Reform This

Map of West Virginia counties (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The governor of West Virginia, Earl Ray Tomlin, introduced Senate Bill 359, an educational reform bill, which will be voted on soon. Teachers have given the bill a big, fat F, which in my opinion has nothing to do with reform.

Reform- to amend or improve by change of form or removal of fault or abuses.

I’m not going to go into each point of the bill, only to say that it is a slap in the face to all educators in the state of West Virginia. You know, teachers in the Mountain state make one of the lowest salaries in the nation. Many teachers head east to work outside the state borders to garner higher wages. But, in the end, teachers are working the best they can, despite the obstacles that are coming directly from the higher ups.

Obstacles, you say? Absolutely. Someone a few years ago had decided teachers need to test more.  I give a beginning Math and Reading test at the beginning of the year. I give Benchmark tests twice a year in four subjects and the students have two online writing tests to get ready for the big one in March. The Westest is held in May. Now, mind you, this is on top of the tests I give weekly in Social Studies, Reading, Spelling, and Science. I also have to give end of the year tests.

I would just rather teach.

I’m 56 years old and I think I received a pretty good education when I was young. We memorized our multiplication tables. We learned our state capitals,  had spelling bees, and wrote and presented book reports. It was all about Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic. We grew up fine. Some of my peers did better than fine.

 Ok, this was before my time….but we had those desks.

But, something along the way changed. Someone has decided that to exist in the 21st century, we must bathe our children in technology or they will surely die.  So, in the elementary setting we are testing, and we are teaching technology….on top of Handwriting, Math, Spelling, Grammar, Reading, Science, Social Studies, and Health. And we are doing this in crowded classrooms.

If you want to reform, let’s first take a  look at teacher/student ratio.

The governor wants to require early childhood education programs to be made available five days a week for the full day; allowing program to be for fewer than five days per week and less than full day under certain circumstances.

I don’t understand this. This is not the reform that we need. Before adding new programs, we need to address the teacher/student ratio in k-2. Class size should be limited to no more than 16 students and the curriculum should be restricted.  Let me explain:

Years ago, there were a lot of two-parent households. A lot of the moms did not work outside the home. Someone was there to make sure students did their homework, and were more hands-on. Now, I’m not saying that a lot of people don’t still do that. Of course they do. But, for the most part, it is fact that the divorce numbers are much higher than they were years ago. Even without divorce, economics force both parents to work. Some single parent households need help. Grandparents are raising many of the children. Many children come from homes where abuse is a way of life. Drug use is more prevalant than it was years ago. Some children go to bed hungry. Yes, I realize that has also happened in the past, but in the end, the classroom is now a home- away- from- home for a lot of children.

I have fifteen students this year in my fourth grade classroom. Last year I had twenty-one. Six less students makes a world of difference.  And those teachers with twenty-five and twenty-six students are overwhelmed. I know my students. I can look at one and know she is not feeling well because I know her so well. I send her to the office to get her temperature taken…101.6. I smile and give her a hug as she leaves to go home. I know not to give much homework because it is an unfair advantage to the several who are lucky to have a piece of notebook paper or pencil at their homes. No one goes through their backpacks at night. No one helps them practice their multiplication table. My mom drilled me nightly when I was in third grade. I knew them when I went to fourth grade. Some students in general just have no clue. Some children have behavioral issues. Some are learning disabled. Some have attention deficit problems. This is not the same mix of students that I went to school with, but yet, nothing has changed in the way of class size.

So, I teach time management skills in the classroom and basically let them do some homework during class time. This only seems fair to those who aren’t lucky enough to have help at home. Sure, in the end, fourth graders can learn to do their homework on their own, but they need guidance and direction..but sadly,  a few are not receiving it at home. They are allowed to sit and kill things while playing their video games. And I know a majority of the boys do this. I ask these things…. Technology at its finest. When I was young we had three channels on tv and the World Book Encyclopedia as our internet. We honestly didn’t have much to do but our homework on school nights.

When you shove many children into a classroom, something is lost. So, let’s begin our educational reform by taking a look at teacher/student ratio. I know you won’t, because that would mean hiring new teachers. It’s bad enough that the governor wants to hire anyone with a bachelor’s degree to enter the classroom.  You are going to be opening a can of worms if this hiring practice is passed, however. It will change the scope of teacher education in this state forever.

I know some of you will not agree with me on this next point, but I think technology is making us stupider. (Yes, I realize that is not a word.)

“The fog of information can drive out knowledge.”

Don’t get me wrong. I think technology in the classroom is great. I use it in some form every day. If we are studying volcanoes, I have a volcano simulator waiting on one of the computers. I have a penguin cam up some days. There are many, many internet sites that are extremely beneficial. That’s not what I am talking about.

The state of West Virginia implemented a program called Tech Steps. All students from kindergarten on must complete about six assignments. In my opinion, this program should not be used in the elementary school setting. Why do elementary school children need a technology component when we should be concentrating on core subjects? If you want our test scores to rise, don’t inundate us with work that can wait until fifth or sixth grade. You are making us waste precious time. Do third graders really need to learn how to use a spreadsheet? Sure, we are in a different world now, where computers and technology are at our every turn. I get it.  I think it has merit in junior high, but not in the early grades where everything depends on them learning the basics so they can go on to the next year and build on that.

In the end, it is not the same as it was. We are forced to test too much when we should be teaching. We are forced to teach more children in our classroom than is beneficial to their educational growth. We are forced to teach technology, when in fact, we should review our multiplication one more time instead of completing yet another techsteps assignment that will have no bearing on other important educational milestones, such as defining words, rounding numbers, and correcting a run-on sentence. K-2 teachers should be teaching a limited curriculum, plain and simple.

There are only so many minutes in a day for an elementary school teacher. We have to teach Spelling, Social Studies, Science, Math, Reading, Grammar, handwriting, and Health. We are also referees, bankers, counselors, and health inspectors.

So, Senate Education committee people, there you have it; the rambling of a fourth grade teacher.  If you truly want an educational reform in West Virginia, start with kindergarten and give those teachers a small class size. We teach with kids squished into our classrooms because that’s the way you want it. We test and test and test to make sure we are testing because that’s what we have to do. We teach technology subjects that the wee ones should not have to be introduced to until an older age. We do all this because you told us to. If something is broken, it’s not with the teachers. It is with the system. Please be careful with every point of our governor’s education reform bill. It needs to be chewed up and digested to see if it sits well with teachers. Take us in consideration instead of pointing fingers at us. Because after all,

 You can lead a student to the test, but you can’t make him pass it.

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Enjoy this story? Jumping in Mud Puddles is now an ebook  that you can download on your Kindle. Don’t have a Kindle? No problem. Amazon will let you download their Kindle app FREE…Yes, free.  Have a look see.    My literary debut….. Amazon.com for $3.99. It’s sort of funny.

Jumping in Mud Puddles: A Memoir of a Picky, Hyper, Big Fat Liar

Smokey and the Car Wash

I was sitting at our local lazer wash the other day thinking back to the first time I ever went to an automatic car wash. I grew up in Weirton, West Virginia, and the new “automatic” car wash had just opened “up on the hill” near our home. I can’t remember what kind of car we had back then, but the whole family jumped in when my dad told us a car wash opened where you sit in the car while it is being washed. What??? No taking a bucket of water, soap, and a garden hose out into the driveway anymore? Well, not that I really helped wash our cars in the first place. I was and still am, a “non-finisher.” I just really can’t finish anything all the way through. Same for washing the car. I would get one side done and then spray the other side with the hose to knock some dust off and call it a day. You could never see that side from our picture window, so it looked like I did a great job.

When we pulled up to the new car wash, we had to wait in a line because, as all things new, people wanted to experience this new-fangled way to wash a car. It was the 60′s, after all, and inventions were just waiting to be invented. When it was our turn, a guy motioned for us to move up a bit. We then had to put the car in neutral. They guy then took some gigantic hook and put it somewhere in the front of the car.

“Will that pull off the bumper?” I thought that was a pertinent question.

The guy told my dad to make sure all of the windows were rolled up. We were ready. There was a little jerk and our car was on some track through a little building with these scrubber things on the sides. The noise was loud and the water was really hitting the windshield and roof of the car. To be perfectly honest, it was a bit scary. Those brushes were right up against our windows and then one roll up over the car and down the windshield.  Hey, this was fun….but not really.

After we were done, there were two teen-age boys who wiped our car with dry cloths. My mom had to interject her authority of being Queen of Weirton.

“Make sure you dry the car good….and there better not be any spots of dirt anywhere.”

Oh, but there was. When we pulled into the driveway, she had my dad not park the car in the garage. She wanted to inspect the job the new automatic car wash did on our family vehicle.

“Well, we won’t be going there again.”  I remember there were seven places that were missed. I smile at this because I can’t remember what I did fifteen minutes ago, but I can remember my mom ranting about SEVEN missed places on the car after visiting the new automatic car wash “up on the hill.” She loved to find something to bitch about. My dad was probably relieved that he wasn’t at the end of this particular rant. I remember thinking he was going to like this new car wash. Anything she disagreed about, my dad was then quietly all about.

So, one day I was sitting, watching tv, with our dog Smokey, on our lap. It was a hot summer day and my dad must not have wanted to wash the car by hand. I mean, who would want to, now that we basically had a robot to do it for us?  He asked me if I wanted to take a ride with him to the car wash.

Since Smokey was already sitting on my lap, I just picked her up and carried her a la Paris Hilton with her prized chihuahua to the car. Smokey often rode in the car. As all chihuahuas, Smokey was a yapper. Yap, yap, yap. But, who knew what was about to transpire.

Well, Smokey went ape shit. The noise first scared her and she buried herself beside my hip. We were yanked ahead on the conveyor belt. When the brushes hit against the car, that’s when Smokey defended her territory and her family. She ran over to the window and bared her teeth and growled and barked like she was ready to take on the brushes. She ran back and forth, over my dad and over me to each window. She was going to save us from this barrage of red and yellow bristles attacking us.

Rotating brushes inside a conveyor car-wash. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I should have counted how many times she ran back and forth. My dad also found it amusing. Smokey the chihuahua was fighting with the brushes at the automatic car wash.

When we got home, Smokey was exhausted and fell fast asleep on my dad’s lap.

The next few times we went to the car wash, we took Smokey along for our pleasure. It seems so cruel now to put the little yapper through this sort of animal abuse, but you have to understand I never once thought I was being abusive. I just thought it was really really funny.

And each time we got home, my mom would disappear downstairs for a few minutes. We knew she was heading for the garage.

“Four missed places this time.”

Everyone Watch The Rose Parade, Ok?

I used to watch the Rose Parade every New Year’s Day for years before I was told all the floats were made of flowers. Maybe I just didn’t listen much to the commentator:

“And here’s a float from McDonalds…blah blah blah blah..roses.”

I was hyper when I was little, so maybe I just couldn’t watch and listen at the same time. The floats were beautiful. And it was named after a flower. Hence, the name, Rose Parade. I thought maybe it was named after a woman…….Rose McGillicuddy of Pasadena…..Ok, I made that name up. But why roses, I asked? Why not the Purple Cone Flower Parade or The Natural Material Parade?” I didn’t ask that when I was little. I’m asking that now when I am older and still challenged in so many ways. But, since I love to learn about insignificant things, I headed to google, king of all kings.

So, it looks like The Rose Parade started way back in Pasadena, California on January 1, 1890. The Rose Bowl football game was added in 1902 to help fund the parade. I thought that was pretty interesting.

The whole reason the parade started was to showcase the mild California winters. Many members of the Valley Hunt Club, the organizers of the very first Rose parade, were former residents of states in the east and midwest. One member announced at a meeting, “In New York, people are buried in the snow. Here our flowers are blooming and our oranges are about to bear. Let’s hold a festival to tell the world about our paradise.”  I would think the man should have said the oranges were ready to be picked, but I guess that’s how the hell they talked back then.

And so they did organize a little parade to show off how wonderful Pasadena is in the winter and how putting flowers on moving things made the freezing New Yorkers jealous enough to withdraw all of their money and move to their sunny community. What confuses me is the fact there was no television in 1902. People elsewhere would have to read about it in a newspaper. So, in the end, I am thinking the Valley Hunt Club wanted to ride down the street on their horses.

They had horse drawn carriages adorned with flowers. After the parade, there was a chariot race, tug-of war and other games which drew about 2,000 people. After a few years, the parade got too big for the Valley Hunt Club, so the Tournament of Roses was formed and later a football game replaced a chariot race, which was a big deal of the whole celebration.

English: A Tournament of Roses Chariot Race from 1908. The race was later replaced by the Rose Bowl Game in Pasadena, California (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The floats of today take about a year to construct. According to Wikipedia, “It is a rule of the parade that all surfaces of the float framework must be covered in natural materials (such as flowers, plants, seaweeds, seeds, bark, vegetables, or nuts, for example); furthermore, no artificial flowers or plant material are allowed, nor can the materials be artificially colored.”And this is what bothers me.  I mean, it bothers me just a little, but enough to gripe about it. Isn’t this a waste of nature?

I’m beginning to think somebody in the Valley Hunt Club was a florist.

Think about it. I bet you there are more florists in the Pasadena area than anywhere else. Ok, maybe flowers are shipped in from other flowery places. Tulips from Holland, perhaps. Acorns from a forest in the Applachians. I don’t know. But, this has got to be a boon for florist owners and growers. I guess that is a good thing for the economy. But, what happens to the flowers and natural materials after the parade. Do they go into the biggest compost pile in the world?

So, being that my mind is still a bit hyperactive and all over the place, I wondered about other wastes…..like Christmas trees. I have a bit of a problem with cutting down beautiful pine trees, dragging them home on top of a car, sticking them in the corner of a room and putting things on it….only to throw it away come New Years Day. Poor pine tree.

But then again, everything is like that, isn’t it? Chickens are raised only to have their heads cut off so they can be served on our dinner plates. Corn is grown on farms just so we can eat popcorn and cornbread stuffing. I guess I could go on and on. So, in the end, flowers are grown for the Rose Parade. I guess I have to live with that.

That being said, I think it is our responisibility to watch the Rose Parade to see the beauty of Pasadena’s mild winter and of course, the magnificent floats. They are beautiful. Band members nation-wide fund raise their little asses off to be able to be part of the parade. Our very own East Fairmont High School was able to participate in the Rose Parade several years ago. That was a big deal. And it was exciting to watch on tv.  I didn’t notice the sunny environment of California, however.

Is this still the objective? Regardless, watch the parade tomorrow. Kudos to the Valley Hunt Club of 1890. They came up with a great idea. Look how many people are now living in California.

English: Bicentennial Mexico ~ Rose Parade January 2010 ~ Pasadena, California Español: Bicentenario de México durante el desfile de las rosas en Pasadena,California. Enero 2010. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

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Enjoy this story? Jumping in Mud Puddles is now an ebook  that you can download on your Kindle. Don’t have a Kindle? No problem. Amazon will let you download their Kindle app FREE…Yes, free.  Have a look see.    My literary debut….. Amazon.com for $3.99. It’s sort of funny.

Jumping in Mud Puddles: A Memoir of a Picky, Hyper, Big Fat Liar

 

Let’s Drop Something

It all started with Groundhog Day, you know. There was a famous groundhog prognosticator in Pennsylvania, and soon after cities came up with their own weather fortune teller whistle pig. Such is the case with the big New Years Eve ball drop.

When you think of New Years Eve, all those who don’t live under a rock know about the ball drop at midnight in Times Square in fantastic New York City. I took a picture of it from the top of the Rockefeller Center when I was there this summer. It’s just not the same, I guess, as being there smooshed up against thousands of people on a cold, drunken New Year’s Eve.

