'tis the season...

Being the social butterflies that we are not, we got invited to one wedding this season. The groom was a guy that Bear worked with a few years ago. Nice guy, and the girl he's marrying is a sweetie, too. As we are not more than casual acquaintances (we have never, not even once, hung out socially with this couple), I feel free to let the commentary flow unhindered.

The church was the ugliest building I have ever seen. It resembled a cross (pun!) between a prison and an elementary school, which, come to think of it, is basically the same thing - a place where immature people go to wise up. Anyhoo, it was ghastly. From the dirty beige terrazzo floors IN THE SANCTUARY to the baby-blue stained glass goblet patterned windows, the place was a freak show. They had fake plastic flowers festooning Our Lady of Unexpected Flatulence, and on the other side was some string nailed to the wall behind Saint Paul Myfinger.

The priest was a cheerful, friendly little fellow who gave a lovely service. His pre-ceremony banter included a spiritual parody of the Three Little Pigs (his words, not mine). I found this especially meaningful since I, at my porkiest, was one of the skinniest women in the entire room. Really, though, just one of the arm-wattles in that room could've fed Darfur.

I enjoyed watching the photographer and videographer have simultaneous panic attacks when someone's cell phone started ringing loudly in the very middle of the really important part of the ceremony. The ring tone was something like the music of a carnival merry-go-round. Jingly and repetitive, blending well with the mantra of "shit, shit, SHIT" being chanted by the owner of the offending phone as she went snorkeling in her purse.

As it was a Friday afternoon wedding, Bear and I had both gotten the OK to leave work early in order to attend. When the ceremony was over, we headed on up to the country club where the reception was to be held. Even with the 5 o'clock traffic, we were the first to arrive. Happily, the sun had come out, the humidity took a powder, and the club had some lovely gardens to wander around in while we waited. There were fountains, flowers, trees, and a waterfall. Bear and I relaxed by the fountains, watching the wait staff and bartenders bustling about inside the club in preparation for the big do. Since Bear is a bartender and I am a waitress, it was fun for us to be on the other side of things for once.

One of my favorite things to do is to attend a party where I don't know a single soul - so this shindig was right down my alley. For Bear, it was something of a reunion, as many of his compadres from the old job were invited guests. I got to meet the guys and their wives, and they all seemed like nice folks. We had such a good time during the cocktail hour, because there were outside tables, bartenders that made lovely whiskey sours, and guys with silver trays of hors d'ouvres kept coming by and feeding us while soft music drifted from hidden speakers. I could have done that all night.

Unfortunately, at some point they directed us all inside for the reception. Bear and I were not assigned a table with the couple we had spent cocktail hour with - we got the table jammed back in the corner next to the DJ and the amps. The food was OK, but I was looking forward to the dancing. I love me some dancing. And weddings are some of the only occasions where you can count on some good old school dance songs, like "Brick House".

Well.

The DJ's idea of running a dance floor was to never ever play a song all the way through, and to bogart the microphone at five second intervals and yell:

1. LET ME HEAR EVERYBODY SCREAM!!!!
2. PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!!!!
3. EVERYBODY GET IN THE CENTER OF THE DANCE FLOOR!!!!
4. LET ME HEAR YOU SCREAM!!!!
5. GET THE LADIES IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FLOOR!!!!
6. PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!!!!
7. ALL YOU MEN GET IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FLOOR!!!!
8. EVERYBODY SCREAM!!!!!

Do you see how even reading that makes your nerves stand on end a little bit, and your toes kind of scrunch up in your shoes, and you want to hit someone? Do you see how you find yourself compelled to say "mother may I"? Just picture those 8 lines repeated endlessly for three hours at a volume so high that the space shuttle reported picking up the transmission. My left eardrum is permanently damaged, I think. Talking to anyone at our table was completely impossible. I had a screaming headache by ten o'clock, so Bear and I ran for it.

It was fun, though - getting out of work early on a Friday, getting dressed up, going out with Bear. Hell, I have another eardrum that works just fine!

a poem i found today

THE THINGS THAT MATTER.

Now that I've nearly done my days,
And grown too stiff to sweep or sew,
I sit and think, till I'm amaze,
About what lots of things I know:
Things as I've found out one by one--
And when I'm fast down in the clay,
My knowing things and how they're done
Will all be lost and thrown away.

