of our soldiers, past and present, who have served for our country. Now back to our regular blog - it was the most excruciating pain I have ever experienced in my life. No mistaken, it was a stingray, and if not, it was an invisible shark with a pair of scissors that stabbed me in the top of my foot!! There were NO jelly fish, and the last time I read about manatees, I learned they are non-aggressive herbivores.
The water was very clear. Unfortunately, I failed to look down and check the sand before stepping on a stingray. After getting back to the hotel with a bloody foot that swelled up like a balloon, I had to sit there and put up with a 21 year old cabana boy talking me down from hyper ventilating as he forced me to soak my foot in scalding hot water. Only an hour and a half later, he was making fun of me when he realized I was not going to die from an allergic reaction. I should have taken his bucket of hot water and placed it over his head. Did I say that out loud? This was after I was exhausted from trying to swim back to the beach, and my brother dragging me in like I was a beached whale. My younger brother, who was witnessing this unfold, commented on the lack of first aid skills. Fortunately, neither brother did not pee on my foot, and my third brother was not present to make a comedy act out of it. It was humiliating enough that my horrible scream from the water had apparently cleared the beach.
I am now going on my almost one month since the incident. After one tetanus shot, x-rays, and three doctor visits, the swelling has gone down and some of the pain is gone. My foot is starting to feel like a foot again. During the ordeal, I was trying to find a cure and spent hours searching information on stingray stings. I was one step away from calling my grandmother's doctor in Florida for help, since I live five states away, and the worst thing they see here are seasonal allergies and gun shot wounds. I managed to learn a lot about stingrays and not how to overcome a sting.
Stingrays are cartilaginous fishes related to sharks. See, I told you! There are multiple families of stingrays, and most have one or more barbs on the end of their tails used as a self-defense mechanism. See picture below from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sting_ray. Their barbs are
covered in a sheath which holds venom. I had no idea stingrays actually had venom. Yes, I already know the Crocodile Hunter, Steve whatever his name is, died from being stung by a stingray. He was a lunatic and an exception. Stingrays actually conceal themselves from prey by hiding in the sand. These beady-eyed shark wanna-be's use smell and electro-receptors to find their prey, just like a shark. They usually feed on crustaceans and mollusks and the occasional human foot. They also carry a pair of scissors. (Just checking to see if you are still reading). When stingrays sting with their barb, it introduces venom. Between the barb piercing your skin and the electric shock of venom being introduced at a high rate of speed, the person experiences intense pain, swelling, muscle cramps, etc. If you are not allergic to the venom, then you basically suffer horrible pain until the venom breaks down. Since it is a protein-based venom, almost scalding hot water will break it down faster.
Rewind to three summers earlier and my battle against poison ivy. I am apparently very allergic to poison ivy and not stingray venom, thank God. In 2008, while at an outdoor concert in Zilker Park, Austin, Texas, I decided to pee in the bushes with my friend, who is NOT allergic to poison ivy. Of course, it was late, many beers later, dark, and a long walk to the car. The poison ivy was hiding in the bushes where I squatted. I fought the poison ivy all summer with steroids, acupuncture, herbal concoctions, gels, pastes, more steroids, more acupuncture, gels and paste, and finally a lot of complaining.
Which brings me to my previous list of things to avoid, especially in the summertime, and how to avoid them:
Always heed warning signs on the beach, for example, shuffle your feet or throw rocks in the water if there are stingrays present until there is a cure or anti-venom. Pain killers do not work!
Never drink in an open public park with all of your friends where weeds are not well maintained.
Never, ever let your friends persuade you to urinate in unmaintained weeds in an open public park when drunk, especially if you are a girl!
Never let anyone urinate on an open wound from a sting on a public beach.
BONUS (for the upcoming 4th of July weekend):
Never stand close to anyone with fireworks who says, "Hey! Watch this!"
Carpe Diem!
As some people have heard, because word travels fast around my mother, I was stung by a stingray in the Gulf of Mexico over the Memorial Day weekend. Let's take a moment here to thank all of our soldiers, past and present, who have served for our country. Now back to our regular blog - it was the most excruciating pain I have ever experienced in my life. No mistaken, it was a stingray, and if not, it was an invisible shark with a pair of scissors that stabbed me in the top of my foot!! There were NO jelly fish, and the last time I read about manatees, I learned they are non-aggressive herbivores.