 The first ball drop in Times Square took place on December 31, 1907. According to Wikipedia:

“The first New Year’s Eve celebration in what is now known as Times Square was held on New Year’s Eve 1904. The New York Times newspaper had opened their new headquarters at One Times Square (at the time, the city’s second tallest building)  and persuaded the city to rename the triangular “square” surrounding it for their newspaper (which the city later did on April 8, 1904). The newspaper’s owner decided to celebrate the opening of the company’s new headquarters with a midnight fireworks show on the roof of the building on December 31, 1903. Close to 200,000 people attended the event, displacing traditional celebrations that had normally been held at Trinity Church. After four years of New Year’s Eve fireworks celebrations, the newspaper’s chief electrician Walter F. Palmer constructed an electrically lit time ball that would be lowered from the flagpole on the roof of One Times Square. It was constructed with iron and wood, lit with one hundred 25-watt bulbs, weighed 700 pounds (320 kg), and measured 5 feet (1.5 m) in diameter. It was first lowered on New Year’s Eve 1908 (December 31, 1907).”

The Times Square ball drop is one of the best-known New Year’s celebrations, attended by at least one million spectators yearly.  The Times Square ball drop has also inspired other drops across our great nation. So, if you can’t be there in New York City for the ball drop, and don’t really care to watch it on tv, you can always check to see if your city has a creative drop of their very own. Not all cities drop balls. Some cities use their famous icon to ring in the new year. It  is obvious the state of Pennsylvania loves to share their symbols on New Years Eve.

*  Eastport, Maine- a maple leaf is dropped. There is also a sardine drop in the city also. The Great Sardine and Maple Leaf Drop

*  Saint George’s, Bermuda- a Bermuda onion wrapped in Christmas lights is dropped.

*  Key West, Florida- A gigantic conch shell is dropped.  There is also a gay bar that drops a giant ruby slipper with a drag queen inside. Fun times.

*  Miami, Florida- The Big Orange Drop. Well, Florida is the orange capital of the world. “Mr. Neon” was recently renamed, “La Gran Naranja,” which I am thinking means the big orange. I really know my spanish.

*  Atlanta,Georgia- The Peach Drop. Georgia loves their peaches.

* Gainesville, Georgia- Chuck the chicken drop in honor of the humane society.

*Harrisburg, Pennsylvania- strawberry drop.

* Tallapoosa, Georgia- they drop an oppossum. It started out as a joke and has now grown as their biggest yearly event. I hope it isn’t alive. The Possum Drop

*  Winder, Georgia- A jug drop.

* Easton, Maryland- a crab drop.

* Havre de Grace, Maryland- a duck.

* Princesss Anne, Maryland- a muscrat.

* Niagara Falls, New York- A Gibson guitar is dropped from the Hard Rock Cafe.

*  Black Creek, North Carolina: A large red heart drop represents “A Small Town with a Big Heart.”

* Eastover, North Carolina- a flea is dropped….. A flea.

* Charlotte, North Carolina- a crown is dropped.

* Mount Olive, North Carolina- The New Years Eve Pickle Drop.

*Raleigh, North Carolina- Acorn drop

* Elmore, Ohio- a sausage is dropped.

* Marion, Ohio- a popcorn ball is dropped. Marion is the popcorn capital of the world.

*Port Clinton, Ohio- a walleye fish named “Captain Wylie Walleye” is dropped. Walleye Madness.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qPNV-88Aok&feature=player_embedded

* Cincinnati, Ohio- A flying pig is not dropped, but flown, maybe to show there is at least one time “when pigs fly”.

* Allentown, Pennsylvania- a replica of the liberty bell is dropped.

* Akron, Pennsylvania- a gold and purple shoe is dropped.

* Beavertown, Pennsylvania- a beaver is dropped. I hope to God it isn’t real. PETA would be all over them.

*Bethlehem, Pennsylvania- a Peep is dropped. Yes, one of those yellow Easter peeps. The company that produces Peeps is based there. I was happy to see they aren’t dropping baby Jesus in Bethlehem that night.

*Blain, Pennsylvania- a wooden cow is dropped from a silo. Moo.

*Cleona, Pennsylvania- a pretzel is not dropped, but raised. Why, Cleona, are you raising the pretzel? Not cool.

*Carlisle, Pennsylvania- an Indy car is dropped.

*Cornwall, Pennsylvania- a Cannonball Drop.

*Dillsburg, Pennsylvania- two pickles are dropped. I guess one should drop a pickle in Dillsburg.

*Duncannon, Pennsylvania- a sled is dropped….without any kids holding on I presume.

*Easton, Pennsylvania- a crayola crayon is dropped early in the night to accommodate little kiddie’s bedtimes.

*Elizabethtown, Pennsylvania- a giant M& M is dropped.

*Falmouth, Pennsylvania- a stuffed goat is dropped.

*Frogtown, Pennsylvania- a frog is dropped. This is getting sort of redundant, no?

*Gratz, Pennsylvania- a wildcat is dropped.

*Halifax, Pennsylvania- a hemlock tree. Oh, come on, now!

*Harrisburg, Pennsylvania- a strawberry is dropped. My son has been to this one.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wvjwtM37CmY

*Hershey, Pennsylvania- a Hershey Kiss is dropped. Well, this makes sense.

*Hummelstown, Pennsylvania- a lollipop is dropped.

*Ickesburg, Pennsylvania- a french fry is dropped. These people are just bored.

* Lebanon, Pennsylvania- a giant stick of bologna is dropped.

*Lisburn, Pennsylvania- a pair of yellow pants is dropped. Can’t wait to read the history on this one.

*Liverpool, Pennsylvania- a canal boat is dropped.

*McClure, Pennsylvania- a kettle is dropped in honor of their Bean Soup Festival.

*Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania- a wrench is dropped. The Wrench Drop

*New Oxford, Pennsylvania- an antique trunk is dropped.

*Palmyra, Pennsylvania- The Giant Shoe is dropped.

*Pottsville, Pennsylvania- a bottle of Yuengling beer is raised. I bet those attendees are having fun that evening.

*Red Lion, Pennsylvania- a cigar is dropped.

*Shippensburg, Pennsylvania- an anchor is dropped.

*Strasburg, Pennsylvania- ping pong balls are dropped.

*Shamokin, Pennsylvania- a chunk of coal is dropped, turning into a diamond when it hits the bottom….like magic…oooh

*Hilton Head Island, South Carolina- a giant golf ball.

*Fredericksburg, Virginia- a pear is dropped.

*Mobile, Alabama- a moon pie is dropped. Yes, a moon pie and then the manufacturers of the moon pie hand out about 5,000 of them to revelers.

*Wetumpka, Alabama- a meteorite is dropped in honor of the meterorite that hit the city. Um, ok.

*Fayetteville, Arkansas- a hog is dropped.

*Panama City, Florida- a beach ball is dropped.

*Pensacola, Florida- a pelican is dropped.

*Des Plaines, Illinois- a diamond is dropped.

*Manhattan, Kansas- “The Little Apple” is dropped. I get it. Cute.

*New Orleans, Louisiana- a gumbo pot was dropped for a while. The new drop is Fleur-de-lis. Like I’m supposed to know what that is.

*Bartlesville, Oklahoma- an olive is dropped.

*Memphis and Nashville- a guitar and a music note.

* Plymouth, Wisconsin- a cheese wedge is dropped.

*Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin- a dead carp caught by locals is lowered.

* Show Low, Arizona- a deuce of clubs cards is dropped.

*Flagstaff, Arizona- a pine cone is dropped.

*Tempe, Arizona- a giant tortilla chip.

*Honolulu, Hawaii- a pineapple is dropped.

*Vincennes, Indiana- watermelon drop. Many engineering students across the nation drop watermelons and pumpkins throughout the year.

So, there you have it. There are New Year’s Eve celebrations all across the world. Many more cities just drop a ball,  but some places use their representative symbol to usher in a brand new year. Happy New Year to all!

I have decided to have my own celebration….. I am going to drop a few pounds.

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Enjoy this story? Jumping in Mud Puddles is now an ebook  that you can download on your Kindle. Don’t have a Kindle? No problem. Amazon will let you download their Kindle app FREE…Yes, free.  Have a look see.    My literary debut….. Amazon.com for $3.99. It’s sort of funny.

Jumping in Mud Puddles: A Memoir of a Picky, Hyper, Big Fat Liar

NYC Trip Report: Scoring tickets to the Colbert Report

I’ve been to New York City to visit my daughter several times, and let me tell you, it is exhausting. Every time I come home I am pissed at myself for being out of shape. And people, if you plan to visit New York City, you will walk. Oh, sure, there will be some of you who taxi from one place to the next. That is the smart thing to do. I am one of the stupid tourists.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. I had a great time in New York. I love New York. But, my daughter walked me all over the damn place. And I will admit that I need to lose weight. I was able to lose 22 pounds last year and did pretty well hoofing it around NYC last summer when we went apartment hunting. Oh, hell, that’s a lie. I was ready to have a stroke. Like I said, I’m not very smart. I picked 90+ degree weather to walk around the city. I’m beyond stupid. This year was the same.

My journey to NYC is not quick. First I have to drive two hours to Pittsburgh International Airport. I have to park in the extended long term parking lot, which is not close to the terminal. By the time I make it to the building, I really want to just stand on that people mover thingy. When I hear someone coming up behind me, I will start walking, but I don’t wanna.

After my nice flight with Jet Blue, I arrived at JFK airport. I like airports. Just thought I would mention that. I don’t know why taxi cab men scare me, but I feel like I am imposing on them. So, I head outside to the ground transportation area and buy a $15.50 ticket to ride the NYC Airporter bus. It takes a while to exit the airport, as the bus driver stops at each terminal.  I didn’t mind. As long as I didn’t have to drive through New York, I don’t care if I was on the back of a donkey. Again, quite a lie. I would care.

The bus dropped me off at Grand Central Station, where I have to find the 6 Local Uptown train. Again, it’s easy. Well, except that I found out while I was on the subway that the Local 6 was not working this particular day. What? I’m on the local 6. Well, apparently it is allowed to change to be called the Express 6 which bypasses my stop. Someone sitting next to me tells me that I can get off at 125 and then take the local 6 downtown to my stop. What?

So, I get off the stop and walk across to the train going in the other direction and hop on, hoping it is the right one. It was. I then walked a couple of blocks to where my daughter was meeting me for lunch. I could see her smiling at me. I know that smile. I am doing somethig stupid.

“Mom, you are such a tourist. You don’t need to look both ways when it is a one way street.”

We had a nice lunch and walked back to her apartment so I could drop off my carry-on. Our plan for the day was to head to the Brooklyn Bridge and then head over to High Line. We walked the several blocks up the hill to the subway. I had to stop several times on the way up. I am weak. We got off the subway on Chambers Street. I had never been this far south before. So, there was the Brooklyn Bridge. And it was all boarded up on the sides of the bridge for construction. I had no idea we were going to actually walk over to the other side. What?

My daughter on the Brooklyn Bridge

Well, we had to walk over to the other side. I don’t know why. Because everyone else was doing it? There was nothing to see for quite a while. We stopped and wrote our names on some plywood…because everyone else was doing it.

It took us forever to get to the other side. And it was 90 degrees and 2:00 in the afternoon. Where the hell are the clouds? I was complaining a lot. My daughter told me to stop. I stopped.

It’s a 1.3 mile walk, but it takes a long time to walk due to the amount of foot traffic….and baby strollers…..and people like me who take pictures along the way and complain about the heat and stop alot. But, I was glad I did it. Because when we got to the other side, there was a park. And that park had a water taxi. Oh, hell yeah, I was on that thing.

The water taxi cost $25 and takes people around the statue of Liberty, past Ellis Island and Battery Park and up the Hudson. It makes stops along the way for those who want to get off in a different stop. I sure as hell didn’t want to walk back over the Brooklyn Bridge.

It was pretty cool. The taxi was huge and besides those who just wanted to look from inside the air conditioned lounge area, there was an upper berth and lower outside viewing areas. It was nice. We opted to get off at one of the piers on the Hudson, Christopher St., Pier 45 on West 10th Street.

This is also Grenwich Village, which was pretty darn cool. We walked past a Bareburger, where we had an early dinner. After that, my daughter wanted to take me to High Line Park. We had to walk again.  I thought she was taking me to a normal park. Boy, was I surprised when I saw High Line. High Line is a park built on an elevated freight line railway. The freight line wasn’t in use since the early 1980′s. It was slated for demolition as it became an eyesore for those who lived in the neighborhood. One man’s crusade led to the development by the city of New York to create this elevated park. It is magnificient. We walked along the park until a storm hit us. That’s not the best place to be when a thunderstorm approaches you. Luckily, there were places for all of us to hide. We then hailed a taxi and headed back to the apartment. We had great aspirations for the next day. We were going to wake up early and head to the local bagel shop for breakfast and then rent bikes in Central Park. However, we ate a huge breakfast and opted to go back to bed for a little bit. We then showered and headed via subway down to visit the Top of the Rock.  I’ve always wanted to visit Rockefeller Center and see the ice skating rink and the NBC Studios. It didn’t disappoint. Several blocks are pedestrian only, and it is just a really neat area. We finally found the place where we were to buy tickets to the Top of the Rock. I wanted to see Central Park from the top of this building. It was great.

After we left Rockefeller Center, I looked at my watch. We were late. My daughter wanted to go to the Colbert Report Studios to see if we could get standby tickets to that night’s show. We were supposed to be there by 2:30. So, we started walking. We had to go to 54th Street. We were on 50th Street. The Colbert Report was filmed on 54th Street. We had to hurry. Oh, but wait. We got to 54th Street. Alex asked a doorman and he told her it was about four blocks to the west. What? Four long ass blocks. We walked some more. And walked some more. We passed by where The Letterman Show was filmed. Nope. We kept walking. I was ready to give up. We had to be there in ten minutes. Not going to happen. I really thought she got the address wrong. We were headed into a less commerical area, one that had auto repairs and……nothing else. My daughter was laughing at me. Finally, we found it.

It was 2:40. We didn’t make it. Alex walked up the steps and a guy stepped out of the office. He told her that we needed to go stand by that garbage can. He pointed to….a garbage can. Someone would be out at 4:00 and hand out stand- by tickets if there were any to give out. It was a slight chance that we would get tickets and we had to discuss this.

Well, right by the garbage can was a narrow covered alley and there was a guy sitting there eating lunch. He told us he was in line for tickets. Except he had tickets. Oh. So, we were screwed. We stood there talking to another couple who came to stand in line. They too had tickets, but came to stand in line, because if wasn’t a certainty even with tickets that you could get in. I was ready to give up when the couple told us they had 2 extra tickets that we could have. What? Omg.

So, we sat and stood in line from 2:40 until they came out at 4:00 and took our information from our driver’s license and then left. Now there were two lines…one for ticket holders and one who were stand-by’s.

We were now full fledged ticket holders. They let us go into the studio at 5:50. We had to go through a metal detector and hang out in the lobby for a long time. We took pictures.

So, we got to watch the Colbert Report being filmed. Since, we got there so early, and they took us in after the VIP people, Alex and I were #7 and 8 to be seated. It was great. By the time we got out, it was time to hail a taxi and head to a Thai restaurant in Upper East Side. We then walked to her apartment. I was one tired tourist/mom.

 I left early the next morning. I hope to return in the fall sometime when the weather is a bit cooler. I’d like to see the 911 Memorial this time…and Central Park again. I missed it this visit.

I just love visiting my daughter.

My Own Backyard

As summer approaches, I try to come up with a travel plan. Last year, I went to New York City twice and Cancun, Mexico. This summer, I am reminded of the great Dorothy Gale quote from the Wizard of Oz:

“…and if I ever go looking for my heart’s desire again, I won’t look any further than my own backyard.” 

Dorothy was a smart girl. I think I will follow her advice. I think I will braid my hair, grab a dog and a little picnic basket purse. and travel around my home state of West Virginia.

It’s funny how people live close to something so wonderful but don’t even notice it’s there. I’m guilty of that. I live close to Prickett’s Fort State Park and hate to say that the last time I had been there was about fifteen years ago when we took our children there. So, I went there a few weekends ago to take pictures with my new camera.