There's things, I know, as won't be lost,
Things as folks write and talk about:
The way to keep your roots from frost,
And how to get your ink spots out.
What medicine's good for sores and sprains,
What way to salt your butter down,
What charms will cure your different pains,
And what will bright your faded gown.

But more important things than these,
They can't be written in a book:
How fast to boil your greens and peas,
And how good bacon ought to look;
The feel of real good wearing stuff,
The kind of apple as will keep,
The look of bread that's rose enough,
And how to get a child asleep.

Whether the jam is fit to pot,
Whether the milk is going to turn,
Whether a hen will lay or not,
Is things as some folks never learn.
I know the weather by the sky,
I know what herbs grow in what lane;
And if sick men are going to die,
Or if they'll get about again.

Young wives come in, a-smiling, grave,
With secrets that they itch to tell:
I know what sort of times they'll have,
And if they'll have a boy or gell.
And if a lad is ill to bind,
Or some young maid is hard to lead,
I know when you should speak 'em kind,
And when it's scolding as they need.

I used to know where birds ud set,
And likely spots for trout or hare,
And God may want me to forget
The way to set a line or snare;
But not the way to truss a chick,
To fry a fish, or baste a roast,
Nor how to tell, when folks are sick,
What kind of herb will ease them most!

Forgetting seems such silly waste!
I know so many little things,
And now the Angels will make haste
To dust it all away with wings!
O God, you made me like to know,
You kept the things straight in my head,
Please God, if you can make it so,
Let me know something when I'm dead.

E. Nesbit, 1905

Boo

Ghost of Cheez Doodle - revisited.

So I was reading the Wicked Winter blog, and JAZ was talking about ghost stories. I know everyone has heard one sort or another, whether from boyscout campfires or family Hallowe'en parties.

My mother's side of the family has a really interesting set of actual, first-hand ghost stories. Things that happened to them, not things they heard from other people. For example, my grandfather, when he was courting my grandmother, used to have to walk across the top of the mountain from his house to hers. No roads, no streetlights, just a lantern he carried by hand to light his way through the fields.

One night as he was walking home from a late date, a thunderstorm hit and the rain started to pour down. My grandfather burrowed into a haystack to wait out the worst of the storm. Just as he was getting settled under an overhang of hay, a pair of boots wandered into the circle of lantern light on the ground in front of him. There was blood on the boots, and blood dripping down the legs of the pants above the boots.

When my grandfather raised his lantern, the light traveled up the body... up, up... but where the head should have been was nothing but the blackness of the night.

My grandfather blasted out of that haystack, threw the lantern to the four winds, and took off for home without pausing to look back.

And then there are the stories my mother told me...

When my mom and her older sister left the mountains of North Carolina to come to the Big Apple, they did so out of necessity. Their father, my pappy, was ill, and the family desperately needed money. My mom and my aunt got a little apartment together and worked for a large NY newspaper, sending money home to help out.

My mother's bed was just under the windows, across the room from the bedroom door. Her sister slept on the couch. They couldn't afford air conditioning, so they slept with the windows open and prayed for a cooling breeze during the hot summer nights. There was a loose floor board that squalled every time my mom would cross the room to get into bed. It wasn't exactly a fancy apartment, but they were just glad to have a roof over their heads, and to be together in the big city.

One night as my mom was tossing and turning, trying to get to sleep in sweaty sheets on a stifling and mercilessly windless August night, she heard the door to her room squeak open. Then she heard the loose floor board in the middle of the room give a squawk. When she turned her head to look, a white ghost-man was standing next to her bed. He bent over her, and blew softly on her face. His breath was as cold as the air from a freezer when you open the door to get ice cubes.

She screamed and covered her head with the sheet. When she looked again, he was gone.

Another night, in the same apartment, my mother was sitting on the couch reading a magazine while her sister fixed dinner in the kitchen. She felt a hand press down over the top of her head from behind, and thought her big sister was playing a joke on her. She said, "Claudette, that's not funny."

Ten feet in front of where my mother sat on the couch, Claudette stuck her head out of the kitchen doorway and said, "What did you say?".