The water was very clear. Unfortunately, I failed to look down and check the sand before stepping on a stingray. After getting back to the hotel with a bloody foot that swelled up like a balloon, I had to sit there and put up with a 21 year old cabana boy talking me down from hyper ventilating as he forced me to soak my foot in scalding hot water. Only an hour and a half later, he was making fun of me when he realized I was not going to die from an allergic reaction. I should have taken his bucket of hot water and placed it over his head. Did I say that out loud? This was after I was exhausted from trying to swim back to the beach, and my brother dragging me in like I was a beached whale. My younger brother, who was witnessing this unfold, commented on the lack of first aid skills. Fortunately, neither brother did not pee on my foot, and my third brother was not present to make a comedy act out of it. It was humiliating enough that my horrible scream from the water had apparently cleared the beach.
I am now going on my almost one month since the incident. After one tetanus shot, x-rays, and three doctor visits, the swelling has gone down and some of the pain is gone. My foot is starting to feel like a foot again. During the ordeal, I was trying to find a cure and spent hours searching information on stingray stings. I was one step away from calling my grandmother's doctor in Florida for help, since I live five states away, and the worst thing they see here are seasonal allergies and gun shot wounds. I managed to learn a lot about stingrays and not how to overcome a sting.
Stingrays are cartilaginous fishes related to sharks. See, I told you! There are multiple families of stingrays, and most have one or more barbs on the end of their tails used as a self-defense mechanism. See picture below from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sting_ray. Their barbs are
covered in a sheath which holds venom. I had no idea stingrays actually had venom. Yes, I already know the Crocodile Hunter, Steve whatever his name is, died from being stung by a stingray. He was a lunatic and an exception. Stingrays actually conceal themselves from prey by hiding in the sand. These beady-eyed shark wanna-be's use smell and electro-receptors to find their prey, just like a shark. They usually feed on crustaceans and mollusks and the occasional human foot. They also carry a pair of scissors. (Just checking to see if you are still reading). When stingrays sting with their barb, it introduces venom. Between the barb piercing your skin and the electric shock of venom being introduced at a high rate of speed, the person experiences intense pain, swelling, muscle cramps, etc. If you are not allergic to the venom, then you basically suffer horrible pain until the venom breaks down. Since it is a protein-based venom, almost scalding hot water will break it down faster.
Rewind to three summers earlier and my battle against poison ivy. I am apparently very allergic to poison ivy and not stingray venom, thank God. In 2008, while at an outdoor concert in Zilker Park, Austin, Texas, I decided to pee in the bushes with my friend, who is NOT allergic to poison ivy. Of course, it was late, many beers later, dark, and a long walk to the car. The poison ivy was hiding in the bushes where I squatted. I fought the poison ivy all summer with steroids, acupuncture, herbal concoctions, gels, pastes, more steroids, more acupuncture, gels and paste, and finally a lot of complaining.
Which brings me to my previous list of things to avoid, especially in the summertime, and how to avoid them:
Always heed warning signs on the beach, for example, shuffle your feet or throw rocks in the water if there are stingrays present until there is a cure or anti-venom. Pain killers do not work!
Never drink in an open public park with all of your friends where weeds are not well maintained.
Never, ever let your friends persuade you to urinate in unmaintained weeds in an open public park when drunk, especially if you are a girl!
Never let anyone urinate on an open wound from a sting on a public beach.
BONUS (for the upcoming 4th of July weekend):
Never stand close to anyone with fireworks who says, "Hey! Watch this!"
Carpe Diem!
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Things you SHOULD know!