Prickett’s Fort is about ten minutes from my home. I should be slapped. On approach, the first thing I came upon was a creek full of Canadian geese and three honking white geese.

The atmosphere of the creek (I pronounce it crik, because that’s how we talk in Weirton), made me feel calm and mellow. The area is stocked with picnic tables for those who want to picnic with about twenty pooping Canuck ducks. It’s not so bad further away from the geese. I hung out there for awhile, talking to the geese and just taking in the beauty of the area. This was fun. I was by myself, but that doesn’t equate loneliness at all. It was fun. After about ten minutes, I hopped in my car and headed to the state park. But, wait, on my right was a very old cemetery begging me to visit. So, I did.

The Prickett’s Fort Cemetery is an old one indeed. The Prickett family is buried here. The founder of Morgantown, a fellow by the name of Morgan, is buried here too. Morgan Morgan was supposedly the first inhabitant in what is now known as West Virginia. This guy had to be a relative, but I am just way too lazy to research that right now. But, the cemetery was a bit eery, even in the morning.

I then pulled into the parking lot of Prickett’s Fort. The visitor Center is really nice and since I am fifty-five, got a discount on my entrance fee. There is also a museum and nifty time line of the fort upstairs. On the right of the visitor’s center is a bathroom and amphlitheather where plays are performed. The following are pictures I took of the fort and fort area.

The inside of the fort

I won’t go into detail about the fort, but it was used by the Prickett family as their primary home. They have a wonderful website that explains all that is Prickett’s Fort.  When word that Indians were in the area hunting, neighbors would quickly ride to the fort and stay with the Prickett family. If you happen to visit this lovely park, you will meet people dressed in period clothing, and watch them work at their craft.

But, what is great about Prickett’s Fort State Park is that it is also a great place to park your car and head to the Rails to Trails on foot or on your bike. Many people use this popular trail, known as the Mon River Trail.

And if you don’t feel like walking or riding your bike, then bring down your boat and enjoy the Monongahela River.

I had a great morning at Prickett’s Fort State Park. And it is in my own backyard. Yes, sometimes the grass is greener on the other side of the fence and you need to travel and explore what lies beyond your local boundaries. But, if you don’t have that wanderlust and want to stay nearby, just look around you. You maybe be surprised at the sights that are in your own backyard.

The Blizzard of 1977

I really didn’t want to get snow. It is April 23 for God’s sake. What is wrong you weather people? We can’t have snow this late. I watched the Weather Channel off and on all Sunday, watching them adjust the predicted snow amounts.

First it was 4-6 inches of snow, with up to a foot or more in the higher elevations. After it was all in done with, we could see much more. We were going to lose our electricity because of the weight of the wet, heavy snow on the newly leafed trees. We were told to go to the store and buy a generator. But, whatever you do, don’t place it inside your home. Purchase batteries for your flashlights. Get some candles, because, well, we may not have electricity for days. If you stay home, make sure you have plenty of blankets. Drive to your local supermarket and buy milk and bread, as you may be stuck in your home for a few days.

A friend on Facebook feared it was Zombie Apocalypse time. I agreed. Something was not right. It had to be the Zombies. Or weather men who, despite their expensive techno gear and capabilities to forsee the weather future, still can not pinpoint a damn thing for us. So, although some areas of Pennsylvania and West Virginia got some snow, we did not get the anticpated snow.  Actually, none and all.

We got rain. That’s it. Rain. And now, at 5:16, the sun is shining. Bravo, Weather Channel. I’m glad I didn’t go out and buy provisions.

Like I did for the blizzard of 1977.

Ah, the blizzard of 1977. I remember it well.

I was in college, attending Fairmont State College. Now, you have to understand that our college president, Wendall Hardway, would never postpone classes for a weather event. If a bomb dropped on the campus, he would not have postponed classes. I remember two days when the campus did not have water. Honey Badger Hardway didn’t give a shit. Go to class dirty. Stick a scarf on that greasy head. Classes were NEVER postponed or cancelled. Even when the blizzard was approaching.

At the time of the big blizzard of 1977, I was living on View Avenue, in a big white house with four other girls. Paula and Jeri were expecting their boyfriends for the weekend. It was Friday. We all got up that morning and got ready for classes. We had heard about the approaching blizzard, but not really. Now, you have to understand that we didn’t have the Weather Channel back then. We didn’t have the internet that would let us have our very own personal radar screens to check every hour. How cool would that have been? No, we had channel 12, WBOY, and their little studio only had half of a weather map. You could never see what the weather was like out west, because there wasn’t enough room in their little studio for a full sized map. The camera never panned over that way. I know this to be true…… Or maybe it was WDTV. Regardless, we had those stations and the big Pittsburgh stations letting us know that there was a blizzard in the making.

The National Weather Service was  predicting a huge winter storm to hit West Virginia. Emergency announcements were being made on the radio stations.

But, we knew school would never be cancelled. Never. I drove my little rusty car, Rusty, up on campus, parked her, and started to walk from the parking lot down the hill to the student union when I saw National Guard trucks driving onto the campus. I will exaggerate and say that there were ten vehicles because I really don’t remember how many there were. I didn’t know why they were there. Maybe it was National Guard Day and they were having a ceremony in the ballroom of the student center.

It didn’t take me long to figure out that something was up. Students were either laughing or upset, scurrying by like little mice trying to find a mouse hole. I stopped a boy who was walking passed me, smiling from ear to ear.

“They are here to shut down the college!”  And that’s all he said.

What???

Well, I found out soon enough that Governor Jay Rockefeller had sent in the National Guard to shut down Fairmont State College because Wendell Hardway refused to close the campus. A freaking historic blizzard was on its way and Rockefeller didn’t want anyone traveling home for the weekend in the midst of it. He didn’t want anyone on the streets. National guardsmen were holding bull horns and were driving slowly, telling everyone to go home. A blizzard was coming and the college was shutting down.

The hell you say? I just stood there and stared. Well, this was surreal. This is stuff you see in the movies. Big Jay Rockefeller sent in the big guns to shut down our fair little campus. I bet the honey badger was really pissed..and did give a shit.

Well, I obliged, but first went into our student center, The Nickel, to talk the situation over with everyone. The place was buzzing, but emptying out at the same time. There was a National Guardsman in the Nickel.  Wow.

So, I drove home. As soon as I got in the door, my roommate Pat looked at me and said, “We need to go get provisions.” Provisions. Wow. It even sounded serious. There was a freaking historic blizzard racing towards us. Of course we had to get provisions. We immediately hopped in my car and went to the local Dairy Mart.

Well, others must have thought about this too, because the place was jammed. Luckily, we must have gotten there early because there were still a couple of loaves of bread on the shelf and milk in the cooler. So, Pat bought a couple of packs of cigarettes and some pop, and I bought pop and some potato chips. We were ready to be snowed in for weeks. Oh, hell, let’s drive to McDonald’s too.

When we arrived home, our other roommates were beside themselves because their boyfriends were supposed to be on their way. They lived about 2 hours away and were traveling on Interstate 79. Cell phones were not invented yet, so they didn’t hear from them for quite a while. They were supposed to be there by now.

Meanwhile, Pat and I sat on the couch, waiting for the blizzard, looking out the picture window. I was visualizing the boys, Joe D. and Donald,  being blown off the interstate by the blizzard. God rest their souls.

The boys never made it. Governor Rockefeller had shut down the interstate. The National Guardsmen, who were everywhere throughout the state that day, had turned them back.

“There’s a blizzard on the way. You better turn back and go straight home.”

The boys turned around and called from a phone booth at the nearest gast station to let Paula and Jeri that they would not be arriving in Fairmont. More provisions for us.

It was early evening by now and we were watching the news.  Everyone in the mountain state were off the roads. We braced for the blizzard of the century. Charleston, our state capitol, was a ghost town. No one was on the streets. Rockefeller made sure we would be ready and that the road crews would not have to contend with stranded motorists. The newly inaugurated governor was making his first executive decisions. This blizzard was going to be brutal.

According to WSAZ television:

“It is important for people living in the following counties to understand that throughout this night, they will be on a blizzard alert tonight,” said Rockefeller in 1977.

Blizzard alert. Dear God, there is going to be snow piled up past our doors. Thank goodness Jeri and Paula had bought food for hungry boyfriends or we would starve.

Well, the massive blizzard never came. The wind picked up a little, and perhaps a dusting of snow lay on the ground. I sat on the couch for hours. awaiting its arrival. My mom called to make sure I wasn’t “stupid” and would not venture out in the blizzard.  I was not going to drive in a blizzard. I was, however, planning to go outside so I could say I witnessed a blizzard. But, it never came.

1977 Blizzard. Hit everywhere but West Virginia

Our governor took a ribbing for many years and the blizzard is now called “The Rockefeller Blizzard.”  The state of West Virginia actually shut down. The National Guard learned from this mistake and since then does not mobolize until the storm actually hits.

The only one I think that loved the result of the whole blizzard scenario was Fairmont State President, Wendell Hardway. I could just picture him chuckling over the outcome. And I thought of old Wendell when this storm was supposed to hit us this morning,  April 23, 2012.

But, you know what? When I heard about the storm approaching, I hopped in my car and went to the Dairy Mart for two- 20 ounce Cokes.

Provisions.

New York City Cemeteries: A Grave Situation

While traveling from  JFK airport into Manhattan, one obviously notices the skyline of  tall buildings that make up all that is New York city. The buildings sit right against each other and compete for a view of the clear blue sky. Space is valuable. Most New York apartments are tiny. Oh, there are larger apartments, of course, but let’s just say the expense is much greater.

My daughter took me to a couple of eating establishments and bars while I was visiting her this past week. I love the look of the old brick on the walls and the close proximity to other tables. Space is at its minimum. The places are quite narrow. Some only have eight to ten tables that seat four people, all hugging the tiny perimeter of the tiny establishment. I liked it. Made me feel all snug in a bug in a rug. Their grocery stores are small. Some fruit markets appear on the street to make room. They work with what they have. I love it.

All in all, real estate in New York is pricey and you don’t get a lot of bang for your buck. But, that’s ok. It’s a trade off for being able to live and work in the greatest city on earth.

I did notice one piece of real estate that looks different from where I live. When I was little, we used to drive past the Paris cemetery on the way to my grandparents home. I had to hear the same joke from my dad every single time. Oh, how I wish I could hear it one more time.

“Hey, Vickie, guess how many people are dead in that cemetery?”

“I don’t know, Dad. How many?”

“All of them.” And he would crack up like it was the first time he ever told the joke. I am serious when I say that I heard that joke at least one hundred times. As I got older, I would act like I never heard the joke before. That made it a lot of fun.

But, the Paris cemetery had some green space. Shouldn’t all cemeteries? Doesn’t everyone want to be placed under an oak tree after they die? I mean, I sure as hell don’t, but really what is the purpose of a cemetery? It is supposed to be, afterall, a “final resting place.”  Well, I want to be buried in the sand on the beach then. Beach burials. I think I have something here.

 But if we are supposed to be “resting” , I’m thinking that they think differently in New York City about burying people. I was amazed how the people of New York are basically buried on top of each other. Well, I mean, dead people. I am sure they don’t mind having their coffins touching another one. After all, it’s New York. They die like they live. Close to others.

photo via wikipedia

 The trip from the airport took me by several graveyards. I was amazed as to how close the marble headstones are to each other. There is no rhyme nor reason. I can’t imagine hunting for an ancestor. How the hell would you even to begin to find someone? Genealogy is a big thing in this country. I even belonged to Ancestry.com for a few weeks. Finding a grave in New York City would be like, well, finding a particular park bench in Central Park. Except that would be so much easier. I am sure they would have to have a graveyard counter person.

May you rest in one piece

“Oh, Wilbur Macgillicutty? Yes, Wilbur is resting in row 2C, space 4.” This is how it is probably done in a majority of cemeteries.

Oh, not in New York. Good luck finding Wilbur Macgillicutty. And if you are looking for a Joe Smith, good freaking luck. I don’t see how it could be done. The gravesites are that close to each other.

As for visiting when you do find the gravesite, forgetaboutit. There is no room to sit down and have a conversation with your grandpa. You would be sitting down on Mrs. Martino. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Don’t go there on a hot sunny day. There aren’t many trees, if any at all. Remember, space is limited. It’s New York City.

I guess it is a good thing that there is at least someplace to lie your head after you die in New York City. They could have put you on a barge and set you out to sea. I mean, you have to go somewhere.

As the real estate in New York gets more expensive and land becomes even more precious than it is now in 2012, what will become of the cemeteries in New York City? I’ve watched Poltergeist, you know. I know what greedy land developers are capable of. They have been moving cemeteries for centuries. Or just their headstones. Scared, aren’t you?

So, what is going to happen? Some cemeteries are filled up I am sure.

Will they start making cremations the norm? I have my own valid suggestions. Now, don’t get upset with me. I just personally don’t want to be buried. I’m too claustrophobic. Oh sure, I know I will be dead, but perhaps the dead have feeling too. We don’t know for sure, now do we?

This is what I think we should do.

Space- Well, we need “space,” right?  Well, why not the real space?  You know, like way out there. I know our space program has been dismantled, but I think that was a bad decision. You could put the dearly departed in space and inject them into an asteroid belt. They would have different orbits that could be named. Just like how we have Orion’s Belt, we could have them called Rest Haven. People buy their very own star. Well, you could tell people that Grandpa is now in orbit instead of that he went to Heaven. Heaven is so subjective. I really think I have something here.

One big campfire- I, for one, want to be cremated. I don’t want people putting stupid wreaths on my grave that look like horse blankets for race horses. I just really don’t understand the purpose of cemeteries. Well, funeral directors are right up there with bankers and lawyers for some people. Ambulance chasers for the dearly departed. But, why not go to camp after you die?  Relatives could sing “Kumbaya” and then put your little pine box on the bonfire wood. I would so do this. It’s better than having stupid piped in music at the funeral home and the minister talking about you, mispronouncing your name. I’ve been there when it happened. I just think it is a racket that I want no part of. So, yeah, send me to camp.

In the end, New York City is going to have to take a look at their graveyard situation. They are making money on tours, as there are famous people resting in some of the graveyards.

Green Wood Cemetery- In Brooklyn, there are 560,000 permanent residents, including F.A.O. Schwartz and Leonard Bernstein.

Woodlawn-The Bronx-More than 300,00 permanent residents…Nelly Bly, Duke Ellington, R.H. Macy, Herman Melville, Joseph Pulitzer, F.W. Woolworth. This cemetery is hopping. It conducts an Easter egg roll and has music by Duke Ellington at times, and an early morning bird walk. This is the one I believe that I passed while on my way to the airport. It’s huge.

In the end, there is an end. We all will end up there. The city of New York is unique in that there are so many people living there. And again, in the end, people need and deserve a final resting place. But, as real estate becomes even more expensive and rare, creative thinking will need to come into play.

And I’m thinking space will have some space. Who wouldn’t want to be lying among the stars?

Grandma and Grandpa. They did not get along. Why do this to him? Poor Grandpa.

Six Word Saturday-NYC Trip Report

I Went to Visit My Daughter

     I got back last night from visiting my daughter in New York City.  She moved there last August when she started grad school at NYU.  Before helping her find an apartment twice last summer, I had never been to the big city. The last time I went up there, I had to leave her and her roommate to continue on, hunting for that elusive inexpensive apartment. So I had no seen it yet.

   Some people think that getting from JFK airport into the city is a nightmare. I found an easy way. Last time I took the AirTrain into Penn Station. That’s not so bad, but just getting to the AirTrain was a mini pain. This past week I decided to take the bus. Doesn’t hurt to try.

 I flew on Delta for the first time and really enjoyed it. I know every airline has a horror story, but I didn’t have one. The flight took an hour, which is much shorter than the almost eleven hour trip I took there by Amtrak. I love trains, but a one hour round trip flight for $175 is pretty good.