Some thoughts before work

I've come to the sad realization that while summer is a great season for getting outdoors and doing things, it's the slow season for blogging. Some of my favorite blogs have actually closed down, while others have just slowed to a crawl.... like my own, I fear. It's not that I have nothing to say, it's that I'm so busy out doing things that I have no time or inclination to write!

Got up a little early this morning because Bear had to go in to work early, and I always like to have my morning coffee with him. Here are my morning ruminations:

I'm so excited - we got our grill up and running and have actually had two barbecue dinners already! Boigers one night, and marinated chicken the next. Last night we ate cold leftover grilled chicken with fresh avocado slices and whole wheat pita bread. It's getting damn healthy around here!

I don't understand why anyone (except her coke dealers) cares that Paris Hilton is or isn't out of jail.

It's a given that news broadcasters have the responsibility of keeping us up to date on what's happening in the world, but I question the use of phrases like "oral sex" during the morning news shows. There are families all over America getting their kids ready for school, and I wonder if it's really appropriate for non-cable news programs to be saying things like that while small children are having their Cheerios. I'm not a prude, and that phrase doesn't bother me in the least - as a matter of fact... but the point is, while I don't think that the law should prevent freedom of speech, it wouldn't hurt for newscasters to have a little consideration when choosing their words.

There's been a tightness in my chest the past few days - feels like someone heavy is sitting on it. I think it's residual stress from my dad being in the hospital, my uncle's memorial service, and now my grandmother being in the hospital and not doing too spectacularly. I'm okay on the outside of things, keeping up with my duties and enjoying my garden, taking care of my cats and remembering to get the bills paid... but it seems that my body is telling me that the stress is still lurking in there.

I would like to see Angelina's new movie "A Mighty Heart", but with all the sad stuff that has happened in my life recently, I'm not sure I'm ready for it just yet.

Bear's birthday is coming up at the beginning of next month, and I've planned a special surprise for him. Annoyingly, he is not chomping at the bit to find out what it is. Buddhists! Hmmph. *wink* I was looking forward to being wheedled, but no dice.

We're finally getting caught up on the Sopranos, season 6. I'm not sure if I like the plethora of artsy-fartsy dream sequences or not, but I do like the fact that Tony's horizons are being opened up a bit. Though I don't think he's going to change, really, it's good to see that he is considering life in a larger perspective - at least until the next "hit".

I've contracted an upholsterer to completely re-do our antique sofa. Covering, stuffing, springs, the woiks. Sometime next week they are going to pick it up and begin the beguine. I wonder what we are going to sit on in the livingroom while the sofa is away at the sofa spa. All our other sitting utensils are straight-backed and not exactly comfortable for slouching and watching the tube. I do know one thing - the sofa being gone will enable me to clean out five years of dust bunnies! Not sure I'm looking forward to that or not.

There are two new sets of baby birdies in our bird houses! The first batch already hatched and learned to fly, and now there are new little beaks poking out of the holes and yelling for food. I love watching the parents feed them in the mornings. Cute little bastards.

My job is going well, although summer is the slow time. It's really weird because I get to work in the morning, roll up my sleeves, and wade in. By lunch time, I've gotten everything done. And the phone never rings. And nothing happens much until 5pm. And my office is the size of a postage stamp. And I can't leave the room - in case the phone rings. Which it never does, until I have to go to the bathroom, or to get the mail, in which case it's my boss, who then wonders what the hell I'm doing not answering the phone.

Bear and I are going to a Friday afternoon wedding this week. I think that having a wedding in the middle of a work day is kind of stupid. On the other hand, getting out of work early is great if your boss agrees to it. I wonder if I'll be able to squeeze my arse into anything suitable to wear.

Well, it's off to the salt mines for me. Hope you all are enjoying summer!

My Theme Song

Our (Wedding) Song - And I Mean It More Today Than I Did In 2002!

Our (Pre-Wedding) Song

snakes and snails and puppy dog tails

Just got back from a week in North Carolina with my family. The usual combination of good times and misunderstanding. Sometimes it seems that the foundation of all southern family life is the preparation, service, and clearing away of food. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Those with the best recipes win. Those who are deemed to have tried too hard to help or have not helped enough are equally berated behind their backs. The skinny women who have spent too many of their youthful years sunbathing sit at one end of the table discussing the face lift they'd love to get. The heavy women sit at the other end and have another helping of banana pudding layered with Nilla wafers. The men who are not (at the moment) being bossed around by their wives are discussing heavy machinery or the art of killing animals. The men who are individual thinkers are wondering if anyone will ever stop to have an intelligent conversation with them. The women with children ask the women without children when they are planning to have children, and when we tell them never, they act like they can't hear us. It's a surreal experience.

