Mimes Protesting The War

God, but I love this picture. I guess because you can use it over and over for any number of causes. For example: "Mimes Protesting Geoff Not Returning My Star After a More-Than-Reasonable/Actually Harsher Than Needed 90 Day Disciplinary Period" and so on.

Off-topic stuff: Grey Goose La Poire Vodka. It is to die for. As I discovered when I went out just this past Saturday night. I'd seen a big advertising spread in the New Yorker about it, so when the bartender asked what was my pleasure I asked for a pear martini.

Of course, as is typical way out here in Pennsylvania Dutchland, he looked at me crosseyed when I asked for La Poire because he'd never heard of it. No problem, I just ordered something else. Five minutes later, I'm deep in conversation with my sister and bartender reappears, having discovered they did indeed have a whole case of the stuff, brand new. "Let's break it out" he says and offers up free pear martinis to me, my sister and everyone around us.

Cue to a few hours later, I'm back home walking my dog, almost fall on the ice twice. Hmmmm. Could've been a very dangerous night.

Four 3-Pointers

My 16 year old son Michael sprints down the court like a gazelle. He's fluid tonight, loose and aggressive, he's on his game. The ball gets passed to him from a teammate on the left, Michael dribbles from midcourt looking for an opening, sees none, whips the ball to his right. Immediately it gets returned to him, he shoots and sinks a perfect 3 pointer.


Here comes Johnny singing oldies, goldies
Be-bop-a-lua baby what I say

There's a scramble for the rebound, the other team fumbles and lets it slip out of their hands, gets passed back to Michael who is still hovering midcourt. He shoots again with flawless precision as if he's playing all alone, and indeed he is because no one is guarding him at that moment. Whoosh, 3 more points.

Here comes Johnny with the power and the glory
down in the tunnels tryin to make it pay

The opposition is good. Really good. It's been a two to three point game all through. The pressure is on but bolstered by his two critical shots, Michael is pumped and clearly having fun. He passes the ball to #3, his brother Patrick. I love it whenever I see this, see them working together as a team, within a team. Sibling rivalry runs high, even higher when you share the same birthday. Patrick has scored a couple baskets himself in this game, and I can see he wants to shoot now, he wants to outshine Michael. But tonight is Michael's night.

Patrick almost loses the ball in a steal, retrieves it and that momentary lapse sets him back on the right course. He gets the ball back into his brother's hands and blocks the offense who try to grab it from him, allowing Michael to shoot unobstructed, again from midcourt. Again, nothing but net.

He got the action, he got the motion
Yeah, the boy can play

It's Michael Jordan time, with 23 seconds left in the game. We're down by two, 57-59. Determination and sweat are clearly visible all over the court now, and the aggressiveness goes up about 3 notches. Patrick is on the bench, but Michael is still out there, he knows what he has to do. The opposition is all over him, they won't get fooled again. But in that inexplicable way that some nights are just magical, there's magic in Michael tonight. With two seconds left in the game, Michael shoots his final and fourth 3 pointer, sinking it just as the buzzer sounds. Game over, 60-59. A game to remember.

Dedication, Devotion
Turning all the Nighttime into the Day
And He do the walk
He do the walk of Life

With acknowledgement to Dire Straits, for the soundtrack: here

New Neighbors

Okay, I wasn't really surprised yesterday morning, when I saw the rental truck sitting in the driveway next door. I knew Old Lady K-----'s house had finally sold after almost 11 months on the market; I knew the jig was up on my carefree days of letting the dog do her business over on their lawn instead of ours.

Even when our quiet little street became lined with cars by 10 AM, I thought: "Wow, these new people sure have lots of helpful friends"...and indeed, one of them even waved to me as he rolled two kegs through the snow and right into the front door.

Like Gladys Kravitz ever with an eye out the window, I watched as the naugahyde sofa & loveseat were taken off the truck, along with the "blonde wood" bedroom furniture, and the super-sized TV set. Two burley looking guys carrying a washing machine around back slipped and tipped it precariously, losing their footing in the deep snow (and in turn, the washing machine) with a loud reverberating whomp. 24 hours later, it still sits there, white on white. Is there a Maytag Repairman in da house?

But it wasn't until this morning when I went out for my newspaper that I actually got to meet them. The wife had a coat thrown over her pajamas, but the husband was completely shirtless, they were both loading junk back into the moving truck in the driveway. I guess he noticed me standing there kind of incredulous, I mean, it wasn't like he dashed out for a second in 15 degree weather; he was out there working! They immediately stopped what they were doing and trudged through the snow to where I was standing in the street, shook my hand all friendly-like and we made introductions. There was pleasant small talk while I tried not to stare at his nipples, and I asked if they had any children. The wife grinned and said no. "No kids, just the 2 dobermans is all."