As soon as I got off my flight at JFK, I immediately found the Ground Transportation sign and went outside, where I knew there would be people in bright green jackets. You pay them $12.50 and just wait for the bus to Manhattan. That simple. The bus was very clean and comfortable and the ride only seemed about thirty five minutes to Grand Central Station on 42nd Street. Sure, you could take a taxi, but it would have been $45 for the same ride, only with more people. I would have an extra $32.50 and that sounded better for me.

On this route, I was able to see new things. I saw where the old world’s fair took place. I assumed that’s what it was. I saw a huge globe and a tall structure with two flying saucer-like disks on the top. I plan to google that in a bit. I also passed several cemeteries, which I plan to write a blog about. They were amazing.

As soon as you get off in front of Grand Central Station, there is a door that says, “Subway.” I was amazed at how easy this was. I went downstairs, bought a Metro ticket for $2.50, and hopped on the Local 6 train uptown to Alex’s apartment.

“Mom, take the local 6 uptown train. It will be a green 6 with a circle around it. “

How easy. I asked a guy standing on the platform just to confirm my selection. I did make one error on my way. I was supposed to call Alex before I got on the subway so she could walk and meet me at the subway where I was to get off. When I walked to the platform to tell her that her fantastic mom was on her way, I had no bars on my cell phone. Uh oh, my bad. I didn’t think about that. So, if you go to New York, you won’t have cell phone service while underground. Well, my AT&T didn’t.

Maybe I’m the only one, but I just love riding the subway. It’s a little grimy walking down the stairs to the subway, but I love it. It’s like an adventure for me. And I love to watch people as they enter  the car. One woman was sleeping. Another one was coughing up a lung. Some of the men were wearing nice suits. I always go to the shoes to see if they match the expensive suits. They did. I was having so much fun.

I called my daughter after I climbed the steps leading from the subway.

“No…You don’t have to meet me. Let me try to find your apartment. It will be like an adventure.” I laughed.

I am all about trying to do things on my own. So, off I went to find her apartment. I had already “walked” on her street with google maps, which is a fantastic tool. Just take the little man over to the map, plop him down, and you can travel on the street, veering left and right. I google walk all the time, especially vacation areas. So, I sort of knew how to get to her apartment from the subway station, but this is still New York, and it is huge.

There is a lot of construction work going on near her apartment. They are putting in a new subway line. They start at exactly 7a.m. and end at exactly 4pm. Noisy jack hammer work and the walkways are diverted through a temporary maze. And from the sign posted, it looks like this will be going on until the end of 2013. Sucks for people who don’t wake up until 8am. Well, they won’t wake up that late anymore. It’s very noisy. The walk was nice.

Fruit stands, like this one, are all over the city.

So, I had to go down, take a right, take a left, and voila, I am standing right in front of her apartment building. I am good. I walked in and had to punch a button so she can unlock the door. I have never done this before.  I have watched people do it on Seinfeld and other tv shows, but I have never ever buzzed. I was excited. I walked up the one flight of stairs and she was at her opened door, welcoming me with a big smile.

She lucked out. Her apartment was small, as most New York apartments are, but hers is not teeny tiny. It has two bedrooms, a living area and eating area combined. Her kitchen is small, but hell, it has a dishwasher, so life is good. The bathroom is a nice size for NYC also. Hardwood floors. I immediately liked it. And not bad for $800 a month. I did research before we started looking at apartments and thought that she would be paying around $1,200 for her share for an upper East side apartment. She did great.

I took the 6:30am flight as we had plans to go to the Bronx Zoo. It was cold though, and thoughts of walking from cold exhibit to cold exhibit did not sound appealing. Where the hell did the promise of warm weather go? So, I told her I wanted to see her neighborhood. So, we took a walk. We went to eat lunch at Ray’s pizza, which was next to her Rite Aid and laundromat. As a mom, I liked being able to now place where these things are.

“I’m heading to the laundromat.”

I now know where that is in relation to her apartment. I have places down dark secluded back alleys, so it is nice to know I have an active imagination.

We then walked all the way up to Fifth Avenue to see the Jackie Onassis Reservoir. She runs to Central Park and then jogs around the reservoir. It’s beautiful.

Jackie Onassis Reservoir

After taking pictures of this area of Central Park, we decided to push stuff over because that’s how we roll.

Ok, just kidding. I thought the leaning lightpost made a good photo opportunity.

After walking around, petting dogs that people were walking, we ventured into the Museum of the City of New York. I don’t know. I was a bit confused. I thought I would get to see the history of New York. I wanted to follow along from the time the Dutch started the place through prohibition to the tragedy of 9/11. Instead, there was a huge exhibition of the grid system of Manhattan. And it was set up in neighborhoods, not dates. I wanted to see the history of New York. A permanent exhibit.  I thought it was a waste of $16.00. But, I like going to museums. Next time, I will try another.

For dinner, she talked me into going to a Thai restaurant down the street from her apartment. I immediately balked because I am picky. But, I thought I should be more open minded. She took me to an Indian restaurant and now I like Indian food. So, we went to the Andaman Thai Bistro on 1st Avenue in Yorkville. Oh, glorious food! The shrimp/chicken dumpling was to die for! Curry puffs don’t sound so good to this picky person, but they were delicious. If you are in upper East Side and looking for a good restaurant, check it out.

We were beat by the end of the night. We went to bed early and got up to go to the Bronx zoo. She made me breakfast and off we went. We took the BxM11 express bus from 99th Street. It goes directly to the zoo. A zoo bus. It was a comfortable ride for $5.50 a person. I haven’t been to a zoo in years. I usually ended up feeling sorry for the little animal in its cage, but things have changed over the years. I was looking forward to going to this zoo, as it is the largest metropolitan zoo in the world.

It didn’t disappoint. I will be writing a blog post just on the zoo, but I will just say for now that my new camera loves the zoo.

We were at the Bronx zoo all day. It is large and most of the animals are in their natural habitat. So, we walked a lot.

We got home and went to a Mexican restaurant for dinner. I wasn’t impressed, so I won’t mention where it was. We needed to be at her neighborhood bar for Trivia night. Oh, how I wish we had something like that in West Virginia. I would surely drink more. Her friends compete against other bar patrons, the winners receiving shots and drinks after the contest is over. I contributed, as I was pretty good with the “presidential hometown” category. I sucked at current events. And I knew that the Soprano’s won an emmy in 2008 for Best Drama. I didn’t even feel old or out of place and managed to sing “Hey Jude” at the top of my lungs with everyone in the bar at the end of the night. Fun times at Biddy’s Pub on 91st. It is considered an “Irish pub” because, well, it is owned by Irish people. It is itty bitty, only one room, but was packed for Trivia night. So, again, if you are looking for a pub in the upper east side, try either Biddy’s Pub or Off the Rails.

We were going to go to the “Top of the Rock” before my flight left, but my daughter found out at the last minute that she had a summer job interview, so I took off early to take pictures of Grand Central Station. I got on the bus, got on the plane, landed in Pittsburgh, and drove the 1 1/2 hours on an empty gas tank. Well, anything less than a quarter tank makes me hyperventilate. I made it back to Fairmont and went right to bed.

I am so excited that my daughter is living in New York City while attending grad school. Will she remain there after graduation? It is too early to tell. I think she would like to head elsewhere.

I can’t wait to go back after school is out in June.

New York City, I heart you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

See also New York City Subway Newbie, All Aboard Amtrak, and New York Crazy

Oh My God, Here Comes a Flood

I have to drive the back roads to get to my school each morning. You city people just have no idea. You can hop on the A subway train and just hold on until you get to your destination. Sure, you may have to walk up and down stairs to get to the subway, but it isn’t a real chore. A real chore is driving from the country INTO the country.

My drive to and fro is in what I call segments. There is one segment from where I live to over Manley Chapel Road to Route 19. Most of you have no idea what I am talking about, so just think small country roads with no berm and a bunch of dead deer on the side. One dead deer has his little leg lying right in the road. Move over, dead deer. Anyway, this segment is where I shall die, I am sure. The road is paved and the two lane weaves and turns and meanders up and down and around. And trucks really enjoy driving left of center. So, drivers on both side love to speed and take the curves like they are wearing a helmet and an outfit of corporations’ logos. Yes, this is where I will die, no doubt about it. I was hoping it would be in my sleep, but things don’t always go my way.

The second segment is a fisherman’s paradise…if one enjoys fishing in pot holes. The pot holes on Idamay Road are gigantic. I really think they could stock them with fish. This road climbs a little in altitude and this is where I lose my cell phone service at times. Every once in a while you will see a couple of parked cars on the top of Idamay hill, talking on their cell phones.

The third segment is the Farmington to Fairview Road. This is where I stop at Subway to get my 6in. turkey breast on Italian, provolone, little lettuce, little onion and 1 narrow line of mayonaisse about three days a week. They see me coming and start preparing it. How’s that for service? I also have someone pump gas for me at this intersection also.  Segment three, not so bad. I don’t mind this portion of my daily drive.

It takes me higher in the sky and big hills that are not fun in the winter. But, this is also where I usually get behind old people drivers. I then cross the railroad tracks over a bridge and into the town of Fairview. Now, this is where I stop at the Dairy Mart. If you are ever in Fairview and stop at the Fairview Dairy Mart, watch where you walk, ok?  Just warning you, because the coal miners who stop here after work for their bottle of beer really enjoy spitting out their chewing tobacco in the parking lot. It’s so much fun tip-toeing around it. I end then at my school and all is right with the world. I have made it another day.

But, today just sucked. Sucked, I tell ya. Because we had a little bit too much rain. Now, you have to understand, city people, that our county  has a lot of streams that run beside our winding ass roads. I can get home several different ways. But, today’s drive home turned into a race to see what roads weren’t flooded….the worst.

It rained all damn day. I didn’t mind it, because at least it wasn’t snow. But, it rained. The windows in my classroom were leaking. I had kids running for paper towels so I can blot the long window sill. When I left at 3:45, I had no idea it would take me so long to get home. The first two segments on my return trip weren’t that bad. Sure there were a couple of places where the water ran over the road, but it wasn’t bad. I just remember thinking that the water was a bit high. I cursed as I hit the fishing pot holes, as they were hidden by the water on the road.

The third segment was a totally different story. First, I had to deal with rocks in the road. Many many rocks and mini landslides.

Many portions of this road where covered with rocks. This is farmland. You would not believe all of the flooding land. I saw some cows wearing life vests as they floated by. That farmer was thinking when he purchased those vests. Cowabunga, Dude.

This is where I started talking out loud. My “Oh my God” repetition first started like a Valley Girl remark. “And like, Oh my God.” But, the more my poor tires had to creep over small boulders (I laugh at my oxymorons), the more my “Oh my God” changed. I sounded like a damn pet store parrot. “Oh my God….Oh my God…..Oh my God…..Oh my God…..” But, really, “Oh my God.”

And then I came upon raging water. Crossing the roadways. What the hell? I mean, “Oh my God!”  Notice, I am using an exclamation mark now. I had never seen it this bad before. What is crazy is that this road is not in a valley where you would think it would flood. Little pockets of rivers were now crossing my path. Ok, I just looked back. Maybe “raging” was a bit much. If it was raging, it would have taken my car. Wow, didn’t think about that.

Then, a traffic back up at the top of the final hill on Manley Chapel Road. Little cars had pulled over onto the berm. Oh wait, there is no berm on that road. Little cars stopped. So, some big trucks went around them. Those little cars knew something that I did not know. Oh shit.  I mean, “Oh my freaking God.” There in front of me, at the base of the hill was a river crossing the road. Trucks were trying to get through it one by one. I was behind a Jeep. I was in a Santa Fe. The problem with that is that I FORGOT I was in a Santa Fe. I was in a truck.

I decided the best thing to do is drive like an idiot and hope I didn’t stall out. I rushed through it, holding onto the steering wheel for dear life. The water was spewing up by side windows. Muddy water. I got through! On the other side, a guy in a big pick-up smiled and gave me the thumbs up. He was impressed with my stupidity.

I didn’t take a picture of the Mississippi River crossing Manley Chapel Road. I was too busy with my hands planted 2 and 10 on the steering wheel, uttering, “Oh my God.” I finally got through and took the above picture. This is actually what it looked like in about seven or eight pockets on this section of road. Notice there weren’t any little cars in the photo. Because little car people have brains.

Manley Chapel intersection via Facebook Denise Gum Ice

After getting through several areas of more water over the roadway, I passed several homes that were surrounded by water. On Facebook, people were posting pictures of what it looked like in other parts of the county. It was unreal. Many people weren’t on Facebook because they were trying to stop the water coming down into their basements. I drove into a nice dry garage. I was home.

So, I am writing this, courtesy of a two hour delay we have this morning. I’m usually out the door by seven. Only four of the 55 counties in the state of West Virginia have a delay. It’s always nice getting that call in the morning. So, I thought I would sit down and write a post about my drive home before I head off on that same road, hoping that the small boulders (oxy) are now on the side of the road.

I guess I could have just said, “Oh my God, the roads were covered with water.”

“Like, Oh my God.”

Bologna Fishing

I don’t know if I am much of a camper. We just didn’t camp out much when I was little. I can’t even imagine the Mendenhall family, aka the Griwsolds, sitting around the campfire, singing Kumbaya. I imagine it would go something like this:

Mom: “Elwood! Elwood!…….Where did that man go? ……I need you to put up this tent…..Elwood!…….I’m telling you, when they were passing out brains, your father thought they said, “train” and left…….Elwood!!………………Well, we are just going to have to go home.”

Elwood- (2 miles away, press camera in hand). “Ahhh, just look at this beautiful tree!” (Takes pictures of the probable pine tree from different angles. Can’t hear Mom because he has wandered purposely away from the camp.)

Vickie- “Mom, look what I found! (Holding a skunk.) Can it sleep with us in the tent? I think he is lonely.”

Cheryl- Cheryl is still in the car, having another one of her famous temper tantrums. We can hear her muted screams through the rolled up car windows. “I HATE YOU…….STUPID MOM…..I HATE YOU…….” .BLAH BLAH BLAH SCREAM SCREAM SCREAM KICK THE BACK SEAT REPEATEDLY…….SILENCE…………POUTING……….

David- (Holding a stick, trying to wittle with a butter knife) Smiling…”This is fun.”

No, I can’t even imagine camping back then. My dad was a scoutmaster, so he used to go camping all of the time. It’s just when Mom was thrown into the mix that Dad just wanted no part of it. My dad was always “damned if he did and damned if he didn’t.” That was his motto. My mom was one of those rolling pin wives. Bitch bitch bitch. Dad was Wally Cox. Wally Cox was a mild-mannered, soft spoken actor, aka the voice of Underdog. “There’s no need to fear, Underdog is here!” Well, except my sweet dad sounded just like Ronald Reagan.

So, needless to say, the Mendenhall family rarely went camping. To compensate for our outdoor challenged lifestyle, my dad built a playhouse in the backyard. I know you are probably picturing a little playhouse nestled in a tree line on the edge of the property. Oh, no. This playhouse was as soon as you opened the back door.  Down three steps, turn left and Voila! A cabin…..for camping. Swell.

I went camping when I was in the Campfire girls. Campfire girls were like the Girl Scouts, but we had campfires. They had Samoa cookies to sell while we put marshmallows on the end of whittled sticks. Well, most of the girls put their marshmallows over the fire. Not me. That was gross…and black. Who the hell wants to eat charbroiled marshmallows. And then some older girl came up with a bright idea.

image via whatscookingamerica.net

“Hey, Susie, I see you are eating grahamn crackers. Can I have one?  And you, Cindy Lou, I see that chocolate bar you are eating. Can I have a small section?  Next thing you know, the older camper put a melted marshmallow and a piece of chocolate between a graham cracker sandwich and ate the damn thing.