#1. Karma really is a bitch. We have all heard this saying, but probably passed it off as hooey. It's true in the sense that karma - (the ancient Indian concept of cause and effect) - can take you to task. For example, I was recently on an airplane and noticed a young girl wearing clothing I recognized as sleepwear from a particular Secret line of clothing, if you know what I mean. Comfortable, but not exactly what I would wear for a trip to a major airport or running for the lavatory on a crowded plane. In my not so tactful way, I mentioned to the passenger next to me (who was commenting on the girl's casual clothing) that they were in fact PJ's, not to be confused with a real jogging suit. Interestingly, we were chastising her for having the word PINK splashed across her rear as she ran past us for the bathroom, and not the fact that the turbulence was causing her to vomit. Sometimes the slightest infraction can hurt someone, and I guess, karma was on that girl's side that day. After I arrived home from that trip, I had diarrhea for the three days!
#2 Never, ever judge a book by its cover. How many times have you heard this or said this? I find that the educated, the curious, and the wise are good at faking it, and the young do not hold back. As with flocks of people, I venture out on my lunch hour almost every day to reconnect with the world. The other day, I was on the hunt for food (which is usually every 2 hours of every day that I am awake). I walked to Freebirds, a funky, build-your-own burrito factory that will not haunt you later in the day. You can even make tin foil objects from your wrapping and leave them for display or ultimate mutilation by a teenager. The young woman that checked me out was wearing an Insane Clown Posse ("ICP") t-shirt, and the speakers were blaring a Beastie Boys song to which I knew every word. I mentioned at the check out that the music was great, I liked her t-shirt and that I had been to an ICP concert. Not only that, I thought, with all of her tattoos and pink hair, I judged her a a hard-working, pleasant young woman. My judgment changed when she cracked up and stated "I can't believe you know who ICP is by looking at you." Now all I can think about is the girl on the plane. (Pictures of ICP too crude to include. The Beastie Boys are three jewish guys from the Bronx, nothing to show there either.)
#3 Do NOT take pilates from someone who wears camo! I thought the schedule said yoga at noon. My yoga mat was laid out, I was sans my running shoes, and I was ready for a zen lunch hour of yoga. I noticed everyone sitting at two ends of the room facing each other and that should have been my first clue. Then, the wildest and most unsettled woman I have ever encountered entered the room. She was about 6 foot tall with curly, curly blond Medusa-looking hair, incredibly bright red lipstick, a bathing suit top, a somewhat protruding belly that looked angry, some sort of orange warm-up pants and cammo toe shoes. She was discussing her most recent online dating adventure and a recent murder of a pilates teacher in the area. (Second clue, should have left.) It was too late to leave, the music started cranking and the madness began. There were crunches of the abs and butt, bar bells and limbs flailing everywhere, and lots of screaming. I had apparently read the schedule wrong. It was not yoga, it was pilates from hell! Mrs. Hitler was late getting there, so the torture was going to end in 45 minutes or when I dropped a dumbbell on my head. I managed to survive, not quite until the end, and escape. As I drove through the parking lot to leave, I spotted a green Jeep with a cammo wheel cover and a sign on the back that said "Extreme Pilates". I didn't know until that day that "extreme" and "pilates" went together, and I probably will not be able to walk or recover from the trauma for three days!
(www.victoriassecret.com)
#2 Never, ever judge a book by its cover. How many times have you heard this or said this? I find that the educated, the curious, and the wise are good at faking it, and the young do not hold back. As with flocks of people, I venture out on my lunch hour almost every day to reconnect with the world. The other day, I was on the hunt for food (which is usually every 2 hours of every day that I am awake). I walked to Freebirds, a funky, build-your-own burrito factory that will not haunt you later in the day. You can even make tin foil objects from your wrapping and leave them for display or ultimate mutilation by a teenager. The young woman that checked me out was wearing an Insane Clown Posse ("ICP") t-shirt, and the speakers were blaring a Beastie Boys song to which I knew every word. I mentioned at the check out that the music was great, I liked her t-shirt and that I had been to an ICP concert. Not only that, I thought, with all of her tattoos and pink hair, I judged her a a hard-working, pleasant young woman. My judgment changed when she cracked up and stated "I can't believe you know who ICP is by looking at you." Now all I can think about is the girl on the plane. (Pictures of ICP too crude to include. The Beastie Boys are three jewish guys from the Bronx, nothing to show there either.)