Gulp.

I'm trying to keep an open mind, really. Just because I can watch what their watching on TV right from the street doesn't mean anything, just because we've always let our little 12 pound mutt wander freely in the backyard and woods doesn't necessarily mean I'm going to find her severed head served up on my front doormat, and just because there's all that loud raucous laughter - it only means they know how to have fun, right?

Buy My House

For far too long now, I've held on to my house much like I held on to my marriage; because of my kids. Right now it's the middle of the night as I write this, the teenagers are all snug in their beds, but I'm the one with the sugarplum visions of shiny new condominiums with granite kitchen counters dancing in my head.

I remember when we first moved here 14 years ago - "moving up" from a twin in the city to a non-descript 4 bedroom single further out in the burbs - how one short walk "around back" and suddenly life was never the same again. Canopies of mature trees towering over a hidden jewel of a backyard that included among other things, a real live babbling brook and a swing hung by two 20 foot ropes - now frayed but still doing the job. That swing has seen all ages grace its lovely worn wooden seat - even my mother hopped on it one late spring night during my oldest daughter's first communion party. My mother is pretty much confined to a wheelchair these days.

It was the back yard that sold us on the house, really - and it has served us well. The creek was the perfect spot for two little boys who loved building bridges with old cast off 2x4's, for catching crayfish ("Mom, A lobster!") For snake spotting, for lining with daylilies and irises and slippery stepping stones perfect for jumping, perfect for breaking on through to the other side.

A thatched roof storage shed shrouded by huge rhododendron bushes turned into a playhouse for about five years; a secret clubhouse with entry granted by passwords known only to my younger daughter and her girlfriends. The lawn used to be much lusher, much greener - but slip n' slides and summer sleepovers in staked tents had a tendency to leave bare patches after a while. And when it snows, like tonight? So beautiful it could take your breath away.

But now my children have put away their childish things. They lead busy lives that center around high school friends and myspace.com and learning how to drive, drive away from this house. The backyard sits unused, unappreciated except by me when I'm at the kitchen sink or at my desk in front of the living room windows.

Eventually we'll figure out a price tag for the house and do a little sprucing and painting and the sale sign will go up soon enough. But that backyard is where the sale will happen.

Probably in the late springtime, when those irises are in full bloom again.

Immeasureable Loss

For as long as I can remember, whenever I've been seriously troubled by something, I've always been able to find tangible relief and comfort simply through the moon or the ocean. There is something that draws me toward these natural life forces in times of stress, something that connects me to their ancient pull of cycles and tides. Within their very perpetuality there exudes a calmness, a way to make sense of what's going on. I feel it when I swim in the ocean as well.

Even if you're not a praying kind of person, life has a way of bringing you to your knees. Regardless of your beliefs or how well you think you know yourself - when you're up against a situation holding life and death in the balance, it's the ultimate leveler. You'll bargain, plead, beg and promise everything in exchange for whatever will up the ante; help, forgiveness, mercy, anything to save what is most precious to you.

To lose a child is an unspeakable loss, unlike any other. It's unnatural, it alters life in such a way that it can't be put back together again, can never be wholly restored. It's unbearable, yet if it happens you must bear it. The passage of time surely helps, but time will only scar over a raw open wound of pain, it won't take it away. You want to howl at that moon and rail at the endless ocean of pain surrounding you, yet it's only the slow day in/day out ticking of time that will inexplicably soften it for you; that will help to blunt and blur those forces that can crush you at the tragedy's onset.

You'll continue living and go on loving, but there will always be a qualifier present now to whatever joy you'll ever experience again. Living will never be as easy as it once seemed to be, nor as taken for granted.

Dreamgirls

I've always gotten a real kick out of listening (and dancing to) En Vogue. To me, they epitomize the classic heart and soul of an all girl group, a sexier, more sophisticated take on both the Supremes and the whole girl group era in general - but with just a little bit more fabulousness.

None of the 4 women who made up EnVogue were classified as official "Lead Singer" and this was unique in that they worked it with a different angle; they shared lead vocals, each one taking over lead reins depending on the mood and arrangement of the song. Kind of an anomaly when you consider the fact that each one of them possessed the fiercesome talent and stunning good looks to make it as a solo act, had any one of them wanted to venture out on their own.

So whatever happened to them?

It seems in that way all "All Girl" groups go, they've disbanded and gone their separate ways for a while now, virtually disappearing into private life. Guess I'll have to console myself with treasures from their archive - like this sexy little rendition (below) of an old Aretha Franklin song, while waiting for what I'm hoping will be an eventual splashy comeback.

Click Here and Enjoy