“Hmmmmm, I wish I had “some more.” And the rest is history.

image via wikipedia

You believe me, right?

Well, I wasn’t much of a Campfire camper. While walking to the pool one day in my bathing suit, clothing wrapped in my towel, my underpants fell out of my towel and onto the ground. Everyone laughed at me, and I wanted to cry. I sent a postcard home to my mom that I wanted to come home. How funny, because I lived like ten minutes from the camp and we were probably only there for two nights at the most, maybe. I was home before the postcard even arrived.

The next time I went camping was when I was in love. My boyfriend, (future husband, future ex-husband) nicknamed Magoo in my posts, was a list maker, so we had everything you could possibly think of. He even had cut wood on the top of his car. We were, afterall, going to a National forest, so they would probably frown on cutting down trees for fire wood. The first time we went camping, Magoo had everything packed in so tightly you couldn’t add even a spoon (just a slight exaggeration). He had a hatch back, and when he slammed it down to shut, the window burst. He didn’t check to make sure the damn hatch back would close without hitting something. No problem. Magoo took out several black garbage bags, duct tape, and after a few minutes we were on our way. Well, after I swept the glass off to the side of the curb.

We usually went with another couple. The first time we went camping, we took Brent and Jeannie with us. Brent was Magoo’s best friend. We drove to the Monongahela State Forest in our wild wonderful West Virginia mountains. I know West Virginia gets a bad rap, but it is so beautiful in the mountains. Breathtaking, really. The first time out we were hunting for a place called The Sinks of Gandy, a cave that we wanted to explore. I was all about seeing some bats.

image via cavingintro.net

The Sinks of Gandy are a tunnel that the Gandy Creek flows into and disappears into the mountain.  It is on private property, and is actually hard to find. We weren’t all the way stupid. Just partially stupid. Years later, my son was a guide for a summer adventure camp, and made numerous trips to the Sinks.

But, anywho, the next thing you know, we are on a gravel road, stopped because a bunch of sheep were standing in the road, looking at us. Um, Magoo, where the hell are we?

So, we never found the Sinks of Gandy, and drove around forever. Where the hell are we going to camp? We finally found a sign for the Monongahela National Forest, dropped down the mountain, and a beautiful sight unfolded right in front of our eyes. It was beautiful.

 The Monongahela National Forest at Laurel Fork Campground

I immediately fell in love with the place. And there was no one else in the whole area for the first part of the long weekend. There was a large stream that ran by us, and a trail head in case we wanted to take a hike. It was perfect. It was Fourth of July weekend, so we had a cooler full of picnic food and bags and bags of snacks. The boys, who had been at fishing cabins throughout their lives, remembered the time they were stuck eating nothing but hot dogs for 2 days, so they packed a lot of food.

 Since I was not a camper, and the damn campground did not have any bathroom facilities whatsoever (that we knew of at that time), I made the guys build a bathroom area. I don’t even want to try to explain it, but it consisted of finding three small trees close to each other, a large piece of cloth (told you the man could pack), a hammer, and a couple of nails. Dig a hole, and a “dry creek bed” and we had ourselves a bathroom. Magoo even brought toilet paper and little garbage bags. Also, it looked like rain, so the guys put up a makeshift canopy, since we thought we would find a place that had a shelter or something. So, we improvised and it was fun.  Sort of. I couldn’t go past 10:00 in the morning without taking a shower. My skin starts to crawl, like I have cooties or something. I HAVE to take my shower. So, I walked over to the creek, walked in with my tennis shoes, and took a creek bath. Washed my hair and everything. It was so freaking cold. I thought I would turn to ice in the middle of the stream. Next thing you know, Magoo and Brent come running in, holding soap, laughing, and sat right down in the creek. They, too, I thought, must feel cooties after 10:00. Jeannie didn’t care. She put a scarf on her head and claimed that she liked being a dirtball. So be it.

So, yeah, it was a fun weekend.

Well, until the guys disappeared.

We were supposed to go fishing, and I hadn’t been fishing since I was little and went with my dad. I used to go all of the time, and either fished, or chased dragonflies around the lake. To this day, dragonflies are my favorite insects. I knew you would want to know that. The guys wanted to go outside the Monongahela Forest to find more firewood somewhere. And yes, Magoo had a saw with him. So, they hopped into the car without a back window and off they went.

And they never came back. Well, that’s what it felt like. It was at least four hours. We were pissed. So, we decided that we were going to fish all by ourselves. We didn’t need a man to put a worm on our hook. We could be hookers. (she cracks herself up) Well, hell, they were all gone. We were wormless. We had no dough balls. We had nothing.

Well, we did have bologna.

Jeannie and I cracked up, as we took a slice of bologna and tore it to look like a worm. A bologna worm. If colorful little bobbers or lures attracted fish, wouldn’t a worm dangling off of the hook?  It was a brilliant, hooker idea.

No it wasn’t.

The bologna hung on the hook for just a few seconds, and would then slide through the hook and fall into the creek.  We tried it a “couple” of times. Defeated, we went back under the canopy (that leaked later when it stormed), and just started drinking. We did get scared when two guys walked very close by our campsite. We saw them coming and we were very frightened. We ran to the tent and zipped ourselves up and looked out the little screened area. We were going to get raped. No doubt about it. All we had to defend ourselves was some bologna and a flashlight. But, wait. Magoo brought a handgun. (What did I tell you?) And it was in the tent. I could kill them.

Well, at the time, we had no idea that the start of a long hiking trail started right beside our tent. We knew it was nearby, but the trail went right by the tent. They were simply two hikers who were following the trail.

Our mountain men finally came back. They got lost. And they had no firewood. Worthless.

Jeannie and I were already drunk. Well, I had two beers, so I was sloshed.

The guys were so fixing us dinner that night. Magoo opened the cooler.

“Hey, what happened to those two packs of bologna?”

I guess I didn’t mention that we made two packs of bologna worms. We really thought we would get one to work.

We were hookers working our corner of the creekbed.

Weather Dork Report

I’ll admit that I am a weather dork. I enjoy watching the Weather Channel and monitoring an impending snow storm. I even report on it on my Facebook status with my Weather Dork Report.  My friends depend on me. They do. Really. I wish I had this when I was younger.

I used to sit and watch the weather man on WTAE Pittsburgh.  We only got three channels back then. Can you imagine? We had ABC, NBC, and CBS. That was it. As my dad read the paper for what seemed like hours, sometimes with a pipe coming out of his mouth, I would listen to the weatherman. I would then turn around on the couch, on my knees, push back the curtains and watch for the first snowflakes to fall.

I learned early on that most storms came from the west, and I knew where to look for the storms. I was so excited to see the first snow fall. It’s funny, because I hated to go outside in the snow. I hated to be cold. Still do. I’d get all bundled up to go outside, and my lips would turn blue immediately after being outside for just a short time. I earned the nickname “Bluey” because it really looked like I applied bluish purple lipstick to my mouth. I would shiver, get on the sled a couple of times, and then head to the house.

Back then you would only find out about the weather at 6:00p.m. and 11:00p.m. newscast. Since I was young, and a bit hyper, I was put to bed early. Oh, but that didn’t keep me from finding out about the weather. I  would sneak out into the living room when my parents were sitting in the kitchen, and stand behind the ugly white and gold curtains that ran to the ground. I was tiny, so I could stand right in front of the huge picture window and watch the snow come without being noticed. “Don’t pay attention to that child behind the curtain.” I do remember a neighbor, Joe Minco, driving by slowly, waving at me as he entered his garage. I watch for the snow, and then turn around to see if the 11:00 weather man was getting ready to talk again. It’s a wonder I got up in the morning for school. I never slept. I guess hyper kids don’t need sleep.

It didn’t seem like we had many snow days off school back then. Then again, I don’t really remember for sure. I do remember that after we would have a big snowfall that we could built a snow fort and it would last for a very long time. It was cold. But, the main thing I remember  is that my mom would make homemade bread or refrigerator cookies when we didn’t have school. I ate cookies and watched for more snow all damn day.

“Vickie!!! Vickie, get in here………….Why are there so many cookie crumbs here?” (Pulling aside the curtain in front of the picture window)

There were crumbs all over the floor. Well, refrigerator cookies broke off a lot. My dog, Susie, didn’t particularly care for them. So, they sat where they dropped. Little kids don’t bend over to pick up cookies. Why would they?

Fastforward many years. We now have internet and many channels to get our weather information from. And that brings me to the Weather Channel. I could leave the Weather Channel on in the background all day long. Oh, and believe me, I have. I get excited when I know there is a snow storm coming. I’m a teacher, so we love snow days. Some of my friends on Facebook tell everyone to wear their pajamas on inside out and do a snow dance. I don’t know where the inside-out pajama ritual came from, but I guess if you wear them inside out and dance, snow will come and there won’t be any school. Yeehaw! I love feeling like I’m getting away with something. I have a friend, Suzanne, who is the ultimate snow momma. She would love it to snow every day of the year. I tease her, but understand her love of snow.

When my kids were little and I was a stay-at-home phenom, the kids would watch tv for the Snowbird Report on WBOY tv, channel 12. There was a jingle that would come on first, and my kids would run to the tv to see if Marion County schools were canceled that day. It would just make me smile.

And then I would make cookies.

So, yeah, I’m a weather dork. I watch and report the weather, especially when the snow flies.

I’m 55 years old going on 7. Like a giddy little kid, I still enjoy sitting on the couch, cookie in hand, waiting for the first snow flakes to fall.

I may have the internet for precise information, and Jim Cantore from the Weather channel broadcasting live from the epicenter of heavy snowfall prediction, but nothing beats quietly looking out the window, and smiling when it begins.

New York Crazy

It’s not polite to stare. But sometimes when you meet up with crazy, you just can’t help it. Case in point: New York City. Now, I think that every small town has a crazy person that everyone knows by name. We had people named Wheelbarrow Willie and Bible Bill to name a few. When I went to the Big Apple last week for the second time ever, I passed many crazy people. My daughter wondered if they came to New York crazy or if New York made them crazy. It didn’t matter. Crazy is crazy.

But, the real New York crazy isn’t some of the people. No, not at all. It’s the application process to get an apartment. Now, there is undeniable crazy.  My daughter and I went up last week to find an apartment for her and her roommate. She had a letter from her former landlord and off to New York we went. Oh, grasshopper, we have so much to learn. Never in my life have I seen such a ridiculous method of renting apartments.

My head is still spinning. We went to look at apartments and realized that we were very unprepared for this mess. Apparently you need to be able to donate a kidney before it is all over and done with. My daughter had to fill out an application to get her credit checked. The application runs anywhere between $40 and a million dollars. Ok, I jest, but just a little. She also has to have an enlarged copy of her drivers license, personal references, reference from her landlord, w-2 forms, page 1 of your tax return, 3 pay stubs,a copy of her acceptance letter from NYU since she won’t have a job. And well, since she won’t have a job, she has to have a guarantor, which I guess is me. I also have to fill out an application, have a letter of employment (when I started working, where I worked and my salary on their letter head.) They want to know where I bank and my account numbers, which they are not getting. I instead, went to my bank and had them write a letter on their letterhead about how much I had in the bank and my various direct deposits. Oh, but wait, not done. They’d like to have a guarantor who lives in New York, and since I don’t, well, her security deposit will most likely have to be more. They want the guarantor to make 80x the monthly salary. Ha, like that is gonna happen. I’m a teacher….in West Virginia. I don’t make $160,000 a year. Good God. So, again, her security deposit, if they choose her, will be higher. Her roommate is going to use her mom as a guarantor also. Well, she is a teacher in my county, so it still doesn’t add up.

If you use a broker to find you an apartment, their fee usually runs between 12-17% of the yearly rent. Figures. Finding a broker who you can trust is the tricky part. Now, there are some people who are property managers and there are some people who you just can’t trust. I went on yelp.com to read reviews about some real estate people. Again, my head was spinning like the pea soup spitting girl from the Exorcist.

I am thinking it may be better to just ask them if I can write out a check for her share for the year and forego this bull shit. Because that’s what it is. Let’s just sign a lease, give her the key and here’s your freaking check.

No, I think that I would prefer to deal with crazy people. On my way to Penn Station, I heard a woman ranting as she came closer. “Stompin out a cigarette is like STOMPIN OUT THE DEVIL”. She was picking at her scalp when she saw my carry-on bag and purse and pointed at me and yelled, “That’s MY bag” and started coming at me. I just looked at her and said, “NOOOOOO, yours doesn’t have a zipper,” and kept walking without missing a beat. I looked back at her and realized that I confused a crazy person. She was standing there, pondering if hers had a zipper.

So much easier to deal with than renting a New York apartment.

First Passport Stamp

We usually load up the car with beach gear and drive the 11 hours to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina every summer. We always stay at the Beach Cove Resort and always eat one night at Preston’s. We are on the beach all day and spend an evening at Barefoot Landing. But, not this summer. My daughter talked me into flying to Cancun…like in Mexico.

At first I didn’t think Mexico was a safe place to visit. Afterall, people are being found headless or they aren’t found at all. So, I read up on Cancun and decided that if we stayed on the resort property, we would be absolutely fine. So, I read hotel reviews on trip advisor and decided to book a room at the Fiesta Americana Condesa Cancun for 6 nights. I booked through Orbitz and our US Airways flight would take us from Pittsburgh to Charlotte and then on to Cancun. I was ready. My passport was excited to get its first stamp.

We left on June 23 and arrived in Cancun, only to find very long lines at Customs. I don’t know why I felt nervous, like they were going to find a stash of heroin in that package some man asked me to carry to his sick grandmother, who would pick it up at the airport. Ok, kidding, but I felt like they weren’t going to let me in the country or something. Well, once we got up to the desk, and he stamped my passport, I felt relieved. I looked at my first passport stamp and was mad it was quite light. Bummer.

I booked a shuttle ahead of time, thank goodness, because we were attacked by guys in light blue shirts wanting to “help.” We walked right through them like we were told and met our Best Day shuttle guy who loaded us up in the next van and took off for the 15 minute drive to the Fiesta. Quite efficient.

I smiled as soon as we entered the property. The lobby area has the largest palapa in all Me hi co.

We were greeted with a glass of champagne or a drink of choice. Did I mention that the Fiesta was an all-inclusive resort? Oh my. All drinks and food were included in the price. That means I could keep my credit card and money in the room safe and get what I wanted when I wanted it. This was a great arrangement.

I loved the resort. The place was immaculate and the employees went out of their way to make sure we were happy. Now, I realize that not everyone has the same experience at the same place. But, I guess this was my year to have a vacation that went without a hitch . A perfect 10. My daughter (24) was able to practice her spanish for grad school in the fall. She laughed at me at one point when a waiter asked her in spanish, “Does your mother speak any spanish?” And I answered “No.” I guess I was picking up on a thing or two.

  The only thing that was bad was the surf condition. We had a red flag alert every day. I guess it just stays out there.So, I just ventured out to about hip-length. The lifeguard blew his whistle often, as we were supposed to stay between the ropes.  The under toe was pretty strong. I guess that is why it looked like the beach was empty. Most people stayed up by the pool. We found a palapa and enjoyed the beach.

The resort had many restaurants and if you didn’t like one place, you could go to another. That’s the beauty of an all-inclusive. It rained for about two days straight, but the activity directors had things for us to do inside. There was Bingo and Trivia contests and the lobby had a tapas bar and a DJ with music. My daughter took a merengue lesson. The electricity went out for a few hours, so that brought more people down into the lobby. Luckily, it is set up with many couches and tables so everyone seemed to have places to sit. When we got back up to our room, we found a note of apology about the weather and there was a bag of M&M’s on the bed. Pretty sweet. Literally.

The resort has a feature that my daughter enjoyed. Each night around 10:30, for $40, the activity people loaded up the vans and would take you to a nightclub. The entrance fee was included, as were drinks for the whole evening. They had tables reserved for everyone. She was able to meet people her age and so it wasn’t like she was going by herself. She had a fun time. She knows fluent Spanish and some Portuguese and there are many Brazilians who come to Cancun in their winter, so she did fine when it came to conversation.