#3 Do NOT take pilates from someone who wears camo! I thought the schedule said yoga at noon. My yoga mat was laid out, I was sans my running shoes, and I was ready for a zen lunch hour of yoga. I noticed everyone sitting at two ends of the room facing each other and that should have been my first clue. Then, the wildest and most unsettled woman I have ever encountered entered the room. She was about 6 foot tall with curly, curly blond Medusa-looking hair, incredibly bright red lipstick, a bathing suit top, a somewhat protruding belly that looked angry, some sort of orange warm-up pants and cammo toe shoes. She was discussing her most recent online dating adventure and a recent murder of a pilates teacher in the area. (Second clue, should have left.) It was too late to leave, the music started cranking and the madness began. There were crunches of the abs and butt, bar bells and limbs flailing everywhere, and lots of screaming. I had apparently read the schedule wrong. It was not yoga, it was pilates from hell! Mrs. Hitler was late getting there, so the torture was going to end in 45 minutes or when I dropped a dumbbell on my head. I managed to survive, not quite until the end, and escape. As I drove through the parking lot to leave, I spotted a green Jeep with a cammo wheel cover and a sign on the back that said "Extreme Pilates". I didn't know until that day that "extreme" and "pilates" went together, and I probably will not be able to walk or recover from the trauma for three days!
Sunday, March 20, 2011
The Centenarian
It's been a while, and I hope that everyone is well despite the world events. I'm sure everyone has been as busy as I and enjoying every minute. But I am trying to get back to one thing I love, and that is this blog. On that note, I want to share one of my recent writing projects with you. In order for you to really get a grasp of the personality I wrote about, I have to lead you into it a bit.
One day, when I was about fourteen years old, my grandmother came to town to visit. She would come to Dallas from time to time to visit us, and I couldn't wait to get home from school. She always came bearing gifts from various parts of the world she had been to and had outlandish stories to tell. Not only that, I loved looking at all of her jewelry, and there was a lot. She was always dressed nice, wore lots of gold necklaces, bracelets and rings, all at one time, and her hair was always stacked high on top of her head.
When I arrived home from school, we hugged and kissed, and as usual, I ran upstairs to my bedroom to change my clothes. As soon as I got to my bedroom I let out a shrilling scream. On my dresser sat a large circle of thick, braided hair in a dressy hairnet which was usually on my grandmother's head. I couldn't believe it! After the initial shock of finding hair and no head in my bedroom, my grandmother explained that she had grown her hair long, cut it off, and made a braid out of it. The hair on her head was still down her back. She puts her hair in a bun, and then adds the braid on top. No wonder she wore so many hair clips. That was my first real insight into my grandmother.
In May, this same eccentric woman will be a Centenarian. She still gets around with no problems, is incredibly lucid and very interesting. And, one of my projects has been to recognize her achievement in age through various sources including the Whitehouse, The Today Show, the newspaper and other organizations. What I have come up with is an abbreviated version of her story, and I hope you enjoy it.
It’s official, on May 29, 2011, Antonietta Ajello Montin “Ann”, the newest centenarian of Largo, will celebrate her 100th birthday in grand style. Ann was born in 1911 during a time of building and innovation in America. She exhibits the excitement in America during the beginning of the 20th century with her unique personality, vivaciousness, intellect and style. Her birthday party will be held on May 28th at Pinecrest Place, with the same exuberance, as Ann will host a formal affair, with dinner, dancing, live music, and champagne topped off with sweet delicacies and a chocolate fountain. As we celebrate her century mark, we share her wonderful history.
Ann was born in New York City as the middle child of eleven to Adelina Vaccaro and Antonino Ajello. She was surrounded by wonderful brothers and sisters her entire childhood, growing up in Manhattan and the Bronx. Since Ann and her siblings went to all-girl catholic schools or military academies, holidays were her most memorable times because her entire family would be together. After dinner, Ann’s family would gather and have parties, or they would sit around her father and listen to him play guitar.