My uncle's memorial service went really well. The highlight for me was getting to see some dear friends who came all the way from Hawaii. We stayed at their house when we went to Maui some ten, thirteen years ago. Would love to go visit them with Bear. He and "Mr. Maui", who is native born Hawaiian, hit it off famously and I just know we'd have a riproaring time.

Odd part about the family "reunion" of sorts was that all the relatives that bemoan the fact that I live all the way up in New York, all the relatives that beg me to move down to the blistering heat of the south, all of them spent less than ten minutes each in meaningful conversation with me the entire week I was down there. I had more deep conversation with people at the memorial service whom I'd never met before. A lovely east Indian couple. A few clients of my aunt, who is a massage therapist. The daughter of an old friend of my Hawaiian friends. My family members were too busy doing something else, talking to someone else, always. I think my family likes the idea of me better than they like the real me.

Aside from saying goodbye to my uncle, this trip was also the first time I'd been down to my mom's house since my dog died. They put up a huge grave marker with her name, the years of her birth and death, and the epitaph "Our Forever Dog". I know it should have made me cry, but it didn't. I think my old doggie would have liked a simple rock cairn better, but I know that stone marker is for my mom more than anything. I found that dog when she was just a puppy, wandering around in an empty parking lot. She got to grow old on a 43 acre farm, running and playing and being taken care of like a queen. She breathed fresh air, had a wonderful German shepherd for a playmate, and lived life to the fullest. I am not sad that she got old and died, I am happy she really lived while she was young. May we all be so fortunate.

Took the four hour drive up into the mountains to see my grandmother on Monday. She was feeling so poorly that she only sat up to visit for ten or fifteen minutes, and had to go back to bed. It was good to see her again, but sad under the circumstances.

Even sadder when I found out that my mom's youngest sister has been angling to get her hands on the rest of my grandmother's property (she's already in possession of her portion) when my grandmother passes on. The part of the property that is, in fact, going to be deeded to me. When she asked me (during a picnic lunch at my mom's house on Sunday) if I was planning to move down there to live when I inherited the property, I thought she was asking out of friendly curiosity - I didn't know I was being pumped for information. Now that I know, I feel quite differently towards her.

During this trip, I read Katherine Hepburn's autobiography, "Me" from cover to cover. One of the best and saddest things I've ever read.

Mom surprised me by getting my old piano tuned before I came down. I had no sheet music with me, so I sat and toodled around with whatever songs had stuck to the sides of my brain. Lucky for me, I had enough stuff memorized to be able to play for folks who wanted to hear. Whew!

One of the highlights of the week was sitting on my mother's wraparound front porch in the cool morning breeze, drinking hot coffee, and watching the hummingbirds belly up to the bar on her four hanging feeders. There are all different sizes and colors (the birds), and they dogfight like F-14s even though there is plenty of room for all of them.

There were bright yellow orioles decorating the pine trees like summer Christmas ornaments, eating from the thistle seed socks hung in the magnolia trees. Huge hawks rode the thermals looking for meals on wheels. Deer came by twos and threes into the meadow below the house to eat the corn left out for them, a peace offering for their avoidance of the vegetable garden. We made daily walks to the garden with my mom to pick squash, asparagus, cucumbers, and tomatoes for fresh side dishes every night. Too delicious!

I also enjoyed going down to the beehive and watching the bees working. Their breath smells like honeyed bread baking. I was a little worried I'd get stung, but they were all so intent on their work they didn't even know I was there. I'm looking forward to getting a batch of homemade honey from them, so we can make some mead!

Speaking of mead, we've got two huge carboys in the pantry that should have been bottled months ago. Time is getting away from us.

My sister and her husband took us out on their new Stingray speed boat. We went to a big lake that's about half an hour from their house, and with the help of major sunblock we managed to get through a few hours of boating and swimming without so much as a red nose or shoulder. Truly a miracle, seeing as how I'm "so white I'm green". It was the first time that Bear and I have been swimming together for recreation. (Back in the police academy, we had to go swimming, but that was with all our clothes on and in the presence of 200 other people - not exactly romantic.)