 Of course she dragged me off of the resort grounds to take a city bus into Cancun centre to go to a marketplace. We walked to the bus stop and along the walk saw a bunch of iguanas. They were all over the place. So, of course, we stepped over the bushes and tried to get up close and personal with our squirrel counterparts.

We got off at El Negro marketplace and I guess my blond hair was a clue that we were not locals. We were inundated by shop keepers. I felt quite uncomfortable, especially when a guy grabbed my arm and said, “You need to be sociable and come into my shop. I saw you first.” We looked around for a few minutes and noticed that their prices were quite high. But, then again, we were still in the “Hotel Zone” and some people would pay the price just to get people off of their backs. Alex wanted to go to a marketplace IN Cancun. I just wanted to get back on the bus.

 After we took the wrong bus and the driver told us how to walk the 5 blocks to the marketplace, I wasn’t feeling too good about this. We walked down a couple of alleys and my daughter kept telling me that it was morning and we would be fine. I was thinking that in the whole scheme of things, noone ever said that kidnappings had to take place after 6pm. I was uneasy and told her I wanted to go back to the resort. So, we did. I think she was happy that I at least took a Mexican bus off of the resort property.

Happy I didn’t get burned by the hot Cancun sun

Oh, I forgot the most important experience I had in Mexico.  I won’t go into detail, but let’s just say that I wished I had some Cipro. I drank water somewhere. I was diligent about not drinking the water, but the little bug was hiding out in this particular restaurant, as I was attacked twice and had to be like 6 feet from a bathroom for  more than 24 hours.  My motto was, Run, Don’t walk! No wait! Sprint, don’t run! It was horrible. I missed the big Caribbean show (they have live shows) and ordered a pizza from room service one night. Room service is included also.

The six days in Cancun flew by. Our flight home was delayed by two hours, so we missed our connecting flight from Charlotte to Pittsburgh. The airlines shuttled us off to the Marriott and we stayed there, courtesy of an airline that could have held the Pittsburgh flight as we missed it by only 10 minutes.

 My passport has been stamped and I have wonderful memories of my time in Cancun, Mexico. I want to go back in November. I probably won’t, but I will be back. An all-inclusive vacation has now spoiled me.

New York City Subway Newbie

     I recently visited New York City for the first time and was quite surprised. I really never cared to visit the Big Apple. I’m not a city girl. I like trees and squirrels and….trees. The thought of pavement and taxi’s honking their horns and people rushing did not appeal to me. I did NOT want to travel on the subway. But, I had to go. My daughter was accepted to NYU for grad school, and she wanted to check out the neighborhoods.

We flew into JFK, as I didn’t particularly want to drive in the city. I have so little faults, (some may argue this), but for some reason I get mad when I get lost. I don’t know why, but I have a short fuse and no patience once I make a wrong turn. So, we flew. We took the AirTrain to a place called Jamaica Station and then took a train to Penn Station on 34th Street. By this time, I decided that I was going to try to get the nerve and ride on the subway one time. Just to say that I rode it.  Funny how things end up.

 I loved the Metro! And this picture shows just a few of our cards while we were there. I fell in love with the subway system. It intrigued me as we walked down the grimy stairs on the way to my first subway ride. As soon as you get down to the bottom, you have to buy a Metro card for $2.50 to ride.

The machines are easy to use. People are in such a rush, that it makes you rush too.  After buying our tickets, we went through the turnstiles and waited for the subway. Some people were standing right on the edge. Stupid people. That’s why it is painted yellow. I then told Alex the story about some crazy person who came out of  nowhere and pushed a guy right in front of an oncoming train. That would suck. Not one minute after I told her that story, an angry, demented man appeared and started yelling at imaginary people. Alex told me not to give him eye contact. Ok. I didn’t want to be pushed in front of a subway train. The brave people standing in the  Yellow Paint stepped away. Not brave when a crazy is around, are you? Luckily, he got on another train.

Our train came to a stop and we stepped on. Now, for those who have never been on a subway train, let me explain one thing. When the voice over the loudspeaker tells you to hold on to the bar, they really mean it. Alex sat down and I was walking to sit beside her, when all of a sudden, the doors shut and the train took off.  And, um, so did I. Oh, I didn’t just fall. I flew. I guess I tried to take a woman along for the ride. I flew through the air, landed and then slid. Far. When I came to a stop, I looked over at Alex. She was mortified. She was going to pretend she did not know me. After I managed to collect myself and my belongings, I sat down beside her. We looked at each other, and then laughed for about 10 minutes straight. Memories being made.

 I did not know that people perform in the underground subways. There were pretty good performers at the 34th. Penn station. There were also people who were preaching about the prophecy. We were there the weekend the world was supposed to end. A guy on one side of the subway was holding his bible and ranting, while a woman on the other side was yelling at him, calling him a communist. Pretty amusing if you weren’t in a hurry to catch your train.

On one of our many subway rides, an older woman walked on, wearing a blanket around her like a shawl. She immediately began scolding someone. ” I am NOT a lesbian. And you can’t make me be a lesbian. I will not do things that you want me to do. None of your piggy-back things…..” I forgot some of the things she was going on about, but she was either rehearsing what she wanted to say to someone, or she had an imaginary person in front of her. Either way, I was amused. I did inch away from her a bit, as I thought maybe her tirade may include swinging her blanket.

 I can’t tell you how many times we rode the subway that weekend, but I fell in love with it. Yeah, in the mornings it may smell a bit like urine as you walk down the steps from the street. Yes, you will have to hold on to the bar, because the train does take off quickly, and so may you. But, I never once felt like my safety was in jeopardy. People are nice. I heard New Yorkers are rude and mean. Never saw that at all. They went out of their way when they saw me looking at the subway map like I was from Pluto (which is bad because it isn’t even a planet anymore.)

So, if you have the chance to visit New York sometime, take the subway. You will be glad you did.

Online-Dating

Years ago, when a guy wanted to ask a girl out, he would call her on a telephone.  There was no such thing as internet dating.  Most people met and married people in their own backyard. Well, not literally in their own backyard, but you understand what I mean. Men out in the west would send away for Mail Order Brides. You never knew what they looked like until they got off the train. Oh my. Nowadays, there is online dating with various sites, such as Match.com, Chemistry.com, and E-Harmony. I joined one of them this past week.  I really don’t know why, but I did.

 Since I can’t keep quiet about anything I do, I told my co-workers. My friend, Shawna, looked at me and said, “You know, Vickie, I’m thinking that you shouldn’t do anything unsupervised. You need supervision.”  So, we spent the rest of our lunch time googling to see who could find the goofiest “real” dating site. I found one for carnival workers.  Someone found one for farmers. Another one for people who like to fish. One for non-smokers. There is a dating site for everyone. So, for those of you who are thinking about joining an online dating service, let me tell you how mine is going so far.

The site I went to offered free registration. You were more than welcome to check out the profiles and see if there is anyone who strikes your fancy. I immediately began seeing some nice looking guys and thought, “Heck, I should join.” I joined for 3 months at $59.00.” They did tell me that it renews automatically, so if you want to cancel, you have to cancel before that date, or you are tied to another minimum period that you signed up for.

 After I signed up, it took me  to my home page so I could work on my profile. My profile sounds a bit stupid, but hey, as Forrest Gump says, “Stupid is as stupid does.” When I finished that, I went back to my homepage to find that I had 8 winks. What the hell? Apparently, people can send winks to you. That supposedly means, “I like what you look like even if your profile sounds stupid.” Or something like that. At the same time, guys started IM’ing me. So, I started talking. Wow, I was feeling pretty. They immediately wanted my phone number or my regular email so we could start talking. Thank goodness I decided not to chat to these guys, because I found out they were mostly spammers. Spammers are guys who start talking to women, and over the course of time start asking for money, etc. I was shocked as to how many women  were scammed out of a lot of money. I went through a whole discussion board full of them. It was sad. And I became very, very suspect of the whole thing.

 I would say that 50% if not more of the profiles I looked at were spammers.  And this is what I picked up on my own. If men, for example, listed their age as 49 and put the range of ages they were interested in was from 30-70, that’s a spammer. On top of that, if they listed that they were a widow, spammer. If they then had poor grammar, it’s a sure sign that he is a spammer. I read on a forum that they steal other people’s profile pictures and snippet’s of other people’s profiles and then lie in wait. It is pretty sad, actually.

 The hardest part of all of this is the real people, who are really hunting for love, seem a little too eager. A guy emailed me and all he wrote was, “I like your profile. I would like to discuss meeting.”  Or, another simply wrote. “Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?” Tomorrow???? That’s like the day after today. I’m not ready for this. Speed dating. People act like they only have a week to live. Do I really want to do this?  I don’t know.

 There are real people out there..

The site I joined lists the profiles of the men who match you 100%. This was a bit frightening at first, because I thought I saw the Unabomber, Ted Kaczynski, as one of my matches. And Santa Claus. And Wally Cox. (People my age will remember who he was.) But, there were attractive people as well. Not to say that Santa Claus isn’t a hunk. He does have a lot going on for himself when he’s not covered in soot.

You have to write down how many miles you are willing to reach out to a potential match. I put 3,000 miles. I mean, can you really put a mile marker on love?  But, in truth, most people limit the area in which they want to search. Which makes sense. But, didn’t you watch Sleepless in Seattle? They ended up at the top of the Empire State Building. They didn’t let distance separate them. ??????  I want to do that. All women want to do that.

The part of the profile that I was not a fan of was the ole “What kind of body do you have?”  You had to check one of the following for yourself: No answer, Slender, Big and Beautiful, Curvy, About Average, Athletic and Toned, Full-Figured, Heavyset, A Few Extra Pounds, or Stocky. Um, okay. First of all, I don’t understand what the difference is between Big and Beautiful, Full-Figured, and Heavyset. Why can’t someone be Heavy-Set and Beautiful?  Well, I knew I wasn’t slender. Sigh. Why did I complain so much when I only weighed 95 pounds in college? I was 108 at age 37, and that was after I had two kids. And then, what the hell happened? Where did the girl go who drove to her doctor and seriously told him that she thought she had a tape worm because she couldn’t gain weight? How did weight sneak up on me the past 15 years. I guess if you let 3 pounds attack you every year, in 15 years you would be where I was. I say “was” because I just lost 23 pounds. I’m determined to get the rest off  by my 55th birthday in November. That’s when I was going to join the online dating site.  But, noooo, I have to join now and am forced to click, “A Few Extra Pounds.”  Dammit. Already feeling like a loser.

If you decide to join an online dating site, put a profile picture on there that is not more than 2 years old. I have a friend who is on the same dating site and met a woman he had been talking to and she had pictures online of herself from 10-15 years ago. He drove a far distance to meet her too. And there she was, all grandma looking. I personally hate my profile pictures. I just can’t take a good picture. But, I put a few on there because I thought I needed to be truthful and not hide. Some people don’t put pictures on until you ask, “So, what do you look like?” I decided to never ask a person for a picture because how do you answer if there isn’t a physical attraction? “Um, thanks for the picture. Hope you find what you are looking for?” I can’t do that. The last thing I want to do is hurt someone’s feelings. But, yet, I was forced to when a man sent me his picture without me even asking. I just told him that I just started with this online dating thing and was overwhelmed and was going to wait before I met anyone in person. Which is what I’ve decided. I am overwhelmed.

Don’t get me wrong. There are real people out there, and they are just waiting for the right connection. And there are friendships that can be formed.

Anywho…so my advice to singles out there is this…..if you think you are ready for online dating, spend the money and see how things go in a couple of months. You are worth it and in the end, even if you don’t find true love, chances are you will find a good friend or two.

At least you won’t have to send anyone back on a train.

NYU Bound: HELP!

My daughter and I are flying to New York City to tour the campus of NYU and check out the neighborhoods. She will be starting grad school in the fall and will be living off campus. I have a feeling that we are going to be walking around like chickens with our heads cut off. So, I am screaming HELP from my fellow bloggers.

 I have been looking at maps of the area around NYU and that’s all I have been doing..looking at maps. I see places such as SOHO and Chelsea and Union Square. I see Grenwich Village west, but wait, there is also Grenwich Village East. She thinks that with a roommate, her rent should only be around $1,000.00. I told her she is living in a dream world.

 I do know that she doesn’t want a long commute. I have read about areas such as Bay Ridge, Park Slope, Carroll Gardens, and Cobble Hill? Where the hell are they? I found Brooklyn, but it looks all the way over there. How will we know what is too far a way from NYU?

 So, dear bloggers, we are heading there in a few days. What areas have safe apartments with a walking distance to restaurants and NYU.? She won’t have a car, and doesn’t ever want a car. I guess that means she always wants to be a city girl. We are stopping by the NYU student housing to look at off campus areas, but I need advice, input, pros and cons to certain areas. Places to stay away from. We are staying in Chelsea, so we will be walking around that area after we get in.

Any suggestions and advice will be greatly appreciated. Thank you.

Hold Your Breath, Here Comes the Tunnel

 When I was little, we lived about 25 minutes from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. It was nothing for us to drive to the airport to watch the planes take off.  We were also close to the Pittsburgh Zoo and Kennywood Park, a well-known amusement park in our area. We went to the big city quite often. But, it was always a thrill to approach the Fort Pitt Tunnel.

  As noted in Wikpedia, “Before entering the tunnel at its southwest end, one sees a commonplace view of Western Pennsylvania’s rolling green hills, but upon exiting at the northeast end, one sees a spectacular view of Pittsburgh’s skyline, often famous as “the best way to enter an American city”. So true, so true.  It is just a barren drive on the parkway. And after exiting the tunnel, a whole world of skyscrapers and bridges appear before you, magically, like Dorothy seeing Munchkinland for the first time. Well, except, this was Pennsylvania and not the great land of Oz.

The one thing that I didn’t like about the drive to Pittsburgh was the tradition of holding your breath when you go through the tunnel. I mean, really? We have to do this? Whose messed up parent invented this?  And is it just with this Pittsburgh tunnel, or is everyone across the nation demented? Everyone was always excited about

I have no idea who this hamster is

 the prospect. “Ooooh, here comes the tunnel. Hold your breath!” And with that, everyone would blow up their cheeks and sit quietly, if not passing out, while they traveled through the tunnel.

From what I understand, if you are able to hold your breath all the way through the tunnel, and then make a wish, that wish is supposed to come true. That’s just wrong. I have always had the lung capacity of a worm. I would never have a wish come true. And what happens if you are in the car with someone who is a slow driver. Like my Grandpa, creator of the traffic jam. He drove like he was heading towards  yesterday. Whatever the hell that means.

the light at the end of the tunnel

My sister could hold her breath until she attained brain damage. That explains so much about her nowadays. So could my brother, David. They would sit through that whole drive through the tunnel and then let out an explosion of air noise when we reached the other side.

So, I did the only thing I knew how to do. Ask questions. My dad rarely answered questions while he was driving. My mom was more than happy to answer questions when she wasn’t swiping us with her hand  when we were fighting.

Now, this does explain a lot

“Vickie, why are you talking? You are supposed to be holding your breath……..Because you are…………..No, it isn’t a law…….I don’t know if the president holds his breath when he goes through a tunnel……..Vickie, you won’t be able to make a wish if you don’t hold your breath…………..Because that’s how it is……….It just is…………..Vickie, that’s ridiculous, dogs don’t hold their breath………..Please be quiet…………..Please……………..Vickie, ENOUGH!”

And then we would be through the tunnel. Sometimes I would pretend to hold my breath. I would puff my cheeks out like a stuffed, over-fed  hamster and still breathe through my nose. I wasn’t born yesterday.

Former tunnel breath holding champion, now mermaid

  In the end, I have no idea why people hold their breath when they go through tunnels. Perhaps parents wanted a bit of peace and quiet and created this as a nice diversion. Perhaps people enjoyed passing out from lack of oxygen.