On April 23, 1933, a grown up Ann married Vincent Minchillo, whose family was from Foggia, Italy. They had two sons, Joseph and Vincent. When her two sons were very young, Ann’s husband passed away unexpectedly. Ann rebounded and remarried, moved to Vermont, and expanded her family with a third son, Mario Fusco. In the 1950’s, Ann left Vermont and returned to her home state of New York to start a new chapter in her life. She began working for an executive assisting him with travel arrangements to support herself and her family. It was this job that gave Ann her first peek into the world of travel, and from there, she took a keen interest in working for a travel agency. She got her first passport in 1958 after starting her new career as a travel agent for an agency in the Federal Building in New York City.
Over the next 40 years, Ann and her career took off, literally. Ann traveled around the world several times over. Her travels extended up and down the Ivory Coast, took her to China after the Borders were open, flew her to many parts of Persia including Iran and Afghanistan, to Asia, and all over warm and friendly South America. One of her favorite places to visit is Indonesia. During every trip, she made it a point to attend a funeral, a wedding and a fiesta, and all of these events combined reminded her of all the beautiful traditions and things life had to offer. She has fond memories of wonder and amazement from visiting many countries that are now experiencing natural disasters, strife and war. Ann took hundreds of photographs and Super 8 film recording discoveries and stories beyond belief. She brought her children and grandchildren back mementos from each trip representing the indigenous people and culture of each country. And of course, there is no lack of stories from her fascinating visits.
On one of Ann’s many visits to Italy, Ann and her sister were boarding a train in Palermo. They boarded the dining car in hopes to be served lunch on their trip back to Rome. However, they were told they could not sit in the dining car since it was not time for dinner, but Ann was hungry and refused to move. The waiter had no choice but to relent and grant Ann’s wish to dine. As the train started, the dining car doors were locked, the curtains were drawn, music began, and six men entered the back of the dining car. The waiter went straight to the six men and took their order first. When he returned to Ann’s dining table to take her order, Ann lectured the waiter on the American custom of women first. But that did not matter, as the waiter explained that one of the six men was the current Italian Premier, Amintore Fanfani. Not to be outdone, Ann announced to the waiter that she was the Contessa Anna Maria. He was astonished, and informed the Premier that he was sharing the dining car with a Contessa. Once the six men learned there was a Contessa on the train, the mood changed. Prime Minister Fanfani and the other men stood up and bowed at Ann and her sister. They sent over a bowl of cherries and tasty liquors. And finally, when Ann and her sister got up to leave the dining car, all six men greeted them and kissed their hands. Ann was an Italian Contessa for a day, but has lived her life as if she really is a Contessa.
Ann’s family is originally from Sorrento, Italy, where in 1775 The Ajello Candle Company was created. In 1785, Ajello candles were recognized by the Catholic Church and The Ajello Candle Company was commissioned to make all of the candles for the Vatican. From there, Ajello candles spread to be sold to Europe’s elite including kings, queens and the Pope. In 1862, the creator’s grandson, Rafael Ajello, and his two sons, came to America and opened a candle shop in Manhattan. Antonino, one of the sons and Ann’s father, took special care to make sure the business was a success. It was in New York that Antonino began producing candles for people like President Franklin D. Roosevelt. As the company grew in popularity, it helped to celebrate grand events all over the United States and Europe and eventually expanded west to Beverly Hills. In 1935, the Ajello family opened a candle shop in the famed Waldorf Astoria Hotel in Manhattan and celebrated a new generation of elite customers for the next 40 years. Today the Ajello family still operates candle shops in California and New York.
Ann married Joseph “Nino” Montin in 1982 at the age of 71 in New Jersey. Together, they moved to Florida and lived happily in love in Cape Coral for many years. Although she lost Nino many years ago, she still loves and has a beautiful heart. Ann is as vibrant as the North Star, or as many family members describe her, “sharp as a tack”. You can ask her every day what her secret to longevity is, and her answer always includes garlic, red wine, olive oil, laughing, watching game shows like the Wheel of Fortune to keep her mind sharp, watching the Bachelor for fun, and treating others the way she wants to be treated. And Ann has a lot to smile and laugh about. She still brags about her teeth and long hair, especially because they are all hers.
It is fun to listen to her reminisce about the horse and buggies on Pleasant Avenue in New York City and the five cent subway fares and how far she has come. Even more interesting are facts including that Ann never had a driver’s license and never drove a car, but managed to travel all over the world. More amazing, Ann has never even worn pants! She is too stylish and always dresses like a lady with her hair beautifully pinned up.