On the boat ride home, I noticed that my swimsuit seemed to be staying very wet at the bottom, and was horrified to find that the redcoats had charged and basically destroyed my bathing suit. Luckily, I did not leave stains on their brand new white boat interior, but I had to ride the whole way back to shore with a bath towel wrapped around my waist and my legs clamped together like a Victorian damsel. When we finally got to shore, I was horrified to find that the women's bathroom was not only a "one fer" with no stalls, but the lock on the door was broken. I jammed a couple hundred paper towels in my crotch for the ride home, which seemed more like two hours instead of the half an hour I knew it was.

We got up at 4:00AM today and my mom and her husband drove us to the airport. We got on the flight to Philly with no problem, but (as usual) the flight out of Philly was delayed an hour and a half. We were lucky, and our "maintenance delay" did not turn into a cancellation, and we got to sit next to each other on the ride home. The parking fee was $85, which I had not expected, but should have. Luckily I had almost the exact amount in my wallet.

We arrived home to find the obligatory detritus caused by the careening of cats off the shelves. Only one house plant had been dislodged from its water catching dish, and happily it had remained upright. Several figurines, pictures, and etc. were knocked to the floor but not broken. One of the cats had apparently climbed on the stove and turned one of the knobs slightly, so there was a definite smell of gas in the house when we arrived. Luckily, we'd left all the windows open slightly, and did not come home to dead cats or an ashtray where our house used to be. All of our pansies are dead, the lobelia is withered away to a straw mop in the planter by the gate, and the impatiens were near to death. The squirrels pulled up four more of my little trees that were doing so well and left them bare-rooted on the brick patio.

But.

The daylilies are in bloom, and we only missed one day of blooms. The pink climbing roses are just blooming - we didn't miss them after all! The evening primrose are blindingly yellow and cheerful in all the right spots. The cats are all (yes, even outside Jack) present and accounted for, and extremely happy to see us.

Also, my father is home from the hospital and sounds one hundred and ten percent better. His voice is clear and he's got his old pizzazz back. His brother, my uncle, came up and spent this past week with him and they had a really good visit.

When I returned home, I found a letter from Judi Dench waiting for me! She answered my questions specifically, and said she was delighted that I enjoyed her book. Okay, the letter wasn't from her specifically, but it was dictated by her according to the postscript. I'm still pretty damn thrilled. I always get that little tummy jump when I see one of those red, white and blue envelopes they use over in the UK. Mail from other countries is always so exciting. And from Judi Dench herself!

The new television system actually recorded the Larry King interview with Angelina Jolie in its entirety, and I was happy to learn that she will be on "Anderson Cooper 360" tonight, as well. Of course, I'm recording that, too. She is such a superwoman.

The stars are in their heaven and all is right with the world. It's good to be home.

Now I just need another week to get over last week... but no, it's off to work tomorrow morning.

Thais of friendship

On Sunday, Bear and I went to a Thai Buddhist fair, which was held to raise money for the new temple they are building. I know the above picture is from 2005, but that's only because I was a complete EEEJIT and forgot to bring my camera to the fair. (I'm still kicking myself over that one.) However, this part of the indoor cultural show looked pretty much the same this year as it did in '05.

The music was gorgeous, and afterward there were dancers from different regions of Thailand. The things those ladies can do with their fingers is surreal... they bend their fingers back past the knuckle without using anything but their hand muscles. I can't even make my fingers do that if I use my other hand to try and force them back! It looks so graceful and effortless when they do it.

Outdoors, they had food and drink tents, and Bear and I ran into the owners of our favorite local Thai restaurant, serving food in one of the tents! Of course we bought some food from them - we had sausage, and pork, and bean sprouts in hot broth, and from another vendor we bought barbecued meat and sticky rice. It was delicious! Later on, for dessert, Bear got a grilled corn on the cob, and I got sticky rice and taro rolled up and grilled in a banana leaf. We also drank frozen coconut milk as it thawed... mmmmm!