I know it thrills me to no end.

My Drive to Work with Eric

  I start my morning commute from my temporary abode in Monongah, West Virginia. Monongah is about 2 hours south of Pittsburgh. After you get off of the interstate at Fairmont, you drive 10 minutes on a road that runs along a creek.  I often visualize driving into that creek after a freezing rain. I guess sliding would be a better word. It would be so easy. But, it is through the woods and you do get to drive past Captain Boothes grave. That is important because he haunts the damn place. If you don’t believe me, drive on out there some night at midnight. You will see him. He’ll be easy to spot…well, because he would be the ghost.

 The road to Fairview each morning is not a fun drive.  The road is winding and littered with pot holes and suicidal deer. Coal miners who work at Loveridge mine  drive in their trucks and get right on the back of your bumper until they find a place to pass you.  Oh, there really isn’t a place to pass. But, they find one and give people coming in the opposite direction heart palpitations.

 Do you  ever arrive somewhere and realize that you don’t remember the damn drive because you have so much on your mind? Sometimes I talk to myself. But, most of the time I listen to the Eric and Kevin Show on WVAQ in Morgantown. The sarcasm oozes daily and I like it.  I have realized over the years of listening to Eric that people don’t understand sarcasm at all. They call in to his

photo borrowed from WVAQ

 radio show and give him a hard time. I find myself talking to the stupid people. “Good grief, stupid! He’s being sarcastic!”  Sometimes a guy calls up and just “moos.” Eric calls him Cow Man. He would call Melba and ask her what is in her refrigerator. Over the years we got to know many of the regular people who called into his show. Eric would torture most of the them. What fun.

 I found out today that Eric will be on the radio for the last time on Monday, after 15 years. I’m a little pissed that he didn’t talk with me about this. Oh, he has no idea who I am, but I have been listening to his show in the morning for years. His day ended at 10:00am and that’s what time I would turn off the radio. That’s when I was a stay-at-home mom and was ready for the funny farm. I had little adult conversation and listening to Eric  made me feel like ranting had such purpose. His sarcasm and ramblings  made my day.

 Once I started working, I took Eric with me to Fairview every day. He has no idea he is with me. I don’t think he has any idea how many cars he rides in each morning. I never pay attention to the road when he is  in the car with me. It takes me almost 35 minutes on that damn road each day. Now what am I going to do?

Seriously, what am I going to do?  It was my sarcasm tune-up for the day. It made me ready for my fourth grade students. And all that will change. I will probably become a very boring teacher now. I won’t be able to roll my eyes effectively when I get a strange answer from them.  Seriously, what the hell am I going to do?

 Eric has health issues that he needs to attend to. Something about a cyst on his neck that will need surgery and he may lose his voice. Something about a severe thing with his feet. I don’t really remember, because I am more concerned about how this will affect me.  In the end, Eric McGuire will be missed.  Terribly.

I probably will have to call in sick Monday so I can listen to his whole broadcast.  And it won’t have anything to do with the Super Bowl party I will be attending the night before.  Ok, so I won’t call in sick. But, I’m going to be lost without his radio show during my daily drive.  Many of us will be lost.

What is to become of us?

Wait……. Will Kevin still do the morning show? …..I like Kevin…… Kevin can ride with me in the morning.

Nevermind.

The West Virginia Hamster Law

   The legal system is so messed up. Stupid laws that were passed years ago by stupid people are still on the books in some states. I had fun reading through some of the ridiculous laws that are enacted in some states:

Minnesota- It is illegal to tease skunks.

Michigan- A woman’s hair legally belongs to her husband.

 In NYC, “it is disorderly conduct for one man to greet another on the street by placing the end of his thumb against the tip of his nose and wiggling the extended fingers of that hand.”

Colorado- One may not mutilate a rock in a state park.

Oklahoma-Whale hunting is strictly forbidden.

 Oxford, Ohio- It is illegal for a woman to disrobe in front of a man’s picture.

Omaha, Nebraska-   If a child burps during a church service, his or her parents may be arrested.

Tennessee- It is illegal to lasso a fish.

I paid  particular attention to West Virginia, since I am a mountaineer.  I do want to mention that West Virginia is not the only state that has stupid laws.  Here are some of the laws that are enacted in our wild and wonderful mountain state:

Roadkill may be taken home for supper.

If any person arrived at the age of discretion profanely curse or swear or get drunk in public, he shall be fined by a justice one dollar for each offense. Ok, to me, this means that you can only get fined $1 if you get drunk in public. Why aren’t more people drinking at public events?  This is very disappointing. Every street party now can be a drunken affair. Just hand a cop a $1 and party away.

(Huntington)- It is legal to beat your wife so long as it is done in public on Sunday, on the courthouse steps.

Unmarried couple who live together and “lewdly associate” with one another may face up to a year in prison. Uh Oh.

(Nicholas County)- No member of the clergy is allowed to tell jokes or humorous stories from the pulpit during a church service. 

 The whole reason I am writing this post is because I would like to enact a new law, nation-wide. This would encompass our neighbor to the north as well. Yes, like a North American law.  And here it is:

* Parents must purchase at least one hamster during their child’s lifetime. 

Ok, wait. I see a loophole.

*Parents must purchase at least one live hamster before their child’s tenth birthday and must raise and feed that hamster in their primary residence for it’s entire life. If a parent conveniently lets the hamster out of its cage and it goes missing or it mysteriously dies before it has lived in said primary residence for less than 6 months, the parents must then buy two hamsters. The same law pertains if the hamster is eaten by the family cat or dog, or if it is accidentally electrocuted or drowned.

Ok, that’s better.

Yes, Wendy, my facebook and  fellow teacher friend, this means you. I read your facebook status about buying your daughter a hamster if she keeps her room clean for a month, when you know darn well she won’t keep it clean for 24 hours. Nice try. My new law would force you to buy a hamster sometime soon.

 I think if I had to go through the hamster experience, everyone should. Children promise to take care of their cute little critter, but they never do. It always falls back on Mom.  I had several hamsters growing up. I never took care of any of them. Oh, I played and loved them, but my mom changed its cage. I had one in college that I named Growl Bear. My fiancee (later husband, later ex-husband) made me give it away before we got married because he didn’t want a rodent in the house. (Even though he, himself, is a member of the rodent family. Well, so said my mom)

We ended up getting several when our kids were little.  Because that’s what parents do. That’s what good parents do. Parents aren’t good parents if they don’t buy their child a hamster. So says famed psychologist and pet store owner, Vladimir Nincompoop.

So, Wendy, I will let you know when you can go buy your brand new hamster as soon as this future bill passes (and I don’t see why it wouldn’t, when we are allowed to pick up animals we hit with our cars and take them home to fix for supper).

Enjoy.

Hi Wendy

Eavesdropping 101

 It’s a given that kids like to play with their toys. They will drag them out, play until their little hearts content, and then put them away at the end of the day. Well, some children put their toys away. My son, Adam, didn’t.

 I was a stay-at-home mom, so we played all day. It was like a little day care center. We would make crafts and paint, build with blocks and Lego’s, and color the day away.   Adam liked taking his books and making a road with them. All of the downstairs rooms were open, so he could ride his little Hot wheels car from the kitchen through the living room, the dining room and back into the kitchen. It was at the end of the day, that Adam just didn’t want to pick up all of those books.

 Every time I would ask Adam to pick up his toys, he would ignore me and go about his business. So, I would ask him again. “It’s tooooo much.” he would always reply.

His next line was, “My back hurts.”  He would hold his back like he was in pain, and just couldn’t possibly pick up all of those books. The bending over was just killing him.

 I thought I was being a nice mom by helping him pick up his toys, but I soon realized that he had to learn to do this all by himself. New mothers need to learn a lot too. Trial and error.  So, I told him he had a choice, pick up his toys, or I would put them in a bag for a day and he would not be able to play with them the next day. I don’t think he believed me and off he went.

 So, I got out a black trash bag and started picking up his toys. I walked into the living room and held the bag up. “You can have this back on Tuesday.” Well, that didn’t go well. But, I stuck to my guns and I thought that that would work. It didn’t.

 The next day, Adam decided to place his books on the floor as a road. He and Alex jumped on his little car and away they went. So, when it was time for him to pick up his books, he told me that his back was hurting. Oh, he thought he was a good little actor. But, I was better. He had no idea who he was dealing with.

“You know, Adam, your back has been hurting a lot lately. Almost every day. I think that I am going to have to make an appointment with Dr. Dev. to take a look at your back. I’m really worried about you.”  I stuck a Pee Wee’s Playhouse tape in the tape player, and said on my way to the kitchen, ” Now, you guys please sit and watch this while I make a private phone call to the doctor’s office. I will be back in a few minutes.”

 Well, I knew that Adam was going to eavesdrop. He’s my son. I picked up the phone, with its long cord, and went around the corner, peeking back around like I was going to make a private phone call. He watched my every move. I knew that in a minute, he would be at the corner, eavesdropping on my conversation with the doctor’s office. This was going to be good.

 I dialed the phone. ” Hello, yes. I need to make an appointment for my son to get his back checked.” I went on to tell the receptionist about how his back hurt when he bent over to pick up his toys and how it seemed to be getting worse. They put the doctor on the phone for me. I was whispering, in a loud sort of way.

“Hi, yes, Dr. Dev…………why can’t he just have an x-ray?………………Oh, are you serious?………………….He’ll have to have an operation?……………………..I had no idea…………..I mean, how long will he have to stay in the hospital?………….Oh my gosh, he will not be able to get out of bed for how long?………………..Summer will almost be over by then?…………………Why can’t he go swimming after the operation?……………..Well, is there any way at all I can just watch him for the next week or so to see if his back feels any better. I would hate for him to have a back operation. He’s so young………We are going on vacation in a few weeks.He would have to stay with his Grandma Georgie…….. I hope it is just a muscle hurting or something. I will watch and see, Doctor.”

 I finished my fake conversation, hung up the phone. I could hear Adam run back to his place in front of the tv. I walked in the room, wiping a pretend tear from my eye, and said nothing. His eyes were wide, but he knew he couldn’t tell me he heard the rest of the conversation. “What’s wrong, Mommy? he asked.  “Nothing, sweetie. I just have a piece of dust or something in my eye.”

 That evening Adam came up to me as I was picking up his toys and said “Mommy, I think my back is feeling better. Look.” He bent over 3 or 4 times. “I’m going to try to pick up my toys.”

 ”Well, ok, Adam.”  I hugged him like I was never going to see him again. “Thanks, Adam. Mommy loves you.”

 Adam always picked up his toys after that. 

 And he thought HE was a good actor.

“Augusta Marie…”

  Years ago, when I was a stay-at-home mom and needed an outlet, I decided to collect names. I was going to write a book.  A baby name book or maybe just a book on old first names. I bought a couple baby name books and highlighted the names  I already collected.  In 1992, I didn’t have the luxury of the internet, so I searched through newspapers, phone books and yearbooks. The TV Guide was also a great source of information. The best place for old names was the obituaries. I enjoyed my new hobby and was serious about putting it together for a book. I think I had more than 70.000 names before I stopped and started on something else.

  Old names are great. The name, Mabel, made a comeback when used on the TV show, Mad about You. They named their baby Mabel, to the dismay of friends and families. I loved it.  My sister and I used to play “Ethel and Mabel” in the bath tub when we were little. I’m not too fond of Gwenyth Paltrow naming her son Moses, even though that is a pretty old name. Baby Moses….Nope, don’t like that. Didn’t like Apple either. I wonder if she would name her Apple again?  If she would have had twins, I would have voted for Apple and Dumpling…or Apple and Pie….or Apple and Strudel…. I guess I should stop now.

     I know I wouldn’t give my daughter her middle name again. Lynn. She hates that name. She thought Alexandra Rose had a good ring to it. She’s right. Lynn is an easy, common middle name. My middle name is Lynn. Vickie Lynn. I was adopted at birth and my mom told me that the name Deborah Lee was my name at birth. Debbie. I was always confused as a Debbie or a Cindy growing up. I don’t know why. I had a common face. A common Debbie or Cindy face.  My mom went on to tell me that she called me Vickie Lynn because she had a baby doll when she was little named Vickie Lynn. Seriously, a baby doll named Vickie Lynn? What the hell was wrong with her?

 Well, I should consider the alternative. I was almost called Augusta Marie. Augusta. I could just imagine my mom stepping out on the front porch to yell for me to come home. “Augusta……Augusta……” And when I was bad, the middle name would be added as we all know. I don’t know how I feel about Augusta. I think it would have been really cool to be called Gus as a girl or even Gussie. My great-great aunt was Augusta Marie and they called her Aggie…That wouldn’t have been so bad. But,I  think Aunt Aggie was a lush. So, hey, let’s name your child after her…I guess I’m just not a fan of Vickie Lynn. If I had a choice, I would pick Maggie. It’s my favorite name. I don’t know why.

 Well, after doing some research on “Vickie”, it seems that it was a pretty popular name between 1950 and 1960.  Vickie is a variant of  “Victoria,” which means, “victory.”  Wow. That’s a surprise. In the 1950′s Vickie was #61 in popularity, with 71,966 Vickie’s named during that decade.  In 1960 alone, the Social Security database lists that 107 Vickie’s were born in West Virginia. They were all spelled different ways, however.

There aren’t very many famous Vickie’s out there. There is Vicki Lawrence, Vickie Lynn Hogan, aka Anna Nicole Smith and my favorite,  Miss Vicki, who married the weird-0, Tiny Tim.

  Miss Vicki was only 17 years old, when she married Tiny Tim on the Tonight Show in December, 1969. It was watched by over 40 million viewers.(They later had a baby named Tulip Victoria) The next day and for weeks afterwards, I had to endure being called, “Miss Vicki.” Hell, I still have a classmate that calls me that.  I hated having that name during that time. “Hey, Miss Vickie, where’s Tiny?”  Not fun.

I thought this was a grand name

 I guess there could be worse names. When I was in high school, I used to tell my friends I was going to name my first born Quincy Bozo. I was teasing, of course. But, I still remember that name. Did name a guinea pig that, though. Loved that rodent. There is a little boy in our community named Coleman Heater. I mean, seriously. There is also a boy named Hunner, because his mom didn’t know there was a “t” in there, for Hunter. Say the name a couple of times. I guess you could understand the mistake. Or not.

 First impressions are really important in life. Don’t name your kid Rain Mann…. or Ima Horr….. or Luke Skye Walker… or Emma Roid….Fanny Whiffer…..or Holly Wood….or Candy Kaine……or Brock Lee….or Roxanne Gravel….

or Vickie Lynn

CSI: West Virginia

      If you are a mom, you have to wear many hats. You are (in one long breath), a doctor, a nurse, a vet, a teacher, a psychic, a story teller, a cop, a beautician and barber, a chef, an EMT, a genealogist, a bodyguard, a maid, a professional organizer, a seamstress/costume designer, a personal shopper, a referee, a fashion coordinator and a chauffer. I would like to add another to the long list of  jobs that mothers perform daily :  crime scene investigator.

  You may not think that mothers should put crime scene investigator on their resume, but I beg to differ. Case in point: The Case of the Smeared Ladybugs. It was a new case that I was working on for a few weeks. I had just finished solving,  The Case of the Baby Powder all Over the Carpet with an arrest in that one.

I had two suspects in that case: Big Boy Adam Jay, a curly red-haired punk, age 6.  He’s been downtown at the station several times.  We had his mug shot hanging up all over the place.  He knew the ropes.  The kid  knew how to use his noodle.  I soon found out  he had an accomplice, Baby Face Alex. Alex was Big Boy’s sister. She was 5 years old. Soon, she was singing like a canary.  Big Boy called her a Stool pigeon. I told him to shut his yap. She didn’t want to go to the big house.