Ann is the mother of three children, eight grandchildren, and twelve great grandchildren. Her family and friends are gathering from far and wide in Largo, Florida to celebrate her century mark, and to wish Ann the happiest birthday. She truly brings inspiration and joy every day to people around her whether family, friends, neighbors or complete strangers. She is a daughter, sister, mother, aunt, grandmother, great aunt, friend, neighbor and Contessa!
One day, when I was about fourteen years old, my grandmother came to town to visit. She would come to Dallas from time to time to visit us, and I couldn't wait to get home from school. She always came bearing gifts from various parts of the world she had been to and had outlandish stories to tell. Not only that, I loved looking at all of her jewelry, and there was a lot. She was always dressed nice, wore lots of gold necklaces, bracelets and rings, all at one time, and her hair was always stacked high on top of her head.
When I arrived home from school, we hugged and kissed, and as usual, I ran upstairs to my bedroom to change my clothes. As soon as I got to my bedroom I let out a shrilling scream. On my dresser sat a large circle of thick, braided hair in a dressy hairnet which was usually on my grandmother's head. I couldn't believe it! After the initial shock of finding hair and no head in my bedroom, my grandmother explained that she had grown her hair long, cut it off, and made a braid out of it. The hair on her head was still down her back. She puts her hair in a bun, and then adds the braid on top. No wonder she wore so many hair clips. That was my first real insight into my grandmother.
In May, this same eccentric woman will be a Centenarian. She still gets around with no problems, is incredibly lucid and very interesting. And, one of my projects has been to recognize her achievement in age through various sources including the Whitehouse, The Today Show, the newspaper and other organizations. What I have come up with is an abbreviated version of her story, and I hope you enjoy it.
It’s official, on May 29, 2011, Antonietta Ajello Montin “Ann”, the newest centenarian of Largo, will celebrate her 100th birthday in grand style. Ann was born in 1911 during a time of building and innovation in America. She exhibits the excitement in America during the beginning of the 20th century with her unique personality, vivaciousness, intellect and style. Her birthday party will be held on May 28th at Pinecrest Place, with the same exuberance, as Ann will host a formal affair, with dinner, dancing, live music, and champagne topped off with sweet delicacies and a chocolate fountain. As we celebrate her century mark, we share her wonderful history.
Ann was born in New York City as the middle child of eleven to Adelina Vaccaro and Antonino Ajello. She was surrounded by wonderful brothers and sisters her entire childhood, growing up in Manhattan and the Bronx. Since Ann and her siblings went to all-girl catholic schools or military academies, holidays were her most memorable times because her entire family would be together. After dinner, Ann’s family would gather and have parties, or they would sit around her father and listen to him play guitar.
On April 23, 1933, a grown up Ann married Vincent Minchillo, whose family was from Foggia, Italy. They had two sons, Joseph and Vincent. When her two sons were very young, Ann’s husband passed away unexpectedly. Ann rebounded and remarried, moved to Vermont, and expanded her family with a third son, Mario Fusco. In the 1950’s, Ann left Vermont and returned to her home state of New York to start a new chapter in her life. She began working for an executive assisting him with travel arrangements to support herself and her family. It was this job that gave Ann her first peek into the world of travel, and from there, she took a keen interest in working for a travel agency. She got her first passport in 1958 after starting her new career as a travel agent for an agency in the Federal Building in New York City.
Over the next 40 years, Ann and her career took off, literally. Ann traveled around the world several times over. Her travels extended up and down the Ivory Coast, took her to China after the Borders were open, flew her to many parts of Persia including Iran and Afghanistan, to Asia, and all over warm and friendly South America. One of her favorite places to visit is Indonesia. During every trip, she made it a point to attend a funeral, a wedding and a fiesta, and all of these events combined reminded her of all the beautiful traditions and things life had to offer. She has fond memories of wonder and amazement from visiting many countries that are now experiencing natural disasters, strife and war. Ann took hundreds of photographs and Super 8 film recording discoveries and stories beyond belief. She brought her children and grandchildren back mementos from each trip representing the indigenous people and culture of each country. And of course, there is no lack of stories from her fascinating visits.
