My Week Was Bad Because:

(a) Olympic Airporter forgot to pick me up for my flight to Charlotte NC.
(b) I paid 10 bucks  extra for a rental-car Neverlost GPS that not only couldn’t find where I had to go, but got. me. lost.
(c) I made my debut as a presenter in the new department bare-faced because I left my make-up bag in the car when I jumped into a last-minute cab to the airport.

UPDATE: Turns out that I didn’t leave my make-up bag in the car after all. I packed it into its usual place outside zipper of my suitcase but when I got to Charlotte, IT WASN’T THERE. Draw your own conclusions. The TSA uniforms might not do much for those agents, but they’ll look lovely in my Rose Quartz lipstick.

Sad Realization: Make-up, schmake-up, but my travel size bottle of Ralph Lauren Safari perfume, no longer in production, was also in that case. I swear upon my soul that I am going to sniff every one of those dirty birds that comes across my path and if I detect even a faint hint of what might be Safari, there’s going to be an ugly scene.

(Note to self: Start brown bagging it next week and put saved monies towards bail fund.)

In the Event That I Should Be Found Dead

Our telephone dials 911 all by itself.

There are two phone lines in this house and every time it rains, it sounds like there is a double dial tone and the phone is not usable. People who try to call in get a busy signal on both numbers. That’s been happening for a while, but lately the police have been showing up at our house, scaring the stuffing out of the neighbors and annoying our daughter, who must get out of bed to see who is walking around downstairs.

Call the phone company, you say? It is to laugh! It’s Verizon and they are so not sympathetic to the fact that the police, obliged to check out every incoming emergency call, are starting to question our story that we are not making prank calls. Call the phone company all you want – they come when they’re ready. We’ll be lucky if they do any repair on the first trip out here.

I’m worried that the police will stop coming and a real emergency will occur. Perhaps they’ll just assume that its the bad phone lines again and give it a pass. Thanks, Verizon! Don’t forget to send us a bill!

We flirted with that scenario last night. I came home to find Sam busily making supper. Two suppers, in fact. One in the kitchen and one in the garage. With much backing and forthing, he was making tomato sauce on the stove and frying eggplant and chicken in his beloved Fry-Daddy in the garage.  Yes, he’s got himself a new Fry-Daddy but he keeps it hidden from me so that I don’t throw this one away, too. He only pulls it out far enough to cook in – never farther than his workbench – and slips it away again before I can get to it.

For some reason, the sauce was in a wide frying pan covered by a cookie sheet and sauce bubbled out onto every surface – not life-threatening, but messy enough so that even he felt the need for immediate clean-up, leaving the Fry-Daddy on its own in a garage full of flammables. It worked out-  this time - and we all survived , but still I worry. Would the police have come if another emergency call comes from this house?

Look! Up In The Sky! It’s A Bird! It’s A Plane! It’s Not A Bat!

I thought it might be a good idea to jot down a few thoughts while I was out on the deck in the evening, winding down from the day. I came to this conclusion because all of the good ideas I have for blogging don’t seem to stick in my head long enough to post them. It would be a shame if the blog world could not share these nuggets of wisdom, flashes of insight and piths of observation. Here’s the first crop harvested from that effort:

Where are the bats? It seems to me that they should be around by now. My recollection is that as soon as it was warm enough for me to be out in the evening, it was warm enough for them.  So far this year, I haven’t been treated to the nightly vision of them swooping around in the dusk. I thought I saw one once in early May, but that could easily have been a bird staying up late.

In the absence of bats, I’m left to observe airplanes. I guess I must be more absorbed in air travel than I previously aware of , because I realize how many planes I can identify by their silhouettes. It’s entirely a matter of self-preservation because since I’ve just about memorized the seating charts on Seat Guru and plan my flight tickets accordingly, I want to know if there was a last minute vehicle switch at the gate that will jeopardize my comfort. Without realizing it, I have incorporated general chassis recognition and engine placement into my body of knowledge.

We have a weird little seating thing called a Jack and Jill on the deck. Although reviled for its flimsy construction, it is very comfortable. Settling into it, one naturally leans back and looks up. So last night there we were, The Hub and I, laid back and looking up with me giving a running commentary on planes overhead. Now that might not sound like a thrilling evening to you, but the Hub, fresh from a week in Cold Shouldersville, was happy that I was saying anything at all to him.

FYI – From what I can see, the evening skies carry 1/3 MD-80s, 1/3 737s
and 1/3 assorted others. Now its not like we live at the end of a runway – the planes are far up and the jet noise can be easily unnoticed, but when you make a point of listening, you can hear them coming and be looking at the treetops in anticipation of their appearance. So he was timing the arrivals (pathetic overreaction, is it not?) and then we were blessed with the vision of one plane in a holding pattern. It was almost bat-like in its degree of curve and its repetitive appearance.

Its not as good as watching bats, but sometimes you have to take what you can get and be happy about it.

Special note to Dogette: Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

… And Hillary Was There, Too.

It was a tough day in the dentist’s chair but in the end, I came away with a newly restored tooth. The man is an artist. The part I like the best is when he asks me to bite-bite-bite and he leans in and cocks his head to the side to listen. Then he takes to the tools again for a miniscule adjustment and then we do the bite-bite-bite/listen thing again. I topped off the day with a little shopping and a little dinner out.

Imagine how thrilled I was to pull into the Sunny Palace on Rt 18 and see a Chinatown bus in the parking lot. Truth be told, I kind of miss dodging the old beasts ever since I stopped my commute on the turnpikes. So I was happy to see it and even happier to see that it was true to type with its mysterious black-out windows and its missing chunk gone from the wheel cover.

The lot was packed and I was circling round and round the lot, considering the handicapped spaces when I noticed three policemen staring at me. Couldn’t figure out why  – they take their handicapped spaces seriously in East Brunswick, I guess. When we went inside, the tables were all empty but the host asked us to wait for 10 minutes. Then we saw the sign hanging on the fish tank: ASIAN AMERICANS & PACIFIC ISLANDERS FOR HILLARY.

I turned around, and there she was not 4 feet away:

She walked past and spent only 5 to 7 minutes speaking before she left the building. The crowd in the banquet room was impeccably dressed, teenage girls were flitting about carrying violins and other stringed instruments, many young people were left standing there holding the bouquets they came in with. Other observations:

  • she’s quite short and not at all fat-bottomed.
  • her hair was perfect.
  • her face lift seems to be holding up quite well.
  • she was manipulatively dressed in a red top with a mandarin collar.
  • the people in her entourage, with the exception of one man, was average age 25.
  • there were no discernible odors about her.
  • she has excellent posture and a confident stride.
  • her feet are enormous.
  • the applause was restrained.


Then it was all over with and the Chinatown bus pulled away.


(This is not the first time I’ve been within the magnetic pull  of a real live Democratic candidate. I also clasped the hand of Edmund Muskie on Public Square in Wilkes Barre PA. And JFK’s motorcade drove past me when he was campaigning for president. All I remember is that I was on my bike at the end of the street and  a bunch of people [like, the whole town] lined up along the roadside and some black Cadillac convertibles drove past, which was excitement enough let alone who was in them. I’m like a groupie already.)