  During interrogations under the lights, Alex spilled her guts. She fingered Big Boy as the culprit. He was the brains of the operation. In a nutshell, Baby Face told me that they didn’t want to move. It was explained that the new house was almost complete and that she and her brother were to box up their possessions for the move to the country. They talked and decided to sabatoge the house-selling process. Big Boy figured that if they made the house “ugly and smelly”, no one would want to buy it. So, one night, they took a large container of Johnson and Johnson Baby Powder, and sprinkled it all over  their bedroom carpet, beds, and dressers. It looked like snow on Christmas morning.

  During the investigation, I also found smashed jelly beans in the carpet throughout the house. They also put Match box cars on the steps leading to the second floor  for the prospective buyers to trip on and tumble down the stairs to their death.  The cars appeared their daily, but the two denied any involvement. I had to interrogate the only other occupant in the house that could have been responsible, their father, Clueless Jay. He wasn’t aware there was a second floor.

 After I shut the books on that case, and we made our move to the country, so our children could lead a normal life away from the big crime city of Monongah, population 345 1/2 (Don’t ask) , I noticed a smashed lady bug on my kitchen nook window. Somehow lady bugs entered our new home and enjoyed crawling on my nice, clean windows. Someone had murdered the lipstick-red insect. It appeared upon further investigation, that the perpetrator put his or her finger directly on the lady bug, crushing it to the window,

scene of the crime

and then smearing its remains down the window for approximately 4 inches. Someone in the new house was a cold-blooded killer.

a line-up, several years and 4 cases later

  This did not sit well with me. After all, Jeffrey Dahmer started off by taking wings off of butterflies. Soon, he was eating people. I had to nip this in the bud. First, lady bugs, and then the killer would move on to ant hills or earthworms. I was an animal lover. A lady bug has worth, and perhaps some bug children somewhere else in the house.

 I immediately ruled out Baby Face Alex. I knew she had it in her heart not to hurt anything. Her stuffed animal dog buddy, Fluffy, recently fell off of her bed and Baby Face cried  because, “Fluffy is paralyzed.”  I was impressed by the kid’s vocabulary. So, I eliminated her as a suspect. I interrogated Clueless Jay, who had no idea what a nook was. My only other suspect was Big Boy, and he didn’t squeal. He denied any involvement, especially after my “all animals have feelings” talk. I saw him crying outside , while playing with his Tonka trucks. Good. That meant there was still time before we had to start calling him Jeffrey.

 But, he still wouldn’t budge. So, I  brought out the big guns. I had Scotch tape and powdered sugar. And a big ole lie. I brought them into the kitchen nook.

 ”Big Boy, Baby Face, this is how I am going to find out who killed the lady bug and smeared it down the window.  I am going to take some of this powder I got from a police officer and lightly put it in the smear.”  I took some powder and brushed it with one of those little plastic watercolor brushes onto the lady bug guts. “Now, I will take a piece of tape and press it against the window. I will leave it on their for exactly one minute. This will then give me a fingerprint.”  I looked at my watch for a minute. ” Ok, now I will carefully peel the tape off of the window and hang it in the air for 30 seconds.”  Some more watch looking. “Ok, now, I have fingerprints of the person who smeared the lady bug.  The police officer told me that after I do this, it will only take about 10 seconds for the white powder to appear on the finger of the person who did this.”

  As soon as I said that, Big Boy Adam brought his hands up and looked at his fingers. “Gotcha!” I said to him. The procedure made absolutely no sense, and that’s what made it brilliant. Score one for the mom.

RIP Lei Dee Bahg

 And that’s how I solved The Case of the Smashed Ladybug.  Big Boy and Baby Face grew up to be upstanding citizens and although there were a few more cases I will delve into at a later time, they never spent any time in the big house. And that’s because of yet another hat I wore.

 So, yeah, mom’s should add crime scene investigator to their portfolio. And we should all get to look like Marg Helgenberger.

Hello, Circadian Dysrhythmia

Image via Wikipedia

Benjamin Franklin was a very wise man, but I still curse him twice a year, nontheless. He was credited for coming up with the idea of Daylight Saving Time.  Ben thought that we should go to bed early and rise early so we could be healthy, wealthy and intelligent. I don’t think it works that way.  He thought that more daylight meant saving wax for all the candles. Maybe he was tired of reading his almanac by candlelight.

 All I know is that I physically change all the clocks in my house, but my  biological, circadian clock won’t budge. We SPRING forward and FALL behind.  Sure, I gain an hour in the fall, but the time change messes with me for a good week. I am not looking forward to this at all. Sunday marks the end of Daylight Saving Time and the beginning of my moaning and complaining.

If you have ever suffered from jet lag, then perhaps you can understand what a shift in time can do to a person. I am tired. Circadian dyshrythmia. I have lost my rhythm. I become awkward in oh, so many ways.

So, who else can I blame for this? Surely not Arizona, the only state that will not buckle to the pressure to lose and gain time. Arizona has more sunshine than Florida, the Sunny Sunshine state. They don’t need a time shift.

In 1918, the United States adopted  Daylight Saving Time for the duration of  World War I. This allowed  people to spend more time hanging out in daylight, thus saving costs on fuel for lighting. It was abolished, brought back, abolished and then in 2005, Congress enacted the Energy Policy Act, which changed Daylight Saving Time dates again. As of March 2007, Daylight Saving Time begins on the second Sunday in March and ends on the first Sunday of November. It just sucks. Daylight Saving Time stays around now  past Halloween, where some little trick-or-treaters were getting hit by cars at night. Well, that is what reflective tape is for, my little munchkins. Trick or treating during daylight is just wrong. But, no one listens to me.

 

I would really like to know what the hell is saved? I know that it is a reminder to change the batteries in your smoked detector and Arm &Hammer let’s us know that it is time to change the box of baking soda in your refrigerator, but hey, that is just to strum up some business. The energizer bunny doesn’t suffer from the time shift. I bet more batteries are purchased around this time than at Christmas. Well, maybe not, but it’s a gimmick to change your smoke detector. But, as most of you know, the smoke detector will let you know when it is time. It will freakin beep at 3 minute intervals until you change the damn thing.

 

  The only thing that was fun about the time change was accidentally sleeping through church when we were small. Oops, Mom and Dad, you forgot to spring forward. Aw, shucks, we missed church. Looks like we can think about God from our warm beds.  I did convince a college roommate that it was against the law to change the clocks before 2a.m. I told her that it was a law enforcement thing. If the police were called to a residence for anything after 11pm and they wrote down the wrong time, it might be a critical mistake, so a law was enacted in West Virginia that stated that all clocks could not be turned back before 2a.m. or a $500 fine would be imposed on anyone who turned their clocks back earlier. She believed me and set her alarm for 2am to set her clock back. She was so easy.

  In the end, I still haven’t found anything that is saved.  All the deer in the United States live in West Virginia and cross the road on my way to work.  Do they suffer from circadian dysrhythmia? I bet they do.  Daylight Deer Time. Will they now operate an hour earlier or hour later?   School children will be standing at the bus stop in the dark, wrapped in reflective tape. Or wait. Won’t it be daylight if we turn back our clocks? That means they are wrapped in reflective tape just because. See, now I am confused about when it will be dark and when it will be light. This just sucks. I don’t need to be anymore confused than I already am.

I guess there is some good to Daylight Saving Time. Raccoons will have more time to pillage through garbage cans.  Robbers can eat breakfast at the home they are robbing.

I really can’t stress how much I hate the time change.

Damn you, Ben Franklin.

I Believe in Mary Worth…I Believe in Mary Worth

When I was young, we held seances whenever we had the chance. It didn’t have to be on or near Halloween. We usually went to Lori’s house, our friend who lived right across the street. She had a small fruit cellar in her basement that was jus the perfect place to light a candle, shut the door, and burn to death. But, we never dropped the candle and we never stopped chanting.

    We really had no idea who the hell Mary Worth was, but we believed in her.

We believe in you, whoever you are

Tweens have no brains, they really don’t.  There were usually four of us who held these seances. We would stand in a circle, shut the fruit cellar door, and slowly begin to chant into a mirror,  I can’t remember for sure, but I think Lori put a mirror on one of the shelves, leaning it against the wall.  You had to have a mirror, because Mary Worth was supposed to appear in it.

We would start the chant, always serious, because we knew this would work.

We would start with a whisper. “I believe in Mary Worth……I believe in Mary Worth….” I think that’s  all we said. But, we said it over and over and over again, because that’s what you had to do if you wanted to bring her back.  Those were the rules.  I think that anywhere between the third and thirteenth chant, Mary Worth was supposed to appear in the mirror, looking all vengeful and malicious.

 So, who was Mary Worth, you ask?  Well, hell, I don’t know. So, I looked her up for your reading enjoyment. There  are many different stories about Mary Worth. Some call her Bloody Mary.  One account is that Mary was wrongly accused of killing her children. She went mad and commited suicide. 

  I honestly can not remember if we even knew the circumstances of  “our” Mary. We just enjoyed scaring each other and occasionally  getting locked in the fruit cellar. Lori’s mom would also at times don a  mask and slowly open the door to scare us.

  So, this Halloween, whatever you do, don’t repeat that phrase while standing in front of a mirror.

Unless of course, you want Mary Worth to appear, wondering who the hell  you are.

Pepperoni Rolls….Yum

 I often stop by a place called Colassessano’s Pizza to pick up a pepperoni roll with sauce and cheese. Many of you are probably wondering, “What in the world is a pepperoni roll?”  Well, let me tell you. I know them quite well. I have been eating them since 1974.

  Many years ago, Italian immigrants traveled to North Central West Virginia to work in the coal mines. Many of them settled in or near the city of Fairmont, which is about 2 hours south of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Miners used to carry  hunks of bread, cheese, and pepperoni in their lunch pails.

     In the early 1920′s, Giuseppe, “Joseph” Argiro, a miner himself, realized that it was awkward to bite into the hunk of bread and pepperoni at the same time. The conditions weren’t the best for the underground miners. So, he decided to slice the pepperoni into smaller pieces and bake it  into the bread.  It was an instant success. It was so successful, that he later quit work in the mines to open his own bakery, Country Club Bakery.

 He passed the recipe on to his son, Frank “Cheech” Argiro who owned the Country Club Bakery until 1997.  Cheech was good friends with my husband’s grandmother, so we were able to hear from her all of the details of the famous pepperoni roll invention. Others have claimed to be the first, but don’t believe them. Frank Argiro was King Pepperoni Roll.

A pepperoni roll is a few thin slices of pepperoni baked in dough. Pepperoni grease seeps out of the ends of the roll as it’s baked, leaving an orangish-red coloring  at either end. Some places, like Colassessano’s Pizza, which is famous in of itself, split their buns open and place cheese, marinara sauce and peppers (if you like) on the bun before baking.

  There are many bakeries in the area that make pepperoni rolls. There used to be a place in the small town of Monongah that I stopped by often when I was pregnant with my son, Adam. I ate there so often, that the owner told me that I was going to have a child with red hair because of all the sauce I was eating. After his birth, I took him into the shop and place his car carrier down on the counter. Lo and behold, red hair.

  If you ever get the chance to travel through West Virginia, stop and have a pepperoni roll. I guarantee you that you will order more to take with you. They travel well and don’t need refrigerated. I think most West Virginian’s  stop and buy a bag of pepperoni rolls if they are getting ready to go on vacation or a long car trip.

  One word of advice- If you have never had a pepperoni roll before, don’t buy the ones that are sitting on a counter in a convenience store. They are ok, depending on the vendor, but your first experience should be at a table, perhaps with a beer and music in the background.

  North Central West Virginia includes cities such as Morgantown, Fairmont, and Clarksburg.  Interstate 79 runs right past those three cities. If you want to see the true Pepperoni Roll Capitol of the World, you would get off Exit 132 at Fairmont, also home of gymnast Mary Lou Retton and me, a mediocre blogger.

   Enjoy!

MonkeyShines

Most, if not all of my adventures when I was growing up in Weirton, West Virginia, were with my best friend, Ramaine. She lived down the street from me, and we were attached at the hip.  We were in Camp Fire Girls together.  We rode the school bus together. We had a cabin in the woods together.  It seemed like we were laughing all day long.  My childhood was great because I had a best friend who was just like me. We lived outside the box, and had some very creative days.  And, boy, were we stylish… We even  bought white pants with pictures of the Monkees faces all over the pants.  We were weird, but knew how to laugh at ourselves.  We did that quite well. Sang the definition of “lima bean” into a tape recorder.  The word, “bored”, was not in our vocabulary. The only difference we had was that she was a gerbil person, and I was a hamster person.  Which lead us to the pet shop.

We used to visit the pet shop often.It was at the Weirton plaza, a little strip of stores near our homes. The guy had a lot of different animals at the pet shop.  One particular visit to the pet shop concluded in uncontrollable laughter, one that I can say  was the hardest I ever laughed in my whole life. Ramaine reminded me that we were in 8th grade when this happened. Dear God, she even remembers what she was wearing that day. Well, it was a day for the record books, that’s for sure.

The pet store was small, with a long counter with rows of animals in their little cages beneath it. The place was jammed with critters. I couldn’t bring myself to look at the snakes, though. There was even a mynah bird that cussed like you wouldn’t believe. It always amused me. But, on this particular day,  I was on my knees, looking at a mother hamster and newborns on the bottom row. Ramaine was standing, bent over a little, looking at something else, when all of a sudden she asked, “What’s on my head?”  I stood up, and my mouth dropped open.  I didn’t or couldn’t say a word. A spider monkey  had stepped off the top of the counter right onto her head. I really think I could have put my fist in my mouth.  ”What’s on my head?” she repeated. Well, hell, I couldn’t answer. I mean, there was a monkey on her head. Just sitting there. Ramaine reached up to feel what was on her head, and the monkey swatted her hand away. “What’s on my head?”  She was expecting her bestest friend to give her an answer. She was panicking a little, starting to pace, and I  was not answering, but standing there with a big smile on my face. Ramaine tried to bend over, and that’s when the little fellow grabbed her hair with both little hands to hang on. That’s when I first started laughing.

“What’s on my head????”  Everytime her hand went up to feel what kind of creature was sitting there, he would release one hand from grasping onto her hair and slap it away. I couldn’t speak. I was laughing so hard. It was one of those silent, belly laughs, where you shake, but no sound comes out of your mouth. Now, Ramaine was pacing faster and moving her head, and bringing up her one leg for some reason, and that monkey was hanging on for dear life and I just couldn’t tell her that there was a monkey on her head.  It reminded me of  a little monkey jockey, riding something. I was in awe.  I had never seen a live monkey.  I did look around to see if a little old man with an organ grinder was standing nearby.

“VICKiE,  GET IT OFF!!  WHAT IS IT?  GET IT OFF!”  That monkey must have liked the view, because he had no intention of leaving Ramaine’s head.  She looked like she was having a seizure. Her arms and legs were flailing all about,  and the monkey was leaning to the left and then to the right, and would only take his hand off of the death grip on the her hair to swat at Ramaine.

I had to sit down on the floor. I started laughing so hard, I peed my pants. This is a recurring theme for me. Laugh. Pee. Repeat. “It’s a monkey….”  I finally was able to speak. “I peed my pants.”  Ramaine didn’t care. She had a monkey on her head.   The owner finally came over and had to pry the little monkeys fingers from her hair. It wasn’t working too well..  Finally, a banana (I think I am making this part up) was waved in front of  the monkey’s face and he left her head and went to sit on the owner’s shoulder. I found out later that the monkey’s name was Ginger. Ginger, I wish I had my camera that day.

I’m glad Ramaine was able to laugh about the whole thing on the way home. But, it was a nervous laugh, I could tell. I was sitting on a towel my mom brought for me and had to explain why, once again, I peed my pants. “I’m going to have to make an appointment for you to see Dr. Harper. There must be something wrong with your kidneys.”  No, did you not hear me?  There was a MONKEY on her head. I mean, come on.  Urination justification.