On one of Ann’s many visits to Italy, Ann and her sister were boarding a train in Palermo. They boarded the dining car in hopes to be served lunch on their trip back to Rome. However, they were told they could not sit in the dining car since it was not time for dinner, but Ann was hungry and refused to move. The waiter had no choice but to relent and grant Ann’s wish to dine. As the train started, the dining car doors were locked, the curtains were drawn, music began, and six men entered the back of the dining car. The waiter went straight to the six men and took their order first. When he returned to Ann’s dining table to take her order, Ann lectured the waiter on the American custom of women first. But that did not matter, as the waiter explained that one of the six men was the current Italian Premier, Amintore Fanfani. Not to be outdone, Ann announced to the waiter that she was the Contessa Anna Maria. He was astonished, and informed the Premier that he was sharing the dining car with a Contessa. Once the six men learned there was a Contessa on the train, the mood changed. Prime Minister Fanfani and the other men stood up and bowed at Ann and her sister. They sent over a bowl of cherries and tasty liquors. And finally, when Ann and her sister got up to leave the dining car, all six men greeted them and kissed their hands. Ann was an Italian Contessa for a day, but has lived her life as if she really is a Contessa.
Ann’s family is originally from Sorrento, Italy, where in 1775 The Ajello Candle Company was created. In 1785, Ajello candles were recognized by the Catholic Church and The Ajello Candle Company was commissioned to make all of the candles for the Vatican. From there, Ajello candles spread to be sold to Europe’s elite including kings, queens and the Pope. In 1862, the creator’s grandson, Rafael Ajello, and his two sons, came to America and opened a candle shop in Manhattan. Antonino, one of the sons and Ann’s father, took special care to make sure the business was a success. It was in New York that Antonino began producing candles for people like President Franklin D. Roosevelt. As the company grew in popularity, it helped to celebrate grand events all over the United States and Europe and eventually expanded west to Beverly Hills. In 1935, the Ajello family opened a candle shop in the famed Waldorf Astoria Hotel in Manhattan and celebrated a new generation of elite customers for the next 40 years. Today the Ajello family still operates candle shops in California and New York.
Ann married Joseph “Nino” Montin in 1982 at the age of 71 in New Jersey. Together, they moved to Florida and lived happily in love in Cape Coral for many years. Although she lost Nino many years ago, she still loves and has a beautiful heart. Ann is as vibrant as the North Star, or as many family members describe her, “sharp as a tack”. You can ask her every day what her secret to longevity is, and her answer always includes garlic, red wine, olive oil, laughing, watching game shows like the Wheel of Fortune to keep her mind sharp, watching the Bachelor for fun, and treating others the way she wants to be treated. And Ann has a lot to smile and laugh about. She still brags about her teeth and long hair, especially because they are all hers.
It is fun to listen to her reminisce about the horse and buggies on Pleasant Avenue in New York City and the five cent subway fares and how far she has come. Even more interesting are facts including that Ann never had a driver’s license and never drove a car, but managed to travel all over the world. More amazing, Ann has never even worn pants! She is too stylish and always dresses like a lady with her hair beautifully pinned up.
Ann is the mother of three children, eight grandchildren, and twelve great grandchildren. Her family and friends are gathering from far and wide in Largo, Florida to celebrate her century mark, and to wish Ann the happiest birthday. She truly brings inspiration and joy every day to people around her whether family, friends, neighbors or complete strangers. She is a daughter, sister, mother, aunt, grandmother, great aunt, friend, neighbor and Contessa!
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
After the Holidays - Thank U's From Hell
If you were wondering what to do with those old thank you cards embellished with smiley faces and rainbows purchased ten years ago at a garage sale for .50, wonder no longer. Its time to write those thank you notes, even for those not so thoughtful or eccentric gifts. Therefore, I present "Thank U's From Hell."