Bear and I were eager to see and try everything, and since all the money went to help them build their temple, we gave a little extra with every purchase we made. I mean, really - they were charging so little for the food, it was almost criminal not to. Bear surprised me with a lovely pair of silk Thai fisherman's pants. The waist is verrrrrrry high, and one leg is twice as wide as the other. You put them on, and you fold the material around you tightly using the material from the extra wide leg. There is a belt-tie sewn into the back of the pants, which you wrap around your waist and tie. Then you fold down the top of the pants over the tie, and voila - you're wearing Thai fisherman's pants! They're very comfy, and they look fabu with my new black leather Skechers sandals.

All the Thai people were very friendly to us, and explained everything that we wanted to learn about. Some of the temple monks had an altar under one of the tents, and for a small donation they would give you a candle, some incense, a flower, and a small packet of gold leaf squares. You would then remove your shoes before stepping in front of the altar. You'd place the flower in a bowl with other flower offerings, then you'd light the candle, place it in the candelabra, and light your incense.

You could kneel and pray, or meditate, and then place your incense in another bowl, with other incense offerings. Then the monk would say a blessing and tie a golden thread bracelet around your wrist (if you were a man). Bear had to tie mine on for me, since Theravadan monks are not allowed to touch a woman, hand anything directly to her, or take anything from her hand. The monk who blessed our bracelets was this smiling fellow.

Ven. Phramaha Anak Anekasi

I wasn't sure what to say to a monk, but he wanted to talk about traveling to Thailand, and my tiger-eye prayer necklace, and then Bear and he had a lively conversation about women monks in Korea. Apparently, the male monks had underestimated the female monks when they started their own monastery. According to them, a male monk who had been ordained for one hour outranked a female monk who had been ordained for a year. Sounds like the monks aren't so different from most American males, eh? So - the female monks decided to make their requirements and training twice as difficult as the male monks', in order to show their dedication and how well qualified they are for monastic life. I liked that story.

It was a wonderful afternoon, the weather was lovely, and I think they had a very good turnout. I was sorry to leave, but we had planned to go to the hospital and visit my father.

Dad was in pretty good spirits, and his wife showed up and we all had an unusually good time together. They said he could go home on Tuesday, but I just spoke with his wife on the phone and apparently he had to receive blood today and will not be going home just yet. As Bear and I are leaving for North Carolina day after tomorrow, I am worried about this change in the status quo. I was hoping he'd be on the road to recovery and back home again by the time we left for my uncle's memorial service in NC.

Lately it seems that my family is getting hit from all sides with physical ailments. As I type this, Bear is in bed under a pile of covers, shivering with fever chills. I don't know what he has, but I hope he's better soon.

Sooner than soon.

Si Si Since When Is THAT Okay?

Living in New York means being exposed daily to many different cultures. I selfishly love this fact because of all the delectable ethnic foods that I am able to ingest without so much as traveling more than ten minutes from my house. I also find people of other cultures, languages, and beliefs interesting - they add spice to my life. If it weren't for Italians, Koreans, Latin Americans, and the rest, I might as well be living in Yawndrool, Illinois.

That being said, I have been surprised a few times lately by the intolerance and unacceptable behavior of white Americans with relation to those of different ethnic backgrounds - hispanic people in particular.

The other morning, Bear and I were tuned in to CNN Headline News before work, as we sipped our coffee and had a bowl of cereal. We were watching the show called "Robin & Company", but Robin Meade had the day off and Christi Paul was sitting in for her. I'm not a big fan of Christi - she's very choppy style-wise. She has none of the smooth segues that flow, seemingly seamlessly, from Robin.

And then.

Will Selva, the sports announcer, was talking about baseball. He finished off his commentary with a sentence spoken in fluent Spanish. Christi Paul piped up and said, "Oh, Will - were you doing an impersonation of Speedy Gonzalez or Ricky Ricardo?" I nearly choked on my kashi.

Will Selva paused only momentarily and came back with a smooth answer. "Actually, I was doing an impersonation of me. Spanish is my first language." Smackdown!! But - actually, no. For a real smackdown, the person getting smacked down has to actually REALIZE that they were just put in their place. Ditzi Paul completely missed the hint, and reiterated, "Speedy Gonzalez, then!" before going on to the next part of the show.

I was so offended by her comments that I actually emailed the show to complain.

***

On my way home from work today, I stopped off at the grocery store to pick up a few things for dinner. The store was not too busy, and I was happy to see that there was only one person in line in front of me, and she only had four or five items. I was sure I'd be out of there in no time.