Scenario 1:
Your boy/girl friend, husband/wife, significant other waited until Christmas Eve to take the time to shop. Note, they did not ponder, they went directly to the shopping. The only problem is he/she waited until 11:45 pm on the eve of Christmas to make sure you were asleep. Once they confirmed your dream induced state, they slipped out of the house and found the closest 24-hour drug store or convenience store. So now you are the proud owner of a Snuggy with purple dinosaurs pictured on it, Oakland Raiders' slippers, a pocket knife, a tire gauge, and some left over Halloween candy. Now, now, its the thought that counts.
"Dear Bob/Dolores, thank you so much for the crap you bought me on Christmas Eve. I love it. Next time you might want to let the car warm up so it doesn't back fire on your way to 7-11."
Love . . . .
Scenario 2
A co-worker, and strictly a co-worker, gives you a handcrafted piece of work from their 4 year old child, grandchild, niece, nephew or nanny's child, grandchild . . . Unfortunately you have no idea what it is, what it is supposed to be, what its function is, if any, and would have preferred a bottle of Jack Daniels.
"Dear Harry/Linda, thank you so much for the prize. It is proudly displayed at my home." Need I say more.
Scenario 3
Your book club decided to spend yet another week not discussing the book you chose, and have a secret Santa party. Yeah! Everyone quickly prepared for the party by drawing names, setting a price limit and immediately ditching the book, "The Cat Who Came for Christmas" for the third year in a row. Darn. The party arrives, the wine flows, and the gifts are passed out. Despite your attempt to elicit very specific gifts within the price limit, your secret Santa went all out. The sheer surprise on your face was joy enough for your secret Santa when you unwrapped your new shampoo and raw diet book. Just what you wanted, to starve to death and smell good doing it.
"Dear Kelly/Frank, thank you so much for the thoughtful gifts. I'm sure I will love the Kumquat & Brown Spice shampoo. I will be sure to share some yummies from the new raw diet book if I don't eat it first. Hee hee, just a joke. Love Kathy Bates."
As we get older, that old saying starts to have true meaning, "if you want something done you have to do it yourself." So if you want the magic of Christmas, forgot it.
Carpe Diem from Hell!
C
Scenario 1:
Your boy/girl friend, husband/wife, significant other waited until Christmas Eve to take the time to shop. Note, they did not ponder, they went directly to the shopping. The only problem is he/she waited until 11:45 pm on the eve of Christmas to make sure you were asleep. Once they confirmed your dream induced state, they slipped out of the house and found the closest 24-hour drug store or convenience store. So now you are the proud owner of a Snuggy with purple dinosaurs pictured on it, Oakland Raiders' slippers, a pocket knife, a tire gauge, and some left over Halloween candy. Now, now, its the thought that counts.
"Dear Bob/Dolores, thank you so much for the crap you bought me on Christmas Eve. I love it. Next time you might want to let the car warm up so it doesn't back fire on your way to 7-11."
Love . . . .
Scenario 2
A co-worker, and strictly a co-worker, gives you a handcrafted piece of work from their 4 year old child, grandchild, niece, nephew or nanny's child, grandchild . . . Unfortunately you have no idea what it is, what it is supposed to be, what its function is, if any, and would have preferred a bottle of Jack Daniels.
"Dear Harry/Linda, thank you so much for the prize. It is proudly displayed at my home." Need I say more.
Scenario 3
Your book club decided to spend yet another week not discussing the book you chose, and have a secret Santa party. Yeah! Everyone quickly prepared for the party by drawing names, setting a price limit and immediately ditching the book, "The Cat Who Came for Christmas" for the third year in a row. Darn. The party arrives, the wine flows, and the gifts are passed out. Despite your attempt to elicit very specific gifts within the price limit, your secret Santa went all out. The sheer surprise on your face was joy enough for your secret Santa when you unwrapped your new shampoo and raw diet book. Just what you wanted, to starve to death and smell good doing it.
"Dear Kelly/Frank, thank you so much for the thoughtful gifts. I'm sure I will love the Kumquat & Brown Spice shampoo. I will be sure to share some yummies from the new raw diet book if I don't eat it first. Hee hee, just a joke. Love Kathy Bates."
As we get older, that old saying starts to have true meaning, "if you want something done you have to do it yourself." So if you want the magic of Christmas, forgot it.
Carpe Diem from Hell!
C
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