The lady in front of me was hispanic. She waited until the cashier had rung in all her items, and then she leaned over the counter to peer at the total on the screen. She shook her head, and asked in Spanish why the total was so high. The cashier, who did not speak Spanish but understood the gist, said that the toothbrushes she bought were not on sale. The lady removed a few items from her bag (not the toothbrushes) and said, again in Spanish, that she didn't want them - too much money. Once the cashier had removed the items from her bill, she peered at the screen again and shook her head, muttering in Spanish as she then proceeded to rummage in the bottom of her pocketbook for loose change to make up the amount of the bill.

At this point, I was closely examining the fine print on the bottom of the Star and Enquirer covers, to keep myself from opening up my yap in my fluent Spanish and telling this lady that I would prefer not to actually sleep in the grocery store this evening, thank you very much. When she finally left and I approached the cashier, paid quickly for my few items with a cash card, and picked up my bags. The cashier said, "Thank you for NOT speaking Spanish." Even though I had been miffed at the hispanic lady for causing a big delay in the line, my pique had nothing whatsoever to do with what language she spoke. I was a little taken aback by the cashier's comment to me (she hadn't had the balls to say it to the lady in person, I noted) and so I answered her, "Esta bien, que puede hacer." And then I took my bags to my truck.

As I pulled out of the grocery store parking lot, I saw the woman who had held up my line. She was walking along the side of the road, carrying her little bags of things that she had just barely had enough money to buy. She had no car, and was probably going home to a tiny, crowded apartment, maybe to a few kids. This is not a generalization, it's what I see every day in my neighborhood.

The thought occurred to me that perhaps that little space of time spent talking to a grocery store cashier was the only meaningful contact she would have all day with an English-speaking adult. The only chance she might have had to learn a new word, or get a kind smile from someone in this strange new country. Perhaps, where she comes from, people take their time in the markets, socializing and enjoying the experience - not rushing around trying to cram as much as possible in as little time as possible, the way we Americans do almost everything.

They call America "The Great Melting-Pot". Sometimes I think the fire has gone a bit cold.

In response to Jaz's wigwam question...

Jaz, of the Wicked Winter blog, recently asked that musical question: Have you ever slept in a wigwam? This question was prompted by his trip to Arizona.

Strangely enough, Jaz, I have! In Arizona! Same wigwams, different year. It was a "girl trip" with my aunt, who is an adventurer at heart, like me. I reckon this was late 1980's, or early 1990's. First off, they had me at hello with this sign... it couldn't have been more my style.

Wigwams in the late afternoon sun...

Weather changes quickly in Arizona -
early morning thunderstorms and high wind!
I could have hired myself out as a windsock.

And in case there was any doubt - my luggage inside the wigwam.
Note black leather jacket on pillow. The mark of my territory.

I'm waiting for Jaz to tell me they still have the same curtains and bedspreads.

A blast from the past

Back when I was young, thin, and yes, a hottie, I used to go blasting around in a primer-grey Chevy Nova. It was hopped up in the back, with mag wheels and bordeaux leatherette interior. The radio sucked, but since I listened to 1980's heavy metal cassette tapes at high volume, no one could tell.

One fine summer day, I was cruising in Huntington Village and decided to stop in to the local Levi's outlet and grab me some 501 button fly jeans to go with my white high-top basketball sneakers, which were, of course, worn with the laces wide open and untied.

I've always prided myself on my driving ability, including my parallel parking skills (sweet!). There was a spot at the curb right in front of the store I was going to. I backed into the space perfectly, except that I inched backward just a bit too far, and lightly kissed the front bumper of the Mercedes Benz that was parked in the spot just behind me.

As I inched forward again, I looked out my passenger window at a young man who was talking on a pay phone in front of the store. I made the Universal Shushing Symbol (forefinger to lips) and mouthed "DON'T TELL".

The man leaned away from the phone, pointed to the Mercedes, and mouthed back, "IT'S MINE".

If that happened to me now, I'd probably get sued. But as I said, this was back when I was young, thin, and a hottie. And did I mention I wore half shirts and a black leather jacket? I didn't get sued. Mr. Phone Guy just chuckled and waved - no harm done.

Sweet!